Gratuitous Post-American Birthday Random

July 6, 2026 in A Glass of Wine With You!, Huntin' Fishin' and Shootin', Literary Musings, O! Tempora and So-Forth, Uncategorized, What Would Basil Fawlty Do? | 2 comments

Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

I hope all you friends of the decanter had a wonderful America 250th birthday celebration. Personally, Ol’ Robbo was delighted to see that, weather and other issues notwithstanding, the celebration in Your Nation’s Capital turned out to be a resounding success.

Myself? Well, Ol’ Robbo overdid it with the yardwork in preparation for hosting Port Swiller Manor’s own modest festivities, what with the awful local heat and humidity, and have been out on my back as a result the last day or two. But it was worth it.

So! What else to report?

Well, the biggest nooz is that Middle Gel went out this weekend and bought herself a pistol, a Smith & Wesson short that she herself jokes is not much more than a pellet gun, but that she thinks is a good starter. Good on her! (Ol’ Robbo has been advocating the idea for some years that the Gels should arm themselves for self-protection. Typical that Middle should be the one to actually do it first.) She’s also put in an application for concealed carry, so evidently, she means biznay. Yuuss!

(Funny that Ol’ Robbo himself started shooting when he was seven y.o. Classic .22 single-shot rifle aimed at tin cans on fence posts, graduating up to prepping for deer hunting the next year with my little Remington .222 and then shotguns after duck a few years later. In all this time, I’ve never fired a handgun, nor do I have any of my own ordinance at the moment. And Middle Gel sent me a video of herself blazing away at the range with her Young Gentleman’s .45. Also, said Y.G. firing off his AR-15. Boo-yah!)

Meanwhile, in his recovery from heat-prostration, Ol’ Robbo found his hand lying on a book on his shelf he’d never read before: Eye of the Storm: A Civil War Odessey, by Private Robert Knox Sneden. I can’t even remember when or why this volume wound up on my shelves, but here we are. Sneden started out in a volunteer New York regiment but was quickly recognized for his cartographic skills and assigned to the general staff of the 3rd Corp, Army of the Potomac, as a map-maker. He was closely involved in Geoge McClellan’s ill-fated Peninsular Campaign and later was transferred with that part of the 3rd Corp that got tangled up in the disastrous Second Battle of Manassas. After a turn in the Washington defenses, he was later reassigned to the Army of the Potomac and was captured by John Singleton Mosby during the Mine Run Campaign of late 1863. After a stint in the Richmond chokey, Sneden was sent to Andersonville Prison, of which conditions his eyewitness testimony is truly blood-curdling, even without the usual 19th Century floridity of style, which is absent from his accounts. Also, the man had a talent for sketching and illustrating, and his renditions accompanying this book are most illuminating.

Civil War nerds among you friends of the decanter, take note: This is well worth the read.

What else? Whelp, this afternoon Ol’ Robbo observed his first hummingbird at the feeder. Plus, this last week or two I’ve seen bats flittering about over the Port Swiller Manor back yard. So, all is good. All is good.

God Bless America! – UPDATED – and AGAIN!

July 4, 2026 in A Glass of Wine With You!, Historickal Musings, Musickal Musings, O! Tempora and So-Forth, Roman Catholic Boys for Art | 1 comment

Greetings, my fellow port swillers and Happy 250th to these United States! (Ol’ Robbo can’t spell semisesqui-whatever it is.)

Dragging around the neighborhood with Decanter Dog, Ol’ Robbo observes some festive decorations on houses where I wouldn’t normally expect them. Just heard the first firework of the day, too. Yes, the spirit is still alive.

I guess the Communists suddenly coming out of the shadows and revealing themselves for what they are only makes Ol’ Robbo that much more appreciative of what this Nation has achieved over its history. Perfect? Of course not. Room for improvement? Always. But bad, evil, worthless, horrible, deserving of complete overthrow and destruction of the ideals on which she was founded? Get stuffed.

Ol’ Robbo may be indulging in Pollyannaism here, but I like to think that the majority of ordinary Americans still feel the same way, and that such outbursts will galvanize them into tossing these rat-bastards into the politickal outer darkness where there is wailing and gnashing of teeth. I certainly hope so.

In the meanwhile, pray charge your glasses, all. Here’s to the United States of America with three times three and no heeltaps! HUZZAY! HUZZAY! HUZZAY!

(And here’s to the next 250!)

Founding Father UPDATE: Ol’ Robbo meant to mention that he is intrigued by the prospect of the new Young George M.F. Washington movie. Will it be a true treatment? Or a revisionist nightmare? I suppose we’ll find out soon enough. Cool battle scenes in the trailer, though. (Ol’ George was one lucky bastard when it came to combat.)

Anyhoo, the Former Llama Military Correspondent and his lovely and talented bride have their tickets purchased, so Ol’ Robbo will hear about it shortly. I’d be curious what other friends of the decanter will make of it.

UPDATE DEUX: Pork is in the oven and Ol’ Robbo is listening to a lot of Sousa. Yup, in the mood definitely. And if that’s not enough, speaking of Ol’ George above, my cousin just emailed to remind us that two of our ancestors, brothers, served in Washington’s army during the Revolution, one as a private and the other as a teamster. (We believe another ancestor also served, as he left a Revolutionary War pension application. Sa-LUTE!!)

Too Darn Hot

July 3, 2026 in A Glass of Wine With You!, A Stroll In The Gardens, Historickal Musings, O! Tempora and So-Forth, Root, Root, Root For The Home Team!, What Would Basil Fawlty Do? | Leave a comment

Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Yes, I’m sure all you friends of the decanter know by now of the nasty heatwave that has much of the East, including the Port Swiller Manor neighborhood, firmly in its grip. (We’ve been spoiled the last few years in not suffering much from them, but this one has us dead to rights.) Ol’ Robbo had his mower fired up at 7 ack emma this morning in order to get the yard done before things got intolerable but managed to give himself a touch of heat-exhaustion anyway.

At least Ol’ Robbo had the sense to decide firmly that there is no way in the world he will stand over an outdoor grill for the little Independence Day gathering we are hosting tomorrow. Instead, I decided to go with pulled pork, fried chicken (made by my local grocery story, it’s really quite tasty), and mac-cheese. Whelp, I just finished marinating the pork and shoving it in the fridge for the night, so really, I’m all set to go.

I’ve noticed that various localities round here are cancelling their parades on account of the heat and humidity, and I can’t really say that I blame them. On that note, Ol’ Robbo fears that the weather will also damper attendance at the Great American State Fair going on down on the Dee Cee Mall (in fact, I see there are some delays there, too). This would be a real pity, not only for those who are planning to attend, but also because the thing seems to have become a focal point of venom, spite, and derision for those Hard-Left Jacobins who not only insist on politicizing everything (Orange Man Bad!) but now seem to have dropped the facade of claiming they only want to make this Nation better, and are now openly calling for its destruction in its current form. Any perception of the Fair being a flop will only encourage them in their poisonous mouthings. (Yes, these people make Ol’ Robbo sick.)

But ne’er mind. Hopefully it will all work out and a lot of good folks will have a very good time. (By the bye, Ol’ Robbo got to watch the Air Force Thunderbirds practicing their buzzing of the Mall yesterday from his 9th floor office. They came circling round in a steep dive so near my building that it rattled the window. Very cool.)

On that note, friends of the decanter may be puzzled that Ol’ Robbo seemed to have abandoned his Gettysburg day-by-day started below. Well, I came to the conclusion that I don’t have anything to say at the moment that I haven’t said before. But as I staggered along behind the mower this morning, I found myself reflecting that the weather around there in 1863 was very much like it is here today and allowing my mind to boggle over the idea of marching and fighting in a heavy wool uniform under such conditions. Granted, most folks back then were a good deal tougher than most of us pampered moderns, but still. My great-great grandfather, who fought in the Atlanta Campaign, died quite young. Family tradition says it was exhaustion from his war experience. Ol’ Robbo wouldn’t be at all surprised.

On the First Day

July 1, 2026 in A Glass of Wine With You!, Historickal Musings, Literary Musings | Leave a comment

Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

On this day in 1863, the Battle of Gettysburg commenced owing to the decisions on the ground of Union Generals John Buford (cavalry) and John Reynolds (infantry) to challenge Lee’s invasion of the North there and then at that place.

Much is said now about Lee operating in the blind because Jeb Stuart and his cavalry were out of position, but less is said about the fact that George Meade (commanding the Army of the Potomac), and his subordinates including Buford and Reynolds had a pretty good idea of where the Confederate Army was through an impressive intelligence system, and the best places to confront it.

Anyhoo, Ol’ Robbo has long felt that General Abner Doubleday (yeah, the Baseball Guy) doesn’t get enough credit for his skillful defense against A.P. Hill’s advance from the west on this day after Reynolds was killed, only to be flanked in the afternoon by Dick Ewell coming down out of the north and overwhelming O.O. Howard on the Union right. (At least Howard had the foresight to occupy Cemetery Hill south of the town before things got out of hand.)

BTW, in commemoration of the anniversary, Ol’ Robbo is rereading Stephen Sears’ account of the battle. I started the other day with a quick review of the start of Lee’s northern invasion which actually began in early June and am now proceeding in real-time. I must say again, if I hadn’t before, that I consider Sears to be a premiere Civil War author, at least for the Eastern Theater, and highly enjoy his books on the Peninsular Campaign, Antietam, and Chancellorsville. (That he shares Ol’ Robbo’s disdain for George “Little Mac” McClellan and his defense of “Fighting Joe” Hooker’s actions at Chancellorsville has nothing to do with it. Nope. Nothing. Nada. Move along.)

Well, upward and onward. Ol’ Robbo plans to perhaps add observations about the ins and outs of the next two days of battle, but prolly only to emphasize aspects that I believe don’t get enough airing in modern popular depiction. (See the movie Gettysburg, which is hobbled by the novel on which it is based by Michael Shaara, who himself stated bluntly that he wasn’t writing a history of the battle, only a story of some of the major characters in it.)

And on this note, Ol’ Robbo must admit again what he said in reply to Sleepy Beth’s comment on the post below: For all my jabbering about visiting Gettysburg over the years here, I’ve never actually done so, even though it’s not much more than an hour and a half’s drive from Port Swiller Manor. I always find myself too busy or too tired or both to do so. Plus, Ol’ Robbo is haunted by the idea that Gettysburg, given the size of the battlefield, is not just one of those places to which one “goes” spontaneously. There must be planning. There must be purpose. There must be direction. There must be waypoints! (Otherwise, I won’t do it.)

Yarp, armchair general, that’s Ol’ Robbo.

In Which Robbo Likes Ike, By George!

June 29, 2026 in A Glass of Wine With You!, Historickal Musings, Roman Catholic Boys for Art | 2 comments

Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

This past weekend, Ol’ Robbo’s brother and parts of his family descended on Your Nation’s Capital to do the festive: My eldest niece sat in on last Thursday’s SCOTUS decision day; brother’s fam and parts of my own did the White House tour Saturday morning; they also took in the Great American Fair (or whatever it’s called) down the National Mall that afternoon; and they wandered round Arlington Cemetery and the Lincoln and Jefferson Memorials on Sunday. Good times. (Ol’ Robbo missed all the safari, being exhausted with work and having seen most of it already himself in my 30-odd years of living in the neighborhood, but I provided some very righteous barbeque meals here at Port Swiller Manor for the crew, so it all balanced out.)

Anyhoo, the point is that my brother’s family appearance also provoked my elderly first cousin (once removed), family archivist and genealogist extraordinaire, to come in from her home in the Shenandoah Valley to partake in the revels. As is her wont, she arrived bearing gifts, sometimes more, sometimes less appreciated.

This time, said gift was very much appreciated.

Here’s a thing: Ol’ Robbo was completely unaware that Dwight Eisenhower (like Churchill) was an amateur painting enthusiast and loved to while away his snatches of leisure time dabbling with the brush. (Frankly, I thought he was only interested in golf.)

Whelp, not only was Ike pretty good at it, he went so far as to present prints of some of his works as presents to his White House staff. Specifically, for Christmas 1954, he gave his folks copies of his portrait of George Washingon after Gilbert Stuart:

Granted, not the work of genius, but perfectly amateur-grade competent and it’s IKE, for Heven’s sake!

Anyhoo, Ol’ Robbo’s cousin’s father (my great-uncle), after serving in Naval Intelligence in WWII, wound up in Ike’s White House as an economist, and was the recipient of one of these prints. She handed it on to me this weekend in celebration of our Great Nation’s 250th. (It’s even got the Presidential Seal stamped on the paper on the backside.)

Sharp-eyed regular friends of the decanter will know that Ol’ Robbo doesn’t much like his cousin for various generational, cultural, personal, and ideological reasons I won’t bother to rehash here, but I’m bound to admit (and told her earnestly) that this was a truly awesome gift, and it will hang in a place of honour in Port Swiller Manor as soon as Ol’ Robbo can figgah out where. (And also find the time to find a nail and my hammer).

Saaaaa-LUTE!!!

On the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

June 26, 2026 in A Glass of Wine With You!, Historickal Musings, O! Tempora and So-Forth, What Would Basil Fawlty Do? | 3 comments

Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

No, Ol’ Robbo’s gels are all out of school and earning their own ways, but the Lovely and Talented Sleepy Beth’s post today about the logistics of packing her own elder off to college makes me smile nostalgically.

Honestly, Ol’ Robbo no longer remembers much about his own collegiate transfer from the South Texas of his misspent yoot to the People’s Glorious Soviet of Middletown, CT back in the early 80’s, except that it involved a genuine footlocker that we had to pick up at the local Greyhound station (which, by the bye, I still have, and in which we now keep the Christmas Tree decorations), plus supplemental trips to whatever the local Sears-equivalent was in those days for whatever we decided was needed on the ground.**

I do remember the more recent drill through which we went in getting the Gels off to school in the latter half of the 2010’s, and I remember specifically thinking that some marketing genius had done their homework: Bed, Bath, & Beyond had, Ol’ Robbo thought, the perfect system. They’d researched all the individual schools’ recommendations about what to bring (bed dimensions and all that sort of thing) and set it up so that you could print out a school-specific “basic wants” list at home, buy the stuff at your local store, and then pick it up at the store closets to your lil’ darlins’ campus.

Yes, Mrs. R and Ol’ Robbo availed themselves of this service. Also, for the Elder Gels’ grad school.*** Eh, okay, path of least resistance and all that, but why not?

With such a racket, it amazed Ol’ Robbo to read a few years ago that BB&B went belly-up. I understand, though, that they’re now getting back into the biznay.

Good luck.

But Ol’ Robbo is glad he needn’t have to haul such things, or more importantly pay for them, himself anymore.

Nest exit? Why it’s right over there……

** As a matter of record, in August of 1988, Ol’ Robbo bought a clock-radio at the local equivalent (of which he also can’t remember the name) for his first-year law school digs at Washington & He Who Must Not Be Named University. It sits on my bedside table to this day, jerking me out of the dreamful on those (increasingly rare) mornings when I don’t wake up before its alarum.

*** Yes, for those of you keeping up, both Elder Gels have Masters’ Degrees. Youngest is holding herself in from considering post-graduate work, if any, until her Young Gentleman’s biznay plans (including potential relocation) solidify. (Given the circumstances and potential costs, Ol’ Robbo thinks this infinitely prudent, especially as we’ve made clear that none of the Gels gets a dime out of us for grad school.)

Random Commuter Observation

June 24, 2026 in A Glass of Wine With You!, O! Tempora and So-Forth, What Would Basil Fawlty Do? | 2 comments

Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

At his time of life, Ol’ Robbo has a general rule that he does not exert himself unnecessarily in his commuter routine to conform to the Metro schedule. So, I miss the one that just pulled in at my inbound station and will be gone before I can catch it? Eh, I have to catch the next one and am a few minutes late into the office as a result? Oi, I should care.

*shrugs*

But getting home can sometimes be a different matter. Because priorities, I suppose.

Long story short, Ol’ Robbo had every reason this afternoon, after an exhausting day dealing with discovery responses (about which, as every legal shark friend of the decanter will know what I’m talking about) to ensure that he caught a homeward-bound train quam celerrime.

Hearing said train coming into my station, I went so far as to sprint up the escalator.

Yes, I caught it (the train, I mean). And got home to Port Swiller Manor as a result perhaps five or ten minutes earlier.

But as Ol’ Robbo types this, his knees are still saying, loudly, “REALLY?”

Well, yeah, sometimes really.

In the Mood **

June 23, 2026 in A Glass of Wine With You!, Historickal Musings, Musickal Musings, O! Tempora and So-Forth | 4 comments

Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Ol’ Robbo admits that he had started to become rayther concerned earlier this year that the United States’ landmark 250th birthday was going to be, somehow, snuffed out, buried, and even vilified by what I will go ahead and call the forces hell-bent (literally) on destroying our country’s signal position as a light of hope for the future of Humanity and replacing it with some Jacobin-Utopian hell that, as History teaches, inevitably would involve the mass slaughter of undesirables and the enslavement of their remnant to the Greater Good as dictated by Our Betters. There just didn’t seem to be that much spark, that much optimism. ***

Ya know? I’m beginning to get the feel that such concerns may be unwarranted, and that, astonishling even amongst at least some of the folks round the Port Swiller Manor neighborhood, such concerns may have been unwarranted. Ol’ Robbo is starting to see American flags spontaneously planted in random places. He’s starting to see and overhear conversations about looking forward to the big birthday bash. I can’t give other concrete facts as evidence, yet I have a feeling that Ol’ Robbo is not wrong in measuring the temperature.

And that makes Ol’ Robbo very happy. God bless America! Perfect? Of course not! What could be, given Man’s inherent flaws? But name Ol’ Robbo a better, actual arrangement. And show your math. I’ll wait.

Yeah, Ol’ Robbo didn’t think so.

** A good tune. Any opinions out there about Glenn Miller vs. Benny Goodman? If this is not a useless apples and oranges comparison?

***Heck, Ol’ Robbo is old enough to remember the Bicentennial, and even then, in the face of politickal turmoil and uncertainty, I remember the Country coming together. Heck, it even got Jiimeh Carter elected as a good-ol-boy outsider centrist that fall, Gawd help us. (Ol’ Robbo wasn’t eligible to vote until twelve years later, when he helped The Gipper crush Mondale. No doubt who was America First in that one!)

“I Was in The Pool!” ***

June 22, 2026 in A Glass of Wine With You!, Historickal Musings, Musickal Musings, O! Tempora and So-Forth | 1 comment

Greetings, my fellow port swillers and happy Summer Solstice!

Here we go round again, as the fellah once sang. It’s prolly a marker of Ol’ Robbo getting older, but I actually find myself (at least now – ask me again in August) dreading summah less than I do wintah these days, despite the fact that, as long-time friends of the decanter will know, I used to rave to the opposite effect.

Ah, tempus fugit. If Ol’ Robbo ever starts posting here about the advantages of moving to Flahruduh, kill me. Kill me dead.

Anyhoo, Ol’ Robbo doesn’t dabble much in politicks here over the decanter these days, but I must say that I am thoroughly disgusted by the stories that people are vandalizing the recent restorations and upgrades to the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool here in Your Nation’s Capital, apparently all because Orange Man Bad.

For Heaven’s sake. This is not principled poltickal opposition, this is toddler-grade temper tantrum. Why should Ol’ Robbo give it any legitimacy? Why should any sane person?

However, I prolly wouldn’t even have mentioned it except for a post I saw over to the Puppy-Blender’s today reporting a claim (and apparently some sort of justification for said vandalism) by Whoopi Goldberg to the effect that said Bad Orange Man was the vandal in overhauling said Reflective Pool because said pool “never had algae before.” (Without watching the clip, Ol’ Robbo supposes her argument is that the Pool didn’t need restoration, and that said BOM’s justifications for doing so was pretextual. For felonious showboating purposes. Or sumpin’. I guess. Gawd.)

At any rate, yes…except no. Ol’ Robbo can speak to this point from personal experience. For many years, until his office switched into new digs deep into tiger country, Ol’ Robbo worked a few blocks off the National Mall and used to take his lunchtime walk on it which included a loop round the Reflecting Pool in front of the Grant Memorial at its eastern end.

I lerved that walk. At the Pool, I kept up a keen interest in the seasonal cycles, including the geese on the ice in mid-wintah, the annual hatches and growth of generations of ducklings, the appearances of the swifts to go after the bugs, and other natural phenomena. In short, I was in tune with the place.

So, every now and again, Ol’ Robbo noticed the algae in said Pool getting out of hand. At its worst, it was pretty disgusting. And every couple years, when the bottom and sides became overgrown, I saw with my own eyes the draining and scraping of said Pool to clean it all out.

Ol’ Robbo can’t believe that what he personally witnessed at the east end of the Mall wasn’t the same situation at the west end.

So….there. Whoopi’s claim is, how shall I put it delicately, complete nonsense.

You friends of the decanter may have other opinions about the wider politickal issues, and welcome to them. But do please give Ol’ Robbo some credit on this particular point, since in this instance I happen to have direct, personal knowledge.

And the vandalism remains nothing more than toddler temper-tantruming.

*** Spot the quote. And shut up.

Saturday Garden and Sundry Post – Admiral Akbar Ed. – Updated!

June 20, 2026 in A Glass of Wine With You!, A Stroll In The Gardens, What Would Basil Fawlty Do? | 1 comment

Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Ol’ Robbo continues to revel in the delightfully cool weather we’ve had in the Port Swiller Manor neighborhood (most of) the past few weeks, although I confess we are beginning to get rayther seriously short on rainfall. It makes my Saturday morning yard chores all that more tolerable. (Funny, I mention our anniversary below: Ol’ Robbo distinctly recalls that the thermometer hit triple digits in Central Virginny on our wedding day and thanking Providence at the time that we had abandoned our initial plans to hold our reception outside.)

On another note, work proceeds apace on the basement Reconquista and I don’t doubt that Ol’ Robbo will be requested and required to get painting in very short order.

Yesterday, they laid down the tile in the bathroom, and today they’re back to fill in the grouting. A little while ago, our guy called upstairs.

“Is your wife around?” he asked when I came down.

“No, she’s just left.”

“Oh, well see she said she wants me to use this grey grout on the bathroom floor, but really, I think the white one would be better. What should I do?

We looked at each other and then both burst into laughter: IT’S A TRAP!!

After considering a moment, I said, “You’re right, go with the white.”

(He was, too. The tile is a sort of off-white faux marble. Grey grouting would stand out too much.)

“Okay, two to one, man. Two to one!” he said.

We both laughed again.

Good times. And Ol’ Robbo hopes they stay that way.

UPDATE: Success! Ol’ Robbo explained his grout decision quickly and candidly, and Mrs. R didn’t bat an eye. Ol’ Akbar fell back to get tangled up with the Imperial Fleet, but sometimes one just has to charge the Death Star point blank.

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