matching tracksuits

fun in threes, sometimes fours

Yellow

It's been a couple of years since we've had a yellow jacket infestation. For a few years, we had one or two nests just about every summer, and taking care of them became a simple process: a few gallons of boiling water around ten in the evening, when they're all bedded down in their nest, and no more problem.

This year, though, one hive made its home under the slab that supports our heat pump. If it were a concrete slab, I might consider the water method again, but it's some strange concrete/foam "slab" that is just a little bigger than the unit itself. The thought of pouring water into that area, possibly destabilizing the whole unit -- not a good thought. The other hive has made its home within a bush: it's impossible to pour the water through the bush to make a good clean shot.

So today, I went by a DIY pest control place, bought some Talstar and Evergreen Pyrethrum Dust and let them have it.

I hit the nest under the heat pump while it was still daylight: I turned the nozzle on my sprayer so it was a fast, fat stream, stood back about ten feet, and sprayed into the opening for a good ten to fifteen seconds. I went back ten minutes later and did it again. After ten more minutes, I hit them a third time. Then a fourth time.

By then, there were yellowjackets everywhere, all rolling around on the ground, all struggling through their last moments.

It's a strange moment: on the one hand, I feel a little bad for the guys. There they are, just doing what instinct has trained them to do. They're breeding, raising young, defending them when necessary. On the other hand, they're assholes. It doesn't take much to get them riled up, and with two kids, two cats, and a dog around, it's not a chance I'm willing to take.

Still, I can't help but feel a little like Ender...

Dinner

Volleyball

The Polish men’s team won the world championship today; the Girl is working to reach that level.

Last Couple of Days

First Sunday of Autumn

Scout Almost-Campout

The idea behind a campout is that we take a temporary home with us, setting it up in a forest and staying there for a night or two. Without that little element, it's a day trip.

But what if you forget something? No, not the tent. The tent arrived with us safe and sound in the trunk. Along with the sleeping bags, air mattresses, camera, water-and-snack bag, shoes, Class A uniform, and cell phone. What didn't make it? Our backpack filled with clothes. And toiletries. And flashlights.

K called just as we were crossing into North Carolina.

"Where are you?"

"We're still on our way, just crossing into North Carolina."

A long pause.

"Because you forgot the backpack with everything in it."

I'd so meticulously packed everything, taking care to plan for all eventualities -- long sleeves for sleeping, a jacket for the morning, extra contact lenses for me, extra everything -- and double-checking that I had everything. And then I didn't double-check that I had everything in the car.

We made plans: perhaps friends were coming and they could bring the bag. Nope, not this year. Perhaps the den leader knew of someone who was coming later and they could bring the bag that K would take over to them. Nope. In the end, we decided to wait a few hours and see. If the Boy wanted to stay, K and I could meet halfway, making it only an hour-and-a-half round trip for both of us. If not, we'd just go home after the evening's bonfire.

As often happens, the Boy was reticent to engage with the other boys at first. He clung to my side for the first half hour or so. Eventually, he joined in.

It's a common theme for the Boy. He likes to watch from the periphery for a while, check out what's going on, see who's who. I think he gets it from me. K just dives in -- she's one of the most socially fearless people I've ever met. I'm a bit more cautious, and whether by example or genetics, the Boy has gotten that from me.

Once he felt comfortable, once he joined in with a couple of boys from his den, I didn't see him all that much during the free play times. He was a totally transformed boy, and his chattiness and silliness took hold, for once he's figured out the what's going on, he chats with everyone. He used to chat with players on the opposing soccer team during games, for heaven's sake, so perhaps he's a mix of K and me.

After games, we went for a den hike. Four boys from the den were there, four fathers as well, along with a big sister.

Mr. B, the den master, taught the kids about a few plants and trees, helped them find insects, discussed the possibility of fish living in the pond we were walking beside, and explained to the boys what was on tap for the evening.

"In the evening, we'll be having a flag retirement ceremony and a little variety show," Mr. B explained. "We'll have to prepare a skit for tonight's show."

I'd already talked to the Boy about the flag ceremony. Last year he'd been disturbed by the fact that the scouts were burning flags.

This year, we talked about it several times before the event, so he was not nearly as worried. This year was different as well because there were so many flags for retirement that every scout received a flag to put on the fire.

After the ceremony and the skit, the Boy and I headed home.

"I definitely need a shower when we get home," E proclaimed, but I knew with an hour and a half trip ahead of us, there was little chance of him being awake when we got there. And indeed, by the time we were ten minutes out, he was fast asleep.

Friday Soccer

Homework

Conspiracy Theories

From Anne Applebaum’s latest article in The Atlantic:

The emotional appeal of a conspiracy theory is in its simplicity. It explains away complex phenomena, accounts for chance and accidents, offers the believer the satisfying sense of having special, privileged access to the truth. But—once again—separating the appeal of conspiracy from the ways it affects the careers of those who promote it is very difficult. For those who become the one-party state’s gatekeepers, for those who repeat and promote the official conspiracy theories, acceptance of these simple explanations also brings another reward: power. (Source)

The conspiracy theories swirling around in Poland right now about who was responsible for the disaster at Smolensk includes thought Jews were somehow responsible, that the Russians did it, that the previous administration — kind of like the deep state conspiracy theory in the States — was responsible don’t at first appear similar to the conspiracy theories in the States like birtherism, Pizzagate, and the malicious omnipotence of George Soros. But Applebaum’s article points out some frightening similarities in the central commonality of all these conspiracy theories: the politicians who encourage and spread them do so as part of a mechanism to solidify power.

It’s been happening in Poland for some time now, and Applebaum’s article draws some parallels with how such thinking developed in Poland and led to an unquestioned leaning away from democracy. Both countries have experienced a demonization of the press, with our own president going so far as to call it the enemy of the people. A free press is only the enemy of someone with totalitarian aspirations, someone who looks at demagogues admiringly. Both countries are incredibly polarized with differing definitions even of the truth. Civil discussion has become all but impossible for many, and the article discusses how these political differences have divided and broken families. I’m sure it’s happened here in the States as well.

The article is worth a read.

Scout Meeting