A brief look at August

His imagination resembled the wings of an ostrich. It enabled him to run, though not to soar.
Thomas Babbington, 1st Baron Macaulay

It seems as if it was only 41 days ago that I found myself thrilled by summer’s grand entrance to the Northern Hemisphere. It probably feels that way for the simple reason that it was only 41 days ago. I yearn now for the carefree feeling of early summer. Life’s opportunities lazily stretched out all the way to the horizon. It was summer, there wasn’t much to be done, and we had all the time in the world to do it in. Now Labor Day has suddenly appeared, dead ahead, we have all sail set and there is a following sea as we careen towards the rocks at summer’s end. Upon re-reading that last sentence, it strikes me that I have absolutely no idea what it all means. I rather liked the way it sounded, however, and I thought I would throw it in. I think it sorta kinda maybe gets across the idea that we are nearing the end of summer, already! It really does not seem fair at all and if I could just remember where I put the warranty card, I would write a strongly worded letter to Life’s customer service department, even if it has been outsourced to Tierra Del Feugo or Mumbai.

On the 1st, in 1966, Charles Whitman decided to spend the day in the University of Texas’ library tower. Due to Whitman’s decision to do this, a new catch phrase entered the lexicon: ‘We’ll never get him out of the tower.’ I must caution you however: This is a dandy phrase that comes in handy in many situations but, should you decide to use it, you must never, ever use it with out first checking to see if any members of the victims’ families will hear you say it. Had I known that those people lost their sense of humor the instant Whitman opened fire, I might have restrained myself from using the phrase at a dinner party my parents held shortly after the shootings. My witty comment, needless to say, was not really appreciated.

Fall River is a charming village in Massachusetts, or at least it was in 1892. On the 4th, Lizzie Borden, a 32 year-old woman, arrived back at her home and discovered that her father, Andrew Jackson Borden, had been murdered in an extraordinarily brutal manner. Her mother was nowhere to be found. After absorbing the shock of her gruesome discovery, the young lady did what anyone in her position would do: she called for the maid to help her find her mother. Lizzie’s mother, Sarah Morse Borden, was found in the house, in a condition quite similar to her father. Lizzie Borden, at the age of 32, had become an orphan. I think that everyone is familiar with that cute little song about Lizzie. Actually, however, her mother was whacked 18 times, not 40 and her father only 10 times, not 41. Contrary to popular belief, Lizzie was tried for the murders but was acquitted on June 20, 1893, after the jury had deliberated for only 68 minutes.