tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-190363752024-03-19T04:34:12.909-06:00Pantalones Del FuegoMy pants? Why yes, they are on fire. Why do you ask?MLEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09301902783411290755noreply@blogger.comBlogger682125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19036375.post-87220884937984622102010-11-07T14:07:00.003-07:002010-11-07T14:19:24.948-07:00The Big Move, part 2Um. So, I kind of decided to move to WordPress. You can see my new blog, designed by my awesome husband, at http://pantalonesdelfuego.wordpress.com. Woo! Plus, all my photos, posts, and comments made the switch as well. Yay! So update your RSS feeds, your blogrolls, and all other assorted stuff, because after 5 full years here at blogger I'm closing up shop.MLEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09301902783411290755noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19036375.post-29245016298782458272010-11-06T23:23:00.000-06:002010-11-07T01:01:39.089-06:00Extended Massive Organism<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKOipSjtvxAPe1xf7YegK_1Bdoqpj5jLUgC1DwXsbfGNDw90aJ9mNvGvae52z3NjseJL_2mP5H1IYig5Euj-S1Sf0fZcx9YNb1fb_n7FXknOMis0tm3tBDDaTrixlejAAtMdVB/s1600/IMG_0540.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKOipSjtvxAPe1xf7YegK_1Bdoqpj5jLUgC1DwXsbfGNDw90aJ9mNvGvae52z3NjseJL_2mP5H1IYig5Euj-S1Sf0fZcx9YNb1fb_n7FXknOMis0tm3tBDDaTrixlejAAtMdVB/s320/IMG_0540.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5536692923904320866" border="0" /></a><br /><br />One of the tasks we're tackling, living in this house, is the scourge of the violet.<br /><br />Wild violets grow in this yard like...well, like weeds. Which is what they are. I think there was a little patch of them in one of the beds when we first moved into this house in 1989, and I think my mom has been fighting the spread of the dread violet ever since. And they're not even the pretty kind of violet; they don't even get nice flowers or anything. As you can see, the violets are a formidable enemy. They propagate by sending runners above the ground or below the ground via a connected root system, and they turn up just about everywhere.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAy0n7CMCbs9OViAh-m1LFb8_GfFOBrIrgr2LvkYaf9FaWsW9b-evwTxr4DOwUPbP79HlvlaM1MfHyCE9bSo_17iFh2p_u94Da67pTl9UuHskMY4z53tVZcSe4WiRvy4C5oyev/s1600/IMG_0539.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAy0n7CMCbs9OViAh-m1LFb8_GfFOBrIrgr2LvkYaf9FaWsW9b-evwTxr4DOwUPbP79HlvlaM1MfHyCE9bSo_17iFh2p_u94Da67pTl9UuHskMY4z53tVZcSe4WiRvy4C5oyev/s320/IMG_0539.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5536692917248947922" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXP6BRooSPRFtl5rygATLnmscOstUVjiHj4WKYysHcMqmBpbcw5gYQop1kT5Noi3-oe8YBiSv-Ap7DYzwr4bkMm2ch8QJQ-aYT2LCnfFK-XaZb0CU7-crrN0Gn82FL1i0THjkh/s1600/IMG_0538.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXP6BRooSPRFtl5rygATLnmscOstUVjiHj4WKYysHcMqmBpbcw5gYQop1kT5Noi3-oe8YBiSv-Ap7DYzwr4bkMm2ch8QJQ-aYT2LCnfFK-XaZb0CU7-crrN0Gn82FL1i0THjkh/s320/IMG_0538.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5536692914085283250" border="0" /></a><br /><br />The violets are also a bit creepy because every new plant that comes up puts up the new leaves as weird crumpled pod-like things before they unfurl into leaves. I'd already pulled most of the violets in one of the beds before I took the photos, but you can get an idea of what they look like here. (Also, you can get an idea of the amount of insect life in this yard. Each of these beds is full of earthworms, snails, slugs, and sow bugs, not to mention ants, spiders, and all sorts of other things. It's a good thing I'm not wigged out by multiple-legged, wiggly, or single-footed organisms.)<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggMK-M5SUGPviOUyGDvmb878eIE4m7TwuXAl_W9IYfJBbRCFogzF39chAWNrWfbx9vRY4_gMhav4kbIYRHxEpNy0nK58hoSnPYbT5563-1rI4zmiIW-CicgYNgEgkePHVrRdji/s1600/IMG_0537.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggMK-M5SUGPviOUyGDvmb878eIE4m7TwuXAl_W9IYfJBbRCFogzF39chAWNrWfbx9vRY4_gMhav4kbIYRHxEpNy0nK58hoSnPYbT5563-1rI4zmiIW-CicgYNgEgkePHVrRdji/s320/IMG_0537.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5536692908198107970" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Violets come up in every nook, cranny, crack, and crevice in just about every part of the yard here. They even split the railing of the bed, as you can see in this photo, and because the root systems come up from inside the wood I can't even get a good enough grasp on them to pull them out. I'm convinced that all of these violets are clones of each other and there's some sort of extended root system that exists all over the yard, the sentient creature putting up babies everywhere to see where they might catch hold next.<br /><br />It's not enough to pull up a violet by the root, because there are so many runners under the ground in addition to the ones above the soil. I'm practically going to have to completely replace the soil in one of the beds in order to get rid of the violets in it, and I have no idea how I'll get rid of the ones that grow between the stepping stones along the pathways. Maybe it will be a losing battle, and the Borg Violet Collective will win this match.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy7EHwE8rkYiulZglB2gOS8_bkyIa9_egjCjNV5tyaNBEzXdRixmUGFWKLylHjwKaPZ-x-CZIMlLf4T9cxgAZVbwLVEsLi0R9ELzexUUwWOvleLi4JZUETqG08CQkEArsykkzu/s1600/IMG_0534.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy7EHwE8rkYiulZglB2gOS8_bkyIa9_egjCjNV5tyaNBEzXdRixmUGFWKLylHjwKaPZ-x-CZIMlLf4T9cxgAZVbwLVEsLi0R9ELzexUUwWOvleLi4JZUETqG08CQkEArsykkzu/s320/IMG_0534.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5536691239779851826" border="0" /></a><br /><br />The violets are not the only things attempting to take over the yard. The blackberry brambles, which have likewise tried to take root on our property for over twenty years now, have been sneaking in underneath the back fence from a neighbor's yard. Blackberries are prickly and painful, so you have to wear thick gloves when trying to remove them, and they send out surface and root runners as well. We pulled some out of the back lawn this afternoon, in addition to catching the latest runner on the move, complete with multiple root clumps every few feet.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfMQFcIgKuqdXHgwhrWqyDt0LgQ9PNVRV9G-e3Dx9KkfuliJ9R0AaU7I7CbeNNey-N3P_JLSqqXsmTFB7Z2Ep3n9_iBZpztU-Xm_cHCtwbdUd_ieFRNhd7NgE4JJgxkjtToXK9/s1600/IMG_0533.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfMQFcIgKuqdXHgwhrWqyDt0LgQ9PNVRV9G-e3Dx9KkfuliJ9R0AaU7I7CbeNNey-N3P_JLSqqXsmTFB7Z2Ep3n9_iBZpztU-Xm_cHCtwbdUd_ieFRNhd7NgE4JJgxkjtToXK9/s320/IMG_0533.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5536691236556031250" border="0" /></a><br /><br />We had a few days of rain last week, and afterward, mushrooms popped up all over the place.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi3yXDFmJBfM23Yz10c0v8Y-JMn6XaGcG6l1ahWOjZLPu4V1VwA9nDWpXUp06wexU-xzcLpufnevKwez9cU8wSZS9Br20E1Yc3YBzTK4veI0G2KKbKpnOFD3BuF791B6ulk68Z/s1600/IMG_0476.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi3yXDFmJBfM23Yz10c0v8Y-JMn6XaGcG6l1ahWOjZLPu4V1VwA9nDWpXUp06wexU-xzcLpufnevKwez9cU8wSZS9Br20E1Yc3YBzTK4veI0G2KKbKpnOFD3BuF791B6ulk68Z/s320/IMG_0476.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5536691233372931010" border="0" /></a><br /><br />You know what else pops up after a rain? Sour grass.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr8W3IbKy5AEjS-VwhMdPQ4e93lQ2reg2YYX6AZuUkz9RTzPbKi6u9K8lPYrfc7oNrDI6ZI_RmWcd9vsUO5HWSY4hyPvXJjOAaCXuiZ-fFZkBEeHU3K4ULmH6-iNO3pVQxPjD2/s1600/IMG_0475.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr8W3IbKy5AEjS-VwhMdPQ4e93lQ2reg2YYX6AZuUkz9RTzPbKi6u9K8lPYrfc7oNrDI6ZI_RmWcd9vsUO5HWSY4hyPvXJjOAaCXuiZ-fFZkBEeHU3K4ULmH6-iNO3pVQxPjD2/s320/IMG_0475.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5536691227529390306" border="0" /></a><br /><br />It looks like clover, but it isn't clover. I can pull it out by the roots multiple times, and it just. keeps. growing. I've weeded the same bed six times in the last two weeks, and every day there are more sour grass shoots to be yanked. I think this is a losing battle, but for now I'm going to do my best to at least keep the weeds at a few inches tall rather than a foot or more.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7DBy75XbuxOSlEt1esAmp6dEpfMQkP3i26svVyQdgNQPhzNgSt2-vLruUbnDgiBxt84NQAcdRq72xyptanB-CdQYCHaVzL4vgWPHhrurp3pXCNo3vkR1eufmiXFNTCDSANHtK/s1600/IMG_0474.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7DBy75XbuxOSlEt1esAmp6dEpfMQkP3i26svVyQdgNQPhzNgSt2-vLruUbnDgiBxt84NQAcdRq72xyptanB-CdQYCHaVzL4vgWPHhrurp3pXCNo3vkR1eufmiXFNTCDSANHtK/s320/IMG_0474.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5536691218931163522" border="0" /></a><br /><br />(Not pictured: the morning glory that has been making a valiant effort to grow over everything in one part of the yard, including up every tree, fence, along every railing, and across every flower bed, since it was planted back in 1990. At least the morning glory is easy to pull out and pull up, and some times of the year it puts out pretty flowers. I am starting to think that maybe we should just let the violets, the blackberry, the sour grass and the morning glory duke it out for King of the Yard. When the winner meets the mint plant in the front yard, watch out, world!)MLEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09301902783411290755noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19036375.post-42464752448712012012010-11-06T00:01:00.004-06:002010-11-06T00:32:21.781-06:00Fantasy vs Reality: The Dinner PartyAt about five o'clock this afternoon, I got out the ingredients to make a pumpkin pie from scratch. I processed the pumpkin last night, and was excited to bake the first pumpkin pie of the season. I mixed up the crust ingredients, rolled them out, filled a pie pan. I mixed fresh pumpkin with egg, evaporated milk, spices, and brown sugar, and popped my pie in the oven to bake.<br /><br />Meanwhile, Dan prepped the seafood gumbo and got it to cooking while he mixed biscuits, and baked the biscuits as soon as my pie was out of the oven. Our friends arrived around 6 PM, and we had a leisurely evening of drinks, food, and socializing.<br /><br /><br />* * * * * * *<br /><br />At about five o'clock this afternoon, about half an hour after Dan had gotten out of a cold shower, I got out the ingredients to make a pumpkin pie from scratch. We'd already determined after looking at the hot water heater that it wasn't an issue with that, so with a sinking feeling I went out to check on the propane tank, only to find that the dial on the top of the tank read zero. Back inside, after doing a load of dishes in cold water, I began to mix the crust ingredients, only to realize that hey, not only were our hot water and our heat tied to the propane, but the stove and oven were as well. There was no way we were going to have pie, or seafood gumbo, and after a minute of trying to think of what we could make using only the microwave or the toaster oven on such short notice, we gave up. <br /><br />I called my mom to tell her about the issue, and she suggested calling the energy company. They had a dedicated emergency line for after hours issues, and I spoke to someone who told me she'd have a driver call me back shortly. Meanwhile, Dan mixed up some guacamole so we'd have SOMETHING to feed our guests, and Sara and Ron arrived while I was still trying to figure out exactly what was going on with the gas situation. After speaking further with the driver, I had to call my mom back to relay our options ($150 for a weekend delivery, plus the cost of the gas vs. waiting 'til Monday and only paying $50 because of some new law that requires certain testing done any time the gas runs out.) After we got all that figured out and squared away, we went across the street to the diner and we all ate moderately tasty food.<br /><br />After dinner, we came back to the house and had some chocolate, listened to Simon's band's album, and watched the cats play with toys. But I spent the entire evening mortified that the promised home-cooked meal and pumpkin pie from scratch became roast beef sandwiches and fish&chips at the diner. On the bright side, the guy from the energy company called again to tell me that because of a paperwork error on their part, they'd waive the $100 part of the $150 fee and we will have hot water, heat, a functional dryer, and a functional stove/oven at again at 9 AM tomorrow.MLEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09301902783411290755noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19036375.post-30281697158254125612010-11-04T21:48:00.005-06:002010-11-05T00:04:54.050-06:00Robin, Miss Robin the Brave<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpnOqGi53L1ppNdw5YNFxzJph6FLRVQrPT_qqClk4iwEFeEUxtwZz-vM4knptMf_ftiln0xQrL4H4FH3YcQESNtrQJSxm6oCr3PaA2BhsAC-ZyKYvlAomVXpzboKa4F19bO8gu/s1600/no+ass.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 222px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpnOqGi53L1ppNdw5YNFxzJph6FLRVQrPT_qqClk4iwEFeEUxtwZz-vM4knptMf_ftiln0xQrL4H4FH3YcQESNtrQJSxm6oCr3PaA2BhsAC-ZyKYvlAomVXpzboKa4F19bO8gu/s320/no+ass.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5535942634433401538" /></a><br /><br /><br />Princess Robin now lives on the fridge, the kitchen counter, the stereo piece next to Dan's computer, in the hall bathroom (where her litterbox is), and in our bedroom (but only when we are in there, and she won't go in or out by herself, which means every morning at 7:30 AM ON THE DOT she's jumping on our heads, pawing at the blankets, and purring, letting us know it's time for her morning constitutional and her breakfast.) She's spending more and more time exploring and voluntarily walking or running on the floor from one place to another, and has had a slap-bang time exploring the back bedroom, walk-in closet, and bathroom, where she will go if one of us brings her back there.<br /><br />Yesterday, Loki was napping on the chair in the living room and Dan was at his computer and Robin just up and went on the floor. She spent quite a while there, and by quite a while I mean at least two or three minutes. She sat; she sphinx'd; she kept a close eye on Loki to make sure he wasn't going to eat her, and as soon as she saw him twitch a whisker, she was right back up on the table in a safe spot. That was about twenty seconds after I snapped this photo. But she's getting bolder every day, and maybe by the time we leave she'll be going into rooms on her own and not just leaving them.MLEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09301902783411290755noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19036375.post-45259444400690489522010-11-03T10:28:00.004-06:002010-11-03T11:18:42.872-06:00Day of the dead<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ__Rf8u1Lv_G08i43v7_K6czlF7lZPQYIqhbRPVQIDLZS9Fajrwfc3JvIN9DZ7_xkzGv0f_GGTLebIXAx3hxab3UJrRKo_ug0Dhi6130Xb_vt5jqhOjKdZqQLaf2kaPo7uIdM/s1600/IMG_0503.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ__Rf8u1Lv_G08i43v7_K6czlF7lZPQYIqhbRPVQIDLZS9Fajrwfc3JvIN9DZ7_xkzGv0f_GGTLebIXAx3hxab3UJrRKo_ug0Dhi6130Xb_vt5jqhOjKdZqQLaf2kaPo7uIdM/s320/IMG_0503.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5535364413725901602" /></a><br /><br />Oddly, one of my favorite things about this little piece of the county is the Olive Hill Cemetery, just outside of Geyserville. Next to (what else?) a vineyard, it's a pretty neat place to learn a bit more about the history of the area, as the oldest and most prominent monuments are for the long-time Italian-Swiss colony families. I went to preschool or elementary school or ballet class with kids who had some of these same names, and their many-generations-removed ancestors are buried on Olive Hill.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdyBaWIJZEM5cjkx4J9V34vtahIMZSAaP3238_hisi_oV2m0Egc0m2yxByAZ2zoZ5MsXJ3Z4px-8PdsH3SDATXqSs3AkKgTm2_rx9WdtkTIYggoHEcWTLtAi7MNA8gYrfSYg0S/s1600/IMG_0504.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdyBaWIJZEM5cjkx4J9V34vtahIMZSAaP3238_hisi_oV2m0Egc0m2yxByAZ2zoZ5MsXJ3Z4px-8PdsH3SDATXqSs3AkKgTm2_rx9WdtkTIYggoHEcWTLtAi7MNA8gYrfSYg0S/s320/IMG_0504.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5535364409106700370" /></a><br /><br />The hill is full of ancient oak trees, and when it rains, the moss and lichen growing all over everything adds to the spooky atmosphere. If I had were filming a low-budget horror movie, I know exactly where I'd choose to set up my camera.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipibYqlio0J1PyOF-ipLSTTyqg3_vZ2hch9G0GoKGTPZqVsoHU-70jqNkfowPjQQb3dV0rGEfDJ8iINGJvPq4NgWnzYP8mRHF-jmwFJhgC9yAGAcbZV5BKikyL7iaK6iEKV_QZ/s1600/IMG_0505.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipibYqlio0J1PyOF-ipLSTTyqg3_vZ2hch9G0GoKGTPZqVsoHU-70jqNkfowPjQQb3dV0rGEfDJ8iINGJvPq4NgWnzYP8mRHF-jmwFJhgC9yAGAcbZV5BKikyL7iaK6iEKV_QZ/s320/IMG_0505.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5535364112813555554" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgseJa0IuaGxcLNMoKAfjEWPt0uNJb06pGd8TnrN5AiRXk8peps46U6PCm_GZ-GOpUMUP0fczsaTaUSGsU-TLlX3XpA19smojdDbV2LlNokCaT_r0weiOdEa9mY9zqvqY7Qfpdp/s1600/IMG_0509.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgseJa0IuaGxcLNMoKAfjEWPt0uNJb06pGd8TnrN5AiRXk8peps46U6PCm_GZ-GOpUMUP0fczsaTaUSGsU-TLlX3XpA19smojdDbV2LlNokCaT_r0weiOdEa9mY9zqvqY7Qfpdp/s320/IMG_0509.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5535364103940781074" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Walking through a cemetery, for me, is mostly a reminder of how nothing ever stays the same. Entropy, if nothing else, breaks everything down into component parts, and even marble and granite can be eaten by lichen and crumbled to dust. The oldest graves we saw dated back to the 1870s, and a few that might have been older were no longer readable, their markers worn by rain and earthquakes and sun and dirt and squirrel poop and time.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqIxDH1FCCIIjveYV-BM-JNS9LvdAs7PYibAcd-IrOpxudu_Xx6ONeKg-IzLOVBpYGDJelVuaVgsYOqf2wvUNgNoQxjNUSl2oh4bBUYEQn5MNS47ydauFoQp-sUZqCZ6BMSHdv/s1600/IMG_0510.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqIxDH1FCCIIjveYV-BM-JNS9LvdAs7PYibAcd-IrOpxudu_Xx6ONeKg-IzLOVBpYGDJelVuaVgsYOqf2wvUNgNoQxjNUSl2oh4bBUYEQn5MNS47ydauFoQp-sUZqCZ6BMSHdv/s320/IMG_0510.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5535364096180441810" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi07EU6cxDKQLOS6wy4IKRkWCS-__znLsYGHICZDyVTNxm0Nrm2jXiMSlMi9_kdjh7AOXEyLU02IK4MaG2bTxAYNQS0EV0mguHnlvBzISJQsYtKtK22mb-NBNFOjmXeyBE6hg3z/s1600/IMG_0511.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi07EU6cxDKQLOS6wy4IKRkWCS-__znLsYGHICZDyVTNxm0Nrm2jXiMSlMi9_kdjh7AOXEyLU02IK4MaG2bTxAYNQS0EV0mguHnlvBzISJQsYtKtK22mb-NBNFOjmXeyBE6hg3z/s320/IMG_0511.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5535364090671891650" border="0" /></a><br /><br />It's interesting to walk through a cemetery and see how the fashions and styles of even something like a grave marker can change through the decades. I saw monuments made of stone, flat markers made of metal, family tombs and individualized sites, with benches, wind chimes, and other personal elements. Also, different cultural symbols. And a kitty.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRPCLPlrv19voKVYIWhI9aEMKAh86eVt0gPp-xAPN9R1p1gXgqzGwEK6gJ4YL1x3RfAgvNFe1ee3qsDazaE9roPUyCUc6RcelkCtSFw-rASQGlPVk8-QDaMEQhtCWKU1OOrLPU/s1600/IMG_0512.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRPCLPlrv19voKVYIWhI9aEMKAh86eVt0gPp-xAPN9R1p1gXgqzGwEK6gJ4YL1x3RfAgvNFe1ee3qsDazaE9roPUyCUc6RcelkCtSFw-rASQGlPVk8-QDaMEQhtCWKU1OOrLPU/s320/IMG_0512.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5535364089918160082" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Finally, there's nothing like finding the headstone of someone one's own age to make one feel mortal. This was the saddest marker in the whole graveyard. "Beloved grandson" was 5 weeks old. "Beloved son" was younger than me, and died only a few months after his newborn son.MLEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09301902783411290755noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19036375.post-76058888905928302092010-11-02T23:54:00.000-06:002010-11-03T00:56:25.710-06:00A one sentence review, after viewing The Curious Case of Benjamin ButtonWhy did we need another Forrest Gump in which Brad Pitt reprised his character from Meet Joe Black?MLEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09301902783411290755noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19036375.post-65827587624239329842010-11-01T23:57:00.000-06:002010-11-02T01:00:35.016-06:00Should I take this job or not?I'm thinking of doing this again, but I'm not sure of a theme or anything. Right now I'm pretty focused on trying to find a job, so maybe my dilemma du jour will entertain.<br /><br />Here's the thing.<br /><br />A friend has offered me a short-term, part-time job at his company doing stuff I'm about 10 years and a degree overqualified to do, for $15/hour. He thinks it will be about 20 hours a week but could be more hours. The company is located in Berkeley, which is about 90 miles and at least a 2 hour morning/evening commute each way. They are also expanding, though honestly they don't really do anything I'm interested in professionally.<br /><br />Here is my pros/cons list. Please read and tell me what you think I should do in this situation.<br /><br />Pros:<br />* It's a job. It's money coming in, though granted, not a whole lot of money<br />* I've been told that I can consolidate it into two weekdays and so I can just stay at a friend's house or my sister's house for the in-between night, saving myself 2 commutes. Or I could drive down on a Monday evening, work Tues/Wed, and drive back up Wed evening.<br />* There's a possibility of somehow finagling it into a full-time job for the company<br />* My friend is going out of his way to help me find work<br /><br />Cons<br />* It's 90 miles and 2 hours each way. Even with an overnight stay or two during the week, that's still 180 miles or nearly half a tank of gas plus bridge toll and wear/tear on the car a week.<br />* An overnight stay or two means I'm away from home, Dan, and kitties for one or two nights a week for a job that's probably a dead end<br />* That's two fewer days a week I can spend looking for a full-time job that I want to be doing<br />* If I do get offered a full-time job, especially if soon, that means I'd be kind of screwing my friend over<br /><br />Our ultimate plan is to move down to the Bay Area as soon as one of us gets a full-time job, but there's no way we could swing a move, let alone rent and everything else on $300/week, so the option of us moving for this job is not on the table.MLEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09301902783411290755noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19036375.post-20693522029792717352010-10-28T10:39:00.006-06:002010-10-28T12:21:05.066-06:00Bread basket<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnVLOeW4stlrck3825-VHlDfJHicb9r5rhKQDpfM6czWRXnwqhs146-KDgmJdOX0jukYDkl0m6sjCi6ACgumT302h3fQ6o_D15ro7r7-3I72ns_XqZ83LAbUw7DAqRBpmcIluo/s1600/IMG_0463.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnVLOeW4stlrck3825-VHlDfJHicb9r5rhKQDpfM6czWRXnwqhs146-KDgmJdOX0jukYDkl0m6sjCi6ACgumT302h3fQ6o_D15ro7r7-3I72ns_XqZ83LAbUw7DAqRBpmcIluo/s320/IMG_0463.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533160265434800002" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />When I lived in Colorado, and people asked me what part of California I was from, the easiest thing to tell them was "Bay Area" or "San Francisco." If they pushed further, I said I was from "wine country in Northern California" or "Sonoma County." Occasionally, I'd someone who would say, "Oh, Sonoma! It's like Napa!" and I would grit my teeth, nod, and smile. And secretly, I'd seethe.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj46n8ss9MbDfI_QVu4Bzx6Jze4cBCu8d3HyiJP0B3PuEhyphenhyphen3412U7lDSNN6W58QBbTYZHXEcx4ZDzsJgCpAH8aF6OVI8KnnZKBns2xGd1U9s-mfbIQG51ausyTmkD9vMTRyT9-P/s1600/IMG_0454.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj46n8ss9MbDfI_QVu4Bzx6Jze4cBCu8d3HyiJP0B3PuEhyphenhyphen3412U7lDSNN6W58QBbTYZHXEcx4ZDzsJgCpAH8aF6OVI8KnnZKBns2xGd1U9s-mfbIQG51ausyTmkD9vMTRyT9-P/s320/IMG_0454.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533159401197373954" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >Wine grapes, just before harvest. These ones were on really old vines next to the Catholic Church in Asti.</span><br /></div><br />Sure, Sonoma County is known as "wine country." It's an area that grows a lot of grapes, has a lot of wineries, produces internationally award-winning wines. But it's SO MUCH MORE than just wine and grapes, and I wish there was a way to get that across in an easy shorthand.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf5rG3PI2qBiVt8diY3klAhsWPKfOETfwqS7J5ubD6IvrcIZODczhIkWap7se-AKe0yNJljod_WymV1Qo9S-1ajW2pxKg62WGJlFP4z_JfxgN4OV7SlpPfP2imGU73iD3sUvD1/s1600/IMG_0500.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf5rG3PI2qBiVt8diY3klAhsWPKfOETfwqS7J5ubD6IvrcIZODczhIkWap7se-AKe0yNJljod_WymV1Qo9S-1ajW2pxKg62WGJlFP4z_JfxgN4OV7SlpPfP2imGU73iD3sUvD1/s320/IMG_0500.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533160328564323602" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >For example, olive trees grow everywhere.</span><br /></div><br />So many years of describing my home turf as "wine country" had me sort of forgetting what all else Sonoma County grows. Wine is such a convenient description, when the reality is far more complex. My years of coming all the way up here only for holiday visits didn't help matters, as I'd not had occasion to be in the area during the fall months in many years. It wasn't until I moved back here and started looking at the northern end of the county with fresh eyes that I remembered the cornucopia available just in my mom's yard.<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_hlFUGte924lnt_mFLzwTcoxk2KmIDjCIXfTL2sqWrCEs3I3vRCKhbGkS09-aYcyLtNykKalVVpYNINC0A0k9IHWHrh7sC6L5TaMf8pZYRQTnAlTinmemHWZlhvT1_HG2NSr5/s1600/IMG_0405.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_hlFUGte924lnt_mFLzwTcoxk2KmIDjCIXfTL2sqWrCEs3I3vRCKhbGkS09-aYcyLtNykKalVVpYNINC0A0k9IHWHrh7sC6L5TaMf8pZYRQTnAlTinmemHWZlhvT1_HG2NSr5/s320/IMG_0405.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533159387260940098" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >Innards of ripe green fig, not saarlac pit.</span><br /></div><br />We've had crisp and juicy yellow delicious apples, raked up tiny wrinkled past-their-prime jam plums, and I gave Dan his first-ever fresh-off-the-tree fig. There's also a peach tree, several citrus trees, and a black walnut tree next door, although those walnuts aren't really edible for anyone but the giant teasing gray squirrels that live in the yard. Walking through Healdsburg a few weeks ago while waiting for our alternator to be replaced AGAIN, we saw more apple trees, fig trees, and ancient English walnut trees, which are the kind of walnuts you buy in the baking aisle or the bulk section at the grocery store. The neighbors down the street have a pomegranate tree, as do some friends of mine with whom we visited last week, and, along with a bunch of tomatoes, they gave us one to savor. It was the best pomegranate I'd had in at least a decade.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSN4fT1-qoGA5mpYUKwko81RJs91l7OQ_MJeDjNUSvcIsntyApeEAbiV0_tn0UAoxulHz9JaRCXBzxjvS4wvWU2Txnmd90NyeNg8UHf1OPlv3eYDh980M_Tof6xtT_TmKj5cik/s1600/IMG_0494.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSN4fT1-qoGA5mpYUKwko81RJs91l7OQ_MJeDjNUSvcIsntyApeEAbiV0_tn0UAoxulHz9JaRCXBzxjvS4wvWU2Txnmd90NyeNg8UHf1OPlv3eYDh980M_Tof6xtT_TmKj5cik/s320/IMG_0494.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533159424677005554" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >Pom!</span><br /></div><br />Working on a photo project recently, Dan and I have come across quite a few typical examples of Sonoma County's bounty. Just one winery had pomegranate, persimmon, walnut, and, below, artichokes.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu6O9JLs8PorDq05v6_n1kSyWih9T8Dg081MPD5vPv6dlE-C1qZ8R1fk9eB-igEywQ-RSDnYtjbftzBnYZQfJTHD0ZoHtA1Uckx-9JDi1yIGRFfD9Qm_gNh-D_e1jcBnQ7PpVe/s1600/IMG_0491.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu6O9JLs8PorDq05v6_n1kSyWih9T8Dg081MPD5vPv6dlE-C1qZ8R1fk9eB-igEywQ-RSDnYtjbftzBnYZQfJTHD0ZoHtA1Uckx-9JDi1yIGRFfD9Qm_gNh-D_e1jcBnQ7PpVe/s320/IMG_0491.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533159412118529522" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Persimmon, not quite ripe.</span></span><br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_CqVS1PNeO2XMf15T3o3qJ9e1qEGfJa8vRIGyuF2Ya_q_z7PJGf6CCMvF6Sa2eT6MxrbTwzvX-zBLMaM208E9MMOS5l-f6Rx1CtKNE7IJLS10lgbhPv0YNYXkZJe6M6qYqC-n/s1600/IMG_0496.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_CqVS1PNeO2XMf15T3o3qJ9e1qEGfJa8vRIGyuF2Ya_q_z7PJGf6CCMvF6Sa2eT6MxrbTwzvX-zBLMaM208E9MMOS5l-f6Rx1CtKNE7IJLS10lgbhPv0YNYXkZJe6M6qYqC-n/s320/IMG_0496.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533159437931917042" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">An artichoke...</span></span><br /><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_2CTj6NDBuAyknuvYAjaVVMciTd_GukIprPKWcDrV3nRPrMxwwF7VDBMnNai7IEK8ILNEiMotypDdTQ8mPUQKhrca_fsEcaF5BFC8y01-WPsquS-iYUcgJD9eqmxMmKi6ZhcH/s1600/IMG_0497.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_2CTj6NDBuAyknuvYAjaVVMciTd_GukIprPKWcDrV3nRPrMxwwF7VDBMnNai7IEK8ILNEiMotypDdTQ8mPUQKhrca_fsEcaF5BFC8y01-WPsquS-iYUcgJD9eqmxMmKi6ZhcH/s320/IMG_0497.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533160276240919362" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">is really just </span></span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhArKjzeJ6Q7YbenS0bET2XtuoyIcAZof_U6J6D4GFrrl4QUzuOzvO15vJw4cpVG6ooVXxw_cYygtrZMFsvxFGc_TKd-X4wosAVQIpl-6UHoNlzYBz6NzcL7SWZKQV9Q0f3FMJK/s1600/IMG_0498.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhArKjzeJ6Q7YbenS0bET2XtuoyIcAZof_U6J6D4GFrrl4QUzuOzvO15vJw4cpVG6ooVXxw_cYygtrZMFsvxFGc_TKd-X4wosAVQIpl-6UHoNlzYBz6NzcL7SWZKQV9Q0f3FMJK/s320/IMG_0498.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533160286404611506" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >a great big</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi14EVvCx-tRXcdzr2RZgndYS9EVZ2DqtbbazHk1k9XY_XliuV7XxBBYpE76gxmufE2zYhxsINVHV5n-il96cYDSexEgIKipIF7tfnblIhhxICThqe1MjaIYBJXqFpJ4fSVIUPg/s1600/IMG_0499.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi14EVvCx-tRXcdzr2RZgndYS9EVZ2DqtbbazHk1k9XY_XliuV7XxBBYpE76gxmufE2zYhxsINVHV5n-il96cYDSexEgIKipIF7tfnblIhhxICThqe1MjaIYBJXqFpJ4fSVIUPg/s320/IMG_0499.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533160297293172962" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">THISTLE</span></span><br /></div><br />I suppose it's a combination of the mild climate, with warm summers and cool, wet winters that don't really get snow, that makes this area ideal for growing food crops. When I was little, much of the land that is now given to grape vines was fruit trees or nut trees, but I guess grapes are more lucrative and so that's what everyone plants instead. I'm just glad that there are still yards and small farms and pockets of non-grape things here and there.MLEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09301902783411290755noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19036375.post-3199337017664535982010-10-18T18:44:00.003-06:002010-10-18T19:08:02.292-06:00I made this<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://i775.photobucket.com/albums/yy38/pantalonesdelfuego/IMG_0447.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 800px;" src="http://i775.photobucket.com/albums/yy38/pantalonesdelfuego/IMG_0447.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://i775.photobucket.com/albums/yy38/pantalonesdelfuego/IMG_0442.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 800px;" src="http://i775.photobucket.com/albums/yy38/pantalonesdelfuego/IMG_0442.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://i775.photobucket.com/albums/yy38/pantalonesdelfuego/IMG_0444.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 800px; height: 600px;" src="http://i775.photobucket.com/albums/yy38/pantalonesdelfuego/IMG_0444.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://i775.photobucket.com/albums/yy38/pantalonesdelfuego/IMG_0440.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 800px; height: 600px;" src="http://i775.photobucket.com/albums/yy38/pantalonesdelfuego/IMG_0440.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://i775.photobucket.com/albums/yy38/pantalonesdelfuego/IMG_0437.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 800px; height: 600px;" src="http://i775.photobucket.com/albums/yy38/pantalonesdelfuego/IMG_0437.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://i775.photobucket.com/albums/yy38/pantalonesdelfuego/IMG_0435.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 800px; height: 600px;" src="http://i775.photobucket.com/albums/yy38/pantalonesdelfuego/IMG_0435.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://i775.photobucket.com/albums/yy38/pantalonesdelfuego/IMG_0430.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 800px;" src="http://i775.photobucket.com/albums/yy38/pantalonesdelfuego/IMG_0430.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://i775.photobucket.com/albums/yy38/pantalonesdelfuego/IMG_0431.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 800px;" src="http://i775.photobucket.com/albums/yy38/pantalonesdelfuego/IMG_0431.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://i775.photobucket.com/albums/yy38/pantalonesdelfuego/IMG_0429.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 800px;" src="http://i775.photobucket.com/albums/yy38/pantalonesdelfuego/IMG_0429.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://i775.photobucket.com/albums/yy38/pantalonesdelfuego/IMG_0424.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 800px;" src="http://i775.photobucket.com/albums/yy38/pantalonesdelfuego/IMG_0424.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />A reconnection with an old friend.<br /><br />A move to a different state.<br /><br />A bucket of flowers delivered to our house.<br /><br />4 bouquets, 3 boutonnieres, 3 arrangements.<br /><br />One happy bride. One happy me.MLEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09301902783411290755noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19036375.post-78011242536171219902010-10-13T14:26:00.004-06:002010-10-13T19:57:18.969-06:00Memory LaneOne of the things that we discovered when we arrived here in the 'dale is that my mom left a bunch of my stuff in the house, things she'd been keeping for me since I moved out to go to college. I spent a few hours looking through old yearbooks and old schoolwork and old literary magazines (complete with poem by <a href="http://streaksonthechina.blogspot.com">Sara</a> entitled My Hands!), through the basket of letters I received during the summer after my freshman year in college, and reading through all of the old school newspapers I'd saved for some bizarre reason. I found a VHS tape of my High School Video Yearbook that may be some time before I get to watch, since I don't know if I know anyone with a functional VHS player. And I found this stuff.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEHlvamV_O_S3gIw4CLkKfBS1gtqLPeI4hSuj27FeimIhet800iQSO3yhMOuKW25bvtt-tEuyOD5aaNaLEy3dX1FVR5K5XeRO0Kd5eHv0UWtCiBWe8J1tJs0YEdGs5Vo6d-8ZB/s1600/IMG_0381.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEHlvamV_O_S3gIw4CLkKfBS1gtqLPeI4hSuj27FeimIhet800iQSO3yhMOuKW25bvtt-tEuyOD5aaNaLEy3dX1FVR5K5XeRO0Kd5eHv0UWtCiBWe8J1tJs0YEdGs5Vo6d-8ZB/s320/IMG_0381.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5527701954165858482" /></a><br /><br />"Carlitos" was an exercise I had to do in one of my Spanish classes, though why it has someone else's name on it (on the top of the page, above the photo), I have no idea. In case you can't see what I wrote in each of the bubbles, I'll provide both the Spanish and the English translation.<br /><br />Panel 2: "¿Por favor, tengo quiero usar el baño?" (Please, I have to want to use the bathroom?) (It should have been, "Por favor, ¿puedo usar el baño?", or Please, can I use the bathroom?)<br />Panel 3: "¡Pero es muy importante! ¡Necesito ir al baño AHORA!" (But it's very important! I have to go to the bathroom NOW!)<br />Panel 4: "¡Ay Caramba! Es demasiado tarde." (Oh noes! It's too late.)<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVKR7vIC07xp_Lg0X4JAoLAAFI0D3BH1oLtqtuoubfShhuyef9t4ZQ_BlRVeEzxnTqdkRH4UaE26gqrTrrrsePxT-S0tJBaH6d7hYBBTcSq-R9CChRmwKkB43M9pFRVar0xPJV/s1600/IMG_0380.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVKR7vIC07xp_Lg0X4JAoLAAFI0D3BH1oLtqtuoubfShhuyef9t4ZQ_BlRVeEzxnTqdkRH4UaE26gqrTrrrsePxT-S0tJBaH6d7hYBBTcSq-R9CChRmwKkB43M9pFRVar0xPJV/s320/IMG_0380.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5527701942773031682" /></a><br /><br />Me at a dance with High School Boyfriend at his school. Perhaps Valentine's Day? I'm wearing a dress of my mom's circa 1970, a silver peace sign necklace I got at the Renaissance Faire, and awesome white low-heeled pumps! It's a photo of a photo, so not exactly the most accurate representation, but you get the idea.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr8GIImFXQ4vo11L3r5Y_CdFuEFFywWHjbF1eMeFv0wjBRC44zeQnqf81zvXnBDgh8_RT4Dc6nffqRw4J-EF-L_2B9-jnkQrvwO0RZu1_Q9cmL09x2sRgCcYGAzWeOyeAweCCm/s1600/IMG_0383.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr8GIImFXQ4vo11L3r5Y_CdFuEFFywWHjbF1eMeFv0wjBRC44zeQnqf81zvXnBDgh8_RT4Dc6nffqRw4J-EF-L_2B9-jnkQrvwO0RZu1_Q9cmL09x2sRgCcYGAzWeOyeAweCCm/s320/IMG_0383.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5527701923664440082" /></a><br />From top left: Handmade doll with embroidered face, yarn hair, etc. I named Rose; Snoopy doll I got for having my birthday party at the Redwood Empire Ice Arena, the ice rink owned/operated by Charles Schultz and family; stuffed lamb sans one eye; small stuffed raccoon; baby doll that used to have a matching bonnet. I forget her name.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyUF1itHo4Yq1fGkRADJKRXM6lbpOGI59xgOH76XK6ss12ket3hI4S-b47c1E36ABUQmJjY6waKq_4W5SnvHpqXkhHl06rywhuPZxP031HYvZXDArlKhvDYRauEh6t3T41f9eI/s1600/IMG_0382.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyUF1itHo4Yq1fGkRADJKRXM6lbpOGI59xgOH76XK6ss12ket3hI4S-b47c1E36ABUQmJjY6waKq_4W5SnvHpqXkhHl06rywhuPZxP031HYvZXDArlKhvDYRauEh6t3T41f9eI/s320/IMG_0382.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5527701917593864562" /></a><br />I could write an entire blog post on this alone, but I'll try to make a long story short. When I was first babysitting, I pretty much saved all of the money I made and used it to pay for camp in the summer. Eventually, I had made enough that I had a bit left over, and I decided to buy my very first pair of shoes myself. I was probably 13 or 14 years old, and up until that point, my parents had bought all of my clothes/shoes for me. I'd wanted a pair of Birkenstocks for a long time, and I finally had enough money to buy them for myself. So I did. <br /><br />As you can see, I wore these shoes all the time. I wore them with socks when it was cold and without when it was warm, and I love love loved them, as they were the most comfortable shoes ever (and to me, paying $80 for a pair of shoes felt totally obscene, so I was determined to get my money's worth out of them). When I bought them, they were a pretty slate blue, but as the years went by they faded to a dull grayish color. I didn't care, though; I still wore them all the time. I wore down the soles and wore out the toe and the heel, and eventually they started looking pretty ratty, but I couldn't imagine giving them up.<br /><br />The summer after high school graduation, my family went on our very first ever (and, it would turn out, only) family camping vacation. Our first stop was a campground someplace in the Western Sierras, and when we had the tent set up my sisters and I went for a walk down to the river, a tributary that would feed the American. Wearing my Birks, I climbed out onto a big rock to sit only to catch my right shoe on something. It fell off my foot and into the fast-moving snow melt runoff river.<br /><br />I was so sad. I felt like I'd lost my best friend, something that had been with me for so much of my teenage years, something that had cost me EIGHTY DOLLARS and I just couldn't bring myself to through the unlost shoe away.<br /><br />Something tells me that it has been long enough now. This is not moving with us to our next domicile.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir7NMqrKsgeC5UhnHSLvduYrs8R_RgrpK2pdhwOZO-MyNSH4saNdOZV5K-Ma-SadqO50yQygV8h5fe96-DVzDhNxbMH6axUktv20stlcTwxG6pMNJwOLlIJZLMT2aTLXGoNCv-/s1600/IMG_0377.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir7NMqrKsgeC5UhnHSLvduYrs8R_RgrpK2pdhwOZO-MyNSH4saNdOZV5K-Ma-SadqO50yQygV8h5fe96-DVzDhNxbMH6axUktv20stlcTwxG6pMNJwOLlIJZLMT2aTLXGoNCv-/s320/IMG_0377.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5527701910663040386" /></a><br /><a href="http://pantalonesdelfuego.blogspot.com/2007/12/piers-anthony-delorean-and-kicking.html"><br />I DID write an entire blog post about this one</a>. Here's the sole Piers Anthony newsletter I ever received, where I responded to the pen pal request for a certain Kent B Golden of Hamden, CT. Who knew that 16 years later I'd be <a href="http://pantalonesdelfuego.blogspot.com/2010/07/love-love-love.html">attending his wedding</a>?MLEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09301902783411290755noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19036375.post-89051633213548997492010-10-06T18:02:00.006-06:002010-10-06T20:45:54.051-06:00Justifiable Homicide<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWfqZryFgWAxca-PBWyTcKOKed0wjxKZ8Dipwn0NOS__d_5s1sKKjOC8jMPc_Jp-VphEaz7aXjWNqtS-7PzK5Ww1qz8zIByEuH7DHRyRSxIp8zUGckrExJU6SNw8MSZvw-gZSV/s1600/IMG_0386.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWfqZryFgWAxca-PBWyTcKOKed0wjxKZ8Dipwn0NOS__d_5s1sKKjOC8jMPc_Jp-VphEaz7aXjWNqtS-7PzK5Ww1qz8zIByEuH7DHRyRSxIp8zUGckrExJU6SNw8MSZvw-gZSV/s320/IMG_0386.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5525122543897435794" /></a><br />*<br /><br />One of the stipulations for getting to live in this big (mostly) empty house is that Dan and I agreed to help my mom out with some of the major projects that need to be accomplished to make the house sale- or rentable. Since we had no furniture, internet, or television for the first week+ we were here, we spent most of our time working on the first big project, which was to paint my sister's old bedroom. Somehow, back in the early '00s, my mom took leave of her senses and let my sister paint her bedroom red with black trim. The worst part is that the large built-in book case/desk units in the room were also black, which meant a lot of small fiddly painting, and because the room was mostly red and black, we knew that it wasn't a matter of just a simple coat of paint. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE6LtO86cZUEsnAyXQx2_4JRLc-UkJi5LFFaQag4uS6vRgUzR1nGdvUdn1hN_feReZPqu1VYgL_JyrCBOAo86Q5MptY2JajCRlcfZ3k-oKT85z_5MUZlk27iHixBmG3w5xgrcs/s1600/IMG_0348.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE6LtO86cZUEsnAyXQx2_4JRLc-UkJi5LFFaQag4uS6vRgUzR1nGdvUdn1hN_feReZPqu1VYgL_JyrCBOAo86Q5MptY2JajCRlcfZ3k-oKT85z_5MUZlk27iHixBmG3w5xgrcs/s320/IMG_0348.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5525123325623550578" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_yI6K8jThLzchkcpao7DSZJlf-1PUHB5sQPRlIjRlXw2P577I7pnZZMCRK0YIeJeTm8z61Fkd8wKaiIGq2BYuGeCN0UdzfzJMHLHpMO_PbslqRdQn1Za0UM3FlgpWJ7ytEd2x/s1600/IMG_0347.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_yI6K8jThLzchkcpao7DSZJlf-1PUHB5sQPRlIjRlXw2P577I7pnZZMCRK0YIeJeTm8z61Fkd8wKaiIGq2BYuGeCN0UdzfzJMHLHpMO_PbslqRdQn1Za0UM3FlgpWJ7ytEd2x/s320/IMG_0347.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5525121959168657506" /></a><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Before...</span><br /><br />We knew it was a big job, so we decided to consult an expert. A friend of mine worked for an independent paint store for many years, and knows more about paint and the paint business than anyone else I've ever met. I sent her an email describing the situation and asking for recommendations and advice, and she wrote me a novel in response that outlined all of our options and choices, with helpful commentary. The first thing we had to do when we got here was to check how many layers of paint were on the walls, since I knew there were at least three and maybe as many as 7 or 8, depending on how many times it had been painted since the last time it was stripped. (The house is pretty old, with at least 3 owners prior to my mom, so it was possible that we'd have lots and lots of old paint to deal with.) My friend had given me a plethora of options for paint stripping, so we were prepared to have the room closed off for many days while waiting for a stripper to do its job. When we did a bit of chipping away, however, we discovered some faux wood paneling on some of the walls covered with three layers of paint, so we knew stripping wouldn't be necessary.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAX1bXkJ8_LBl0uAKOUSsawR3M-TOx7rznB12PP2r3E7vSevWXyJQMWAv9IokkLmkUfVwk5YzUYSNP7yod6qT6F8Yrz6TUwGued7JOzOtljjrDJkxdMEzeDY_DNjzazC7g4zkK/s1600/IMG_0362.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAX1bXkJ8_LBl0uAKOUSsawR3M-TOx7rznB12PP2r3E7vSevWXyJQMWAv9IokkLmkUfVwk5YzUYSNP7yod6qT6F8Yrz6TUwGued7JOzOtljjrDJkxdMEzeDY_DNjzazC7g4zkK/s320/IMG_0362.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5525121946574482050" /></a><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Giant ball of used tape!</span><br /><br />The second thing we did was to go to the Ace Hardware in town, where my mom said was a list of all of the various paint colors she'd used in the house in the past 20-odd years she's been here. We decided to use the same color on the walls in the bedroom as in the hallway and living room ("Powdery mist", aka a light tan color) and all the trim in the same color ("linen") as the trim in the whole rest of the house. My friend had told me that if we didn't need to strip the paint, we would for sure need stain-blocking primer to help cover the black and red, and Ace was kind enough to tint it for us to match the color we'd eventually paint.<br /><br />So once we'd bought the tape our friend recommended ("The green stuff is cheaper and if your project is going to last a week or less, don't bother buying the blue stuff") and taped everything off and put down plastic, we began by priming all the red walls and all the black trim. And then we started on the first black built-in. Only a few minutes into our project, it was clear that Laurel was going to have to die for her sins. Painting every surface of every cubbyhole in that built-in was absolute torture - we had to do it all by hand, sharing the same bucket of primer, Dan doing the above bits (and only getting a little bit on my head), me doing the below bits (and cursing at the tedium).<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-zoKcMfEh_a9JIVYqR8CxG10HH6pfCyn1DowA19s8fuDPzqrSU9kSoliO5CIgNqxJ9t29YvOD4FSzLnGiuhTI1q1eG53vL87j5x0Z7OfaXGr3_3ZKJZEvAqh47dDlTZyXpwyD/s1600/IMG_0349.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-zoKcMfEh_a9JIVYqR8CxG10HH6pfCyn1DowA19s8fuDPzqrSU9kSoliO5CIgNqxJ9t29YvOD4FSzLnGiuhTI1q1eG53vL87j5x0Z7OfaXGr3_3ZKJZEvAqh47dDlTZyXpwyD/s320/IMG_0349.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5525121941808685922" /></a><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">2 coats of primer on walls, one coat of primer on built-in</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_nWotiWbAFTY649OYTp6akqsdHqOetBwe-DozEms286yEOYA0MkzYhlqQvO7AYax0eNquUTyJAGd5GgKHssEJg-71fsD2kw8hujoMwOkHDzi-IG2S3WfF2gnqjWg-PcVatMkl/s1600/IMG_0352.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_nWotiWbAFTY649OYTp6akqsdHqOetBwe-DozEms286yEOYA0MkzYhlqQvO7AYax0eNquUTyJAGd5GgKHssEJg-71fsD2kw8hujoMwOkHDzi-IG2S3WfF2gnqjWg-PcVatMkl/s320/IMG_0352.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5525121942664125634" /></a><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Trim primer'd, walls/built-ins painted</span><br /><br /><br />It was toward the end of the first coat of primer on the first built-in that we began to plot our revenge. And then we started on the second built-in, which has a desk and an underside that I had to lay on my back to reach, while primer dripped on my face, and the murderous fantasies began.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRhOfTrG1LikS2z5ftRFgEFuaqNxTYm_h9VQcPouU_orUOao9grkGAw9tzoFNAvH7yg_r-BPN_ltwCMDzU3wQ32MF880NGABP5zRq92XOX85j-ytKDIYHnyuJ0rYug0ek2gHaf/s1600/IMG_0350.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRhOfTrG1LikS2z5ftRFgEFuaqNxTYm_h9VQcPouU_orUOao9grkGAw9tzoFNAvH7yg_r-BPN_ltwCMDzU3wQ32MF880NGABP5zRq92XOX85j-ytKDIYHnyuJ0rYug0ek2gHaf/s320/IMG_0350.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5525122534190858098" /></a><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Walls painted, trim primer'd</span><br /><br />We ended up doing two coats of primer on everything, to ensure we wouldn't have to use a ton of (more expensive) paint, and then we did two coats of paint. So we painted each and every one of those built-ins over and over and over and by the last time, we had all kinds of elaborate torture situations dreamed up, and decided that my mom and the friend who helped her paint deserved horrible, horrible death as well. Finally, after working on it for several hours a day together, we finished the last touch-ups on the trim five days later.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrRJf9GiVy2q_SLETkydfTl2cUecC50JXn1VkYNa2z_lcZpSmg7LHuK8ZuM-tQmsAvQvdiJeRutkorKyWwsxMnNam-5I6_SiiHgybL24RguWXH8sZN6xtvw6wZ3OwgwMVFwANR/s1600/IMG_0365.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrRJf9GiVy2q_SLETkydfTl2cUecC50JXn1VkYNa2z_lcZpSmg7LHuK8ZuM-tQmsAvQvdiJeRutkorKyWwsxMnNam-5I6_SiiHgybL24RguWXH8sZN6xtvw6wZ3OwgwMVFwANR/s320/IMG_0365.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5525121957102261330" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL1pk2_c4t63ypO5nLoHwTTuN7kgcHymDSCLD5NweaaB1Yrq1lDyXcyb-W7t3rlioYHfOvrV-j8N55cnUEUffE_LMnbSdBapgFqn6KwfEHKmIvR7QxMYEhVjOEeJyO-Vbdk176/s1600/IMG_0366.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL1pk2_c4t63ypO5nLoHwTTuN7kgcHymDSCLD5NweaaB1Yrq1lDyXcyb-W7t3rlioYHfOvrV-j8N55cnUEUffE_LMnbSdBapgFqn6KwfEHKmIvR7QxMYEhVjOEeJyO-Vbdk176/s320/IMG_0366.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5525122540073674850" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwgIFBoLSazTayha0_kG-dwSGDwK1R4877K1XtejeThafRNQ_9SxZKsk302_MDmw_HPyq-fFTY-r2c8Fjgnh9aBDmgYn0JKAl8gfJQu2_zsT4_d-O0JuHFblw4eLrWDPgiXYLu/s1600/IMG_0364.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwgIFBoLSazTayha0_kG-dwSGDwK1R4877K1XtejeThafRNQ_9SxZKsk302_MDmw_HPyq-fFTY-r2c8Fjgnh9aBDmgYn0JKAl8gfJQu2_zsT4_d-O0JuHFblw4eLrWDPgiXYLu/s320/IMG_0364.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5525122536175265202" /></a><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">After!</span><br /><br />*<span style="font-style:italic;">Dan wrote the above poem using the fridge poetry. It really says everything that needs to be said about the sucketry of the paint project.</span>MLEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09301902783411290755noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19036375.post-27562529931216688202010-10-02T13:23:00.003-06:002010-10-02T21:19:13.015-06:00Princess Robin goes here<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigGHJAR0VvMEwxxhsTQQG4PUzl7dFKxPFRvxxlXedxVu63RkhLcZtT12MgRJP5pPeVf6LMTy_QzzDzb7w5GBIalS0psMBJgtyRzX6FE3hfvLh6qQB8uLnupyyT2sLybdGpDJwa/s1600/IMG_0358.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigGHJAR0VvMEwxxhsTQQG4PUzl7dFKxPFRvxxlXedxVu63RkhLcZtT12MgRJP5pPeVf6LMTy_QzzDzb7w5GBIalS0psMBJgtyRzX6FE3hfvLh6qQB8uLnupyyT2sLybdGpDJwa/s320/IMG_0358.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5523653856085272866" /></a><br /><br />It took Robin 8 months to be willing to walk on the floor from one room to another in our apartment in Denver, and that stopped pretty soon after we started tearing up the house packing and organizing and getting rid of furniture and such, especially since Loki was likewise stressed out and (of course) took it out on her by chasing her and generally being a butthole. I had some hope that when we moved to a new place, one that didn't already smell strongly of Loki (and Petra) everywhere, they'd each have a chance to carve out some territory and perhaps, if not become friends, they might at least get to the point of ignoring one another.<br /><br />The house we're in has a little bit of furniture (a bed and a dresser in one bedroom, a table in the kitchen) but it's mostly devoid of such and so Robin has decided that she's again not capable of walking from one room to another. Loki has already chased her a couple of times (and been admonished for it, of course) but it's understandable that he be stressed out in a strange house that probably still smells a little like my mom's cats, and there's no familiar furniture or belongings, so I can't blame him too much. Robin has taken to living on the refrigerator and has figured out how to open some of the empty kitchen cabinets and climb inside to hide from Loki/watch him from her high vantage point. We've been using the cat relax pheromone spray which I think helps some, but it's pretty funny that we essentially have to take Robin to the bathroom several times a day and close the door to allow her to use the cat box, and when she's in the bedroom with us and isn't sleeping on the bed with us, she's on the top of the dresser or exploring in the drawers. <br /><br />But mostly, Princess Robin (as we call her) lives here.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6przmUaDMI-plqa7e6aPlCNYPLYNfidSiTzH8JEwA7Gju6URFH7IiCps98p9FaNZycrLMxIE4FWNJAecAHHPndgItrN-Nc0PKBl9h6cZdvo7hawlLg8iQRJ-wwQnFaQXprXvU/s1600/IMG_0354.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6przmUaDMI-plqa7e6aPlCNYPLYNfidSiTzH8JEwA7Gju6URFH7IiCps98p9FaNZycrLMxIE4FWNJAecAHHPndgItrN-Nc0PKBl9h6cZdvo7hawlLg8iQRJ-wwQnFaQXprXvU/s320/IMG_0354.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5523653851487031522" /></a>MLEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09301902783411290755noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19036375.post-45265544962043458592010-09-30T17:58:00.002-06:002010-09-30T18:59:42.067-06:00RunaroundTwo things:<br /><br />Thing the first: I have discovered one of the drawbacks of not yet legally changing my last name. I put in a change-of-address form for me and for Dan when we left Denver late on Wednesday night, and got an email confirmation for both. Dan got his on Monday and, using that, was able to get a library card here in the 'dale for using internet on library computers, checking out books/movies, etc. But mine never came. And then my mom told me that when she moved out of the house, nearly 2 months ago, she'd put in a change of address for everyone with that last name at her Cloverdale address. So it's not only possible, but likely, that all of my mail is coming to Cloverdale and then getting forwarded to her new house. I've been to the post office here, and they couldn't really tell me anything. So in the meantime, I can't even get a library card because I have no proof of address. Harrumph.<br /><br />Thing the second: The moving company we used, ABS, promised me that a) it would take our stuff 5 business days to arrive at the terminal in Santa Rosa, and b) someone would call me during the time it was in transit to let me know what day to expect it, so I could rent a local truck and haul it up to Cloverdale. Today is 6 business days, and since nobody had called I called them this morning, only to learn that our stuff is in Sacramento, may be at the terminal tomorrow but probably not until Monday. Somehow, 5 business days and notice = 8 business days and no notice. I'm not very happy about spending another several days with a too-small, sort of uncomfortable bed, 2 uncomfortable chairs, a table that isn't for eating on so the top slides around and gets all wobbly if touched, no TV/computer/router for internet, not much kitchen stuff or clothing, etc., but we'll have to make do. Thank goodness Dan got a library card so we have books to read and DVDs to watch on the laptop!MLEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09301902783411290755noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19036375.post-21845111859289201852010-09-27T13:49:00.004-06:002010-09-27T14:57:07.909-06:00Full circleI never remember how much work it is to move until I do it. Packing, organizing, getting rid of stuff we don't want, shredding/destroying all that junk mail with personally identifying information (like those awful fake check things that credit cards send), and, of course the cleaning - it's all hours and hours and hours of unfun work. We spent weeks trying to get rid of things for money and then a couple of weeks trying to get rid of things for free, and some stuff still ended up in the alleyway or given to my cousin across the street or our upstairs neighbors. <br /><br />My last day of work was a Monday, and that evening I packed and organized and cleaned while Dan deposited the cats at his parents' house and retrieved his dad's big truck for hauling things. Tuesday, we loaded up the truck with boxes and assorted things four times, and Dan drove it up to the place where our 9 feet of trailer to be hauled by ABF lived, unloaded it, and played a life-sized game of Tetris to figure out how to fit everything into the allotted space in the best way. While Dan was out doing his bit, I stayed in the house doing more packing, organizing, and cleaning, fielding emails from craigslist from people who for sure wanted the stuff we were selling but never showed up to buy, and feeling totally weird because we were LEAVING the place we lived for over four years, and the state I'd lived for nearly 8 years, and the state Dan had lived in since before the age of two.<br /><br />We worked late into the evening on Tuesday, and got takeout pizza, and saw Julie and Steve for a few minutes, but were otherwise too tired to do anything. Wednesday we were up early and spent nearly an hour trying to figure out how to get the couch through the front door. After removing the feet, we finally got it, but it took some serious doing and both of our brains and brawn to accomplish. We did two or three more truckloads of furniture and random assorted stuff, and then Dan came back to help me with the remainder of the cleaning. And oh, internet, there was so much cleaning to be done - carpet shampooing and wall scrubbing and all manner of other surfaces that needed to be cleaned. (I was ridiculously glad that we'd already done the heavy kitchen cleaning like the oven and the greasy walls/cabinets and the fridge and all the blinds in the house the weekend before.) I scrubbed and wiped and washed and generally kept my hands in graspy claw position or squirt bottle trigger pose all day long, with the exception of when I helped load the truck. We were due for our walk-through with the landlords at 5 PM, and of course it rained that day (OF COURSE) and then the mop broke and we were just terribly behind and so we had to call them and tell them to push it back until 6. (I cleaned the laundry room floor, the kitchen floor, and the hallway floor ON MY HANDS AND KNEES WITH A RAG AND SIMPLE GREEN due to the mop incident.)<br /><br />They showed up sometime after 6:30. We still had to drive up to the truck center and finish playing life-sized Tetris with our stuff and tie it all down with rope but of course we had to wait for them, and then they wanted to chat about something or other, but finally Jenny wrote me a check for our pro-rated rent, we shoved all the stuff that would be going in the car with us into the truck (much of it going into a pillowcase that seemed to triple in size; the more we put in the more it held) and got goodbye monkey hugs from the 9-year-old next door and got in the truck and drove north.<br /><br />It took us until after 9:30 to finish loading the truck. I stood on things and lifted things and shoved things and finagled things and silently thanked myself for all the times I'd gone to the gym to lift weights in the last several years, because if I wasn't regularly lifting 40K pounds in a variety of ways using a variety of muscles, I don't think I would have been able to do everything I had to do in that dark truck in the rain late at night after days of lifting and twisting and bending and cleaning all the things. Finally, we managed to get everything into our allotted space, and tied down with rope so as not to have it move around too much, and finished the drive up to Dan's parents house. When we got there, I'd stiffened up and felt 120 years old, but we had one more job to finish - we'd traded beds with one of their guest beds, and so we brought our old mattress and box spring out of the truck and into the guest bedroom. The kitties were noticeably wigged out, and we each took some painkillers, ate some dinner that Dan's mom had kept warm for us, and fell into bed, completely exhausted.<br /><br />We got up before 7 the next morning in order to get all of our stuff out of the truck so Dan's dad could go to work, and it took us about 2 hours to figure out what all we'd be able to fit in the car, what would need to be mailed to us, and what could wait until spring when Dan's newly-retired parents come to visit us in California in their 5th wheel. After several calls to our vet, we'd finally gotten our hands on some kitty valium and hoped our car ride wouldn't be <a href="http://pantalonesdelfuego.blogspot.com/2010/07/fluids.html">too miserable</a> (if Loki can emit 3 fluids in a one-hour car ride, what can he do in 10 hours?) So we dosed the cats and shoved 'em in their carriers, made one last stop to Target and Petsmart for some road supplies, and officially began our trip to California around 10 AM.<br /><br />Somehow, the kitty drugs and the kitty calming spray we'd picked up seemed to do the trick, and Wyoming and Utah passed with only one poop incident, no pee, and no barf. There wasn't even much yowling after the first hour or so, just two really high kitties. I didn't take any photos, since we've done the drive several times, and mostly we just listened to music, checked on the cats, and only had to stop a couple of times for gas/pee/$5 footlong. I'd planned to do some knitting on a baby blanket for an October baby, but my hands and forearms hurt so much from the overuse of the previous days that I couldn't even grasp the needles without yelping in pain, so I did nothing but do my best to entertain Dan, who did all the driving. I tried to get the cats to drink some water and use the box during one of our stops, but neither of them were interested in either option, so we just let them be until we pulled into the Motel 6 in Wendover, UT, checked in, sprayed some kitty spray in the room, and let 'em out. Luckily, the drugs were wearing off right around that time and so they both spent time exploring, eating, drinking, and using the box we set up in the bathroom.<br /><br />We set out early on Friday for the remainder of our drive, only to realize that the car was making a funny noise and the lights were sort of flickering, which scared us. Serendipitously, Wendover has a plethora of places to get your car looked at, since it's right next to the Bonneville Salt Flats (where people come to drive cars really really really fast). We had to wait until 8 AM for one of them to open, and when it finally did, the guy poked around under the hood and declared us OK to drive. "One of the police cars in town was doing that for years," he told us, and surmised that our alternator (the one we just had replaced), while functional, was responsible for the noise and the flickering. I figure that once one of us is employed that we'll have it swapped out again for a different one.<br /><br />Friday's drive was quite a bit hotter than Thursday's, and because we didn't get an early a start for the actual drive, the cats were drugged for a good chunk of the morning that wasn't drive time. They protested quite a bit more toward the end of the drive, when our only accessible atlas steered us in a weird direction when we were trying to avoid rush hour traffic on highway 101. We ended up coming up the back way, through Napa Valley, and across to Geyserville on 128, where construction stopped us for 10 minutes at one point (after we'd been in the car for over 10 hours, and the kitty valium had worn off, and the sun was in our eyes and it was still really hot). Finally, just as the sun went down, we made it to Cloverdale.<br /><br />So here I am again, sitting in the Cloverdale Public Library using the free wireless. It's hot; yesterday it was in the mid-90s here, and I am more than ready for summer to be OVER. I haven't lived here since 1996, and I'm kind of having a difficult time not feeling like a failure. We tried to make this move for over a year but had no luck finding jobs, so we hope that being here will make that part easier, even if we are currently 90 minutes away from where we'd like to be living. We're doing some things to help my mom fix up her house and yard in order to get it in saleable or rentable condition, and the cats seem to be enjoying exploring the new space. My mom left some of my things from high school and earlier times (dolls, stuffed toys, my baby book) in the house, which I guess I'll have to decide what to do with when we leave. We're both going to be job hunting like mad after we finish the painting portion of our time in the house, and our stuff will arrive sometime this week, after which we'll have to rent a truck for a day to clear it out of the trailer and haul it up here. And in a couple of weeks, I'll be doing flowers for a high school friend's wedding, which I'm really excited about. For now, it's kind of like we're camping in a house - we don't have TV or internet, and we have two chairs which are only sort of comfortable to sit on. The table isn't really an eating table, and we're limited in our cookware, but we'll make do with what we have. And so far, we've been playing a lot of gin in the evenings.<br /><br />Anybody out there who'd like to put out some good thoughts in the universe for us, that we find jobs in the Bay Area soon and get to move into a place of our own, they'd be much appreciated. In the meantime I'll be exploring the county where I grew up, and trying to find the good in our situation. At least we're in California now, right?MLEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09301902783411290755noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19036375.post-15332749289558891182010-09-20T15:44:00.004-06:002010-09-20T16:14:45.796-06:00Big ChangeEvery couple of years, my work does a partial-day staff retreat during which time people take a personality test and find out their colors. People are categorized into blue, gold, green, and orange based on which "color" shows up most in their test. I'm not entirely sure what sort of system the test is based upon, but I do know that over the 6+ years I've worked here, my results have come up the same: equally blue and green, some orange, almost no gold. Blue = people person, empathy Green = science, data, results Gold = neat, organized Orange = change, excitement<br /><br />Or some shit like that.<br /><br />Anyhow, last year I took the test for probably the 4th time and orange had jumped up to be just about equal with blue and green in my results. Which meant that the part of me that craves change and challenges was crying out to be heard.<br /><br />Or some shit like that.<br /><br />I sat with the miniscule "orange" group that day though 2 other colors were equally represented in my results (it's apparently rare for orange people to stay long in the type of organization I work for) and thought to myself that it had been far, far too long since there had been any sort of change, positive or negative, in my life. "I need to fix that, some time in the next year," I thought to myself.<br /><br /><br />* * * * *<br /><br /><br />Today is my last day at a job at which I have worked for more than six years, at a place of employment at which I have worked for 7 years.<br /><br />I'm equally gleeful, terrified, sad, and hopeful (about the future). There are some people who work at my job whom I will miss, but I'm really looking forward to doing something else now, thanks. Change is good, and because I've worked here so long my vacation and sick time payout means we'll have some money to live on until we both get fabulous jobs in California. Right?<br /><br />I haven't done anything this seat-of-the-pants crazy since I up and moved to Colorado back in January of 2003, so it's about damn time. <br /><br />So, to recap:<br /><br />Last day of work<br />We move on Thursday. To California. To the house in which I grew up. We have no jobs lined up, though we do have a couple of good leads (plus I've got a wedding I'm doing mid-October).<br /><br />The last month has brought enormous change to our lives. We went basically a whole year in which nothing of note happened (other than Petra dying and acquiring Robin). Then, we made the decision to move and after that things started happening. Dan's grandma died. I heard from several people from whom I've not heard in years. Plus some other stuff that I'm not ready just yet to write about.<br /><br />Dear orange part of me, it's your time to shine. Make it count.MLEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09301902783411290755noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19036375.post-59618854418338502722010-09-10T14:06:00.004-06:002010-09-10T15:17:09.957-06:00The last danceI've been going to this class at my gym for the last few months. It's a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zumba">Zumba</a> class, and a friend who used to take the weights class with Deb recommended it. I took my first class back in May and I was hooked, and this whole summer, on Thursday evening and Friday at 11:30 AM, I've been shimmying and bopping and otherwise moving my body to Latin and Bollywood and African and Egyptian music with a group of other people who like to dance. Zumba has been a great workout, and I really like the instructor.<br /><br />Today I took my last Zumba class at my gym. And next week, I'll go in for the last time, say hi to Kenny and Sam at the desk, grab my towel, log in to the FitLinxx kiosk, perform some sort of cardiovascular activity while listening to music, go back downstairs to shower and change, and say goodbye to everyone there. Because on September 22, Dan and I are moving to California.<br /><br />I joined the YMCA in August of 2004. It was right after I'd started at my current job, and I realized that I was just not happy with the amount of regular exercise I was getting. I'd been in the habit of walking stairs with some of my coworkers, but when I took the new job I moved to a different building, in the basement with only a few other people around, and walking the stairs there just wasn't as interesting. My clothes were tight and I was feeling all-around bleah, so I decided to check out the Y which at the time was across the street and half a block down from where I worked. <br /><br />Over the course of the last several years, the Y has become my <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Third_place">third place</a>, the place at which I feel most comfortable and spend the most time other than at home or at work. I've seen trainers come and go; I've seen other gym patrons get pregnant and have babies and get pregnant again and have second babies. I've taken a plethora of classes: yoga, mat pilates, cardio salsa, qi gong, step, cardio/weights, weights, and Zumba. I've <a href="http://pantalonesdelfuego.blogspot.com/2009/11/moment.html">made friends</a> and <a href="http://pantalonesdelfuego.blogspot.com/2009/09/heat-makes-knitting-less-than-fun.html">knitted blankets for babies</a> and <a href="http://pantalonesdelfuego.blogspot.com/2008/05/may-day.html">gotten injured</a>. I've gone there nearly every work day for an hour or more a pop and sometimes twice for over six years. That's a lot of time by anyone's standards. So what have I gained?<br /><br />Peace of mind. Stress relief. A reason to get up out of my chair at work. Something I do for myself, on nearly a daily basis. Physical and mental health. A place where I could keep track of some sort of life progress, even if it was only a machine telling me how many hours of cardiovascular activity and how much weight I'd lifted in the past day, week, month, year, lifetime. The gym membership has been worth every penny I've paid for it, every month of the last 73. I've lost weight and gained weight and gotten way, way stronger and it's all been such a big part of my everyday existence that I know I'm not even going to know how much I will miss it until we are gone and I'm not in there every day, getting high fives and smiling at Cate's baby bump and sweating while I move my body around.MLEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09301902783411290755noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19036375.post-37128747402903188422010-09-07T09:45:00.006-06:002010-09-07T10:23:56.960-06:00Charming Billy<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtL05lEFdM7hF4llRBmErD7_HLPsTTk8IQSuwe7TOC2GxWjJ7-VA-alCAbSYM9hkuDOLZhIOky1U9UyvvuNq4aLjnzEcP9xFNKbpcFpXeoHbblAUER_ocsIqBnSWsJadDqOWly/s1600/Picture+09+1190.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtL05lEFdM7hF4llRBmErD7_HLPsTTk8IQSuwe7TOC2GxWjJ7-VA-alCAbSYM9hkuDOLZhIOky1U9UyvvuNq4aLjnzEcP9xFNKbpcFpXeoHbblAUER_ocsIqBnSWsJadDqOWly/s320/Picture+09+1190.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514207340407718610" /></a><br /><br />The last couple of weeks of June, I watched as the sour pie cherries on the tree outside a business on my route to/from work went from zero to bright red. I waited and waited and watched and sampled and then, the first week of July, just before we went on our trip, I sprang into action.<br /><br />It was after work one day, hot and dusty, and I asked Dan to accompany me to the tree. I brought a reusable plastic container and hoped I'd be able to fill it with only the gleanings from the branches that stuck over the fence. (Most of the tree, and therefore most of the cherries, were out of reach of passers-by.) First I picked, and then Dan picked what I couldn't reach, and each cherry plopped a satisfying plop into the container. I nabbed every cherry that seemed ripe, and Dan grabbed every cherry he could reach, and we ended up with several cups of cherries.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitBGmXWy_lG6HFBQk3Yrg8FX5cG4kwXZfpEhWbXgofMCjWjYU0UU7fBj_C-75lWqn195Lo_UYBhSDDA4G7GIwOJsY_zY8OjKGXfKmrjklKQD08eVYtyWp8c6Vnw3kkrX5wA87v/s1600/Picture+09+1191.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitBGmXWy_lG6HFBQk3Yrg8FX5cG4kwXZfpEhWbXgofMCjWjYU0UU7fBj_C-75lWqn195Lo_UYBhSDDA4G7GIwOJsY_zY8OjKGXfKmrjklKQD08eVYtyWp8c6Vnw3kkrX5wA87v/s320/Picture+09+1191.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514207346810219090" /></a><br /><br />We walked home, stolen fruit in hand, and I washed, pitted, and stemmed the cherries, then set them out individually on trays to freeze. My original intention had been to use them right away, but this summer was hot, hot, hot. I think we maybe only turned on the oven two or three times in three months.<br /><br />Once the cherries were frozen, I dumped 'em into a ziplock and there they sat, mocking me each time I pulled out a handful of walnuts or got ice for my drink. "Use us," they purred. "You know you want us. It is our destiny!" "Quiet, you," I told them. "It's still too hot for the oven."<br /><br />It was too hot all through the parts of July that we were home, and it was too hot all through August. On September 1 I awoke to what felt a bit like a change in season, a crispness to the air, and decided I'd make a cherry pie on Friday. Except Friday, and then Saturday, and then Sunday, were all far too hot to consider the prospect of the oven. Colorado weather teased me, keeping that sour cherry pie just out of reach, each red beauty icy and tantalizing when I'd open the freezer door.<br /><br />I decided enough was enough, and yesterday afternoon it wasn't miserably hot, so I pulled the cherries out of the freezer, tossed 'em with some sugar, some corn starch, and a wee bit of salt, and let them sit and defrost for over an hour.<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQjTUELGxYG4tXddo4_v2IECYb93QDj6_OpRr9i5DpWdsQpjNYBFJrak41-gxU0WzV0g3uspqSustBnFByHxtbZ9JUB0W7-4k6aEBqH7f-epBUsP2Wm6Rzyw7MxIRjtqmMTRpT/s1600/Picture+09+1194.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQjTUELGxYG4tXddo4_v2IECYb93QDj6_OpRr9i5DpWdsQpjNYBFJrak41-gxU0WzV0g3uspqSustBnFByHxtbZ9JUB0W7-4k6aEBqH7f-epBUsP2Wm6Rzyw7MxIRjtqmMTRpT/s320/Picture+09+1194.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514207353308298706" /></a><br /><br />Meanwhile, I made a pie crust and stuck it in the fridge. I decided on <a href="http://smittenkitchen.com/2010/07/sour-cherry-pie-with-almond-crumble/">this recipe</a>, though I did tweak it a bit. Once the filling was pink and squishy, I squelched it into the crust and used the oat/almond topping from the recipe, and then I shoved it in the oven for about an hour.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8n7QGb2q582EGDy-cl3dj96A45NCsMhvbTSL2JIYpCiPPxKvVN3QsWakN_APcy7m441lC6bqbtqNP0eJJjByAWUTBFvtn9tlJ58wTPHlpIDCDO3wwlzhxambCnA4mHqaekSvP/s1600/Picture+09+1195.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8n7QGb2q582EGDy-cl3dj96A45NCsMhvbTSL2JIYpCiPPxKvVN3QsWakN_APcy7m441lC6bqbtqNP0eJJjByAWUTBFvtn9tlJ58wTPHlpIDCDO3wwlzhxambCnA4mHqaekSvP/s320/Picture+09+1195.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514207360351149074" /></a><br /><br />Except about 50 minutes in, I started smelling something...burnt-ish. And then I cursed myself for forgetting to stick a cookie sheet under the pie. I hastily shoved one onto the bottom rack, but it was too late for the hapless goo left to burn on the bottom of the oven. Yum.<br /><br />After dinner, Dan and I each had a piece of purloined cherry pie. It was one of the best pies I'd ever made.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc2i9x9LgBYfnrmk9Icr4381Vc-3gAVx_MC3PZvFGuBAPKgfJR1CkuywX1Wfw8ynDTyqBjvY8Oub2WW4A3uv7s9cT1j5z16xqnADOZ6cpU-SaNvssA1TqObNu3F8x0W1tPxePO/s1600/Picture+09+1198.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc2i9x9LgBYfnrmk9Icr4381Vc-3gAVx_MC3PZvFGuBAPKgfJR1CkuywX1Wfw8ynDTyqBjvY8Oub2WW4A3uv7s9cT1j5z16xqnADOZ6cpU-SaNvssA1TqObNu3F8x0W1tPxePO/s320/Picture+09+1198.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514207366064619186" /></a>MLEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09301902783411290755noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19036375.post-27505137610845972142010-08-17T15:40:00.006-06:002010-08-17T16:05:59.100-06:00A Burg, A Boone, 2 villes, and Team Chaos<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIUITqYv_-LQleHZRcaIMDxF6FZAUYdG7B5AmMCnGHt4eiM_Fp3bKxad5DSZ4oMChDUsbUxOUO4C1EWB7fe_5qNj2m2GDaC5Wv77LXWRLv4S20VNzdQ9nhKf6HZPt9PhR81tRx/s1600/Picture+09+1179.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506498002393879970" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIUITqYv_-LQleHZRcaIMDxF6FZAUYdG7B5AmMCnGHt4eiM_Fp3bKxad5DSZ4oMChDUsbUxOUO4C1EWB7fe_5qNj2m2GDaC5Wv77LXWRLv4S20VNzdQ9nhKf6HZPt9PhR81tRx/s320/Picture+09+1179.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />OK, so it's been a while. I had three crazy weeks (work-related) and then I took Friday off as a mental health day and it's been hard for me to get back in the swing of blogging. It's been nearly a month since we got home from our trip, but I promised I'd finish the recaps, so I will.<br /><br />We left Philadelphia on a Monday afternoon and drove for several hours until we reached western Virginia, going through Delaware and Maryland without getting out of the car, sitting in rush hour DC traffic, and finally making it to Harrisonburg, VA, where there is noplace easy to camp (we found out the hard way after many false starts). We ended up having to backtrack 10 miles north to camp at an out-of-the-way KOA, with great facilities and (sadly) prices to match. It was rechristened "Suckburg, vol. 2" (a long story) and then I realized that I would have almost no juice in my phone so I called our friend in Boone to give hir a heads up regarding approximately when we might end up on hir doorstep. Thanks to our interest in adding just one more state (West Virginia) under our belts, what should have been 5-6 hours took more like 8 and we barely made it to Boone before B/T had to go to class.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdEflJeBZSWJl8cXACo13fAJYTgtr8VZ8y8S-yPvoV0PtTayVQi_3MHduglB4qhm19EBP8jZjUowQdIygW68UgkRNS07BhA_IEcW7C1YqCj58xTsvQmlVfqdfTnOXQmVkUayra/s1600/Picture+09+1171.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506497979931168018" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdEflJeBZSWJl8cXACo13fAJYTgtr8VZ8y8S-yPvoV0PtTayVQi_3MHduglB4qhm19EBP8jZjUowQdIygW68UgkRNS07BhA_IEcW7C1YqCj58xTsvQmlVfqdfTnOXQmVkUayra/s320/Picture+09+1171.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><em>Old fashioned gas pump at a gas station in White Sulpher Springs, WV<br /></em><br />It was hot, and we were totally sweaty and disgusting and the hummus went rancid and leaked all over everything in the back seat (including my shorts) so I rinsed 'em in the sink and we hustled downtown and found the Appalachian State campus, then parked our butts in the library for 3 hours and soaked up the air conditioning, comfortable seating, and reading material. Ahhhhh.<br /><br />I really enjoyed our visit with B/T, and Boone is beautiful, but damn it takes a long time to get there from anywhere. We were up and out relatively early in the morning after a home-cooked breakfast, and on our way to Asheville. After an hour's stop (during which time we bought cold iced caffeinated beverages from a bus/cafe and mostly wandered around), we headed to Nashville. We had a downtown wander there as well, poking around in some of the music stores and watching some people play instruments on the street, and then we drove through the rain to eat barbecue at a pretty swell place.<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihNc94QYWApI8A1UXBFPfzK8iCuC1P-nuJNQ5mVU8bqTHFGE-L6ijkeaSPpBCabvtanrrg5xh0BXNUjuU1uoD_pCxEwNmgHYmGh9ET_bDeoGiyNrwXVBBXQM3uZGIIgxSKA0OO/s1600/Picture+09+1173.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506497984918588370" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihNc94QYWApI8A1UXBFPfzK8iCuC1P-nuJNQ5mVU8bqTHFGE-L6ijkeaSPpBCabvtanrrg5xh0BXNUjuU1uoD_pCxEwNmgHYmGh9ET_bDeoGiyNrwXVBBXQM3uZGIIgxSKA0OO/s320/Picture+09+1173.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><em>Coffee bus!<br /></em><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipvfnLvMpKfXj1GQThv77VXyFyHUVzYRmdFFfucGis77xlQ4uQk-ELB0jVzYKv6W8CFbPQZAyvJgvyks3mvHqaLTcuoh3-n6OU4r_ZSNN4RqmWatk4zLVWpSDBZoM64V59Znqy/s1600/Picture+09+1177.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506497994267592882" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipvfnLvMpKfXj1GQThv77VXyFyHUVzYRmdFFfucGis77xlQ4uQk-ELB0jVzYKv6W8CFbPQZAyvJgvyks3mvHqaLTcuoh3-n6OU4r_ZSNN4RqmWatk4zLVWpSDBZoM64V59Znqy/s320/Picture+09+1177.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><em>Like the Vegas strip, only with more country music and fewer people with gambling problems.<br /></em><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0nt1HA68ktLL5Y7ZSoJY-QiLKN5-DLNgMq0gGb0vU_jhXBJzNOfqfNyB_dQrh8PJrEF-ETt4YhyrTa2VuDN06DsQIOWFDOTKpX-cirgnL5IP38SOAvC_mKG01JFFR7h1Aajgb/s1600/Picture+09+1181.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506498011543021954" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0nt1HA68ktLL5Y7ZSoJY-QiLKN5-DLNgMq0gGb0vU_jhXBJzNOfqfNyB_dQrh8PJrEF-ETt4YhyrTa2VuDN06DsQIOWFDOTKpX-cirgnL5IP38SOAvC_mKG01JFFR7h1Aajgb/s320/Picture+09+1181.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><em>All this for less than 20 bucks.</em><br /><br />We had some additional camping snafus after sitting in some bizarre traffic in the middle of nowhere, but eventually (like, way way past dark) made it to a campground in that tiny piece of western Kentucky near Paducah that's also right next to Illinois and Tennessee, near Land Between the Lakes. It was hot and gross and we were hot and tired and miserable, but the campsite was free and nowhere near any noise other than insects and frogs, so that was something at least.<br /><br />In the morning, we ate at some low-rent Denny's style chain called Huddle House in Metropolis, IL which is of course where there's a giant Superman statue. So we had to stop there.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_MjtLUmpbIKfiW4Kvvxjn_5tAnNlGRpzBwSDSeVN-MPmtTGJbGpHhnR-vcAFOUWcUnBWedzYgEffjXysfZltBI4aYUFdANeSuabiXrgeMNnW4ZAYF3J_a2gU5j7Wxsl9Tl7q9/s1600/Picture+09+1184.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506500054499742146" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_MjtLUmpbIKfiW4Kvvxjn_5tAnNlGRpzBwSDSeVN-MPmtTGJbGpHhnR-vcAFOUWcUnBWedzYgEffjXysfZltBI4aYUFdANeSuabiXrgeMNnW4ZAYF3J_a2gU5j7Wxsl9Tl7q9/s320/Picture+09+1184.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><em>Superman is pretty big.<br /></em><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN_MllTZBOBDV1j7vFNqYpj2pqy0aFeIkYdlQc3-UKHKTARu6ocvON0rKg0or11PkGSkCmwFpX29taWAydEY5ycMiiqeJKu4Pc3_7pmGxapJ1aQp6Q7aO6XC4OWY3vRa_DMcmG/s1600/Picture+09+1188.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506500058216453682" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN_MllTZBOBDV1j7vFNqYpj2pqy0aFeIkYdlQc3-UKHKTARu6ocvON0rKg0or11PkGSkCmwFpX29taWAydEY5ycMiiqeJKu4Pc3_7pmGxapJ1aQp6Q7aO6XC4OWY3vRa_DMcmG/s320/Picture+09+1188.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><em>Sadly, his junk leaves something to be desired.<br /></em><br />We took a long, hot detour through southcentral Illinois and had some more bad luck with food stuff in St. Louis and then came the long, long, long hot slog across Missouri. We stopped twice along the way to steal internet from Days Inns along the side of the road (B/T had a laptop cord we were able to use to power up the laptop) and try to figure out where we were going to stay. A $40 La Quinta room (yes, next to Denny's) with A/C and a bed and a shower sounded like heaven, so we booked it and drove there, cleaned up, and went to dinner in a different part of Kansas City at a great restaurant recommended by <a href="http://averagejane.blogs.com/">Average Jane</a>. We enjoyed our dinner with AJ and her husband and went back to our hotel room to vegetate.<br /><br />In the morning, we met up with <a href="http://rancidraves.blogspot.com/">Cagey</a> and Team Chaos at a Denny's that was (again) next to a (different) La Quinta and had a great breakfast. Team Chaos were fun and funny and Cagey was delightful and it was just what we needed to start our last travel day. Which was long and hot and gross once again, driving all the way across Kansas and through Colorado back home.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg66TFKYUua0k9DFKUT4ItIwzKttQMNyKwX_CaglBL2Gnb8OL8qYYjRAwhvmGVub81vV3WiVWpe-GRZzl31e6HX2f2Cr5lt6GA-f2iMF2R0xmgylwvsISI0COhIdE-ydTNryVO8/s1600/Picture+09+1189.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506500065320377714" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg66TFKYUua0k9DFKUT4ItIwzKttQMNyKwX_CaglBL2Gnb8OL8qYYjRAwhvmGVub81vV3WiVWpe-GRZzl31e6HX2f2Cr5lt6GA-f2iMF2R0xmgylwvsISI0COhIdE-ydTNryVO8/s320/Picture+09+1189.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><em>Arun Macaroon and Peanut Butter Anjali!</em><br /><br />So here's the rundown of the trip, in numbers:<br />States visited (driven through or stopped in): 20<br />States set foot, ate, slept, or peed in: 17<br />Miles: ~5,000<br />Awesome last-minute Travelocity hotel deals located: 3<br />License plates seen: 46 states, plus 5 Canadian provinces (only missing North Dakota, Oregon, Vermont, Montana) (yes, we got Alaska and Hawaii!)<br />Friends visited with: 16 plus 3 kiddos<br />Friends we missed: <a href="http://mennogirl.wordpress.com/">Abby</a>, <a href="http://eekshecried.tumblr.com/">EEK</a><br />Animals killed: One that we know of. We think it was a muskelid of some sort that ran right in front of the car, no way to swerve. :(<br /><br />Trip: awesome.MLEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09301902783411290755noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19036375.post-91135866107393025152010-07-27T14:19:00.008-06:002010-07-27T19:59:41.780-06:00Love, love, love<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXdWDdI5rAN4atBtKtgSugvAtjsbtbbRPdYHgIqdCPpaCqcAuykQp36ktYoO0e1ZQgqczXjWus7dGg6dlts9th-ucB2mnJS0qgxObDxI46MAgaS-Q8f-IOUBedvOeN6U0sKkIL/s1600/Picture+09+1150.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXdWDdI5rAN4atBtKtgSugvAtjsbtbbRPdYHgIqdCPpaCqcAuykQp36ktYoO0e1ZQgqczXjWus7dGg6dlts9th-ucB2mnJS0qgxObDxI46MAgaS-Q8f-IOUBedvOeN6U0sKkIL/s320/Picture+09+1150.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498702869630891506" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br />aka Road trip, part IV<br /><br />Pennsylvania is big, you guys. Big, big, big. New Jersey isn't nearly so big, but in a hot, humid car with no A/C it still felt long. It took us about five hours to get across Pennsylvania and 45 minutes or so to get across New Jersey, and then it took us an hour to go the last mile up to the toll plaza on the George Washington bridge. In 100 degrees and high humidity, and no A/C. It was pretty brutal.<br /><br />We finally made it across and into Manhattan, but despite our parking fears we managed to find a spot on the street in the West Village that cost $2.50 an hour until 7 PM. Not at all bad. We collapsed in limp puddles in Washington Square Park for a little while, piggybacking on someone's unsecured wireless connection, and tried to do some sightseeing but were stymied by the oppressive heat and humidity. Eventually we escaped into a $tarbuck$ (I KNOW. NYC, and we went to STARBUCKS) to get some air conditioning and some cold drinks. My unsweetened passionfruit tea was delicious, and I only had to wait for 20 minutes in line to use the bathroom.<br /><br />We fed the meter one last time and hightailed it across the Village over to the East side, where we met a high school friend of Dan's for drinks with her boyfriend. A good time was had by all, up until someone at the next booth over spilled an entire beer down Dan's back. I only had two hard ciders but I was ridiculously tipsy (I guess maybe because of the day of heat/humidity in the car and out in Manhattan?) and we traipsed down to the southern part of the village, or maybe it was far northern Lower East Side, where we met my friend Purple Laura for dinner. I had a dish of cold noodles, salmon, and veggies because I couldn't stand the idea of eating anything hot. We spent the after-dinner portion of the evening in the bar next door, where Laura knew the bartender so our drinks were free. Woohoo!<br /><br />It took us quite a while to walk back to the car, and it was still probably in the 90s with super high humidity, and then we had to navigate back over to 9A and north to get ourselves to New Haven, but it was a Friday night in the summer and everybody was still trying to get the heck out of dodge so the drive took a really, really long time. I think it was after 1 AM when we finally got to our hotel in New Haven (which was, incidentally, a La Quinta, but next to IKEA not Denny's) and I had to shower in cold water before I could cool down enough to fall asleep, even with the air conditioning on full blast.<br /><br />The next day, Kent and Christine got married.<br /><br />We were up early because I'd volunteered to help with some reception set-up, so I had to meet Kent at the church and then we hauled stuff over to the park and Dan and I spent the morning putting out luminarias with LED candles to line the pathways in the park, and setting up the bug lanterns, and other assorted chores. Once we'd finished, we got mashed potato pizza at Bar and headed back to the hotel to shower and get ready for the wedding.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFqfleitwfGtcsWwnC4t9PTkHQQsLOjioaFMjOHoQWYMUNokRr_KROqjo-MFZKFXY_xBtnCMNmv1jU8_0nNQ9DZUE1tq5szb02jEKrBjEDaVhNZPrb2klEHH5hUlK_HsQN4qes/s1600/Picture+09+1129.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFqfleitwfGtcsWwnC4t9PTkHQQsLOjioaFMjOHoQWYMUNokRr_KROqjo-MFZKFXY_xBtnCMNmv1jU8_0nNQ9DZUE1tq5szb02jEKrBjEDaVhNZPrb2klEHH5hUlK_HsQN4qes/s320/Picture+09+1129.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498702838860034370" /></a><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">T<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">he park had these gorgeous bright blue hydrangeas right by the tent</span></span><br /><br />I learned merely days beforehand that I was also going to be an usher for the wedding, which was perfectly fine but somewhat unexpected. After Dan dropped me off, I set up the ice and the water bottles, and met my co-usher, and watched everyone run around the old church getting ready. I made sure the groom was elsewhere while the bride and her entourage scurried into the lounge and shut the door. I stood in front of one of the few fans that were going, as, you guessed it, the church didn't have air conditioning, either. And I handed out programs and showed people the guestbook and did the general sorts of things that ushers do at a church wedding.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgHdNy09m1n_SCBatG8wJMNTba9o5jrZaPS7BwK5diajVVzRgWvkPjpN0u18Y-QWDbVqlm4CoFLBMcNfbIVa77Xb4U2d1AcsXvPzeKZH7UBcBBnCMf3Gz546PcPXjV9KUlXaNL/s1600/Picture+09+1134.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgHdNy09m1n_SCBatG8wJMNTba9o5jrZaPS7BwK5diajVVzRgWvkPjpN0u18Y-QWDbVqlm4CoFLBMcNfbIVa77Xb4U2d1AcsXvPzeKZH7UBcBBnCMf3Gz546PcPXjV9KUlXaNL/s320/Picture+09+1134.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498702847063845522" /></a><br /><br />Finally, everyone had arrived and it was time to begin. I closed the doors, and then opened them for the bridesmaids, and then closed them again. I gave the bride a big grin and arranged her train and opened the doors again for her to walk down the aisle with her mom. It was all quite lovely, and I realized that I haven't been to a wedding in a church since 1997. Even that wasn't a church so much as a giant open conference-type room that had the word JESUS in huge script gold letters above the front bit. But this church, oh, this was the lovely New England church you think of when you think of New England churches. At least, it was for me. Kent's family's been getting married in this particular church for multiple generations, so that added something to the whole experience as well.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-66MvM71lMbuaLFBl_sjghW1eVo7kvZsyRuexyYb8PfHu5KAI8ejEwC0xHb-Nm1V4INiP9gevkcHWmfvhrPwSndi84r6lz1f9_tqEj8Ju93iCi4N1TkjzbojCUJWaYzhpdxzS/s1600/Picture+09+1148.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-66MvM71lMbuaLFBl_sjghW1eVo7kvZsyRuexyYb8PfHu5KAI8ejEwC0xHb-Nm1V4INiP9gevkcHWmfvhrPwSndi84r6lz1f9_tqEj8Ju93iCi4N1TkjzbojCUJWaYzhpdxzS/s320/Picture+09+1148.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498702864174757474" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i>Pen pals since 1994</i></span><br /><br />After the ceremony, I ran back to open the door and I was the first person (after the groom) to kiss the bride, so that was pretty good. Dan and I waited a while and then went through the receiving line, and Kent's parents nodded and smiled until they realized I was *that* Emily, the one who exchanged letters with their son for years. Then I got much bigger smiles and big hugs. We got in the car and drove to the reception area, and I bustled around making sure that all my last minute set-up duties were attended to. We met some of K&C's friends and attempted to keep cool by drinking large quantities of ice water, beer (in Dan's case) and white wine (mine), and we munched on cheese and crackers and fruit. Eventually the wedding party, including the bride and groom, showed up and they did everything in a completely different order than I was used to (first dance before anything else?). Additional differences noticed in My First East Coast Wedding: Everyone (including the bride and groom) changes into shorts and tank tops or t-shirts or otherwise casual clothing about an hour into the reception. I wish we'd known. Because that was the one true drawback of Kent and Christine's wedding: it was hot, it was humid, and I'd chosen a dress without really considering the consequences. It was a cute dress, but polyester is not a fabric you want to wear when you are sitting in 90+F heat and high humidity. Sweat dripped down my front and my back all afternoon and all evening. It was pretty gross.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgReSKPAzGOxhKtCBjii2rgoAmt4F8GVDAkgYnW0MJGMuGevMiYHWamuDt1eAZrpo455Eyyez0ajlXTT9AKMu49KAS6HSLrr6D45_RZgnhc0q4-Om3E7bUWjS03WMQFclreTvzj/s1600/Picture+09+1141.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgReSKPAzGOxhKtCBjii2rgoAmt4F8GVDAkgYnW0MJGMuGevMiYHWamuDt1eAZrpo455Eyyez0ajlXTT9AKMu49KAS6HSLrr6D45_RZgnhc0q4-Om3E7bUWjS03WMQFclreTvzj/s320/Picture+09+1141.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498702855249419362" /></a><br /><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Mister and Mrs!</span></i><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><i></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i><br /></i></span>But there was food, and there was drink, and there was dancing and karaoke and a DJ that embodied every stereotype you can possibly imagine a wedding DJ to have. Dan and I both sang karaoke, if you can believe it. Here's a photo of him to prove it.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeaSn_g3ZWWIuGFfXsxC-LgZnuVDbaXgafiN-72WVlmqXEW93_RxV1jmEzxuwlEiqsgmDDb9bEOx-Gsp5BUvQwd7gyWsyhyphenhyphenNHsb8Sdqzh9Tz7sZe2qe1zJlsa-MmOd4ELSe3Ae/s1600/Picture+09+1153.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeaSn_g3ZWWIuGFfXsxC-LgZnuVDbaXgafiN-72WVlmqXEW93_RxV1jmEzxuwlEiqsgmDDb9bEOx-Gsp5BUvQwd7gyWsyhyphenhyphenNHsb8Sdqzh9Tz7sZe2qe1zJlsa-MmOd4ELSe3Ae/s320/Picture+09+1153.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498704360585007618" /></a><br /><br />When the evening wound down, we went out to clean up all the paper bags and sand and LED candles, and help break everything down. It had been a great wedding, and a long day, and I was woe out.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6ajTko3iVsxYoIeX25ZZzYrC8sRfcXh5TABbGW2-MJUAsmWa0a7djnkRg6DLW-1cHjy0u8HN-hTSt-_z4u3miPncE0IAFx2z8gRHv0_8XKW43nk88UB5r6S3YXwvEgbzjlUkN/s1600/Picture+09+1151.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6ajTko3iVsxYoIeX25ZZzYrC8sRfcXh5TABbGW2-MJUAsmWa0a7djnkRg6DLW-1cHjy0u8HN-hTSt-_z4u3miPncE0IAFx2z8gRHv0_8XKW43nk88UB5r6S3YXwvEgbzjlUkN/s320/Picture+09+1151.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498704351738533906" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i>Longarm of me and the bride, snagged right before she changed.</i></span><br /><br /><br />We had talked about what to do on Sunday, and at first we'd planned to head back to Manhattan to spend more time there, but after spending days in the oppressive heat/humidity (I know I keep writing about this bit, but we are just NOT used to humidity AT ALL), but we decided that we'd rather spend time in NYC when we want to actually be outside walking around and not ducking into Starbucks to take advantage of the air conditioning. So instead, on Sunday morning we drove from New Haven to Philadelphia, having booked a hotel room in Philly the night before and having realized Sunday morning that the laptop cord wasn't functioning. I'd recently got back in touch with my friend Sazzy and let her know our estimated timetable for the trip, and when we were in New Jersey at a Dunkin' Donuts we called her to say we were on the way. "Come by the store!" she said, and she gave us directions to the brick-and-mortar version of her amazing store, <a href="http://sazzvintage.com/">Sazz Vintage</a>.<br /><br />Sazzy and I go back to the early days of 2000, when I was first on the message board where I met Dan. At one point, she went to South Africa and when she got back, she mailed me several beaded bracelets from a place called Ndebele. She was unable to attend the Chicago get-together that fall, so I was entrusted with the task of distributing the bracelets to female attendees who were interested in them. I still wear my Sazzy bracelet, all these years later, and I never thought I'd get a chance to actually meet her in person. But thanks to The Wonders Of The Internet, we were back in touch and she's in Philly with her awesome store and we wanted to go there anyhow and now we had someone to visit. Hooray!<br /><br />So we pulled into Old City and parked, and stopped in at the store first thing. After hugs and some chatting, Dan and I went out to explore Old City and some of Society Hill, and we started our <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/54742676@N00/sets/72157624448679167/">alphabet projec</a>t for Philadelphia. I managed to find the used bookstore I'd liked when I was in Philly before, but not the bar (sniff), and we decided to head back to Sazzy's store to arrange dinner plans. We drove down to the baseball stadium area, which is where our cheap hotel room was (in a Holiday Inn this time, not a La Quinta), showered, and changed clothes, then headed for the Rittenhouse Square neighborhood to our tasty mediterranean tapas dinner with Sazzy and her husband. Afterward, on their suggestion we had some gelato (that was nearly as good as the place in Berkeley, which is the best gelato I've had outside of Italy) and wandered around a bit, then headed back to the hotel.</div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ1wouv5EVIZ3qJb1ObdMSSeZ3HuR-rcfDoDXzxYJXl1ze5m2dkV9SNHUm8s7gLJ8COparJcj2MbtV5FazJhnbBJaoVmHOwwkVipy98x1dt875wrRAmxjP3Ci7yWbeJaUhAIAK/s1600/Picture+09+1158.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ1wouv5EVIZ3qJb1ObdMSSeZ3HuR-rcfDoDXzxYJXl1ze5m2dkV9SNHUm8s7gLJ8COparJcj2MbtV5FazJhnbBJaoVmHOwwkVipy98x1dt875wrRAmxjP3Ci7yWbeJaUhAIAK/s320/Picture+09+1158.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498704375101799634" /></a><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Sazz Vintage flag</span></i><br /><br />Monday morning we drove into town, intending to grab timed free tickets to the Independence Hall tour as early as possible. Dan parked while I got the tickets, and we grabbed some food while we waited for our tour to begin. We sat in the park right next to Independence Hall and it began to rain, so we ran under the eaves of the building across the street just in time for a 20 minute torrential downpour. We waited it out, and then went in to get screened and wait in the (slightly less wet) rain for our tour of Independence Hall, something I hadn't done when I was in Philadelphia before. After the tour, we went across the street and saw the Liberty Bell.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-vPEY82xaCIBV_-UJKdeMdhhOtv54WiPKQ4k6rfBU5gEF_VpVMUGHHTOxSE4ESwDn5G-f2wmxm6tB7k44aILAStIEdZ0i-LRyT9CrbiaD5_44sgKABmXZM3HVHHMLZzpDPwIn/s1600/Picture+09+1167.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-vPEY82xaCIBV_-UJKdeMdhhOtv54WiPKQ4k6rfBU5gEF_VpVMUGHHTOxSE4ESwDn5G-f2wmxm6tB7k44aILAStIEdZ0i-LRyT9CrbiaD5_44sgKABmXZM3HVHHMLZzpDPwIn/s320/Picture+09+1167.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498704377854468898" /></a><br /><br />We walked through Chinatown and through the Logan Square area and all the way up to the Philadelphia Art Museum because you know we just HAD to run up the steps like Rocky. It was about 95 degrees, and the humidity goes without saying, but we did it in our street clothes, me in sandals, and it was just fine. And Dan got the Rocky statue as the perfect letter Y.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtyfkjoEfpCrcZm6hYLDL-17wDXdQAizvdIByMGThaNXUZnhHU-hnamMClM4wdGsQxtDA8zmnfSUAmUVA76Bj1i1nqcpsuOc0-4XdShmcWHj7bOyQwGNQ60sovNCi5Iv2I2bba/s1600/Picture+09+1170.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtyfkjoEfpCrcZm6hYLDL-17wDXdQAizvdIByMGThaNXUZnhHU-hnamMClM4wdGsQxtDA8zmnfSUAmUVA76Bj1i1nqcpsuOc0-4XdShmcWHj7bOyQwGNQ60sovNCi5Iv2I2bba/s320/Picture+09+1170.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498704386370622786" /></a><br />After retrieving the car, we drove to get Dan a gen-yew-ine Philly cheesesteak at the place that doesn't have a racist sign in the window, and then we left Philadelphia. It was a good less-than-24-hour-stop.<br /></div>MLEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09301902783411290755noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19036375.post-51075510861588950652010-07-26T16:15:00.008-06:002010-07-26T19:31:57.368-06:00The Turkeys (and the 'burgh)<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizWHFER6sveEGrb6W8CUQhs4OGXgaGrS1HQcS0EWtvxgDyOnP0GIIucdVhymcay3GyhEPfizlXQBHd7HjB3sqzaeBBk2r_zB5z2wGbDwdGRfdX1-NMSmJzyqgglUSBX74vYARx/s1600/Picture+09+1067.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizWHFER6sveEGrb6W8CUQhs4OGXgaGrS1HQcS0EWtvxgDyOnP0GIIucdVhymcay3GyhEPfizlXQBHd7HjB3sqzaeBBk2r_zB5z2wGbDwdGRfdX1-NMSmJzyqgglUSBX74vYARx/s320/Picture+09+1067.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498348810245828978" /></a><br /><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">If I'm gay and Irish in Pittsburgh, I know where to go!</span></i><br /><br />Or, part 3 of our Summer Roadtrip Adventure.<br /><br />(Sorry for the radio silence - our laptop cord died about halfway into our trip and so I was unable to keep up with blogging. But I will finish all of my recaps, promise!)<br /><br />So when we started planning the trip, the first thing I thought was that doing a road trip to the east coast would give us a chance to meet up with the Turkey family for the very first time. <a href="http://jiveturkeyjives.com">Jive Turkey</a> has been my internet pal for a while and I made Sadie a blanket and a dragon and I was so, so excited that we would get to meet them. And then they said we could stay with them, which was just ridiculously awesome!<br /><br />After we left Ann Arbor and had our little misadventure in Youngstown (serious. shithole.), we made it to Pittsburgh mid-afternoon and immediately took advantage of the fantastic email Jive Turkey had sent me full of suggestions of things to see/do in Pittsburgh, complete with links and helpful commentary. We'd already decided what we would do that afternoon, so we drove to the strip district, near the downtown area, and our first stop was at a Primanti Brothers sandwich joint, where every sandwich comes with fries and cole slaw. On the sandwich. Luckily, they had turkey as an option, but it was possibly the most messy sandwich I ever ate. (Equally luckily, it was pretty tasty.)<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4cG2VsssIfTihqyQm8bvZrt6AsMHBMIRmRf0NzqaBJqafKOnb53rdXX-Qzeyoqm7zlZ9phkuIh0Al955TsmOYj8UQqXZMYTa8-pM3iISL2wveIhrH837o_iuR8wKRlJH9RH1f/s1600/Picture+09+1038.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4cG2VsssIfTihqyQm8bvZrt6AsMHBMIRmRf0NzqaBJqafKOnb53rdXX-Qzeyoqm7zlZ9phkuIh0Al955TsmOYj8UQqXZMYTa8-pM3iISL2wveIhrH837o_iuR8wKRlJH9RH1f/s320/Picture+09+1038.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498347735453280242" /></a><br /><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">The lady will have the knockwurst, and I will have the same.</span></i><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRHq6WjPMnES1IWKQUbdfBSNbaI4y0f4hZ4igD0NJVB9s4oYLlrXGOieF593EC0RA4TPPfihOsVRgZYaVGeP3xG6IpgPY7kwwMmMPOhzvakSGK6NB1lCXWGflkWwdtjIaNJFV4/s1600/Picture+09+1043.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRHq6WjPMnES1IWKQUbdfBSNbaI4y0f4hZ4igD0NJVB9s4oYLlrXGOieF593EC0RA4TPPfihOsVRgZYaVGeP3xG6IpgPY7kwwMmMPOhzvakSGK6NB1lCXWGflkWwdtjIaNJFV4/s320/Picture+09+1043.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498347741374918274" /></a><br /><br />Full of sandwich, we set out to explore the strip district and then walked downtown, across the Fort Pitt bridge, and over to the Duquesne Incline, a cool inclined railcar, which we rode to the top and then took photos of the view. During our time in the downtown area, we began our found alphabet project, the result of which you can see <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/54742676@N00/sets/72157624450801909/">here</a>.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheFXBDHyR9D9W0eL4vdZ-vbKR_cJQ1Frw6nll64L8RaiZwrq_shyphenhypheniociWkVcvBf0mneKCphrPID7je1LLmycPwDdjvtVQ8mcN-n7YZfTs1GzyzM7WWAPyBTFBiMr4SWwAvfjJS/s1600/Picture+09+1049.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheFXBDHyR9D9W0eL4vdZ-vbKR_cJQ1Frw6nll64L8RaiZwrq_shyphenhypheniociWkVcvBf0mneKCphrPID7je1LLmycPwDdjvtVQ8mcN-n7YZfTs1GzyzM7WWAPyBTFBiMr4SWwAvfjJS/s320/Picture+09+1049.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498347762905334530" /></a><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br />View of the 'burgh</span></i><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0PgJiINfcw3EVSfjYI13SVR1wnJYpIKrA216RAs3z0TxfO8ChzLMiK8aRl35CghBjiDSXEsFWHenz8pSFeyUKGo7krt_rLI8aGODpyGcV0uRad5TDlT-2mokVg109t6PJMXYZ/s1600/Picture+09+1045.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0PgJiINfcw3EVSfjYI13SVR1wnJYpIKrA216RAs3z0TxfO8ChzLMiK8aRl35CghBjiDSXEsFWHenz8pSFeyUKGo7krt_rLI8aGODpyGcV0uRad5TDlT-2mokVg109t6PJMXYZ/s320/Picture+09+1045.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498347749161901986" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i>Going up</i></span><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV615bkkXseA-7REvI_8tSCkf2njinX_SDdtoLoaNQFZhVVIC8rq8iNBg418h-GNAXK7MVKxk2sVyXEJ82GvO3MiMcMGx6UyqxvpX_yLd0h1GRYu2LV1DQXZa7j6Oc8Ig4_-MK/s1600/Picture+09+1061.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV615bkkXseA-7REvI_8tSCkf2njinX_SDdtoLoaNQFZhVVIC8rq8iNBg418h-GNAXK7MVKxk2sVyXEJ82GvO3MiMcMGx6UyqxvpX_yLd0h1GRYu2LV1DQXZa7j6Oc8Ig4_-MK/s320/Picture+09+1061.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498348794284394914" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLF2a1Sxvt_Z-2cRtkNrG_HNmIBXwvqiIpM9Ro_4vschI30BClWu-orOrcOFp9yeq5dh9wINTh7eDF40vgf3sSJYA4-HkMXOIsSoRjgf_6wZ_7MTeJH3ItEwvYBtbt4LqNnxVY/s1600/Picture+09+1056.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLF2a1Sxvt_Z-2cRtkNrG_HNmIBXwvqiIpM9Ro_4vschI30BClWu-orOrcOFp9yeq5dh9wINTh7eDF40vgf3sSJYA4-HkMXOIsSoRjgf_6wZ_7MTeJH3ItEwvYBtbt4LqNnxVY/s320/Picture+09+1056.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498347769913440354" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie8MwPfUJh_Xk_JFpECD0BqOGrTlZCnhfDfMvzltlIls7j3ZTdqkN9P_UFHn2Ba549nJH1aOJC8urzxw9rF-cpweV7azUifeUXtIU33Bf_eohl-U7jNphxvYGbnpizvnWysBxo/s1600/Picture+09+1066.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie8MwPfUJh_Xk_JFpECD0BqOGrTlZCnhfDfMvzltlIls7j3ZTdqkN9P_UFHn2Ba549nJH1aOJC8urzxw9rF-cpweV7azUifeUXtIU33Bf_eohl-U7jNphxvYGbnpizvnWysBxo/s320/Picture+09+1066.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498348802618336194" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i><br />Fort Pitt bridge detail</i></span><br /><br />By the time we got back to the car, we were both ridiculously thirsty and, between the two of us, downed about three liters of water that we had left in the cooler. We drove through the city, me squealing at the cute neighborhoods, to the Turkey Haus. Which, of course, is totally awesome.<br /><br />JT had said they probably wouldn't be home until 6 PM, so we sat on the front porch and relaxed for a few minutes until they, who were actually home, realized we were out there. We went inside and we all met and I rinsed the hot car slime off my face and arms, and we had a delicious homemade dinner and some great Sadie time and told them the story of the bourbon. I really enjoyed sitting on the back porch, looking at the stars, shooting the shit, and watching the fireflies do their glowbutt dance. We were treated to a guest room and all the amenities we could ask for and slept in for the first time on the entire trip the next morning.<br /><br />We planned out our day, deciding to walk to our first stop, walk back to the house, and then drive to the rest of what we had planned for the day. Of the places we went that day, I can say that they were all exceedingly lovely, despite the heat and humidity and my stupidity at wearing a skirt instead of shorts. My favorite place we went was to the Phipps Conservatory, which not only has a phenomenal permanent plant collection, but had a super-cool gargoyle exhibit when we were there, among other art, and we really really enjoyed exploring every bit of it. I have so many good photos from Phipps that it's difficult to choose just a few, so I may put up a set on flickr later. We had tasty pizza in a joint on Squirrel Hill and we went to the zoo and those were pretty good, too.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1HymnrqFq6wQIc8DV_TL-GaHDyf2AwfEWZb_teIIYWcVjcAzYbROBKYbQmZljDV2JADWWPKOdgS6QfhIa1N3uUzSO61PCkfTNBcTaUcthQKyNP-9VfgkYxWALsZI0t9rWaSPk/s1600/Picture+09+1111.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1HymnrqFq6wQIc8DV_TL-GaHDyf2AwfEWZb_teIIYWcVjcAzYbROBKYbQmZljDV2JADWWPKOdgS6QfhIa1N3uUzSO61PCkfTNBcTaUcthQKyNP-9VfgkYxWALsZI0t9rWaSPk/s320/Picture+09+1111.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498350533204592754" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgjxX-IZjfjNJpQEP04z7FtldNXvqZ4ErBy80xXt6fUjiu9DpCKGMH1k7TYyje-HFYZIGY-qW94cXqw5o1wzQH2Q5D2VLLauY6ao1RPRlGUSlUrevg81Dte9Sor1y-BB3u8Fxh/s1600/Picture+09+1082.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgjxX-IZjfjNJpQEP04z7FtldNXvqZ4ErBy80xXt6fUjiu9DpCKGMH1k7TYyje-HFYZIGY-qW94cXqw5o1wzQH2Q5D2VLLauY6ao1RPRlGUSlUrevg81Dte9Sor1y-BB3u8Fxh/s320/Picture+09+1082.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498350517879691106" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAejCGCeJuDH8fHZgwKM97wF8Ex40aucj4q942GSzinngKcCVBEC7M9nd1pR2edxp95CqLVfxRECCBQHwJMFxsIgODSFGAQSbjtUP6fVfIqdgM2NNgu5eZ-V4CwfkRFw7PsIm1/s1600/Picture+09+1077.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAejCGCeJuDH8fHZgwKM97wF8Ex40aucj4q942GSzinngKcCVBEC7M9nd1pR2edxp95CqLVfxRECCBQHwJMFxsIgODSFGAQSbjtUP6fVfIqdgM2NNgu5eZ-V4CwfkRFw7PsIm1/s320/Picture+09+1077.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498350511129140834" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRVQkp4gdjcwSRzbyhaEsY5fXUTOw64PGcO4KbpU49nSaxpFnrzQTREjqe4dwghGUv2_8D5qwzzaYQICB_OvjvGTS2l6W6hdxLynpbP2Ak3KzdENaDfWdC4ct4ls_MQ0hjKMiF/s1600/Picture+09+1071.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRVQkp4gdjcwSRzbyhaEsY5fXUTOw64PGcO4KbpU49nSaxpFnrzQTREjqe4dwghGUv2_8D5qwzzaYQICB_OvjvGTS2l6W6hdxLynpbP2Ak3KzdENaDfWdC4ct4ls_MQ0hjKMiF/s320/Picture+09+1071.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498350502272459314" /></a><br /><br /><br />After a Trader Joe's run (hooray!) we headed back chez Turkey and went out for dinner. Ms. Sadie handled it like a champ, even after she bumped her face on a chair (ow!), and after her bath and other associated bedtime routines, she even gave me a goodnight hug. AWWW.<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAinYkEedkmApiUz4ChZX92Qe4t02qdJVy9Myhu0WckfUttv0ef_2k6JpI2n_FCqMVEla_KcRYJzVDRhNIZ0iH8kFXeD_jozptWtsDW8gKLiAI-9mw-ApwiQ64Wc5clCceZ0GL/s1600/Picture+09+1120.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAinYkEedkmApiUz4ChZX92Qe4t02qdJVy9Myhu0WckfUttv0ef_2k6JpI2n_FCqMVEla_KcRYJzVDRhNIZ0iH8kFXeD_jozptWtsDW8gKLiAI-9mw-ApwiQ64Wc5clCceZ0GL/s320/Picture+09+1120.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498348819880184594" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-style:italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I love the look on JT's face here.</span></span><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK_vXb2Vm4Gj9U0Z1zz-5xL7fdIWvzXXI5Tdg95jusR7kjyN2Os_LeS_OUgc14eHNVvbnUqSPW_UwJZc_Z1ArHnWDF0RYup9QOMhx8EfKg9UPGW-X96uPNAZsta58hs0IRVrSt/s1600/Picture+09+1126.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK_vXb2Vm4Gj9U0Z1zz-5xL7fdIWvzXXI5Tdg95jusR7kjyN2Os_LeS_OUgc14eHNVvbnUqSPW_UwJZc_Z1ArHnWDF0RYup9QOMhx8EfKg9UPGW-X96uPNAZsta58hs0IRVrSt/s320/Picture+09+1126.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498350494220594578" /></a><br /><br /><br />We got up early to begin our trek across Pennsylvania and New Jersey, so we only got to spend a bit of Friday with the Turkeys. I realized that if and when we ever spawn ourselves, I'll have to use the DSLR, because even in the shots where I thought she was still, pretty much every photo I have of Sadie Rose is a blur. Still, I'm so glad we were able to make the stop in Pittsburgh and spend time with the Turkey family, because they totally totally rule. And Pittsburgh is a beautiful city, with so much to see and do and explore. I hope someday we will get to go back.<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHVYrQ0oCmr-0DgPfIN2s7hzxXU_GJoRZJTSNbzJ2qKzpVGPfPNaO5SEza-HgibILV4PkPof6vP_ueZyF6T09wDijG7oz34S_B-tedHgfOAJBCcw40yAp9qmuOTPO6N2-prvB1/s1600/Picture+09+1122.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHVYrQ0oCmr-0DgPfIN2s7hzxXU_GJoRZJTSNbzJ2qKzpVGPfPNaO5SEza-HgibILV4PkPof6vP_ueZyF6T09wDijG7oz34S_B-tedHgfOAJBCcw40yAp9qmuOTPO6N2-prvB1/s320/Picture+09+1122.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498348831635414674" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i>Blueberries for Sadie</i></span>MLEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09301902783411290755noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19036375.post-89369604038718216642010-07-15T06:41:00.005-06:002010-07-15T22:49:34.721-06:00The futile quest for Stranahan's<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpc1tuGEqyfg9TqypUWv-zI2yJ91P62Sr4wqV5CfCOGomE4rEhje3-XN_uyIjobiwZfKrkP00Ff8MD6gHniagVrvRx8989jbJrHqr5PuIe0Tii9H8NPS_dF_eNvp1_DM4lBMsL/s1600/IMG_0145.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpc1tuGEqyfg9TqypUWv-zI2yJ91P62Sr4wqV5CfCOGomE4rEhje3-XN_uyIjobiwZfKrkP00Ff8MD6gHniagVrvRx8989jbJrHqr5PuIe0Tii9H8NPS_dF_eNvp1_DM4lBMsL/s320/IMG_0145.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5494359689772463314" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br />Or, Dan and Emily's Excellent Summer Adventure, part the second.<br /><br />As it turns out, Iowa looks an awful lot like Nebraska: corn, cows, trees. I was still feeling pretty miserable, but decided to try to make the best of it, and the drive across Iowa wasn't too hot because it was overcast for most of the day. We stopped in Iowa City and met up with Cate, who had never met anybody from the internets before (Hope we didn't scare ya too badly!), at a Panera Bread in a mall mid-morning, which was behind this old restored carousel. I kinda wished I'd brought my camera in to snap a photo of it. After she had to return to her evil taskmasters, Dan and I checked on the possibility of some of the museums in Chicago being free, so we could take advantage of that when we arrived there. We finished the journey across Iowa and Illinois and drove all the way into downtown Chicago, where we parked at Soldier Field for $16, even though we knew we'd only be there for approximately 1.5 hours, because we were getting into the museum for free.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuf_qJqXE81gsdCIgHPVrlewi3mxVDIj63VfCYTHBbVMuxFyxS0fWoYuL1LDIaoKHpyo7u2iMBCBwJ0RVGDqLDa0QMR-KKjN-Nr6n7GzW8UfBqj2ujcv8DvsawLZPmR5mBI97I/s1600/IMG_0133.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuf_qJqXE81gsdCIgHPVrlewi3mxVDIj63VfCYTHBbVMuxFyxS0fWoYuL1LDIaoKHpyo7u2iMBCBwJ0RVGDqLDa0QMR-KKjN-Nr6n7GzW8UfBqj2ujcv8DvsawLZPmR5mBI97I/s320/IMG_0133.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5494359661682928802" /></a><br /><br />And the reason I wanted to see the Field museum?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGckeQJbjDEdLWDhftZhZx-2M1V5q5Kx-5Q5IxIfMcL3DP07M3MbLcDB3WEhyphenhyphenKo1xFrWD45fo-ptKZu63YLQFWkRXrF8M0rkS8JL9zdpB0ngte2KnC7uDBFN_MaN9_kLtnxK_4/s1600/IMG_0137.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGckeQJbjDEdLWDhftZhZx-2M1V5q5Kx-5Q5IxIfMcL3DP07M3MbLcDB3WEhyphenhyphenKo1xFrWD45fo-ptKZu63YLQFWkRXrF8M0rkS8JL9zdpB0ngte2KnC7uDBFN_MaN9_kLtnxK_4/s320/IMG_0137.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5494359677286011090" /></a><br />My name is <a href="http://www.sueescapes.com/">Sue</a>. How do you do?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8cvdhI4rIZLG7U4rZXIKXzeLb2RL6m0bC08EEN3hgmYjpebIMeLHl2hCqzMJPH_-b5kH3tutXdHUDz99gJRveH9pFUA6IFmxpmMA85xqTpIcm7Yc9nLgIq2yoBT390u0qxH0D/s1600/IMG_0135.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8cvdhI4rIZLG7U4rZXIKXzeLb2RL6m0bC08EEN3hgmYjpebIMeLHl2hCqzMJPH_-b5kH3tutXdHUDz99gJRveH9pFUA6IFmxpmMA85xqTpIcm7Yc9nLgIq2yoBT390u0qxH0D/s320/IMG_0135.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5494359670213897058" /></a><br /><br /><br />When I was in Chicago nearly 10 years ago now, I met up with a large group of people from the message board where I met Dan for a big fest. It was my first time in the Windy City, and I really enjoyed it, but we never got around to seeing the Field Museum, which had just acquired Sue that year. This is the 10-year anniversary of Sue, so I was super excited to see her.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGZ58If2aq7Xieg3n2VLkIiinCF5uX-EpTpUiw_u5znmTrMSVfApqmvuKxUtoPh5rns6WncUIQN7nHAC0p8wrc4iXLNg7F8Uraalui0Ym89DMfKhgxKD9Pm9uvuxnaue-pnNV3/s1600/IMG_0140.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGZ58If2aq7Xieg3n2VLkIiinCF5uX-EpTpUiw_u5znmTrMSVfApqmvuKxUtoPh5rns6WncUIQN7nHAC0p8wrc4iXLNg7F8Uraalui0Ym89DMfKhgxKD9Pm9uvuxnaue-pnNV3/s320/IMG_0140.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5494359682187844338" /></a><br /><br />The only real drawback was that the rest of the museum wasn't nearly as interesting or impressive as I wanted it to be, and I was glad that we hadn't paid admission. We did manage to spend the whole hour and a half before closing wandering around the museum, and then we spent over an hour driving out to our $30 hotel in the 'burbs through rush hour traffic, which was LOADS of fun. After we checked into the second room (nonsmoking, didn't smell like smoke like the first one did), we showered and then drove over to a Thai restaurant (also in the 'burbs) to meet up with one of the Chicago residents whom I'd met at that get-together in Chi-town ten years ago. It was great to see him and another friend, and we had tasty food and good conversation. I was hoping the spicy noodles would help to clear my sinuses, but mostly they just got more congested.<br /><br />Tuesday morning, we followed Steve's advice to wait out the morning traffic and slept in for the first time in several days, which I have to admit felt pretty awesome. Breakfast was Denny's (it was, of course, next to a La Quinta, which is Spanish for "Next to Denny's") and as the first restaurant-consumed breakfast of the trip I was a-OK with it. We'd spent quite some time discussing our options for our remaining hours in Chicago, because we had a 4+-hour drive and a date with friends in Ann Arbor, MI, so we only had a couple of hours with which to play. Our original plan was to go to the Art Institute, which is something I'd like to see again even though I saw it 10 years ago (and Dan saw it 11 years ago when he went through Chicago), but ultimately we decided to save our art museum dollars for the Met in NYC. We drove into the city and found relatively inexpensive street parking near Lincoln Park (I found myself wondering whether Linkin Park ever played there) and strolled, just tolerating the heat and humidity, through the park and back. We saw Baberham Lincoln and Baberham Christian Andersen and Baberham Franklin. It was about all we had time for in the city of big shoulders, and we got back on the road, navigating the morass of highways to get ourselves over to Michigan.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR-MutgQfXhJ6FWKJ64-_wUwDVydAlN9k1TGjekoliWc9ErFXCC3x7gDCoS3KACe_KfsLSm97VWGuI9MLrICO8Vhf_HbllM_vShbGa5FhsUwgtNQOSHhHQIxSpef9OyfxpQ3v8/s1600/IMG_0146.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR-MutgQfXhJ6FWKJ64-_wUwDVydAlN9k1TGjekoliWc9ErFXCC3x7gDCoS3KACe_KfsLSm97VWGuI9MLrICO8Vhf_HbllM_vShbGa5FhsUwgtNQOSHhHQIxSpef9OyfxpQ3v8/s320/IMG_0146.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5494360064903899938" /></a><br />This is a hibiscus in Lincoln Park. It is large.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXFyMQwhhiLpan-WzALdPU7F4xOlVTX-tesmrOcIrvABUU47YiRk8GIIk2mvhRpUaY4Rqzt9jj_Wqzq3vHn3Gu9UFSCBc_s-3AsT3hycrK55rNSfH4ab7XXfNMvPf66Ecd22d1/s1600/IMG_0147.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXFyMQwhhiLpan-WzALdPU7F4xOlVTX-tesmrOcIrvABUU47YiRk8GIIk2mvhRpUaY4Rqzt9jj_Wqzq3vHn3Gu9UFSCBc_s-3AsT3hycrK55rNSfH4ab7XXfNMvPf66Ecd22d1/s320/IMG_0147.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5494360058465293810" /></a><br />Even larger than my swollen hand.<br /><br />The thing that I had neglected to consider in all of this was that when you go from Illinois through Indiana and into Michigan, you change from Central time to Eastern time. We got to Ann Arbor in plenty of time, we thought, only to get a call from my friend asking where we were. "What do you mean? It's 5:30!" I said, only to look at my phone that said 6:30. ARGH.<br /><br />Luckily, the friends waited for us and we met them in a brewpub in downtown Ann Arbor, Dan dropping me off to look for parking and getting soaked to the skin walking to the restaurant. We had a nice dinner and some beers, and Dan and I exchanged looks about the rain and how much it was going to suck setting up our tent in a downpour at the campground where we planned to stay. After dinner, we meandered a bit in damp Ann Arbor (which is very cute, by the way, and apparently all about Stuff, and Having Stuff, since I saw at least three establishments advertise Stuff. Sadly, I'd left my camera in the car, so I have no proof.), and one of the friends insisted that instead of dealing with the rain and the mud we sleep in her guest room instead. Not ones to turn down such generous offers, we gladly accepted, and we spent the rest of the evening enjoying each others' company.<br /><br />So why is the title of this post about a futile quest?<br /><br />We knew that we'd be staying with Jive Turkey, HoST, and Sadie when we got to Pittsburgh, and we wanted to bring them a host gift. Our original plan was to buy some Stranahan's Colorado Whiskey (which is like bourbon, but they can't call it bourbon because it isn't made in Kentucky) before we left and bring it along, but in the hubbub of preparations and both of us being sick, we just completely forgot about it. I didn't even remember until we were nearly to Sterling CO, and it was waaaaay too early in the morning (and a Sunday, to boot) to be able to stop and buy it in a liquor store before we left the state. So we gave it up as a lost cause, me kicking myself.<br /><br />Then, when we got to Chicago and had wireless internet in our hotel room, we did a search and found that Stranahan's does indeed sell their non-bourbon outside of Colorado, and we got all excited about it. Our plan was to ask Steve for suggestions of a liquor store that sold a lot of stuff, and he suggested a chain place that had a location nearby. Sadly, when we left the restaurant that night, liquor stores were closed because it was the suburbs and a Monday night after 9 PM. Back at the hotel, we searched the chain's site to discover that they did, indeed, carry it, so we resolved to buy some in the morning before leaving Chicago.<br /><br />At dinner, I was reminded of the exorbitant 12% sales tax!!! in Cook County, and I thought, well, if Illinois has it than maybe Michigan does, too. Dan checked, and the Stranahan's site said they distributed in Michigan, so he googled a bunch of Ann Arbor liquor stores, one of which had a website that said they carried it. So we decided that rather than pay 12% tax we'd wait and pay 6% in Michigan. After our dinner in A2, as the locals call it, they drove us to the part of town that had the aforementioned store. We went inside, and were deeply disappointed to find that they hadn't had any in stock in approximately three months. "Well, we'll just go to one of the good stores near me," said our friend, and drove in front of us to her house.<br /><br />When we got there, we got on the computer and did some more searching, and got on the phone and called the places nearby, rather than physically going to each store. No dice. At that point, I decided that it just wasn't worth going to any more effort. So the next morning, we just began our drive through Ohio. Stranahan's was just not going to happen, but I had a vague memory about there being weird liquor laws in Pennsylvania, so it seemed like we should stop to get a bottle of SOMETHING before we reached the state line, and so began our misadventure in Youngstown, Ohio. I knew absolutely nothing about it before we pulled off the highway, but somehow we located a public library somewhere in the eerily quiet downtown area near the campus, and stole some free wireless to find a liquor store in order to buy our friends SOMETHING. We ended up with a bottle of Woodford Reserve, which is a perfectly respectable bourbon, and Jive Turkey and HoST even let us have some. But that is another tale for another day.MLEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09301902783411290755noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19036375.post-74519719333688219722010-07-12T22:00:00.002-06:002010-07-12T23:18:05.339-06:00FluidsOr, Dan and Emily's Excellent Adventure, part the first<br /><br />Last week, Dan got a cold. It was right after we'd done a big hike on Mount Bierstadt and I'd chalked up his difficulty with the altitude to just that, but on Monday he informed me he was getting sick.<br /><br />"Great," I thought, but luckily it wasn't too bad a cold so we figured he'd feel better by the time we left on our trip. Many times, when Dan gets sick I don't (luck? I've already had it? Who knows?) but unfortunately, this time, I had no such luck. Late on Thursday I started to feel the telltale throat tickle, and I cursed my immune system. Or at the very least, I shook my tiny fist at it in impotent rage.<br /><br />Friday, it was still mostly just a throat tickle and I felt kind of run down, but had no problems working an entire day or having lunch with my friend and her now 9-month-old (I was careful about breathing on him or swapping secretions). But Saturday morning, the day before we were supposed to leave, I felt like cold fried shit. We spent the day sorting and folding laundry, packing, prepping the house to leave for three weeks, packing the car, and, finally, shoving the kitties in their carriers for a trip up to the Dan'rents abode. Loki's an old hat at this visiting thing, but it was Robin's first trip, and boy did she voice her displeasure.<br /><br />YOWL YOWL YOWL. YOWL. YOWL YOWL.<br /><br />We were serenaded for a goodly chunk of the voyage by Robin letting us know in no uncertain terms that she Did Not Approve of riding in a car in a kitty carrier. Loki, on the other hand, made absolutely no noise. I was keeping one eye on him, though, since he has a tendency to be car sick, and he was looking as though he didn't feel well. It was hot, in the high 80s, and our car has no air conditioning, so in between Robins Yowls of Displeasure she panted, so finally I tossed the one thing I had in the main part of the car that could keep the sun off her over her carrier. And then, I smelled it.<br /><br />"Did you fart?" I asked Dan.<br /><br />"No..." he responded, with a look of growing horror on his face.<br /><br />I turned around once more to see Loki moving away from a giant log of poop he'd deposited all over the front part of the carrier. I guess I was somewhat lucky to be congested from the cold, because the smell was not nearly as pungent as it would otherwise have been. Dan rolled down his window and I manipulated things to be open the carrier, shoved Loki out of the way, and used a good supply of car tissues to wrap up and mop up his fecal mess. It was totally disgusting.<br /><br />Not two minutes later, Loki peeped his "I'm gonna yak" peep and horked up his last meal. The car smelled of cat shit and cat barf, and once again Dan moved his seat forward while I used the towel in the bottom of the carrier and some tissues to clean up the cat barf as best I could while we hurtled up I25 at 75 miles per hour. I'd nearly finished my work when suddenly Loki decided that two emissions weren't enough, and he peed all over the back of the carrier, looking miserable.<br /><br />That's right. Cat shit, cat puke, and cat piss, all in less than five minutes. And I got to clean it all up, or at least do the best I could, while Robin yowled away in the carrier above Loki's. He's never peed in his carrier before, so I don't know if it was just a coincidence, or if his system decided it needed to purge itself in every possible way.<br /><br />The pee was really the last straw, as I didn't want to use any more of the tissues and the towel was already covered in poop and puke and I just couldn't get it all, so I asked Dan to pull off the road to a gas station at the next available opportunity. I got out of the car, depositing all of the soiled tissues in a garbage can and going inside to wash my hands while Dan used some of the paper towels they supply for windshield cleaning to finish mopping up the pee out of the back of the carrier. I cleaned as much puke as I could off the towel and wadded it up, soiled bits on the inside. The funny thing was that after we got going again, Robin didn't make a single noise for the entire rest of the trip north. And thankfully, Loki had nothing left in his system after his three-orifice extravaganza, and the rest of the way was peaceful.<br /><br />* * * * * *<br /><br />Dan and I left bright and early on Sunday morning, after I'd hardly slept at all Saturday night what with the being sick and the Robin climbing all over me and the anticipation of getting up so much earlier than usual. I felt absolutely miserable for the first several hours of the drive through Colorado and Nebraska. About eight hours into the trip, just inside Iowa, we pulled off into a campground Dan had found online and we staked out a spot for our tent. Tent camping wasn't super-formal, so we paid our fee and set up the tent in a nice area under a tree and near the water. There were fire pits and picnic tables aplenty, plus a volleyball court and a basketball court and a kickass awesome jungle gym/big toy-type thing that got quite a bit of use over the course of the afternoon and evening, but there was absolutely no running water, potable or otherwise, unless one had a hose or some other sort of hookup in the RV area. I'd really hoped to at least rinse off my head after such a long, hot day in the car and all the humidity we'd encountered, but no dice. So I pouted and read a book in the shade and felt like ass, and later Dan and I played on the playground and reminisced about the playgrounds our elementary schools had had (and how much less pinchy swing chains coated in plastic paint are, and how much safer playground equipment is now). Eventually we made some dinner sandwiches, played our customary hands of gin, and watched the fireflies get eaten by bats and evening birds. As we went to bed, grass around us damp, we listened to the horny cows and the bull frogs and the cicadas and all of the other creatures that lived next to the stagnant lake. <br /><br />I woke up when the sky started dripping on me. We'd opted not to put the rain fly on the tent because of how warm it was, but some time in the middle of the night it started to rain so I threw on the fly in my sleep stupor and hoped it would keep us from getting soaked. The tent was pelted with rain for the rest of the night, and in the morning what had been damp grass was sodden with rain. It was warm and humid, and my feet didn't feel dry for nearly an hour after we got going.MLEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09301902783411290755noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19036375.post-81417042716648133052010-07-06T22:09:00.000-06:002010-07-06T22:14:17.404-06:0018.6While I don't write much about it anymore, my quest for physical fitness, good health, and looking at least OK in my clothes carries on in full force these days. I'm taking Zumba classes at my gym in addition to my weight circuits (40,000+ lbs a pop these days), elliptical hamstering, rowing, recumbent bicycling, and free-weight lifting, and for the last week I've even been swimming (at another gym that we have to drive to, but at least it's a Y and therefore free). I've been eating a salad and vegetables and fruit for lunch every day for several months now, and while my clothes aren't exactly falling off me, I'm feeling more comfortable with the way I look in real life if still not in photographs. (Because I still feel like I look TERRIBLE in photos.)<br /><br />Last Thursday, I bit the bullet and signed up to have someone pinch my fat in various parts with scientific calipers in order to determine my body fat percentage. It's something I've been curious about for a while, since I haven't had it tested at all in a few years, and haven't had it tested with calipers since I was 22 years old and had just started going to the gym I frequented in San Francisco the year I worked there. The other body fat tests I've had done in the interim were with some sort of hand-held electric gadget that had questionable validity (especially since I always guesstimate my weight, as I don't weigh myself at all ever.) I was really, really not looking forward to the pinching and the judging and the inevitable disappointment at the result that I was sure would happen, but I figured that since it was free and since it had been several years I should probably just get it done. I've got a body that builds muscle like crazy so BMI and weight aren't necessarily good indicators of my health but I knew a body fat test would tell me something that just going by clothing fit wouldn't.<br /><br />I did my workout and then went into the little room with the scary lady trainer whose classes I will never take because the ropes on her neck freak me out and she pinched me a bunch of times in seven different places - back of my arm, two places on my back, above my knee, next to my belly button, below my ribcage, and someplace else I am forgetting. She had a hard time getting a reading in some of the places, maybe because I had just exercised, I dunno, and it hurt more than I was expecting it to. She plugged each number into a calculator on her computer and then pushed the button.<br /><br />"18.6", she said.<br /><br />Internet, that cannot be right. There is no way on this green earth that my body fat is that low. I think that either she didn't measure in the right places, the measurements in those places are not indicative of my overall body fat profile, or the fact that I worked out beforehand skewed the results. There is no way in hell that 9 years and 15ish pounds after my first caliper test that my body fat is the same. While it was a bit thrilling at first, because I was expecting to hear a number in the mid-twenties at the lowest, I've spent the last several days thinking about how there's just no way it can be right. I have come to the conclusion that I just carry my fat in different areas than the 7-point test measures, because the only place she measured where I have obvious chub is next to my belly button. But if she'd done something on my upper thigh, my ass, or my hip/side area, there would have been plenty to pinch.<br /><br />At this point I'm considering asking someone else to redo the test, or asking if I can be tested with the handheld gadget, to get some additional data. I did the math, and if my body fat really is as low as this test indicates, it means that my overall lean mass (i.e., the part that isn't fat) is more pounds than I weighed for most of college. And if that's the case, I don't think there's anything I'll ever be able to do, short of a wasting disease that makes me lose lean mass, to get any smaller than I am right now.<br /><br /><br />* * * * * * *<br /><br />I mentioned the results of my test to a few people over the weekend, with mixed reactions. Most people agreed with me that it's likely the test was inaccurate, but one person suggested that I cut all sugar and carbs for two weeks and I'd be pleased with the results.<br /><br />You know what?<br /><br />No.<br /><br />No, I will not give up an entire food group. I have been reading various bloggers write about their experiences with various eating plans and lifestyle changes and I'm happy that raw food or vegan or raw vegan or gluten-free or casein-free or GFCF or low carb or no carb or sugar free or paleo or caveman or fasting or WHATEVER works for you. But please do not suggest that I partake in it.<br /><br />It is possible that if I stop eating X thing for Y amount of time that I will lose some weight, or my shape will change, or magical unicorns will fly out of my butt. But it is also possible that it will go from a change in my eating habits to an obsession and spiral into another eating disorder, which is something I'm just not interested in. And you know what? I *like* food. I like to eat. I like vegetables, and fruits, and chocolate, and nuts, and hot food, and cold food, and protein in various forms, and legumes, and grains. I like bread. I like dessert. I like cheese. I like alcohol, including hard cider. I like all sorts of ethnic foods, and I like all-American foods, and I'm not going to spend my life depriving myself of eating things I like in moderation. I've had times when I cut my food intake pretty severely while continuing to exercise excessively and it turned me into a raging harpy. I'd prefer not to be a raging harpy, and it's taken me years to get to the place where I am in regards to food. It's fuel, it's entertainment, it's good. I do restrict things like simple carbs (stuff made with white flour and white sugar) but mostly I do it because I feel the most healthy when I'm not eating that stuff. My heart doesn't race, I don't end up with blood sugar crashes, and I feel healthier. That said, there are times when I do eat junk (though it's rare, and I usually pair it with some sort of protein in order to stave off the blood sugar crash).<br /><br />So. I may have 18.6% body fat, or I may not. (I'm guessing not.) I may eat junk sometimes. And I refuse to let other people attempt to coerce me into doing something I don't want to do: namely, give up eating things I enjoy for an elusive, likely unattainable, and unrealistic goal of looking like women's magazines say I should. My body is strong and healthy and I can use it to swim or bike or climb a mountain. I've made my peace with it, for the most part, and I don't want to let the experiences of anyone else drag me back toward body dysmorphia.MLEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09301902783411290755noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19036375.post-48345082336264422472010-07-01T15:15:00.011-06:002010-07-01T17:40:59.125-06:00Conquering my fears<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzlzVy0sKmWYem66Ien84YS4rWg4WPi_sNZGrYVuxO3Lv1IBIultWl0BWRgv3A_SusTVRD58OIrxbmV_Q0HECM96UYz7U1IQcTBFG3M5OFmTVMt_eRpwNPDJ6meqGEK5wxF6ZK/s1600/Picture+09+1025.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489068020405039938" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 240px; height: 320px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzlzVy0sKmWYem66Ien84YS4rWg4WPi_sNZGrYVuxO3Lv1IBIultWl0BWRgv3A_SusTVRD58OIrxbmV_Q0HECM96UYz7U1IQcTBFG3M5OFmTVMt_eRpwNPDJ6meqGEK5wxF6ZK/s320/Picture+09+1025.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />When I was little, one of my favorite pastimes was to climb the tree in our backyard that grew up through the deck. From there, I could play on the roof or just climb as high as I could in the tree. Being up high felt like freedom; nobody can see you and you can look down on everything. It's definitely a different perspective from where a child typically sees the world on a day-to-day basis.<br /><br />I continued to scale trees (and houses, and fences, and ladders, and just about anything) throughout my childhood and into my teens. I thought nothing of climbing a ladder to help a friend with his college house painting business, and always enjoyed being up above the world, until one fateful day when I took a road trip with some friends to Yosemite National Park.<br /><br />Mostly, we went because we thought it would be a fun weekend day excursion. We drove the four or so hours to Yosemite and made our way slowly through the park, stopping every so often to take photos or just play around. At one point, my friends decided that it would be fun to scramble up one of the <a href="http://www.yosemitehikes.com/tioga-road/lembert-dome/lembert-dome.htm">domes</a>, and I was completely game. Being young, in shape, and relatively stupid, we decided not to use a trail but just to sort of go straight up to the top. I didn't think I would have any sort of a problem with it, as I'd always been fond of both outdoor activities and heights, but as we started to climb the rock I found myself out of breath. At the time, I was running regularly so I knew I was in decent cardiovascular condition, so I chalked it up to being at a higher altitude. Then, my heart started to race. The palms of my hands got sweaty and my breath was more and more shallow, and I started to freak out a little bit because what the hell, man?<br /><br />I figured if I just kept going, it would all pass, but the more I climbed the worse it got. Tears ran down my face, and my friends (one of whom was my ex boyfriend, and all of whom were male) thought it was hilarious. But it was really, really not funny. In fact, it was pretty damn scary. I was 21 years old, in great shape, and having a panic attack while scrambling up a not-terribly-difficult dome in Yosemite while my friends pointed and laughed.<br /><br />We made it to the top, and I was so concerned that I might freak out even worse on the descent that I swallowed my pride and asked College Ex to stick by me in case I needed actual physical help. He realized at that point that whatever was going on with me was actually serious and he stopped laughing. Luckily, I made it down far more easily than up had been, though I did kind of ruin the butt of the pants I was wearing. I didn't care; I was down. We continued the drive through the park and end up on the Nevada side at <a href="http://www.monolake.org/">Mono lake</a>, and then drove a different way home. I brushed the entire incident off, thinking it was probably just a freak occurrence.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgntG7-j9zR9MOaj9rzz9WOTVmPsn8CMBo42tkm4yiiqjYeWcZ7dSGOE4z9Z_cv_R8Jm0eGfAzFh3k3T-y0b9hyphenhyphenjdcoHbp5g2E86oX8Lnlt_SNER1tOkG-tCgV28ZQqtr8JAvzX/s1600/sc001f0f9302.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 208px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgntG7-j9zR9MOaj9rzz9WOTVmPsn8CMBo42tkm4yiiqjYeWcZ7dSGOE4z9Z_cv_R8Jm0eGfAzFh3k3T-y0b9hyphenhyphenjdcoHbp5g2E86oX8Lnlt_SNER1tOkG-tCgV28ZQqtr8JAvzX/s320/sc001f0f9302.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489085209869672802" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Me, with college ex, on the way back down the dome</span></span><br /><br />A couple of years later, I happened to be in Santa Cruz with some friends, on the UCSC campus. We were there to celebrate a birthday, and the birthday person proposed that we go climb a redwood tree that had ropes and steps bolted on to simplify the process. (Redwood trees are not made for climbing, especially once they get past a certain height, unless you have spikes on your shoes or someone's kindly provided a ladder for you.) Everybody else merrily made their way up the tree, and I made it about four steps up before I realized that I Just Could Not go any further. Couldn't force myself to do it. I felt like I was going to pass out and throw up at the same time, when my blood pressure spiked and I broke into a cold sweat and I felt like I couldn't breathe. What was wrong with me? I loved climbing trees, had done it since I was little! I was no pansy! I wasn't afraid of heights...right?<br /><br />It was only after the tree climbing debacle that I wracked my brain to try to figure out why all of a sudden I just couldn't get more than a few feet off the ground without freaking out. And then I remembered that my mom's severe vertigo that has kept her grounded for longer than I've been alive...was adult onset as well. She'd merrily climbed trees in her childhood, she'd told me, but when she grew up she just couldn't do it. I'd spent my whole life thinking she was silly when she wouldn't climb a ladder to go on the roof, or when she got upset driving next to a dropoff...and here I'd gone and inherited the adult-onset vertigo from her. Great.<br /><br />It's been nearly 10 years since that Lembert Dome scramble, and my first height-induced panic attack. I did manage to climb <a href="http://www.yosemitehikes.com/yosemite-valley/half-dome/half-dome.htm">Half Dome</a> in 2002, though to be fair the only reason I was able to do it was because it was dark so I couldn't see the drop as I climbed the stairs and then the cables. (Yes, it was probably less than legal for us to do the cable climb at night, and it was certainly illegal for us to sleep on the top, but to be fair we only slept until about 4 AM (arrived at the top around 11) when the first of the Half Dome trail runners got there. And we didn't leave any waste.)<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIM_l8aKYWqNd8OSikm3UN5bpuzHYnKJ0vEiDrcgojNVEq2zQLmS28QWmIxTgWohr7AFEXozsr6L_UyQLub-_DVxDj2eycpX53ZunmQUyPPm3my_fvQltjXrss6mZxgYpEWiOZ/s1600/sc001f0f93.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 211px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIM_l8aKYWqNd8OSikm3UN5bpuzHYnKJ0vEiDrcgojNVEq2zQLmS28QWmIxTgWohr7AFEXozsr6L_UyQLub-_DVxDj2eycpX53ZunmQUyPPm3my_fvQltjXrss6mZxgYpEWiOZ/s320/sc001f0f93.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489085191741184514" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >At the falls partway up Half Dome trail. Damn, I was skinny.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgU2don4jKb-AY33_4aW1JTt5RcW_AxE2KU3NbZJSP6MDReiw8NiBDg6k0gV78_EbbJlmcG5l2Bfzmz4ihIgctkT7nEbbRthyphenhypheneIX3QibMuW6LDPaRUire5qQWmub4huJCcXYcF/s1600/sc001f0f9301.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 211px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgU2don4jKb-AY33_4aW1JTt5RcW_AxE2KU3NbZJSP6MDReiw8NiBDg6k0gV78_EbbJlmcG5l2Bfzmz4ihIgctkT7nEbbRthyphenhypheneIX3QibMuW6LDPaRUire5qQWmub4huJCcXYcF/s320/sc001f0f9301.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489085201510350002" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" ><br />My friends on top of Half Dome, at sunrise</span><br /><br />Since then, I've found myself bothered by sheer drops on one side of the road when we're driving (like the Durango to Silverthorn highway), and I can't seem to get more than four steps up a ladder without starting to panic a little. I even have a hard time watching scenes in movies that show the POV of a steep drop, since that seems to trigger my vertigo more than being next to a drop myself for some reason. It's totally irrational, and totally ridiculous, and totally miserable. I miss being able to climb things.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq2XPIgJB8zy8ocxs4wuq4kI_oZ0BNBSiWeQhWbsiubKVmvPsLIjORkEiwI-u0eRrmEfBPHWrlZvJUeDMxjWs9lsX_FRiwBBo8OFgmUqUPRyy_yXx1bthwFaXswQUjUY5o0hGa/s1600/Picture+09+1033.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489067484573432994" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 320px; height: 240px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq2XPIgJB8zy8ocxs4wuq4kI_oZ0BNBSiWeQhWbsiubKVmvPsLIjORkEiwI-u0eRrmEfBPHWrlZvJUeDMxjWs9lsX_FRiwBBo8OFgmUqUPRyy_yXx1bthwFaXswQUjUY5o0hGa/s320/Picture+09+1033.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>Living branches on a dead tree - how?</em><br /></span><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji6gQE4igHBiukAzphX8pA-HBIRSwZGsmXVZb6kATSjZTO32gcdpsuRmOf1T-1ecMAbyTLXMjqFmmvxLdKV0kMbEwjl-IOq4b9aOqAqR_IViThIDViUYfv3Rg34vSm5A6z-Lbh/s1600/Picture+09+1035.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489067476500669106" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 320px; height: 240px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji6gQE4igHBiukAzphX8pA-HBIRSwZGsmXVZb6kATSjZTO32gcdpsuRmOf1T-1ecMAbyTLXMjqFmmvxLdKV0kMbEwjl-IOq4b9aOqAqR_IViThIDViUYfv3Rg34vSm5A6z-Lbh/s320/Picture+09+1035.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><em><span style="font-size:85%;">It grew new roots post-chop!</span></em><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg050QtiSkYXLNU1EQ16zXiDf4e-RP6DUQRCm239x1acwZuir9u9uB2WSveggF0enurpGC78W6Vi1KHwJSMHfqARx_7Lo5cozaB95_AzJ5ZMXsG5R01jRmBUunqaCdPObNMv5iU/s1600/Picture+09+1037.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489067458839336850" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 320px; height: 240px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg050QtiSkYXLNU1EQ16zXiDf4e-RP6DUQRCm239x1acwZuir9u9uB2WSveggF0enurpGC78W6Vi1KHwJSMHfqARx_7Lo5cozaB95_AzJ5ZMXsG5R01jRmBUunqaCdPObNMv5iU/s320/Picture+09+1037.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />On Sunday of this past weekend, Dan and I went on yet another hike, something we try to do at least once a week. He found one in an area we'd never hiked before, west of Sedalia (which itself is southwest of Denver). The point of the hike is to make it to the fire tower, from which one can see nearly 100 miles in any given direction on a clear day. It took us longer to get to the trailhead than we expected, and we had one false start, but once we got going it was a lovely trail, ascending about 1000 feet over 1.7 miles. The weather looked like it was perhaps not going to cooperate, but by the time we got to the tower it was a little bit overcast, and we heard some thunder, but it didn't seem too bad.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUKTMdLp3imuh8JV16E6oet61yV3HdAm-GPu_ul7GcfvC5EMXCXtdVTjsai6DVmFaPBcLG8vBVKnSCm3C9qBhj_Iw3E-TsLFQm7b6bJAxnLEEndNvyFeLUMb0iHnCIcK2XYBvi/s1600/Picture+09+1024.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489068007126245378" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 320px; height: 240px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUKTMdLp3imuh8JV16E6oet61yV3HdAm-GPu_ul7GcfvC5EMXCXtdVTjsai6DVmFaPBcLG8vBVKnSCm3C9qBhj_Iw3E-TsLFQm7b6bJAxnLEEndNvyFeLUMb0iHnCIcK2XYBvi/s320/Picture+09+1024.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br />The part that seemed bad to me was the 143 steps on the side of the rock face I was going to have to climb in order to get to the tower.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWlr2-lJv8c61RK25Qx77AgSrwZvk_o4os_RuHnJnXfO-j-2UI2pPg0nasTVJfUk3MxQbiJce4mMDR2cDx6lG2-KdJoe4sMHsTBaorhpM8dxfDxpDElb-21_sXfyHO8QE73SFV/s1600/Picture+09+1026.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489067994392768322" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 320px; height: 240px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWlr2-lJv8c61RK25Qx77AgSrwZvk_o4os_RuHnJnXfO-j-2UI2pPg0nasTVJfUk3MxQbiJce4mMDR2cDx6lG2-KdJoe4sMHsTBaorhpM8dxfDxpDElb-21_sXfyHO8QE73SFV/s320/Picture+09+1026.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />I looked at the steps, and I looked at the tower, and I looked at the sky, and I said to myself, Self, you can do this. Just go fast. Fast fast fast. I climbed all 143 steps repeating "Look at the steps. Look at the steps. Don't look up, don't look down, just look at the steps" and was at the top and climbing across the rock to the tower before Dan even made it halfway up. I didn't quite run them, but I went superfast, took deep breaths, and didn't allow myself to be scared. Up in the tower we found an older gentleman who has spent the last 26 summers living in the cabin at the base of the rock and sitting in the tower, looking for forest fires, all day long, every day. It was a pretty neat experience.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz0Dlvfr67gitVnnj-uGTcIqX8pbsfw7YK29LvOC2RDP4l-0yOQcfcQQchdjf38vbRJVl3lOvJEA2lm_gC6syLlG5J7bViOSHcinrI_eukqUNsjdtpZTDUX1CCoAGnpHrbQSQ3/s1600/Picture+09+1027.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489067985431293410" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 320px; height: 240px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz0Dlvfr67gitVnnj-uGTcIqX8pbsfw7YK29LvOC2RDP4l-0yOQcfcQQchdjf38vbRJVl3lOvJEA2lm_gC6syLlG5J7bViOSHcinrI_eukqUNsjdtpZTDUX1CCoAGnpHrbQSQ3/s320/Picture+09+1027.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSSFFWNlW72vWXJjUtiJFXivhVZ6qlVLW1QwewgY2eKKKikDynqpK4vF3wrF8JgxmTpnEffljAT2bQ8tjpcn0plqNzCOS0YakZxGDD-RPUeHPnz1HNszPA4ic2cA0Vo2lWhe8v/s1600/Picture+09+1028.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489067502825551106" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 320px; height: 240px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSSFFWNlW72vWXJjUtiJFXivhVZ6qlVLW1QwewgY2eKKKikDynqpK4vF3wrF8JgxmTpnEffljAT2bQ8tjpcn0plqNzCOS0YakZxGDD-RPUeHPnz1HNszPA4ic2cA0Vo2lWhe8v/s320/Picture+09+1028.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />The fire tower had a huge lightning rod, so I felt pretty safe on the climb up and the climb down in that respect, but I had to take the stairs down nearly as fast as I'd taken them up, which in some ways was even more difficult because I'd already hiked 1.7 miles and climbed 143 stairs, so my legs were tired and noodly. When I made it to the bottom of the steps, I waited for Dan to come down, and when he reached the bottom I mentioned to him how proud I was of myself for making it up and down those steps. Because damn, yo. I totally did it, and I didn't have a panic attack. Go, me!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy1L-E48Z3gSVCcCv4KMGVBsAqG1LxclDrmOxmu0ZhXE7RgpimVcJitHaSRS9yHHSYcG-SNUli27_LRPh09NCD-Gw-W3s0B3aHzCKpOTDeHvoEpTn8RqDDMUScn7pCaW0K1yXi/s1600/Picture+09+1031.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489067491626230226" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 320px; height: 240px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy1L-E48Z3gSVCcCv4KMGVBsAqG1LxclDrmOxmu0ZhXE7RgpimVcJitHaSRS9yHHSYcG-SNUli27_LRPh09NCD-Gw-W3s0B3aHzCKpOTDeHvoEpTn8RqDDMUScn7pCaW0K1yXi/s320/Picture+09+1031.jpg" border="0" /></a>MLEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09301902783411290755noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19036375.post-27722202727804031462010-06-29T15:47:00.002-06:002010-06-29T16:57:16.526-06:00The Next Grand AdventureOur friends <a href="http://pantalonesdelfuego.blogspot.com/2007/12/piers-anthony-delorean-and-kicking.html">Kent and Christine</a> are finally getting around to making it legal, and they've invited us to their wedding in Connecticut on the 17th of July. There's no power in the 'verse that can stop me from being there, but I spent weeks trying to find a reasonably affordable flight that would allow us some time in NYC as well, but to no avail. I wracked my brain trying to think of ways to get around the seemingly insurmountable obstacle of spending nearly a thousand dollars on two plane tickets and hotel for a few nights, not to mention food, transportation, etc once we're there, and I just couldn't figure out how we could make it work.<br /><br />Until one night, a couple of weeks ago, I hatched a perfect plan. It was so perfect that I stayed awake for hours past my bedtime because I just couldn't fall asleep after hatching such a perfect (and exciting) plan.<br /><br />We're driving.<br /><br />We've done long road trips before, but nothing quite this extensive. Dan's parents have graciously agreed to take the kitties for a couple of weeks, and we're going to spend the middle two weeks of July exploring the country, meeting up with old friends (and meeting with new!), having adventures and seeing some friends get hitched eleven years after their first date. I am super duper fantabulously excited about this plan, so let me tell you a bit more about it.<br /><br />Our intention is to drive the northern route on the way out to the East Coast, leaving sometime during the weekend of July 10/11, and stopping in Chicago, Ann Arbor, Pittsburgh, and possibly NYC along the way before we make it out to the wedding on the 17th. Then, we plan to stop in NYC, Philadelphia, Boone (North Carolina), Louisville, and Kansas City on our way back. We'll do a mix of camping, cheap motels, and maybe even couch surfing, and between that and the price of gas we won't even come close to what the cost of the trip would have been had we opted to fly. Plus, this way each of us gets to add a few new states, we get to see people we like, and I'll have a heck of a lot of blog fodder. What's not to like?<br /><br />So if you live in one of the above cities (or you've visited) and you have ideas, suggestions, or are willing to let a couple of crazy Strykers crash in your living room, I'd love to hear from you in the comments. :)MLEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09301902783411290755noreply@blogger.com4