Edwin Mlekush

A few weeks ago, I ordered a $6.98 used copy of a book called Music in the Baroque Era (1947) by Manfred F. Bukofzer. It arrived today, ice cold, with copious notes scribbled in the margins. Inside the front and back covers, the original owner had signed his name, Edwin Mlekush, with striking handwriting:


His name was unique so I Googled it and found an obituary from 2002, which I've included below. WWII army vet, teacher, wilderness lover, classical music enthusiast, violinist, pianist, singer, devoted husband and family man, Edwin Mlekush also possessed cartooning abilities, examples of which appeared on pages 19, 95, and 117. You can see them after the obit.

EDWIN MLEKUSH

Edwin Mlekush, born in Red Lodge on April 12, 1917, passed away at Village Health Care Center in Missoula of natural causes on July 13. His beloved wife of 52 years, Florence, continues to be cared for at the same fine facility. For much of their married life, they enjoyed a cozy home in Frenchtown close to nature; being close to Montana's mountains and clear water trout streams was a priority for Ed. He climbed Mt. Maurice numerous times in his youth just for fun and exercise. When asked recently by a nephew where he began his ascents, he responded with Jack Benny timing and a twinkle in his eye: "Well, at the bottom".

The son of Slovenian immigrants, Anton and Josephine Mlekush, Ed attended Red Lodge schools, and graduated from Carbon County High in 1935. During World War II, he served in the U.S. Army in the South Pacific (New Guinea). After serving his country, he focused on art and music in obtaining a B.A. degree in Chicago, and later attained a Master's degree in English at the University of Montana. He subsequently taught English and music at high schools in Montana (including Roberts), California, and Germany.

Together with his wife, also a career teacher, they formed a duo dedicated to being life long learners. They complemented one another. When Florence got a personalized license plate that stated "Just Be", Ed followed suit by acquiring "Be Just".

Ed's love of music manifested in many ways, one being an immense collection of classical music albums. He sang in a men's choral group, Missoula's Mendelssohn Club, which did performance tours in Europe. When he lived and taught in the Red Lodge area, he participated in the Tamburitzan band during the Festival of Nations.

Although the violin was his first instrument, Ed pursued piano study late in life. He inspired family, friends and students to pursue music study and enjoyment as well.
Ed possessed a special talent for art in general, and cartooning in particular. His unique Christmas card creations will be missed by his family, and so will be the special sense of humor that created those cards.

He was ever looking for and creating humor even though he viewed social, political and environmental issues with a concerned and serious eye. He remained vital and engaged in the world well into his retirement years, actively supporting organizations that work to protect individual freedoms and the environment, as well as those which support music and the fine arts. He will be missed by many friends and his family.

Ed was proceeded in death by his parents and his sister, Gilda Klarich, mother of Ed's nephews Duane (Kalispell), Dave (Elizabeth; Billings) and Dean (Julie; Billings). He is survived by his wife Florence, step-daughters Jean Gray and April Gray, along with her husband Dana Smitt (McCloud,CA), Grandson Ewan Willey (Oakland, CA), and Grandson Adrian Willey (Berkley, CA), Great niece Mia Keller (Rocky; Kalispell), Great nephew Steven Klarich (Colleen; Renton, WA) and Great niece Carissa Klarich (Walla Walla, Wash.).

Cremation has occurred, and a gathering of family and friends will remember Ed on Saturday, July 23, at 7:30 p.m. at the home of Jeanne and George Lewis. The family suggests memorials be made to Common Cause or The Montana Wilderness Association.

Composers' Nicknames

Franz Joseph Haydn
Papa, for his benevolent authority, as well as for his reputation as the father of the symphony and string quartet. During the 19th century, the nickname was used to trivialize his work as that of a dusty old man. Mozart died too young to gain such a posthumous reputation. Imagine Mozart being Lennon and Haydn being McCartney, in the sense that one of them seems eternally young and vital and the other one's been around so long it's easy to forget he's the same guy who wrote 'Blackird'.

Luigi Boccherini
Haydn's Wife, a dismissive sobriquet assigned after his death, coined by violinist Giuseppe Puppo to describe the mellow charm of the composer's work. Boccherini has enjoyed increased popularity in recent years.

Antonio Vivaldi
The Red Priest, because he was a Venetian priest with red hair. Despite being an ardent Catholic, he withdrew from active priesthood only three years after his ordination, allegedly due to a chest ailment, though probably because he preferred composing. From the Dictionnaire historique des musicians:

One day, when Vivaldi was at Mass, there occurred to him a theme for a fugue. He left the altar immediately, came to his sacristy to write out his theme. Then he returned to the altar to finish his Mass. Brought before an investigation, Vivaldi was excused because he was a musician, that is to say a little mad; and was, moreover, excused from saying Mass in the future.

Inevitability

I should have known. (See previous posts 1 and 2.)

Cashew Ball Update

See earlier post.

Nothing Says Spirit Like Bacon-Fat Cashew Ball

Before trimming the Christmas tree with wife and son, I fried us up some North Country Smokehouse Applewood Smoked Bacon on the old George Foreman and watched that bacon fat run. It was the overflowing drip-tray combined with Handel's O Thou That Tellest Good Tidings to Zion that got me thinking about that squirrel (?), and how the weatherman was calling for wintry mix, and how a bit of applewood-smoked holiday cheer might be needed out back. So I poured the fat in a ramekin full of cashews and put it in the mudroom to congeal overnight. Tomorrow morning, Christmas Day comes early in the yard.

Tempos Fast to Slow

Prestissimo: extremely fast
Presto: fast
Vivo or Vivace: lively and brisk
Allegro: fast and cheerful
Allegretto: a little fast
Moderato: moderate or medium
Andante: at a walking pace
Adagio: slow; in an easy manner
Lento: very slow
Larghetto: very slow; a little broadly
Largo: broadly; very slow
Grave: extremely slow, heavy

Some of this was tricky to determine since numerous Web and print sources are in conflict, especially at the slower end. Many sources list largo at the bottom; this was true in early divisions of tempo markings, but now the appropriately named grave (GRAH-vay) is considered slowest. Largo is often placed between grave and andante, so it's kind of a ponderous walking pace, like coming home from a funeral but not feeling 100% mournful. Like maybe your friend's grandmother's funeral, assuming you weren't that close with your friend's grandmother. But honestly, comparing a bunch of the graves and largos I have lying around, it's impossible for me to tell the difference.

Aquatic Dwarfism

I have a 12-gallon freshwater aquarium with only four fish, and none of the fish are longer than an inch. Three of them are dwarf puffers, which are wee adorable vicious little buggers that require 2-3 gallons of elbow room per fish or else the infighting starts and everyone involved gets stressed. Dwarf puffers are aggressive and territorial and will supposedly take down any other fish that's added to the tank, nipping away until the bigger fish is dead and they can feast upon its carcass with their wee inquisitive eyeballs bulging from their heads.

Mine are named Washington, Jefferson, and Franklin. I had a fourth named Lincoln who died of an internal parasite over the summer. Their regular diet is bloodworms, which are actually mosquito larvae that come in little ice cubes of blood, which are thawed until you're able to feed them to the puffers with an eyedropper. It's all as bad as it sounds, but it's fun to watch the puffers sucking the worms like spaghetti, eating enormous quantities given their relative size until they can’t stuff another bite of worm into their stomachs. Now and then, Washington eats so voraciously that a worm will enter his mouth and emerge halfway out of his gill, a situation remedied by regurgitating the worm and trying again, none of which seems to faze him in the slightest.

Carnage aside, dwarf puffers are known for their congenial personalities and curious natures. Washington, Jefferson, and Franklin have gotten to know me. They swim to the front of the tank whenever I enter the room and follow my finger when I wiggle it around. Of course they know me as the Keeper of the Bloodworms, so whatever intimate bond appears to exist is strictly limited to my side of the glass. Yet it's comforting to see them paying attention, when so many other fish wouldn't care less about a human in the room.

The first question everybody asks if do they puff. The answer is sort of. When the puffers are feeling testy, especially during mating periods (Franklin is actually female, which I didn’t know until the other two matured enough to get the telltale abdominal stripe and wrinkles over the eyes that indicate a male), they fan their fins and swell around the neck. It isn't terribly dramatic, but there's no mistaking how pissed they are whenever it happens. It's always Washington and Jefferson trying to look buff around Franklin, and it usually only happens during feedings, which means that Franklin's too busy sucking down bloodworms to notice.

Dwarf puffers' eyes move independently, like those of certain lizards, so they can look in two directions simultaneously. And they sleep when it's dark, growing pale and resting on their bellies, often near a plant or on the deck of the sunken ship, and when the lights go on in the morning, it takes them five or ten minutes to liven up and get their color back.

The only fish they're known to get along with is Otocinclus, aka dwarf suckermouth catish, presumably because they look a lot like dwarf puffers in terms of size and shape and general coloration. I have one, because Otos are ravenous algae eaters and, like the puffers, need a lot room to call their own. My four-year-old son named him Otto Man Divine. I had another Otocinclus over the summer named Martin van Buren, but he died a month before Lincoln. Otto Man Divine keeps the tank spic and span, sucking algae of the glass, swabbing the deck of the ship, and keeping the halyards clear of filth. He's a conscientious worker and the puffers leave him be.

Convenient Time Saver

Self-checkout with a fifty-pound drum of arctic thaw ice melter, and it was no joke holding it up to the bar-code scanner.

Everything Not Enough

In the night, something chewed the stuffing out of our front-porch wicker furniture cushions. Perhaps, again, squirrel.

Everything

A squirrel ate the everything bagel we threw in the yard.

A Good Joke

Bessie the Cow: Knock-knock
Farmer Brown: Who's there.
Bessie the Cow: Interrupting cow.
Farmer Brown: Set still while I reach in...
Bessie the Cow: Moooooooo!
Farmer Brown: …and grab holt of that calf.
Bessie the Cow: Moooooooo!
Farmer Brown: She's comin' out backward. Hand me that chain, son.
Frightened Boy: What's gonna happen, Pa?
Farmer Brown: We're gonna have to haul that calf out by the hoof.
Bessie the Cow: Moooooooo!
Farmer Brown: Now grab holt of that chain and help me pull.
Bessie the Cow: Moooooooo!
Farmer Brown: One…two…pull!
Bessie the Cow: Moooooooo!
Farmer Brown: One…two…pull!
Bessie the Cow: Moooooooo!
Frightened Boy: I'm scared, Pa!
Farmer Brown: Pull, goddammit, pull!

An Unexpected Incident

One sunny day in late July, on a city street newly freshened by a passing rain shower, a fortyish man wearing a white suit jacket, silk socks, suspenders, and a pair of two-tone brogues grew distracted by an attractive young woman up the block. She was not at all the man's usual type, but her bust was surprisingly ample and she stood at such an angle that her left breast protruded like a partly melted gumdrop. His preoccupation was so intense that he failed to notice the yellow skin of a recently eaten, tubular fruit splayed open upon the sidewalk, its four waterproof limbs lightly beaded with drops of evaporating rain.

Eye fixed upon the unsuspecting woman's alluring curves, the heedless man stepped squarely onto the slightly tented center of the hazardous object, which was so colorful in the midday sun that he would scarcely have missed it under ordinary circumstances, and though the upturned exterior of the bright skin offered a certain degree of traction to his brogue's high-density rubber sole, the moist, slippery underside slid across the carefully maintained rectangle of smooth cement at the very instant the woman turned, and in the moment of his spectacular fall, he was so arrested by her gaze that he failed to check his balance, and was impaled upon the spike of a nearby wrought-iron fence.

The Horned Melon

The horned melon, aka African horned melon, aka African horned cucumber, aka melano, aka jelly melon, aka hedged gourd, aka English tomato, aka kiwano, originated in Africa and is renowned for its bright, peculiar appearance. This unusual oblong fruit ripens to a vivid, nearly fluorescent orange. Its shell is covered with firm, conical protrusions or "horns". It is primarily used as a decorative object or garnish, or as an exotic addition to fruit drinks or salads.

Cutting a horned melon lengthwise, one discovers an intricately woven interior filled with gelatinous green flesh and whitish seeds. Each seed is encased within its own slippery teardrop of jelly; squeezing a sliced half of the melon causes the seeds to squirm forth like embryonic pollywogs. The seeds and flesh of the horned melon are edible, with a sweet and mild flavor often likened to cucumber mixed with lemon and banana, though in this author's opinion, the jellied seeds and juice are reminiscent of a watery and not particularly flavorful grape.

The horned melon can often be spotted in exotic fruit sections of supermarkets from August to December.

A Noble Effort

"Come you men, what do you say? Let's all go on shore after the women. I will be the first that will make a break."

--Thomas Perkins, seaman on the HMS Mars, 1798, after women were not allowed onboard. He was charged with mutiny.

Kid's Corner

Don't be surprised if you see a Leprechaun hiding in your backyard! Go and ask a grown-up to kill it for you.

Interesting Fact!

People who bathe with real sponges are rubbing carcasses on their naked bodies.

North American Tree Names

Pumpkin Ash
False-Banana
American Bladdernut
Fetid Buckeye
Stinking Cedar
Devils-walkingstick
Eves-necklace
Firecracker-plant
Inkbush
Judas-tree
Old-man's-beard
Lady's Leg
Chinese Scholartree
Toothache-tree

The Wrong Way to Spell It

Definately.

Job's Coffin

Job's Coffin is technically an asterism, a recognized star pattern that is often part of one (or more than one) constellation. The Big Dipper, for example, is an asterism in the constellation Ursa Major, the Great Bear. Job's Coffin is a small, lopsided diamond in the constellation Delphinus, the Dolphin, and consists of the four stars Sualocin, Rotanev, Delta, and Gamma Delphini.

The origin of its name is unknown. Some sources point to Chapter 41 of The Book of Job, in which God asks Job if he can catch Leviathan with a hook and Job has to acknowledge that OK, well, no, of course I can't, but did you really have to kill my wife and sheep and cover me with boils, etc. Leviathan meant Whale, and Delphinus, prior to becoming the Dolphin, was seen as a whale. So there's the alleged Job/Delphinus link, which is admittedly pretty weak.

It might be useful to consider the origin of the Dolphin. One story tells of a legendary poet named Arion whose prize money was stolen at sea by his own sailors. As the sailors prepared to throw him overboard, Arion asked to sing a dirge, and his lamentation was so moving that Apollo sent a pod of dolphins to rescue him from drowning. An analogy might be drawn between Arion and Job, both of whom survived their tribulations by whining in an eloquent manner.

None of this accounts for the coffin, of course. There may in fact be no real connection between Job and Delphinus. There's no satisfactory explanation for how a dipper got lodged in the hindquarters of a bear, either.

Job's Coffin can be seen in the northern sky from summer to early autumn.

Rarely Discussed Annual Meteor Showers

Jan. 16 - Delta Cancrids
Radiant: just west of The Beehive. Avg. rate: 4 per hour. Very swift meteors.

Jan. 18 - Coma Berenicids
Radiant: near Coma star cluster. Avg. rate: 1 or 2 per hour. Extremely fast meteors at approx. 65 kps.

Mar. 22 - Camelopardalids
Radiant: ? Avg. rate: 1 per hour. Slowest meteors at 7 kps.

Apr. 15-30 - "April Fireballs"
Radiant: undefined, though often emerging from the Southeast. Avg. rate: very erratic. Spectacularly bright bolides with long trails.

June 16 - June Lyrids
Radiant: near Vega. Avg. rate: 15 per hour. Faint blue meteors.

Aug 31 - Andromedids
Radiant: near Cassiopeia. Avg. rate: 20 per hour. Occasionally dazzling; some red fireballs with trails.

Oct. 10-late Nov. - Pegasids
Radiant: near The Square. Avg. rate: 10 per hour. Used to be spectacular.

Laying Down the Lay/Lie Law

Why is this so confusing? Perhaps because the past tense of lie is lay, and both the past tense and past participle of lay is laid, and almost no one ever uses lain, the past participle of lie, and to be honest, the standard definition of participle is difficult to parse.

To clarify: we're talking about lie (to recline or be situated) as opposed to lie (fib or falsify), and lay (to put down or arrange) as opposed to lay (have sexual intercourse with).

Lie is intransitive. There's no direct object; the verb's not acting on anything. "We lie down."

Lay is transitive. It needs a direct object, something that we're going to lay. "We lay the book down."

	LIE	LAY
Present Tense	Lie	Lay
Past Tense	Lay	Laid
Past Participle	Lain	Laid
Present Participle	Lying	Laying

Cement vs. Concrete

Cement is a powder mixed with water that hardens into a stony consistency for binding stones or bricks or making things like walls and really hard floors. Concrete contains cement, along with broken stone or gravel, sand, and water, and is generally used for paving and the like.

Fear of Clowns

Q. Everyone's afraid of clowns. Should I be afraid, too?

A. There is no reason to be afraid of clowns. But clowns often carry balloons, and you should never let a balloon's pleasant aspect lull you into a false sense of security. Balloons feed on happiness, so the best and surest defense is panicked screaming.