Someone surprised me by asking how my knitting project was coming along. Sure, I’ll share.
Knitting plus ever-present lap dog.
I’m close to getting through two repeats of the lace pattern. I’m also awfully close to finishing the first skein of yarn, which means this will be more of a mat than a table runner. So, I’m going to see if there happens to be any of that yarn out there in the world. Who knows?
Pattern up close.
The black part of the yarn makes the lace pattern not show up as well, but that’s a risk I took by not doing this in a solid color. I’m not a perfect decreaser but I’ll smooth some of them out later.
Dark Lace
Just because a yarn is dark doesn’t mean you can’t make a lace project out of it. One of my favorite shawls is this beautiful one made from natural black sheepswool from American Shetland sheep. The shawl was made in 2010 and still looks new. No evil moths have attacked it.
Hey, that hunk of quartz makes a nice shawl display.
The style is Faroese, a traditional British Isles style. The way the center pattern and border intersect is so elegant.
Fun lace. Simple beauty.
The wool is spun a little scratchy, but that makes it stay on your shoulders and drape beautifully. I had Lee take a few pictures of me wearing it, since Ravelry only had pictures of the shawl alone.
Yep, time to re-do my hair.
Trying to escape a love-filled but hairy Alfred.
Litla Dimun shawl
It’s very light, but warm. I’m so glad the dogs are old enough that I can wear shawls again. Anyway, dark lace can be lovely.
Those of you wanting to make one can go to my Ravelry page for the project, which lists the source, yarn, and other details. Gosh, I still remember the day I bought the yarn and how helpful the shop owner was. We both kept patting the beautiful wool.
All the details!
Memories. I do have something percolating in my head to write more seriously about, so I’ll be back later. Now I must go on an adventure!
Back to cute little animals and ranching activities, which everyone can enjoy! I still have seven outdoor birds, five laying hens, Bruce the rooster, and Gertie the Guinea. They always surprise and entertain me, as you can tell from how many blog posts I manage to take up with Poultry Tales. But, they are my buddies!
Bruce rules the roost with a gentle hand, or wing. His pointy feathers on his neck and back are gorgeous.
I mentioned earlier this week that they’re creatures of habit. But, sometimes they do change their minds. All of last year, the chickens preferred to sleep on the branches in the chicken run. They would all line up, and when we had lots of them, it was quite a sight. Now that it’s winter, though, many of them have decided to roost in the roosting area of their henhouses. That’s all fine. I’m sure it’s warmer and dryer.
Star now has a lot more tan on her body.
She looks darker in some lights.
But, when the chickens spend more time in the henhouse, there gets to be more poop in there. The nest boxes had become noticeably more poopy as of this week. I’d prefer cleaner eggs, and I’m pretty sure the hens prefer cleaner nests, since I found an egg just sitting on the roosting area yesterday.
Buttercup is incredibly beautiful in person.
She shades from red to gold to brown
Click a photo to see her feathers better.
So, today I put on a mask (hey, at least I own a lot of them!) and cleaned out their little world. I didn’t realize how much bedding and such was in there until I removed it all. The tub got pretty heavy! I’m hoping we can use the material in compost.
A lot of pine shavings and poop (and a piece of wood)
Naturally, it was harder than it could have been, since all the things I could find to scoop out the material were exactly as wide as a nest box. I know I own a bunch of garden trowels, but they must be put away very well.
Ooh, aah. We do still need to fix the missing divider. We have all the parts. They still lay eggs there.
As soon as I was finished, Springsteen, the homebody, RAN in and checked out the white henhouse. Then she RAN to the red one. Much clucking occurred. She’s a good housekeeper. Or maybe it was her egg-laying time, since she hadn’t laid one yet.
The gentle giant, Springsteen. You can see some green highlights on her feathers.
While it was a messy job, I enjoyed it, because I got to spend time with my bird friends and Vlassic. I hope you enjoy these close-ups of some of the younger chickens. It’s neat to see how they change as they grow up.
Hedley, in the rear, is the shyest hen, and won’t let me get close. Bertie and Gertie are overly friendly.
And can you believe good ole Bertie is over a year old? We will have had her a year next month, and she was four months old when we got her.
This had gotten particularly dirty, and the roost area in front was also a mess. This is way better. Golf ball is a fake egg. All the eggs in these pictures are the ones we were trying to hatch, which are now dummy eggs.
As faithful readers may have noticed, Lee and I bought into a timeshare, after swearing we’d never do that. But, we reasoned that by paying into it, we would be more likely to take the time out of our schedules to go travel, and it would be like having a second (okay, third) home without having to maintain it ourselves.
We (or I) have enjoyed visiting various spots, like North Carolina, South Carolina, Florida, and Utah. We also had a fun trip within Texas through the system. I have no complaints about the facilities or staff, and was really impressed by how careful they were when I went to Utah and managed to avoid humans and their diseases.
But, it turns out that the resorts and amenities are a small part of the operations, which really seem to be focused on aggressively pursuing late payments and trying to get people to default on their loans. If a payment isn’t received immediately, debt collection calls start. I’ve never had debt collection calls from anywhere, ever before!
It turns out that our problem is that Lee prefers to make payments by postal mail, using the coupon books provided by the company and personal checks. That’s a legitimate way to pay, and I used to pay for things that way, too. This does make us dependent on the US Postal Service to get our payments to the company on time. Payments sent a week before due date were a few days late a couple of times since we got the timeshare. As soon as I realized the calls were legit, I always paid the bills by credit card. They kindly took the checks, too, once they arrived. I guess it applied to principal.
But then, around Christmas/New Year’s, I kept getting calls and calls. It seems that they didn’t get TWO payments. Lee swore he’d paid them. Well, ha! He had sent the payments all right, but they got RETURNED to us for sending them to the wrong address (the address on the payment coupons). Well, changing your address and not forwarding mail to the new one sure is a way to get lots of late fees.
Thanks a lot, postal service
I called their debt servicing folks, and a lady gave me two entirely different addresses to send payments to. She said she never heard of the one on our coupons. Uh huh. Too bad, so sad.
I sent their email address proof that we DID make the payments and that the postal service had returned them. I asked that they not report me as not paying my bills.
So, beware. Timeshares can be fun and simplify travel, but I’d pay cash up front if I ever did it again, which I won’t.
Perhaps my title is better than this post will come out to be, but this points out to me that I need to stop trying to write about two things in one post, just to not appear to be blogging crazed.
Bull, Big Load
Yesterday, Vlassic and I went to feed the horses after work. He was happy, because I gave him his yummy heartworm pill, so we had a nice time on our walk. I looked up and said hi to Apache, then turned to say hi to Spice and Lakota, when something moved in the holding pen. WHOA. It was big.
Who the heck are YOU?
Yep, there was a bull I’d never seen before. He was, to say the least, beefy, quite a load of bull. I was like, uh oh, he probably won’t like me going around messing near him. I could see that he’d been upset and dug the dirt and mud up in the pen. So I said hi.
Hey. I’m a bull. Nice to meet you.
I went ahead and fed the horses. Every time I walked by the pen, the bull followed me. It occurred to me he might be a NICE bull. When Vlassic went up to him and they just sniffed each other, I was pretty confident.
I like hay. It builds muscles.
I got him a bit of fresh hay, and he walked right up and took some out of my hand! Then he poked the water tub. It was empty. Ah, someone is thirsty. As I filled the water tub, I checked out his ear tags. It appeared he was an All American bull.
Here you can see he has TWO labeled ear tags. And a nose ring. Obviously he is used to being handled.
We chatted for a while as he ate and drank, and he seemed happy to hang out with me. That’s obviously someone’s former show bull or something. And wow, he sure has big feet. I wondered why he suddenly was in the pen, all by himself. As we know, I am NOT a part of the cattle operations, but I still wondered.
As we walked by, the people who would have the answers happened to drive up. I said I gave that All American bull some hay. They laughed and said that is actually his name! He had just been brought over, and probably just shoved in the pen and left alone. No wonder he was lonely and craving company, poor guy!
When we got back, Vlassic had to tell Gracie Lou ALL about his adventures with the gargantuan being. Or at least I prefer to think so.
Hey Gracie, guess what?
I met a GIANT cow that was nice and didn’t want to be chased!
I’m hoping All American has been led to his harem by the time I get to feed horses today. I look forward to some very pretty golden calves in the fall!
Dillo in the Dirt
And now for another mess. When I looked outside this morning, a part of the field in front of the house looked suspiciously blackened. What could that have been? I hoped it wasn’t hogs. I was at an angle to where I couldn’t see exactly what was going on.
We went out on the porch later, and could see that there wasn’t massive upheaval, like hogs would create. But there was definitely a disturbance in the dirt.
Who’s been digging?
After my morning meetings, I headed out to inspect in person. DANG. It looked like a wild pack of armadillos had come through and feasted on something.
That’s way more concentrated than the usual armadillo holes.
I have my suspicions that the delicacy is whatever is making tell-tale piles of castings all over the property. Earthworms or grubs are my guesses. In any case, the feeding frenzy has done a great job of aerating the soil.
I’ve mentioned that I’m spending a couple of weeks quarantined in the Hermits’ Rest house, working from my little den (which is lovely, other than poor connectivity). A real highlight has been looking out the window, where I can see a long fence that leads to the woods.
The view out my window, bordered by the computer monitors I try my best to focus on. Notice that the window also tells me how to not be a better conversationalist.
The main thing I regret about my window is that there’s a window screen. Otherwise, I’d be getting some really good photos of gray birds. Gray birds just love that fence. It’s apparently an ideal insect-hunting platform. Let me introduce you to the friends I see every day.
Northern Mockingbird Mimus polyglottos
Like most of you in North America, I’ve lived around mockingbirds my whole life. They are the state bird of Florida, where I grew up, so I’ve known them my whole life. When I was a kid, I thought they were a boring bird. I have changed my mind!
Northern mockingbird. Photo copyright BJ Stanley (CC)
Through the years, I grew to love the birds that sat on the streetlight outside my house in Brushy Creek, Texas. They would sing so many songs, and occasionally emit the sound of a car alarm or cell phone. They are amazing singers.
Now that I’m at the ranch and working in Cameron, I watch mockingbirds every day. They’re big and bold, and very hungry. I love watching them catching bugs and finding food on the ground. The flash of white you see when one of these guys takes off means something interesting’s about to happen. I always know them on the fence by their long tails that are quite mobile.
Over at my fence, the mockingbirds are pretty bossy. They often make all the other birds move, so they get the best observation spot. They are fearless.
Here, the mockingbird chased off one phoebe, and moved the other one out of the prime viewing area.
Now, the mockingbirds don’t only hunt out in the open. I often see them flying into the woods, and singing from the tip-tops of the trees (when crows aren’t using those spots!). So, I salute these fascinating creatures, my first gray bird friends.
Eastern Phoebe Sayornis phoebe
I had never run into phoebes until I got to the ranch here. Since then, I’ve heard and seen them often in my house in Austin. I guess there just weren’t any at my first Texas house.
These may be gray, but they’re striking. Their heads are founded, and they have lovely light breasts. Photo copyright Pedro Alanis (CC).
Here, you can’t miss the little darlings. They have been nesting and raising babies in our porches, and sitting on the porches announcing their presence. They conveniently announce who they are by strongly shouting, “Phoebe! Phoebe!” You can’t miss them.
When they’re out on the fence among the other gray birds, the easiest way to distinguish phoebes from the others is the shape of their heads. They have some feathers at the top of their heads that makes it look bigger or more rounded than other birds. It makes them look sort of “husky.” They also have much shorter tails than the mockingbirds.
This photo by Benjamin Schwartz shows the little crest on its head.
Phoebes are flycatchers (actually tyrant flycatchers), so it’s no wonder they are out there every day going after insects. It’s their job. They’re so acrobatic, too, making loops and circles before heading back to the fence to chew and spot the next bug.
Right now I have at least a pair of them hanging around (the males are slightly darker), so I often get to enjoy two at a time. I’m so glad to share my home with them!
Loggerhead Shrike Lanius ludovicianus
I’ve written about these birds before, but they are the third gray bird I keep seeing on my fence. I feel honored to have a rare bird on the property.
Loggerhead Shrike Lanius ludovicianus along FM 2810 SW of Marfa, Presidio Co., Texas 12 September 2005. Photo copyright Greg Lasley (CC) – he’s one of the guys I looked at shrikes with before.
These are incredibly beautiful birds. I was just out back looking at a flock of American robins (they were eating smilax berries so loudly I could find them by ear), when I saw one of our shrikes in a tree by the pond. Their black-and white feathers are really striking from behind.
This beautiful photo by Jonathan Eisen (CC) of a parent and baby shows how easy it is to ID them from the back.
When I try to look at the gray birds out my window, the phoebe and the loggerhead shrike are initially hard to tell apart, thanks to the darned window screen, since they are both grayish birds with pale breasts.
That IS the shrike, however.
But, the phoebe is a more brownish gray, and has an entirely dark head, while the shrike has that cool “bandit mask” through its eyes. And of course, their behavior is different. I really enjoy running across the kills made by the shrikes, who impale them on our fences.
Here’s a photo I took last September of a bug caught by a shrike. You don’t even have to see them to know they were here!
As you can imagine, I keep seeing movement in my peripheral vision and feel compelled to check it out. Usually it’s one of these gray birds, but that’s not all I see. Right now I see a male cardinal (who I’d been hearing in the woods when I was looking at the robins), a mockingbird and the female phoebe. A few minutes ago, a troop of eastern meadowlarks (Sturnella magna) came marching by in their quest for bugs on the ground.
Oh, and three large duck-shaped birds with rings around their necks flew over, and I had no idea what they were until I checked Merlin Bird ID and realized they were wood ducks! I sure wish I’d seen them in the water, since they are so beautiful
Winter is a FUN season for bird watching around here!
What can you see at your house?
PS: I looked out just now and saw another gray bird, but I easily identified it as Gertie, our guinea fowl.
Ah, memories. Back when Lee’s dad was still around, he liked to tell us all he knew about cattle. He knew a lot, since he spent most of his time with cattle, not people.
I found this 2011 photo of one of Lee’s dad’s mama cows who nursed two bull calves, well past the usual nursing time.
One of his favorite things to tell us was that cows were very smart, and that they had definite habits. He’d tell us he always knew where his cows would be at any time of day, and what they’d be doing. He knew when to go outside and take a nap with them, when they went to get water, and when they went to the back part of the farm to graze. He was a very find observer of bovine behavior!
Well, for the past few days, since I have been sitting at my home office window, I’ve been watching the chickens. I now know that they start out hanging around under the RV in the mornings. Around midday, most of them (Springsteen the Jersey Giant hangs around the coop) head over to where our cattle troughs are and peck at the hay. They also drink out of the fish tank…I mean water trough.
At mid afternoon, they hike over to our house and visit the porch, then at least four or five of them head ALL the way out to the edge of the woods.
They spotted me, so they’re running back toward the house.
And of course, as it begins to get dark, they head back to the coop area, before turning in for the night. Just like cows, chickens have habits. I don’t know if that makes them “smart.” I don’t think it’s at all smart of them to go way over there, knowing the chicken hawk lives here, too.
An Anniversary Year
When I was looking for a photo of Lee’s dad’s cattle on an old blog, I found a picture of the first time we ever stayed overnight here at the Hermits’ Rest, which was in November, 2011.
There’s Ursula, our first RV, sitting pretty much where I could be seeing her outside my office window.
Wow, ten years of this property. No wonder we’re getting to know it so well. Guess who else I’ve known for ten years? My precious horse! Here he is as a strapping 5 year old!
Apache is pissed off that Sara is riding her previous horse, Aladdin. She traded him for Spice.
Today’s a good day to think about bullies. We’ve been dealing with bullies as a country for a while now, and I’ve had to deal with some of it myself in the past week or two. That’s lead to a lot of introspection on my part about how the way I’ve dealt with bullying in my personal life.
The Important Part
I’m gonna cut to the chase here.
The only way to deal with a bully is to deny them attention.
What bullies, mansplainers (of all gender preferences), egotistical folks, people with hero complexes, and others like them want is for the focus to always be on themselves. That’s why they feel compelled to spend your valuable time telling you how they want you to behave, explaining how things you are already familiar with work, and engaging in passive-aggressive (and plain ole aggressive behavior). All this makes people focus on them.
These chicken bullies apparently want to come in the house.
When I find myself having to repeatedly justify myself, feel pressured to do things I’m not comfortable doing, or endure subtle put-downs, I’ve learned to say, “Ah ha, I’m dealing with a bully!”
In my distant past, I would feel sorry for them and try to appease or educate them. I’d apologize when a bully told me my interpretation of what they said was in no way meant the way it comes across, because they’d NEVER do that. I’d think, hmm, maybe my direct experiences were biases and not true. I don’t do that now.
This blurry loggerhead shrike made me feel better, so I’m sharing it.
When goaded and prodded into finally losing my temper and making an unfortunate choice of words, I’d feel awful, seeing them whine about how much I hurt their precious feelings in such an unwarranted and unprovoked fashion. They can dish it out, but they just don’t seem to be able to take it.
Well, that’s a load of bull poop.
All those reactions of mine were giving bullies the attention they craved. I was giving them license to poke and prod at me, question my competence, to talk about me behind my back, and to tear me down in order to build up their fragile egos.
Notice to Past, Present, and Future Bullies
I’m not playing your game. I’ll give you a chance or two, in case I’ve misinterpreted your behavior, but I know when I see bullying and abuse. When I’m done with you, I’m done. I’m not going to interact with you in the future. I do not owe you an explanation. I’m not interested in pointing out if you’re about to screw up; you can deal with your own consequences.
If you’re someone in power, I’ll stop supporting you. If I work with you, I’ll leave the position or wait it out until you lose yours. If you’re a family member, future contact will be on my terms.
Wearing pearls for Kamala.
And oh yeah, I’ll keep ignoring you until you realize I’m not giving you attention and I no longer stoking your ego’s needs.
I do my best to be kind, to treat others as I would like to be treated, and to listen to other people’s points of view. The exceptions are bullies and abusers. Once I recognize the tell-tale signs it’s starting up, you lose a target. No, I won’t feel guilty for hurting your feelings or upsetting your minions. I value my peace and sanity more.
You may know we have a grave on our property, with (as far as we can tell) just one person buried there, Heinrich Rentsch (1826-1888). I have tried to learn more about him, but my skills aren’t too great. I do know that we want to repair his headstone, which cattle knocked over in 2012.
My oldest photo of this. I know I wrote a lot about this once…but I sure can’t find it.
Look, I found a crawfish while waiting on Holly.
I was contacted by Holly Jentsch (names are sure similar around here), who is doing official research on cemeteries in the area. She’s working with the Milam County Historical Commission to GPS all graves/cemeteries in Milam County for the Texas Historical Commission Atlas as well as document the sites. She wanted to check out the site on our property. Of course, I said yes, but it took a while to get together, what with all the snow, family stuff, etc.
Yesterday was really windy, so it was a perfect day to stay outside and interact and not breathe on each other. Holly and I got a good look at the part of the headstone we are keeping by the RV, then hiked (along with Vlassic) to the fenced-in area where the rest of the stone is.
We had a great time talking as we walked around our pasture. Holly likes to walk, too, and it turned out we have a ridiculous amount of things in common, plus she lives next door to my friend, Donna. So, now I know who “the neighbor with all the dogs” is. Small counties are really small. Anyway, it sure was fun to talk to someone. It’s such a rare treat (especially since I haven’t even left the ranch since last week).
Here’s Holly getting a photo of the base of the headstone.
When we finally got to the old fence, Holly got excited, seeing depressions near the grave of Mr. Rentsch, because that could have meant she found his son, Otto, for whom there are no records. But no, those are the final resting spots of Rosie, Stella, and Brody. Sniff.
I hope to go out and look at other sites in the with Holly, when she gets permission. I find the history of settlers around here so interesting, and it’s well worth preserving!
History of Our Ranch’s Former Resident
When she got home, Holly was able to send me her findings. She is great at genealogical research, DNA, and all that fun stuff. It was sure fun to talk to a professional. Here’s what she sent:
Thank you so much for letting me come to visit you and Mr. Rentsch today. This is what I have found out so far about Mr. Rentsch. He was born in Dresden, Germany on 20 Jan 1826 and died in Milam County on 17 July 1888. In the 1870 and 1880 census he lived in Precinct 2, Comal County, Texas with his wife Johanna, son Otto and daughter Helena. His occupation was farmer and he owned property.
Johanna Rentsch was born in April 1830 possibly in Sachsen/Saxony and died 9 Nov 1908 in Galveston, Galveston County, Texas. After her husband’s death she was found in Dallas, Texas in 1889 and 1890, address r.322 Hord between Griffin, Magnolia. Her daughter Helena was living with her and working at Eureka Steam Laundry. In the 1900 Census she is living (renting) in Galveston on Avenue 0 1/2, a widow with only 1 of 2 children living. In the 1906 & 1908 Galveston city directory, Johanna was living in the Letitia Rosenberg home. She was buried in the Lakeview Cemetery, Galveston TX.
I have found nothing on the son Otto past him living with the family in the 1880 census but the fact that Mrs. Rentsch states in 1900 that she only has one living child, suggests he died between 1880 and 1900.
The daughter Helena married a Charles Molsburger, a dairy farmer in Galveston about 1896. It was his second marriage. Helena was born in Texas in Dec 1869. Mr. Molsburger had 3 children and may have been divorced. It would appear from the ages of the children in the 1900 Census that only 1 was born to Helena and Charles, Robert Mosburger in 1897. the Molsburger family lives in the part of Galveston that was wiped out by the 1900 Great Hurricane. It appears the whole family was wiped out on 8 Sept 1900 plus many of the extended Molsburger/Malzberger family.
Many thanks to Holly for all this information. Now that I have it blogged, maybe I won’t lose the facts!
Pretty much any knitting pattern that is not an amorphous blob is supposed to come out a certain size. To do that, you have to knit a certain number of stitches per inch or four centimeters. You frequently see this (with the capital letters):
TAKE TIME TO CHECK YOUR GAUGE!
That means, don’t knit an entire sweater, only to discover it’s a baby sweater, not one for you, or vice versa. Knitting a little square in the pattern used in the item and measuring your stitches will help you make something come out like you wanted it to.
But, do people do that? Well, professionals usually do. Regular people just say, “What the heck,” and use the size of needles called for in the pattern and some yarn they figure is close to the one called for in the pattern (which is, quite often, no longer available).
What do I do? I immediately go two sizes of needles smaller than what’s called for, knowing that I knit loosely, and I try to use a yarn of the same weight as the one called for in the pattern. That often works. And it’s fine for a shawl, afghan, or other item that doesn’t need to be an exact size.
My latest project uses a simple lace pattern called Montague, by Berroco, which calls for a Linen blend worsted weight yarn (the original yarn is no longer available!). I’m using a 100% wool worsted weight yarn with a thick-and-thin texture, Noro Kureopatora (New). It’s for a table runner in Lee’s office. I started off using the size needle in the smaller range for the yarn, a 6. I knitted an inch or so, and Lee asked, “Doesn’t that seem a bit big?”
It does sorta look like a snake
Argh. Well, I hadn’t gotten too far, and it did show how nicely the seed stitch border will look. I frogged it (ripped it out), and re-started on two sizes smaller needles, size 4, which I should have done in the first place.
It came out significantly less wide, and most important, will fit on the piece of furniture it’s destined to rest on.
It’s still not 22 inches, as the instructions call for, but that’s okay. I just needed it to be more narrow than the stereo cabinet it will decorate. Now I can happily knit away.
Lesson? I should have checked my gauge!
It looks like delicious ice cream flavors.
The above picture is the entire border. Next is the lace pattern, which will require a bit of concentration. I got the first row established on my lunch hour, though, so I can work on it this evening after work.
Speaking of work, it is very hard to concentrate on it, because there is a pair of phoebes outside flitting around, catching bugs, and chasing each other. They are such beautiful birds. And with two of them, they are just like their call, “Phoebe! Phoebe!”
The screen makes it hard to see, but there’s a second bird farther along the fence.
That’s from yesterday. Today it’s raining again. Great news!
Have a good Tuesday. Those of you who pray, let’s pray for an uneventful day tomorrow. That’s where what spare energy I have is going!
I’ve been sitting on this book report for a few days, because there were so many things to write about that I actually had a backlog! So, today let me share about Answers in the Form of Questions: A Definitive History and Insider’s Guide to Jeopardy! by Claire McNear. I wanted to read this book so much that I bought it twice. The first copy seems to have been taken from the office porch or delivered to another address. I do hope whoever got the book read it and enjoyed it!
As someone who’s been fascinated by words and word games my whole life, I was thrilled to learn this book came out. I enjoyed Answers in the Form of Questions, and would recommend it to anyone interested in the game of Jeopardy! (exclamation point mandatory) and its history. You learn a lot about how people prepare, as well as what people who have been on the show do later. Apparently, they hang out a lot and go to trivia events at various bars and restaurants.
I gained even more respect for good ole Merv Griffin, who invented that game and Wheel of Fortune (among others). I always thought he was that boring guy who asked Charro funny questions in the afternoon when I got home from school, but nope, he was a pretty darned smart and innovative television pioneer.
I enjoyed learning more about Alex Trebek and his personality. I had no idea how popular his mustache was or how upset people got when he shaved it off! Dang!
I guess this was the world’s most admired ‘stache.
There were a couple of things that I had trouble with in the book. McNear repeats the same information more than once in different chapters, so you read the same stories multiple times, as if she forgot she mentioned something. A good editor would have caught this and had her refer to the previous tale rather than repeating them.
The sun in the process of attacking my desk chair a few days ago. Note a Big Boggle game beside my chair. No one will play it with me. Sniff.
And the book really could have stood to have its publication delayed by six months or so, since it was written during the awkward time when many changes were about to happen for Jeopardy! People were about to retire, changes were about to be made, and Alex Trebek was still alive, but obviously terminally ill. It would have been nice to wait a couple of months or add an addendum with kind words about him and information on how the show is going forward. Maybe they will add something in a second edition.
I get that they probably rushed the book out to cash in on interest following Trebek’s death. It’s marketing!
Goodbye for now from my home office sanctuary. I’m enjoying the view of phoebes, meadowlarks, and mockingbirds until the sun attacks me every afternoon. I need a darker Roman shade!
The Hermits' Rest 