When the old man died

Fairly recently, we reached a notable numbered anniversary for the death of my father-in-law. 

It snuck up on me, but when the realisation hit, I felt no stab of grief, nor did I feel like doing a jig.  He was the Resident Fan Boy's dad, and the grandfather of my daughters.  Elder daughter and the RFB genuinely miss him; younger daughter is too young to remember him.

I'm afraid I don't particularly miss him.  He was high maintenance, and not fond of me.  Nevertheless, I was chagrinned to find, running through my mind on a mildly disrespectful loop:  When the o-o-o-ld ma-a-an di-i-i-ed....

"My Grandfather's Clock" was a fairly regular part of my childhood.  It was a staple of so-called "songs for children" - even though, as a little girl, I found the lyrics quite creepy:  a clock that carefully measures out a man's lifetime and dies when he does?  I have a vague memory of my sister's Grade Two class singing it at assembly:  Ninety years without slumbering - tick-tock, tick-tock - His life's seconds numbering... 

Ick.

Like a lot of songs aimed at children in the late 20th century, it certainly wasn't written for children.  It occurred to me that my daughters, children of the dawn of the 21st century, may not be familiar with the song.  I have no recollection of their ever singing it.

I looked it up and discovered that: a)  the term "grandfather clock" originates with the song; and b) it was written in the 1870s by Henry Clay Work, same guy who wrote the Civil War song "Marching Through Georgia".  Work came from a Connecticut family with strong Abolitionist beliefs, and is distantly related to Frances Work, the mother of Diana, Princess of Wales.

There are probably several parodies of this, but the one I know of is "My Grandmother's Cat" by Garrison Keillor.  It seems to be carefully copyrighted, so I won't put it here, but it's possible to listen to it through Apple Music.

My late father-in-law didn't quite make it to ninety, although I think I remember a grandfather clock in the front hallway.  Don't know what became of it.

Left hanging dry

 

A map of today's jet stream

Since mid-September, I have been rather unsettled by the quality of the daylight, particularly at dawn and dusk. 

It took me some time to figure how what the problem was.  Slowly, I realized that the light really isn't odd for the time of year.  The temperature has been.

The heat hasn't been oppressive in Victoria, but it's been warm, like a temperate summer day.  

Summer.  Not autumn.

It's been warm enough that local berries have been available for more than two months later than we would normally have them.  They were late, of course.  My journals are full of comments about how cold it was in May and June.

When I walk out in the evenings, I'm startled by how soon the sun sets.  It's setting at the normal time for just past the equinox, but my skin expects the light to linger into mid-evening.  The quality of the light seems unfamiliar, because it's not accompanied by rain.  Just as I couldn't put my fleece tops away in June, I cannot yet part with my summer cottons and linens.

I gather the problem is the jet stream.  For weeks and weeks, it has been hanging in a high loop at the top of the province of British Columbia.  When we're south of the jet stream, things get warm.

Now, according to the map, which I found at netweather.tv - it's pretty nifty; it's interactive - the dangling loop of jet stream will drop below us in about ten days, at which point, things will get recognizably autumnal.  

It may be too late for the salmon, though.

Evening, and I look to the south, as I walk our neighbourhood.  The sky is a light yellow colour above the purple peaks of the Olympic Mountains across the Strait of Juan de Fuca.  It's a colour I associate with winter, but without the damp and cold.  I shiver, anyway.