I drove to Alexandria Bay yesterday to another system's annual meeting. It's about 3 hours from my house. Took the library's car. Here's what I look like when I drive. Cross. I think I look like my mother here. Does that mean she looks cross? She did when we were children.
Friday, May 23, 2008
river
The St.Lawrence River. Big ships chug down the river, and it's always a surprise to see them because you forget what an important shipping route it is.
purple
Not sure why you'd do this to your house. Our first house in Rockford was light blue, a favorite color of my mothers. We could never match the color. As I remember it, every summer one side of the house would get painted, but the next year we couldn't match the color, so the house always had a different shade of light blue on each side. You could only see one side from the front, and that's all that mattered.
logo
We do have a nice logo, don't we. It's usually maroon outlines on a white background, very classy.
chevy
You know me an cars. This is the new system car. Chevy Equinox. after driving a Civic, it's nice to be up so high.
garbage
At a parking area.
OK, no household garbage. Radioactive waste: OK Medical waste: OK
Office garbage: OK Dirty oil: OK Tires: OK Industrial waste: OK
The possibilities are endless
OK, no household garbage. Radioactive waste: OK Medical waste: OK
Office garbage: OK Dirty oil: OK Tires: OK Industrial waste: OK
The possibilities are endless
prime real estate
You could probably buy one of these for a pretty good price these days. I think they're condos, and not really on the water.
Monday, May 19, 2008
Ken
I was asked to take a picture of Ken with his new stove. Before he posed with the stove I took some pictures of him in his usual pose
.
This is the position he sits in when we visit, hour after hour. I'm sitting on the loveseat on one side of the room and he's sitting in the chair his grandfather built.
The other day he was sitting on the loveseat and I sat in the chair. He said "I know what's wrong! We're sitting in the wrong seats. I'm not used to looking at you in that chair." I told him change was good.
.
This is the position he sits in when we visit, hour after hour. I'm sitting on the loveseat on one side of the room and he's sitting in the chair his grandfather built.
The other day he was sitting on the loveseat and I sat in the chair. He said "I know what's wrong! We're sitting in the wrong seats. I'm not used to looking at you in that chair." I told him change was good.
New stove
Here's the new stove. About 25 people chipped in to buy Ken a new wood stove. It's special because it has an ash drawer--you just pull out the drawer and empty it of ashes. With the other stove you had to let the fire go out and shovel the ashes out. It made a mess because, no matter how careful you are, when you take ashes out of a stove some get on the floor and in the air.
Ken's very happy with his new stove.
Ken's very happy with his new stove.
There's no spring in my step
I really enjoyed reading the latest entries in my sister's blog. She had a wonderful trip to Scotland to visit her daughter (my fantastic niece) and Aberdeen sounds like a wonderful, penultimate Scottish town. Brave sister for going by herself, arranging the trip, staying alone in a B&B, entertaining herself while her daughter had classes--and--amazing to me, the easily intimidated in foreign lands--buying things with alien money. Anyway, it was a great travelogue full of good cheer and the words of a confident traveler. I envy that.
I was entertained by her comment that she feels as if she's in a rut. Friday I walked into my department and said exactly the same thing. I feel as if every day is the same, I am the same, my life is the same. I suppose we could think of this as a secure and normal life but right now it feels not that way. I'm a creative person and should be doing more with my life. I don't even vary the way I wash my body in the shower. Always the same parts in the same order. Well, wait, sometimes I wash my hair at different times.
The change of seasons helps here. I think living in a city makes it harder to vary your lifestyle, your life, what you do. My sister is involved in lots of things, especially physical activities and creating really beautiful works of art. My walls are covered with her paintings and people always take them down for a closer look. Then they say "She's very talented, isn't she."
Anyway, the arrival of a new season offers some variety, and I'm much more involved in it this year. I'm feeling better than I have in a long time--a very long time, and am interested in getting my gardens in shape. I'm working the soil to reclaim one bed and will plant things in the bed I've been reclaiming for the past 3 years. That's a real achievement for me--a place to put things. I bought a lot of perennials this year--spent too much money, but it's a sign of optimism when I buy plants with a future. I'm thinking of where to put them, and have put some in a totally new place, suggested by Lin. She's always full of suggestions, things I don't think of--she mentions them casually, as if in passing, then I get excited and we discuss (you know, Mike Myers' Barbara Richmond "discuss amongst yourselves"). So thanks to her I'm developing an extension of an area I had just started using. It'll look great.
So that's something that's not rutful. But work, housework, television addiction, after work activities (Ken on Mon or Tues, Weds., Friday, Sunday with Bill and maybe Fred)--payday Friday grocery shopping, liquor store, other errands and home. I guess it's a grind that's inevitable. If I wanted a real change I'd join something or take lessons (there's always the bipolar sufferers group--NOT). Guess that means I've settled for moving along this way, or, being a sloth, I lack motivation to make something more of my life. Am I satisfied with my life? Pretty much. I've worked hard to find mental stability. Like my sister's translations and work situation, that's been my big project for the past decade. That seems to have reached a fairly satisfactory state, but always a work in progress. So what's next? My house, I guess, but that seems like an impossible project and one I find terribly discouraging. For one thing, it reminds me of my brother and the pleasure he got making improvements when I told him to think of it as his house. And then there's the fact that there are many things left unfinished when exhusbandthemayor left. And things I am not capable of doing. And things Ken would have done with/for me before but no longer can do. OK, so those are the depressing negatives.
I'm hoping to paint my living room next week. BIG DEAL. Very, very big deal. I've asked Liza, Mark, Fred and Lin for advice on color. With each person I've settled on a color. A dark brown, a light brown, now a gray-brown. Lin says I won't get it done because I'll spend this week trying to pick a color and won't get to the painting part. She might be right (ah--there's that "you might be right (but probably not)" I'm so fond of). And there's the cost--I'm totally tapped out this week.
Sometimes I feel incapable of dealing with the things I've set up in my life. Yesterday I let the dogs out at 3 or so. Chances came back. Tess did not. Means she's walking the bog with someone but the black flies are so bad I couldn't imagine anyone would be in the bog. 2 hours go by & she doesn't return. I worry--I drive the road looking for a body. I go to the only camp where there are people, they're having a party, no they haven't seen Tess, but don't I want to come in, sit in front of the huge (really huge--this is the main lodge of a former girls' camp) fireplace? I decide I've really screwed it up this time, dog is gone for good, I have no Tess. Phone is ringing, woman says "I have your dog Tess." Where are you? "At Harrigan's (ice cream stand--West Plattsburgh, 25 miles away)" Well, she didn't know the bog was on my road and that Tess lives next to the bog and that AuSable Forks is my mailing address so Tess doesn't really live 13 miles from the bog. An hour to get the dog, chat up the nice woman (who works in a vet's office so knows how much dogs mean to people), offer to buy her ice cream, drive home. Someday I will lose that dog for good.
OK, loss of control story 1. Number two: let the cat out last night with dogs for final pee. Rainy night. Cat does not come in. Half the time I can't tell if she's in or out. I go to bed after calling cat. No cat. Can't sleep, am sure something has eaten cat (there's always a fisher in the neighborhood--they eat cats. so do foxes, coyotes, eagles, sometimes hawks). OK, now I don't have a cat, either. Decide I did, after all, like the cat. She answered me when I talked to her. Up at 3, open door to check for cat. Cat bolts in door. I ask if she wants to go to bed--she barrels into bedroom. So now I feel incapable of having either cat or dog
Oh worthless me. And this morning I feel like crap because I didn't get enough sleep. And it's cold (supposed to snow on Whiteface). But I have hot flash. And (worst of all) I still haven't written character assessments for clerks. This week is too complicated. Tomorrow to Saranac Lake. Wednesday back here. Thursday to Alexandria Bay (Thousand Islands--3.5 hours away) for another system's annual meeting, will see many friends there but am going by myself. Friday to Burlington for pap smear not done in 3 years. THEN: OFF FOR 5 DAYS. And many, many people arrive in Hawkeye.
Lin has offered to help paint my living room. First thought is no, I should do it without help, I need to do these things alone. Next thought: ACCEPT HELP FROM FRIENDS. I'm learning. I just need to get things ready. Like, pick out a color. And another color for trim. And write character assessments. Now
I really enjoyed reading the latest entries in my sister's blog. She had a wonderful trip to Scotland to visit her daughter (my fantastic niece) and Aberdeen sounds like a wonderful, penultimate Scottish town. Brave sister for going by herself, arranging the trip, staying alone in a B&B, entertaining herself while her daughter had classes--and--amazing to me, the easily intimidated in foreign lands--buying things with alien money. Anyway, it was a great travelogue full of good cheer and the words of a confident traveler. I envy that.
I was entertained by her comment that she feels as if she's in a rut. Friday I walked into my department and said exactly the same thing. I feel as if every day is the same, I am the same, my life is the same. I suppose we could think of this as a secure and normal life but right now it feels not that way. I'm a creative person and should be doing more with my life. I don't even vary the way I wash my body in the shower. Always the same parts in the same order. Well, wait, sometimes I wash my hair at different times.
The change of seasons helps here. I think living in a city makes it harder to vary your lifestyle, your life, what you do. My sister is involved in lots of things, especially physical activities and creating really beautiful works of art. My walls are covered with her paintings and people always take them down for a closer look. Then they say "She's very talented, isn't she."
Anyway, the arrival of a new season offers some variety, and I'm much more involved in it this year. I'm feeling better than I have in a long time--a very long time, and am interested in getting my gardens in shape. I'm working the soil to reclaim one bed and will plant things in the bed I've been reclaiming for the past 3 years. That's a real achievement for me--a place to put things. I bought a lot of perennials this year--spent too much money, but it's a sign of optimism when I buy plants with a future. I'm thinking of where to put them, and have put some in a totally new place, suggested by Lin. She's always full of suggestions, things I don't think of--she mentions them casually, as if in passing, then I get excited and we discuss (you know, Mike Myers' Barbara Richmond "discuss amongst yourselves"). So thanks to her I'm developing an extension of an area I had just started using. It'll look great.
So that's something that's not rutful. But work, housework, television addiction, after work activities (Ken on Mon or Tues, Weds., Friday, Sunday with Bill and maybe Fred)--payday Friday grocery shopping, liquor store, other errands and home. I guess it's a grind that's inevitable. If I wanted a real change I'd join something or take lessons (there's always the bipolar sufferers group--NOT). Guess that means I've settled for moving along this way, or, being a sloth, I lack motivation to make something more of my life. Am I satisfied with my life? Pretty much. I've worked hard to find mental stability. Like my sister's translations and work situation, that's been my big project for the past decade. That seems to have reached a fairly satisfactory state, but always a work in progress. So what's next? My house, I guess, but that seems like an impossible project and one I find terribly discouraging. For one thing, it reminds me of my brother and the pleasure he got making improvements when I told him to think of it as his house. And then there's the fact that there are many things left unfinished when exhusbandthemayor left. And things I am not capable of doing. And things Ken would have done with/for me before but no longer can do. OK, so those are the depressing negatives.
I'm hoping to paint my living room next week. BIG DEAL. Very, very big deal. I've asked Liza, Mark, Fred and Lin for advice on color. With each person I've settled on a color. A dark brown, a light brown, now a gray-brown. Lin says I won't get it done because I'll spend this week trying to pick a color and won't get to the painting part. She might be right (ah--there's that "you might be right (but probably not)" I'm so fond of). And there's the cost--I'm totally tapped out this week.
Sometimes I feel incapable of dealing with the things I've set up in my life. Yesterday I let the dogs out at 3 or so. Chances came back. Tess did not. Means she's walking the bog with someone but the black flies are so bad I couldn't imagine anyone would be in the bog. 2 hours go by & she doesn't return. I worry--I drive the road looking for a body. I go to the only camp where there are people, they're having a party, no they haven't seen Tess, but don't I want to come in, sit in front of the huge (really huge--this is the main lodge of a former girls' camp) fireplace? I decide I've really screwed it up this time, dog is gone for good, I have no Tess. Phone is ringing, woman says "I have your dog Tess." Where are you? "At Harrigan's (ice cream stand--West Plattsburgh, 25 miles away)" Well, she didn't know the bog was on my road and that Tess lives next to the bog and that AuSable Forks is my mailing address so Tess doesn't really live 13 miles from the bog. An hour to get the dog, chat up the nice woman (who works in a vet's office so knows how much dogs mean to people), offer to buy her ice cream, drive home. Someday I will lose that dog for good.
OK, loss of control story 1. Number two: let the cat out last night with dogs for final pee. Rainy night. Cat does not come in. Half the time I can't tell if she's in or out. I go to bed after calling cat. No cat. Can't sleep, am sure something has eaten cat (there's always a fisher in the neighborhood--they eat cats. so do foxes, coyotes, eagles, sometimes hawks). OK, now I don't have a cat, either. Decide I did, after all, like the cat. She answered me when I talked to her. Up at 3, open door to check for cat. Cat bolts in door. I ask if she wants to go to bed--she barrels into bedroom. So now I feel incapable of having either cat or dog
Oh worthless me. And this morning I feel like crap because I didn't get enough sleep. And it's cold (supposed to snow on Whiteface). But I have hot flash. And (worst of all) I still haven't written character assessments for clerks. This week is too complicated. Tomorrow to Saranac Lake. Wednesday back here. Thursday to Alexandria Bay (Thousand Islands--3.5 hours away) for another system's annual meeting, will see many friends there but am going by myself. Friday to Burlington for pap smear not done in 3 years. THEN: OFF FOR 5 DAYS. And many, many people arrive in Hawkeye.
Lin has offered to help paint my living room. First thought is no, I should do it without help, I need to do these things alone. Next thought: ACCEPT HELP FROM FRIENDS. I'm learning. I just need to get things ready. Like, pick out a color. And another color for trim. And write character assessments. Now
Friday, May 16, 2008
amelanchia
The shad is in bloom. It's a nice sign of spring, blooms at the end of April if it's early, early to mid-May if it's on time. I wait for the shad to bloom as a sign of forward meterological movement.
My father was an avid horticulturalist. He gardened the way no one I've ever known since did. He knew what the soil needed--more phosphorous, more nitrogen, etc. He knew generic names of plants--acquilegia instead of Columbine, etc. I admire that (now). Of course when I was old enough to know what he was doing I thought it was eggheaded and pretentious and that he was trying to force us to be something he wanted us to be by learning them too. Now, of course I wish I'd followed him around all the time and memorized all he told me. I do know the proper names of lots of plants, most of my perennials, and it's important for me. I try to learn proper names before the common name. It's dorky, I know, but it gives me pleasure.
ANYWAY--my father (and mother) loved shad trees. Probably because of their early spring blossoms, as well as the berries they produce in the summer that birds love to eat. Along the shore of Silver Lake the trees are alive with cedar waxwings fluttering and chirping as they eat the berries.
My father would point out shad trees to us and say, "Look children, amelanchia canadensis." It became a standing joke--with me, anyway, I don't know if my siblings were part of the joke or not. He would point to shad and say "What kind of tree is that?," knowing the only answer I could give would be amelanchia canadensis. I like saying to myself "look--amelanchia canadensis!" when I see shad. Too bad there's no one around to laugh with. Also, really too bad I don't know more proper names of trees. Well, maybe that's not such a bad thing. I concentrate more on being able to tell different kinds of trees a part. That's a life-long project.
My father was an avid horticulturalist. He gardened the way no one I've ever known since did. He knew what the soil needed--more phosphorous, more nitrogen, etc. He knew generic names of plants--acquilegia instead of Columbine, etc. I admire that (now). Of course when I was old enough to know what he was doing I thought it was eggheaded and pretentious and that he was trying to force us to be something he wanted us to be by learning them too. Now, of course I wish I'd followed him around all the time and memorized all he told me. I do know the proper names of lots of plants, most of my perennials, and it's important for me. I try to learn proper names before the common name. It's dorky, I know, but it gives me pleasure.
ANYWAY--my father (and mother) loved shad trees. Probably because of their early spring blossoms, as well as the berries they produce in the summer that birds love to eat. Along the shore of Silver Lake the trees are alive with cedar waxwings fluttering and chirping as they eat the berries.
My father would point out shad trees to us and say, "Look children, amelanchia canadensis." It became a standing joke--with me, anyway, I don't know if my siblings were part of the joke or not. He would point to shad and say "What kind of tree is that?," knowing the only answer I could give would be amelanchia canadensis. I like saying to myself "look--amelanchia canadensis!" when I see shad. Too bad there's no one around to laugh with. Also, really too bad I don't know more proper names of trees. Well, maybe that's not such a bad thing. I concentrate more on being able to tell different kinds of trees a part. That's a life-long project.
shad
See? it's hard to see the shad in among the rest of the trees. The best views, obviously are when there is a single--or a couple of--trees in the middle of a field or at the edge of the forest. There was the most beautiful shad I've ever seen in the field next to the crappy little house Jamie & I lived in outside of AuSable. Every year we'd watch it until it was peak, then walk up to it to admire it. Sometimes life is really simple.
Right now the cherry trees are blooming. It's hard to tell the cherries from the shads because their blossoms are almost identical. You pretty much have to get right up to the tree to look at the bark--shad bark is gray and cherry bark is a beautiful warm dark red-brown.
I have a cherry tree in the middle of my yard that I've watched grow from 6' to its present 30'. It's very pretty but Henry always wanted to cut it down because it looks stoopid out there by itself. I'd say to him "But what about your idea that we need to appreciate an individual tree and it's contribution to the landscape?" He meant on the horizon, not in the middle of the yard. Oh well, it's a pretty tree but it's not n the middle of the yard anymore, since Peter changed the shape and size of the yard with his backhoe. I got all disoriented (er, I mean disorientated) walking around the yard the other day and couldn't find the cherry tree. Finally found it and it looked to be in a funny place, way to the side. Of course it hadn't been moved, just the yard had. It sure doesn't stick out now, it's become part of the forest.
Right now the cherry trees are blooming. It's hard to tell the cherries from the shads because their blossoms are almost identical. You pretty much have to get right up to the tree to look at the bark--shad bark is gray and cherry bark is a beautiful warm dark red-brown.
I have a cherry tree in the middle of my yard that I've watched grow from 6' to its present 30'. It's very pretty but Henry always wanted to cut it down because it looks stoopid out there by itself. I'd say to him "But what about your idea that we need to appreciate an individual tree and it's contribution to the landscape?" He meant on the horizon, not in the middle of the yard. Oh well, it's a pretty tree but it's not n the middle of the yard anymore, since Peter changed the shape and size of the yard with his backhoe. I got all disoriented (er, I mean disorientated) walking around the yard the other day and couldn't find the cherry tree. Finally found it and it looked to be in a funny place, way to the side. Of course it hadn't been moved, just the yard had. It sure doesn't stick out now, it's become part of the forest.
cat bog 030
We all went for a bog walk the other day. I like a spring walk--the trees are bare, the birds are loud and uninhibited, if you go early in the morning it's too cold for bugs or other boggers. I finally saw the bird whose call I've been hearing for a few years. Haven't identified it yet, but I know what it looks like.
Kittie walked with us the whole way--.5 mile in and .5 mile out. Then of course she took a very long nap. That's Chances with her. Tess is way ahead, making sure the coast is clear. Or that, if there's any fox or coyote poop she'll get to it first. yum.
It was a really nice walk, as all bog walks are, really. Nothing special, just lots of pretty things in their spring clothes.
Kittie walked with us the whole way--.5 mile in and .5 mile out. Then of course she took a very long nap. That's Chances with her. Tess is way ahead, making sure the coast is clear. Or that, if there's any fox or coyote poop she'll get to it first. yum.
It was a really nice walk, as all bog walks are, really. Nothing special, just lots of pretty things in their spring clothes.
Solo trip
Sometimes it's just nice to pretend you're the only one there and that you have the whole forest to yourself.
cat bog 046
Kittie planning her strategy. over? or under? Nothing stops her. She likes to walk along the edge, maybe to show how special cats are, that they can take up very little space when they walk. They walk with one foot in front of another, and dogs walk with one foot next to the other. Foxes walk the way cats do--that's how you can tell when a fox has visited you in the winter. Their tracks are very distinctive. As opposed to coyotes.
bog puddle
Here's a pretty puddle? bogspot? whatever you call a small body of water in a bog. It's small, has black mud on the bottom, is clear, so you can see three levels at once--like that Escher print. It's very pretty and peaceful. for a little while at least.
exotic wildlife
And this is what always happens when there is a dog on the walk. The opportunity for a picture of a calm puddle lasts only a short time. It's as if Tess waits while I tell her to WAIT! but as soon as I stop clicking the camera she jumps in.
fuzzy
fuzzy wuzzy fiddleheads. These are bracken fiddleheads, just a couple of inches long. very cute little things. Hard to believe that these will grow to be 4 feet high in a month or two. These are not the kind of fiddlehead you eat. blech
brown hair
Sometimes they have brown hair. Must be one is male, one is female. or not. Who knows. They are very cute, though.
play
Calling this play is pretty much exaggerating. Kittie is tolerating, Tess is excited because Kittie is tolerating. T. is desperate to have cat play, but last night when Kittie wanted to play, T was terrified that the rolling around and extending paws in the air meant ATTACK! so she backed away. Obvious communication problem here.
grazing
Chances doesn't pay attention to much when she starts grazing. The vet says she eats grass because she likes it. Nothing wrong, no dietary deficiency, not to make herself throw up, just because she likes it.
cat bog 009
My daffodils and narcissuses/narcissi have peaked but are still plugging along. Each one is a specific kind, with a specific name. If I were a good gardener I would know the name of each one. I forget who this is, but it's a special and delicate little thing. Very special. I don't have many of these, the ones in this spot are being crowded out by the spruce tree on the left and the grass in the front. Not welcome in the neighborhood, I guess.
flowers 008
This one looks very cheery. It might be Mount Hood, but I'm not sure it's white enough. There are two late ones that are delicately white--Mt. Hood and Thalia. Everyone knows them. Thalia is smaller and very delicate, its petals go back as if being blown by the wind. Very pretty. I'm not sure about this one.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
I hope this works out--I'm a rookie at posting these, and couldn't figure out the right extension. If you can play it, you'll hear the evening music in my neighborhood. These are spring peepers, our name for tree frogs and lots of other frogs whose names I don't know. They make an amazing sound and are in wet places, like the bog next to my house. I can hear them from my house. An absolute sign of spring.
Thursday, May 08, 2008
I don't know if we care, but I'm feeling pretty good about the way things are turning out for the Democrats. How do I feel about Hillary? I feel bad that this wasn't her time, it's unfortunate we were pitting these 2 against each other. But there's this idea of GRACEFULLY bowing out. It's time to support the party's (apparent) candidate. Tim Russert was on the news last night with his famous board, showing us how many superdelegates, delegates, primaries, etc. Hillary would need to earn the nomination. According to him she'd have to win every primary coming up in order to make it. Well, come on, Hil, what's up with that? I think the political process is pretty interesting. I came across this today--a list of mistakes Hillary made. Sometimes I love political analysis. Other times I think there are too many of pompous asses involved in the media, who just make things up. Maybe it's because I really enjoyed studying history lo, those many years ago, and I like collecting information and coming up with theories--anyway, one analyst's thoughts on Hil's mistakes:
She made at least five big mistakes, each of which compounded the others:
1. She misjudged the mood
That was probably her biggest blunder. In a cycle that has been all about change, Clinton chose an incumbent's strategy, running on experience, preparedness, inevitability - and the power of the strongest brand name in Democratic politics. It made sense, given who she is and the additional doubts that some voters might have about making a woman Commander in Chief. But in putting her focus on positioning herself to win the general election in November, Clinton completely misread the mood of Democratic-primary voters, who were desperate to turn the page.
2. She didn't master the rules
Clinton picked people for her team primarily for their loyalty to her, instead of their mastery of the game. Democrats, unlike the Republicans, apportion their delegates according to vote totals, rather than allowing any state to award them winner-take-all. And yet the strategy remained the same, with the campaign making its bet on big-state victories. Even now, it can seem as if they don't get it. Both Bill and Hillary have noted plaintively that if Democrats had the same winner-take-all rules as Republicans, she'd be the nominee.
Meanwhile, the Clinton campaign now acknowledges privately:
3. She underestimated the caucus states
While Clinton based her strategy on the big contests, she seemed to virtually overlook states like Minnesota, Nebraska and Kansas, which choose their delegates through caucuses. She had a reason: the Clintons decided, says an adviser, that "caucus states were not really their thing." Indeed, it was in the caucus states that Obama piled up his lead among pledged delegates. "For all the talent and the money they had over there," says Axelrod, "they - bewilderingly - seemed to have little understanding for the caucuses and how important they would become."
4. She relied on old money
For a decade or more, the Clintons set the standard for political fund-raising in the Democratic Party, and nearly all Bill's old donors had re-upped for Hillary's bid. Something happened to fund-raising that Team Clinton didn't fully grasp: the Internet. Though Clinton's totals from working the shrimp-cocktail circuit remained impressive by every historic measure, her donors were typically big-check writers.
And that reflects one final mistake: 5. She never counted on a long haul
Clinton's strategy had been premised on delivering a knockout blow early. If she could win Iowa, she believed, the race would be over. Clinton spent lavishly there yet finished a disappointing third. Now, of course, the question seems not whether Clinton will exit the race but when. The voice she is listening to now is the one inside her head.
As I say, I think this is really interesting. Probably not everyone does, but to me it strengthens support for Obama because of his recognition and belief in a new way of conducting the political process. I sure hope so, anyway. I remember when Bill Clinton took office I thought, "He'll never be able to get anything done because he doesn't understand Capitol Hill and has no inside power." It took him a while to gather a posse to accomplish much, but he was able to offer this country a lot. Obama has a slight advantage, having served in the Senate. Not long, though, which certainly is part of his appeal. Hillary is stuck with the association of her husband's past and her own connections in DC, and that's not what enough people want right now.
And in the mean time, there are leaves on some of the trees (poplars), the shad is in bloom and this morning I noticed the witch hobble/hobble bush is blooming. I've been doing a little gardening, trying to free my 25-year old tea rose from the invasion of the brambleberry bushes. Yesterday we had a plant swap here and, though no one was much interested in my Sweet Cicely, I took home some purple phlox, black-eyed Susan, coral bells, hosta, Siberian irises and other things.
Most of my perennials were dug under by Peter's backhoe in the fall, but I'm having fun watching them pop up in myriad places around the yard. I have lilies in some very funny places, and clumps of daffodils in the middle of the yard. Last night I bought a hoe and have lofty aspirations of busting the sod that's taken over my former annual bed so I can have annuals share it with perennials. The perennials I ordered are starting to come in so I have to hustle. I don't even remember what I ordered, I just kept going to websites and ordering what looked good. You know, impulse buying, supporting the economy. Plants probably came from Canada.
She made at least five big mistakes, each of which compounded the others:
1. She misjudged the mood
That was probably her biggest blunder. In a cycle that has been all about change, Clinton chose an incumbent's strategy, running on experience, preparedness, inevitability - and the power of the strongest brand name in Democratic politics. It made sense, given who she is and the additional doubts that some voters might have about making a woman Commander in Chief. But in putting her focus on positioning herself to win the general election in November, Clinton completely misread the mood of Democratic-primary voters, who were desperate to turn the page.
2. She didn't master the rules
Clinton picked people for her team primarily for their loyalty to her, instead of their mastery of the game. Democrats, unlike the Republicans, apportion their delegates according to vote totals, rather than allowing any state to award them winner-take-all. And yet the strategy remained the same, with the campaign making its bet on big-state victories. Even now, it can seem as if they don't get it. Both Bill and Hillary have noted plaintively that if Democrats had the same winner-take-all rules as Republicans, she'd be the nominee.
Meanwhile, the Clinton campaign now acknowledges privately:
3. She underestimated the caucus states
While Clinton based her strategy on the big contests, she seemed to virtually overlook states like Minnesota, Nebraska and Kansas, which choose their delegates through caucuses. She had a reason: the Clintons decided, says an adviser, that "caucus states were not really their thing." Indeed, it was in the caucus states that Obama piled up his lead among pledged delegates. "For all the talent and the money they had over there," says Axelrod, "they - bewilderingly - seemed to have little understanding for the caucuses and how important they would become."
4. She relied on old money
For a decade or more, the Clintons set the standard for political fund-raising in the Democratic Party, and nearly all Bill's old donors had re-upped for Hillary's bid. Something happened to fund-raising that Team Clinton didn't fully grasp: the Internet. Though Clinton's totals from working the shrimp-cocktail circuit remained impressive by every historic measure, her donors were typically big-check writers.
And that reflects one final mistake: 5. She never counted on a long haul
Clinton's strategy had been premised on delivering a knockout blow early. If she could win Iowa, she believed, the race would be over. Clinton spent lavishly there yet finished a disappointing third. Now, of course, the question seems not whether Clinton will exit the race but when. The voice she is listening to now is the one inside her head.
As I say, I think this is really interesting. Probably not everyone does, but to me it strengthens support for Obama because of his recognition and belief in a new way of conducting the political process. I sure hope so, anyway. I remember when Bill Clinton took office I thought, "He'll never be able to get anything done because he doesn't understand Capitol Hill and has no inside power." It took him a while to gather a posse to accomplish much, but he was able to offer this country a lot. Obama has a slight advantage, having served in the Senate. Not long, though, which certainly is part of his appeal. Hillary is stuck with the association of her husband's past and her own connections in DC, and that's not what enough people want right now.
And in the mean time, there are leaves on some of the trees (poplars), the shad is in bloom and this morning I noticed the witch hobble/hobble bush is blooming. I've been doing a little gardening, trying to free my 25-year old tea rose from the invasion of the brambleberry bushes. Yesterday we had a plant swap here and, though no one was much interested in my Sweet Cicely, I took home some purple phlox, black-eyed Susan, coral bells, hosta, Siberian irises and other things.
Most of my perennials were dug under by Peter's backhoe in the fall, but I'm having fun watching them pop up in myriad places around the yard. I have lilies in some very funny places, and clumps of daffodils in the middle of the yard. Last night I bought a hoe and have lofty aspirations of busting the sod that's taken over my former annual bed so I can have annuals share it with perennials. The perennials I ordered are starting to come in so I have to hustle. I don't even remember what I ordered, I just kept going to websites and ordering what looked good. You know, impulse buying, supporting the economy. Plants probably came from Canada.
Friday, May 02, 2008
Brush with greatness
One of the old standards in my family, all the years we were growing up, was a spiral bound cookbook with a yellow cover. It was a collection of recipes from people in AuSable Forks--one of those community collections, and was full of recipes from members of the Rogers family because my grandmother had put it together. It was probably either a fundraiser for something or she just thought it was something that should be done. Anyway, I used to use my cousin Susan's recipe for brownies, found in the "Teen Pages" section. Now I use my other grandmother's recipe, which is much better, but I used Susan's for years. Anyway, I come across the cookbook in a member library's collection from time to time, and there's a record for it in our data base, downloaded from the OCLC, the national data base:
Title: Adirondack hospitality : the bride's maid.
OCLC
7107877
Authors, etc.: Rogers, Ada H.
Publication: [Au Sable Forks, N.Y. : St. James Episcopal Church, 195-?]
Physical Description: 384 p. : ill. ; 21 cm.
Subject Headings: Cookery.
Dewey Call No.: 641.5 A235
Other Notes: Cover title."Ada H. Rogers, editor-in-chief.
"Includes index."
Wouldn't my grandmother be proud? No, she'd probably expect this, and would think her name should be more prominent in the record. I added another subject heading in our data base (Adirondack Mountains Region--recipes). I could always add Rogers family as a subject heading if I wanted to. or Rogers, Elizabeth S., 1952- heck, I'm an authority, remember?
I never knew her, she died when I was 2, but her reputation is legend. They had servants--maids, cooks, a general butler/chauffeur/gardener, etc. Apparently she was very demanding and hard to work for.
One of my father's favorite "Nan" stories goes like this: Nan was working outside and asked one of the maids to "skip up to the house and get me a glass of iced tea." Terrorized, the maid literally skipped into the house. My father loved telling that story.
He was the youngest of 5 and was named after his mother--she was Ada Hoffman Spaulding Rogers and she named him Adrian Spaulding Rogers. He dropped the Adrian when he was about 5 minutes old and was always called Spaulding. When people in town find out I'm a Rogers the first thing they ask is whose child I am. When I say Spaulding, there's a pause because he's the only son (of 3) who did NOT work at the mill. He left town at a young age, never to return, and chose a career in academia. This is not something the people of AuSable Forks can relate to. People will say either "I remember Spaulding," or "He didn't stay here, did he." Ken is always telling me that he remembers my father. Mostly he remembers my grandfather, Henry, though, and that Henry had the smallest hands Ken has ever seen. One of the things I really like about living here is hearing what people remember about my family. There are still people who worked at the paper mill--I meet them once in a while. I don't think I've ever heard anything bad about my grandfather (Henry). He was a very gentle man and no one can figure out how he put up with my grandmother, but he was devoted to her I guess.
One of the old standards in my family, all the years we were growing up, was a spiral bound cookbook with a yellow cover. It was a collection of recipes from people in AuSable Forks--one of those community collections, and was full of recipes from members of the Rogers family because my grandmother had put it together. It was probably either a fundraiser for something or she just thought it was something that should be done. Anyway, I used to use my cousin Susan's recipe for brownies, found in the "Teen Pages" section. Now I use my other grandmother's recipe, which is much better, but I used Susan's for years. Anyway, I come across the cookbook in a member library's collection from time to time, and there's a record for it in our data base, downloaded from the OCLC, the national data base:
Title: Adirondack hospitality : the bride's maid.
OCLC
7107877
Authors, etc.: Rogers, Ada H.
Publication: [Au Sable Forks, N.Y. : St. James Episcopal Church, 195-?]
Physical Description: 384 p. : ill. ; 21 cm.
Subject Headings: Cookery.
Dewey Call No.: 641.5 A235
Other Notes: Cover title."Ada H. Rogers, editor-in-chief.
"Includes index."
Wouldn't my grandmother be proud? No, she'd probably expect this, and would think her name should be more prominent in the record. I added another subject heading in our data base (Adirondack Mountains Region--recipes). I could always add Rogers family as a subject heading if I wanted to. or Rogers, Elizabeth S., 1952- heck, I'm an authority, remember?
I never knew her, she died when I was 2, but her reputation is legend. They had servants--maids, cooks, a general butler/chauffeur/gardener, etc. Apparently she was very demanding and hard to work for.
One of my father's favorite "Nan" stories goes like this: Nan was working outside and asked one of the maids to "skip up to the house and get me a glass of iced tea." Terrorized, the maid literally skipped into the house. My father loved telling that story.
He was the youngest of 5 and was named after his mother--she was Ada Hoffman Spaulding Rogers and she named him Adrian Spaulding Rogers. He dropped the Adrian when he was about 5 minutes old and was always called Spaulding. When people in town find out I'm a Rogers the first thing they ask is whose child I am. When I say Spaulding, there's a pause because he's the only son (of 3) who did NOT work at the mill. He left town at a young age, never to return, and chose a career in academia. This is not something the people of AuSable Forks can relate to. People will say either "I remember Spaulding," or "He didn't stay here, did he." Ken is always telling me that he remembers my father. Mostly he remembers my grandfather, Henry, though, and that Henry had the smallest hands Ken has ever seen. One of the things I really like about living here is hearing what people remember about my family. There are still people who worked at the paper mill--I meet them once in a while. I don't think I've ever heard anything bad about my grandfather (Henry). He was a very gentle man and no one can figure out how he put up with my grandmother, but he was devoted to her I guess.
Thursday, May 01, 2008
money in the bank
Wouldn't it be nice to have this on your front lawn? "Like money in the bank," is what Ken and I say when we see firewood piles like this. I still have, maybe 3 cords of wood left--a miracle. Last year I ran out in January and had to buy some then. The wood was dry enough but each piece was encased in ice so had to sit inside for a day or two before being burned. Ken ran out this year, unheard of for him.
He's ready to start buying next year's wood (I have to call the woman. For some reason he won't make the call so I do it for him, but never remember so he's disappointed for days until I finally remember--"You can call her from here," he said last night. I should have). I'm not sure they're delivering yet. I need to buy some now too, to get it stacked & drying. A load is 4 cords and I'll buy two this spring/summer. It should be about $60/cord, way more than a couple of years ago. Way too much, but less than the $110 Liza pays. And hers is all oak, which takes longer to get burning and doesn't get quite as hot as most of what I get (birch, maple, beech). Ah, us kids and our wood.
He's ready to start buying next year's wood (I have to call the woman. For some reason he won't make the call so I do it for him, but never remember so he's disappointed for days until I finally remember--"You can call her from here," he said last night. I should have). I'm not sure they're delivering yet. I need to buy some now too, to get it stacked & drying. A load is 4 cords and I'll buy two this spring/summer. It should be about $60/cord, way more than a couple of years ago. Way too much, but less than the $110 Liza pays. And hers is all oak, which takes longer to get burning and doesn't get quite as hot as most of what I get (birch, maple, beech). Ah, us kids and our wood.
get out your umbrella
Not such a clear shot because they were pretty far away, but those are cows lying down. It was a rainy day. Everyone around here knows that when cows lie down en masse like this it's going to rain.
ANOMOLOUS
I soooo do not do poetry, but I came across this in Rockwell Kent's autobiography This is my own, which is a wonderful book and has a lot about AuSable Forks in it--it's Sir Walter Scott:
"THIS IS MY OWN, MY NATIVE LAND"
Breathes there the man, with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
"This is my own, my native land!"
Whose heart hath ne’er within him burn’d,
As home his footsteps he hath turn’d,
From wandering on a foreign strand!
If such there breathe, go, mark him well;
For him no minstrel raptures swell;
High though his titles, proud his name,
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim;
Despite those titles, power, and pelf,
The wretch, centred all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust, from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonour’d, and unsung.
How lucky am I to have a native land, "my own," where I live?
I soooo do not do poetry, but I came across this in Rockwell Kent's autobiography This is my own, which is a wonderful book and has a lot about AuSable Forks in it--it's Sir Walter Scott:
"THIS IS MY OWN, MY NATIVE LAND"
Breathes there the man, with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
"This is my own, my native land!"
Whose heart hath ne’er within him burn’d,
As home his footsteps he hath turn’d,
From wandering on a foreign strand!
If such there breathe, go, mark him well;
For him no minstrel raptures swell;
High though his titles, proud his name,
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim;
Despite those titles, power, and pelf,
The wretch, centred all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust, from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonour’d, and unsung.
How lucky am I to have a native land, "my own," where I live?
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