Dinner with in-laws; another couch; September’s poem

Another dinner at Karin’s mom’s house. We watched Notre Dame lose, and then the conversation turned to how contemptible Joe Biden is and how “they” (the bad guys, i.e., the liberals) are coming after “us.”

“Personally,” McKenzie declared, “I’m looking forward to ‘the purge.’”

Karin’s mom had previously mentioned that she and her new husband intend to build a “family compound” in Kentucky.

“With whom does she expect to live in this compound?” I asked Karin.

“With all of us,” Karin sighed. “With all of her family.”

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Back at home, we have a new old couch. It was free for the taking. My parents happened to notice it while passing through Bremen, and some locals offered to haul it over to us in their truck (they were heading toward our part of South Bend, anyway). The couch is brown and plaid, and it’s from the 1980s. It looks like the furniture of Quito’s old Missionary Church Dorm.

Even more than our previous old couch, it “ties the room together.”

The cats already have peed on it.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

This month’s poem, by Rudyard Kipling, is “Recessional.”

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

God of our fathers, known of old,

Lord of our far-flung battle-line,

Beneath whose awful Hand we hold

Dominion over palm and pine –

Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,

Lest we forget – lest we forget!

The tumult and the shouting dies;

The Captains and the Kings depart:

Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice,

An humble and a contrite heart.

Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,

Lest we forget – lest we forget!

Far-called, our navies melt away;

On dune and headland sinks the fire:

Lo, all our pomp of yesterday

Is one with Nineveh and Tyre!

Judge of the Nations, spare us yet,

Lest we forget – lest we forget!

If, drunk with sight of power, we loose

Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe,

Such boastings as the Gentiles use,

Or lesser breeds without the Law –

Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,

Lest we forget – lest we forget!

For heathen heart that puts her trust

In reeking tube and iron shard,

All valiant dust that builds on dust,

And guarding, calls not Thee to guard,

For frantic boast and foolish word –

Thy mercy on Thy People, Lord!

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

(For the Diamond Jubilee of 1897)

Austin, or, rather, the Texas Hill Country, pt. 3: LBJ’s ranch

I wished to view something more “Texan” than the hipster city of Austin. And so, on Friday, Ana & David took Karin & me out into the Texas Hill Country. Our destination was the LBJ Ranch.

We drove through Dripping Springs and Johnson City, where LBJ grew up (and which was named after his cousin). That city is now a tourist town. We also passed some wineries. Onward!, I insisted. No wineries! Onward, to the ranch!

Admission to the ranch was free, but each of us was charged $3 to tour the house. Driving through the property, we saw the Pedernales River and large fields with handsome Hereford cattle. We also stopped at LBJ’s airplane hangar and viewed a short movie about the importance of the ranch to the Johnson family and the nation. LBJ spent about a quarter of his presidency on the ranch. He hosted politicians and foreign dignitaries there. (His Secret Servicemen were disguised as ranch hands.) We also listened to an airman tell stories about how LBJ would fly into the ranch at the government’s expense.

The house itself was rather plain. It had eight bedrooms, a swimming pool, and many, many phones and televisions. It was decorated in the Sixties’ style, with vinyl armchairs, lemon-yellow countertops, and popular books from the period. (I was reminded of the Missionary Church Dorm, in Quito.) The best thing in the house, however, was LBJ’s desk chair, made of spotted cowhide. Oh, how I longed to sit in that chair! Alas, it wasn’t permitted.