| You Would Win Best Supporting Actor / Actress |
 There's no one quite like you. Your uniqueness leaves a strong impression on people. You are bold and willing to take risks. People may love or hate you, but at least they'll notice you. You are just different enough to make a great character actor. You can make a smaller part come alive. Believe it or not, there are times I want to be in the background, not the center of attention.--E. |
Monday, February 23, 2009
Friday, February 13, 2009
Dog Show
In case you didn't know, a Sussex spaniel named Stump won Best in Show at Westminster this week. I've always eyed Sussexes but then shook off that idea because they're just too goofy looking. He's 10 (same age as Chances) and has no gray muzzle hairs. What's with that?
Thursday, February 12, 2009
alder feb 017
I'm really fond of this view. It's on the way to Saranac Lake--to the BIG road (Rt 3) you take to SarLake, or Potsdam, or points west.
ice palace 09 001
Here's this year's ice palace in Saranac Lake. The theme is Pirates of the Adirondacks. I don't see it. There's another something built of blocks nearby that's supposed to be a pirate ship. I didn't see a pirate ship but everyone says how much they liked the ship. All I saw was a bunch of blocks piled on top of each other. No imagination, I guess.
ice palace 09 006
This is where the King and Queen of the carnival sit. Their butts get pretty cold pretty fast
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Road trips
I was thinking about different road trips I went on as a child.
Weekday mornings, when my mother taught junior high school on the other side of town (across the river) we only had one car so my father would drive her to work. I liked going along for the ride because coming home I had my father to myself and we had nice visits. He liked listening to the radio and we shared silly commercials ("Feed your doggie Thrive-O, very much alive-o, full of pep and vim. If you want a healthy pup then you better hurry up. Get Thriv-o for him." "Let Mrs. Grass make the soup in your house."). He also liked listening to Paul Harvey, probably because Paul was such a pompous ass and my father liked to mock him. I can't imagine why else. Anyway, I have nice memories of those rides.
We gave the next door neighbor wife a ride for a while. Her name was Betty Ring. They were the Rings. Betty and Gerald Ring and their daughter Carol. Carol was a red head with a bubble cut and worked at the branch library several blocks away. She walked to work every day (walked as if she had a pencil up her butt). Betty was always waiting in front of their house--like, ALWAYS, when we were ready to go. The car was parked in the garage at the back of the house--there are alleys running between each block and that's were garages are--great places for kids to play & ride bikes. Anyway, my father would get the car & drive to the front of the house and BINGO! there would be Betty Ring. Once my mother asked Betty how she knew just when to go out the door. Only someone a few feet next door would know--Betty said that Liza always raised the shade on the dining room window just before she left for work, so B. knew it was time to go. Wouldn't B.F. Skinner be proud?
Other road trips were the famous annual pilgrimages from Ill. to the Adirondacks. After summer school ended, though we later learned it was also after black fly season ended as well, we'd pack up, load up the car (early memories are of a 1957 turquoise Plymouth wagon with big fins and a 3rd seat facing the back, replaced by a 196-? purple Olds wagon that was huge and had round tailights and again, 3 seats). The dreaded day we left always started with my mother's hysteria: COME ON CHILDREN! TIME TO GET UP! She was out of control. Make lemondade (from frozen lemonade mix) in the green gallon jug, make soggy tuna sandwiches with a quart of mayo, shove them into a paper bag. Not to be touched until late in the trip. Once we got rolling she'd pass out the Dramamine. "Here, children, take your Dramamine so you won't get sick." As adults we figured out it had nothing to do with car sickness, it was the antihistamine in Dram. so we'd go to sleep. Henry always--ALWAYS got the "way back" and my sister and I shared the back seat. Sometimes the line of demarcation was half way down the middle, sometimes half way across. It was seldom a peaceful boundary--mostly because of me, I think. I was not good at sharing and I felt I could bully my sister.
We had a luggage rack (that's what they were called--this one was a metal box, open on the top) that my father covered with a tarp. Tarps were not blue plastic, they were really great, heavy and waterproof, brown, waxed and stiff canvas. The famous line, all 1000 miles of the trip was "The tarp's flapping." Spaulding never did get the hang of tying the tarp down so it wouldn't flap. We'd pull over to the side of the road and he'd fiddle with the rope to stop the flapping in THAT spot and we'd wait for the next flapping.
The famous story about a trip involves Molly's and my beloved plastic horses. We loved those horses pretty much more than the dogs. We were allowed to pick a few to take to camp, only as many as would fit in a cardboard box. Box was on top of car. On the thruway, you guesed it, the box FELL OFF. We were mortified and screamed "The horses!" Spaulding was really great (as I remember) and sympathetic, went back to get the box and handed it to us. We took each horse out, dreading whatever damage there might be to our beloveds. Can't remember which they were--Sheba, Sheik, Pride (mare), Joy (her foal), Chessie (short for Chesapeake, the palomino), Treasure (Molly's quarter horse), Reddy (my quarter horse--now proudly living on my window sill)--those must have been the favorites because I don't remember the rest. Anyway, all were safe. As I remember it, the whole plastic horse thing started when my father brought back Pride and Joy from one of his trips. Molly got Pride and I got Joy. It was when we lived in Urbana. It seemed he went on a lot of trips--later we learned he was trying to get a job. Must have been a hard time for them, but Liza, I think, made it a cheerful time for us.
We spent the night in Cleveland. Those stories are best left for another time. Like, about the aunt who gave us each $1 as a special treat, until I was the only one traveling with the family, then I got the whole $3. I think I was 16 by then.
There are other trips, good ones. I prefer to remember trips I enjoyed, I don't seem to remember ones that were unpleasant. At least not right now.
Weekday mornings, when my mother taught junior high school on the other side of town (across the river) we only had one car so my father would drive her to work. I liked going along for the ride because coming home I had my father to myself and we had nice visits. He liked listening to the radio and we shared silly commercials ("Feed your doggie Thrive-O, very much alive-o, full of pep and vim. If you want a healthy pup then you better hurry up. Get Thriv-o for him." "Let Mrs. Grass make the soup in your house."). He also liked listening to Paul Harvey, probably because Paul was such a pompous ass and my father liked to mock him. I can't imagine why else. Anyway, I have nice memories of those rides.
We gave the next door neighbor wife a ride for a while. Her name was Betty Ring. They were the Rings. Betty and Gerald Ring and their daughter Carol. Carol was a red head with a bubble cut and worked at the branch library several blocks away. She walked to work every day (walked as if she had a pencil up her butt). Betty was always waiting in front of their house--like, ALWAYS, when we were ready to go. The car was parked in the garage at the back of the house--there are alleys running between each block and that's were garages are--great places for kids to play & ride bikes. Anyway, my father would get the car & drive to the front of the house and BINGO! there would be Betty Ring. Once my mother asked Betty how she knew just when to go out the door. Only someone a few feet next door would know--Betty said that Liza always raised the shade on the dining room window just before she left for work, so B. knew it was time to go. Wouldn't B.F. Skinner be proud?
Other road trips were the famous annual pilgrimages from Ill. to the Adirondacks. After summer school ended, though we later learned it was also after black fly season ended as well, we'd pack up, load up the car (early memories are of a 1957 turquoise Plymouth wagon with big fins and a 3rd seat facing the back, replaced by a 196-? purple Olds wagon that was huge and had round tailights and again, 3 seats). The dreaded day we left always started with my mother's hysteria: COME ON CHILDREN! TIME TO GET UP! She was out of control. Make lemondade (from frozen lemonade mix) in the green gallon jug, make soggy tuna sandwiches with a quart of mayo, shove them into a paper bag. Not to be touched until late in the trip. Once we got rolling she'd pass out the Dramamine. "Here, children, take your Dramamine so you won't get sick." As adults we figured out it had nothing to do with car sickness, it was the antihistamine in Dram. so we'd go to sleep. Henry always--ALWAYS got the "way back" and my sister and I shared the back seat. Sometimes the line of demarcation was half way down the middle, sometimes half way across. It was seldom a peaceful boundary--mostly because of me, I think. I was not good at sharing and I felt I could bully my sister.
We had a luggage rack (that's what they were called--this one was a metal box, open on the top) that my father covered with a tarp. Tarps were not blue plastic, they were really great, heavy and waterproof, brown, waxed and stiff canvas. The famous line, all 1000 miles of the trip was "The tarp's flapping." Spaulding never did get the hang of tying the tarp down so it wouldn't flap. We'd pull over to the side of the road and he'd fiddle with the rope to stop the flapping in THAT spot and we'd wait for the next flapping.
The famous story about a trip involves Molly's and my beloved plastic horses. We loved those horses pretty much more than the dogs. We were allowed to pick a few to take to camp, only as many as would fit in a cardboard box. Box was on top of car. On the thruway, you guesed it, the box FELL OFF. We were mortified and screamed "The horses!" Spaulding was really great (as I remember) and sympathetic, went back to get the box and handed it to us. We took each horse out, dreading whatever damage there might be to our beloveds. Can't remember which they were--Sheba, Sheik, Pride (mare), Joy (her foal), Chessie (short for Chesapeake, the palomino), Treasure (Molly's quarter horse), Reddy (my quarter horse--now proudly living on my window sill)--those must have been the favorites because I don't remember the rest. Anyway, all were safe. As I remember it, the whole plastic horse thing started when my father brought back Pride and Joy from one of his trips. Molly got Pride and I got Joy. It was when we lived in Urbana. It seemed he went on a lot of trips--later we learned he was trying to get a job. Must have been a hard time for them, but Liza, I think, made it a cheerful time for us.
We spent the night in Cleveland. Those stories are best left for another time. Like, about the aunt who gave us each $1 as a special treat, until I was the only one traveling with the family, then I got the whole $3. I think I was 16 by then.
There are other trips, good ones. I prefer to remember trips I enjoyed, I don't seem to remember ones that were unpleasant. At least not right now.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Just a snippet
Here's a quick look at my life these days. Today we're having a BIG storm. I came to work and stayed until the bitter end. Some people scurried home early--ohmygod what if the roads are so bad I'll never get home and they'll find my body in the spring. I'm even going to my friend's house now (5:00) to shower & visit. Not wise, perhaps, but I'm not known for wisdom about driving in bad weather. And yet I always figure it out. I like to wait until later because the plows and sanders will have worked on the roads and traffic will be light (or non-existent) so I won't have to dodge other drivers.
No, I still don't have water. I've almost got the house in shape and a path cleared to the bathroom so I can stand to have someone in my house and not be mortified at what they'll see. I'll have Steve help me/do it next week. One more weekend of cleaning should do it. Plus: the bonus of enjoying my house. even without running water.
No, I still don't have water. I've almost got the house in shape and a path cleared to the bathroom so I can stand to have someone in my house and not be mortified at what they'll see. I'll have Steve help me/do it next week. One more weekend of cleaning should do it. Plus: the bonus of enjoying my house. even without running water.
boy's toys
This is the equipment being used across and down the road from my driveway. One of the strangest and longest-lasting jobs I've ever seen. That's a skidder in the foreground--used to push the trees once they've been cut down. Makes a huge mess. Meant for anyone to be able to use--there is a picture of a bunny for the pedal to go fast, and a turtle to go slow. I kid you not. The big red machine is used to load logs into trucks and to pile them into big piles. We used to call it the lobster claw. It's called a loader, but so are a lot of other pieces of equipment--sort of a generic term, I think.
end result
This is a small, small fraction of the trees that have been cut off the lot. I keep wondering where the trees are coming from and people say "Just wait until you go to your camp this spring." They're joking, of course. yeah, that's right, joking. yeah.
home sweet home
I don't know, I just like this shot. Maybe because it shows my extra, extra wood--that's the wood I bought in the fall, my last resort wood that I probably (hopefully) won't need this year. That's 4 cords. $280 worth. used to cost $35/cord. Ken has a hard time with this. What are you going to do? It is what it is.
no, really
I like it this cold, no really, I do. It was 17 so I don't know why I look so cross. I'd just been for a nice half-hour walk with the dogs and we had a great time.
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