The Out Basket

In which Green Bay provides some good news

2007-05-20T19:32:00.000-06:00

My co-worker is getting the car this trip, and since I got into Green Bay about 7 hours before he did, if I was going to get groceries it was by people power.

I came to Green Bay with a check in my pocket that needed to make it into my checking account this weekend. It's the upper-midwest, where US Bank is based. I figured that I'd not have any trouble finding a US Bank, and the good news is that there is one on the corner about a block from my hotel. Check deposited.

But wait, there's more. I don't think I've ever used my Yellowstone card in ATM before. I had to memorize my PIN, which meant that I had to get my PIN before leaving the house this morning. And when I punched it into the ATM, I had the option of my account or the joint account! Very cool! What's more, the receipt gave me an accounting of how much money the Yellowstone card had donated to the Yellowstone Foundation. I am so impressed.

Moving along on my walk to the grocery store. I was amused that the ladies at the hotel's front desk thought it was too far to walk. Well, it was, once I was laden with groceries. But the trip over there was a good walk, and it went past a garden center, which had tall bearded irises on one of the benches out front.

Like a moth to the flame, I had to go look. And they have Before the Storm, one of the iris that I've been wanting. And Batik. I'm trying to figure out how to get them home. I suppose I could just wait till summer and order them, but where's the fun in that?

Next to the garden center is a cemetery, established in the 1860s. Had I known that was there, I might not have slept this afternoon, and gone photographing cemetery art instead. There are four more evenings in Green Bay, after all. And maybe the light will be better later this week. Looking at the map, I see that the Catholic cemetery is a block or two south of the hotel as well. This is gonna be good.

It's gone.

2007-05-17T11:34:00.000-06:00

Here's a picture of my grandparents' house. It's the white rubble in the picture on the corner just to the right of the grain elevator. I have drawn a circle around it.

It's taken me awhile to blog about it - it was really a blow to me. Greensburg KS is kinda like my ancestral home. Both of my grandparents were born there. (You're looking at their families' farmsteads at the top of the picture.) We went there every summer for family reunions. I have a lot of family there - great aunts and uncles; second-, third- and beyond-cousins. Thankfully, no Unruhs or Koehns were on the list of the dead - at least not the last time I checked.

My memories - as recently as last summer - are of tree-lined streets; of the hospital where my eye was stitched up after the cousins' dog bit me at a reunion; of the nursing home where we said goodbye to Grandpa for the last time; of the house, both different and the same as the Grandma's and Grandpa's house of my childhood; of the Big Well where Grandpa bought me the Kansas plate; the water tower now crumpled; the Senior Center where their 75th anniversary party was held. (I still have the pack of sunflower seeds with their picture on the front.) Pictures of the town show that what I remember is all gone.

All that is left for me are my pictures from Greensburg and my memories.

In which Evan picks it up and starts over

2007-05-17T10:57:00.000-06:00

I have the only child who falls off a bike when he's walking it. I suppose he tripped over it, but still....

We rode bikes to school today for the first time. His training wheels are too high, and he's wobbly. Turning corners is often a disaster. And this morning I failed to put pads and helmet on him on the way out. Of course, the tight turn in the park spelled disaster. He did OK - only a scrape on the back of his calf. And he got back on the bike. As he was rolling down the sidewalk, he told me how much he loved riding bikes to school together.

We had just arrived at school and dismounted (school rule: no riding on school grounds), when he tripped over his bike and went down again. It's not going to curb his enthusiasm. We can learn something from five-year-olds.

In which I am missing something

2007-04-09T11:52:00.000-06:00

I guess I was a pretty boring kid. Never broke a bone, didn't loose any digits or teeth. Well, not until I had to have braces. I still have my appendix and my tonsils. Didn't have any alterations during my c-section.

But at my physical last month, the PA noticed that I have a mole on my shoulder. Not that this is remarkable; I have more of the little buggers than I'd prefer. But this one was was weird - odd shape, not well-defined. And she said that it had to go. So on Friday I went in to the doctor's office.

I suppose my lack of experience with medical things makes me approach these things with trepidation. I took Chris as my support. He's good at it; he's got lots of practice.

After the area was deadened, the PA took a divet out of my arm which contained the mole. It's off to the lab for analysis. I'm left with a 3/8" hole in my arm. I haven't had a lot of pain, and so it's good.

Chris took "before" and "after" pictures. I'll post them eventually.

In which the Summer of Harry Potter is almost upon us

2007-03-28T10:36:00.000-06:00

If the reader will kindly direct one's attention to the right, a countdown to some very exciting dates will be apparent. This of course means that there will soon be a flurry of sewing and planning to be done.

It's bittersweet of course - the culmination of the saga is also the end, and HP fans will miss the reading, the parties, the anticipation. Perhaps the merchandising wizards will come up with something to maintain the buzz. I'm not hopeful, just cynical.

It's exciting, yes, but also a lot of work. It begins with cleaning up my studio. The winter has pretty much featured hiding away things on my worktables which more rightfully belong in cabinets. And there is much lint, dust, and etc. to clean up. Much of the fabric on the shelves needs laundering.

But not until next month.

In which we have a family day

2007-03-12T10:02:00.000-06:00

Evan, Dad and Mom planned a Family day on Sunday. It went (pretty) well.

We started out by telling him that we were going to surprise him with the day's activities.

We went for lunch at Sweet Tomatoes, and then to the nearby Putt Putt course. It is a nice one, near the intersection of I-25 and I-470. I was really impressed. Nice landscaping, cool challenges. The guy behind the counter was very accommodating. The cost was steeper than I'd remembered Putt Putt, but playing both courses is a substantial discount over playing one. And so it was a good value after all.

Chris loves Putt Putt - he played it a lot in high school and had considered going pro. I think he really loved being able to introduce his kid to the game.

Evan needs a lot of coaching, however.

The first course (there are two) held Evan's attention pretty well, but then he kinda got wild and crazy on the second course. But he had a great time, and wants to go again. We had told him that there was a second surprise. The funny thing was that he had whined about wanting to go to Club 4 Kids as we'd gone by on the way to lunch - Club 4 Kids was the next surprise!

A surprise that didn't go so well.

Club 4 Kids is a drop-in child care place near the house. We buy chunks of time for when we want to have a dinner out without parental duties, or a movie that's not Evan's speed. He loves going. And we thought we'd drop him off for the afternoon. But no - they were closed. He was devastated, sobbing in the back seat. Poor kid. So Dad rented him a kid's movie instead, and he got that as his "kid's time" for the day.

Still, a pretty good family day. We'll have to do that again.

In which Christmas is finally over

2007-03-10T15:38:00.000-07:00

For those readers living in the Denver area, or who have been keeping up on Denver weather this winter, you can probably understand how we got to mid-March without getting the Christmas lights from the front of the house taken down.

We're not alone.

The neighborhoods that have (and enforce) covenants in the Denver area are beside themselves. The rules are that holiday lights must removed by a certain date, usually January 31. This of course would have been impossible with our snowy January. Enforcing the deadline would have exposed the neighborhood associations to quite a few lawsuits as rule-abiding folks slipped off the snowy roofs that have characterized most of the weekends since Christmas. They pretty much gave up.

So here we are; March 10. Chris got up on the roof (Melanie being somewhat wimpy about heights),. Melanie rolled, rolled, and rolled up strings of lights. Evan picked up plastic clips for a penny-a-clip reward.

The house looks rather plain.

In which I assure the gentle reader

2007-03-02T14:45:00.000-07:00

I suspect that folks have been wondering at the lack of posts lately. Rest assured that I am still alive, but dealing with some overwhelming life issues. No worries, mate!

In which it turns froggy

2007-01-25T15:05:00.000-07:00

I flew into Seattle on Sunday for my current assignment in Pasco, WA.

It's not that I couldn't have flown into Pasco - there is an airport. However, flying to Pacso doubled the cost. I would have arrived later due to changing airplanes in Spokane, or Portland, or Seattle. And, worst, Pasco service is pretty much limited to Dash 8 turboprops. I'm not inclined to fly on a turboprop ever again.

All in all, driving seemed like a better plan. I would have liked to leave Seattle something before I did, but the flight was delayed for an hour and a half out of Denver due the the fifth snowstorm in as many weeks. The drive through the Cascades was fabulous, if rather dim due to the hour. The snow piled on the roadside was reminiscent of home.

Pasco is in the middle of one of the most fertile agricultural regions of the US. Unfortunately, it's also desert. The Bureau of Reclamation, not to be deterred, has dammed up damned near every mile of the Columbia River to meet the "needs" of the agricultural community. The river defines the city limits between Pasco and Kennewick, and since my hotel is in Kennewick, I cross the river via the "Blue" bridge into Pasco ever morning. Here the river is fat, widened into Lake Wallula by the MacNary dam (a Corps of Engineers project) about 37 miles downstream from here.

The "Blue" bridge was built in the early 50's and retains that vintage style. The north-bound approach leaves the driver in the left lane, so you can't really see much of the panorama. Southbound is much better; you can look right over the edge to the northwest, down into the lake-side parks. On clear days (there's been only one so far) the mountains to the west and south of the Tri Cities are visible. The ridge to the south has a large wind farm perched atop it.

Yesterday dawned clear and sunny, but cold. The frost was thick enough on the windshield that I had to sit with the defroster on for several minutes before I had drivable visibility. This morning was as cold, but densely foggy. Foggy enough that I could not see beyond the other side of the street from the hotel. The fog was of course freezing, riming the grass and trees - not to mention cars - with hoarfrost, freezing fog. In a word, "frog". As I drove down the hill the mile or so toward the water, the frog got denser and denser; adrenaline built at 30 miles per hour. Paralleling the river was a little better, but turning north to cross the Blue bridge was a creepy sensation. The highway disappeared into the frog over the Columbia.

Approaching the bridge, only the portal was visible. Having become accustomed to the towering crest of the bridge surmounted by the US flag, I felt like I might have taken a wrong turn - the top of the bridge was apparently gone. Even creepier, the river below had disappeared into the mist. What a sense of isolation!

At the station, my "office" is a conference room on the front of the building, featuring five picture windows. The view has remained dismal all day; only the shifting quantity of frog has changed. Mostly I have been able to see the trees on the north bank of the river about three blocks south of the station, but the light levels have remained low all day. The pines between the building and the street have maintained their rime of frost all day, mostly on the side facing the river. It's dim enough that I keep expecting rain, and am surprised as the cars remain mostly dry.

They tell me that this is not unusual January weather in these parts. The green grass in the front lawn made me think otherwise. Illusion shattered.

In which they change the sheets

2007-01-10T08:57:00.000-07:00

The hotel has changed the sheets. And the pillows. And the bedspread.

The hotel industry, in an effort to attract guests, has been racing to upgrade amenities over the past couple of years. Many of those early changes were small, but in an industry characterized more by homogeny than distinction, they were still significant. For instance, Hilton's hotel brands replaced their straight shower bars with convex ones; it was a little change that made a lot of difference to guests. After all, convex shower bars produce a high return on the investment.

The recent trend has been a bit more pricy - hotels are attracting guests with better beds and bedding. Although the mattress was good, this hotel's bedding was not. I had hated the pillows in so much that I actually went out to Target and bought a new one. Imagine my surprise when I returned to the hotel Monday to find that the ugly orange polyester bedspread had been exchanged for a duvet cover with a down comforter inside! Furthermore, about half the nasty poly-fill pillows had been replaced with feather. The sheets were white (instead of the beige ones on the bed Sunday) and were higher in the cotton content. This was a welcome change.

Tuesday evening brought more wonders - the bedskirt has been changed from gold to a deep turquoise, and the last of the old pillows have been replaced with feather ones. The sheets were fresh again. There is a new white micro-fiber fleece blanket on the foot of the bed. At last I have a truely comfortable bed. The quality of the mattress is matched by the quality of the bedding.

I just wish they would have washed the sheets before putting them on the bed. It's pretty easy to tell - the wrinkles from being packed tightly into packaging are a dead give-away. Sizing is scratchy. Perhaps tonight they'll be laundered at last.

In which Murphy's hand is apparent

2007-01-09T18:25:00.000-07:00

Still recovering from a weekend event, I boarded a plane for Albuquerque on Sunday. Reluctantly, since I had left my briefcase at home - the laptop inside is critical to performing my job. Besides, I felt rather foolish at having done so. I was offered standby on the 9:45 flight, but that seemed too chancy for someone who had to be at the station at 9:00 the next morning.

The flight was (as usual) spectacular, traveling over the landscapes that I have traveled through many, many times. North of Pike's Peak, over Salida and the Arkansas River, above the Sand Dunes, and across the San Luis Valley, down the Rio Grande to Albuquerque. Being fascinated with maps, aerial views are accordingly intersting. A window seat is a reqirement.

I had packed my sewing in one suitcase and my clothing and toiletries in another. The sewing machine was carry-on luggage. The laptop was supposed to be carry-on too. The spirit of Murphy haunted me for the entire day. The clouds obscured the landscape for part of the trip. Being very sore and tired from Saturday's event, I slept.

I fail to understand how a suitcase that was put into the luggage system in Denver and never again was to enter another plane before arriving (hopefully) with its owner at the destination, can get lost. There are no places for it to get lost. But lost it was. Adding insult to injury, Frontier does not electronically track its luggage, and so they cannot locate it. Heaping insult upon the injury, they could not deliver it to me before I would need the contents to accomplish my morning toilette. Yes, you're thinking what I'm thinking - it wasn't the sewing suitcase they lost.

I went grocery shopping (the hotel is a suite with a poorly-equipped kitchenette), and then "home" to make a green-chili stew. I caught an hour's nap, and then trekked back to the airport at 11:00, thinking that my bag might actually have made it on the 9:00 flight - the one that I'd been offered stand-by on in the first place.

I suppose Murphy had someone else to harass, and my bag was spit out midstream in the baggage from the late flight.

It's now Tuesday, and I haven't taken a stitch. No time on Sunday; Monday was recovering from Saturday and Sunday. Tonight, it's leftover green chili stew (limiting supper-cooking time), but I'm getting out of work late enough that I'm not likely to get the sewing machine out. Work is tiring me out - all I want is a glass from the bottle of wine I purchased last night. (Of course there's no corkscrew in the kitchenette.) I'm begining to wonder why I bothered to pack the blooming thing.

In which the road less traveled made a good day

2007-01-02T10:35:00.000-07:00

Spending the weekend in New Mexico presented me with some time to enjoy one of my favorite regions of the country. On Sunday (Dec. 17) I headed for Santa Fe, but not the usual I-25 route; I took the Turquoise Trail.

The Turquoise Trail is distinguished by a mine at Mt. Chalchihuitl in the Cerillos Hills north of the town of Cerillos, that is probably the oldest mine in north America, having produced turquoise and other minerals possibly as long ago as 1000 BCE. Cerrillos Hills mines were one of the most important and productive sourced of turquoise in Meso-America; turquoise from this region is said to have found its way into Aztec artifacts, into native tribes across North America, and after the arrival of the Spanish, into the Spanish crown jewels.

The Turquoise Trail was also a section of the "Long Walk" - the forced march of Navajo and Apache peoples to the "reservation" of Bosque Redondo near Ft Sumner in eastern New Mexico. In 1864, the Navajo were starved into submission in Arizona and herded 400 miles in winter by Kit Carson across New Mexico toward Bosque Redondo. 200 people never made it; more died of disease and starvation once they arrived at the desolate reservation. One wonders how many survived the fifty or so miles of the Turquoise Trail. Surely the sacred nature of the region must have been in some way fouled by the misery of the Long Walk.

I started out early on Sunday, intending to grab a burrito breakfast from Dos Hermanos. Dos Hermanos is on Wyoming between Caldeliaria and Menaul, and has been a favorite breakfast spot while we've been working in Albuquerque. Sadly, I couldn't find it that morning (forgot to look for the green awning) and settled for the (ugh) McDonald's at Wyoming and Central. As it was Sunday morning, they might not have been open anyway, but it was worth a try.

Heading east on Central - the fabled Route 66 - I picked up I-40 and then exited at NM 14, the Turquoise Trail. 14 runs generally northward toward Santa Fe, behind the Sandia Mountains that define the east side of Albuquerque. The landscape is lovely, a montaine desert. In the early morning sunshine, the drive was lovely, and the highway was quiet. I passed through several mountain communities, from the bohemian to the bourgeois. I bypassed the road up to Sandia Peak (which I regret, but that's an adventure for another day), and stopped at the village of Cerillos.

Cerillos is picturesque enough that they boast that several westerns were filmed in the town. The one business open at that early hour was the Casa Grande Trading Post. It's mostly a rock shop, but has a good selection of jewelry and other tourist-y things. There is also a museum attached, about the history of the area. Mostly the Anglo history, but interesting nonetheless. I paid my two bucks, and would have spent more time there if I knew where the next potty was. I picked up some rough turquoise for Evan's Christmas rock tumbler, and moved on toward Santa Fe.

I found the next potty south of I-25 at a gas station and "general store" fashioned as if made of adobe. One expects to see people of native or Hispanic heritage in this part of the country, but the Indian behind the counter was a bit inapposite; he was Sikh.

I had a few destinations in Santa Fe in mind. I wanted to go to High Country Gardens, a greenhouse from which I've ordered a number of plants suited to our high, dry conditions. I know from their catalogues that they have demonstration gardens there, and I wanted to see them. Even in the cold winter, I was impressed and took some pictures. Should we ever buy this house, I have plans.....

From High Country Gardens, I went to the Plaza and had a truly multi-cultural Winter Holiday afternoon. At about 4:00, the local Jewish community held a Hanukkah celebration. One of the rabbis showed up in a menorah-bedecked car. I should have gotten pictures - the menorah was mounted to the roof of the car like a roof-rack, each of the nine branches decorated with a strip of reflective tape and sporting a light bulb for the flame. The shamash was lit, as well as the two candles marking the previous two nights of the holiday. There was a cantor (very good!) and food, and people were handing out candles and joining hands and dancing. A full-sized black poodle wore a blue and white kippah with a Hanukkah ruff around his neck - very festive. I called Rivka to share with her Hanukkah in Santa Fe.

After dark, Las Posadas was held on the Plaza. This ritual commemorates Mary's and Joseph's search for lodging in Bethelehem before the birth of Christ. The procession starts at the Palace of the Governors, with a traditional song requesting lodging. El Diablo paces the roof, denying lodging. It's all in Spanish, and so I didn't get the translation, but the devil presumably is rude and insulting in denying a resting place for the family, and the crowd responds with "boo"s and hisses. The procession moves clockwise around the square with the same request, and again the devil appears (although in slightly different costume; on wonders about the men behind the masks) to hisses and boos. After failing to find lodging on the four sides of the plaza, the procession moves up the street to the west of the Palace, where they finally gain admittance. I heard rumors that there were treats inside, but time was getting short and I needed to move on. Besides, I'd tripped over enough flaming luminarias, and gotten candle wax on my jacket, and it was time.

Bishop's Peak Road is really dark, and as usual, I fretted about missing the turnoff to Ten Thousand Waves. But there it was, better marked than in the past. I had the One Wave tub, perfect for a single or couple. I could have used the massage, too, but at $90 an hour, it was too rich for my pre-Christmas budget. The night was clear and cold - the tub too hot to stay in, the night too cold to stay out of the tub. I suppose I achieved an equilibrium about 2/3 of the way into my hour. I watched the stars move overhead and contemplated the season.

Always hungry after a soak, I inquired about the natural food for post-Japanese-spa visits, sushi. Alas, no fast-food sushi is to be had in Santa Fe. It's too bad Tokyo Joe's hasn't entered the Santa Fe market. There was a Panda Express, and so I got kinda close with orange chicken. I took the highway "home" and poured myself into bed.

In which getting home is an adventure

2007-01-02T09:19:00.000-07:00

Yes, it was an adventure-filled travel weekend. I ended up spending two extra nights in Albuquerque and drove home on Sunday.

See, it snowed. In Albuquerque. A lot. Which seems to be rather unusual in Albuquerque. The city is completely, thouroughly, and absolutely unprepared for snow. To own a snow shovel seems to be as necessary as a fish owning a bicycle. If they can't clear off the sidewalks and plow the streets, it should come as no surprise that they can't get snow off airport runways, either.

My 5:45 flight on Friday turned out to be cancelled. I rebooked for the 11:30a Sat. flight. That only meant that I was in line in sufficient time Saturday morning to get a #4 standby position for the 3:35 flight, which was cancelled before noon. Although the 5:45 flight had not yet been cancelled, Frontier staff advised me that it was very unlikely to go, and that the next available booking was Monday. It was a good thing that I had retained my hotel room.

I had Chris book me a car for Sunday (I didn't have Internet connectivity at the airport) and I returned to my hotel room. Dinner was at the Elephant Bar, since that was the only open restaurant within walking distance. (Interestingly, the ABQ shopping area did get the memo about clearing sidewalks and they tried to keep up on the streets too, but I guess they were overwhelmed and gave it up after a valiant effort.) Becky and Bob kindly gave me a lift to the airport to pick up the car on Sunday morning and although reports were that I-25 remained closed, (and the fog was formidable until the top of La Bajada) as I proceeded northward, the highway wasn't actually blocked until Las Vegas.

My reasoning was that Raton Pass would be most passable between mid morning and sundown at 4:30. My strategy was to get as close to the Pass as I could, and so to be positioned favorably when the highway did open up. After lunch and fueling in Las Vegas, I lined up with the other 2 miles or so of vehicles. The authorities weren't requiring vehicles to exit, and so I felt pretty sure that the intent was to open the highway fairly soon. I passed the blockade at 3:00.

The mad dash north was rather amusing. I am certain that everyone in that line was thinking about the shady, winding ascent and descent just like I was, and that the sun was going down in just an hour and a half. After sitting in that line for what I suppose was 2 hours or longer, the first rest area was mobbed. People did make just the briefest of stops, and were underway again.

The pass was about as good as could be expected, wet or snowpacked all the way up or down. The highway was single-lane in spots. There was one small pickup that had spun out just above the city of Raton. Traffic proceeded at about 20 mph below the posted speed limit. I breathed a sigh of relief at Starkville; the highway was clear, and smooth sailing was ahead.

See, I figure that if road conditions are going to be bad on I-25 in that area, the worst will be Raton Pass. So I was surprised that conditions at Trinidad were suddenly worse than the Pass, and that those terrible conditions persisted for the next 60 miles. I drove about 40 mph on completely snowpacked roads. The sun was down, and so whatever melting had taken place had re-frozen. Curiously, I saw only one snowplow north of Trinidad.

Walsenberg to Pueblo featured dry pavement punctuated by long icy patches, so driving the speed limit was unwise.

Conditions between Pueblo and Denver were normal, and so I finally made some headway, arriving home at 8:30. Tired and more than just a little out of patience, I crawled into bed, appreciative to be home, but also reveling in getting to sleep on good pillows for the first time in 5 nights.

I suppose this weekend would have been less tiresome, had I not had very nearly the same adventure the weekend before. Although the location of the snowstorm had shifted to an airport 450 miles south, the fact that both of those airports, in turn, were closed by storms complicated travel two weekends in a row. Which is about one weekend too many.

The one bright spot was that the Denver snowstorm (pictures on Chris' blog) started on a Wednesday, which meant that by Friday the highway was open; although I could not book a flight, I could drive home. By the time I left the station on Friday, I had heard from Greg and Kristen that I-70 was open, and that they would likely beat me to Denver. They had planned to come on Thursday, but with the highway closure, they had to wait a day to head west for Christmas, due the the same storm.

On Friday, Mother had relieved nurses who had been at the hospital since Wednesday, and she too was finding the driving difficult - even though her drive was just across Denver. It looked like a convergence was in order; all four of us would arrive late Friday evening. Dad and Evan were safely at home. I was coordinating with Chris, telling him when to expect the masses to descend upon the house.

Everything on my end went according to plan (plan B, that is) until I had to stop in Castle Rock for gas. I just couldn't make it home. Although the highway was in good condition (the ramps not so much) the city's streets were a mess. The snow volume was so great that they'd simply plowed narrow lanes out of the streets, with high snow berms on either side. If I had not known the gas station for which I'd headed, I would not have found it. I think everyone else must have headed for the same gas station, since they were gas-less. After the challenge of getting into the gas station, I wasn't keen on trying to get into another. The effort was worth it; they had gas. But half an hour was lost, and it was 10:30 before I got home.

I recall, after getting an update from Greg somewhere between Las Vegas and Raton, a feeling of supreme satisfaction at getting us all together for Christmas. Not only would we get the rare treat of Greg and Kristen, but the extended "family" of friends were due for our traditional Christmas Eve stocking and tummy stuffing. All the challenges at coordinating, decorating, and traveling in my abbreviated holiday season were not just "worth it", but a fair price to pay for the joy of the season.

In which there have been many things to blog

2006-12-28T11:32:00.000-07:00

It's not like I haven't had anything to blog; on the contrary, this has been an eventful month. My current client has been a challenge and taking up a lot of time; Christmas has been the same. I have lots of things that I want to share. I'll be adding thoughts and memories as I have time.

In which things get chilly

2006-12-05T22:36:00.000-07:00

We got up yesterday to 52 degrees in Evan's room. I know it was 52 degrees because we'd left the space heater in Evan's room from the previous night. We hadn't turned it on, since the temps were supposed to moderate somewhat, and we didn't think it would get so cold.

I hustled Evan downstairs with the promise that it would be warmer down there. It was, but only by 5 degrees. The thermostat was flashing RECO. Now, I haven't the foggiest as to what RECO could mean, but since I couldn't get the thermostat to turn on the furnace, I figured that it wasn't good. Fortunately, Hunter puts .pdfs of their manuals on-line, and so I could look it up.

Of course, the manual isn't particularly helpful, and so I looked for the obvious. The circuit had not blown. Opening the door of the furnace showed that the pilot light was out. I put on a sweater and sweat pants and put Evan in a hot bath, and opened the blinds on the sunrise side of the house.

Chris came home shortly, ill at work. He took a look at it, and tried to follow the instructions on the outside of the furnace door. Of course, nothing in the diagram resembled anything inside the furnace, and so he too was stymied, which meant that he had to call for help. The furnace repair guy showed up at 1:30 pm.

It is the way of misbehaving computers, automobiles, cats, and furnaces that, once the person who can fix them is present, they function perfectly properly, thank you. Thus, when the furnace door was replaced by Mr. Furnace Repairman, the thing came on without prodding or protest. Mr. Repairman then spent the next hour trying to get it to fail again, without success. We did make a few minor adjustments – changed the batteries in the thermostat, turned up the fan speed, tightened screws and bolts. We had of course purchased the super heavy-duty anti-allergen filters for the furnace, which he said were too dense and could be contributing to lower circulation and thus overheating. Of course in the process of trying to get it to fail, he got the temp in the house up to the point where I had to strip down to my tank top.

So, we’ve got heat again, at least until what Mr. Repairman couldn’t find goes haywire again. Hopefully it won’t be on a 0° night. He did note that the air conditioner coil was about shot. I expect to see him again in July.

In which a discovery is shared

2006-12-04T21:17:00.000-07:00

New favorite medicinal - Captain Morgan Private Stock; spiced rum at in a squat 750 ml bottle at $21. Dark and spicy, with a distinct vanilla note. Nice in egg nog, too.

In which the goose is getting fat at an alarming rate

2006-12-04T17:04:00.000-07:00

December 4; only ten days until Christmas.

It's not "new math". I leave for Albuquerque in just eight days. I have to have Christmas virtually finished by then. This includes finishing decorating, shopping, and Christmas cards. I'm beginning to feel a little frantic.

I suppose it's a hell of my own making; I am the one who insists on elaborate Christmas trees, one for each downstairs room. It's not decadence; it's just that I have so many ideas about tree themes that I want to try each one. I insist upon cooking at least one holiday meal, although my mother talked me into having Christmas Eve catered last year, and it was a grand idea. We're planning on Syrian this year - hummos and kabobs, baba ghanouj and shawarma, and the best pita in Denver.

My brother and sister-in-law are coming for the holiday, but sadly have to leave on Christmas Day. Perhaps instead of Christmas dinner, we'll have brunch. Unsurprisingly, Greg is also a cook, and I really would like to spend part of the weekend in the kitchen with him. Have to balance the limited home time with the many things I want to do in it.

There are the stockings, waiting on stuffing. Next weekend is slated for the Christmas shopping, present wrapping, and card writing. And then I pack for Albuquerque. And then it's Christmas.

All too close.

In which Thanksgiving is a bit early

2006-11-20T12:37:00.000-07:00

I'm munching on pumpkin pie as I type, leftovers from Thanksgiving Dinner. Yup, I know that the calendar says that Thanksgiving is three days away; nonetheless we had our "home" Thanksgiving dinner yesterday. No, we weren't motivated by an insatiable turkey craving, nor by loss-leading prices at the supermarket. Since we're going to be in Kansas for the holiday, leaving Grandma behind, it seemed like a great opportunity to share some early holiday cheer. Besides, facing a Thanksgiving for which I cannot cook is a bit anxiety-provoking.

Our menu included the obligatory turkey, stuffed, the traditional mashed potatoes and gravy (nothing out of a box) and a new recipe for sweet potatoes which used some spices and pineapple rather than tons of brown sugar and marshmallows. I always make my own cranberry sauce, with a diced orange added - peel and all. For a green vegetable, Chris choose creamed spinach, and I used a Boston Market copycat recipe. It was good, but needed more salt. I departed from tradition with a new fall family favorite, a roasted butternut squash soup. It's garnished with glazed squash cubes. I used the bread machine for dinner roll dough, and Mother made a pumpkin pie for desert. We had a 7 Deadly Zins zinfandel with supper.

Obviously Evan was pretty jazzed about the whole thing, and couldn't wait to tuck into the soup while we were still taking pictures. I wonder if he'll still be enthused after three days of leftovers, and another turkey-day dinner.

Of course, Thanksgiving in Kansas creates some other challenges. Chris really missed the chance to fill the house with friends for the holiday. As I said, not cooking on Thanksgiving seems to leave out a part of the holiday that I have always loved. As we were occupied yesterday with cooking, we didn't still didn't begin to hang Christmas lights. Chris promises that tonight is the night. At least the weather is good; the temp at the time of this writing is 69 degrees. I've done Christmas lights when it's cold, and I'd rather not, thank you.

I did pick up some Little Anita's New Mexican stuff at the supermarket on Saturday - enchiladas and tamales. I suppose we don't have to have turkey leftovers for supper tonight.

In which we have a quickie

2006-11-15T20:40:00.000-07:00

It's 8:30 on Wednesday in Albuquerque. I'm tired - this installation is rapidly becoming particularly stressful. The trip down on Sunday was uneventful, if later than intended. I really wanted to get an earlier start to allow some time for hot water on the way, but alas, it was 12:30 before I left, and just after 8 when I pulled into the Uptown Sheraton at Menaul and Louisiana. Apparently, I passed Team Camel somewhere on the highway - Camel heading northward, and Raven forging south toward work.

The hotel is good - continental breakfast and evening hors d'oeuvres (and wine!!) complimentary - and the bed is especially nice. I had supper last night at Pei Wei, and this morning's breakfast was an enormous burrito from Dos Hermanos (highly recommended, even for Keith!) Lunch earlier this week was at Little Anita's, followed by Season's in Old Town, also highly recommended. I'm eating slightly too well.

Since the days are spent totally occupied (if you sent e-mail to the Comcast accounts, I haven't had any time to check it) I decided I might take a minute to type a little bit. Besides, I spent the ten bucks to get the internet connection to check to see if I wanted to go out for an al-Barran activity tonight. It'd be a shame to waste that ten-spot on a thirty-second Google, and so a quick update..........

Wait!! What'd you think I meant by that????????

In which some catching-up is noted

2006-11-07T12:19:00.000-07:00

I've finally finished a couple of posts that I began last month. The one dated 10/20 is about our teacher-parent conference with Evan's school, for those who are interested. The 10/04 post is comments about the grave of one of my heroes.

In which it's all over but the waiting

2006-11-07T10:02:00.000-07:00

It's a beautiful day for a walk up to the fire station, our neighborhood polling place. After dropping off Evan I parked the car at the house (I'd forgotten my cheat sheet) and walked around the circle up the hill.

It was difficult to miss the construction that popped up in front of the fire house yesterday. Colorado had been restricted to one lane northbound so that workers could replace some concrete in the fire house's driveway. When I got there this morning, I was met with "sidewalk closed - cross over" signs. Not something that one would take notice of normally, the construction created something of a minor impediment to getting into the station. In this year of concerns over voting, it sent up a red flag. A tiny one, but a red flag nonetheless. Design or simply bad timing?

There were about 6 people in line in front of me when I arrived. One of the machines that had been sent had arrived without a power cord. In an election that is likely to see heavy voter turnout, this seemed unfortunate at best. At least the line didn't resemble some of the ones that they were showing from downtown Denver this morning on television.

To keep a short story somewhat short, let's just say that I completed my voting, checked it twice and pressed the button. Having done my duty, I'm now settling in for an evening of watching the returns. Perhaps it's good night to rent "Wag the Dog".

In which fear is rejected

2006-11-06T14:06:00.000-07:00

For the record, I hereby reject fear as the motivational force in determining who and what I will vote for tomorrow.

I have to say this for the same reason that a lot of rules are made up and laws passed – because someone tried it. This year a lot of people have tried it, mostly people trying to get their clients positioned to win a political contest tomorrow. We have been told in innumerable political ads that we should be afraid of terrorists, of illegal aliens, of gays.

Apparently Conservatives have no idea how to win this election, other than through dirty tricks and fear. They are motivated by fear themselves – fear that they won’t be able to continue the engineering of social issues that has characterized the move toward conservativism in the U.S. in the past 20 years. And they have progressives and moderates afraid of the consequences of their campaign; the more fearful we become, the more freedom we are willing to give up.

The marriage amendment, defining marriage as “man + woman = marriage” is on the ballot in a number of states for tomorrow’s elections. It is a prominent representation of how conservatives are trying to socially engineer the fabric of our country - but not by defining "marriage". After a number of opinions were issued regarding the unsuitability of this amendment for inclusion in the US constitution, special interests (i.e. evangelical Christians, G-d-squadders, fundies) have gotten enough signatures that they forced it on several state ballots. This initiative was undertaken at least in part to herd fundies from all across the U.S. en masse to the polls in 2006; presumably getting out the vote for this emotionally-charged issue would also insure that Republicans on the ballot would have a higher chance of getting the "X" by their names, and keep the Republican grip on Washington.

With the current state of disaffection with the ever-more-right-GOP, I can hardly believe that this tactic will insure success, but perhaps it's just deeply wishful thinking. Nonetheless, here it is on Colorado's ballot. I checked out the League of Women's Voters' web site to research Amendment 43. I find that both the proponents and the opponents have provided, um, interesting arguments. I am compelled to enumerate – and refute or agree. First the proponents:

"1. Marriage between one man and one woman is common sense. Biology and common sense make it clear that marriage must be between a man and a woman to create human life."

Common sense? Whose "common sense"? Common sense isn't an argument - it's a cop out when you have no argument. Imagine using "common sense" as a rebuttal in high school competitive debate. Evidence, folks; I want evidence. Besides, who says marriage is for the sole purpose of procreation? Our society has built complete concepts out of the legal partnership that is called "marriage". As long as you define marriage as a relationship to "create human life", you imbue the concept with religious meaning that is clearly independent of reality. I don't have to be married to be a parent; I don't have to be a parent if I'm married.

"2. Marriage between one man and one woman provides the best environment for raising children."

According to whom? By what yardstick? Do children of single parents or two moms or two dads necessarily suffer due to the arrangement? How do you measure it? Define "best".

"3. A redefinition of marriage opens the door to polygamy and group marriages. Many believe that the next logical step in an unprecedented effort to redefine marriage to include same-sex relationships is the legalization of polyamory (group marriage) and polygamy (one person with multiple spouses)."

And here the Dalmatian’s whitewash rubs off, and the pointy stick of fear comes out. Conservatives are conservative because they don’t like change. As long as they can make other people afraid, they can continue to be conservative. Otherwise, they'll have to develop some new ideas and beliefs. Their argument falls directly in line with the tactics that conservatives are using to win the rest of the election - fear. As long as they can make people afraid of terrorists, or illegal aliens, or fags, they think they can win the election. They are using fear to socially engineer the fabric of our country, not only through the issues that they have placed on ballots, but through the candidates that they hope we'll be scared enough to vote for.

Of course, there is still some critical thinking out there to counter the fear tactics. The opposing view of Amendment 43 states in part:

"3. The amendment will do nothing to strengthen existing marriages in Colorado. If voters are being asked to protect marriage, then policies that target divorce, domestic violence, infidelity, poverty, addiction and homelessness should be considered."

Now that's "common sense", proving again that common sense is pretty uncommon.

What we need is more critical thinking and less fear. Take for example, the fear mongering over immigration. The ads on Denver television would make the naive think that it’s a bad thing that Mexicans can use a Mexican government-issued ID to board an airplane. The ads describe the IDs as unacceptable forms of ID according to the FBI. Remember that the FBI is part of the government conglomerate that condoned surveillance on U.S. citizens, and you’ll be able to apply as much credibility to the FBI as it deserves. The ads go on to further state that they can be used to create fake IDs – as if a Colorado drivers’ license is a more secure document. Fake IDs are a cottage industry in the world, whether you’re a citizen of the US or Timbuktu.

Fear over illegal immigration is supposed to convince us to vote for the Republican candidate, who is (it is asserted) is more able to protect us from this imminent danger. The same Republican who wants to take away more of my freedoms in the name of security? I think not.

Thinking critically, what security risk does Lupe or Ramon pose to the US? All they want is to get enough money to feed their kids or support their aged parents. This is real family values, folks. These people work. They do jobs that most American workers reject out of hand as too menial or too poorly paid. And, yes, they do suck up a lot of community resources – heath care, law enforcement, criminal defense and prosecution, education - mostly because as undocumented immigrants, they are not permitted to pay into the services that they use. If they get paid under the table, they are not paying taxes other than sales tax.

On tomorrow’s ballot is an amendment to eliminate a state income tax deduction for businesses who knowingly hire undocumented workers (Amendment H) and another which will direct the state of Colorado to join other states in suing the federal government for enforcement of immigrations laws (Amendment K) should it pass. As for Amendment H, it seems to me that one way to address the undocumented immigrant issue is to insure that businesses stop hiring people who cannot pay taxes. Logic would further dictate that this is just one part of the reform needed; there must also be a plan to document workers and without that I cannot vote “yes” on H.

Imagine the economic impact that would be created by a large pool of formerly undocumented workers finally being part of the white market. They would earn higher wages that would drive spending; they would increase the tax roles, driving increased jobs in law enforcement, education, and health care. This expanded workforce would contribute in kind to the economy. Where’s the downside? Is it that conservative big business owners fear that they will have to expand their bottom line? Perhaps their yearly salaries would be reduced to 100 times their workers’ average wages, instead of the 200% + that they currently garner. Poor, poor business owners. Let’s all cry a crocodile tear for them, and then do what’s best for our own middle-class pocketbooks.

Either a “yes” or a “no” vote on Amendment K is likely to be moot, since the states cannot file a lawsuit against the Feds for costs related to social services for undocumented immigrants. But let’s take it on its face value. Do we really want the Feds to enforce current immigration law? Is it that great? Does passing K imply that the people think that those laws mandate a huge fence at the U.S. – Mexican border? That it’s effective or economical, or environmentally sound?

Who are the current laws supposed to keep out? When we persist in asking the question, (“what security risk do undocumented immigrants pose to the U.S.?”) we are told by Conservatives that it’s not necessarily Mexicans that we have to be afraid of, but if they can get in, then “terrorists” can get in too. Of course, we’re all afraid of terrorists.

Webster’s defines “terrorist” as one who employs “the systematic use of terror especially as a means of coercion”. By this definition, all the politicians, bureaucrats and spin-doctors who are using fear as motivation for voting conservative candidates into office and conservative ideals into law, are themselves terrorists. In this case, we should fear those who would protect us more than those who would attack us.

In which some November decisions are made

2006-11-06T14:05:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow being Election Day, and it also being my sacred civic duty to vote, my tasks today include researching the issues that are being presented for consideration on the ballot. I admit to feeling like it's all a bit overwhelming. I have a list of all the amendments with my decisions noted next to each one to take to the polls with me tomorrow.

In general, I tend to vote pretty conservatively on certain types of issues, specifically amendments to the Colorado constitution. It's not because I'm a conservative - far from it.

In general, even if I were in favor of the concept, usually a statutory (referred) amendment would be a better choice than a constitutional one due to the requirements to subsequently change the constitution. Some of those have been dismal failures, but remain simply because they're bloody hard to repeal.

Some I've pretty rejected out of hand due to my beliefs about the purpose of a Constitution. Others have deeper reasons. Here are my decisions about some of the Amendments on the November 2006 Colorado Ballot. (Subsequent blogs will have some more specific ranting.)

Tomorrow I'm going to vote "no" on 38, the petitions amendment. Geeze, people; don't we have enough of the bloody things already? If you don't like the current process, change it - don't try to paste on an amendment that adds another layer of confusion. Of course, the Constitution is bloody hard to change, so an amendment seems like an easy fix. But easy fixes seldom are good fixes.

Also voting "no" on 39, school spending. Not an issue for the constitution. I will vote “yes” on Amendment J, which seems to be worded similarly. They took a belt-and suspenders approach to this issue. The difference is that, while 39 would amend the constitution, J is a change to statute. The risk is that 39 will pass while J won’t, and the constitution supersedes statute.

Likewise "no" on 40, term limits for judges. Term limits insure that we have a steady flow of amateurs running our government, and I don't believe that there are "activist" judges.

I will vote "yes" on the ethics in government amendment. Ethical behavior is something that should be a foundation of government, and thus in a Constitution. One would think that this should be common sense, but the fact that there is a need to spell it out indicates that common sense isn't so common.

The minimum wage amendment (42), should it be added to the constitution, would be subject to the same difficult change requirements as any other part of the Constitution no matter what the economic conditions would be. No matter how much I think we need a higher minimum wage in this state, I have to vote "no" on it.

As for marijuana possession, no matter how I feel about the concept, Amendment 44 doesn't belong in the Constitution. It's a statute, dammit.

Moving on to the referred amendments, those that would be entered into statute, I first look at E, a property tax reduction for disabled veterans. This is an extension of the Homestead Act, and as such, I would support it, because I think that people should be taxed according to their ability to pay. However (and rejecting arguments about how little we do for our veterans, and how they deserve honor) there is no income or needs test required. So it's a "no" vote.

Amendment F is recall deadlines. I’m not feeling strongly one way or another about this issue, and so will have to depend on the LWV’s “background” information to make up my mind. The background info states that current administrative deadlines are set in the Constitution and do not conform to other requirements of the law. As it seems that this amendment is designed to remedy that, I’m tending toward “yes”, but am still officially undecided. The opposition says that “Citizens should be able to remove unsatisfactory officials as quickly as possible and replace them with officials of their choice” which sounds like opposition to anything that might permit a witch hunt. I’m feeling more and more “yes” on F.

Amendment G, a repeal of obsolete provisions it a definite “yes”. If they’re obsolete, why keep them? If you want history, find a copy printed before the deletions.

Those are the “little” issues. They’re important, yes, but less meaningful in the grand scheme of things. It took a little bit of research, but it wasn’t too hard to make an educated decision on these issues. Besides, I don’t have a lot of emotional energy behind most of these issues.

The “big” issues are yet to come……..

In which the expected happens

2006-10-21T13:44:00.000-06:00

Snow before Halloween in Denver isn't uncommon; it's expected. I recall one of the largest snowfalls I experienced in Denver to be just before Halloween while we were living downtown. There are great pictures somewhere.

Last night or early this morning it snowed - not a lot, but an inch or two; enough to completely cover everything. A snowstorm earlier this week had already dumped about 3". It had already completely melted, of course. But the Halloween decorations are out, and so there's an interesting confusion of seasons going on.

Remember, "winter" is exactly two months away.

In which we gain more understanding of the school system

2006-10-20T10:26:00.000-06:00

We had a parent-teacher conference with Mrs. Flagg, Evan's kindergarten teacher, this week. I can't say that I feel better about what's happening with my kid, but I understand where it's coming from.

The good news is that Evan is both maturing (a little) and getting a lot better with his literacy skills. We had noticed that the literacy homework was not coming home any more, and had wondered. Mrs. Fisher confirmed that her assistance was no longer needed to get Evan up to speed with his letters.

The bad news is that the school still expects half an hour of "homework" on week nights and an hour daily on Saturday or Sunday, and the behavior problems that we see at home are the same that Mrs. Flagg sees at school.

Sigh.

When the "experts" recommend that children average 5 minutes of homework per grade level (and Kindergarten is "0"), this still seems excessive to me. I have never questioned if Evan can do the work, rather if he should be doing it. Of course, the school has its standards and we're not going to be able to change them or be an exception to them. And really, I believe in standards. But what to do if I think the standards are beating the love of learning out of the kids?

I still don't have answers, but I do have a few explanations.

1) The school has exercised their right to set expectations based upon the desires of the parents whose kids attend Lenski. The expectations are somewhat above the district standards. I think that what has happened is that Lenski has bowed to the pressure from parents who have bought into the early childhood over-education movement. There are a lot of indications that simply because kids can learn to read and add at age three or four, the consequences of making them read before Kindergarten - stress, anxiety, learning that is a chore not a delight - aren't worth the effort. Equally troubling is research that says that for all the stress that we put the kids through, they're not really getting a leg up on their peers by the third, or fourth, or fifth grade - that all that "ahead" at Kindergarten doesn't equate to "ahead" later in school.

Thus, by the time Evan entered Kindergarten, 60% of his peers were academically ahead of him, which placed him - through no deficit of his own - behind before he'd even started. We felt like horrible parents. We played the catch-up game. Per the advice of the school, we bought him DVDs and LMax cartridges. His game and TV time were restricted to only the TV and games that would enrich his literacy and math skills. In addition, he was bringing between one and four pages of literacy homework home nightly. The DVDs and LMax were his diversion between 4:00 and supper's start at 5:00; after supper he spent up to another hour with the homework pages, or a workbook I bought at Albertson's, or some time with the full page of "suggested home activities" to improve his skills. Through all this we were (and still are) aware that Evan is not emotionally ready to sit down and concentrate on any one thing at a time. It's a chore, both for him and for us. For him, because he's getting frustrated at our insistence that he complete a task; for us because we're frustrated at having to continually redirect his attention to the homework at hand. Getting him to even sit still is a challenge.

2) The "objectives" distributed by the school district aren't really objectives at all. Because they are written without outcomes ("the student will write the numbers 1-100 in a 20-minute time frame by March of the school year"), they don't really communicate the expectations that the kids are supposed to achieve. I took the packet of objectives that were sent home to the conference. "These aren't objectives", I said. "How do these relate to what is expected of Evan - both as an entering student and by the end of the school year? Because if we know the expectations we will do what it takes to get him there." It seems that the Back to School night would have answered a lot of these questions.

3) The school's flurry of activities have caused a level of school-fatigue (think of giving-fatigue, the condition that charities encounter when there are more needs than donators can serve) that prevents us from prioritizing the importance of any one event. Back to School Night was presented in the same way as the ice cream social. While we could have skipped the ice cream social, we should have not have skipped Back to School Night. If we needed to get Grandma to watch Evan that night we could have, but we didn't know.

As a student in education, we spent a lot of time discussing how to get parents involved in their kids' educations. In the eighties, it seemed that this was one of the prime issues facing and impacting education - and I can't say that in general, the situation is any better or worse twenty years later. However at Evan's school, it seems that the uninvolved parental unit is a rare exception rather than the norm. In Lenski's case, this means the parents not only attend parent-teacher conferences and PTA meetings regularly, they are expected to volunteer at the school, organize fundraisers, serve as paraprofessionals during class time, monitor playgrounds, and the like. I'm not saying that this is a bad thing, but there is a certain level at which every parent is prepared to participate, above and beyond monitoring homework.

I don't volunteer at the school and I don't donate every time a cry comes out. Let's consider what we do do as parents. We "volunteer" at least half an hour every day to Evan's homework. We "donate" money to his education in the form of learning gadgets and books. I should not feel guilty that my "only" involvement in Evan's school are those teacher conferences, and checking up with Mrs. Flagg regularly about Evan's progress and how to help from home.

4) Much of the success of Lenski is due to the volunteer corp. They not only provide sevice to the school which would otherwise have to be paid for out of school funds, but they raise a lot of money to pay for some of the professional services that contribute to that success. The literacy teacher for instance seems to be paid solely out of school-raised funds. Which in a lot of ways explains the incessant fundraising. At least once a month - and up to three per month - there have been solicitations for donations to the school. "This is crazy", I think as I look another solicitation, this time to purchase gift certificates which benefit the school, after writing a check for Spanish and Science "enrichment" classes.

Where is school district money? Why should a second language - or art, or music - be "enrichment"? How does the district justify not paying a teacher to assist kids who may need extra help with their letters? Lenski isn't exactly having to buy books with bake sale proceeds, but public schools should be able to be successful without "taxing" the parents. Otherwise let's privatize the syetem.

5) The standards are set by the government. Probably "no child left behind". Or is that "unfunded"? If 20% of the kindergarteners cannot write the numbers 1-100 in 20 minutes in March, or if they cannot pass a word recognition reading test in April the school looses a bit of its funding. Not that Lenski might notice with all the fundraising, but I suppose it could be a significant part of the budget of schools with a less-involved parent base.

I suppose that with some understanding comes a little more tranquility about my relationship with the school and Evan's education. I was involved in Montessori while in college and am still a deep believer in the benefits of learning in a more natural, child-centered fashion. So I'm still uncomfortable with the "training" that we're imposing on him. He's not mentally ready for it, although he has demonstrated that he's intellectually ready. I wonder if selecting a school (partially) based upon test scores was a mistake for a mental pre-schooler. Maybe the arts school would have been a better choice; I'm beginning to think it was a good thing that we didn't get into Littleton Academy.

And yet, I believe in excellence. The teacher keeps telling us that we're going to be surprised when Evan's mental maturity catches up with his intellectual maturity. I believe that; I'm just getting increasingly impatient with how the school deals with it until then. Until that happens, I've opted to not push for gifted and talented education, which would seem to pile on additional layers of stress, anxiety, and fear about learning. Only time will tell.

In which sewing is causing a bit of whining and a need for wine-ing

2006-10-19T10:44:00.000-06:00

I've done period costuming for so long that to use a modern pattern and modern techniques is really causing some whining and gnashing of teeth.

I'm working on Halloween costumes, and of course Chris' comes from a modern pattern. Period patterns use techniques like draping or making patterns from the wearer's body, but with a modern pattern, you get what you get. My first complaint is that the pattern is printed on flimsy paper, which 1) you have to be really careful with or you can't use it again, and 2) it's impossible to re-fold, not to mention that 3) it never fits back in the same pattern envelope.

The cynical Melanie says that these challenges are intentional on the part of the pattern company; after all their interest is in selling patterns, and they don't really want you to ever re-use the blasted thing. The practical Melanie carefully unfolds, cuts, pins, unpins, re-folds, and replaces the pieces in a 9"x12" Manila envelope.

Next comes the sizing. The largest patterns come one size too small for Chris. So I have to add an inch to all the outside seams in between the shoulder and waist. The pieces never, never, never fit correctly after that. So much for the pattern company's much touted "easy sizing" scheme. It's a lie. I'm currently struggling with the bloody neckline. I laid it aside last night and stitched up the sleeves and placed the interfacing and facings on the frockcoat's skirt. I'm going to have to go back to it today, but I'm not prepared for it. Maybe some wine would help?

The paper of course has to be pinned to the fabric. In another example of why I hate to pin things, the fingertips on my thumb and first two fingers are in pain from sticking all the blooming pins in, and then taking them out again. I far prefer draping.

When cutting out a pattern, to use the pattern company's directions, you have to remember to cut in all sorts of fiddley points and mark dots. It's not just a pain, in some cases it's totally useless. "Pin at the center point of the neckline and the back, matching the triangles." Heck, if you've got the center of both pieces, the stupid triangles match anyway!!!

After all that, if I follow the directions, I have to do all sorts of nonsensical things like stay stitching, or applying tiny little facings that don't remain in place because they're too tiny. Who came up with the notion of fusible interfacing anyway? When it does stick it bubbles the fabric; when it doesn't, it's too limp to be of any use.

I better start sewing today with a glass of wine. I can't wait to work on my costume- there's no bloody pattern; it's all draping!

And yes, some sharp cheese with that would be tasty.

In which I am greatly moved

2006-10-04T16:20:00.000-06:00

My trip to Mount Hope Cemetery last night yielded several moving moments. In particular, I confess to a difficulty dealing with the graves of children - the imagery is so painful. Little lambs, child-sized stone shoes or socks perched on top of the headstones - they cut too close to that grief that I carry.

There was one headstone which I found deeply moving for other reasons. This is stone caused me to pause a bit. When I think about the human condition, and how it has changed in the past two-hundred years, I must also consider the raw guts that it took Miss Anthony to stand up and say what must be said. She is a hero to all people, and especially to women. To her we women owe almost everything that we have in this county.

I was also struck by the modesty of her grave - just this simple white marble marker, embellished only by the garden that the friends of the cemetery maintain in the Anthony family plot. It's relatively small, perhaps only 24" or 30" high, and shares the space with similar markers and an obelisk in the center of the family plot. Small stones may be seen on the pedestal, symbols of honor that have been paid by visitors.

I don't think I will ever forget the feeling of that moment.

In which the signs of change are unmistakable

2006-10-03T09:42:00.000-06:00

My hotel in Rochester is in a rural area on south side of the metro. My room happily overlooks an empty field, part of which seems to be wetland. Besides being very colorful with the changing leaves and purple asters, I have noticed that there seems to be quite a bit of wildlife over there.

At dusk last night, I noticed that the deer are in rut - there were a couple of sparring males and a half-dozen others lingering about.

It's fall.

In which an important safety lesson is learned

2006-10-03T07:07:00.000-06:00

Today's important safety lesson: If you're right-handed, don't try to swirl boiling water in a paper cup in your left hand.

I had picked up one of those "cup-a-soup" type miso soups to go with the sushi from Wegner's last night. Both were surprisingly good; the soup has an envelope of miso paste and the tofu, onions and see vegetable are freeze-dried. The sushi is dispensed from a cold case adjacent to the sushi kitchen at the supermarket. Other than using sea-leg in the California Rolls, the sushi was very good.

I started prepping the soup by pouring the miso paste into the paper cup in which it was packaged. Thinking I'd rather eat soup out of real dishes, I changed to a ceramic bowl. This meant that some of the miso was left in the cup, and if I'd just swirl some of the hot water in the cup to rinse it....

I am frankly surprised that I don't have blisters all over the back of my left hand. I carry one or two little foil envelopes of Burn Gel in my bag, and I was grateful to have it. I applied it in great gobs twice, and wrapped my had in a hotel towel to keep the gel from migrating to places I'd rather not have it.

Other than being a little sensitive this morning, my hand feels OK. But it could have been worse. I don't know if I'm more chargrined at the injury, or my stupidity.

In which too little - and too much - comes too late

2006-09-27T13:19:00.000-06:00

I left Topeka Kansas over eleven years ago. We left for a number of reasons, not the least being the attraction of Colorado's environment and standard of living. It certainly didn't hurt that we were moving away from what may be the most embarrassing home town in the US.

We're pretty liberal people, and we have a simple live-and-let-live philosophy. We have friends of all sorts. We tend to value people for their skills and attitudes, and reject discrimination on the basis of people's beliefs, sexuality, skin color, and etc. We also tend to reject people who do discriminate. Thus leaving the Westboro Baptist Church behind was something of a relief.

The church and it's autocrat, the very un-Reverend Fred Phelps, have played a role in the fabric of Topeka for years. A civil rights lawyer who was later disbarred, Fred has taken up a cause against gays (not to mention Catholics and Jews) in more recent years. In the ten or so years I lived in Topeka, we became accustomed to - but not complacent about - the daily protests staged by Fred and his toadies. The lurid signs were supported by church members as young as grade-school age. Lurid, yes, and graphic. "God Hates Fags" is really one of the milder epithets. They underscored the written message with obscenities screamed at passers by. For years, daily faxes were transmitted to anyone with a fax number, filled with hate speech and even more lurid and borderline-obscene images.

He thanked God for AIDS.

Fred and thralls appeared daily at 8th and McVicar and on Sundays at Gage Park. He picketed businesses, he picketed performance at the Performing Arts Center, he picketed churches that preached a message of tolerance. He picketed gay pride events, and prominent political gatherings. He even picketed Billy Graham. And he picketed the funerals of gays, suspected gays, and gay sympathizers.

Rude, lewd behavior aside, picketing a funeral is about the lowest of the low. An appalling level of schadenfreude was exhibited at the funeral for Matthew Shepard, and the celebration just increased from there.

Yes, Fred got some attention for his bad behavior. Occasionally, he even made national news. Topeka natives cringed and denied residing anywhere near Topeka, or flatly denounced his actions and philosophy, fearful that owning up to Topeka would paint themselves with Fred's broad brush. It was with utter relief then that we left.

Too bad that's not the end of the story.

About a year and a half ago, I was working in Columbia, SC with clients. Columbia is of course the home of Fort Jackson US Army Base. As such, there is a lot of support for soldiers and their families; the TV station had a wall of pictures of service members who were currently stationed in the Middle East. As soldiers returned to the base in body bags, Fred took up a new crusade. He started picketing the funerals of soldiers, claiming that the soldiers' deaths are a sign of God punishing America for tolerating homosexuality.

This is very bad behavior, Fred. Bad enough that the American public is outraged enough to initiate a number of new laws prohibiting Fred's brand of behavior at funerals. About a dozen states have passed such laws to date and Congress has addressed the Fred issue by outlawing protests at military funerals at federal cemeteries.

These laws, while laudable, are too little too late. Where was the outrage when Fred picketed the funerals of gays? Are dead gays less pitiable than dead soldiers? Do their families suffer less? Are soldiers more honorable for their line of work killing (or supporting the people who are killing) people? Are gays less human because they love in a different way than most of the population? Do they deserve a horrible death because of who they love? What about children or straight adults - including the vast numbers of Africans - who die from AIDS? What about their orphaned children? How can a civilized society be indifferent toward Fred's behavior towards gays, but sternly condemn his behavior toward the victims of a misguided war?

Perhaps one can glean Fred's true mission from an article in USA Today a couple of weeks ago, in which he chortled gleefully over all the attention he's getting. It seems like he gets a lot of attention. Frequently on my travels he pops up on the local news; my first experience with this phenomenon was that March 2005 trip to South Carolina, where he made the local news for picketing a funeral of several local soldiers. I long ago ceased to believe that Fred was newsworthy, largely because media attention feeds his mission and thus his ego.

The attention that the media is giving Fred now is too much, too late. They didn't find him newsworthy until he picketed Matthew Shepard's funeral; what makes him newsworthy now? Has patriotism become more prevalent than compassion? Or is it just a slow news day?

In which unkind comments are overheard on the school yard

2006-09-26T12:59:00.000-06:00

As is my custom, I walked Evan to school this morning. We had a good time, walking and talking and playing tag.

When we got to school, Evan's friend Cody met him on the school yard. They played together a bit, and then from off to my right I heard an older kid say, "Cody is a girly-boy!" "Hey, that's not a nice thing to say," I responded. He either ignored me or didn't hear me.

Cody certainly does have some traits that might elicit such taunting. He seems to favor pink; he loves fairies (he wanted to play Tatiana to Evan's Oberon this morning); he loves butterflies. His Land's End backpack is big, pink and out there, and has "Cody" embroidered on it. So what? Meanness is still plain meanness.

Shortly I noticed that Cody was rubbing his eyes and sniffing back tears. I said to him, "that was a mean thing to say, wasn't it?" "Yes," he whimpered. "Cody, you're alright," I said. He came for a hug, which started a hug attack, and a new round of tag with Evan as "it".

Cody and Evan are similar in a lot of ways - both are only children of career parents (Cody's mom is a dentist), both are bright. They've been friends since the summer, and I hear that the two of them seem to get into trouble together. They tend to feed on each other.

I almost said to the mean kid, "Yeah, but Cody'll be a better father one day than your dad is!"

In which is contained political comments that really need saying

2006-09-26T10:57:00.000-06:00

In my "away" life, I spend a lot of time listening to news. I am, after all a card-carrying news junkie. I tend to listen to NPR in the mornings, while CNN is the evening drug of choice. As long as I am alone at a site, I read USA Today daily - after all the hotel provides complimentary copies, and one must have some diversion at lunches taken alone.

This of course means that I have ample time to digest the news and views of the day. This week, one thing really has me thinking - the War on Terror (insert your own dramatic baritone inflection).

The War on Terror isn't a war. You can't make war on an idea or a concept. You can make war on a country or a people, which the US certainly has done in Iraq and Afghanistan. You can have a war against terrorists, but of course one must decide who is a terrorist and who is not, and there is a lot of gray between the "is" and "is not".

What is commonly described as the "War on Terror" is simply a reaction against a predictable outcome precipitated by the West's [1] actions in the region over the past 150 years. We've shoved our weight, imperialism and policies around in the Middle East since the British decided to colonialize. I suspect that a lot of our foreign policy in the 20th century was designed specifically to keep the region destabilized, in order to maintain the flow of cheap oil. We are now seeing the effect of those policies in the increased instability and violence, both in the region and emanating from it.

Additionally, the current US administration's stance ("you're either with us or against us" to paraphrase) completely discounts the portion of the population who consider themselves patriots and opposed to the wide range of actions bundled under the concept "War on Terror". It polarizes the people.

I listened to Bill O'Riley's comments on Good Morning America yesterday morning. I can't stand the man, but he did say some valuable things. He identifies a section of the country as "secular progressives". Although he dismisses us as just 20% of the population, and that we're bashing the administration without offering solutions, he did get the characterization right. He says that we think that we live in a bad country, and that sweeping changes need to occur. That we brought terrorism on ourselves with our policies in the Middle East - our greed, exploitation of foreign oil, and lying to the world. So far, that's pretty much how I feel.

Of course, he then says that we control the media (if that's correct, why is the media lapping up this whole "War on Terror" thing - an invention of the Bush administration?), that we control the ACLU (currently representing Fred Phelps in actions opposing the laws against picketing at funerals), and that we have tens of millions of dollars to pour into propaganda. He's intelligent enough to correctly describe the progressive sector of the population, but totally incorrect in his conclusions and the percentage of the country that believes that this administration is dead wrong.

One thing he is correct on - although we can clearly identify the issues, we really have not offered solutions. I don't think it's because we're not creative enough to come up with a workable solution to the mess we made in Iraq, or the rise of Islamic actions against Israel, or how to insure security without damaging liberty. I think it's because we're speechless in the face of overwhelming complexities. It's not as simple as sending in the Marines. Force makes an impression alright, but that impression isn't usually favorable.

If the Arabs pulled together as a unified group of peoples, tribes and countries, they could strangle the West's economies, albeit not without risk to their own western-money-fueled economies. Obviously there are few good solutions.

I would suggest that our dependence on oil - of which the vast majority originates in the Middle East - is the single largest risk to our security. If we could break this dependence, it would be a step in the right direction. If we could learn to treat each other with decorum and respect, rather than pouring verbal gasoline on the fires of discontent, this too would be a step in the right direction. How can fault be found with either of these things? Oh, wait - there is no enormous pile of cash at the end of either of these rainbows.

Yes, Virginia, it is all about the money.

[1] The US and EU, mostly.

In which I have a ridiculous day

2006-09-23T10:51:00.000-06:00

“Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous,“ I muttered, gazing out the panoramic south windows of the terminal at Rochester – Monroe County (NY) airport.

The woman at the table next to me overheard my comment. “That’s it, then,” she said. “Yes,” I said, “all that for an hour.” “It’s a good thing he didn’t stay to lunch!” she said.

In many ways, the afternoon and evening have been utterly ridiculous.

After a particularly successful week at the client site in Rochester, I had an opportunity to depart the station about 40 minutes early. After my weekend trip to Niagara, I have been interested in the geology of western New York, especially the phenomenon known as the Niagara escarpment. The Niagara escarpment is the high ground or bluffs south of Lake Ontario through which the Niagara river has cut a gorge with Niagara Falls at the south end. Similarly, the Genesee River has cut a gorge through the Niagara escarpment on its way toward Lake Ontario. The town of Rochester was sited at the point where the High Falls spill over the edge and drop into a gorge cut through the Niagara escarpment.

I was in search of the High Falls; I had seen signs directing the curious in downtown Rochester. I happened to be on the Inner Loop, a tiny ring road around downtown. I saw the sign too late. This meant that I had to do some extra driving, but I did finally find the place. The drive was complicated by the presence of an abnormal quantity of police cruisers and motorcycles. Something was obviously afoot.

The falls were interesting, not only for the geological phenomenon. Rochester was founded at this place primarily because the falls were seen as a power source. As a result, masonry buildings that have long ago been abandoned flank the cliffs at the falls’ end of the canyon. The structures were built into and atop the cliff walls; the works of humans and the works of Nature morph into one another not unlike the cliff dwellings of the American southwest. There is a certain organic quality to the transition between masonry and shale.

Returning to the Inner Loop, I again remarked upon the unusual police presence. This was beginning to look odd. I called Chris, who did a little research (he’s often my substitute for wi-fi connectivity when I’m in the car) and discovered that Dick Cheney was visiting Rochester. Due to arrive at 4:30, the local constabulatary had kindly cleared I-390 from the airport to downtown for his caravan. How…nice.

This of course meant that no one else had the right to drive on the highway into downtown - the highway that they had bought through their tax dollars. Nice. It seems that self-serving, war-mongering, hyperbole spewing politicians with bad aim get the highway to themselves, displacing probably tens of thousands of their constituents in the name of security. Ridiculous.

This was bad enough. When the south-bound traffic began to slow, I started to get mad. Dammit – if I’m late to the airport, I’m gonna be really mad. Fortunately, slow was the worst of it. The police presence on the road between the interstate and the airport was causing people to drive badly. Cops everywhere, turning into odd back-entrances, parked along the road. It was just 3:30.

When I dropped off my rental car, I discovered that Budget had charged me a rediculous $80 for fuel. I had to get them to dig my original rental agreement out of the trash to demonstrate that I had already paid $38.08 for the fuel purchase option. They did of course issue a $50 credit, but still...

I knew weather in Chicago was slowing down incoming flights, and my flight was probably one of those. The ticket agent kindly re-routed me through Washington Dulles. It meant that I had three hours at Rochester to kill, and it meant that I was getting into Denver three hours late, but hey, I was getting home tonight. Which seemed better than getting stuck in Chicago until Saturday.

As I sat at my Washington-bound gate, the wisdom of the new route became very clear. The Chicago-bound flight was first delayed half an hour, then an hour and a half, and ultimately five hours. The later Chicago-bound flight was cancelled, causing a great deal of activity across the concourse. I suspect that my Washington flight filled up at that moment.

And full it was. The airlines tend to fill flights to a ridiculous level nowadays. I had a center seat for the flight; at least it was an exit row. I tried to get a better east, but no luck.

While I was in the air for the 3:40 to Denver, Orbitz notices kept piling up on my cell phone. As it was, I was delayed three hours, but at least I didn’t have to sleep in Chicago. Had I kept my original flight, I would have arrived in Denver at the truly ridiculous hour of 1:30 am.

Overnighting in Chicago would have been ridiculous, but understandable due to the weather. What I still don’t understand is how one man, one citizen of the United States can justifiably consume so many resources and disturb the routine of many, many fellow citizens. I don’t care if that one man is the vice president of the United States.

Standing at that window, I considered the cost of Cheney’s visit to Rochester. The private airplane (unmarked, of course). The disruption to the other flights arriving or departing (no planes can be moving on the tarmac while the veep’s plane is arriving or departing) and the people who were sitting on those planes, waiting. The cost of the police, sheriff and highway patrol officers who were blocking off the highway, protecting one person rather than the thousands in the community. How many victims were made in Rochester in one afternoon? The residents who could not get where they were going; the people made late to work, or to flights, or to pick up their kids at school. The cost of the bad-ass black SUV that escorted that unmarked plane across the taxi lanes to the runway. The cost of airport staff who also stood by as escort service. The fuel involved in getting him there, and back, and running all those extra “security” vehicles such as the police cruisers. The PR effort to get the word out to the community not to park vehicles on roads near the airport.

"Utterly Ridiculous," I said. I, too, am glad he didn't stay to lunch.

In which Melanie leaves the county

2006-09-17T17:42:00.000-06:00

The plan for today was Niagara Falls.

I got up late - too late for breakfast today. I hurried through shower and dressing, pausing only long enough on the way out to Mapquest the route, and to pack my laptop for the trip. After all, I've got only enough on-board memory for 11 shots at 3.1 mp, and I anticipated needing to dump pictures . I left at about 10:30, too late as it turns out to get breakfast from McDonald's either. I did order a Big and Tasty burger which was actually pretty good.

Unsurprisingly, the route is very well marked, and my Mapquest directions only served as assurance that I was on the right track. It was noon when I arrived at the park. Parking was $10. This seemed to be a bad omen, and I prepared myself to pay for just about everything I wanted to do. Luckily, walking is free, and so the parking fee turned out to be worst of it.

I first walked over to the brink of the American falls. It is spectacular to see the vast quantities of water that spill over the falls. As in Yellowstone, there is the suspicion that all that water must eventually run out, that there can't possibly be so much water to fuel the spectacle that is Niagara indefinitely.

From the American side, you are in close proximity to the action and can see the vastness of the Niagara complex. Across the American falls to the south is Goat Island, which divides the falls into the American and Canadian sides. Goat Island is accessible from the US side of the straight (what we call the Niagara River is actually a straight between Lakes Erie and Ontario) and from a distance seems to be completely developed as a park. Staircases lead down from the island into the gorge, permitting access to the bottom of the gorge. Undoubtedly, there is a charge for this access; the park runs tours down into the gorge below Goat Island.

Standing on the American bank, one can clearly see the long lines of people snaking their way along the opposite Canadian bank, as well as the buildings and parkland that surrounds Horseshoe falls on the Canadian side. A trick of geology prevents anyone standing on the US side from seeing more than the very southern side of Horseshoe Falls. To my right was the Rainbow bridge between the US and Canada. Pedestrians are permitted to cross the Rainbow bridge, and since I had already parked (and paid ten bucks to do so) it seemed more expedient to walk than to drive. After a check of the documents required for re-entry to the US, I decided that I was going to walk across to Canada.

Now, if you measure the distance from Rainbow Bridge to the American falls and the distance from Rainbow Bridge to the Canadian falls, the distance to the Canadian Falls is probably twice as far. I'm thinking as I'm heading for the customs house that I have a bit of a hike in front of me. However, I know that I can pretty much walk indefinitely, and besides, it's only 275 feet above sea level.

The problem is that there is no place where you can view the American falls head-on as long as you stay in the US. I was gratified then that the view from Rainbow bridge affords a panoramic view of both of the falls. The problem with the American side of the falls is that no matter where you are on the American side, the view is at best oblique. There is no The smallish dark squares in the water are two "Maid of the Mist" boats, out for their tours.

In the center of the Rainbow Bridge stand two flag poles, marking the point where Canada and the US meet (or are divided). I suppose the light pole is the effective boundary.

Once across the bridge, I had to enter Canada. This apparently involved questioning a slightly flustered American tourist to the Canadian customs officer's satisfaction. I had my single piece of identification out - my driver's license - but he never even glanced at it. "Where do you live?" "Kansas. No wait, I was born in Kansas," I laughed nervously. "I live in Colorado." "Where are you going?" "To the falls." "Where did you spend the night last night?" I faltered. I can't ever remember the name of the hotel on the fly. "Rochester." "Where are you staying tonight?" "Rochester." I didn't offer New York; either Rochester isn't a Canadian city to which one might walk from Niagara Falls, Ontario, or he was able to supply the US state himself. No matter. Satisfied that I didn't pose a threat to any Canadians, he waved me through.

I emerged into a formal garden, with low sculptural hedges, terraced with granite down to street level. This was quite a change from the American park, where the landscaping is more organic. The British influence was apparent; I had stepped into a formal nineteenth-century British estate garden, although facing an icon of the North American landscape.

The Canadians have built stout granite walls between the street and the precipice of the gorge. I found them to be a more substantial barrier to pitching over the edge, although they are perched right on the edge. From here, the majesty of the American falls was now apparent. The American falls seem too be the more stable of the two, with talus at the foot of the falls. The American Falls carry only about 10% of the water in the "river", and so the volume is not enough to carve out a plunge pool. Although erosion happens here, the American Falls are comparatively stable.

The Canadian Falls - Horseshoe Falls - is a completely different cataract. Carrying the vast majority of the Niagara's water, Horseshoe is retreating rapidly toward Lake Erie. Since the end of the last ice age, 12,500 years ago, the falls have moved seven miles south. In the 328 years since European "discovery", the falls have retreated 1280 feet, and they of course continue to move, although at a reduced pace; hydroelectric diversion has reduced the flow by half. Nevertheless, the falls will eventually be reduced to rapids between Lakes Erie and Ontario.

But for now, Niagara attracts millions of people a year, a large percentage of whom were at the Falls today. I am surprised at the number of visitors who are neither US nor Canadian citizens. Indians, Arabs, and Oriental peoples seem to predominate (blacks are noticeably missing). I surmised that the large number of Indian visitors account for the great number of Indian restaurants that I noticed driving out of the park. Is it that we Americans take for granted the jewels of our own landscapes, leaving the visitation to those for whom "Niagara" and "Yellowstone" have for generations been symbolic of our continent? Why are places that define our culture visited more by foreigners than by ourselves? Is it simply that the dollar is weak? Or - in spite of what seems to be prevailing opinion abroad - is America still seen as the pinnacle of cool?

The hike over to the brink of the Canadian Falls was every bit as far as it looked. Dressed in my usual black attire, I was beginning to get pretty hot. I was not disappointed in the destination, however - except that it seemed that there were constantly at least 300 people milling around me. The shots from the brink of the falls - they call it Table Rock - only begin to describe the effect. The water is deep greenish blue, from the dissolved minerals contained in it. It's flat just below your feet, before it plunges over the edge. The mists rise from the invisible depths, cooling the air wherever they blow.

Of course, where ever there are tourists there is money, and where ever tourists might be persuaded to part with that money there are gift shops. Table Rock is no exception; in fact it could be argued that Niagara is the great grandmother of marketing to tourists. The park building at Table Rock had not one gift shop, but two - with much the same merchandise of course. I did pick up a few items for the folks at home (well, the maple sugar candy is for me) managing to avoid the really cheezy stuff.

I was tired, and becoming in need of sustenance - not so much that I was going to wait in line for a soda at inflated prices though. So I decided to head back to Rainbow Bridge and see if my country was going to let me back in. There was a tiny bit of doubt, since I had only a driver's license and neither passport nor birth certificate in my possession. My right foot had decided to become painful for no apparent reason too.

I did take a couple of ganders over the edge on the way back and discovered a rainbow in the mist below the walkway. I am struck by the resemblance between the rainbow and the bow of Rainbow Bridge. Yes, that's the bridge I had yet to arrive at and to cross in the picture. The American Falls are on the right.

I was kind of glad to be able duck into a candy shop that was nearly empty of tourists for a soda, but not so happy when she charged me $1.78 US for a bottle of diet Coke. I crossed to the English garden and took advantage of the shade for a few minutes. I had started to feel somewhat sunburned, and was pretty eager to get out of the sun.

I climbed the granite stairs to the Canadian Customs house and opened the doors to be faced with a couple of turnstiles and a bank of change machines. No Canadian officers as expected. And a sign that read "PAY TOLL TO U.S.A." - I thought I got the entire placard in the picture. Dang! In any case, the government of Canada was chargingg us to leave! Either that or the US government was charging us to enter! This must be what is meant when they say that they'll get you coming or going. It seemed quicker to change a dollar rather than to dig for quarters.

After the walk back across the bridge, (I forgot to note earlier that it seems very far down to the water from up there) I entered the US Customs House on the east side of the Niagara Gorge. Here I had to wait in a short line for a couple of Japanese girls who were filling out forms, evidently incorrectly. The customs officer took my driver's license and mumbled something to me. After two tries, he restated the question, "where were you born?" and I was able to infer that he was asking my citizenship. "Oh, citizenship! In the US. I'm a US citizen." I know he mumbled, because he was speaking to me on my left side, and I hear a little better on that side than the right. He typed something into his computer, handed back my license and sent me off, back into the US.

I made a brief stop back at the visitor's center in the New York state park, and selected a route back to Rochester. I had used the New York Thruway on the way west. It's a good highway, and the toll was $3 including the Niagara River bridge. But I wanted a more local experience going back. I headed north on the Robert Moses State Parkway, which passes many historical and geographical points of note. They all looked interesting, but I was simply too tired to care. I would like to go to Fort Niagara State Park, which is rich in history, but another time.

Western New York is a fruit-growing region par excellence. The southern shore of Lake Ontario creates a unique climate for raising fruit. I stopped at a couple roadside stands and picked up locally grown apples, peaches and tomatoes. As I was trying to make selections at one stop, a lady thrust a huge peach into my hand. It's hard to shop and eat a two-handed peach at the same time but it was worth it. It was the first thing of substance that I'd had since breakfast, and I really appreciated it.

I hadn't planned on dining out, since I had made a kettle of soup last night, and needed to eat on it. It was almost 7 before I got to eat, but it had been a good day. The payoff has been made for this trip - tomorrow it's back to the really hard week of the installation. But I have apples and peaches to take with me to work - tasteful reminders of the weekend.

In which the payoff is collected

2006-09-16T18:37:00.000-06:00

Weekends are the payoff for spending two weeks at a time away from home.

The last time I worked in upstate New York it was January. January is not an ideal time to visit Buffalo. Anticipating as much, I brought along plenty of sewing; we were preparing to go to Estrella and I was using all available time to insure that we were clothed at the War. It's been a while since I loaded up the sewing machine. I've resigned myself to doing what I've always really wanted to do - I'm seeing the county.

Of course, Saturdays are often a slow start. After a week of dealing with jet lag and the trials of training for 7 hours a day, I usually sleep late on Saturday morning. This morning was typical. I got up late and discovered that the "partly sunny" morning was less than "partly". In no hurry, I showered and dressed, and made it downstairs just in time to make myself a waffle for breakfast.

One of the cool things about "seeing the country" is bringing back pictures of my adventures. However, for as long as I've been working in this traveling job, I've been camera-less. Well, not exactly - I have bought a couple of 35mm cameras for traveling, but they both proved worth less than the purchase price, and I never got even one roll of film out of either of them. This weekend, I'm expecting to do some things that I really want to share with the folks back home, and so Chris and I had been discussing the possibility of getting me a camera. So, this morning I picked up a Kodak C533 from Best Buy. It was $149, which was a little higher than I wanted to pay, but it seems to be worth the money.

What I didn't buy was a SD memory card, since we've got a collection of those from the Olympus with the fried power card. Of course that means that I'm fairly limited in taking pictures. I can get 11 3.1 mp pictures on the internal memory - I'm going to have to take the laptop with me to dump pictures frequently this weekend. I just couldn't bring myself to spend $60 on a gig of memory, knowing that MicroCenter back home is selling a gig of memory for under $20.

With memory-recorder in pocket, I hit the highway. The Lake Ontario State Parkway. The Parkway is a four-lane highway that parallels the edge of the lake for most of the New York shoreline. Commercial vehicles are prohibited, probably as much for maintaining the character of the highway as for the low bridge clearance. Whether the low clearances are by chance or design, I don't know. I was struck by the extreme quiet of the lakeshore - the Parkway had very little traffic, and whenever I parked the car, the peace was absolute.

Of course, I never seem to have any cash on me, and so I had to bypass the Hamlin Beach State Park. I finally stopped at Point Breeze, where there is a park along the river that feeds into Lake Ontario. The park rests largely under the Parkway; the Parkway runs on bridges high above the river and park. The park rests on the east bank of Oak Orchard Creek, which is larger than most Colorado rivers. The creek runs fifty feet below the park, where a long line of docks host maybe 50 or 60 boats, both private and municipal. Steps connect the park with the docks at the edge of the creek.

This seems to be a point of entry into the US from Canada. A Customs office is located near the steps, and the official nature of the location is underscored by the presence of several police boats in the docks. Yet, the park seems dedicated to the people who would use it, and the docks are populated by boats of all sizes, descriptions, and values. Although the Saturday afternoon seemed remarkably quiet - few people were out and about - three boats cruised by as I stood on the dock. There were two small powerboats and one large yacht. The boats seem to run in a channel on the east side of the creek; the west side is shallow as evidenced by the sandhill crane fishing over there. Small streams tumble over the brink and splash into the creek. One opposite the steps down into the creek's gorge was particularly noisy.

After visiting the park, I turned south toward route 104. I wanted to see some upland landscape. I had suspected that I might find a bit of fresh produce out in the countryside, and I was not disappointed. Of course, without any cash on me, I didn't get to buy anything. I stopped at Hurd Orchards, on the county line just west of Rochester.

Hurd Orchards is a farm and market. I can only describe Hurd Orchards as enchanting. I expected a fruit stand. I was surprised to find home-made preserves, tea, dried flowers and baked goods. And a dozen or more varieties of apples. Peaches. Tomatoes. They serve a lunch menu in the barn, which opens out to the cherry orchard. The farm values conservation and sustainable practices, maintains sections of the property for wildlife habitat and forestry, uses very few chemicals, and favors physical barriers against animals who enjoy the same fruits that the people do. It's a beautiful slice of the county, and seems to be very livable.

I reflected on the beauty that was a part of Colorado's attraction for us. There are some very beautiful places in Colorado. The beauty of many of those places depends upon the fact that very few people have had an impact on the landscape. This means that the beautiful places where people do live are few - few enough that the demand is controlled by astronomical real estate prices. I find western New York to be beautiful, but it is a different sort of beauty than the majesty of the Rockies. The landscape here is what the mind's eye evokes when one thinks about the American countryside. There is a palpable connection to our cultural history as Americans. This is what the 19th century agricultural landscape looks like.

I have to admit that I can see myself living in upstate New York. Being here in September, I don't know what is in store for the summers or the winters, but I really love late summer here. I can imagine cozy Christmases - I would guess that the instance of a white Christmas is somewhat higher than in Denver - and sparkling autumns. Maybe I'm just getting old and nostalgic. Besides, the median house value is $140,000 less than Denver.

The afternoon was getting on, and I had decided that I was going to make a pot of soup for supper, and I wanted a nap. Of course, this made supper rather late, but after a trip to the super market, I put together a rather nice seafood bisque. I wasn't able to buy seafood in small enough quantities to make just a single batch. This of course means that I have soup for the next three nights. Par for the course.

Tomorrow, I have plans to go to Niagara Falls. We'll see how this goes, since I'm carrying neither
passport nor birth certificate. Hopefully US customs will be having a good day.

In which a raincoat is required

2006-09-14T06:48:00.000-06:00

I seem to have made a fateful mistake.

I didn't bring my raincoat.

I've been in Rochester, New York for 5 days; it's rained for four, with seemingly increasing intensity. Driving in this morning was decidedly unpleasant; rain for Easterners may be as lunacy-provoking as for us Westerners. Visibility was reduced on the interstate, but at least people were driving well - it's that long stretch of Route 15 that was nutty. People stopped in the left lane for no reason; backups for no reason; drivers posturing for position despite unfavorable traffic (and weather!) conditions.

I did bring my fleece jacket, expecting to need it at night. And an umbrella which I seem to always leave in the place I don't need it. Newspapers make good umbrellas, I think.

Four days of rain is somewhat a novelty to this Westerner. Being a 30-year resident of Kansas has made it not so novel - it's beginning to get downright depressng.

In other news, I realized that this is the Rochester from which Lynn and Michele hail. I put the pieces together yesterday. Duh.

In which the routine returns

2006-09-12T15:22:00.000-06:00

The weeks before Thress Stags were hectic, crazed, and productive. They were also completely focused on two things - Evan in school and Three Stags. It was a relief to be home for the month of August.

Both projects have been fraught with challenges - it seems that very little was easy with either kindergarten or Three Stags. The hard physical work ended once we got home on Monday, but now the hard parenting has begun.

I don't think it was that difficult to get kids established in school when I was Evan's age. We thought that once school began, the routine would be something of a relief, but the routine has turned out to require a lot more maintenance that we would have believed.

It seems that our kid is a little immature for kindergarten. No wonder, he's a boy, and he's 10 months younger than most of the kids - his birthday is in May. He's not yet interested in reading (we wonder how that could happen in our house) and his academic skills were somewhat below the average for incoming kindergarteners according to the baseline tests. (The baseline tests seem to be somewhat inflated from the reality of our childhoods.) So, we've embarked on a literacy crash course for Evan. It's requiring a lot of dicipline, mostly on the part of the adults.

Evan gets home at 4:00, and he has an hour of literacy stuff - Leap Pad DVDs, Leapster games, etc. - before supper at 5:00. Then more literacy stuff, like worksheets, practice writing, or games, until Bath at 7:00. In bed by 8:00. In the morning, if there's time between tooth brushing and school, he can watch educational DVDs.

It's working - he's really picking up the letters, sounds and concepts, so I know his brain's ready for it. But his butt's not. He can't hardly sit still. He can't concentrate on anything more than a couple of minutes. He is, in a word, immature. This means that a lot of what we're teaching isn't just letters and words, but how to be a student. It's taxing on all of us.

Imagine my relief when I got to turn attention to traveling 1300 miles east to Rochester, NY. Airline travel and two weeks dealing with reluctant trainees seems like a walk in the park compared to pushing a reluctant kindergartener toward literacy. I work, I eat, I watch TV or read, I sleep, I eat, I work, I may shop a little.... Yes, it's away from my bed (and all that means) for far too long, but this roI woutine is a known quantity, and thus easier in so many ways. In a week, I'll feel differently, but right now, I'm pretty content where I'm at.

In which SCA projects predominate

2006-08-28T13:36:00.000-06:00

Apologies for the lack of blogs; we've been largely been preoccupied with getting ready for a SCA event over Labor Day weekend. I've been doing lots of blogging, though - just not here. Go to From Lijsbet's Desk for an up-to-date record of happenings.

Much of the same content (but with better pictures) may be found in the section of the Companie Golden Lyon's web page devoted to my projects, A period encampment. Recent posts are on the Tents and Tables pages, and there are some recent but older posts at the period bed page. Since we're working hard on these projects just now, there's a lot of activity.

SCA projects may predominate, but there's still a strong preoccupation with Evan getting into school. I have a sheaf of papers to deal with on a daily basis - late last week saw a particular flurry. With Evan's rite of passage last week has come a much stricter schedule. He's home at 3:40, he gets to watch literacy videos until dinner at 5, and then we do some sort of directed literacy learning until bath at 7:00. He's to be in bed by 8:00, which is rather nice, since the parents then get uninterrupted time to work - on SCA projects, of course.

It's a grind, but it's better than last week's chaos - it seems the school must "ease" the kids into school with two part-days before the kids get to go to school full-time.

On top of it all, Chris repaired the sink in our bathroom this weekend.

Of course I'm stressing about what's getting left out. The yard and garden is a disgrace. I haven't got curtains made for my bathroom (a project sitting for the past two months), not have I gotten any Goth clothes made for Chris or me. The laundry is a consistent three-basket pile, and we all need SCA clothes.

It'll be good to get Three Stags over - the work toward the event is good, but the relief will be better. Maybe I can get the yard in shape before I leave for New York.

In which today is pretty much like any other day for Evan

2006-08-23T09:24:00.000-06:00

But today is a day with profound meaning for his mother. Today is of course Evan's first full day of Kindergarten.

I awoke with a migraine this morning, which is really too bad, since I didn't get the pleasure of any wine to trigger it. Because of the migraine, I was late getting up. Evan had awakened with Grandma early this morning, and crawled into bed with me - of course, this limits sleeping. I got up at 7:50 and tried to get Evan up. This was something of a challenge; although he didn't get to bed too late last night, I suspect that he just didn't get enough sleep what with waking up.

I learned at yesterday's meeting at the school that there is no hot lunch for the kingergarteners this week, and so had to make him a lunch. The subject of food at school has become a huge point of contention due to hysteria over food allergies. I had pretty much decided that we'd let the school feed him, since they seem to think they can provide a peanut/tree-nut diet, and it's an overwhelming issue for parents to insure that there are no nut products in what their child brings to school.

I'm annoyed enough by all this that I did some research last night. Although the Enrichment teacher tells me that she's got 20 kids with food allergies (out of about 50 kids) , research [1] indicates that only about 8% of children will have food allergies, and of those less than one percent are considered life-threatening. Besides nuts, children may have life-threatening reactions to milk, soy, eggs, shellfish or wheat. No one is advocating removing any of the other common allergens from the school in entirety, although anaphalaxis due to any of the non-nut allergens is just as swift and deadly - and unpredictable, especially in children with a personal or family history of atropy, including conditions such as eczema, hay fever, or asthma.

Research also indicates that the incidence of nut allergies is grossly overreported - many diagnoses are made without sufficient tests and challenges to acertain not only the precise allergen, but if there really is an allergy at all. Just because a person tests for the IgE antibody, doesn't mean that they will react badly to any allergen. The only way to diagnose any allergy is to use double-blind, placebo-controlled food challenges. Skin pricks and blood tests are reliable indicators of IgE antiboties, but poor predictors of reactivity. One wonders how many of the "food allergies" present at Lois Lenski (or in any other elementary school) have been thouroughly tested and accurately diagnosed.

The school district has a long-standing rule prohibiting the sharing of food, which should be quite enough precaution - combined with teacher enforcement - against allergic children eating potentially hazardous items. Yet, we are told that one particular potential allergen - nuts - must not come to school. This outright ban on nuts is often supported by the myth that even a whiff of peanut odor is enough to cause anaphalyxis; there is no mention in the research of bona fide reactions occuring other than through ingestion or contact with skin. Although subjects may react strongly to the smell or presence of peanut butter, these are antecdotal reports and not supported by clinical research. There is strong evidence that reactions to smell or proximity are psychosomatic.

A more common scenario is that the victim has had at least minimal physical contact with the allergen. For instance, the person may have been touched (or kissed) by another person who has handled or consumed nut products. For this reason, it makes good sense to maintain high standards of cleanliness in the classroom, both in personal hygene (which just makes good sense in any case) and in keeping surfaces very clean.

Furthermore, we were informed that Evan's class will remain nut-free throughout elementary school. The Kindergarten is nut-free this year; next year, the first grade will be nut-free. The likelyhood is strong that next year's Kindergerten classes will be nut-free too. However, research shows that children will not necessarily have the allergy forever; 20% outgrow the allergy. Will the kids in Evan's class be tested annually using double-blind, placebo-controlled food challenges techniques? Doubtful.

If it was a matter of just prohibiting peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, this would be a simple matter. "No sharing" and "wash hands" rules should suffice to keep truly sensitive kids safe. But the prevalence of nuts in the American diet makes this a overwhelming and undue burden. Nuts are in many processed foods, and nut oils are used in many ethnic cuisines. This means that I can't send Evan to school with a long list of foods, which has been thoughtfully been provided by the school. Add to this the lack of education about the risk and safety of peanut oils in various states (and the total lack of labeling as to the state of the oil in question) and this issue becomes a case of Russian Roulette.

Other research indicates that children with food allergies experience a lower quality of life (QoL) than those with insulin-dependant diabetes! I would say that the QoL experience extends to the families of children who are in the same schools. As I'm packing Evan's lunch this morning, I find myself questioning my decisions. Peanut butter is right out, but what about the breading on the leftover chicken I sent? What about the oil in which it was fried? What if the truly sensitive kid pilfers a crumb in spite of teacher oversight and rules? What if my decision causes a child to suffer, or worse to die? Since the school has instituted a ban, am I legally liable? I suspect so. I have a sneaking suspicion (justifiable in fact) that the lawyers are behind all this.

After agonizing over lunch, Evan and I set off for school. His first full day. Well, not really full-day; full-day kindergarten is out of fashion just now. However, there is an enrichment session available which makes up for fashion, at $13 a day. We arrived at school at 8:50, and were directed to the primary playground, where he barely took a moment to give me a goodbye hug and kiss. Then he was off, eager to play with kids and on the playground equipment, and I was left in a swirl of other people's kids and parents clinging to cameras - or kids clinging to parents. I watched Evan for a bit, and then walked away.

He was totally at home, thouroughly absorbed in playing. I'm feeling like my little boy has grown up all too fast. At these times, I am forced to deal - unwilling - with issues of mortality, both his and mine. I know why people have a second child. As the first grows up, we long for the sweet innocence of our formerly very small child, and the need to maintain those sweet innocent days tends to overcome reason. Being an avowed only-child parent, today is especially bittersweet.

I thought I'd come home and cry all day. It still seems like a good idea, but I scheduled some self-care in the form of a hair appointment this afternoon. Make no mistake, I'm terribly proud of my little guy. But it all seems too soon. There are Coffee and Kleenax socials at the school today for the morning and afternoon parents. But I'm ducking all that - I can't handle other parents' grief and mine too.

[1] http://www.allerg.qc.ca/peanutallergy.htm

In which Chris and I go to a movie

2006-08-13T22:19:00.000-06:00

Yes, we went to a movie! I know it seems pedestrian, but when you're parents of a 5-year-old, these things are rather more out of the ordinary than less.

We put Evan to bed, and left him (sleeping) with his grandma. We had already made arrangements for her to keep him for the evening if she had to work. However, the work actually needed her on Saturday, and so our "date" became the late show.

We saw "Pirates of the Caribbean". No it wasn't as good as the first. Yes, the critics are right. I mostly thought about how much I loved Jack Sparrow, and how much I missed him in this sequel. It's not to say that Johnny Depp wasn't in the movie; it's just that I'm not sure that he knew that he was supposed to be playing the same character as last time. Some of the dialogue was lost in the accents and the special effects, which meant that the plot details and twists - and the characters' motivations in many cases - weren't apparent. I did like the special effects, though. Davy Jones' effects were great; I found myself wanting to watch him more and more. Bootstrap Bill, Will Turner's father, was another special-effect stand-out. And Tia Dalma is a personal favorite.

But I really miss Jack.

In which to see better, I have to see worse

2006-08-09T21:23:00.000-06:00

Having put it off long enough, I've actually seen an eye doctor with the intent to get another pair of glasses.

My last exam was about two years ago. The glasses I got were impossible for me to adjust to; I could see about 3" of anything held at reading distance from my face. To see anything more, I had to turn my head. I described the feeling as claustrophobic. It was something of a relief then when Chris broke them as they were hanging from a necklace in the car. That was close to two years ago.

I had done a little research before going. I found some frames I liked a lot. The company is called Spectacle Eyeworks out of Canada. These aren't your mamma's eyeglasses - which is of course, the objective. Since I can't seem to find any eye make-up that doesn't burn my eyes, I'd like to have something distinctive to wear on my face instead. Spectacle Eyeworks referred me to just two shops in Denver who carry their line. Of course, neither of those shops are on the Comcast vision plan.

Although WideOrbit will reimburse me for any expenses related to eye care, I decided to try the Comcast plan, and made an appointment at Pearle Vision. After all I know that I can't front the entire expense, and if this could save me some cash, then I might have more in my WideOrbit flex account if I needed it later.

My appointment was at 1:00 today. I had the full exam, including the annoying dilation. They sent me out of the dark exam room into the light. Boy, was it bright. In my impaired state, they expected me to actually be able to see the frames that I was trying on. I did get something of an impression of a line called "Bellagio" which has a lot of interesting frame styles. By interesting I mean floating lenses, laser-cut temples and colors. It being difficult for me to discern details, I was rather relieved when the optician offered to order some out-of-stock frames for me in better colors - this gives me the chance to actually see them clearly before making any decisions. At $200 for a pair of frames, I'm not hurrying this process.

I have to say that the doctor and optician were very accommodating. They spent a lot of time with me answering stupid questions. The optician is obviously interested in my business, as he seems to be going above and beyond to sell me eyeglasses. I'll feel bad if I choose not to buy from Pearle.

However, I had to see the Spectacle Eyeworks frames first. I would have to wait.

The doctor had asked me if I had sunglasses out in the car. I actually had a pair in my bag, but I was gratified to find a much darker pair in the console. Because I had to drive myself home.

I've had my eyes dilated before, but I don't remember it being this bad. It quickly went from "annoying" to "impaired". The optician told me that it would get steadily worse over the two hours following the procedure, and then it would clear. But first I had to get myself home. It wasn't easy, but I carefully drove home and promptly went to bed. I love our Dark bedroom - I loved it a lot more at about 2:30 this afternoon. I covered up my eyes and for the first time in an hour felt like I didn't have abnormal sight.

By 4:00, all was pretty much back to normal. Yes, the sun still looked too bright, but in shade I could see reasonably well. Chris and I hopped in the car and after picking up Boy, headed to Tamarac Square and International Optique. They did have some of Spectacle Eyeworks' frames, and a lot of other interesting frames. I've picked out a couple of pairs that I like reasonably well. The staff at International Optique was super patient and very willing to give advice about shapes - face and eyeglasses. I discovered that plastic lenses are generally too heavy for my face, and a subtle cats' eye shape is good for me. It's not going to be easy finding something suitable in purple. The "fashion" colors are ones I don't generally wear. The blue frame that tones to black on me is a good possibility, although I don't think I have anything in my closet that is blue.

Still no decisions though. The Pearle Vision optician is going to call me in two or three days when the new frames come in. I just have to have patience. And about $400 ahead....

In which I find I'm running my ass off

2006-08-03T11:13:00.000-06:00

I have lost 3 pounds this week, so I suppose it's OK, but.....

I've "worked out" every day since I've been home except Sunday. Saturday was the Farmer's Market and then I've walked Evan to school every day this week. He complains. He's so tired! I know I do pace a little too fast for him, and I'm trying to slow down, but really, he's got ten times my energy and less than 20% of my weight.

In addition, Chris and I (with Evan) hiked Deer Creek Canyon Park on Tuesday night. 2.7 miles, and half of it felt like straight up. We used to do that park frequently, and it didn't seem so bad. It's gonna take some more of those to get closer to "in shape".

I was really happy at 200 lbs. I don't know if I could have done any better at Deer Creek Canyon, but I felt better about myself. I felt younger, sexier, more "normal". I had better choices in clothing available in my size.

So, I'm eating normally and probably tripleing or quadrupling the number of steps I'm doing every day. My goal is to get back down to 200 by Halloween. That's 30 lbs in just over 90 days. It seems do-able and a healthy pace.

As long as I don't have to slow down.

In which grief slips up on me unexpectedly

2006-07-30T22:22:00.000-06:00

Well, I'm home. Got in after midnight on Friday, and as we had jettisoned the idea of going to XX Year, that was OK. Turned out to be the right decision.

The last two weeks at work have been stressful and very tiring. I didn't sleep well - the hotel's air conditioning kept waking me up all night every night - and I suspect that in my weakened state my body was defenseless against the bug that my co-worker brought to Minnesota. *sniff* The work was more intense than usual, and the heat also weighed heavily on me.

After arriving so late on Friday night, I slept in a little Saturday morning, and then we went to the Farmer's Market in Cherry Creek and then to the Tattered Cover. Although both were thoroughly enjoyable destinations, I found that the lack of sleep, the heat, and possibly my too-early rising had gotten the better of me. I came home and crashed.

Sunday found Chris and myself re-discovering our family room (the "Hall"), which involved cleaning the corner of the garage vacated by the old piano. The garage has had some small residents that moved in last winter. Of course, there's no way to know if they ever moved out, or if the progeny remain. But the signs are everywhere - mouse poop on the floors, inside boxes, on shelves. I found the bag of leftover robin's eggs empty behind the wooden utility shelf, littered inside with mouse poop. I swept up piles of the stuff. They'd discovered a box full of styro peanuts and shredded the styro - I've been trying without much success to corral the shreds since the spring. It seems that every time I move something in the garage, there's more shredded styrofoam and mouse poop.

There's a trash can in the garage that usually serves to hold smallish boxes. I emptied that out and found two little bodies in the bottom. The mice had apparently gotten in and were unable to get out. They were huddled together. I could not help myself - I cried and cried. (Indeed, I cannot keep from crying as I write this.) It's not that the death of the mice bothered me so much - it's how they died. To suffer hunger or dehydration is a death no one should have to endure. Better that their deaths had been swift, the death of the prey.

Besides, I do rather like mice - they are one of the creatures that "go bump in the night", creatures that our collective unconsciousness fears irrationally but deeply. Yet they are food, and without them snakes would be hungrier and cats less entertained.

My mother said that it was her fault - she'd taught me to be so soft-hearted. This is true. But there's more. I think that I have never grieved fully in my life. I find it difficult to emphathise with the grief of others, simply because in doing so deep wounds might open with which I am ill prepared to deal. Better to shove those feelings down and carry on resolutely. After all (I rationalize) little respect is granted to people who let their feelings incapacitate them. While I can understand this, I am unable to let go.

I suppose I'll just suck it up and do whatever has to be done next. Again. Besides, I may have to go to Atlanta tomorrow.

In which weekend diversion options prove limited in Rochester MN

2006-07-24T23:12:00.000-06:00

When you're on the road and you have to spend the weekend somewhere, it becomes important that you find things to fill your time that don't include lying on the bed in the hotel room and watching TV for 16 hours. As I needed to find diversion in southern Minnesota, I had been thinking about the weekend for the previous four or five days.

I had a couple of offers. "Come to our show on Friday night." "You can crash at our house in Minneapolis for the weekend. Bring your laundry." Well, I don't like country music that much, and am not comfortable imposing on folks, and so neither of these offers seemed likely. The traffic manager at the station where I was working saved me with Friday night tickets to the old-time rock'n'roll show at the local historic theatre. Options for Saturday and Sunday seemed to be shopping.

I'm not a great shopper. I really don't like it very much, because I'm indecisive. I can't make up my mind. I hate buying shoes and purses. But shopping seems to be a decent way to spend a weekend away from home, and so I bravely sallied forth. I did have a few needs after all, and a couple of "wants".

I don't like malls very much either. Too many people. Too much stimulation. I usually head straight for the store most likely to contain the object of need or desire, and then head out the nearest mall exit. On the other hand, what else is one to do in July in southern Minnesota?

So on Saturday I went to the mall in Rochester, MN, and did a little shopping. It took an hour and a half, but I walked away with three new bras that fit. What an ordeal. I took my new Ecco shoes to the cobbler for stretching, and also picked up a couple of new summer bottoms from Catherine's. Since I'd spent so much on Saturday, I really didn't anticipate spending much at the Mall of America on Sunday.

Sunday found me driving the 70 miles up to Minneapolis to the Mall of America. It is, well, a big mall. It has all the usual stuff in it. If you combine Park Meadows, Cherry Creek and Southglenn malls, got rid of the duplicates and added more shoe stores, and sprinkled in a handful of specialty stores you'd have the Mall of America. It doesn't cover so much real estate as airspace - the thing is three or four stories high. I did pick up a couple of silver rings from one store, and some chocolates from the Lindt store. Oh, and two pairs of lace-cuffed anklets from the sock place. But that was it. Ate at Panda Express. Ho-hum. At least I got some exercise. The amusement park holds little appeal for me when I don't have a little boy to fete', and my co-worker had called to announce his arrival in Rochester, so I turned toward "home".

Home was an extended stay hotel. It was basic. Very basic. My room had a kitchenette, which was nice, but no dish soap. Oh, and housekeeping expressly refused to do the dishes during their once-weekly visits. And no hair dryer - I had to go buy one and then schlepp it back to Denver. Actually, I schlepped quite a bit of extra stuff back to Denver, because I needed it for living in the hotel, but didn't need the entire bottle of Dawn nor the entire roll of paper towel. I did leave several items with my coworker - he's staying there through the end of this week.

By Monday I discovered that I was ready to come home. I've had plenty of what Minnesota has to offer, thank you very much. I'm done.

In which humidity plus a dry line equals storms - finally

2006-07-20T15:07:00.000-06:00

I must admit that one motivation for going to Midwestern TV stations in my job is to experience a little bit of the excitement of Midwestern weather. Severe storms to be specific. Hail. High winds. Torrential rain and deadly lightning. Tornadoes. Flying cows. The experience so far has been disappointing.

Yesterday was somewhat more exciting however. A line of storms moved through south eastern Minnesota about mid-morning. We knew we were in for it when a weather cut-in was announced over the intercom. From inside the conference room at KAAL, it looked as if the sun was setting. It got darker and darker out there; the street lights came on, and the traffic on I-90 turned on headlights. As getting rain, wind, and hail seemed more and more certain, I decided that I needed to run out the car - I had left my windows cracked to vent the heat of the day.

By the time I got outside, the wind had really picked up. The wind had filled the air with dust and the clouds were the peculiar color of turquoise that means trouble to any Kansas kid. With no rotation, it seemed that the worst would be hail. I got back under cover just as the first wind-driven drops stung my skin. Exhilaration made it hard to return to the conference room and the training, but as the rain sheeted down I gathered the class once again and proceeded.

I-90 runs maybe 70 yards in front of KAAL - there's a yard, a ditch, a street, and another ditch between the conference room window and the highway. The truckers' jake breaks frequently rattle the windows, and it seems that we hear a lot of traffic even through the windows that will not open. Yesterday morning at the height of the rain, we could barely see the highway. Some highway workers had hastily lifted the cones which directed drivers around the crews erecting new highway signs, and we could still see the blinking lights on the highway trucks parked across the road. But that was about all.

Alas, it was all over by the time I went to lunch. The skies were grey in the north and east, but of course that's not doing me any good! The drive home only encountered rain on the last few miles into Rochester. But the atmosphere was not done for the day.

I really hadn't planned to stay up so late. I ate supper from the freezer (having found the Hy-Vee the evening before) and read USA Today's coverage of the Israeli/Hezbollah conflict. I found CNN, and there was coverage there. About 9:30 there was an EAS activation; severe thunderstorms were again popping up to the west. I switched to the news at 10:00.

Sure enough, during the newscast, the storms triggered several warnings, and the weather geeks were reporting weak rotation in the storms. Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but I shut off the TV and the lights with some trepidation. What if a storm would strike? What if a tornado developed. The storm seemed to have Rochester dead in its sights.

I opened the window, and the curtains - which I never do in a hotel, because the neighborhood is always so well-lit. (Yes, that was sarcasm.) As it turned out, it was a pretty strong storm, but nothing remarkable. The thunder woke me up, and of course the storm got my attention when the lights went out. But no hail, even. Plenty of rain, though. I got up and shut the window and curtain.

Of course, my sleep was totally wacked. Not going to bed early, not initially being able to sleep, being awakened - it has all gotten to me today. I could have napped at lunch. I'm going to get to bed early tonight, but first, supper.

In which humidity means condensation but not precipitation

2006-07-18T14:08:00.000-06:00

I arrived in Minneapolis late on Sunday night to find that Frontier had lost my luggage. Between reporting the loss and waiting on the car rental, I managed to leave the airport by 12:30 am, about an hour later than I intended to leave.

Things have been hot and dry here in the upper midwest. The radio yesterday said that the soybean and corn crops were in crisis; only 56% of the crops are considered "good" or "excellent". I've also noticed an uncharacteristic lack of mosquitoes, considered by some the Minnesota state bird. So it's dry. Not that the humidity is absent - there's still plenty of that. It's just that the H2O molecules don't seem to be in a precipitating mood.

Yet, condensation happens.

Having left humidity behind in Kansas eleven years ago, I have little tolerance for it now. You know when you get off the plane what you're in for - the weather inside the jetway is only a little less extreme than that on the tarmac. The jetway in Denver had been like a large oven, hot, dry, and stifling; getting off the plane in Minneapolis was a little like walking into a sauna (and for me almost as claustrophobia-inducing). Needless to say, I cranked the AC in the rental car as soon as I got in on Sunday night.

I was headed to Rochester from Minneapolis. My hotel is in Rochester (the home of the Mayo Clinic), while the station is 30 miles south-west in Austin. Minnesota is largely rural - farmland, lakes, rivers, forests. The highway between Minneapolis and Rochester is a four-lane, although not an interstate. Very rural. Other than a few truck stops and farmhouses, it's very empty and dark. And humid in the wee hours of a July night. Humid enough that visibility was getting poor - not because of atmospheric fog, but because the windshield was fogging. I put on the defroster thinking that would help, but it got worse. With visibility steadily decreasing to the dangerous state in the dark, dark Minnesota countryside, I finally ran the wipers and it occurred to me - the cold air inside the car was causing condensation on the outside of the car's windshield.

That's a lot of humidity. Still no rain.

In which I spend the week in the Spam capitol of the world and then go on vacation

2006-07-06T16:44:00.000-06:00

My work sent me to Austin, MN in June (and I'll be back for two weeks in July) which is the home of Hormel, the maker of Spam. That's the pseudo-food product, not the incessant advertising that fills up your in box.

Austin is a small mid-western town, and that's about the best that one can say about it. It seems that the town lives and dies on Spam - if not the manufacturing of the stuff, the tourism surrounding the phenomenon. Valiantly maintaining my "no Spam" position, I did manage to get out of there without visiting the Spam museum, but it was too close for comfort.

The local watering hole that seemed the friendliest to the non-native was the Applebee's, which I'm sure got a significant revenue boost that week due to our presence in town. This is Dayton-Hudson territory, so the Target was just a nice walk from the hotel, which was good since I was far from home while Chris was holding down the fort in Denver with a huge task on his hands - he was singly packing for Yellowstone.

When I left for Austin, I owned one pair of jeans. As the Yellowstone departure date drew closer, I determined that I was in danger of being hosed in the clothing department. I spent two nights perusing Target; the second with a clarified mission - to find something not too hideous to put on my behind in the wilds of Wyoming. In short I failed. Having gained 30 pounds, I'm not too keen on anyone seeing much of my behind, nor what's between it and my ankles. Target seems to think that we all look great in Capris, and they were awash in the things. I look hideous in them. I realized about an hour too late on Thursday that there was a Sears between Target and the hotel. I left the station late on Friday feeling the doom of too few pants creeping upon me.

Through the miracle of cell phones, the internet, and an hour's difference in time, I was able to direct Chris to the correct style, size and color of jeans in the Park Meadows JC Penney from 1500 miles away. Hurray! I have pants! Not only that, but I have shorts, too! Much relief and gratitude.

But wait, there's more!

Chris posted a spreadsheet that we could both access through Google, and with a packing list, he was able to pack everything we needed to camp, and to purchase other last-minute necessities for both our households (Perry's and Bays') on Friday night. I have to hand it to him - he did a beautiful job of pulling it all together, even without my help. I admit I was worried - not being in charge, not pulling my weight on this project.

I got home at about 11:30 Friday night; I had to pack my duffel before going to bed. We got a late start (no surprises there) on Saturday morning, but I was surprised that the drive took 14 hours. I thought it was 8 or 9.... We didn't have to pitch tents in the dark after all (a relief), and other than leaving the camp late every morning, we had a totally wonderful and relaxing time. We got to see some new things, but mostly took the Perrys to our favorite places.

I'll not write a travelogue, since Chris has and most of the gentle readers of the Out Basket already read Born Too Late, but allow me to mention a highlight or two.

Upper Geyser Basin, although well-known and frequently overwhelmed with people, was a delightful (if long and tiring) walk. Meeting our old friend Ron St. Amand on the boardwalk was very cool. Grand geyser performed beautifully for us - I'd never seen it play before. I wish I'd had more energy to see Black Sand Basin that day, but it will be there next time.

Mammoth Hot Springs is always a feature of our trips, because one can really see geologic change on a human scale there. The terraces are always different from year to year, and it's fun to see how the boardwalks have been moved by the Parks service to provide access. This year we took the Upper Terrace Loop Drive which we had not done before. I highly recommend it; some real gems lurk back there, notably Orange Dome.

For the first time, this year we went to Norris Geyser Basin, perhaps the hottest area in the park. In contrast to the relitive constancy of Upper Geyser Basin, Norris is highly variable. The springs change position and activity almost overnight; the colors of the thermophiles change; the geyser play starts and stops without warning. It's positively primeval. We didn't get a chance to walk the back loop as a storm moved in on us. We adjourned to Whisky Flats for lunch and then to the Firehole Lake Drive which we have done in year's past. Firehole Lake Drive is a much-overlooked side trip. The geysers are spectacular - not necessarily in size - and the lake and cascades are beautiful and fascinating. The iconic White Dome geyser is on the Drive, as is Great Fountain, with 100-200 feet eruptions and one of the most beautiful terrace structures in the park. White Dome erupts frequently and so we got to see it play, but Great Fountain requires more patience than we had that day.

Chris has already proposed another trip to Yellowstone, with the specific intent to see wolves. He figures that we should get a cabin for that trip, which would eliminate a lot of the housekeeping that is required camping in bear country. It would mean a dedication to getting up early and being in the Lamar valley at dusk instead of dinner. Of course there will be optics to purchase, and the means to eat out a lot more than we normally do, so this is something that we'll really need to plan financially.

Other than holding an endless fascination, Yellowstone is one of those places where there's always something more to see and more to do. It is one of our favorite vacations, and I'm hoping to return next year.

In which we celebrate our freedoms

2006-07-06T15:32:00.000-06:00

July 4, 2006.

Chris had to work of course, so Mother and Evan and I spent most of the day together. We hung flags at mid-morning, and then I went to the grocery store for the makings of a holiday dinner.

I'd decided on kabobs, corn on the cob and a red, white, and blue fruit pizza for dessert. We used sirloin steaks and chicken breasts cubed. The meat was marinated for two hours in olive oil, lemon juice, salt, pepper, and fresh oregano. The oregano was tricky to find, wedged between melissa and sage, both of which seem intent upon taking over the garden. We skewered the meat with red, green, yellow, and orange peppers, Vidalia onions, and Flavorino tomatoes halved. I basted the kabobs with the marinade while they were grilling. Although we forgot the corn, we served the kabobs with a grand tossed salad.

The fruit pizza is a large sugar cookie made to the size of a pizza pan. We used Toll House sugar cookie dough. Once baked, it's "sauced" with a block of softened cream cheese to which sugar, vanilla and a little lemon juice is added. Then slices of strawberries and bananas are arranged on it with blueberries. You can use any fruits, but the red-white-blue theme seemed appropriate for the day.

We had Copeland, Sousa, and the 1812 Overture (which isn't about the War of 1812, by the way) for dinner music. After supper, we lingered a bit over the pizza, watching TV and doing a little holiday-related web surfing. We quickly turned our attention to the weather, as the skies darkened prematurely.

Chris and I lived in Kansas long enough that we tend to look for bad weather rather than hide from it in the basement. I noticed quite a lot of rotation in the clouds, although there was nothing organized enough to mean anything of significance. Chris, who had ducked back inside, then came out to announce that a tornado warning had been posted for central Arapaho county, which is of course miles and miles east of us. Besides, no sirens had sounded. (We live in Arapaho county, but it's so long east to west that saying that someone or some thing is in the county is rather meaningless as far as pinpointing a location.) Nevertheless, the rain had set in behind the storm.

We had decided on Highlands Ranch's show, which happened to be very near the Tattered Cover - and instant bennie for us book-o-philes. Chris and I seem to be grabbing on to any occasion to "dress up" and so after a quick shower (the lightening strikes illuminating the bathroom were motivational) I donned a long black skirt, black camisole and shrug, and my new top hat. Chris wore his top hat with his Father's Day black dress shirt and silver spider cufflinks. (I'll post pics later.) Without a lot of confidence that the rain would cease, we made a valiant effort to get to the fireworks show. Alas, the rain proved to be too much, and the crowd was sent home to return the following night when the weather would hopefully be better.

There were sucessful displays that night; we could see them from the hilltop cemetary near our house. We viewed the displays from that vantage point last year, but the "overview" isn't very satisfying to me; I want to have the 'works over head, huge and loud!

Independence Day is a deeply moving holiday for me. I am painfully reminded that our freedoms (at least the ones we're supposed to have) came with the price of blood, that those lives were given in a love of Country - our culture, beliefs, and heritage - rather than in support of a government of questionable morality. This in part defines me as a patriot rather than a nationalist. As a patriot I hold very dear the notion that dissent is one of the great strengths of our county's people. It was dissent that sparked the American Revolution; it is dissent (and a nominally free press) that creates change and reveals and opposes the corruption, cronyism, and hypocracy of Government. Never before in my adult life has this seemed more vital nor more precious to me. Certainly that is due to the current administration, but also to my concerns for the future as a parent.

I had a tough time talking through the emotion when we were hanging the flags on Tuesday. As a parent I wanted to communicate to Evan how very important this all is; why we respect the flag as a symbol of our heritage, and what "freedom" means. Later, under clear skies Wednesday night under the "rockets' red glare" (ok, they're mortars nowadays), I'm choked up with the depth of emotion. "The Star Spangled Banner" does it; "America the Beautiful" does it, even with the Christian notion of God's grace; "The Grand Old Flag" does it - heck, even the "1812 Overture" does it; it's about war and love of Country prevailing over agression, after all.

I suppose the freedom to dissent from the sartorial norms of one of the most affluent areas of the state spoke volumes about the Bays family's attitudes about the holiday. In a development like Highlands Ranch - which actually elected Tom Tancredo to office - the formality of our attire in respect of the day was in marked contrast to the informality of the attire of most of the rest of the crowd. Teeny-boppers, Biffs and Buffys, people to whom success is a right rather than an accomplishment, and those who wear the flag as a symbol of inclusion likely sat down that night to see a good show. I went because to feel the "bombs bursting in air" provides a visceral understanding of what a life is worth.

Besides, I really like the sparklies.

In which I try to catch up a little

2006-07-06T13:55:00.001-06:00

Nearly a month ago I made my last post. In that month, I've been to Topeka KS and the Spam capitol of the world - Austin MN - made major progress on our camp bed, taken a vacation, and celebrated our freedoms. I came home this past weekend to a yard and gardens overtaken by weeds, and so I've spent a little time pulling.

Since I usually write detailed posts, I have to admit that I'm a little overwhelmed by all I meant to write, but never got down into the computer. Perhaps this time I'll simply relate that a lot has happened in a month, and only write about not writing. Maybe some subesequent posts on vacation and the Fourth will appear later....

In which the reader may virtually visit the garden

2006-06-07T10:29:00.000-06:00

I've finally gotten some pictures up on the web from this spring in the period
garden.  I plan to continue adding to the year two page blog-style as the garden
develops this summer.

http://goldenlyon.org/pgarden.html

In case you've been living under a rock and so haven't heard my cries for relief, the garden is producing an overwhelming amount of some
herbs. Please let me know if you need anything.

In which the roses arrive in time for June

2006-06-04T08:19:00.000-06:00

Since I'm leaving for Kansas this morning, I arose early (not early enough) and began packing. A trip out to the car made me pause and grab the camera. This morning was the first morning when the roses were in bloom, and I had to get pictures.

There are several bushes in the front of the house. I am resistant to planting more, since water is such an issue in Denver. I'll keep the plants going that were here when we arrived. But I'd sure love a purple or a yellow; I've always loved Peace, too.

I'm especially fond of the red and cream bi-color above; another more open blossom appears below. This particular bush sports a completely red cane. It's pretty striking.

The coral and the apricot roses have more of an old-fashioned blossom shape, one that I'm not as fond of. But the delicacy of the blooms in the morning was inspiring nevertheless.

I'm fond of capturing a friend or two in the flower pictures. The red rose below has a tiny brown grasshopper or cricket in the petals.

This pink one is truly a gem. I don't care much for pink, but this rose is near perfection in color and shape.

Beautiful June days make it harder to leave Denver.....

In which Evan (almost) goes to school

2006-06-01T08:30:00.000-06:00

Evan told me yesterday morning that he was "so excited" to go to his new school. I told him that the day was tomorrow (today) ; he said, "I know that."

It's new because it's at the school where he will go to kindergarten in the fall, but he's in the summer not-quite-school program. He'll get the ususal daycare things, with enrichment in the form of technology and reading classes and field trips. There is curruculum, but not as much as the regular school session.

Facing a new routine of lunches, field trips and swimming outings, we needed supplies - lunch foods and snack foods, a insulated lunch bag, Blue Ice. Last night found us laden with single-serve milk, yogurt, small bottles of water, Jell-O, carrot sticks, pudding, Scooby snacks, and goldfish. I organized the collection into piles - sandwich, fruit/vegetable, yogurt, crackers, and desert. He got to choose one from each pile. He choose a grape jelly and peanut butter sandwich, applesauce, yogurt, Scooby snacks and pudding. I included two drink aseptics, white milk and chocolate Silk. And a cereal bar for morning snack.

It looked like a lot of pre-packaged, marginally-healthy stuff.

We are as usual somewhat unprepared. Evan's grandma has ordered him lunch things - a Spiderman lunch box and all the accoutrement to fill it. It's just not here yet. We figure that when we have things to put stuff in, that much of the pre-packaged stuff might go away. Of course, that would mean that would depend upon Evan remembering to replace the containers in the lunch box, to bring it home, and then getting it all washed and re-packed for tomorrow. Maybe pre-packaged, marginally-healthy stuff isn't such a bad idea.

In which May turns a little nostalgic

2006-05-31T16:04:00.000-06:00

Instead of writing a blog entry, I'll refer the gentle reader to a web page which I've been working on. I hope you like it.

Oh, and Chris - pphttt.

In which another side of the yard is occupied

2006-05-09T14:04:00.000-06:00

After spending the day Saturday cooking, I really wanted to do something other than SCA on Sunday. There was an event in Caer Galen, but I needed to spend some time in the yard, especially since the xeriscape plants that I ordered from High Country Gardens came late last week.

As some previous tennant had thoughtfully left tons of rocks around the yard, I thought that a rock garden up next to the house on the south side seemed like a capitol idea. I had two criteria for plants - they had to be xeric (low-water requirements) and the had to attract butterflies and hummingbirds. The bed has been used for the last two summers for tomatoes, and it tends to be hot and dry. The overhanging roof eaves shelter it from rain, and there are no trees to shelter the south face of the house from the sun.

I ordered penstemons, hyssop, lavendar, and salvia from High Country Gardens. In addition, I used some Red Lady salvia that voluntered from last year's butterfly/hummer gardens, and what I think might be penstemons from the same source. Time will tell what we've got.

Last year's butterfly/hummer gardens were in self-watering pots from Gardner's Supply Company. I was really impressed with how well they worked (so impressed that I have two more on order) and at the same time, have never been satisfied with growing tomatoes in Colorado. We initially attempted container-grown tomates, but if you let them dry out more than a couple of times they would produce only small fruit with tough peels. In the ground, we had the same problem, although the produce was better than in the pots. It seems that one of the secrets of great tomatoes is that they never go without water, and the self-watering pots are the key to Colorado tomatoes. So, this year, instead of tomatoes in the garden and butterfly/hummer gardens in the planters, we're puttng tomatoes in the planters and butterfly/hummer the garden in the ground. I have high hopes for both, and for the fruits - both comestable and visual - of our labors.

Check this blog later for progress reports on the new gardens.

In which more lessons are learned

2006-05-09T13:10:00.000-06:00

Rather than repeat myself, I'll simply direct the gentle reader to one of my web pages, Caer Galen Cooks Workshop for details of the most recent experiment in period cookery.

In which we find that we almost have a bed

2006-05-04T13:19:00.000-06:00

Spent some time this weekend working on mortises for the camp beds. I have to say that Chris is amazing. While I was downstairs working on Omar's esoforion (Byzantine under shirt) he knocked out the mortises in four bedposts. The results are that we almost have a bed! They do take some fitting to the tenons, but as the gentle reader can see by the picture of Evan, the queen bed is standing. We even balanced him on the rails, to test the flexibility, and they passed. Of course, he only weighs about 40 pounds. *shrug*

Evan had a lot of fun with the process, since the boards make perfect roads for tiny toy cars.

The other long peices of wood in the picture are the rails that will be screwed inside the side rails. These smaller rails will support the slats and ultimately the platform on which the mattress will rest. I've sized the bed so that I can use an air mattress or a foam mattress. I might play with period mattresses at some point, but being the headonist that I am, I suspect I'll choose comfort veiled in authenticity, rather than authenticity.

The bed posts are amazing in their simplicity. A couple of close-ups show how the tenons on the rails fit into the posts. The posts really do need finials, but they might have to wait until later - it's more important to get functional beds, I think. Once we get pegs through the tenons, the bed should be very stable.

Chris has been continuing to work on the mortices, and I tried to bang out a bedpost, but found the going to be very slow. I wonder if a sharpened chisel would work better.... In any case, he's loads faster at them than I am, but I should work on them too. Only 16 posts to go for our five planned beds. *sigh* Maybe I'd be more effective screwing in sub-rails.

In which progress happens

2006-04-26T09:30:00.000-06:00

Progress has happened toward our period camp at 20th Year. We had an intensive three day weekend of woodworking, and got a great deal accomplished.

The table legs are done for the kitchen tables, although they seem to require some shimming to achieve stability. I'll be purchasing glued panels to top them with, once I can find some that are not warped. I still need to do the table legs for dining tables, but with a handy dandy masonite pattern, they should be a snap.

We also got substantial work done on beds for ourselves and for Savina's family. The rails are cut, including the tenons, for our bed, for Evan's bed, and for Savina's/Bill's bed. We even have part of the rails cut for Rachel's and Ben's beds. The bad news is the mortices in the posts. Chris and Bill worked on them for hours - drilling and then chiseling out the corners of the holes. It's a major undertaking, and is going to take some time to complete. Chris got the mortises done on one post out of 20; it was a major accomplishment. I plan to spend s0me quality time on the back porch with chisel and hammer next week. The good news is that we pretty much have the rail construction down to a science, so when Arwen and Guillaume drop by to make a bed, it'll be pretty straightforward. Other than the mortices of course.

I also found the rest of the candles, so we're set for light. Well, almost - I still have to epoxy candle cups into the lanterns which came with cups for tea lights. The lanterns aren't pre-1600, but they're close. Why would someone manufacture a 18th-century lantern with tea light cups anyway?

Getting excited now, but still have a lot of work to do. I really want to rebuild the 16' tent top before July. And there are still loads of clothes to make.

In which Evan paints eggs, loses them and then finds them

2006-04-17T15:15:00.000-06:00

Yesterday was Easter Sunday. Being somewhat non-religious, we don't tend to do the Jesus story in our house. But we do the entire Spring bit, just like the Fall (Halloween) and Winter (Christmas) bits.

Getting home at 1:30 pm on Saturday left me with little time to prepare for the holiday. Although I started from Russell at 8:30 on Saturday morning, weather conditions made the remaining drive pretty rough. The sustained south winds, clocked at 30 mph at Russell, were 40 mph by the time I hit Goodland. I had driven through two dust storms. By Burlington, the approaching storm was really beginning to be felt; I stopped for a potty break and got a face full of dust. The storm was largely to the northwest, and there was plenty of rain visible. The tumbleweeds - which had zipped across the highway from the left to right all morning - began to behave somewhat erratically, although still with plenty of force.

I drove straight into the storm at Stratton. The wind and the rain and the speed of the car conspired to attempt to blow me off the highway, and so I had to slow down. As I passed Flagler, the low fuel light came on - I had been so focused on the approaching storm that had failed to mind the dashboard. I had been ignoring the MAINT REQD light since Hays anyway. I was making plans to have Chris come out to get me, stranded out of gas, when Arriba appeared out of the rainstorm. Of course, I could have picked a better place to fuel than Arriba's one gas station. Under a tiny canopy, the wind whipped the cold rain (the car said 48 degrees) and remaining dust into hair, eyes and ears. Thankful that I had thought to grab my jacket out of the trunk in Burlington, I pulled up the flaps around my ears and endured the raw weather while waiting for the tank to fill.

Somewhat later than I anticipated, I pulled into home. Chris and I got the BBQ out of the cooler and re-packed it, and then ran the car off to the airport. We had a BBQ supper, and then left the boy at home with grandma so we could find Easter.

The grocery store was a dissapointment - no egg dye, very little candy, no Easter grass - and so we went out to the Super Target. They had a good selection of candy and gifts, but no egg dye, and no Easter grass. We picked up a huge blue bunny for Evan, some candies, and small toys for his basket. We made a quick stop at Safeway for cooking eggs (the Easter eggs were cooked Saturday morning, and Target was out) and dye. No egg dye, no Easter grass - there was beginning to be a theme. We settled on food colors, and wondered what we'd do without the grass.

It was very late when we got home, but there were eggs to color. We set up cups and egg dye, and I have to admit we got very nice results. We sent Evan off to bed, and then the real work began. I had brought the loot from Target indoors while Chris bathed Evan. I began to set up the basket. We had a large one left over from last year, and so I requisitioned that for the "big" stuff. Without Easter grass, I had to make do with tissue paper left over from Chris' birthday. Other then the required big chocolate bunny and Peeps (chicks and purple bunnies), there were some small toys in the basket - a collection of Bob the Builder Easter vehicles, a ABC card game, a yo-yo. I gathered together some candy dishes to contain much of the chocolate and jelly beans. Chris distributed the candy into the dishes, and into the baskets. He even tucked Evan's new kite (extra string in the basket) under the bunny's chin. It was an impressive-looking spread.

The evening was not so good for Mom - I started feeling poorly. Dizziness and nausia. Not a good way to spend Easter eve.

Mr. and Mrs. Rabbit (some call him the Easter Floyd) rose early Sunday morning to hide the eggs. The weather was beautiful, but without the promise of wind for flying a new kite. By 7:00 we were tucked back in bed, and at 7:30 Evan trotted in, proclaiming that it was Easter. He'd already looked out his bedroom window and spotted eggs in the grass already, and was ready to go. I got him dressed while Daddy took up his position by the loot, ready to get the reaction shot. He was predictably delighted at having lost the eggs as evidenced by the empty brown bowl. He spent some time looking through the basket, hugging the bunny and playing with his toys before we all went out to find the lost eggs.

The bunny of course had to come to help. Our yard is full of egg-hiding posibilities, and with a little overly-direct help, Evan did find all of them, even the ones hidden above his head. He then wanted to hide them all again. we talked him out of that.

The rest of the day was spent (predictably) keeping him out of the candy, and cooking for Easter dinner. At least that's what Grandma, Dad, and Evan did. Mom spent the day in bed, nursing some sort of stomach infection. Pretty much unable to do more than make token appearances, I cooked by proxy - Mother would come up to the bedroom asking what else needed to be done for dinner. Except for assembling the Strawberries California (supposed to be a strawberry and creme torte, but it's seismic nature became quickly apparent), Mother cooked the entre meal. I did eat some of Easter dinner, but retired to bed after dinner. I actually got a couple hours of sleep since the tummy cramps had subsided.

Evan declared this morning that it was the "greatest Easter ever", and in spite of being sick all day, I think it was.

In which I go to Kansas for a week

2006-04-17T13:52:00.000-06:00

My April trip was to Topeka to begin the implementation for KSNT. I did ask for this assignment, but it's not the exciting locations to which I've been in the past. I do have reasons for going, many of them nostalgic.

I choose to drive for a couple of reasons. I like to be on my own schedule, leave when I want, take a side-trip if I like. But mostly I like to drive through the land that at times seems as much a part of me as my bones. I've made the I-70 trip so many times that I know what is around each bend and over every hill. I have favorite landmarks - the edge of the high plains at Cedar Point, the first glimpse of Pike's Peak, the ravines feeding into the Republican River, which will become my beloved Kaw some 400 miles to the east, the rugged hills west of Salina, and post rock country in the Smoky Hills.

My favorite place has to be the Flint Hills, in which I was born. The broad rolling vistas always appear in my mind's eye in sunset, the ranges of hills growing blue and smoky in the distance. Whether dressed in spring green or fall's golden hues, the tallgrass prairie is so much a part of my childhood that I long to linger on some high ridge for the afternoon. The Flint Hills are too close to either the beginning or the end of the journey that I usually dash through, but not without a lingering gaze.

This week was the burning time on the prairie. The evening horizon was gray; the atmosphere hazy. The smell of burning prairie extended even into Topeka, a county away from the Flint Hills. The burning controls the growth of woody plants - rainfall is high enough to support forestation in the Flint Hills - and speeds emergence of new grass for livestock. Although described as "controlled" burns, it's hard to see that much control is being exerted - no one ever seems to be present, and the sheer size of the burns seems to defy control by a few mere mortals. The smoke certainly created visibility and helath issues, but the annual burn is nevertheless required to preserve the tallgrass prairie.

As usual - and to be expected - a day at the tv station is exhausting, and most nights I retreated to the hotel expecting mostly sleep. One night I did walk across 17th street to the K-Mart for some necessities, and spent some quality time shopping for plants. Not having much in the way of financial resources, I purchased just what was needed, expecting to be able to pick up a few things wanted rather then needed on Friday.

My co-worker, a young man transplanted to San Francisco from Alabama, professed to liking barbeque. This was all the invitation I needed to drag him off to Boss Hawg's for lunch on Wednesday; Thursday we went to a very old favorite, Tortilla Jack's. I suppose the familiar foods are one of the things I like about going to Topeka, and I did make the rounds.

Thursday evening I spent with Bret. We ate at Annie's, an old favorite for the potato wedges and chicken gravy, as well as the Alouette burger, a burger with Alouette herbed cheese and sweet pickles. Bret seems to be doing well enough, but is experiencing a lot of fatigue from the HIV drugs.

Friday was going-home day, and I took my co-worker up to KCI, but not without several detours. We stopped in Lawrence for lunch at Free State Brewery, which was pronounced "very good", and then to Jayhawk Spirit for KU souveniers. It turns out that Todd likes collegiate sports so much that he totes up contact with big colleges, and having KU so close at hand was for him an unexpected bennie. I drove us up to the campus on 12th Street - the steepest - and demonstrated to him, that yes, I did walk up hill to school both ways when a student at KU.

The trip to KCI was a not-so-cleverly disguised ruse to gain barbeque from the BBQ capital of the US. After flailing about a bit along I-70 through Kansas City, I managed to find Arthur Bryant's. The place smelled like heaven. I spent $60 on two slabs of ribs and two pounds of smoked meats. Mission accomplished, I headed west.

I was to pick up some of Chris' grandfather's tools from Chris' mom on Friday night. We went out to dinner at a little place in Oakland, La Siesta. It's a hole in a wall, a resturant in a house in a residential neighborhood. You wouldn't find it if you weren't looking for it. The chili con queso was real cheese, not the pasturized stuff that is featured in most Mexican resturants. I thouroughly enjoyed the CCQ on top of my tamales - not to mention the chips. I left Jan's at 8:30, and skipped a little further west.

I do intend to pick up plants in Kansas that I can't get here in Denver. For a couple years in a row I was able to get pansies in Victorian colors, and I always get my tomatoes from there, since I like to plant early. So I had one more stop before leaving Topeka. I wanted to check out the plants at Lowe's. Alas, I found no suitable tomatoes (all too long season) but did get two butterfly bushes. And some lilies, Sunday being Easter. Madonna lilies are a period species, and I can always drop them into the period garden.

It was 9:30 when I checked out. I had checked out of my hotel room that morning, and so had no Topeka reservations. I headed west, knowing that I probably wouldn't get very far, but feeling that a few hours closer to Denver would give me some pad time before I had to have the car back on Saturday.

Leaving Topeka on Friday night, the Flint Hills were again on fire. Some of the flames seemed to come right up to the highway, and in the dark, the glow of distant fires was ever-present on the horizon. Once, to find out how thick the smoke was, I flipped the AC over to intake outside air, but shut that off in a hurry. I wonder what it might have looked like in the daylight, remembering the Coal Seam fire a couple of years ago in Glenwood Springs.

I made it all the way to Russell before pulling off for the night. Only two and a half hours closer to Denver, but Saturday was to be a whole new driving adventure. I was glad I started on Friday night.

In which I wish Chris many happy returns

2006-04-07T22:45:00.000-06:00

It's Chris' 36th birthday! I am very excited to make special plans for him, and since I have the day sorta off, I've got time to do what I want. Of course I'm not going to post this until late today, since I don't wish to reveal surprises.

It has been decided that we will dine tonight at Cinzetti's, the Italian buffet north across town. I have decided to get Chris a cake, and need to do some errands to make that happen. I also want to purchase for him some magic lessons, and so a trip over to the west side is in order. Of course, I don't get out of the house until later than I had planned, and so the afternoon became a race against time.

I called Child's early this morning, and discovered that I had missed the window for getting a custom cake. They did say that they could get me some fondant playing cards, and that they would arrive after 1:30 today. I needed to get out to the magic store by about 2:00 to speak with Craig, the owner. So I headed west first.

Craig recommended several DVDs that would be good for Chris, and I settled on the Royal Road to Card Magic, which has only been out for a couple of weeks. I was also looking for a little magic wand or bunny for the cake. There was a carton of little magic wands near the register, and I picked on up on Craig's recommendation. He said, "every magician needs one of those." Besides, it would fit on the cake. Chris was already set up in Craig's computer as a client, but not a magician. We rectified this oversight, in the process getting a discount on Chris' birthday gift. On the pass through Target to the parking lot, I picked up birthday wrapping and cards, and then headed south to Child's.

I go there at about 3:00, which wasn't early enough after all. They advised me that I should go over to the main store, at Monaco and Evans if I really wanted those cards. So, over to the east side. I walked in, told them what I wanted and the designer said, "sure, I'll print those out." Hmmm, this was getting interesting.

He sat down at the computer, and moved pictures of the cards over into the print area. He loaded a sheet of fondant into the printer from a foil packet, and printed the cards. Having already picked out the chocolate-filled-with-chocolate cake, the designer then cut out the "cards" and arranged them on the cake with a flourishing magic wand. I had to inquire - yes, he will scan in and print out anything! I have to say that I was totally impressed.

I loaded the cake in the car, and zoomed home. I wanted to "dress" for dinner, but first had to get the wrapping paper and goods to be wrapped up to the bedroom. Chris had the good grace not to follow me upstairs. I got his stuff wrapped and Mother wrapped her gifts, and then I got dressed. Of course I was targeted for "dressing up", when she was not. Oh well.

Dinner was good; as usual at Cinzetti's, I didn't have enough room to try more than my favorites. Chris was delighted with his cake, and I hope he will find the DVD useful. I had a lot of fun creating a special birthday for him, and I hope this birthday will be memorable for him.

In which some headway toward spring is made

2006-04-07T10:02:00.000-06:00

Vegas weather is beautiful this time of year. The days are warm and sunny, the nights cool and crisp. It rained twice while I was there - one of the showers even had the added feature of thunder and lightening. The trees are leafing out, and there are riots of petunias planted everywhere. When I came home last Friday I was ready for Spring.

The weather was kindly obliging, even though the state of the yard and garden made it apparent that this was a change. We spent the day Saturday in the front yard. Chris and I weeded and cleaned the iris bed, and I planted three Asiatic lilies in the back where the liatris had failed. This was a bigger job than might be imagined, since we didn't do it last year. Suffice to say that the detritus had filled the remainder of the large chicken wire yard waste bin behind the fence.

I am a dedicated composter. We create too much yard waste to concieve of dumping it into a landfill. Besides, it's the very best ammendment that you can put on your garden. And boy, does this soil need ammendment. We started several years ago with a large Rubbermaid composter, with which we have had limited success. I've just never got the hang of loading green layers and brown layers, and turning the thing over. Doesn't that negate the idea of layers?? We have gotten some compost out of it, but I'd never say that we had gotten a lot for the amount of stuff that's gone in. There is a compostng scheme where you work with three bins - one to hold the raw stuff, one to start the cooking process, breaking the raw stuff down into smaller bits, and a final cooking bin to compost the small bits. This is of course what I've got in mind.

Chris and I built a 24 cu. ft. wire and wood bin last fall, and put it behind the fence in the back yard. It's where were currently dumping leaves, sod clumps from digging new beds, and the detritus from spring yard cleaning. I will be purchasing a drum-type composter this spring to do the final compost step. They say that you can get compost out of those in 5 weeks or so. I envision great things for the herb garden this spring.

The herb garden seems to be doing well following the cleaning last month. I did pick up two rosemary and two lavendar plants to replace the winter-kill. They went into the ground on Monday. I had taken the day off, and so pent several enjoyable hours perusing garden sections at Home Depot and Lowes. I went for butterfly bushes, having cleaned up the space in front of the kitchen nook windows and dug the holes. Alas, too early. Since the space selected is contiguous with the rest of the rock border around the back porch, I cleaned out the weeds there also. There has been a telephone or cable line exposed across the rock, and in the process it was convenient to bury it. It all looks much better.

Last summer we had quite a few violas volunteer in the rock border, and it seems that we are graced with them again this year. I left the ones I found in place, and even picked up some additional seed to sprinkle. They really do look charming in the border; we just have to take care not to step on them.

Sunday morning was also productive in the back yard. Before going to Jeff's birthday party, Chris hung the bat house; I cleaned out the hollyhocks and replaced them with liatris. This bed is wetter; I hope for better results. We put Evan to work on the thistles. White vinegar is very effective in killing the foliage. The theory is that with repeated foliage kill, the root system will finally run out of energy and die. We gave him a spraybottle with the vineger, and he went to work. Thankfully, none have taken hold in the front yard.

By the end of Monday I could see spring in the garden. The irises are putting up blades, the tulips and daffodils are making appareances. Many of the herbs are in a usable state (anyone need chives??), and the grass is beginning to green. I went back to work on Tuesday planning to do more today. Little did I know that the world would be white this morning.

The forcast called for mixed rain and snow - this usually means no accumulation. And to be fair, by midmorning, the blanket of snow has subsided and turned faintly green from the underlying grass. Ah, well - it's precipitation, and no one can grumble about that this year. It really is spring on Denver.

In which I'm leaving Las Vegas

2006-04-06T12:43:00.000-06:00

I honestly don't see the attraction. People excitedly anticipate vacationing in Las Vegas, but frankly I find it tedious. Granted they don't tend to stay for two weeks on the Strip in a hotel underging renovations, but still.... I honestly don't see the attraction.

While I was there I did learn a few things.

1) The cabbies always have the right-of way. Always. They don't simply nose into traffic; they aren't just agressive drivers. They own the streets of Las Vegas. I saw cabbies speeding down long blocks (plural) of left-turn lanes. I had a cabbie try to broadside me out of the lane so he could have it. I saw cabbies make right turns out of left lanes.

2) Never, ever stay in a hotel under construction for two weeks. This was not the first time I had ended up in this sort of a mess - the Candlewood Suites in Wichita was completely redoing the interior halls. Paint, carpet, tile. Guests would come "home" to doors cocked open, halls blocked off, sticky floors. The Aladdin was better and worse. The Aladdin is converting to the Planet Hollywood. They did a good job of keeping the effluvient behind temporary walls, but everything was moved and felt shifted, temporary. The walls could not quell the noise, and of course workers with materials and tools were constantly having to access the construction zones. The worst was in the valet area where every morning I waited for my car amid the cacaphony of large construction equipment coming and going, in addition to the usual press of people, cars and large tour buses. I was not relaxed on the way to work; I escaped.

3) If you're going to be in Las Vegas for more than three days, stay in one of the business hotels off-Strip on Paradise. There are several Marriotts and two Embassy Suites that would have done nicely. Don't let the party-girl co-worker talk you into Strip hotels. The residents don't go there. That should be a lesson.

4) Plan on spending twice as much as budgeted. Las Vegas will wring it out of you. The "value" fine dining resturant in the hotel cast $100 for a dinner and drinks and tip for 3, and one of us is four years old. The "free" show actually ran over $17, because you have to pay for two drinks - the drinks were $7.98, plus tax. I'm convinced that they lied about the alcohol at that. We probably didn't get hit as much as most, because we ate at Jack-In-The-Box and McDonald's for some lunches and breakfasts. I think we lost a total of $27 gambling, but then again, I think between Chris and me, we risked about $30.

5) There is one non-smoking casion in the city - the airport. I was there in the early evening, and there were not a lot of players. Of course I didn't win anything - not even a piddly credit or two to reinvest - at the airport, and so I'm guessing they don't bill themselves as "the loosest slots".

6) The highly-rated buffet in the hotel is not the best buffet value in town. I ate twice at the Spice Market in the Aladdin, which is the #1 rated buffet in Las Vegas. At $25 per person, the food was hit or miss - the crab legs were cold and the Mediterranean section made me long for the Damascus Grill, but the roast beef was outstanding. The selection was huge, but we never felt like we ate $25 worth of food. Wine selections were low quality single-serve bottles at $6.98 each - which is about what I pay at the neighborhood liquor store for my favorite Sterling Vinyards, when you figure that there are three of those little ones in a fifth. The Paradise Buffet in the Fremont Hotel downtown cost us $25 for the three of us - Chris, Me and Evan - and had better sushi. Not so many selections, but the quality was consistantly good, and we felt like we'd gotten our money's worth.

7) The best landscape is outside of town. Sunday found the Bays clan touring. We drove the hour north east of Vegas to Valley of Fire State Park. Now here was a value at $6 per car. Not only geologic but aboriginal human history. If you love Mesa Verde, you have to go here. The same mysterious exodus happened from the Valley of Fire region in about the 14th century as in Mesa Verde. It's one of mankind's biggest mysteries. The red rock outcroppings (not contiguous with Colorado's Red Rocks), beautiful on their own, have been sculpted by wind and water into fantastic shapes.

8) The biggest travesty is outside of town. If you take the Northshore Road south out of Valley of Fire, through the Lake Mead National Recreation Area, you can see a lot more of the countryside than driving south along the interstate. There are three springs to the west of the road; one of these is a warm spring in which bathing is encouraged. As our destination was Hoover Dam, we didn't stop. The road is twisty and turny, and so the drive takes longer than you think it should, but eventually we got to the left turn towards the dam. The traffic was bad - it seems that everyone wants to go to the dam on a Sunday afternon. There is a security checkpoint (ha! - no terrorist car bomb would be enough to take out that dam). Eventually the traffic jam moves you to the vicinity of the dam. It's a circus. With propaganda. Huge parking garage, gift and snack shops fill the canyon on the Nevada side. No Colorado resident will be surprised to hear that Lake Mead is low - so low that the ruler painted on the lake side of the dam ends probably 40 feet above the water. The 60' - 80' white margins of the lake (salts??) are stark testimony to the ongoing drought conditions in the western US. The Colorado River leaves two years of it's flow inside Lade Mead. The irony is that no matter the amount of water we bottle up in western dams, there simply isn't enough precipitation to make the propaganda a reality. The travesty is that we continue to try.

9) Sinus medicine is a daily necessity. Las Vegas is the smoking capital of the world. It's not restricted anywhere but the airport and in sections of resturants. You simply can't avoid it. It takes four or five days to work Las Vegas out of your lungs.

And last but no least:

10) The best views I had of Las Vegas were on the approach to the airport and the departure two weeks later.

I frequently leave a job site with a sense of relief. But the reasons are usually different. The client was remarkably good - demanding, but not nasty. I usually develop some sort of connection to places I go - I get fond of the landscape, or I regret leaving the hotel. Las Vegas was easy to leave behind. I had Sheryl Crow in my head all Friday.

In which blogging begins again

2006-04-06T09:39:00.000-06:00

Yes, it's been longer than three weeks. Yes, I know that a blog should be entered every day. Yes, yes, yes. Well, hopefully I can do a little better - I'll be posting several in the next few days. Watch this space for more.

In which spring threatens and winter returns

2006-03-13T21:07:00.000-07:00

It feels like I missed winter this year. Not much snow has fallen in the Denver area, it's true. But with two small exceptions, all the snow that has fallen have been while I was in Alabama or South Carolina.

I was home the week of February27, and as the weather was decidedly spring-like, I spent some quality time in the garden. The herb garden is cleaned out and top dressed. There is ample room for a new planting of basil, and I intend to add leeks and garlic this year. I'm also considering hops. The last 16 square feet of the herb garden is now dug, and as I had no other available room for them, the Princess Irene tulips that I purchased in November have been bedded there. Not a period variety, but I will overplant the bulbs with something more suitable to the theme of the garden.

The irises have all be heavily watered, including those transplanted from Chris' grandmother's house in Kansas. I am guardedly optomistic about those irises; they seem to have suffered from the dry fall and winter. Enough seem to be viable that I am sure that there will be representative individuals. The front iris bed seems to be ready to leap to life at the slightest provocation; there are many tiny green points emerging from the leaf litter and mulch in that bed.

I am a bit worried about the bulbs that Chris and I planted under the mailbox last fall. The yellow rocuses emerged first, and although there were a lot of them, the blooms are tiny. A result, I suppose, of the dry seasons, although we have been wathering on warm days since Christmas. There are now a few tulips poking up, but the purple crocus seem to be missing in action. Time will tell.

The following week - last week - I spent in Myrtle Beach, SC., where the crabapples are beginning to bloom, the jonquils are in full swing, and the garden centers are loaded with early-season bedding plants. This of course plants my feet firmly in spring.

You can then imagine the enthusiasm with which I greeted the news that snow was in this past weekend's forcast. The lack of enthusiasm, rather. Although I have missed snow, the time has passed and now I am ready for digging in the dirt. The snow taking down the gazebo last fall was a blow but we have salvaged the legs for a new gazebo, one covered not with canvas but with wisteria and honeysuckle and red trumpet vine planted in large self-watering pots at the corners. In August, perhaps. Today the snow lay in a 3" blanket across the yard, and so I'll have to content myself with gardening catalogues.

In which we get fussy, and Melaine buys a curling iron

2006-02-20T08:48:00.000-07:00

I have never liked taking more than 40 minutes to get ready in the morning. I've never been into "beauty". Like as not, I've cut my own hair, and my face gets scrubbed every morning with the same detergent-based body wash as the rest of me. And yet I have become more self-conscious as I've gotten older, and lately have gotten more fussy about my appearance.

When we went to Hot Sulphur Springs earlier this month, my facial therapist told me that rather than the intensely oily skin that I always thought I had, my skin is dry. The oil is my face trying mightily to make up for all the dryness. The redness is a symptom of that struggle. She prescribed a sensitive skin regime, which requires three bottles of stuff - two moisturizers and one cleanser.

I'd like to start wearing makeup, but my skin is always so oily that foundation simply will not lay down evenly - even right after washing my face. I'm experimenting with lipstick ane eye makeup, but adding stuff to my face feels conspicuious, and so I hesitate.

My hair is so fine that it is pretty much uncontrollable. I already use a shampoo and conditioner for my hair type. The last stylist I went to recommended a root lifter for volume, the one before that an intense conditioner for the ends and a different hairspray, and the one before that a volumizing treatment. This is getting silly! Saturday the stylist used a curling iron on my hair to give the ends some wave, and I really like the look. So I bought a curling iron, and now am experimenting with using it. Unlike the makeup the curling iron doesn't burn my eyes, and so it's easier to embrace. (If you're counting, that's five bottles and utensils above the basic shampoo-and-conditioner that I now carry with me. It's not like these things are simply weighing down my vanity or taking up space in a cabinet at home.) On the bright side, I have found that my hair isn't as uncontrollable as I thought; I just didn't have any skill with it, nor was using the kind of stuff on it that would give it control.

Funny, I'm really happy with the curling iron. I like what it does for my appearance. I can't wait to put my hair up in a "bad fairy" do, and curl the ends. It's not professional, though.... I really must find a non-smoking Goth club that I can dress up for.

Maybe I am having my mid-life crisis. Chris joked about it, but I am feeling older than I want to. I didn't think that it would come to this state of fussiness about my appearance; it just always seemd so superficial to me. Now, it feels like I'm acting my age - about 20 years younger than I am.

In which I wonder where I've been

2006-02-19T08:14:00.000-07:00

Ok, ok, ok - I know I'm out of touch. But I thought the important things would have gotten through. I don't expect to be up on the current SCA gossip any more, or know who got offered what awards. But I feel like I'm really out of touch when I find out weeks or months after members of my extended family have died. I do moderate the scribes list, and so I do see some of the posts. I confess that I do not do it well - it seems that anything having to do with the scribal arts comes with too much pain for me to make it something I'm very motivated to do. I have lost contact with many of my scribal friends, but continue to maintain the list out of a sense of duty to those whom I used to promote, defend, and nominally lead. I do miss them, but it still hurts, and yet I don't know why it should. Seems silly, but there it is. I try not to think about it too much.

I vaguely recall that Margherita da Foire was offered membership in the order of the Laurel last summer. Margherita was one of the most dependable of scribes, and was talented besides. I was not sure of her suitability for the accolade, but in my absence would have to rely on the wisdom of my fellows in the circle. It was a joy to stand witness at her apprenticeship to Cailte, and I still treasure the gifts that she bestowed on me that day. I took away a deep respect for her generous nature. I was never sure of her heritage, but her English was punctuated with an accent from a place far away from New Mexico. Being out of the scribal community for these past four and a half years (was that day in April really so long ago?) I had not thought about her. I didn't know she was ill. So it's kind of a shock.

I had to put the pieces together. Mistress? Cailte's student? Yes, and yes. It's sad enough, but I regret the years of not knowing her better.

A few months ago, I posted to a list of close friends that I was blogging, and if they had blogs, I'd like to know, so we could read each others' blogs. (I've got them all bookmarked, btw.) In perusing friend's blogs, I found out that Sorcha's brother had been killed in a mining accident. This was the boy for whom she'd feared for years. I recall when we were rooming together that she'd said that every time there was an accident, that she'd wonder if today was the day that she'd hear that her brother was in there. I can't imagine her pain - her narrative of the incident was heart-wrenching. I do wish that I had heard sooner - it seems so laxidasical to say months later, "by the way, I heard, and I'm sorry..." because that's where I'm at.

There has been so much grief in my circle of acquaintances, friends, and family since Evan was born. I find it difficult to commiserate; I am too soft-hearted, and tend to never get over these sorts of things myself. Every occasion becomes an opportunity for my own pain to re-surface. To express sympathy seems to open my own wounds.

I seem to have a limited capacity to attend to things. I guess I don't multask well. Perhaps someone told me that Margherita was ill or Sorcha's brother had been killed. I may just not have rememebred it. But I don't think so. Maybe it's because I tend to be very much in the "now", and have a hard time visualing the future or remembering the past. I don't know where I've been, but I would have liked to have known.

In which I go to the mall

2006-02-18T19:11:00.000-07:00

You may know that I really don't like malls much. I go there for some singular purpose, and then get out. Shopping isn't my bag, which is why I tend to take a long time to do it; I am compelled to make the right decisions.

After a week of living in Mytrle Beach and being pretty light in the wallet, I needed things. Hose, a pillow, something to sleep in, hand soap, a hands-free headset for my new cell phone, sodas, a cut and color. Some things I'd forgotten at home, some things I'd consumed, some things just needed doing. I had to take the car to the airport early anyway.

My smoked-in minivan with the CV joint problem exchanged for a sweet Pontiac G6, I headed for Target this morning. I'd say the nearest Target, but there are only 3 within 100 miles, and so the options are limited. Probably a lot more Wal*Marts, but they don't count. It took me three hours to decide on some new makeup (that hopefully won't burn my eyes), a hands-free headset, a new movie (Corpse Bride or Pride and Prejudice?), and that I didn't need new clothes badly enough to have to pack them home. Well, except for the black velvet shrug on sale. I headed for the mall.

I needed to get my hair colored. I managed to park at the opposite end of the mall from the Regis. I walked the entire mall to find that it would be half an hour before they could get me in. It took two hours to do my hair. At first she just colored the roots but didn't do the ends. Then she decided she had to do the ends. They're a different color. I'm not entirely satisfied. My scalp is red - glowing - and I'm eagerly awaiting a shower in the morning so I can scrub it. My hair wasn't done until 4:00, and breakfast was a pair of sausage patties off the hotel buffet and a Diet Coke. I hit the food court.

After a pretty good dinner of Chinese (yes, I had the sugary sauces, but no rice, dumplings or noodles), I stopped at one store on the mall. Although I'm not thrilled with the color, I was pretty impressed with how she styled my hair, and it requires a curling iron. I haven't used a curling iron since the 70's. Needless to say, I don't have one any more. The kind she recommended is the large barrell, with a variable temp control. Not cheap. They had them at Beauty Brands. I also bought the heat-resistant pouch, since I anticipate not always having cool-down time before packing.

I also stopped at the Hot Topic in the mall. Still unimpressed. Their merchandise is all either marketing or cheapo clothing. Poor quality I won't pay for. Having not found suitable sunglasses at Target, I did pick up a pair at another store. But I pretty much bee-lined for Belk's, were I'd parked.

At the Belk store in Auburn, I found some cool goth-y clothes. I thought I'd look. I did really need an extra pair of pants. One just isn't enough. They had a lot of their winter stuff on deep discount, and yes, in spite of overwhelming odds, I did find a pair of pants.

I have a terrible time finding pants that fit my hips and my waist. I'm a 16W/18/1x on the top, but a 18W/20/2x or more in skirts and pants. I found a pair of cotton velour pants with a drawstring waist that fits beautifully. They happen to be 3x, but they skim my bumpy hips beautifully. They will be just right with my goth-y tops. Besides they're Ralph Lauren, so a premium brand. Originally $85, I purchased them for $26.45, including tax. Feeling a little better about the aggregate hair expense, I headed back to the hotel.

I got a new 'do, new pants and a good long walk today. It was good, although I'm tired. Once this laundry is done, I'm going to bed.

In which we look for the fun side of The Dream

2006-02-13T12:39:00.000-07:00

I recently read a comment by a long-term member of the SCA that he liked to share the "fun side of The Dream" with folks in the SCA. What does this mean? Considering the source, I am aware that my "fun side" is quite different from his; mine includes neither togas nor wheels of Jell-O. There are no bunny-fur bikinis in my Dream, no poker parties, barbeque, potatoes or chocolate. His context seemed to imply that "period" is not "fun". This attudude reinforces the already high barrier in the movement toward a more authentic environment.

The SCA professes to require activities that create a particular atmosphere. Most people in the SCA would agree that a period camp contributes to a period environment, and while a Wheel of Jell-O doesn't necessarily, well, it's "fun", and we are here to have "fun" after all. It's not that anyone believes that non-period things belong, it's that people believe that they don't necessarily not belong.

As long as the Big Tent encompasses such a broad definition of "fun", no one can - or should - lay claim to knowing or promoting the "fun side of The Dream". To qualify The Dream in such a way places "period" at the opposite end of the spectrum from "fun". We can say (and demonstrate) that we are having fun, and to invite others to have fun with us. I consider that I have found a "fun side of The Dream"; when I am dressed as Lijsbet and working in her kitchen, I have a small idea of what she felt like, what she knew, and how she lived. How would that happen with chocolate for dessert, or at a halfla?

Inside the Big Tent is an atmosphere of political correctness, in which members are expected to be non-critical in the name of diversity. We are left with an organization that more closely parallels the mores of the forty years in which it has been in existence than that of the era it professes to study.

The Dream initiated the SCA. The first event was a party to protest the modern age. In the seventies, "decadence" parties reflected the licentiousness of the decade. By the eighties, we'd all become a lot more cautious, and by the time I joined in 1987, there were certain leanings toward actual research and learning about the eras upon which we'd based our theme party. By the nineties, a handful of us had gotten serious; people with a genuine interest in history went in different directions. Some left the SCA to establish reputations in the field of research or to join with living history groups. Plenty stayed behind to promote authenticity within the SCA. What started out as a costume party has changed into what we know today.

My Dream is the the SCA will discard the dichotomy between "period" and "fun". Including non-period things teaches nothing; rather it is a barrier to understanding. Perhaps authenticists are trying to change the game, and maybe the game doesn't want to change. It seems that change is inevitable, given the age of the Society - we all have to grow up someday.

In which I find myself in Cincinnati. Again.

2006-02-12T18:30:00.000-07:00

Yes, here we are, boys and girls - a month later and a lot wiser. Having secured myself a seat by the window in the airport Outback, I have ordered dinner worth eating and set myself up to get some writing done. While I'm waiting on the Wallaby Darned, I'm trying to get a network connection. I've heard rumors that this airport has ad hoc wireless, and although I do see available networks, connecting to them seems to be a different matter altogether. Ah, well - I can always write now and post later. But I did think that I might just get to the 'net and thus to my client's database, giving me a leg up on tomorrow morning.

Having topped 220 lbs for the first time in two years, I've decided to return to an Atkins way of life. Of course that plan was forgotten this morning when I needed a fast breakfast. I ate the entire English muffin before remembering. Lunch was better - I ordered a chicken Ceasar salad at McDonald in the airport. Of course I didn't get a chicken Ceasaer, but the Cobb salad was OK, too. Dinner is low-carb of course (except for the Wallaby Darned), and I'll try to not forget when I go to the grocery store tomorrow.

In which we achieve extreme relaxation

2006-02-09T12:26:00.000-07:00

Hot tubbing is the best of the best when it comes to relaxing. But a hot tub and a massage - now that's taking things to the extreme.

I'm leaving for Myrtle Beach for two weeks on the 12th. Chris and I scheduled a date beforehand to get some quality time together. We drove up to Hot Sulphur Springs after dropping Evan off at school. We arrived at about 11:00, which gave us about an hour of soaking before massages. We both had the Rain Dance treatment, which is a full massage with the addition of de-toxifying essential oils. The therapist sprinkles the oils on your back, and then covers the oiled skin with hot moist towels. The effect is one of intense heat, which I found at the edge of tolerable at the time, but which served to deepen the relaxation effect.

I had a facial while Chris relaxed in the lodge with his Magic magazine. We'd cruised Tony's Tuesday night and had brought a picnic lunch. It was very cold, in the teens, so we picniced in the lodge. BBQ pork roast and eggy buns, hummos scooped up on rosemary crackers, olives, little crispy onions marinated in balsalmic vinegar, and cheese were the fare. We'd brought a bottle of wine, but the rules excluded alcohol so it stayed in the car. Drank Diet Cokes instead. I finished off my carrot juice, which I really enjoyed. After our delightful lunch we headed back out to the tubs.

The sun was still high in the sky, and after my conversation with my facial therapist, I was acutely aware that I was totally unprotected. I had packed two towels each, and so felt that I could drape one over me in the tub. If it got wet, I'd have the other. Which worked pretty well. We did spend a lot of time in the Backyard pool, which has a cover, and so it wasn't needed for most of the time. Our last hour was graced with a couple of munching bunnies and a parade of mule deer along the margin of the property. I presume that the forage is good there, where the hot water warms the earth from below. When the sun went down, I opined that I was ready as I would likely be to head home, and we collected our things.

I had left one of my towels draped across a handrail while we were getting massaged. I figured that in the sunshine, and with the low temps, it would dry, or at least the moisture in it would evaporate. No such luck. Three hours later it was still wet - and stiff in spots. The towel I'd gotten wet in the draping was stiff as a board. My sandels - which of course had puddles inside them - were now containers of ice. No matter the outdoor temperature, you don't really want to wrap a frozen towel around yourself for warmth. Or put on ice sandels. But the wind had kicked up and the spa had put down salt everywhere, so both were somewhat necessary although I don't really think that there was a whole lot of benefit. We scurried toward the locker rooms.

Really I had been drinking water. And most of a litre of carrot juice. So I don't know why I felt so bad in the locker room. I had a hard time getting undressed and redressed. Lots of fatigue, or maybe just a lot of relaxation. I lotioned up (soak and seal) and met Chris in the lobby, who of course had begun to wonder what was taking so long. He had me drive home (I guess he was tired) and we pulled into home at about 8:15. We didn't stop to eat dinner as planned; we'd had enough at lunch that we weren't really hungry and so drove straight through. We did confirm that the drive was 2:15 door-to-door, which will be of use later.

This morning it was of course back to the grind, but I at least was better equipped to meet the day.

In which there is not much to write about

2006-02-01T13:43:00.000-07:00

Things have been busy, but rather tedious. Work continues to dominate my days, but I did take off Sunday to go to the mountains with the family.

We started west on I-70, and turned off the highway at Empire toward Winter Park. The weather was sunny and windy. Chris drove the first leg which included Berthoud Pass (11,315') the highest point of our itenarary. Berthoud Pass is one of the most notorious passes in the Colorado Rockies due to its elevation and the frequent tight switchbacks on the south side of the pass. The road was not great, but was passable. We decided that new tires are in the budget. The west side of the divide was overcast and snowy. We headed for the visitors center in Winter Park, where we could use the facilities and take the opportunity of a stop to crack open the cooler and see what the lunch fairy had packed.

It was the ice sculptures that first attracted attention. They were housed in a shelter across from the visitor's center. Now, we haven't had snow in Denver. Not really - only one snowy day since Christmas. Just because the temps have been cold enough to prevent melting doesn't mean that we've really had snow. Snow being something of a novelty this year, an opportunity to play in the stuff seemed to be something of which we should take advantage.

We donned all our winter gear (mom forgot to pack the snow pants, but did have an extra pair of jeans for the boy) and headed across the street. The city had built a sledding slope, and it turned out that they had also supplied sleds for the general enjoyment of said slope. Evan managed to wander out in the middle of hurtling sleds, and we finally got him corralled. Dad put him on a saucer and gave him a push.

Evan is not yet 5. Most of the sleds say that they're for kids at least a couple of years older. I did not know what to expect, but a wet, cold, and frightened Evan was certainly a posibility. Not to worry - he went down that slope at high speed with a grin on his face. And then trundled back up the slope for more. Here he is on the fourth or fifth run. Of course, he was not willing to stop sledding and get in the car.

He did get a few more minutes playing in the snow while I was spreading salmon cream cheese on bagels. For some reason he kept finding big snowballs that he'd want to nurture. We had to talk him out of taking them home; I know that it'd be tough to explain to him what happened to his snowball once we got home.

I think the most remarkable thing was how fearless he was. There was no hesitation; he was eager to do it again. I feel like he's ready to ski. I wonder what we could do about that this season.

Our Sunday drive took us north out of Middle Park into North Park via Willow Creek Pass (9,683'). The pass was remarkably clear, and the skies had cleared as we had driven north of Berthoud. Once down on to the floor of North Park, the winds' effects were again felt and seen. The skies were alternately stormy and clear. Snow skuttled thickly across the road, and the wind had sculpted fantastic forms of the plowed hills of snow at roadside. We stopped at Walden for gas and to change drivers. I had snoozed for much of the descent from Willow Pass, and after acquiring a large bottle of diet coke, turned the minivan to the east.

We were headed to Cameron Pass, (10,276') in my opinion one of the most beautiful in the Rockies. Cameron gets loads of snow in the winter, but is pretty easy to plow, and so is seldom closed in winter. The sun was setting, and I was not eager to navigate that pass in the dark. It lies on CO-14, a well-traveled route from the northern Front Range to Steamboat Springs. Nevertheless, the highway was sparsely traveled at dusk on a Sunday. Which was good - the route is populated with numerous recreational venues, but not much else. The blowing snow that we'd encountered in the southern part of the park had intensified into ground blozzards in places. Most of the time there was a track, but occasionally the road was completely covered. Still a very beautiful drive.

By the time we got down into the Poudre Canyon, the sun was fully down. That stretch is very long and curvy, but the snowy conditions encountered at Cameron Pass dissappeared quickly with the dropping elevation. Of course, there are no facilities open in the winter in the Canyon, and so we did have to make one roadside stop. Propriety compelled me to step down a slope toward the river and below the road. This was not a bad thing until I tried to clamber out - backless shoes are a distinct liablity when trying to climb a loose slope.

We got to Ft. Collins at about 8:00, and hit I-25 toward home. I only wish we'd started earlier. Maybe next time, we'll just stay in Winter Park for the day.

In which Melanie finds a label that is worth applying

2006-01-23T11:55:00.000-07:00

Really, I don't like labels. But I do like customer service. So when I go into a store looking for clothing, I like to be able to say, "I'm looking for business formal or casual clothes, 1x tops, 2x bottoms, that I would like to wear." The first two search criteria are pretty easy to communicate. But I've been struggling with describing what I like without having to recite a litany of style, fabric, and embellishment.

So, I've got this nice steak and wine for dinner one night in Myrtle Beach, and I flip on the TV. I'm not a fan of the entertainment rags that every station carries in prime access, but they do make them quite a bit of cash, so there you are. They happen to air in the eastern time zone between 7 and 8, about the time I usually get "home" with supper. I suppose it was curiosity slowing that made me stop on a teaser that promised that Steven Cojocaru (I confess that I'm fascinated with how someone who dresses like he does can be considered a fashion mavin) would reveal what's hot and what's not for the spring fashion season. Besides being much shorter and less informative than the teaser would have one believe (surprise, surprise) he did opine that BoHo was definitely out.

Gee, what's BoHo? I'm not a fashionista, I'm an achronista. I'm out of the loop, and happily. But some times, just knowing would make things simpler, like when looking for a new wardrobe. In an unusual move, I had plugged in my laptop for the evening. Google revealed that BoHo is short for "Bohemian" (wonder who spelled *that*??) and further research confirmed that my style seems to be Bohemian. "Bohemian' is defined in The American College Dictionary as "a person with artistic or intellectual tendencies, who lives and acts with no regard for conventional rules of behavior." [1] Interestingly enough, most modern Goths could be described as Bohemian and seem to be drawn to the ninteenth-century Bohemian aesthetic.

A decidely romantic style, Bohemian is both ethnic and vintage. Shirts are a staple, and beading, embroidery, and similar details prediminate. Conventional styles show Victorian, Indian and African influences, but also Oriental forms and embellishments. Clothing is made of natural fibers, and styles are not necessarily "matching". Clothing forms are both flowing and restrictive to show off the body, but with a Victorian wink to modesty.

Thanks to "Cojo" I am finally able to define in two words what style I like to wear for the benefit of sales girls and journaling. Now if I go into a store and say "Gothique Bohemian" perhaps the meaning will be communicated - Bohemian forms, luxe fabrics (lace, velvet), beading, embroidery, saturated colors. But only if the salesperson is more style-savvy than I am.

[1] From Wikipedia, "bohemianism"

In which a the SCA BoD's proposed mission statement is cause for thought

2006-01-22T11:40:00.000-07:00

Two things happened at once last week. A proposal for a SCA mission statement was posted by the SCA's board of directors, and Mistress Aindrea began posting philosophy questions to the Caerthen list.

The BoD's proposed mission statement for the SCA reads as follows:

The Society for Creative Anachronism provides a structure for enthusiasts of the Middle Ages and Renaissance to explore various aspects of the period in Europe to 1600 AD. As accurately as possible, the SCA’s members strive to adopt the lifestyle, culture, technology, clothing and accoutrements common to those living during the time under study. The SCA encourages members to learn by doing, to research period arts, sciences and activities, to share their knowledge with others, and to behave in a chivalrous manner in all their interactions.

I can't really say that the two events are linked in some fashion, but I'd be surprised if they aren't. What the BoD proposes is a slight change in the game, changes that seem to focus our attentions on a more authentic purpose, rather than the "attempt" required to date. There is a significant percentage of the Society -although not a majority by any estimation - which is interested in doing things more authentically. I suspect a couple of major factors are driving this change.

It might be because the SCA is getting older, both in anno societatis, and in demographic. The older, more mature members tend to shed the part-teee mentality for something more personally fulfilling. We are at a point where being more authentic is easier than ever, because we've got forty years of research (and the Internet) to depend upon. The longer-term members tend to become Peers, and as such take on a responsibility to lead and to present an exemplary countenance.

It might be that there are outside pressures to turn toward the authenticity side. The living history movement has significantly higher standards for appearance and performance than does the SCA. My conversations with LH folks underscore the contempt in which the SCA is held. "Isn't the SCA where people play if they cant hack it anywhere else?" one Mexican War-era historian asked me. I did maintain that there is a significant - if smallish - percentage of people in the SCA who are dedicated to getting it "right". In addition, our rep among academics is completely abysmal. Much of our research comes from the academic community; it would behoove us to cultivate those relationships, rather than to cast away the potential for new information through the perceived disregard for "serious" research and those who do it.

There has always been a division between the authenticists and those only here for the beer. The authenticists think that the partiers are frivolous and unlettered; the parties think that the authenticists are stuffy and overbearing. However, the percentages seem to be changing - the ratio of authenticists is increasing. More and more people think it's important to make this experiment meaningful beyond the social club aspect.

There is a very justifiable concern that implementing the mission statement as it is written carries the potential for a loss of members. We must evaluate how detrimental that loss would be. How valuable to the stated goals of the SCA is someone who is only here for the beer? Or those who insist upon including non-period things or activities in the name of diversity? Aren't there better venues for poker, barbeque, belly dance, potatoes, and wheels of Jell-O than the SCA?

We permit these things to continue because we perceive the SCA as a "big tent", an organization that prides itself upon inclusion, and in sharp contrast to the living history community that is quite the opposite - excluding distractions that the SCA allows. We must disabuse ourselves of the notion that there is room for everyone under the big tent. If 25% of the membership were to suddenly fade away, would there be a noticable negative impact to the SCA? Revenue probably wouldn't be adversely effected, since I'd wager that a smaller than average fraction of the partiers pay for memberships anyway. Yes, event revenues might drop, but the sizes of the sites should be scaled back. Those who remain just might get more value for their membership dollars.

Aindrea asked for people on the Caerthe list to write why they participate in, and why they do what they do in the SCA. I was initially interested in the form the conversation took - no one really discussed or challenged any one else's SCA world-view. Is this because we are so sensitive to the diversity of "games" being played in the SCA that to questions someone's motivation would seem to be rude? Are we politically correct? In my experience, controversial subjects in the SCA tend to be dealt with somewhat passively-aggressively; we tend to continue on our own path - partier or authenticist - because in the SCA we can.

The responses provided a great deal of insight into the shades of experience in the SCA. Of those responders whom I know, the responses were pretty much what I expected, both the good and the bad. For the authenticists on the mix, the motivation was in learning about the Medieval/Renaissance milieu in an environment where they could participate with others. For the rest, the primary motivation seemed to be the people in the organization, although some did say that the opportunity to learn new things was a good thing. One person even said he did silly things to share the "fun side of the dream", again placing "fun" and "work" at opposite ends of the spectrum of human experience.

Perhaps the most remarkable thing underscored by Aindrea's questions was that the SCA is already pretty fractured. In a gross sense, people are divided by how they perceive the purpose of the SCA, for fun or for personal enrichment. Within those two divisions, there are as many reasons to be here as there are members. Because the SCA, Inc. has to date declined to enforce the focus established in the governing documents, the size of the "big tent" continues to grow. At some point the SCA will have to decide whom and what belongs and what doesn't, before it becomes so dilute as to loose it's meaning. The proposed mission statement takes a step in that direction.

In which journaling and creating come into conflict

2006-01-17T12:42:00.000-07:00

I've been so busy creating that I can't write.

The new curtain rod is finally up on the bedroom, but I can't seem to got the curtains finished. Besides that, I requisitioned an idea from a place where we ate dinner in Myrtle Beach last week, which adds one more "project" for the bedroom. And pillow forms were half-price last night at JoAnn's, so, there is one more.

The curtains are getting slowly closer to complete. I have one sheer panel finished, and one that only awaits buttonholes. The solid panels will require some more time, since they will have to be finished on all sides, and have buttonholes. The swag is cut out, but remains laid out on the cutting table awaiting somnolent felines.

My non-sewing projects have had to share space on the cutting table, since the jewlery benches have largely been horizontal storage space for months. I sent Chris off to Lowe's the other day to fetch another shelf unit, and did a bit of a cleaning frenzy on the south east corner of the basement. The result is that I now have space just for jewelry. And I am re-stringing a necklace, so that space is heavily utilized right now.

And then there's Chriatmas to put away. *sigh* We did get the tree out of the TV room two weeks ago, but the growing pile of boxes in the "hall" have created an effective barrier - real or imagined - to getting the big tree down. If I could just get it put away, there'd be room in the corner for the boxes....

Of course, this all keeps me from blogging or working on anachronista.net, which desperately needs to have the medieval pages added. As hard as it is to do both at the same time, it's just as difficult to divorce journaling from making - I can't record what I haven't done, and if I don't journal, I obsess about forgetting something important. I think that if I didn't want to journal, I'd get projects done faster, and could move on. Because as much creative energy as I'm putting in and getting out (in many ways, the creative process contributes as much as - or more than - it consumes), there are other projects that I want to work on. Getting a period cooking demo scheduled, two or three Gothic hoods, or period furniture just for starters. Facing the majority of the spring in Kansas and Nevada makes me think about whatever I can get done for the garden in what little time I have at home.

At least I'm at home for the next four weeks.

In which moonlight is a perfect sweet

2006-01-11T19:06:00.000-07:00

Days as a lead implemetation specialist are frantic; yesterday was no exception. When one of my co-workers mentioned that we should go out on the town last night, I was less than enthusiastic. I agreed, on the condition that wine was involved, and that no one tried to drag me anywhere that dancing would be required.

After a three-way change into jeans, my two co-workers and I left the hotel for dinner. We drove south for some distance, from North Myrtle Beach into Myrtle Beach proper. Not having any idea where to go or what's good, we decided on character. The resturant is called SoHo, and they seem to specialize in Japanese. The music on the patio was good, so we went in.

Dinner was good, but the company was better. We had a great time. We all agreed that the waiter was very desirable; his Baltic accent was especially attractive. We did not hesitate to require him at our table as frequently as seemed civilized. I was introduced to a Godiva chocolate martini, and Pearl sake, both of which I will seek out again. Dinner was preceeded by a huge plate of sushi, which to me tasted fresher than I am used to. I had a "mixed grill" of veggies, beef steak, chicken and shrimp, and was thouroughly satisfied. Dessert was a chocolate mousse, part of which remained on the table after we left - it was just too good.

As an added benefit, I found a ceiling dressing at SoHo that I intend to incorporate into my new bedroom decor.

After a stop at the Kroger near the hotel, we headed back to the hotel. It was after 10:00, but I was determined that I would get out on that beach - the beach behind the hotel.

The room's balcony overlooks a section of the beach. I sleep with the sliding glass door open, so I can hear the surf all night, as well as have cool fresh air in the hotel room. I've been watching the tides every morning and evening, but watching is as far as I've gotten since I arise at daybreak, and return to the hotel after nightfall every evening. Last night was warmer than it had been, and so I decided that inspite of the late hour, I would try to go down there.

I didn't bring a jacket, nor did I pack anything that was very warm. Since I anticipated temperatures in the 60s and 70s, I pretty much packed for spring. I wasn't counting on ocean breezes. I put a sweatshirt on over my tank top, added my black linen blazer, and I was off on foot.

The moon is just short of full, and so the beach was pretty well illuminated. The light cloud cover did reduce the light, but it was bright enough. The hotel has built wooden boardwalks over the dunes, limiting the damage that many tourists might do to that delicate ecosystem. I noticed that this beach had a much more gentle slope than the one in Gulf Shores, and that there were a lot fewer seashells. The ocean was quiet, with low waves rolling in. In the moonlight, the breaking waves almost seemd to appear out of nothing. The beach was very wide at it's low tide, and I walked a little way both north and south along the beach. I did a little wading, but as the water was shockingly cold, that didn't last very long.

I could see far off ships on the water to the east, but no other people were abroad at this late hour. I returned to the hotel after 11.

Another domestic delight provided by the hotel is the Jaccuzzi tub in the bathroom. After a long hot bubbly soak, I poured myself in bed. It was very late, and I regretted the late hour this morning. But it was fun while it lasted.

In which things are better than I would have imagined

2006-01-08T20:29:00.000-07:00

The wind must have died down, because the take-off of this little jet was remarkably wobble-free, despite my experiences coming down into Cinci. Although this flight looked to be totally full from my perspective in Denver this morning, there are enough empty seats that I have the row to myself. The iPod is charged, and so I have about an hour to enjoy some music and solitude.

I can't get ahold of Morris, my co-worker. I have packed my notebook - with the phone list - in my checked baggage, and so have no backup mumber for him. I do hope he plans to come get me at the airport. I seem to recall that he was going to meet me there, but if not, I can always call a cab.

In which Melanie finds herself in Cincinnati

2006-01-08T18:58:00.000-07:00

Cincinnati. An airport designed by a four-year-old.

I arrived late in the afternoon. The pilot had advised the passengers that 27 mph winds would present a problem, although he quickly clarified that the said "problem" would involve those leaving the airport. Didn't fool any of us. Probably not as bad as the landing in Portland ME last winter, in a snowstorm with 20mph crosswinds, but likely number two. I don't recall ever feeling the plane skootch sideways during the approach. Not a good feeling. Imagine the anticipation with which I view the flight out of here.

I know that this airport was designed by a pre-schooler, because the designers could neither say their alphabet (the main concourse is "B"), nor could they assemble the airport in a cohesive manner. A map shows that the concourses are scattered across the property in no particularly logical formation - it looks like Evan placed the buildings on his train table. In addition, the concourse in which I sit seems to have adopted the self-service fast food, or the Model T assembly-line model. Obvious designed for modern efficiency, the result is confusion.

The gates are virtually inaccessible. Instead all passengers congregate in a very large common room. Facing the passengers are ten "boarding doors", each labeled with a letter of the alphabet. After following the sign, which directed passengers to gates with numbers like C-47, "E", "F", "G", and "H" just don't seem to scan. After passing through door “G”, passenger then walk down the hallway (which would be the length of the concourse in most airports), and then exits the building to board the plane from the tarmac.

This part isn’t too odd – most of my assignments require travel on small regional jets. This certainly wasn’t the smallest – the award for the smallest would have to go to the De Havilland Dash 8 turboprop that I took from Buffalo to Pittsburg (seating just 18 passengers) last winter. I decided that I really didn’t like turboprops very much after that flight. However, seating in tonight’s jet was just 44, which is quite small enough, thanks. Too bad I missed the Outback in concourse B – I could have really used a Wallaby Darned to gird my resolve for the next flight.

In which the bedroom décor progresses, but there's still no cigar

2006-01-07T15:52:00.000-07:00

I prevailed upon Chris to puh-leeze help me make some headway on the bedroom today. After a quick trip out to Southwest Plaza to pick up his suit coat and pants, I promised him that I would not insist upon working on some project all evening, if he would just help me out this afternoon. Having already hauled the drapery hardware up to the bedroom, I was ready to finally get the stuff hung.

It was pretty obvious that a 12’ pole was not going to voluntarily bend around a 90º turn in the upstairs hallway. The alternative was to take it indoors (painting having been done outdoors, of course) via the bedroom window. We got in inside, laid it on the bedroom floor, and turned our attention to the brackets.

We cleverly purchased a BullsEye laser level, which made the alignment of the brackets pretty easy. I held the level up over the headboard, and Chris marked the placement. Once my part was over, I hurried downstairs to the studio, where the four panels had been laid out on the cutting table, ready for pinning.

The moleskin is pretty heavy, and although I had one of the headers pinned, I decided that they would really need to have some interfacing, and so I had draped them over the ironing board. I’ll have to wait until I get back home week-after-next to get the interfacing, but the sheers would be finished in the meantime. I was pretty sure that we would have curtains before nightfall.

I had one panel pinned, and was running out of pins when I heard Chris coming downstairs. I could tell by his step that the news was not good. The 12’ pole is about 14” too short. Not only that, but the window on the left side of the bed is too close to the wall to accommodate bracket and finial. Furthermore, the brackets that I purchased (and painted) to support the middle of an extremely long pole are too long – the cups are not in line with the holes in the decorative brackets.

Back to the drawing board, as it were.

I abandoned the sheer panels, rationalizing that it would do little good to rush a job that had no chance of achieving any level of completion before I have to leave in the morning. “Annie” is on the TV, and we have both pretty much shut down until Griffin shows up for bowling and dinner.

In which JoAnn's has a sale

2006-01-04T12:14:00.000-07:00

After x-mas sales are for stocking up.

A couple of nights ago, I was cutting out the curtains for our new bedroom. When I was ready to sit down to sew them together, I discovered that my humongous roll of black thread that I know I own has disappeared. In my studio, it's not really a surprise. Since the sewing machine frequently goes on the road with me, I suppose it could be in a suitcase somewhere. This of course meant that I had to go to JoAnn's. (Picture the dramatic pose.)

Right now, my local JoAnn's superstore is having a sale. :-) Up to 70% off of a great deal of their stock. 40% off beads, suplies, and accessories. I stocked up. Unfortunately, trims were not on sale, but the thread was 30% off, which is three bucks on the size of black and white that I buy. I got a bead storage container that will travel, and I should have gotten two. Picked up some findings for hair things.

So, I'm half-stocked with beads. I still can't make anything except perhaps some hair bobs, since I still need some basic things like black beading cord and silver wire. I have a Fire Mountain order ready to go, but at $175, it'll have to wait until payday.

I'm pretty focused on the bedroom right now, since I'd like to finish it before I leave this weekend. Speaking of which, while the sun's shining and it's not too windy, I should go outside and finish painting the curtain rod.

In which your supposition about Melanie being too busy to blog is confirmed

2006-01-02T14:19:00.000-07:00

Yes, too busy to blog.

I'll try to upload (and back-date) some of the things that I've been writing over the past week or so - bits and pieces of text that could be more readable.

Suffice it to say that I am currently back from Opelika AL, and darned happy to be here. While in Opelika, I have to admit that the workload was frequently too little to keep me busy. Idle hands, and all that. I hatched a plan, which is currently occupying my New Year's holiday. It's not up yet, but in a few days open a browser and type http://anachronista.net . I'm moving all the SCA clothing web pages there, as well as creating pages for the other clothing that I've been doing. I suppose as (if?) I get into 19th-century clothing, there will be an expansion.

Until then, peace, prosperity, and health to you and yours in the New Year!

In which Wednesday fidgets strike

2005-12-21T08:05:00.000-07:00

Two and a half days.

By the second Wednesday away from home, I've reached the end of my patience with being on the road. It's as predictable as the sun rising. I'm counting down the workdays until I can hit the road for home. At least I'm not yet counting the hours. At least, not unless I start to wonder.....

John has been counting days since he met me at the airport on Sunday. "Four and a half days", he said. He thinks that it's the time of year. Maybe that's it. I am thankful that the hotel has gone all-out to decorate for the holidays. Other than the guest rooms, the hotel has achieved a level of Christmas cheer that almost equals that of home. Poinsettias seem to be occupying every alcove, and a huge tree dominates the foyer of the hotel, as well as the lower first floor foyer. The large table that usually graces the foyer has been moved to the north entrance, and now holds a huge white and silver arrangement of fresh flowers. The lilies have suffused the large conversational space with fragrance.

Unlike last year in Portland, I have not been motivated by the lack of decor to head to Target for a tiny tree to decorate and a poinsettia. I suppose knowing that home is Christmasy is some comfort, and that probably only makes me more antsy.

39 hours.

In which I begin to feel better

2005-12-20T16:00:00.000-07:00

After a week and a half of a cold or flu, and three days of aches and pains from over-exhertion, I am happy to report that I'm finally feeling more like myself. I slept last night without painkillers, and am finding that I'm not limping too badly when I stand up after an hour or two in front of the computer. However, today's menu at the station included cookies, brownies, and coffee cake. So a walk is in order after work tonight.

In which shopping adventures are found in Opelika AL

2005-12-20T15:50:00.000-07:00

Unlike most blogs, this one is being published somewhat after the date of creation, since there are some surprises for Chris contained within.

I had planned to finish Christmas shopping on the Sunday afternoon when I arrived in Opelika. It’s a college town; I figured that the usual suspects would be around. I also figured that my co-worker John would be up for a shopping trip. I was correct on both counts.

I had agreed with John that to have him drive up to Atlanta to pick me up from the airport. I wasn’t really surprised when I got of the plane and picked up voice messages; John (who can’t sit still for more than a couple of hours) was obviously horribly bored – bored enough to drive the hour to Atlanta to come get me. So I knew that he’d be bored enough to go shopping.

He really is a Husband. He’s been married for so long that he just seems to fall in stride with me. I think it’s a little weird; I’d never expect a male co-worker to follow me to the fabric store. I feel like he’s always waiting on me, and I feel a little self-conscious about that. But he’s good help.

His first question was where I wanted to go. Target. No problem, Target is in the strip mall where we were having lunch. So is Old Navy. John helped me find sleep pants for Chris and shirts for Evan at Old Navy – and tried to get me to buy a hat for Evan, the really cute one with tassels. Then we went back to the hotel. John hauled in the suitcases, and I hauled in the shopping bags. I checked in, dumped everything in the room, and John handed me the keys.

He has rented a Kia Amanti, very upscale looking. Leather interior, black, loaded. I like driving this car. I headed to the mall.

I’ve been trying to re-style my business look. There’s a Hot Topic there, but I felt totally silly walking in wearing my too-large poinsettia-sprinkled white turtleneck. So I headed to the salon first. Not only did I get a good cut, but I finally got my hair colored red. I love it! I’m so happy.

I went to the mall for several things. Other than a hair cut and color, I’m looking for a black lace shirt, black jeans, red, black or purple tops to layer under a black lace or chiffon shirt or jacket, and a long black jacquard jacket.

I started with what I thought might be easiest – the jeans. I’ve found one brand of jeans that fit, and I’ve only found them at Wal*Mart. Since I’m no longer a Wal*Mart customer, my co-worker Janis suggested that I try Penney’s. She said that she often got pants there, and the proportions fit her unusual shape. I did find just one pair in my size, and they fit. I now have two pairs of jeans, and one of them is black. I looked a bit at Penney’s for some colored tops, but didn’t find anything that I was in love with. Good colors, but they were camisoles, and I’ve got that issue with bra straps that most women of my generation learned in out early teens. I left them behind.

Nothing else at Penney’s meeting my Goth aesthetic, I went out into the mall. Remember that I was still wearing the white Christmas turtleneck, so I bypassed Hot Topic for Dillard’s. I was surprised at the options available. Luckily, it’s Christmas, and the party clothes are out, so I was able to quickly locate a black lace shirt. Surprisingly, this was not the only likely find. One of the tops was perfect down to the cameo broach at the cleavage, but the cleavage itself was way too low to be considered corporate – let’s just say that to wear that top would require a suitably decorative bra. As much as I liked it, it want back on the rack. But there was the silk/viscose sweater with the lace at the neckline and cuffs – it was perfect, and it came home with me.

I wore the silk sweater and my black travel knit skirt to work on Monday, accessorized with two long necklaces in black faceted crystals and pewter-colored chains. The red hair really completed the look, and I finally felt completely comfortable in business clothing. I’m thinking about more black lace…..

In which work has been too busy to blog

2005-12-19T09:42:00.000-07:00

Yeah, I know it's been over a week since I've written. In short, I've been sick all week, and tried to go to bed early. I've spent a week in Florida, and then I traveled back to Opelika yesterday. I'm pretty happy to be back. Florida is nice to visit, but I wouldn't want to live there.

I went walking on Saturday. I really enjoy looking at the flora and fauna. So much of the vegitation there is what this midwestern florist has for years associated with houseplants, since the climate in Florida is tropical. Even in December, hibiscus and birds-of-paradise are in full bloom, Ficus benjamina bi-color and crotons are shrubs, creeping fig is a groundcover, and Spanish moss is a living plant, rather than mulch. Large white birds can be seen pecking at the yews bordering parking lots, and tiny lizards scuttle across sidewalks. And yet, the humidity makes the place uninhabitable in my opinion. I was sweating on a 60 degree day. Of course, the humidity was 89%.

Saturday morning started out rainy, but by the time I headed back to the hotel, the sun was peaking out. I even got a little sunburn on my forehead and nose. Being at sea-level, I thought I could do more that I should have, and I've been pretty sore since my walk. It could also be the infection, although I do feel like I'm finally beating it. My feet still hurt, and I'm also pretty stiff and sore after sitting awhile. It takes a little bit for the hips and knees to function fully.

I did some shopping yesterday, and just kept walking - slowly - to keep moving. I feel like some more of the pounds are coming off, which is encouraging. I bought some groceries, mostly meat and veggies and drinks, so I think I can eat pretty healthily this week. They always feed us lunch, so portion control is the key.

I have done a little writing, and will post-date blogs later once I get them finished. So if you're interested, go back a few days to see what I've been up to.

In which a Christmas party invitation comes unexpectedly

2005-12-13T14:56:00.000-07:00

I've been to a few company Christmas parties. There was the one in Topeka after which Bret broke my heart, and the NewTech Christmas party. That was the one at which I sort of met Will Wheaton and at which my intense dislike of Penn Jillette was developed. The early Media Center parties are memorable; they were held in the studios at 4100 E. Dry Creek Road (the only thing that stayed the same in my 9 years of tenure was the address). There were open bars, live music and a buffet supper to die for. The later years at what was then the AT&T Digital Media Center were notable for the lack of Christmas cheer. This year's party was at Red Rocks, which is a huge difference; in spite of persistent doomsday prophesies by management, I guess business is getting better at CMC.

In general, the NewTech party far exceeded the others in scope. Chris and I were invited by Candice, a co-worker who was attached to one of the developers at NewTech. Our friend Austen came along. I suppose the guys mostly remember the women in their skin-tight evening gowns. Well, Chris always waxes poetic about the early morning gourmet made-to-order omelet bar. It was pretty much all open bar, so you could drink whatever you wanted; the buffet supper was great. Part of the ballroom had been made into an “ice” cave, and elves offered hors d’ oeuvres. There were techies there, celebrities, and foreigners. After all the Video Toaster was the first consumer video editor, and the possibilities for implementation seemed endless.

I think that the second on my list would be the party I attended last night. The station I’m working at, WWSB in Sarasota, FL invited us to attend. I didn’t have party clothes, and neither did my co-worker Janis – she’d known about the invitation, but had forgotten not only to tell me about it but to to bring fancy dress for herself. Luckily my current corporate-Gothique wardrobe moves from day to night pretty well. I added a purple scarf to black slacks and a surplice-bodice v-necked sweater, and was ready to go. Still I was underdressed. The ladies at the station had really gone all-out, and most were dressed in formal evening- or cocktail-wear. Janis and I really enjoyed watching the ladies. Heck, we see men in suits and ties every day, but the ladies really looked great.

Held at what is considered Sarasota’s finest restaurant, party-goers were met with an atrium lighted with strings of little white lights under which was situated one of the party’s two open bars. Servers offered egg rolls and crab cake hors d’ oeuvres. The ballroom was set with about 15 tables for eight, and two huge Christmas trees loomed in the corners. The east third of the hall was occupied with the food tables. One held a variety of antipasti – Caesar salad, roasted peppers, artichoke hearts in balsamic vinegar, cantaloupe and honeydew wrapped in prosciutto, and a balsamic vinegar-dressed salad of mozzarella, grape tomatoes, and onions. Another table was all sushi, a third was roast beef and turkey (a real bird, not a processed roll) and a fourth was cheese ravioli in a pesto cream sauce. Finally, on the west side of the ballroom, the desert table languished.

In the middle of it all, a dance floor had been assembled, complete with disco lights and DJ. Manny, the general manager, welcomed everyone to the party, with the offer of free drinks all night and a cab to take people home who had over-indulged. After stuffing ourselves on all of the good food, the presents were presented – one for every employee, ranging from $100 gas cards to flat screen monitors, Play Stations, and time off with lodging at a resort. Again Manny offered cab rides to the over-indulgent. The traditional outtakes and bloopers reel was a complete hoot! My face still hurts from laughing. And then the dancing commenced.

You know, I haven’t done any “modern” dancing for years. No fan of smoky bars, I haven’t had the chance to get out there on the dance floor. I don’t know the moves. I don’t know the music. I feel old. I felt conspicuous. But I did dance a little, and it felt good. There was some Latin music, and some of the younger folks did a little tango-like dance that was sensuous and lovely – I said that I wanted to learn that. Chris seems to be game; maybe we can find lessons.

By 10:00 the evening was over as far as I was concerned. Manny had offered cab fare for the third time, and my cold was getting to me. I knew that I’d regret staying up so late when I was sick. I told my co-worker Janis that it was time for me to go home.

In which being sick fails to stop those intent to keep going

2005-12-11T17:44:00.000-07:00

It’s 4:45 in Atlanta. I'm plugged into an unused outlet, which are at a premium in these days of laptop-fixated business travelers. At least I have a seat this afternoon; there have been plenty of times when I haven’t been so lucky.

My flight to Sarasota has been delayed by twenty minutes. This is fine with me; I’m not eager to get back on a plane. When you’re sick, the last thing you want to do is endure the pressure changes of takeoff and landing. I don’t know what I’ve got, but I’m pretty sure where I got it, and they can have it back.

I started feeling unwell on Thursday. By the time guests arrived for stuffing stockings, I was pretty much content to sit next to the fire and drink wine. By the time they left, I had decided to call in sick on Friday. Not a decision I took lightly, since I’ve got many hours of work on my desk. Well, it’s now in my backpack, in the expectation that I’ll actually get to make some headway this week.

In the middle of the night Thursday, I sent Chris downstairs for meds. I was feverish and chilling, and my sore throat had intensified. With a business trip looming, I made the difficult decision to stay home on Saturday. After months of anticipation, some frantic last-minute sewing, and trying to support Savina through her involvement with the event, I decided that I needed to stay home rather than attend Caer Galen Midwinter. Chris of course assented; by Friday he was feeling ill, too.

I did sleep in Friday morning, and I of course did do a little work. I wrapped a few Christmas presents, and helped Mother do some on-line shopping. Although I didn’t actually rest, I did take it somewhat more easy than I usually do. Without the pressure of Midwinter clothing, I did find it easier to relax a little.

Only a little. One of the reasons that I hate to be sick is that I don’t have a lot of patience with sitting still when there are so many pressures and responsibilities that need attention. Having made the decision to re-style our bedroom, I purchased a new bedding ensemble. The die being cast, I’m not content to wait until some time in January to actually use it. Additionally, I’m not willing to use it before I have the bedroom “in shape”. Saturday then was the day.

We started about mid-day. We put away all the junk on the dressers, pulled books of the shelves, and sent a bunch of bedding to the give-away box. The bed got moved to between the windows, the bookshelves are in the north east corner, and the TV has been moved to the top of the dresser, where it can comfortably be seen from the occupants of the bed. A purple and gold brocade throw covers the wing back chair. Everything has been dusted, and swept. At least once.

By bed time, we’d gone as far as we could go, as both energy (I'm sick, and Chris is getting sick) and materiel had given out. I’d removed the peachskin from the windows, and as the sun set I replaced the drapery, and lit several candles we’d moved in from elsewhere in the house. I found tall candle sticks (to sit on the floor) at JoAnn’s at 70% off retail, and bought a set of three. Yankee jars fit perfectly on them, although they’re a little wobbly on the carpet. I’m thinking that a piece of marble or flagstone would make a steady base. My collection of gargoyle cats has been moved to the bedroom, and once we make some decisions on wall decorations, the location of a couple of small Gothic shelves will be determined. After Christmas, I’ll be working on draperies, too.

I think that the thing that struck me the most in this process is that many of the decorative items already in my home will fit perfectly into my Gothique bedroom. My tastes have always run this direction. I’ve just never made a concerted effort to put it all together this way before. Chris and I agree that we really like the changes.

In which dark spaces are cozy spaces

2005-12-07T16:14:00.000-07:00

I recall that as a small child I sought out dark spaces. Not necessarily enclosed, but dark. Except that I have to be able to control the darkness - I get a thrill of fear when the lights go out unexpectedly.

I remember napping at my great aunt's house, and how I'd arrange the pillows so the afternoon sunshine was shut out. Ok, I'm claustrauphobic - any time I can't smell fresh air, I feel like I can't breathe. I suppose it's why I don't like hot weather. So, the pillows would always be balanced carefully to shut out the light, but to allow in fresh air. Even now, I tend to sleep with the covers pulled up over my eyes, but with my nose sticking out.

I once asked the delivery guys if I could have the huge box that the refrigerator had just come in, for "thinking". They didn't give it to me of course, but they did torment me by insisting that I explain why I wanted it. I was embarrased; I didn't yet understand why being inside it seemed interesting, and explaining it as a "fort" seemed silly.

I suppose it's a universal kid thing. I not only remember building cozy blanked forts as a child; I've built them for my own kid. Part of the appeal of Evan's Christmas bed (11/30/05 blog) is that he'll have a cozy - dark - space under in which to retreat. To play, to pretend, to think about things, to find himself. Children love to hide.

Last night, the coldest night of the season so far, Chris and I changed the bed, adding another layer. I have been bothered by the Christmas lights shining in through the blinds at night - recall that I do not like light shining on my face when I'm sleeping. I had a plan to insulate the bedroom from both light and the extreme cold.

It so happens that when the house was painted after the previous occupants, the hardware that attached drapery rods to the wall was left up on the window next to my side of the bed. This is remarkable, because I think it's the only place in the house remaining so, other than the living room. We have never gotten around to hanging the hardware that we brought with us when we moved almost two years ago, and so these two little hooks were the only method of hanging, other than the desperate posibility of push pins.

Two lengths of black peachskin languished in the basement, freshly washed after draping the jack-o-lantern stands at Halloween. I fetched those, and had Chris hook them over the little hooks. Suddenly, darkness.

Now this is significant, because I have intended to re-style our bedroom for a few weeks now. Our current bedroon ensemble was purchased for Wal*Mart (gah!) before we were married. I'm guessing it's at least 13 or 14 years old. Boy, is it time for a change! I want to move to purple, silver and black. (More on the re-styling in a later blog.)

Chris has always been somewhat opposed to my desire for a dark bedroom. The current burgundy-over-black fake tapestry he feels is already dark. Of course I'm going for darker. The black peachskin desparation curtain really changes the dynamic of the room, and it's a dynamic that I want to continue in the "new" bedroom. Even in the sunny afternoon today, the bedroom has been dark and inviting - but more important to the pocketbook is that when I reached behind the drape, the cold being kept out of the bedroom was remarkable! I like it. It's a marked contrast to my office which like most of the windows in the house is on the sunny south side of the house, and which tends to warm up in the afternoon. I like the sunshine in our house - it's one of the three huge reasons we moved into it. I suppose it's the contrast that appeals to me. I want to be able to have both the darkness and the light.

It's been a day full of working at the computer. I'm going to go enjoy my cave for awhile.

In which the cold weather requires comfort food

2005-12-06T21:47:00.000-07:00

Oyster stew is one of my favorite winter soups. I had picked up some oysters at the store last weekend, since they were unusually in the butcher's case. Tonight seemed like a good night for it. Mother wasn't "in the mood" for oyster stew, and I knew that Chris wouldn't touch it, so I made comfort food just for me. It was perfect. And the best part is that there are leftovers for lunch tomorrow.

Oyster Stew

Over medium heat, melt in stewpot:
1 stick butter

Add and sauté:
1 medium onion, choped

Sauté onion until it begins to carmelize.

Add:
3 8 oz packages fresh oysters, including liquid
5-10 grindings of fresh black pepper
½ teaspoon salt
¼ cup Wostershire sauce

Continue sautéing; the liquid from the oysters will begin to de-glaze the pan.

When the oysters' edges curl, add:
4 cups heavy cream (or 2 cups cream and two cups milk)

Heat to serving temperature. Serve with sourdough bread.

In which it gets very cold

2005-12-06T14:34:00.000-07:00

The first really cold days (and nights) have arrived. The Weather Channel is reporting 8° right now, or –6° with the wind chill. It’s been snowing all day. We’ve lit the fire place and many Christmas candles, and I put the storms down in our bedroom and bathroom this morning. I see that there’s been some improvement in the temperature in there; the thermostat has come up a couple of degrees to 54°. Of course our bedroom faces north and so suffers the brunt of the cold wind. I do so want to get curtains hung in the bedroom, but I don’t really see any possibility of that before January.

We keep the furnace at 62° during the day (heating and cooling being one of our major household expenses), which works well in keeping the main floor livable. But the upstairs is just plain cold. My office, which is usually warmed by the sunshine, is plenty cold on these cloudy days. I will sometimes work at the kitchen table rather than the office, but that doesn’t work so well if I have a meeting and need the phone. Sweatshirts are required working-at-home attire on days like today.

There’s been snow on the ground for several days, which is actually pretty unusual for Denver in December. We usually have some snow, punctuated by mild sunny days at this time of year. I’m not complaining though. It’s nice to have snow and cold before traveling to Florida this weekend. And now that the Christmas decorating is done, and the shipments of presents and candles are starting, it’s feeling really festive around the house. The wrapping paper comes out tonight, because my closet is beginning to get too full of unwrapped gifts.

Tonight’s low is expected to be –3°, with one to three inches of snow accumulating and “dangerous” wind chills. With 10 mph winds, one wonders where snow might “accumulate”. Tomorrow night will be even colder, at –6°. Never fear, those mild sunny days are in the forecast; the week will warm rapidly into the mid fourties by the weekend, when the snow will of course disappear. All in all, I’m pretty happy that I’ll be in Florida by then.

In which invitations for a Chez Bays tradition are sent

2005-12-05T10:06:00.000-07:00

Posted today to Outlandish:

Holiday Greetings from Chez Bays!

As has become our tradition, stockings will be hung not just for relatives, but our extended family of friends who share the holidays with us. Each friend with a stocking is encouraged to contribute to the stockings of friends; gifting each other in little ways adds up to a *big* stocking by Christmas.

Indeed, our tradition is followed so enthusiastically that each year annexes are required to accomodate all the loot. The traditional (but not at all picturesque) solution has been plastic grocery bags incompletely concealed behind each stocking. This year however, Fortune has provided! Arwen and Rivka found extra-large stockings at the dollar store; the scuttlebutt is that they bought 10. :-)

So, here's the plan - Thursday night Arwen and companions will be joining us at Chez Bays after supper for the official stocking hanging. If you can join, by all means do so. I'll provide tea and cookies, but we'll be kicking folks out by 9:00, as it's a school night.

Everyone reading this is invited to "hang" with us, and endeavor to top last year's prosperity in the socks. If you have a stocking to provide, put your name on it and bring it by - if you're stocking-challenged, never fear - there are spares. Just let me know. I'll post the names of the "hang-ees" so we'll know for whom we're buying. So far, it's the usual gang, Arwen (Sheila), Guillaume (Keith), Rivka (Michelle), Robert (Chris), Eirene (Melanie), Evan, and Evan's Gramma Angie. New this year is Savina (Rebecca), William (Bill), Rachel, and Ben. Rivka, shall I add one for Jeff?

Who else?

In which a cookie frenzy occurs

2005-12-04T22:09:00.000-07:00

Mother's been wanting to do more cookies ever since we finished up all the Thanksgiving cookies. Sunday seemed like a good day since she was home, and I thought that it's easier to make several batches at once rather than to do them at seperate times.

We started out with Toll House cookies, and proceeded with Ranger cookies. Ranger cookies are an old family favorite, but since no one has heard of them, here's my mom's recipe:

Ranger Cookies - Angie Unruh

1 cup shortening (Melanie uses butter)

1 cup white sugar

1 cup brown sugar

2 eggs

1 teaspoon vanilla

2 cups flour

1 teaspoon baking soda

½ teaspoon baking powder

½ teaspoon salt

2 cups old-fashioned rolled oats

2 cups Rice Krispies

1 cup shredded coconut

Cream together the shortening, sugars, eggs and vanilla. Combine flour, baking soda, baking powder, and salt, and mix into the sugar mixture. Combine the oats, Rice Krispies and coconut; fold by hand into the wet ingredients – the mixer seems to crush the Rice Krispies. The dough will be crumbly. Spoon onto parchment- or non-stick foil-lined baking sheets. Bake at 350º for 8-10 minutes.

We then made two batches of Spritz cookies, adapted from Joy of Cooking. One was tinted green; the other was red.

Spritz Cookies

Sift together:

2 ¼ cups all-purpose flour

½ teaspoon salt

Cream together:

¾ cup sugar

1 cup butter

Add:

2 egg yolks

1 teaspoon almond extract

Food coloring

Stir in the flour.

Beat well. Put a cookie press onto an ungreased cookie sheet. Bake about 7 minutes at 350°, or until barely brown around bottom edge.

Finally, I mixed up a batch of my Tres Riche Holiday Cookies, also adapted from Joy of Cooking. They're not cut out yet; I used the Chrismoose variation.

Tres Riche Holiday Cookies (Foundation for Great Pumpkin Cookies and Fall Leaf Cookies)

Cream together:

1 cup butter

⅔ cup sugar

Beat in:

1 egg

1 teaspoon almond extract

Combine and add:

2 ½ cups high altitude flour

½ scant teaspoon salt

Roll and cut out; bake at 350° for 8 to 10 minutes, until the bottom edges just barely brown. Decorate with Cream Cheese Frosting.

Cream Cheese Frosting

Beat until fluffy:

1 8 oz package cream cheese, softened

Add gradually:

1 pound confectioner’s sugar

Add sugar until the mixture is thick and spreadable. Add more sugar to thicken; add a few drops of milk to soften.

Divide and color with:

Several drops of food coloring

Chrismoose Cookies variation:

Replace the almond with vanilla, and:

Stir into the dry ingredients:

¼ teaspoon ground cloves

¼ teaspoon ground ginger

2 ½ teaspoons ground cinnamon

I use a huge moose cookie cutter. Decorate with piped holly leaves and berries.

In which Melanie whines a little

2005-12-01T13:57:00.000-07:00

It's cleaning day. The cleaning girls are supposed to be here this afternoon. It's a great service to have, and we really need it today. However, they can't clean around clutter. They'll clean the bathrooms and the kitchen, sweep and mop the floors, and dust, but I have to make room for the cleaning to happen. So every other Thursday, I spend the day picking up, putting away, doing dishes and laundry.

We started last night. I've been doing it all day. I'm still working on the house. I must be really out of shape. I'm tired. I want a nap. My back hurts; my feet hurt. The cleaning girls aren't here yet. They usually come at about noon. I could lay down, but I know that as soon as I do they'll show up.
I just needed to whine a little. Pathetic, isn't it? - whining because I have cleaning girls coming today. Yeah, I thought so too.

In which Christmas plans for Evan are laid

2005-11-30T13:33:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago, Evan expressed the desire for a "big boy" bed - a twin-sized bed. He actually threw quite a little fit over it, as we could not provide one immediately.

It so happens that Chris and I had been discussing getting him a twin bed for Christmas, and so I had a couple of options. I told him he could wait awhile for something really cool, or we could put a twin mattress on the floor for him right away. He didn't like the mattress-on-the-floor solution, and so he agreed to wait.

He's currently sleeping in his toddler bed, which was converted from his crib. I'm actually pretty pleased that we've gotten four and a half years out of our investment - nothing else you purchase for a new baby lasts as long! That's half of the recommended life of his mattress! Although he hasn't quite grown out of the toddler bed, the time seems to be right to move him into a twin.

If you've been in his room, you know that it's pretty small, about 10' x 9'. And his toy collection is rivaled only by the book collection. The train table has to live in the Hall because there simply isn't enough space in there to play with it. Likewise his desk. The solution has seemed to be a loft bed.

A loft bed is the top bed of a pair of bunk beds. The underside is left free for a desk or play space, and frees up about 28 square feet of floor space. The going rate? $500 - $700. Yikes!

A Google search found College Bed Lofts. They are designed to be very basic, and completely customizable. The web site is full of ideas - curtains across the bottom to make a "fort"; rope lighting and a beanbag to make a cool hang-out space; bookshelves, chalkboards, train tables, refrigerators, micorwaves, even a short couch or futon for extra seating/slumber parties. Paint it any color. Decorate it however you like. Of course, they're designed for dorm rooms, but many, many kids have them and seem to love them. $337 will purchase a loft bed and have it shipped or you can purchase the plans for $10 and build your own for about $120 in lumber and hardware. I love companies like this - and yes, we're going to build our own. I downloaded the plans this morning.

It seems pretty easy; reviews on the web page said that folks with minimal woodworking skills could build them. They take about a weekend to build; it seems that some families make family projects out of building the loft bed. Moms have done it, and so have kids, with Dad's direction of course. By the way, there are twin, full and queen sizes. I suspect that some of what we learn building these will come in handy when we do camping beds.

For kids, there's a safety rail modification that complies with the government's guidelines for youth beds. Evan loved sleeping in the overhead bunk on the train; I think he's going to love this bed. He never falls out of bed any more, so I'm not fearful of him getting hurt.

I had intended to buy him Spiderman bedding, but all I can find is the really cheap stuff - 120 count sheets, 70% polyester/30% cotton. Yuck. I'm leaning toward getting some good stuff from Company Kids - some of his current bedding is from them, and it's great quality. I really love the "Round Table" bedding - fantasy knights and dragons. This will require a change of curtains from Thomas the Tank Engine, though! Room decorations should be easy enough - he's already got the Wizard puppet and castle building blocks. And estucheons are pretty easy to cut out and paint.

Now the challenge is how to make it a surprise for him. I'm thinking that we can partially assemble the bed and stow it upstairs somewhere before Christmas Morning. If we can get him out of his bedroom (while he's asleep? after he wakes up and goes downstairs?) Chris and I can probably finish the assembly in half an hour or so. I'd like to string a ribbon all through the house leading him up to his Christmas bed. Hmmm..... I could string the ribbon the night before, and he does sleep like the dead. It should be pretty easy to get him moved to our bedroom after he goes to sleep.

I just hope he's as excited about this as I am.

In which Christmas consumes my waking hours

2005-11-29T12:05:00.000-07:00

Now that Thanksgiving is passed, the Christmas decorating frenzy has begun.

We fetched the Christmas stuff out of storage this weekend past. Saturday the totes and boxes came home - had to leave Evan home to have enough room in the Quest. Since the weather was moderate (and Sunday was expected to be very cold) we spent the day putting up the outdoor decorations. The house has white icicle curtain lights hanging from the rooflines, and jewel-toned globe lights topping the icicle curtains. The bushes on front of the porch have their normal jewel-toned clear C-7 strands, and the juniper in the front yard has the same C-7s, with little clear lights for filler. Some of the C-7s are “twinklers” and they make a neat display. This year we decorated the fence dividing our yard from the neighbor on the east. It has a garland illuminated with clear lights running the length, and a wreath on the sidewalk end. It visually "ties" the juniper bush to the rest of the house. Last night as we were returning home, we decided that the effect from the upper (far) end of the street was very nice.

I can’t wait until it finally snows. I find the lights shining out from under the snow to be especially pleasing.

Sunday found us arising late, and we showered and sped off without breakfast to the grocery store and the storage unit for trees. It was indeed cold, made so mostly by the north wind. There were three trees in storage; the 9' tree for the "hall" - our vaulted-ceiling family room; a 7' tree for the living room; and a 4' tree that seems to vary in placement and decoration from year to year. The hall tree needed to be tied to the roof, but the two smaller trees fit inside the minivan. We quickly made room for the two large trees and erected them. I have to say that the "making room" part was a challenge, partly because we do seem to have a lot of furniture and partly because of the broadcast toys, but largely because of the totes and boxes that had arrived the day before. Because the living room curtains cut off the bay – and that’s where the tree goes – we also had to insulate the bay’s windows. That took some time, too.

Chris had to go to work to play catch-up, and I had shopping to finish, so we parted and returned later for the decorating frenzy.

I started Sunday night with the hall tree. The theme is red and gold, and I consider it a "decorator" tree. It's like a 9' floral arrangement. It drips. It displays my love of beads and shiny things, and decorating it is almost ritualistic, as many of the ornaments carry the significance of the holiday. Evan helped by hanging red icicles and the gold drops with the mirrors. He did a pretty good job of not hanging all of the icicles in any one place, considering his age and exuberance.

We had decided to put the Christmas village in the opposite corner of the hall. Chris cut a piece of plywood to rest on Mother's TV (which is only used for DVD movies, as it has never gotten cable attached) and on a leg cut to fit in the corner behind the television. I'm working on a papier mache' mountain to serve as a support for some of the porcelain houses, as well as a tunnel for the train. Several Christmases ago, Chris gifted me with an HO-gauge Hogwart's Express. Thus, we're building Hogsmede as the Christmas village. So far, it needs at least one more coat of papier mache' and a coat of paint. It's a big project.

Since the hall tree is nearly finished, we started unpacking the ornaments for the living room tree last night. This shorter tree is more the "family" tree, and the ornaments each hold a memory or significance to one of us. Evan's first, second, third, and fourth Christmas ornaments are on there, as well as a moose commemorating our trip to Yellowstone on 2003. I'm fond of the old-fashioned German style blown-glass ornaments, and so there are a bunch of those; a sewing machine for me, face cards for Chris, a flying pig from my Laureling. There is a hedgehog and an apple (SCA affiliations), and lots and lots of Santas. Chris' mom's chiming bells are on it, too - they're one of my favorite parts. The little brass bells really chime to ring carols. They remind me of the bell ringers in church on Christmas Eves past.

Also last night, Chris assembled the 4' tree; we put it in the breakfast nook bay window. I want to do that blue and gold celestial tree that I've wanted for years. I also decorated my "Portland" tree; like the "family" tree it's in the living room. When I was on the road last year, I was in Portland Maine during the holidays. Not only is it a great little city, but also we made some wonderful memories there. Chris and Evan flew up to spend New Year's there with me; while I worked, they toured the city. We went up to Arcadia National Park, which was remarkable in the winter, and toured lighthouses in the Portland area. (A The tree was the one that I put in my hotel room - in a fit of hotel humdrums, I went out to Target and purchased a tiny tree, tiny ornaments, and lights. I was able to decorate my hotel room since I couldn't enjoy the decorations at home. How I got the ornaments home all on one piece, I can't tell. But the tree now lives on the short bookcase in the living room.

My "office" tree is on the arts and crafts library shelf in the dining room. So far, I can't find the ornaments! They're in the garage I'm sure. The lights are red, and since the tree looked a little sparse, I added holly boughs to the pine. It's a 2' tree, and the theme is Santas - it looks very cool looking from the hall through the kitchen toward the dining room.

We purchased two huge poinsettias last night (under $16 for 10” pots at Costco), and they are gracing either end of the credenza. Chris changed the linens from fall to red and gold Christmas. We put the old-fashioned candy canes that Aunt Lena used to have, in her candy dish on the credenza, too.

Our status right now is "explosion". Work is taking up any waking hours not consumed with Christmas, and so although we've got a lot of decorations up, there is still some way to go. Until then, the totes and boxes seem to languish half-full and open everywhere. The TV in the living room is framed with them, and we have to sashay around two large totes to get into the front door. The front porch contains some of the chaos, but those decorations will too soon find a place. Mostly garland and such, I have plans for framing the front bay window and the top of the fireplace. And for lining the back porch with old(er) curtain lights. I hope the outlet on the back porch isn't on the same circuit as the front porch!!

The deadline is Thursday. The cleaning girls come on Thursday at noon (thank heavens!!) and the mess must be either contained or displayed by then. Then the fake pine needles and mylar garland detritus will be swept up, and the muddy footprints from Saturday will be scrubbed away.

What's next? I promised Mother Chex Mix sans added salt, and Evan has been promised Purina People Chow. ("Chocolate??” he said.) And I need to make cookies, and the need for save-the-banana bread is getting apparent. Some time in here, Midwinter sewing needs to consume my waking hours....

In which Christmas Bays-style is explained

2005-11-25T23:59:00.000-07:00

Christmas is perhaps my favorite holiday. I love the significance of Halloween, and any occasion that provides the opportunity to dress up is a good one. But Christmas is a season of such hope and love that it is by far the dearest to me.

This of course means that I do it to excess.

Well, not to excess, but my family sees it that way. It's not really excessive - there are only two or three trees (ok, maybe as many as five) to decorate. And we use artifical trees, because Chris is opposed to killing new ones every year. I'd like to achieve one Christmas tree per room, but the familial pressures are against it. And it all fits into RubberMaid totes. So it's neat, if voluminous.

When I say "Christmas", I'm not talking about just the commemoration of the birth of the Christ, but the spectrum of holidays that humans have placed around the winter solstice. Yule, Hannukah and others all speak to us of the return of "light", both in the literal sense and as a metaphor for enlightenment. As a season of peace, I find it to be especially meaningful as my belief system centers around peace as its fundemental theme. This season touches my heart, and for most of my adult life, I've been persuing the perfect Christmas.

What is a perfect Christmas? A tree that touches the ceiling, encrusted with lights and dripping with decorations. Mounds of presents. Rows of stockings belonging to friends and family, that are filled to overflowing. A fancy-dress holiday tea to celebrate the season with friends. Candle light. Snow. Christmas carols - but only after the first of December. A Christmas feast, with all twelve chairs at the big dining-room table filled, and the kitchen table, too. The decor as festive as the season and the guests.

I'm still striving for the perfect Christmas, and I suppose my expectations are too high. Last year was great; although I was mostly on the road before Christmas, the location was the Boston area, and so the season was spent partly with our east-coast family, the Jones'. I only wish I could get them out here one Christmas! Since we really don't have a lot of family, Chris and I invite friends for the holiday instead.

Although I will again be on the road the last three weeks of December, I'm very much looking forward to this year. I have arranged my travel so I get to be home for the holiday weekend. My only regret is that all the decorating I'm doing I get to enjoy only for a few days. Oh well - I'll be here when I'll be home for Christmas.

In which I ruminate on things Gothique

2005-11-23T10:05:00.000-07:00

At our Pottering dinner Saturday night, the topic briefly turned to my recent rediscovery of my inner Goth. Arwen said that she'd never gone through that phase, and Rivka wrinkled her nose and agreed. Likewise, Chris maintains that he is not - never has been - Gothique. My mother never did understand the concept. Rivka's response got me to thinking about the concept, what it means to me, and the reasons for an apparent distaste for Gothness among family and SCA friends.

Let me first point out that in the title, I have used an alternative spelling of Gothic, to make a distinction between historical European Gothic (which I of course do) and the modern or neo-Gothic. Just to be clear - I do Gothic; I'd like to do more Gothique.

Way back when in the eighties, I was Gothique. Probably due in large part to the influence of Bret and friends, my hair was short and spiky, my clothing was typically dark, tailored and eccentric. I recall some favorite shirts that were dark and very textural; my jeans were black, and my footwear was a pair of cotton canvas boots to which I'd tied some orange, purple and black warp ends. I typically wore dark glasses (even after dark), which allowed me to people-watch without appearing to be rude. My music has always been eclectic, and although I did listen to some bands that might be considered "goth", it wasn't an exclusive thing. I listened to a lot of punk and new wave - music that has become typically 80's. I find that rather funny. Many Goths find classical and Medieval music to their liking, too.

The punkers of the 80's broke into a couple of sub-cultures. Those who couldn't maintain the punkers' extroverted lifestyles developed into the more introspective aesthetically inspired Gothique sub-culture. What distinguishes Gothiques? It's both a mindset and a dress code. Goths typically reject trendy people and ideas. They are the image of the artistic temperament. They are creative. They might maintain a cool, unemotional demeanor while being subject to inner turmoil, anger, or depression. They might be melodramatic. They tend to be introspective, and value personal expression and tolerance of diversity. They read a lot, both fiction and non-fiction. They're smart. Things that frighten or disturb people (death, creepy-crawlies, evil, sin, pain) are seen as beautiful; things that might be distasteful could be seen as artful.

The dress code is the stereotypical - but not compulsory - black clothing which frequently exhibits historical influences. Medieval (really 19th century Medieval Revival) and Victorian themes predominate. Colors range across the spectrum, excluding pastels and neons which are seen as trendy. The head-to-toe unified impression is important in Gothique dressing. Gold is not commonly worn, but any of the jewel tones, silver, grey, and white are found. The clothing is sometimes hand- or custom-made, but there are a few retailers out there selling Gothique clothing. Clothing is seen as an expression of uniqueness, as well as a mask or an impression of the character of the wearer.

So, how do these things apply to me? What aspects of my personality are Gothique? There isn't a checklist, but I do tend to display the following characteristics, characteristics that have been part of my personality since my late teens.

I tend toward the artistic temperament. Although I'm probably more animated and passionate than the normal Goth, I do tend to suffer from anxiety, insecurity, and depression. Although suffering is a natural part of living, I may depart from the Gothique tendency here in that I believe that part of our humanity is to be found in alleviating suffering.
I try mightily to control my external demeanor. I have spent years trying to project a certain image or expression based upon the need of the environment. I'm still learning to maintain a cool exterior when logic says that I should be throttling someone for being stupid.
I read a lot. Both fiction and non-fiction are reading "for pleasure".
I believe strongly in diversity and self-expression. I crave the companionship of people who are different from myself, and although I feel a little awkward about it, I try to learn about the things that make them different.
I find beauty in things generally considered beautiful, but also in things that might be distasteful or ruined. I like things that go bump in the night; I like mystery.
I find old things to be more interesting than mainstream ideas, things, and practices. Goths feel like they will be able to survive when modern society crashes and burns from it's own weight.
I've always loved history. Goths tend to admire historical things - literature, architecture, and clothing - and many of them study things that are Gothic. Castles, cathedrals or illuminated manuscripts might be the inspiration for clothing or home embellishment.
I find nature - all of it - to be beautiful. I like spiders, bats, snakes, and mice as much as flowers and mountains. I like bare trees as much as full ones. I like darkest night and moonlight maybe a little more than daylight, although daylight has the advantage of making gardening easier.
I see death as a natural part of life, and although I struggle with this, my mind knows that death should be embraced as strongly as life when death becomes more comfortable than living. I don't crave death or partake in what is termed as the cult of death, but I do see it as the compliment to living, rather than a thing of evil. (Taking of human life is evil.)
I like wearing black. It doesn't predominate in my wardrobe, but you'll likewise find very little pastel and no neon. My tastes tend toward the dramatic - if it wasn't considered unprofessional, I'd wear a lot more velvet and lace to work. Luckily black is considered professional. In general, I choose purples and warm blues or reds to pair with black. I think it's pretty cool that beaded clothing has become more mainstream.
I fuss with shoes matching socks, or socks matching the clothing. I try to achieve an over-all impression in dressing. I find it difficult. I may go through two or six combinations before deciding on any one thing.
Although I don't like to draw a lot of attention to my fingernails - they're never neat enough - I do paint my toenails. And it's never a mainstream color. Iridescent purple/green, red/gold or blue/silver are my favorites.
My jewelry has always been silver. I have very little gold. Even if I wear gold, I pair it with silver. Even my wedding band is yellow and white gold.
I started "costuming" in high school. The first clothing I made was Japanese, and screen-printed by hand. In college I experimented with making art-clothing, and then got involved with the SCA. Recently I've discovered Harry Potter-universe fantasy clothing, and Halloween clothing.
The sub-culture just has more interesting people than the mainstream.

More importantly, I think that the things that make me "Gothique" are more similar than different from my SCA friends.

Artistic temperament? The SCA is full of 'em! We've all got some sort of drama going on.
Control my external demeanor? It's considered a Peer-Like Quality in the SCA. In the face of turmoil, I have cultivated the Mona Lisa smile in an effort to keep people from thinking that they have provoked me.
We tend to read a lot. There's a lot of research that goes on in the SCA and we wouldn't do it if it wasn't fun.
Diversity and self expression? Heck, I live in the "you can't tell us what to wear/think/do" Kingdom. The good part of this is that we can pursue authenticity, but we have to allow the fantasy folks and the ones that think they know what they're taking about, and the ones who use their position to increase their own self importance, and yes, the Goths.
I find fun in things generally considered to be too much trouble to be worth the effort. I like to be authentic; I think it's fun to get inside the mindset of a 15th century woman.
The Medieval/Renaissance is frequently more interesting than mainstream ideas, things, and practices. SCA folks feel like we will be able to survive when modern society fails - we know how to stay warm when the electricity goes out.
SCAers share a love of history. Many of us concentrate on or specialize in the architecture, clothing, or illuminated manuscripts of the Gothic era.
Death probably occupied more of the psyche of Medieval people than it does today. It was certainly more prevalent and arrived earlier. I'm not sure this was a bad thing, since many times to prolong life is to prolong suffering.
I like wearing clothing that transports me into another - a Gothic - mindset. Black isn't a common period color due to the expense and effort of creating the dye. Luckily jewel tones predominate in period clothing, and so I can still wear colors that I look and feel good wearing. I'm a bit of a magpie; I love beads.
For an authentic look, medieval dressing must present an overall impression. This means head to toe - headwear and shoes. It takes more effort but it's worth it.
It's good that my toenails are hidden in period footwear.
We get to play dress-up in the SCA, and it necessitates hand-made clothing.
The SCA just has more interesting people than the mainstream.

In short, the SCA lifestyle closely parallels Gothique lifestyle. Ok, the clothing is different. I've seen people wear SCA clothes to work, and people wear Gothique clothes to work; neither are exactly professional, so we both have to capitulate to the modern office aesthetic. The SCA is closer to Gothique than the mainstream is to the SCA. Right? So why the rejection of the culture by SCAers?

Is it because the Gothique stereotype carries with it overtones of Satanism, morbidity, violence and Marilyn Manson? Maybe. But like most stereotypes, these things aren't necessarily a part of Gothic culture - they're probably more prevalent among the punkers. To attract attention because we're dressed "funny" shouldn't be an issue, because we routinely go out after events in period clothing. Things that other people find tiresome, tedious, or distasteful are attractive to us, like those of us who strive for authenticity, or who prefer hand-made "scrolls" to computer-generated ones.

Yes, I've probably got the Gothique mindset; I'm working on the dress code. The problem is that I have a need to be corporate. Corporate is not Goth. Well, mostly. Although the lace, velvet, and period dress forms would be considered over-the-top in corporate-land, black is pretty much the corporate-formal uniform.

I've been building my black wardrobe, and thinking that I can pair a long black jacket with a red, purple, white, or black lace top. I have black slacks and skirts, and a office-wear little black dress. I prefer long skirts anyway. I recently purchased some black undergarments (no, a white bra does not go under a black travel-knit top) and am shopping for said lace tops. Natural fabrics are my style (but travel knit - acetate/spandex - meets my business wardrobe needs) so I'm looking for silk or something equally comfortable. I did pick up two faux wrap sweaters before my last trip that look great on me. Of course they're both black - the other colors offered were pastels. bleah I've been finding some cool antique-looking jewelry out there, and I may start to dabble in makeup for work. The thing about makeup is that I feel like I have to be consistant about it - I can't decide to do it one day but not the next.

Hair is an issue. I can't color it something funky, because it's not corporate, and it's not period-authentic. But I can do wash-out colors if I'm home for more than a week at a time. My casual wardrobe is also an issue, but will serve, since Gothique implies "dressing up" to me. Although my casual wardrobe doesn't have much in the way of holes, when I do buy every-day clothes, I'll be sticking with more of the Gothique colors and styles. Not that I have much in the way of pastels in my closet, but...

Ahh, another diversion, even if it's an old one.

In which more inexplicable cat behavior is observed

2005-11-21T11:12:00.000-07:00

It must be a cat thing. Maybe mine really are normal; I can't decide.

This morning I watched Koshka drink water. She's just as weird as Moonshadow and Alexander but different. She puts both front paws on the water dish (we have big heavy ceramic ones, or there'd be a lot more messes) and drinks out of the far side of the dish. Occasionally, she touches the water's surface with her right paw while she's drinking. After she got done, I checked her paw to see how wet it was. She must be just barely touching the surface, because only the very tip of her paw was wet.

Why do they do that?

In which there is much anticipation

2005-11-18T10:49:00.000-07:00

Home!

I suppose it's because I actually got to spend several weeks at home this fall. I'm really looking forward to getting home - moreso than usual. My flight is scheduled at 8:00 tonight, but I'm going to try to catch an earlier flight. I'm not really confident about either of the early flights, since I don't see any of them available for booking, but it never hurts to try. I've got USA Today and Ivanhoe if I end up cooling my heels for several hours.

I watched the A&E Harry Potter behind-the-scenes program last night. It really piqued my excitement. I do wish I could go to the movie tonight, but we've got a nice evening planned tomorrow with friends. It'll be nice to dress up and go out. I do need to decide what I'm wearing, and if I go as Violet Smethwyk, I must do some minor adjustments on my dress tomorrow.

Maybe, if I don't get in until after 9:00 tonight, and since Evan will come to the airport - maybe he'll sleep in in the morning!

In which more than you ever wanted to know about Melanie's job is explained

2005-11-17T15:53:00.000-07:00

The most common question that I encounter when away from home on business is, "what do you do?" I can't say that I'm a consultant or a trainer, or a software installer, because although my day involves all those things, it's not a concise description of why I spend as much as two or three weeks in places far from home. My midwestern accent certainly marks me as a "foreigner" in most places. If I say that I'm an Implememtation Specialist for WideOrbit, it only confuses the issue.

So let me start from the beginning.

Every element that you see on the television - the programs, the promotions, the commercials - have to be scheduled. That schedule is pretty complex. Some of those elements - the commercials- are aired in return for compensation of some sort, usually a payment of cash.

In the old days, the traffic department at a television station would hand-write the commercials as they were sold onto to long narrow strips of paper, which were in turn stuck up to the wall in the order of air. The resulting schedule was then transfered to paper by a typist, and then each of the strips of paper were forwarded to the business office to be typed up on a bill. This process was of course labor intensive, limiting potential revenue, and the risk of error was huge.

In the 1960s, with the advent of computer technology, enterprising companies began using technology to make the process more streamlined and profitable. Revolutionary for their day, the Columbine systems marked a sea change in the industry. Suddenly television stations became a business rather than a public service. The number of sponsorships increased, and lengths became standardized at the :30 unit. The length of the programs began to shrink accordingly.

By the 1990s, the posibilities of broadcasting had mushroomed to the point that the computer systems serving traffic departments had to adapt or die. Coupled with thirty years of development in personal computing and broadcasting equipment, traffic systems became both easier to use - Windows-like interfaces - and more complex to meet the demands of the industry.

WideOrbit has developed what I consider the best traffic software in the business. One of the reasons that it is so good is that it is intuitative to use. The other reason is that it is is highly configurable and adaptable to a wide variety of the ways that television broadcasters do business. WideOrbit permits the stations to schedule and bill spots, as well as to mine the data in ways which make the revenue picture very clear to management. This also means that it is a very complex system.

Considering the complexity of the system, the interfaces really are easy to use. Our challenge is to teack users how to use the system, and to take advantage of the features - the complexity - of the system. The challenge includes configuring the system in such a way that it meets the client stations' needs. So, my job is to train new users on WideOrbit, as well as to troubleshoot any issues that stand in the way of effective, efficient use of the system. We make recommendations as to processes and workflow, and we advocate for the client's needs. We spend five weeks on-site with each of our clients, and one week of off-site training is dedicated to them as well. The result is that the sucess of the client becomes the focus of our attention.

What do I do? I make my clients happy and sucessful. I'm lucky to work at a company where the products put me at an advantage.

In which the season's second snow creates a stir

2005-11-16T19:27:00.000-07:00

It's going to freeze tonight in Alabama.

This is remarkable because they aren't used to cold weather here, and they don't like cold weather here, either. There is some grousing among the station's personnel about it. Earlier this week, with highs in the 70s and what natives consider low humidity seemed a little odd to us Coloradans. Not unwelcome, but we're used to at least one snowstorm by mid-November. We have been somewhat unreserved about how we feel about the weather here - the humidity really was somewhat uncomfortable on Monday and Tuesday.

In response to the complaints about the coming cold, I shared some pictures that Chris took at sunrise yesterday. The picture of a cold Peakview Circle got remarks about how snowy Denver must be. It was my pleasure to reply that the snow in the picture is probably already gone - evaporated off the streets due to the altitude and the cold temperatures. One of the best parts about living in Denver, I think. And that no matter how hot it might be on summer days, the nights are always cool and pleasant.

I really love this picture of Evan bundled up against the cold. Of course it was a hit - everyone thinks he's as cute as I do. He's on his way to school, and I can see the sleepiness in his face. He's certainly warm in his poufy coat. I suspect that we don't really get him out into the snow enough.

The picture of the sun rising between sattellite dishes and pine branches evokes memories of arriving at work on cold winter mornings and dashing inside to the warmth and hot buttered pancakes with tea. The dishes are located on the north side of the Comcast Media Center building in the south Denver suburbs where Chris still works. (I worked there for nine years before joining WideOrbit.)

The CMC sits up on a hill overlooking the southern part of the valley in which Denver is built. There is very little except air between the hilltop and the high peaks of the Front Range - Mount Evans, Long's Peak, and Pike's Peak. It tends to be windy, but the view is one of the benefits of working there. The snowcapped peaks are breathtakingly beautiful throughout most of the year, and even moreso as the sun rises and tints the peaks with a rosy glow.