Opera, who me?

My wife and I were invited by 2 of our friends to the opera this weekend.  Now I'm not a regular patron of theater unless Regal or Carmike is on the sign. I know that the opera usually calls for a modicum of class, but I have always felt that a suit and tie make me look like an ape, so I avoid them. For this little outing we found a compromise, and I wore my church clothes. My wife's take on the matter bolstered my confidence in our decision: "If its good enough for my lord and savior, it's good enough for the opera. I agreed. After a rousing morning in our church's nursery, we grabbed some lunch, dropped my daughter off with my parents, and got down to the business of culturing ourselves.

We arrived at the Tennessee Theater with the sun shining and the breeze blowing.  A beautiful day all around, so it was no trouble when our friends (who were also carrying our tickets) said they were on the interstate about 10 minutes out. As we stood there it became more apparent that this was not my scene as I beheld what can only be referred to as the geriatric adventure filing into the theater before me.  Lots of little old people, and just as many tall old people.  I waded through the scents of Oil of Olay, Bengay, Old Spice and Aqua Velva all in the course of 20 feet.  The caliber of dress was higher than I expected too.  I saw little black dresses, high heels, and sequins to my right.  Top hats, canes, suit jackets, and (I shit you not) monocles to my left.  Some of the ladies could have been movies stars on a red carpet premier. I saw a dead ringer for Jurassic Park's John Hammond.  And that monocle's owner could have doubled for Mr Peanut all the way down to the shape of his face.  Yeah, I was out of my depth here in a pale blue button down that was 1 1/2 sizes too big, Duluth firehose pants, and my Panama Jack hat.  But my wife had told me to own it, so I did.

The opera itself, Norma, had a solid and intriguing plot.  A Druid priestess, while being held as a political prisoner, gets busy with Roman commanding officer and has 2 sons. She is released with the understanding that she is to stifle any attempts from her people to rise up against Roman occupation and continuing invasion.  Her love interest makes his way to her temple years later and becomes infatuated with a newer, sportier druid.  What follows is a high class love triangle, peppered with italian yell-singing that's suitable for Jerry Springer.  Costumes, sets, and the fella who played the Druid King were all pretty dynamite.  The fact that the lights were low, the theater was cool, and italian yell-singing is strangely relaxing to me all contributed to my dozing through the 2nd half of the 1st act. 

I can appreciate the arts, and while I may always feel out of place in "polite theater," getting to spend time with friends was well worth it. Who knows, my wife and I may go see Carmen later this summer.  I just have to find a top hat and monocle by then, and we'll be all set.

Until we meet again
-Chase

That time of year again

Look up at the top of your browser where you see the address you're looking at.  "Guardian of Guedryfell" bet you're wondering about that, huh?  Now to any Game of Thrones fan, it's clear I have shamelessly ripped off the name of home of the Starks and twisted it to my own devices. Why would I do that? Some time ago, a friend of mine jokingly referred to my house as Guedryfell and the name stuck. Since buying this house nearly 6 years ago, I have been in a constant pursuit to make it better.  I am not one of those people who buys a home because it has everything I want.  I buy a home because it has most of the things I want with room for improvement.  Building, landscaping, and now this blog are my ways to relax and unwind from the other aspects of my life.

Everybody has a favorite time of year.  For some its the holidays. or summer time, or mid fall when the apples are harvested. For me it's the 1st day of yard mowing season.  It's just warm enough, there's a light breeze, and there's work to be done, but my kit's not ready yet.  I have often times envisioned myself as a blacksmith reborn, because every time I have a tool in my hand, I want it to be clean, sharp and in perfect working order. My lawnmower blade is no exception, so I strapped gloves on and set to business.  I popped the starter cord from the spark plug, unscrewed it and ran a steel brush over the threading to remove the carbon buildup. Next, I rolled the mower on its side and loosened the bolt holding the blade in place. Once in hand, I stuck a piece of red gaffer's tape on the bottom so there was no chance I would fix it back on upside down.  If you've never made this mistake, trust me when I tell you that no work gets done.

I looked the length of metal over and saw that it had its fair share of nicks from previous seasons.  I clicked the switch on my grinder and it whirred to life.  4 passes on either side was enough to even out the battle damage from 2 years of mowing, so I stopped the grinder and flipped the blade over into my vice.  This is the part where I get to feeling like I belong in a forge.  5 strokes on either side with my bastard file and the blade is looking shiny, and sharp as a butter knife.  You can laugh, but believe it or not, that's what you want.  If you go for a razor edge, it can weaken the blade.  Once all the hardware was back under the mower where it belonged, I gave the whole deck a shower of WD-40 and we were ready to rock and roll. 

For the next hour and a half I plodded over the green that is my lawn and listened for any sounds I wasn't used to hearing out of my hardware.  With the exception of a high pitched squealing each time I engaged the self drive handle, all was well. There was no impact to performance despite this, but I still need to research causes, because its unnerving even with earplugs.  As I walked, I remembered why this is my favorite time of year, it's the smell.  Not any one smell in particular, but the smell of nature as a whole.  This smell changes with the seasons, but its ever present, and its the reason I would rather be out there, then shackled to this computer. 

Go get you some nature
-Chase