Dimanche sur une Mardi

What Hummingbird?

They say that if you say something in French it sounds more romantic. (Don't ask me who they are, I don't know. If I did, I'm not sure if I would be authorized to tell you.)

At any rate, I was going to post late Sunday, right after the completion of Operation Roving Nightshade*, i.e. the weekly mowin' o' the grass (which in Irish Gaelic translates to "an buaint de chuid an féar" - which looks very cool and - again - romantic).

But I had a sneak peak at Juvat's latest which I didn't want to perturb or otherwise encroach upon with mine own mundane ramblings. (Speaking of which, once Juvat mentioned how to pronounce "W0X0F" - all I could picture was Mr. Miyagi. "Wok's off, wok's on..." None of you should be surprised, you know how my mind works.)

So my prospective Sunday evening post became a Tuesday morning post, that is, Dimanche sur une Mardi, Sunday on a Tuesday. (Yup, sounds better in French.)

Now that opening photo is interesting not for what's there, but for what isn't there. The caption should give you a clue. For just as I had arrived at my little garden table with a fresh brew in hand, I spotted a hummingbird back there in those reddish (purple?) flowers. As I bobbed and weaved to keep the wee beastie in sight while I fumbled for my cellphone (always remembering not to spill my beer), I realized that all that frantic and non-natural movement might spook the little guy.

It did. He pulled pitch** and zoomed off to regions unknown.

So, no hummingbird.

But on the bright side, I had one of these in hand, which I managed not to camlic*** while fumbling for the cellphone.

Note the red flower in the background, that was intentional (how artistic of me, neh?)

I'm not sure if I've ever met a Sam Adams I didn't like, but when I first had a bottle o' the red, I was somewhat noncommittal as to my liking one way or t'other regarding this particular brew. I have since come down firmly on the "I like it" side of things. Very nice for a post grass cutting cool down session. (Yes, I have those. The warm up consists of me trying to start the mower. Which has a label on the motor "Guaranteed to Start." Sumbitch will start, just takes a while. Next mower I buy better have a label on the motor stating "Guaranteed to Start - Right Freaking Now!!" Bastid!)

I had resolved to have only a single malt beverage at the conclusion of Operation Roving Nightshade, as it was rather late on Sunday when I was done. Hadn't had dinner yet and as The Missus Herself was out and about with her Korean lady cronies, I was left to my own devices as regards sustenance.

So of course, I had another beer.

Sadly though, I was out of the red. I felt a storm brewing...

That's right, a Newport Storm. One of Little Rhody's finest brews. (And yes, I know that segue was neither smooth nor clever. But I exhausted all of my artistic powers on that red flower thing up above. Yes, indeed. Call me Captain Lame if you must. Or corny as The Nuke constantly accuses me of being. Guilty as charged Your Honor!)

Now in this picture we can see that the Sarge is happy, yet not quite ready for commercial advertisements as his fingers are partially obscuring the name of the brew. Which is Hurricane Amber Ale. Which while reddish in color and delicious in flavor, is not an Irish Red as was the first beer I consumed on Sunday. I don't mind mixing my brews, after all, we drinks what's to hand and that's that. And that's all I will say about that.

Sunflowers at Sunset
(Sigh, how poetic neh?)

And so we went forth from the vastness of our yard and back into our humble abode. There to take a shower, skip dinner and watch an episode of Deadwood. After, of course, checking that Juvat had a post in the hopper for Monday.

Obviating the need for me to continue my creative streak. That is, write a post for Monday. That would have been difficult, me having a slight buzz going on and feeling absolutely like doing nothing.

That's my existence. Exciting beyond all belief.

Or something to that effect...









*In keeping with my notion of giving commonplace household chores a catchy military code name. (No, I don't do that a lot. And if you ask nicely, I might stop. Or not.)

** A helicopter term related to pitch control (more pitch = more forward motion), means to depart the area rapidly.

*** A Lexican term, means "to spill"