David Bouchier

bug insect
Image by Vivoreanu Laurentiu from Pixabay

June is National Pest Control Month, but July and August are National Pest Out-of-Control Months, when we live in a state of siege. There are screens on all the doors and windows, plus electronic zappers, citron candles and closets full of chemical sprays. But the bugs love our hospitality so much that nothing will keep them away.

stick shift car
Image by jaredfromspace at Pixabay

One of the inescapable traumas of life in the suburbs is the need, occasionally, to buy a new car. I say “occasionally” because experience has taught me that, whatever the advertisers try to tell us, cars last a long time if treated right. But the day must come eventually and, recently, we set out to visit some car dealerships, an activity that, in terms of fun, is right up there with root canals and High School productions of the Sound of Music.

David Bouchier: After Virtue

Jul 5, 2021
Image by Lynn Melchiori from Pixabay

The Founding Fathers seem distant and mysterious to us, not just because of time but because their education and their whole view of history was so profoundly different. All the Founding Fathers except Washington were educated at small colleges like William and Mary or Dartmouth, where the main business of education was to teach the classics – Greek and Roman history, literature and to some extent philosophy. Roman history in particular provided a vivid model of what a democratic republic had once become, and how the rise of the emperors in the first century BC destroyed it. The Founders were obsessed with this great historical drama. The architectural legacy of their fascination with Rome can be seen very clearly in Washington, D.C. London and Paris don’t look like ancient Rome. Even Rome doesn’t look like ancient Rome. But Washington, D.C., does.

Image by Fulvio Tognon from Pixabay

My clothes tend to lag behind the seasons, and it is only when July looms on the horizon that I start exploring my wardrobe for something more appropriate. This is always an unrewarding task because, in my mind, winter is always just coming or just going.

old stuff junk
Image by Gerhard Bogner from Pixabay

One of my daily walks took me past an old barn. The door was usually open, summer and winter, and there was a workbench inside where an elderly gentleman in overalls was working with hand tools rather than power tools. This in itself was wonderfully old- fashioned, and I always wondered what he was doing there, busy every day. I should have walked up to the barn and asked, but I was embarrassed to do it because he seemed so absorbed in his task, and I left it too late. One day he was gone, and the barn stood empty, or so I thought.