Caesar Didn’t Have All the Facts

During the rule of Julius Caesar the calendar for Rome and its Empire was reformed. Prior to 45 BCE when the Julian Calendar took effect, the Roman Calendar consisted of 12 months totaling 355 days. To make up the shortfall to the solar year, an intercalary month was inserted on occasion between February and March: a mensis intercalaris.

This played havoc with scheduling sporting events, inviting folks over for supper or planning Bar Mitzvahs.

Caesar put “his people” to rectifying this situation. Calling the top Alexandrine Astronomer of the day, Sosigenes, to the task, a new calendar was designed: a regular year would be 365 days, spread into 12 months, a “leap” year added every four years in February.

But even this was not good enough! It became apparent (to those in the know) that 11 minutes were gained each year against the actual astronomical calculation of how long it took the earth to circle the sun. This meant that every 134 years a day has to be added.

Not good. The Calendar was yet again tweaked in 1582 when Pope Gregory was sitting in Rome… and the Gregorian Calendar was put in place and established our present calendar… it was also determined that the day before Ash Wednesday as the day when women bare their breasts for the cost of a few beads.

But we get ahead of ourselves… baring breasts was not on Caesar’s mind when the first contemporary calendar was put into place; but ruling the Empire was.

When were the “Rites of Spring Orgy”, when do we beat up another civilization, when is the Senate in session? You can see where a good calendar would be necessary.

But consider this… the first day of any month is known as Kalends. So… our “May Day”… the First of May, in Roman times would have been referred to as Kalends of May.

And now it gets more complicated. Depending upon the length of the month, the 5th or 7th day of the month was called Nones. And then it falls that the 15th of March, May, July and October is called Ides (in the other months Ides is on the 13th day).

Talk about confusing! Tough to run a railroad that way!

So it’s 44 BCE… and a sayer of sooths warns Julius Caesar to “Beware of the Ides of March“… and oblivious to this, Caesar goes to the Senate and Brutus does him in. The rest, as they say, is History. Rome is thrown into turmoil and historical “Monday morning quarterbacks” say that Caesar should have taken better care.

History has been unkind. Caesar had a lot on his mind.

The new calendar was only in place for a year… and who the hell can remember whether the Ides falls on the 13th or the 15th (maybe they didn’t have a nursery rhyme like 30 days hast September, etc., etc. to help them).

And what about that strange month, this mensis intercalaris, that was inserted between February and March… maybe that was still in play?

No wonder Caesar paid no heed to the warning. You know… he probably thought, “Ides of March”?? Is that when gladiators and lions report for spring training?

The way I look at it… who the hell really knew what day it was anyway? Some fancy shmancy Astronomer in Alexandria?

And this soothsayer? Where’d he come from? With all the craziness of the calendar and the days of the week, not even a Nostradamus could have predicted Caesar’s fate (this soothsayer guy called a lucky one!).

Sure… Caesar was caught off guard.

But you know what… I’m giving Caesar a pass on this.

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The Bull Session

If they were an important part of my life before Union College, I can’t remember.  But it seems to me that nearly as important as academics at college (attending classes, studying & the like) were the countless informal discussions we engaged in.

You know… bull sessions.

Sometimes it happened at Hale House over dinner, or at the Rathskellar… and more typically in our dorm rooms.  It’s wherever we were.  Ask Jock & Will… they were there, too.

There was plenty to discuss… it was an exhilarating time… A time of protest, a time of violence, a time of deep social unrest… even at Union College, tucked away in Schenectady, NY these forces did not go un-noticed.

The War in Viet Nam raged, the Democratic Party imploded in Chicago, National Guardsmen killed students in Ohio and tanks rolled on the streets of Newark.  And we talked and debated and argued… positions carefully thought, clearly prepared and articulated… or shot from the hip… on and on.

OK… let’s turn back the hands on the clock… put it to 1969 or so… Jock was there… Art, Trueblood and Roy, too.  And one evening we talked and shot the shit into the wee hours as we examined the crucial question… “Who is stronger… Mighty Mouse or Superman?

Go ahead… talk amongst yourselves…

Posted in The Ash Creek Bourbon & Conversation Corner | 4 Comments

Don’t the Police Have Something Better to Do?

Instead of trapping decent and honest citizens who might be driving a smidge too fast, the public would be better served if the police …

Dunkin Donuts will periodically introduce new flavours to their offering. How do we know they’re good? How do we know they’re safe? The police could be very useful in providing a critical review.

Flagrant misuse of the express lines at super market check-outs. It’s about time “John Law” stepped in to enforce express lane limits and eradicate this scourge.

It’s against the law to remove tags from mattresses. When was the last time your mattress was checked? It’s time for a house by house search.

Are you bothered by those nasty birds that crap on your car? Or what about those damned Canadian Geese that treat our beaches and golf courses like a private litter box? And what about this bird flu stuff? It’s time that the police take action. Shoot them all… the pigeons, the crows, the Canadian Geese & those detestable sparrows. It will help improve the line officer’s markmanship skills

See that filthy pigeon begging for food from that little kid near the park bench? Blast him! Straighten the cap, button that shirt, shine those shoes & kill that bird! That’s what we expect from our men and women in blue!

What do you think?

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The Unexpected Return

My Mother no longer mentioned him. His absence had become a routine in our lives. And as Springs turned to Summers, and then early Falls brought on harsh Winters… and one year melted to the next, his memory faded to a mirage. Did my Father really exist? Ever?

My older Sister had memories that perhaps cut deeper into her mind. But there came the time that even she kept these memories locked away for safekeeping and not to be shared… at least with me. It was our unwritten code not to bring him up.

She retreated to her piano. I, to my drawing.

*****

For our younger Sister it was harder to tell. She kept to practicing her letters. She was quite young when he was taken from us. Maybe she was the lucky one… lucky for not knowing him as well. Not to know his strength. Not to remember the depth of his voice. Not to hear his words and ideas. Not to understand the passion he possessed.

These were qualities that I could but barely taste at a young age; but would eventually develop a fuller appreciation as I added years to my life.

My Mother seemed to drift between the present and someplace else. The vacancy she felt remained largely hidden from view, although I suspect that Anna our housekeeper knew, and maybe Sasha, the fieldman, too.

It was said that few ever returned; but when Anna opened the door to the parlor that afternoon, and he walked in… I knew that my Father had returned… even if my little Sister was afraid.

Unexpected Return

In 1884 Ilya Repin finished his painting The Unexpected Return.

I saw that canvas in the Tretyakov Gallery in Moscow in 1969 and again in 1970. I absolutely adored the canvas. I loved the way the painting told a story… Repin captured the present; but it was built on the past… and it would lead to a future. Rather than words, he used a brush to weave his tale. A story of an exile returned home.

Repin was also a renown painter of portraits… his subjects read like a who’s who list of Russian Society. But it was in “story telling” that he excelled… paintings done in grand scale… each person a careful study in expression.

Of the technical merits of the painting I am not qualified to render an authoritative opinion.

I do like his use of light and shadow. And from the sensual perspective, there is something about the young girl’s attitude that sets the spirit of the painting. She is young… look how her feet dangle, how they are crossed in a youthful way… how she is leaned into the table… apprehensive of who has just entered the room. Who is this?

Look how she is in highlight, her Brother in shadow… even the Father is mostly shadow. This is her experience. She will be the one to put the story of her Father’s Siberian exile to words one day.

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