Lake Thaws (mostly): Rainy, Gray, Warm and Thunder

A Chautauqua Gray Spring Morning

A southerly wind has created the weather pattern, or so it seems, of heavy rains (predicted) for the next day or two.  On late Tuesday, we get back to the north winds, and the possibility of snow flurries.  Overnight, the edge water on the lake refroze, so it's going to be awhile before the entire lake melts.  No walks in the woods today, just a workout at the Turner Center, a good day to sit inside and finish my surfer/PI book.  Tonight, the NCAA finals come on at 9:00.  For some reason, I am not that interested, either from having watched too much before, Ohio State lost, or I have little invested in the two teams.  I would love to see Butler win, as most people would.  We all sympathize with the David's against the Goliath's.  Butler will have to thwart UConn's offensive power and shoot well to win.

We seem to be moving towards painting our downstairs over the next week or two, as Sherwin Williams paint has a great deal on Friday, 40% off all paints for a day.  So, we will have to decide on a color as well as a carpet by then if we want to move ahead.  It's hell making a decision on things like paint and carpet color.  I like having it bright and sunny in our house, so we are not going for anything dark, something light with a hint of gold perhaps.

Unusually wet and warm this afternoon, as our side yard looks like a pond.  We worked out this morning at the Turner Center, Evie on the elliptical and I shot hoops, rowed, used the treadmill, and stretched a bit.  We both took showers there and felt great afterwards.  Right now Evie is making a chicken dish with fennel, mushrooms, chicken and noodles.  It sounds good.  It's been gray all day but seems a bit lighter right now, not quite as hard a  gray as before when we heard thunder.  And the lake shows its first signs of melting, as I can see lots of open water areas off to the south of our yard.  Kayaking cannot be too far away.

Waiting for the Rain and Thunderstorms

Another beautiful morning but later today, it's going to cloud up, warm up, with rain and possible thunderstorms tonight or tomorrow, despite the fact that the lake still mostly frozen and their are snow banks around most driveways.  We hope to walk the CI this morning, taking advantage of the sun, perhaps work in the yard a bit as it's supposed to get up to 47 today, almost 60 tomorrow, then possibly snow again on Tuesday, the vagaries of April weather.

Sunrises Are Never The Same

We really enjoyed our Greek stew or stifado last night, which is very close to my other favorite, Turkish tas kebab; the stifado has a few more spices and veggies.  We watched both basketball games last night and I had mixed emotions, as I really didn't know who to cheer for in either game.  I was surprised Kentucky lost because they looked so good beating Ohio State but they didn't play their best and when that happens, you often lose.  I would love to see Butler win tomorrow, like 90 % of Americans but UConn has the horses, Butler the heart and persistence.  The horses win most of the time; let's hope tomorrow is one of those times where they don't.

We walked at CI for over an hour, cool going north, warm coming back.  The lake is unfrozen along the shore, but out ten or 15 feet, its still frozen, a huge expense of ice, which may not last much longer.  It began to cloud up as we walked and the sun and  blue sky have given way to gray but no rain yet.

A cloudy afternoon, as I sit here on my couch, sipping my Turkish tea, eating a lemon square and reading Don Winslow's THE DAWN PATROL, about a surfer PI in San Diego.  Like his previous book THE SAVAGES, there's lots of cool guys, violence, and sex though I have not gotten that far yet but it's coming as Boone Daniel has just been hired by the very hot Petra to find a missing women.  Why is it always a women?  Boone surfs early each morning with a crew of old high school buddies, each an original.

It's now 5:30, and I sit here with a mannie, was large snow flakes mixed with  rain fall on our lawn.  What bizarre weather we have here at the lake. It's 43 degrees outside yet we can see the flakes.

PISTOL: THE LIFE OF PETE MARAVICH

I cannot remember who told me about this being a good book, but I did enjoy it.  It reads like a Greek tragedy, almost like Oedipus Rex, except that Pete doesn't kill the domineering father and ends up reconciling with him toward Press's (the father) death.   It some ways it's the story of how not to raise a son, living through him, though that is pretty hard to do as we all want our sons and daughters to be successful.  Press was an immigrant Serb's son, who  grew up a stone's throw from the steel mill in Alliquippa, PA, a tough nut to say the least.  Basketball saved him, helped him stay out of the mills and when his career ended, he ended up coaching both in high school and college and, of course, young Pete was always to be found on the basketball court, working on his skills, developing his magic with the ball, a prodigy by the time he was eight, wowing players and adults alike.  Press couldn't coach Pete in high school, though he sat in the stands every game and even though Pete might score 45 points that night, Press would take apart his son's game after each game, telling him what he should have done better, rarely if ever praising him, the tough love of that generation.  Pete eventually rebelled, of course, and his father, when he coached him in college at LSU, had a set of rules for Pete (none) and another set for the others.  His love for his son blinded him to just about anything else.  Unfortunately, the pressure he put on Pete, the pressure of expectation, the gift of his  game, all contributed to making Pete a miserable person, an alcoholic from high school on, unhappy, with few friends, perhaps what we might diagnose today as bipolar.  His college career was legendary, averaging 44 points a game for three years but his teams never won a championship.  Where ever LSU played, the fans came out to see him dazzle with 'showtime', most could care less who won the game.  They came to see Pete, which pretty much describes his career: he was the show, the team secondary, never really winning much, either in college or the pros.  He struggled as a pro his first year or two, partly because his contract was resented by the players and he had a tough time fitting in. By his third year, he was leading the league in scoring and making the all star team, but from then on, it was a struggle, as injuries, nagging back, and of course his dissolute life style hurt his game.  He was a fanatic, even crazy, at times, believing in flying saucers, that Armageddon was coming, and he always had a new obsession, vegetarianism, organic food, yoga, whatever was the flavor of the day.  All were attempts to fill a void in his life  but none did.  Basketball certainly never seemed like fun because of the pressures he felt, right from the start, to be perfect, to win all, to set records, to placate his father first, then fans, and teammates.  Many remarked how he never smiled, ever, when he played.  He eventually retired early, found God, was born again and literally changed his life for the best.  Christianity became his crutch, but he became a devout father and husband, helped others, set up camps for the poor, and for the last years of his life, he seemed at peace with himself.  He reconciled with his father, literally took care of him, as he was dying from prostate cancer, and seemed ready to become a Baptist phenom, speaking at churches, halls, moving people with his words the way he did on the court.  In 1988, the Rev. James Dobson asked him to come to LA to give a talk, but because he was a basketball nut, Dodson set up a scrimmage for Peter and a few others, though Pete did not really want to play.  Dodson sounds like the kind of little guy who always wants to win, compete, at whatever age, and will undercut you if need be to win at game, even a pick up game like this.  The group scrimmaged for a bit, Pete went over for a drink of water with buddies, and keeled over, dying of a heart attack.  Later, they were to find that he had a heart deformity, only one of the two arteries led to his heart.  It was a wonder he lived beyond the age of twenty with this problem let alone into his 40's.  Like most people, both Pete and his Dad had their strengths but also their demons, a result of their upbringings and genes.  Both were amazingly single minded in whatever they did.  For Press, it was basketball, for Pete basketball for awhile, then other things, and finally God.

I played for press in the Aloha Classic in Hawaii in 1969 and remember him well, especially his 'nutty wife', screaming from the stands during the game.  Press was fairly normal as a coach I thought but this was not much of coaching job for him.  I did find out that his wife had her demons as well, was depressed, alcoholic, and committed suicide in the early 70's by putting a pistol to her head.  It does read like a Greek tragedy.

Sunny April Saturday

April Morning on Frozen Lake

Another surprisingly bright morning, lots of sun, shimmery frozen lake, just below freezing though snow flurries are expected later in the day or tonight.  We have get outside and take advantage of the sun rather than sitting around wasting time on my computer.  Evie's up making stifado for tonight, a Greek beef stew with various spices, red wine vinegar, and tomatoes.  I remember really liking it in Greece because it was different from the typical American stew of potatoes and carrots.  We'll see.  We are going to Lakewood this morning, to stop at paint store, Evie will hit Old Navy and I will pick up my bike which I was having tuned up for the season.  I just read an article in the paper about the bike shop.  It sponsors a bike club of over 200 people, one of the largest in the state.  I assume them compete against other bike clubs but wonder how it's done with 200 people participating.

I took a great walk yesterday afternoon, down the lake's edge almost to Giarizzo's, then up their road to the new house beyond the pillared Chestnut Hill house, then I headed into the woods and walked all the way back through the woods, ending up at the Woodlawn Road. From Chestnut Hill, I could look up the lake towards Mayville and also noticed a a huge crack in the lake  across to Long Point, barely visible from our house.  One of the sounds of the past few days has been the lake cracking, a resounding sound like a bowling ball being dropped.  It was fun to bush wack through the woods, filled with leaves, downed trees, various brooks or ponds, some amazing pine forests, as well as the typical trees.  There was less snow than I expected, mostly a mat of leaves, snow only in crevices untouched by the sun.  I did not notice any green shoots yet, as spring has not arrived in the forest except for the melting of a blanket of snow.

We watched FAIR PLAY last night, the Varlerie Plame story, about the White House's manipulating of Saddam's non existent nuclear program, its scare tactics, which led us in to Iraq.  It seemed more like a documentary then a movie, perhaps because we knew most of the facts.  I would give it a 2 1/2 stars, perhaps just 2.  It does not make you any more confident about the integrity of the government officials.  They seem to do what they want and twist facts or make them up to justify their actions.  I wonder how Obama's people are twisting facts to justify our incursion in to Libya.  I did cringe during his speech on Monday when he used various euphemisms to explain his actions.

Just returned from a one and a half hour walk through the woods of Long Point.  It was a beautiful sunny day, many of the paths just leaves though just as many had a three or four inch pad of snow.  Nothing in the trees, just buds beginning to swell.  We were sweaty back in the far eastern corner, but as we moved to the lake, to the pavilion, it was chilly because of the wind.  Then, once we got down to the boat launch, the Long Point peninsula protected us from the wind, so it warmed up.  The water on either side of the bridge is open for perhaps a 1/4 to a 1/2 of mile and we did see one lonely boat out fishing, the first of the year.  A couple of neighbors are up, a sign of spring, no doubt, as it's supposed to warm up tomorrow though rain, of course.

April Comes the Day

April flurries

Snowflakes on Rhododendrons

A slight dusting of snow, panes of water iced over in our yard and drive way, the sounds of different birds if I listen carefully, the sun rising just about due East(an hour earlier than a month ago, two with DST), I think, a few shoots of daffodils and day lilies, a purple crocus or two on a walk, all herald the coming of spring here at the lake, a bit later then our families to the east and west I assume.  Partly because of our elevation, 1300 feet above sea level, and we are farther north than any of our kids.  As I mentioned earlier, spring moves up a mountain about 100 feet a day, which means spring might come 13 days later to us then to those at sea level at a similar latitude.

We watched STRANGER THAN FICTION last night (me for the third time), Will Ferrell's best movie in my estimation.  He's the perfect poor soul, living the life of an automaton, an IRS agent who lives by the clock, almost each tick at a time.  The only problem is that he does not know it until a woman's voice begins to narrate his life in his head.  At first, he does not understand what is happening but gradually he begins to understand this is his life.  As he begins to change, he seeks more understanding and, if you suspend disbelief, he finds he is a character in a famous novelist's book, and she intends to kill him off at the end.  As a result of this consciousness of his life, he begins to change, finding love in a bakery, leaving his job, living more spontaneously, and seeking out the writer to save his life.  It's about how we live or don't live our lives and he's charming as his Maggie Gyllenhad, his girl friend.  This movie spoke to me, about how many live lives of 'quiet desperation,' as Thoreau put it and wake up too late to this fact.  The originality of the script, perhaps silly until you see the movie, the great sound track, the performance of Ferrell as Harold Crick, make this a movie worth seeing again.

Dinner was one of my favorites, chicken picata, with lemon juice, slices of lemon, white wine, and capers, with lightly dusted chicken breasts and a salad with avocados topped the meal.

We worked out at Turner for an hour; I shot hoops, stretched, and went on the treadmill, while Evie stayed on the elliptical for the entire time.  We then both took showers, just like in high school and college, after our workouts to see how we liked a communal shower.  It actually felt good, great showers, free towels, and few if anyone around.  It may become a habit!

Snow Fall Last Night

We went to the Viking Club last night for cubans and a beer and on the way home, it was already sleeting a bit.  We woke up this morning to a wet snow on the trees, some on the lawn, the temperature just about freezing.  We hadn't been to the Viking Club since last fall, so we thought we better make use of our dues.  We ended up sitting at the bar, talking with a couple who come their often; they live in Jamestown, he's a bus driver for CARTS and she works in the city offices, as well as moonlights at Bon Ton.  The entire time he (Tony) played the lottery game, one dollar a tickets and you can win up to 75.00 if you have the right ticket.  While we were there, he probably won about 150 though he must have spent close to that much to win his money.  It seems to be the thing at every private club we have been to, the Rod and Gun, Viking and the Vets.  People sure don't mind losing money for a good cause, I guess.

I went to breakfast with Charley Heinz this morning; he had stats he put together about each NCAA basketball team, their  graduation rate, how they  compare, which is interesting.  Needless to say, Kentucky and UConn seem to be at the bottom for graduation rates.  We then went to Westfield Hospital, for Evie's mammogram, much less people traffic then Jamestown and only five or ten minutes farther.  We then worked out at Turner for an hour and are now home, heating up the other half of my cuban from last night for lunch.  It's still gray outside, lots of fog on our drive north to Westfield, a bit over the lake as I write.

SAVAGES: DON WINSLOW

I had never heard of Don Winslow, though he has written a number of books, a couple even made into movies.  Supposedly, this novel is already in the makings.  It got pretty good reviews in the Times so I decided to try it and I admit to devouring it.  Who wouldn't with it's cool trio of protagonists, lots of violence and mucho sex.  It's current and hip, with language and setting.  Two guys, Ben and Chonny, one an idealist and follower of Buddha, the other, Chonny an ex Navy Seal have combined to grow and sell the best marijuana in Southern California.  Ben is the mellow giver, often off with his drug money to help the world, either in Africa or Asia.  Chonny thinks Ben is nuts and sees the world much differently: we are all savages.  Needless to say, conflicts arise when a Mexican drug cartel wants to take over their market.  How this is done involves the young, nubile, and sexually liberated Ophelia, O for short, who is both Chonny and Ben's lover.  They don't seem to mind nor does she.  Needless to say, Ben ends up having to see the world through the eyes of Chonny, that people are ultimately cruel and to survive you must be cruel and violent as well.  Lots of killings, violent and brutal, a kidnapping, innocent people being hurt, all combine to make this a quick read.  You do end up liking all three major characters, hating the evil Mexican drug cartel, it's cool San Diego lawyers, the various 'low lifes' that carry out the orders.  In the end, all seem to get what they deserve.