Also the girdled wives and girlfriends, which brings back some interesting memories I won’t mention (this is a family blog). This was back when women used hairspray but men didn’t. Instead, for us, it was grease or oil—Brylcreem or Vitalis, as I recall. Awful stuff, really, even the smell.

Supposedly, according to the show, throwing trash on the ground was also common. I don’t recall doing that, expect for one item. Pulling over to the side of the road to dump the car’s ashtray. How many times did I do that? Too many to count. Shameless behavior, truly.

Have discovered in these violin lessons that it’s as much a matter of muscles in shoulder, neck and arms getting used to the preferred playing posture as anything else. Mine ache. Also the fingers of my fingerboard hand (left) are almost too short for good play, and the work-arounds are contorting.

I got a squeeze ball to try and build up strength in those fingers, the stubbiness being (obviously) unsolvable. My intonation (bowing) is the bright spot, so far. Very nice sound, especially now that I know how to tune. Strange instrument to learn, the violin. I see why it is recommended for kids to start so young. Their muscles are untried and can be molded easier.

Mrs. C. played viola in school, and we’ve talked about that, but my interest really grew when Mr. B. began playing the clarinet at the start of this school year. I’ve been helping teach him to read music and the sound of him playing everything from Ode to Joy to the Theme from Star Wars gave me the bug again. And I’ve also discovered the clarinet and violin are often paired.

Course having YouTube around is a great incentive: free intro lessons into the violin’s peculiar issues, and multiple chances to watch amateurs and professionals play what I think is going to be a very challenging instrument, indeed. Plus there’s the Violin Lab, part of Blackerby Violin Shop, the outfit I rented from. Adds up to enough instruction to make learning on my own feasible, if not necessarily successful. Have to wait and see about that.

Well, that’s part of her job in the Democrat media, to draw such conclusions about politicians, particularly Republican ones.

I watched the video and thought how amusing. He froze. So what? How many times has that happened to me? Too many to remember them all. Besides, if I have to listen to another meandering Obamalot speech where he says nothing much in a preachy way, and then contradicts himself, usually the very next day… Well.

I’m still for Rick as the best of the bunch, certainly better than Robot Romney or even Cain, who I also like, never mind his bimbo eruptions.

But as economist Thomas Sowell says of Cain: the White House is not for on-the-job-training, as the current resident has demonstrated so well, ruining our economy, and lowering our position in the world.

As for Rick, well, the country could use some honest Texas Aggie humor for a change: Gig ‘em!

PJ Media CEO Roger L. Simon suggests bagging the rest of these dog and pony shows. What a great idea. Of course he also wants Rick to quit in favor of Cain, Romney and Gingrich. But, hey, nobody’s perfect.

A (so far) small swarm of them are clustering on the tile surround, just above the water line which makes using the pool worrisome, as you have to stay away from that part and the bees hovering around it.

Seems they are gathering water to cool the hive. Which is not surprising since it was 103 F today and has been in the triple digits for more than a week now. Apparently the nectar gathering which nature programs bees for has been interrupted by the dry, hot spring leading to fewer flowers than usual.

Mrs. Charm is experimenting with the advice here of creating a separate water source for the bees and gradually moving it farther and farther from the pool. If that doesn’t work, we’ll skip green and go for the insecticide with a bug bomb. But that might only force them to move to another part and gradually drive us from the pool as well.

Part of the sheet rock ceiling in the garage fell in last night, bombarding Mrs. C.’s car. No damage to the car, fortunately. She and Mr. B. left an hour ago on their planned Houston weekend. The AC core coil unit’s evaporation pan (above the sheet rock) apparently is rusted through and leaking pretty bad. Soaked the sheet rock real good.

The AC guy, who is busy these days of unexpected April heat, says he can clean the pan of rust and spread epoxy across it. If that doesn’t work, it’ll be time to replace the core coil unit, pan and all. Several thousand bucks, for sure. So, natch, I’m going with the stop gap. But I’ll wait until it’s all  settled before I fix the ceiling.

Nice thing about the ceiling collapse is that when/if (probably, according to a Google search) the leak resumes, it will do so into the garage so we’ll know it’s happening and not be surprised again.

Meanwhile, it’s a balmy Texas spring day here at the rancho. Sans AC. I’ll just pretend it’s the 1940s. Wonder how the Berlin Airlift is going? Have to wait for the radio news to find out.

UPDATE:  The bozo never showed up. Finally got an estimate from him this Saturday morning. Less than I thought, just $1,275. Feeling vindictive, however, I went with an outfit that installs the brand, even though they want $300 more and can’t do it until Monday.

But I’m not a good air traveler. I plan to sleep most of the way or keep my nose in the Kindle until the battery gives out. Then, if the electric plug at the seat doesn’t work for a recharge, I’ll switch to a paperback.

For once I may take interior photos of the aircraft, assuming that’s allowed anymore. I’ll find out. Fortunately, it will not be the usual cattle car, or aluminum cigar, I’m used to, but a wide-body Boeing 777-200. It seats nine abreast in economy with two aisles.

Still a two-holer, however, which seems awfully bold for such a long flight over an ocean. The first time I flew east over the Atlantic (or any ocean for that matter) was in 1950 when I was six years old. The aircraft was a four-engine Air Force C-54 Skymaster, with my pilot father on the flight deck. The second time was in 1961 aboard a Boeing 707 commercial jet, but it also had four engines.

So I’ll try to keep my mind on other things beside those two big kerosene burners out there, only one on each of the 777′s slender wings. Until I get to Tel Aviv and meet my good pen friend Snoopy-the-Goon in the arrivals hall.

I’ll do customs in English, so there’s no slipups. Then I ‘ll try out my new Hebrew language pronunciation on Snoopy and live with his groans and make the necessary corrections. I’ll email Mr. B. and Mrs. C. so they know all is okay. Who knows? I may even post a few things here at the Scribbler from Yerushalayim, Masada, or the Golan, when I have a minute. Certrainly will as the week goes on.

Otherwise, I’ll be taking a break here (except for reprising some oldies but goodies) until early April when I return to what Gen. Robert E. Lee once called the Paradise of the Texans. Have a nice spring. Hope the wildflowers are abundant where you are. Shalom and adios.

She was aptly called a “five-foot fireball” by journalism and political friends in her several obits. The angels will care for her now.