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Showing posts from September, 2012

General von Tschatschke's Orders for Turn Seven. . .

General von Tschatschke issuing orders to his generals and other key officers at Neu Sittangbad, 17. February, 1772.
"Let's get down to brass tacks and issue our respective orders for the next turn, old lawn ornament," suggested General von Tschatschke to his his ailing guest, who lay motionless on the chaise with golden dragonflies embroidered onto its maroon damask upholstery in their hundreds.  

"I say de Latte," he observed, "you're looking about as verdant as that over-sized atlas on my desk over there, old garden gnome.  You know.  The one with the green Morocco leather binding."  From his position on the chaise, de Latte replied with a faint groan and, without comment, adjusted the folded handkerchief that was shading his eyes.

"De Latte!"  exclaimed von Tschatschke.  His guest did not stir.  "Very well then," he said with resignation, "I'll issue my orders first, and then we can see about yours later."  A sec…

Sound the Charge. . .

"I say, von Tschatschke?" began General de Latte in a rare moment of quiet reflection some minutes after his Gallic fire dance around the drawing room.

"Yes, old birdbath?  What is it?" answered his opponent and leaned forward over the table to hear better.  De Latte continued.  

"I say, do you think that with all of this smoking and drinking and what-not that we are putting our health at risk?  What would the good Herr Doktor von Oettker, your personal physician, have to say on the matter?"

"Nonsense, nonsense!" blustered von Tschatschke.  And von Oettker?  Knowing that old goat, he'd probably offer some of his best tobacco and schnapps after a heavy evening meal and advise us to continue enjoying life to the utmost and follow with an invitation to join him at the card table for a game of Snap.  And were we  to complain of trouble sleeping afterwards, I'm quite sure he would write us prescriptions for tranquilizers to boot!  Just the sort …

Coming Tomorrow: The Cavalry Chaaaarrrrggggeeee!

Be sure to tune again tomorrow (Sunday, September 23rd) for the first cavalry charge of the Neu Sittangbad game when General von Tschatschke's Anspach-Beyreuth Cuirassiers charge headlong toward the flank of General de Latte's Ermland Garde. . .  right after a few minor adjustments to the effects of their musketry are factored in of course!

Don't try this at home, kids!

Chap?  Cad?  Bounder?  Rogue?  Scallywag?  Or just mimicry of the late Alistair Cooke at the start of Masterpiece Theatre?  You be the judge.
The Young Master and I both opted for "country colors" and autumnal tones this morning.  While the Grand Duchess is especially proud of his improvised Space Needle -- after the one in Seattle, Washington U.S.A. where his maternal grandparents live -- that he built himself, the same cannot be said of her reaction to my vintage Magee Donegal tweed sports jacket.  It seems the poor Grand Duchess has an irrational fear of patterned menswear.  I ask you, where is the humanity??!!
We might, just might, have a budding sculptor or artist in our midst.  The Young Master has recently started to demonstrate surprising and interesting vision in his drawings and improvised structures.  Definitely one of the more fascinating facets of parenting to observe.

All That Jazz. . .

Featured on the frightfully over-the-top mannequin in the above photograph is a Pendleton lightweight wool tweed jacket, Zanella wool flannel trousers, and a wool necktie by Pride of Wales while the shirt is a Land's End 'original oxford' all-cotton buttondown, and the shoes are vintage Florsheim 'long-wing' brogues.  No more caffeine for him today, folks!  Hmmm. . .  The jacket sleeves need to be just a wee bit shorter I think.  Not enough cuff showing. 
Whenever I spy one of my undergraduates drifting off to sleep during class, I stop and give 'em the jazz hands.  Guaranteed, they'll never, ever, EVER do it again.  Believe it, or not, this was one of the things we learned about classroom management in a semester-long pedagogy seminar back in graduate school about a dozen years ago.  That, or I was once an extra in the chorus line for a production of Gypsy



And not to be outdone, here's the Grand Duchess in her reprise of the final moments of Pavlova …

Fire away, old sport!

General von Tschatschke's regiment of cuirassiers takes five hits from General de Latte's Irish Grenzers and Ermland Garde.  Let's listen in below to hear how the rest of the turn went. . .
"Well, de Latte.  Shall we commence firing off our musket-armed troops, or what?" asked General von Tscatschke with a slightly inebriated flourish of his left hand.

"What?  What? " replied General de Latte, somewhat nonplussed before regaining his composure and concentration.  "Oh, yes, yes.  Off course.  I'll go first, shall I?"

"Wouldn't have it any other way, old ramrod.  Fire away!" intoned von Tschatschke with all of the cool he could muster.

"Very well, then.  Let's see.  On actually re-reading the firing rules just now. . .  My O'Malleys Irish Grenzers will fire at the Cuirassiers! About 10 within range are there? Thus, I roll a 4. Halved for firing at cavalry. That means two hits.  So, I'll have two casualties off you …

"Von Tschatschke? I say, von Tschatschke? Wake up, old man!"

"Von Tschatschke?  Wake up!  There's a considerable lot happening on the battlefield, old fruit bowl.  Take a look at the central part of the table.  Much maneuvering has happened while you've been sleeping it off," chortled General de Latte as he helped himself to another round of his host's best brandy.

From his side of the table, von Tschatschke rubbed his temple and tried to focus his bleary eyes.  How long had he been out? "Is it true, de Latte?" he asked through the fog,  "It looks like my lone gun and crew are within 31 inches of your Flickenhoffer Fusiliers."

 "Indeed, old passion fruit," said de Latte with a polite chuckle as he checked his watch and replaced it in his waistcoat pocket, "however it looks like my cavalry is almost within place around Eispicke Village."

General von Tschatschke, his wits once more about him, retorted, "Yes, but my newly based Jaeger zu Fuss in Eispicke Village are within just a few …

A Snippet of Conversation before the Hunt. . .

The Grand Duke Irwin-Amadeus II and his ever-faithful English manservant Hives have been invited to spend a long weekend at the country home of Count Georg von Kleidsamke in the north of Stollen.  An anglophile of the first order, von Kleidsamke has even organized  a traditional English foxhunt.  Frustratingly, heavy rains have delayed the start of the hunt this morning, and its numerous participants, all dressed up with no place to go, have been kept waiting beneath every available eave and doorway near the main horse barn on the von Kleidsamke estate.  Let's join the Grand Duke and Hives now as they kill time before the rains let up, and the hunt can begin in earnest.


Irwin-Amadeus (removes clay pipe from his mouth and smacks lips loudly): Oh, I say Hives, that was some breakfast old von Kleidsamke laid on this morning.  Eggs, bangers, mash, kidneys, toast, tea, and copious amounts of thick-cut orange marmalade.  A feast fit for a king!

Hives (winces at the lip-smacking): It was a…