That's my mother in her beach chair. The other two are striding with great purpose, aren't they? let the games begin!
Friday, April 09, 2010
Deep in thought
Or maybe looking for shells, or maybe comparing her footprint with mine to see how small they both are.
toenail shells--UGH
Mark was obsessed with toenail shells. They're gross, according to Anna and me. They look just like an old man's fungus-infested toenails. We found a few that looked like nails that had been hit by a hammer, they were much more attractive. Geez they're gross. I asked what he would do with them. "Make a lampshade--you'll see, it'll be beauiful." not.
comparing shells
After you collect your shells, you spread them out & compare collections. There's a prize for the biggest, a prize for the smallest, and a lot of complimenting. I found a white, white scallop shell that looked as if it were made of plastic. I gave it to Anna--goodness knows I have enough scallop shells to make ... well, what does one make with scallop shells?
hard-boiled eggs
Here's how the Easter eggs started out. Liza thought she looked cross in this picture, but I think she was just counting the eggs to make sure we all got to dye the same number. Guess who got the most eggs with her name on them? Ms. Scotland, that's who.
most of them turned pink
It didn't seem to matter what colors we dipped them in, mostly the eggs turned pink. The attempts to come up with robins' egg blue weren't very successful, either.
what to do on a sunny day
Mark & Anna on the back deck, feeling the warmth of RI's spring sun. Anna said it was the warmest she'd been in a long time. Scotland is not known for its tropical climate.
back of Liza's house
This is taken from the yard, next to the pond that Mark built. There are HUGE booger frogs in the pond this year, plus the 3 goldfish that were given to M & L. No koi, please never any koi.
Monday, March 29, 2010
forsythia 004
This is how the forsythia in my living room looks. It's so bright and pretty. When I was in RI the last time, my mother cut some sprays of her forsythia bush for me to force. I stuck them in water and here's what happened. Magic--yellow blossoms from empty branches.
Yesterday I cut some branches from my bloomingest apple tree. I'm hoping to have a similar result. well, not yellow, but pink and pretty.
There's not much snow left in Hawkeye, and my daffodils and crocuses are showing up in the spots where it's sunniest. The other clumps are still buried under snow. About 6" of snow left. I'm like one of those people with a metal detector on the beach--I walk around, studying the ground.
I never know where my perennials will end up in the spring--my plowman pushes dirt around when he plows. Like, this weekend I tried to find a wood stove that had been in one spot near the woods for at least 15 years. It wasn't there. You can't just pick up a wood stove & move it, but I bet you can move it with a plow. Can't wait until the snowbanks melt so I can find it.
Yesterday I cut some branches from my bloomingest apple tree. I'm hoping to have a similar result. well, not yellow, but pink and pretty.
There's not much snow left in Hawkeye, and my daffodils and crocuses are showing up in the spots where it's sunniest. The other clumps are still buried under snow. About 6" of snow left. I'm like one of those people with a metal detector on the beach--I walk around, studying the ground.
I never know where my perennials will end up in the spring--my plowman pushes dirt around when he plows. Like, this weekend I tried to find a wood stove that had been in one spot near the woods for at least 15 years. It wasn't there. You can't just pick up a wood stove & move it, but I bet you can move it with a plow. Can't wait until the snowbanks melt so I can find it.
too cute
This is too cute to be believed. It's only the second picture I've seen of me at this age. I think they ran out of film after my brother and sister were born--you know, cute first baby, cute brother and 1st sister. Actually, I think the real reason there aren't many pictures of me is that life turned to shit around this time. My father lost his job because he testified in defense of a friend who was accused of being a communist sympathizer. He got another job, there was a mistrial, he lost the second job too. We left the country.
Guess which one is me? middle one holding the keys to a car she wants to drive. It looks as if my sister doesn't think I should be the only one to play with the keys.
The family lore about this picture is that we had just had our shots, in prep. for our move to Turkey. The doctor said "This won't hurt a bit," but it sure did. The photographer taking this picture said "This won't hurt a bit." Here's our reaction.
How cute is my brother, with his suspenders?
Guess which one is me? middle one holding the keys to a car she wants to drive. It looks as if my sister doesn't think I should be the only one to play with the keys.
The family lore about this picture is that we had just had our shots, in prep. for our move to Turkey. The doctor said "This won't hurt a bit," but it sure did. The photographer taking this picture said "This won't hurt a bit." Here's our reaction.
How cute is my brother, with his suspenders?
forsythia 020
Don't ask why. I just thought my dog's paw was pretty. I like the way the hair swirls. I also like the way she rests her paw on my lap when she sleeps.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Poko
This is the front of a mountain called Poko-Moonshine. This side is where lots of rock climbers work their magic. When they're up there you can see little spots of bright colors. Maybe they wear colors so co-climbers will know where they are (or maybe just to show off to passers by--no, that's a mean thing to say).
This mountain is between Westport and home, though not near either one. I like the way the trees on top are all leaning in the same direction (duh--guess which way the wind comes from?). There's a firetower on top, one of the few left here. There's also a firetower on a hill outside of our town. The hill is called Palmer Hill, but lots of people here call it Parmer Hill. There were iron ore mines there in the 19th century, and there are still huge, deep holes in the hill. Dangerous and not monitored. You can lean far down into them, but wow would I be afraid to do that. I've never been in a cave but it doesn't appeal to me at all.
A few times we went up Parmer Hill (you can drive most of the way) and climbed the firetower. There's one of the best views around from there, looking toward Whiteface. Go there on a clear sunny day and you'll be happy.
I've never climbed Poko-Moonshine--people say there's a great view from the top, but it's a view of Vermont. Like, why would I want to see Vermont?
Anyway, I drove past here because I took my dog to Westport for dental work. Now, I'm not one of those people who take their dog to the vet all the time, or paints toenails, or puts bows or little coats on them, but the vetress told me she (the dog, not vetress) had bad tartar and needed to have her teeth cleaned or her gums would get infected, her teeth would fall out, she wouldn't be able to eat (as if), the world would stop spinning, and she'd be flung into a black hole. So I took her to the main vet office, an hour from my house, on Fri. morning and picked her up Sat. They knock the critters out to laser away the tartare.
Dog Tess was perky and unaffected by the trauma. One extraction, they said, and a cracked tooth they left alone. I didn't tell them she chews on stones as if they were chewing gum. "Is that right!" I said.
Whie Tess was gone, Chances and I had a very nice visit. The house was peaceful and quiet, without any bouncing around. It made me think that maybe it would be nice to have ONE dog instead of two. I've always had two, one younger than the other, sort of like a spare for when the old dog dies. This pair, though, are half-sisters and adore each other. Well, to be honest, Tess adores her sister, and her sister tolerates her and sometimes plays "run really, really fast" so they look like a team of horses.
I've had pairs before who barely tolerated each other, but I didn't find that out until one of them died and the other perked right up. "Oh, it turns out you never liked Emma--who knew?"
This mountain is between Westport and home, though not near either one. I like the way the trees on top are all leaning in the same direction (duh--guess which way the wind comes from?). There's a firetower on top, one of the few left here. There's also a firetower on a hill outside of our town. The hill is called Palmer Hill, but lots of people here call it Parmer Hill. There were iron ore mines there in the 19th century, and there are still huge, deep holes in the hill. Dangerous and not monitored. You can lean far down into them, but wow would I be afraid to do that. I've never been in a cave but it doesn't appeal to me at all.
A few times we went up Parmer Hill (you can drive most of the way) and climbed the firetower. There's one of the best views around from there, looking toward Whiteface. Go there on a clear sunny day and you'll be happy.
I've never climbed Poko-Moonshine--people say there's a great view from the top, but it's a view of Vermont. Like, why would I want to see Vermont?
Anyway, I drove past here because I took my dog to Westport for dental work. Now, I'm not one of those people who take their dog to the vet all the time, or paints toenails, or puts bows or little coats on them, but the vetress told me she (the dog, not vetress) had bad tartar and needed to have her teeth cleaned or her gums would get infected, her teeth would fall out, she wouldn't be able to eat (as if), the world would stop spinning, and she'd be flung into a black hole. So I took her to the main vet office, an hour from my house, on Fri. morning and picked her up Sat. They knock the critters out to laser away the tartare.
Dog Tess was perky and unaffected by the trauma. One extraction, they said, and a cracked tooth they left alone. I didn't tell them she chews on stones as if they were chewing gum. "Is that right!" I said.
Whie Tess was gone, Chances and I had a very nice visit. The house was peaceful and quiet, without any bouncing around. It made me think that maybe it would be nice to have ONE dog instead of two. I've always had two, one younger than the other, sort of like a spare for when the old dog dies. This pair, though, are half-sisters and adore each other. Well, to be honest, Tess adores her sister, and her sister tolerates her and sometimes plays "run really, really fast" so they look like a team of horses.
I've had pairs before who barely tolerated each other, but I didn't find that out until one of them died and the other perked right up. "Oh, it turns out you never liked Emma--who knew?"
Westport 03 19 2010 013
This is another part of it, what you see when you get to the other side. I think this is the part that people climb the most. I didn't get a shot of the firetower on top, you have to be farther away for that. The white is snow/ice that hasn't let go yet. Give it up, I feel like saying.
Sticks and stones
Here's what a beaver pond on my way home from Westport looked like. We call bodies of water with beaver houses in them "beaver ponds," I think no matter how big the body of water is.
I like this because the trees are lined up so nicely and are all at attention, pointing to the sky. I also like it because the ice is getting dark. That's the first thing that really convinces you it will melt. It gets darker & darker, then WHAM-O it starts some serious melting.
I like this because the trees are lined up so nicely and are all at attention, pointing to the sky. I also like it because the ice is getting dark. That's the first thing that really convinces you it will melt. It gets darker & darker, then WHAM-O it starts some serious melting.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Surf you wouldn't believe
I had a really nice trip to RI for my mother's birthday. Jenica rode with me, allowing us to spend plenty of time speaking libraryspeak. More cool, though, was looking up things on her iPhon*. "Check out Clinton Correctional Facility and the chapel there." "Let's see what the weather in Naples is." More interesting things, very entertaining and good for driving.
This is the beach my sister likes to go to, her favorite swimming spot because there's never any surf. NOT. There was a Nor'easter in RI while we were there, and this is the most amazing surf. At a beach protected by a breakwater, in the Harbor of Refuge. It's called Salty Brine beach, named after one of those really dorky broadcasters. Yes, he was called Salty Brine. Even though I haven't lived in RI for 25 years I can still picture him. Swell, taking up space in my brain.
Anyway, Mark calls this Trailer Trash Beach because of the people who go there (no offense to those who live in trailers). My mother says "DON'T CALL IT THAT!"
There's never surf there and it's very shallow. What was so cool about our long walk there was the roar of the surf and the sizes of the waves. I hope my sister gets to see it like this sometime, it was so cool.
The beach walk was great--it was raining, but not too hard, and it was warm. My first spring walk in warm rain. Mark & I seem to have established a routine of going to this beach to find shells. This was only our second time doing it, but we walk with our heads looking down, scanning the sand for good shells. There aren't very many kinds of shells (well, that we find anyway). Mark found a toenail shell, which is really gross because it looks like an old man's yellowed toenail. Mostly we looked for prized scallop shells, and I found two periwinkle shells (which would totally gross me out if the snails were in them). This trip there were HUGE clam shells.
My mother is now 84. No one in the family can believe it, including her.
I'm going back to RI for Easter. That's coming right up. There will be daffodils and forsythia in bloom then. My mother cut some branches of forsythia for me to bring home and force to bloom. Yes, that's right, FORCE them to bloom--"Now bloom, damn it, or I'll turn you into firewood."
We have mud, deep mud here now. It's way goopy and I can't drive in it to my house, but it freezes every night so I can at least walk to my car at the end of the driveway without getting mud up to my ankles. I've had my car stuck in the mud, up to the floorboards, twice. Not much makes you feel stoopider than getting your car stuck in the mud. Once the mud froze and I had to get a big tow truck pull it out. Then I threw frozen mud to all who drove in back of me. I was not popular on the roadways.
typical pose
JP in THE rocking chair. This chair is probably the most sat-in chair in history. It was in my grandmother's house in NJ and my brother, sister and I fought over who got to sit in it. It was in front of the TV (black and white, of course). The TV viewing was SO much better in NJ. All those NYC stations. All we had at home were the 3 networks.
In NJ the cover was pink. My mother recovered it in a bluish color. Blue, everything of my mother's is always blue. I have no favorite color--every time I try to pick one out I think of another color I like as much or more. Olive green used to be my favorite color, but that was in my militant feminist days. Guess I've mellowed.
In NJ the cover was pink. My mother recovered it in a bluish color. Blue, everything of my mother's is always blue. I have no favorite color--every time I try to pick one out I think of another color I like as much or more. Olive green used to be my favorite color, but that was in my militant feminist days. Guess I've mellowed.
photo.jpg
squid. If I had never eaten it cooked by my brother-in-law, I would think this was just gross.
photo.jpg
Picking out the best, smallest, sweetest steamers and mussels. At Champlin's in Galilee, of course. I look awful, hair so soaked it makes me look bald, pockets so full of shells it makes me look fat(ter). I look sooo much like my mother in this shot. Photo by JPR
JP & MRT3 at beach
It looks as if he's chasing her, but he's really looking for shells. So is she. M & I look for scallop shells, JP looks for shells with small holes in them.
EFR presents
My mother with birthday presents. The big ones are pillows to go with the new bed my sister had sent to her. Amazing things, my sister does--she arranged for the bed delivery from Italy. No, the bed wasn't delivered from Italy, my sister arrranged for it while she was in Italy. duh.
galloping dog at beach
In Hawkeye this would be a fisher's tracks. Hopping along. In RI, it's a dog running as fast as she can to chase her sister.
More shell collection
The fruits of our labor. Here's what I found at the beach. Amazingly pretty scallop shells. The big shell is a quahog shell (look it up). I won the contest for smallest clam shell, Mark won for smallest and largest scallop shells.
Now I just have to figure out what to do with all the shells.
Now I just have to figure out what to do with all the shells.
Lobster dinner prep.
This is how we set the table for lobster dinners. Ceramic fishies at each place, fish bowls (2--one for clams & mussels, one for lobster), little fish bowls for butter, blue glasses, blue blue blue. Photo courtesy of JPR
EFR Livinig room
This is what the end of my mother's living room looks like. It's a comfortable place, that's for sure. The hassock in front of the stove is where my mother sits to play with the fire. I'll always be able to picture her there--
Friday, March 12, 2010
wind farm 002
I went to a place called Ellenburg Depot the other evening. I call it a place because there's nothing commercial there except for a diner where they sell a few things, like an Ellenburg version of a Cumberland Farms. Anyway, I went there to pick up something I got on Freecycl*, where everyone swaps out stuff. I like the site because I've been able to unload a fair amount of crap, crap that other people want and are excited to get.
Sometimes I'm one of the people who picks up the crap and is excited. I have an almost new, beautiful sewing machine that a nice woman from Dannemora wanted to get rid of.
ANYWAY, let's go back to Ellenburg. It took me an hour to get there from work, and I had a little trouble finding the house until I got her directions right.
There was a big fuss about wind power in the area, and the windmills won. There are ridges, and lots of flat windy land in the area, so this is what most of the people in the country see.
I love these windmills--they're probably not called windmills anymore.
They're huge, just huge. At least 6 times the size of a telephone pole. I made that up, I have no idea. I love the idea of wind power, clean, an endless supply. Would I want to look at these from my land? Probably not. Sometimes we talk about wind power and say "What would it be like if there were windmills along the ridge of the mountain across the lake?" Of course it would ruin our view. Oh, we're so self-centered and greedy.
wind farm 009
In our house in Illinois one wall of the living room was almost all windows. My mother is a true romantic when it comes to things, as opposed to people (except for my father, who exists in her fantasy/mind). The other wall of the living room was a huge fireplace, stone. Stone fireplaces in the Midwest are made of sandstone or limestone. Maybe not limestone, since I think it disintegrates. Fireplaces here are completely different--they're made of river stones, which are round. Midwestern fireplaces are made of square, brick-like, parallel pieces of stone.
The fireplace was massive. It had no mantle, but there was a ledge in front of it for you to sit on. When my mother came home from work (she was a public school teacher, and with her work ethic she was exhausted by the end of the day) my father would get her a glass of dry sherry and she would sit in front of the fire, feet up on the ledge, sipping it before making dinner. I like remembering that part of our midwestern life. We also had time like that when we got home from church: my mother reading the Sunday papers while she sat there sipping her sherry. We subscribed to 3 papers: 2 Rockford papers and one Chicago paper. My father was an avid reader who enjoyed knowing what was going on. I attribute this to his having grown up in a small town (which is now MY small town), where everyone knew everything about their neighbors and the surrounding communities.
My mother put a bed next to the windows--we used it as a couch. I think she didn't want a couch there because the back of the couch would block the view. One of her favorite things was "blue snow." There's a time in the evening when the snow is a very pretty blue. I see it a lot, and mostly think of my mother when I notice it. I must be romantic and sentimental, like my mother.
Take away the mountains in the background and this could be northern IL.
The fireplace was massive. It had no mantle, but there was a ledge in front of it for you to sit on. When my mother came home from work (she was a public school teacher, and with her work ethic she was exhausted by the end of the day) my father would get her a glass of dry sherry and she would sit in front of the fire, feet up on the ledge, sipping it before making dinner. I like remembering that part of our midwestern life. We also had time like that when we got home from church: my mother reading the Sunday papers while she sat there sipping her sherry. We subscribed to 3 papers: 2 Rockford papers and one Chicago paper. My father was an avid reader who enjoyed knowing what was going on. I attribute this to his having grown up in a small town (which is now MY small town), where everyone knew everything about their neighbors and the surrounding communities.
My mother put a bed next to the windows--we used it as a couch. I think she didn't want a couch there because the back of the couch would block the view. One of her favorite things was "blue snow." There's a time in the evening when the snow is a very pretty blue. I see it a lot, and mostly think of my mother when I notice it. I must be romantic and sentimental, like my mother.
Take away the mountains in the background and this could be northern IL.
wind farm 008
Wow! This is so much like the midwest, which I could righfully call My Homeland, but no--REALLY no, I live in my Homeland. I light the corn stubble. Looks like someone's chin. Preferrably a man's.
wind farm 012
Pictures never really depict what's going on. The sky was blood red (gross--what an icky adjective). It's grainy because there wasn't much light.
Tuesday, March 09, 2010
Not much going on today, aside from another pre-spring day. Sunny, 40--cool enough to remind you that it's only pre-spring. The appearance of mud at home seems premature--there's plenty of time until mud season (one can hope) but the driveway is getting mushy. Although mud season offers a chance to appreciate the departure of winter, it's a big nuisance for me. I have to park at the end of the driveway (again) and slog through boot-sucking mud to the house. oh whine, whine, whine. Mud season comes pretty much before other definitive signs of spring: nothing in bloom, though it's true there's a lot less snow. Right now the ground gives off a big chill because our snow is steadily melting, but the warm air misinforms you of the true state of things. It's a great feeling, though, to have a difference in temperatures like that. Feels nifty.
For some reason I'm more enthusiastic about interlibrary loan than I used to be. I'm doing it now, since the (grumpy) clerk retired. Maybe I just got tired of it, after doing it for a decade or so, and now it's a change of pace. After seeing how dedicated the clerks have been to find requested stuff--dogged determination is a good term, I feel the same sense of mission. FIND THAT BOOK! There are too many places to look before giving up, lots of little "collections" in the building. Plus the huge backlog of shelving that's happened since g.c. retired. No time for things like that, we have services to provide.
One of the goldfish is getting biiiiig. I'm expecting to find him withered up in my chair one morning. Apparently it's true that, when they feel too crowded in their tanks, they jump out. Maybe I should call the big one Lem(ming).
I cataloged a great book today about the wild ponies of Assateague Island in Virginia. When we were kids, my sister and I were incredibly enamored by books by Marguerite Henry. The first was Misty of Chincoteague, about a pony with a patch in the shape of the United States on her side. awwwww. Anyway, there are wild ponies on Assateague, and once a year the Fire Dept. has Pony Penning Day. They swim the ponies across the water to Chincoteague, where some are auctioned off and (I just found out) the mares and/or stallions are neutered to control the population. I always thought the swimming thing was cruel, but now I see that it's a good way to keep the population at a level the island can support. Their bellies are swollen because of the beach grass they eat, and the amount of water they have to drink because of saltiness of the grass. Oh, aren't books wonderful things? Anyway, looking at the pictures and reading the book made me want wicked bad to make a pilgrimage to the area. I was there once, many years ago, and saw a few wild ponies, but not nearly enough to satisfy the obsession of my youth. Plus I've always wanted to go to the Eastern shore of Md. Ahhh, maybe someday. I can't decide if I'm brave enough to travel there alone, or if I need a companion. or if this is even realistic. I've also wanted to go to Cape May, NJ, where the birding is great and the shore is beautiful. Oh I want, I want.
Back to less inspiring things. Children's books in Mohawk. Annual report of the Ontario Power Co. zzzzzzz.
Monday, March 08, 2010
I just asked someone who's about my age if she knew what a contrail is. She didn't. Is this so outdated a term that no one uses it? or is it just something my father offered up for our vocabularies? Anyway, so much for that. She was very kind and nodded appreciatively when I told her about the beautiful ones I'd seen.
My friend Joe fell through the ice on Saturday--he was here for the weekend and wandered out, expecting to be able to walk far, far out Oops, pretty close to shore he fell through. Water was up to his chest so he was able to pull himself out. So much for my plans to walk on the lake!
Weekend was full of spectacular weather. 40's and sunny. I went to Burlington on Sat., shopping for my mother's birthday presents. Never found the place I was looking for (and saw more of the Vt countryside than anyone could ever want to), but found a great place instead. Seeds 1/2 price, seedstarters on sale, hog heaven. I saved as much as the ferry cost.
It was a spectacular trip: lake was blue, blue blue and calm. So much like summer, except for the brown shorelines. There were icefishers on the other side, on ice that I thought must be too thin, but they had snowmobiles & ATV's out there. Drat, but I left my camera at home. Mt. Mansfield looked great--bluish on the bottom & ghostly white on top. The way Whiteface looks now. Paraphrasing my brother-in-law, sometimes you just have to record things in your memory (he doesn't think it's necessary to document everything, the way my sister and I do)(but we grew up with a father who loved to record life's events, which is nice because now we have pictures of ourselves as cute little blond girls).
Yesterday afternoon I sat on my deck stairs, soaking up the sun while I read. ahhhhh.
Snow is melting around the bases of trees--spring is near. When the sap melts it warms the ground at the base of the trees. We still have (too much) snow in the neighborhood, but it's getting grainy and melting in places. Some mud, too, another harbinger of spring. What a word, huh. The top layers of snow are crusty and can hold the weight of a Lab, but can't hold the weight of an overweight 57-year-old. Punch through, struggle, punch through. Wear boots when you go out, even when
Another sign of impending spring: my first dead skunk (in the middle of the road).
I talked to my sister yesterday, something I don't do enough of. I had been staring at 2 beautiful paintings she'd done; they're hanging on the wall above my TV. They're just wonderful, Silver lake scenes. It made me think of her intensely, so I called her. I don't know why I never call Italy, but now I will more often.
Pronunciation: how to you pronounce the cover that's the full word for "tarp"? I decided this is a regional thing. We (from the Midwest) pronounced it TARP-o-lin. People here pronounce it tar-PO-lin. I asked my friend who grew up in Wisc. how she pronounces it, and wonder of wonders she says it the same way my family does. She's going to her 45th high school reunion this summer, and I'm going to my 40th.
The dogs are particularly precious these days--I have no explanation, other than maybe it's because we've been locked in the house since Dec. or so. They love being outside--I'm so lucky to live in a place where they can roam free. All weekend they stood on the deck and barked non-stop. No, really, bark bark bark, no break between barks. Both of them did it, I think they took turns. I have no idea what they're barking at, or if they just do it for sport. There's no other sound outdoors. I can tune it out, and there are no neighbors here now so I let them do it for hours. I asked them why they didn't get hoarse or lose their voices but they didn't answer.
Tess will be 7 this year, and Chances 11. My friend (from Wisc.) has a grandchild who was born the same time Tess was. We played "I have the cutest puppy in the world," and "here's a picture of the cutest grandchild in the world." Now her grandson is 7 and seems very old. Tess is growing gray hair on her muzzle, so I guess she's old too. Chances even has gray hair between her toes. She has a very thick coat, more like a bear's than a dog's.
I'm going to a conference in April--New England Technical Service* Librarians, a one-day thing. It's way geeky, but there will be some really relevant programs. I don't think I'll know anyone there, I've pretty much lost touch with the New England library community. I'll go the day before & spend night, come back the next day. Will have to board the dogs, which ends up costing more than my trip.
Must pedal now, my 20 minutes. I'm going to start doing crunches, too. A living hell. The most odious thing a human can do. I was taught a way to do them while lying on my big pink ball, so I can start them tonight. I bought a new bathing suit (swimsuit?) and I look like a sausage, or a barrel, in it. This inspired me, in a disgusting way, to do something about my gut. So far I've lost 5 lbs by pedaling for 20 min. 4 times a week. At this rate I'll lose the weight I want to in, oh, let's see ... 2 years or so. not really, but it'll take a very long time.
Thursday, March 04, 2010
contrail 002
The other picture I took looks as if there's a problem with the camera. This one at least shows the jet.
Sometimes contrails (do people still call them that?) make a pretty effect in a blue sky. Having such a big skyline helps.
What's better than a contrail like this?
Sometimes contrails (do people still call them that?) make a pretty effect in a blue sky. Having such a big skyline helps.
What's better than a contrail like this?
contrail 005
Why, two of course! when I see contrails this way I wonder if it's like a game of chicken between two pilots. Are they going to meet somewhere in the sky?
Tuesday, March 02, 2010
March sunrise
It was a pretty sunrise this morning. This is from my deck, looking south toward the lake. A sign that spring has finally returned another year is when the view of the lake through the woods turns from white to blue. well, duh.
Good weather this week--high 30's. Hopefully that will melt the ice on my deck and stairs so I'll stop sliding down and landing on my butt. with plenty of embarrassing bruises on arms.
I've taken on some of the work that the retired (nasty) clerk did. I thought it wouldn't take long & maybe would even be entertaining. I was wrong, way wrong. B-O-R-I-N-G and time-consuming. Although I do get to see what people in other libraries are reading--or at least want to borrow from us.
I ordered a bathing suit yesterday, still on the hunt for the perfect fit. I got one the other day (I only shop Land's E*d overstocks). It's ok but not very pretty. At least I have something. I'll NEVER order a suit that's all one color. That made me look particularly sausage-like. I have a barrel-shaped body, lucky me I inherited my mother's body type. Not true for my sister, or my brother. At least my mother also gave me good hair color--it's barely gray and the gray hairs are barely visible.
Good weather this week--high 30's. Hopefully that will melt the ice on my deck and stairs so I'll stop sliding down and landing on my butt. with plenty of embarrassing bruises on arms.
I've taken on some of the work that the retired (nasty) clerk did. I thought it wouldn't take long & maybe would even be entertaining. I was wrong, way wrong. B-O-R-I-N-G and time-consuming. Although I do get to see what people in other libraries are reading--or at least want to borrow from us.
I ordered a bathing suit yesterday, still on the hunt for the perfect fit. I got one the other day (I only shop Land's E*d overstocks). It's ok but not very pretty. At least I have something. I'll NEVER order a suit that's all one color. That made me look particularly sausage-like. I have a barrel-shaped body, lucky me I inherited my mother's body type. Not true for my sister, or my brother. At least my mother also gave me good hair color--it's barely gray and the gray hairs are barely visible.
SL Mtn from deck
My brother would be very pleased to see this. He wanted me to have a view ("What's the point of living on a hill if you don't have a view?"). I think the clear-cutting across the road has improved the view. This is today at 7:00 or so.
feb snow 003
From the kitchen window. Time to clear some space before the forest re-claims the land where the house is.
feb snow 005
I thought the dripping snow in the center of the picture looked like a slug. yucka pucka.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Up close and personal, the view from my kitchen window.One of the books my father enjoyed was "Don't get perkonal with a chicken." It's not as much fun to say things like that when there's no one to recognize its significance. So, like, when I say perkonal, no one knows what I mean.
My sister's birthday was yesterday. One is really supposed to say "Yesterday was my sister's birthday," I think. I play with phrases, too much when I write.
I got to talk to her last night. There's always something sweet and reassuring about talking to a sister (or brother, but I can't do that anymore). I talk to my mother often, so talking to her isn't such a treat. Besides, she's my mother--so much, so way different. Anyway, Mary (who know that was her real name? She has no middle name. Family lore is that, because my parents lived in West Virginia when she was born, everyone asked "Mary what? Mary Lou? Mary Alice? Mary Jane?," so my father, proprietary about his childrens' names, decided it should just be Mary. Does Mary mind that she has no middle name?) says she's now in her 60th year. I'm not far behind--there was 22 months between each child in my family. Coincidence? who knows, my mother used to tell us that, almost boastfully. Anyway, for part of the year my sister is one year older than I am, for most of it she's 2 years older. So how do I feel about having a sister who's in her 60th year? Not bad, but a bit intimidated. I don't want to get older, (though, as they say, it beats the alternative) (don't I use parentheses a lot?) but if I get just a little bit older I might be able to stop working.
We moved a lot when we were kids (no, I don't mean we moved a lot, like dancing all the time or something) (there I go with the paren. again) and something like that does a lot to define who you become. My brother was always a friend when we were new in town, but my sister and I were best friends. Or so I like to believe. We always had each other, to walk to the new school with; to climb the mulberry tree with; to play with our plastic horses with--boy that filled an incredible number of hours; to make the dachshund jump over the broomstick so we could pretend he was a horse; and lots and lots of other things. But never reading. She read, I didn't. I was jealous of the printed word. Ironic now, isn't it. Then there was the year she begged, and begged and begged to have a concrete wall built to divide the bedroom we shared. I was devastated, of course, knowing how much I'd miss her, and suffering greatly at such rejection. My mother's excuse was that it was a rented house so we couldn't do something like that. HAH! My sister saw right through that one. I was too relieved to think anything else. When we finally bought a house and had separate bedrooms, I missed my sister. Later in life we didn't like each other at all--imagine how good I felt when she told me that she didn't like me at all & didn't want to be my sister when we were in high school. I'd felt the same way about her. Ah, secrets of the past. My mother used to tell us that, no matter what we said or felt at the moment, she knew we loved each other. Of course that's always been true.
I'm at work, where the 2 fish tanks are in front of me. One has 4 male guppies--one of each primary color and one left over from the guppy population explosion I had at home. The colorful guppies are very flashy and have big tails. The homemade guppy is sort of grayish-invisible, with a big but not flashy tail. He's about 1/3 the size of the others--I call him Little Man. And there's Blue Man, of course, and Red and Yellow Guy. The other tank has 2 big goldfish in it. Twice a goldfish has jumped out of the tank to its death. The first landed on the floor, the 2nd landed splat on my chair seat. I have a water pump in the bigger tank, and hear the sound of running water all day. It's nice and is a truer sound than the white noise of the heating system.
Since I'm at work, I have to get going on our 2010 Department Goals. There are only 2 of us in the department now so it's easier and more peaceful to do this. Plus the goals can't be quite as lofty. hey lofty.
What I get to look at on my way to work. Note the snot ice on the left. Snot ice is called that because, of course, it's the color of snot (well, some people's snot I guess). It's a sign of spring--I saw some really green snot ice the other day and it cheered me immensely. It's not particularly attractive to anyone who doesn't know what it portends.
s'no day
This is what they do after a hard day's work in deep snow. They're a great help--they make paths in the heavy snow. One to the bird feeder (must chase squirrels before eating sunflower seeds rejected or dropped by birds)--and that's a good one, very packed down and pretty wide. Another to get under the house--this path is a godsend to Kittie, since she likes using a litter box about as much as I like having one in the house. The ground is bare naked under the house. Sometimes I feel like crawling under there just to smell wet dirt. Mud is not wet dirt, wet dirt smells like spring. Another path goes past the burn barrel (I know, not legal to burn trash, but is it better to send it to the landfill? I only (mostly) burn paper), down to the woods, where they like to poop in private, and pee, getting their hoo-hoos wet when they squat. Another path goes down the driveway, where they run every time they think a) the bogeyman is coming, or b) someone fascinating who loves dogs is coming. Neither is true, most of the time. They bark every time the snow plow comes. I can just see the blinking yellow lights of the plow through the trees from the deck. I can hear its rumbling as I sit in the living room. The town plowman is a wonderful man named Lee. Lots of times last names are irrelevant. Anyway, Lee also drives for the woman I buy firewood from, so he knows plenty about me. What I know about him isn't much: that he's a kind man who knows how to get to my house and knows that I need to leave for work early, so he plows the road at an early hour. He also knows my dogs, and how much firewood I have and where it's piled. The man who plows my driveway, named Donny because his father is Don, comes a little late sometimes, but he's very reliable. As opposed to other plowmen I've had. Donny came yesterday and we had our usual plow-time visit. Each time we talk we end by saying "It's a wonderful neighborhood, isn't it."
The neighborhood consists of an area of about maybe 10 square miles, with maybe 15 or so year-round residents. The population explodes in the summer, and we all enjoy our summer company (they are some of my best friends). It's a biannual adjustment: from no neighbors to lots of neighbors, from no cars on my road to lots of cars on my road. Ken and I always talked about it, around Memorial Day we'd say "Time for the crowds to come. Won't be long before there will be a lot of people here." After Columbus Day we'd say "Now it's just us." I think I live a nearly-perfect life. Even when I have no water I can enjoy my lifestyle. Donny once said "Well ... when you live alone and you're lonely ... " I never corrected him to say I'm NEVER lonely. I figure it's a good investment to have him think that, even though I don't like to have anyone think of me that way.
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