Autumn Musing

A potpourri

The picture above was taken forty-five seconds before these words were written on a lazy Saturday morning in November from my bed. A delightful carpet of gingko leaves serves as the wrestling mat for myriad squirrels who entertain me with their gambols. Gingkoes come in two flavors, male and female, and the female version develop a fruit that emits a foul odor as it desiccates. One does not know if a gingko is male or female often for twenty years or so, as this is how they develop. We are fortunate that this is a male, for we are without foul odors in the yard.

Speaking of foul gingko odors, the Rotunda area of UVA when I went there, was festooned with what were apparently female gingkoes, and their presence made for a particularly stinky walk past the Chapel. I wonder if that sensation still exists.

We have a few activities today that evoke vastly differing emotions. First, we'll attend a “Celebration of Life" for a recently deceased woman who was the sister of a friend of mine and the mother of a friend of Catherine. I like the concept of a celebration of life, especially if that life had been long and full. I ‘splained my feelings to Catherine this morning by saying that we aren't not sad, but for an hour or so, we set the sadness aside to think about all of the wonderful things that appended this life. Should any of you be involved in the ceremonies attending my demise, I should very much like the drab, hushed mourning part to be minimized, and the alcohol-enlivened shit-talking to dominate. And of course, the “The Good Old Song" must be sung by the Wahoos attending.

Later, we'll head downtown to the annual “Waterfowl Festival" a three day orgy of oysters, Labradors, and camouflage for which this town is famous. A friend of mine has a place in the middle of town, and he'll be hosting an open house with lots of beer and oysters. My inamorata tends to buy art during festivals such as this, and we've reached the point--really we reached it years ago--where we have to swap out some of the old favorites in order to get the new arrivals some hang time.

Tomorrow morning, I'll pop back into town at 1000 to hear yet another friend's DC Metro band perform on the main drag at Waterfowl. I only recently learned that this dude (Destroyer and Cruiser CO) was in a band, and the prospect of hearing him shred is too tempting to miss. LATE BREAKING UPDATE: The band is REALLY GOOD. They are called “Side Hustle” (https://sidehustletunes.com/meet-the-band) and they should be on your DC Metro shortlist for your next party. Really good.

A little later this week, I'll push a sleepy eyed elder daughter into the passenger side of her car and drive her to her new situation in Brooklyn. She's striking out on her own, full of enthusiasm and wonder. Her first test of her new life will be meeting the 0800 departure time, so we'll see how that goes. I'm driving, as I like to drive and also because I will drive it home, as she begins her life without wheels, like a real city girl. I'm excited for her, honestly. I've said before, maybe even written it here--but on my deathbed, the only foreseeable regret that I'll have is never having lived for an extended period in New York. Now when I think of New York, it is Manhattan, but Dash 1 is more enamored with entry-level Brooklyn. Different strokes.

Dogless

As alluded to above, the Easton Waterfowl Festival is at least partially an ode to hunting dogs, with a number of phenomenally well-attended competitions held for these noble beasts to show their stuff. Additionally, attendees bring their leashed, somewhat less well trained pets to walk about, the effect of which is/was to drive your correspondent into a bit of reverie while walking around the show Saturday. There are of course, a lot of Labradors, many of them black, which immediately brings to mind our two wonderful Labs Baloo and Zuzu who died in 2024. My heart flutters a little when I see one, not necessarily a good flutter, but more of a “oh my, that hurts a little" flutter.

The second breed on display seems to be bulldogs, which are secretly (don't tell my women) my favorites--both English and French. I have always considered the English Bulldog to be my Spirit Animal, but increasingly have a soft spot for Frenchies. Whilst strolling yesterday, a classily dressed middle aged fellow was being led by his large English Bulldog, and I immediately asked if I could make the dog's acquaintance. I was permitted, and found him to be a hail fellow, well met. His owner did warn me though, “if you get one, just remember, it is essentially like having another child.”

When our two dogs were healthy and spry, Catherine and I would think about a future of being dogless, presumably after both had passed easily into the afterlife. We discussed the advantages of being dogless in sterile, detached terms, rambling on about the great advantages to our “pick up and go" travel life that would flow from not having to hire dog-sitters or kennel services. The those conversations--held with snoring labs at our feet--are vastly different from the lived reality. Our house is a little less lively without the pups, and we think and talk about them all the time.

We were able to pack and leave the house within 90 minutes two Thursdays ago when Catherine's aunt's hospice called, but outside of that, we have yet to frolic in the light of spontaneity. I imagine some of that may accrue once I retire fully, but I do not imagine the longing for snoring canines will abate.

UVA Sports

For those without any interest in Mr. Jefferson's University (some jealous wags in the outer electron ring of my friend group are considering starting a “Not UVA Alumni Society”, their envy burning bright) stop here and return to whatever menial labor fills your dreary life.

Women's soccer, field hockey, cross country of both genders, men's golf and soccer, and football--all are ranked. What a time to be a Wahoo.

I spent yesterday afternoon listening to my Hoos beat down some hapless West Virginia college in Men's basketball, then joined my friend for the second half of the thrashing of hated Duke in football.

You heard it here first, folks. UVA Men's Basketball will play in the Sweet 16 this year. In all my years of watching UVA hoops, I have never seen a more athletic team, and if they can continue to gel, this is going to be something special. I watched them from the floor under the basket the other night (courtesy of the magnificent Dave Burke), and I will return to those seats on December 20th for what is likely to be a tough matchup with Maryland. Stay tuned here for periodic updates.