Ever have one of those days when all day long it feels like you're slogging through molasses, up hill both ways, and never quite getting where you're trying to go?
I usually swim on Tuesday mornings. Sometimes I dawdle a little at home. This morning, I was in my car exactly at the time I had hoped to be. When I turned the key, the car just made sad little noises. Oh sigh.
By this time, Robert had woken up and made an appearance in his bathrobe. After a brief chat, we decided that if he could help me jump start the car, I'd immediately drive to the mechanic. So I called the car shop, they said they'd be happy to take a look, we successfully jump-started the car, and I drove over, followed by a now-dressed Robert.
Then back home, out of my swim suit and into the shower, and an hour after I'd first started out, we started driving to Robert's work together. The idea was that I'd take his car, run an errand during the day, and he'd find a ride home.
The ride to work was filled with delays and many many construction projects. There was even a project going on at the gas station where we had to stop to fill up and on a back road that never has delays. Finally, we got to his work, dropped him off, I got in the driver's seat, and started the slow slog back to my office (nearly all the way back home).
I finally heard back from my mechanic that I just needed a new (and expensive) battery. Fine. I called my neighbor, thinking I'd drive Robert's car home, and my neighbor could drop me off at the repair place. We were all set. I went to start Robert's car. There's a little trick to backing up -- you have to lift the ring under the gear shift knob while easing the car into reverse.
And SPROING! off came the knob, two springs, the casing around the stick, and the panel at the bottom. They flew around the car. And there I was dreading calling Robert to tell him what I'd done. His response? Oh yeah, that happens. He'd just never seen *two* springs. With his coaching, I tried to put the thing back together, but I still couldn't get the car into reverse.
So I called my neighbor, who sweetly agreed to come pick me up at work and drive me to the mechanic's. We left Robert's car at work.
Of course, I was supposed to be getting work done today, but when I was in my office, it was happening in 15-second intervals in between massive (work-related) interruptions. D'oh.
Robert got a ride home from his boss. We'd agreed that he'd come to work where I'd wait for him. Somehow, that got confused with his getting a ride home, but fortunately the boss brought him back to my office. Robert somehow managed to put his gear shift back together and even got his car into reverse. I convinced him to take his car to his mechanic.
So off we went, with me following. We arrived at the dealer's and at that late hour even found someone to talk to who said he'd text the service manager tonight on our behalf. Robert wrote a note about the repair and then ... couldn't find his key. Somehow, between arriving and writing, the key had dematerialized. We finally gave up searching for it. Robert brought me home, got his spare key, and drove it back to the dealer. (He later found the key buried underneath archaeological layers in his tote bag. At least his tote bag is now cleaned out.)
We finally sat down to dinner around 8pm. I had thought that tomorrow, Robert could drop me off at work and just take my car. But now a new complication: he has a dentist appointment tomorrow morning. We'll work it out, I'm sure.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Monday, September 14, 2009
on my mind
Soon after we left for vacation, my friend KenM started posting an online account of his mother's final illness. I've known Ken for 20 years, since he was a young pup. Over the years, I've met his entire family -- his sister through my food coop, his brother through theater connections, and his parents, who live in the same town where I live, here and there.
His mom came down with a chronic and rare lung problem about a dozen years ago. For a while at least, she was waiting for a lung transplant. More recently, she developed heart problems and she was rushed to the hospital many times and always recovered. Many thought that her determination came from having a young grandson with whose arrival she was delighted.
In any case, about two weeks ago, she had a near fatal heart attack, hung on for nearly a week, and died. The family used their reserves' reserves to to ensure her comfort.
In the middle of all this, my friend Ken acquired an elbow infection which turned serious and then systemic. He's been in the hospital since Thursday and was given a day pass for the funeral. They think they have a handle on it, and they're switching him from IV to oral antibiotics. He's being sprung today.
I've been talking to him on the phone, and it's been pure joy to hear his voice get stronger every day. Robert had this same infection about 15 years ago, and it was terrifying. We're lucky he came away with it with all limbs attached. Sounds like Ken will be similarly lucky but I've been quite worried over the whole thing.
As the oft-quoted KAH might say, Friday the 13th came in September this year.
His mom came down with a chronic and rare lung problem about a dozen years ago. For a while at least, she was waiting for a lung transplant. More recently, she developed heart problems and she was rushed to the hospital many times and always recovered. Many thought that her determination came from having a young grandson with whose arrival she was delighted.
In any case, about two weeks ago, she had a near fatal heart attack, hung on for nearly a week, and died. The family used their reserves' reserves to to ensure her comfort.
In the middle of all this, my friend Ken acquired an elbow infection which turned serious and then systemic. He's been in the hospital since Thursday and was given a day pass for the funeral. They think they have a handle on it, and they're switching him from IV to oral antibiotics. He's being sprung today.
I've been talking to him on the phone, and it's been pure joy to hear his voice get stronger every day. Robert had this same infection about 15 years ago, and it was terrifying. We're lucky he came away with it with all limbs attached. Sounds like Ken will be similarly lucky but I've been quite worried over the whole thing.
As the oft-quoted KAH might say, Friday the 13th came in September this year.
Friday, September 04, 2009
on Mount Desert Island
We arrived here last Sunday. Our host, B, was out and had left a welcoming note. We brought stuff in from the car and settled into our little upstairs apartment, complete with Arts and Crafts furniture, artwork, great colors, and stunning views. The highlight of the apartment is a sitting area with three windows looking onto a lawn, beyond which is a meadow and the edge of Acadia National Park. The loons fly overhead each morning, making the commute from the pond just through the trees to their eating grounds. I love their throaty cries.
The island is shaped like a person's lungs. B lives on the west side of the western lobe, the quiet side, diagonally opposite bustling Bar Harbor.
When B invited us to stay here, I wasn't sure how things would work out, if he wanted to be solitary and occasionally wave at us across the clothesline, or if he wanted to spend more time with us. It turns out that we've had the pleasure of his companies on a number of his adventures.
On Sunday, we took a short walk into Acadia NP to see a few ponds and walk on well-kept roads surrounded by tall pines. Later, the three of us drove into Bar Harbor for dinner at a place down a little alley behind a barn. Very fun and very good food. And we walked around BH a bit after dinner. What years before had been a charming town to my eyes suddenly felt like too much -- too many stores, too many tee shirts, too many people. I was glad to get back home.
Monday, we hiked up Acadia Mountain (eastern side of western lobe). It was actually hard going for me, or maybe I should say challenging. For one thing, it was quite vertical, and although many kind souls had cut steps and blazed paths, still, there was some work involved. B thinks the climb was "moderate," a few outside opinions call it "strenuous," and my ankles and knees thought that perhaps doing a climb like that every other day would be appropriate.
Regardless, as we wound our way to the top across rough granite boulders and through twisted trees, we started to get glimpses of the lay of the land. It was a brilliant day and we could see for miles. We were also right next to the water, so we could see sounds, expensive houses next to the sounds, and islands. B pointed out the spot below where he woke up one morning and realized he needed to move to Maine. (He now spends most of his time in Boston and comes to Maine every month.)
Back at sea level, we returned to the house and made dinner for B and his delightful neighbor A. They've both owned houses here for 25 years and enjoy each others' company a great deal.
On Tuesday, B took his boat for repairs. We met him in the boatyard, from which a tourist cruise goes to a small island. The three of us hopped on the tourist cruise. Funny - my expectations were that a bored captain would take us to the island, then sullenly take us back. Far from it. The highlight was the boat ride - the captain knows the islands and which parts are owned by nature conservancies, land trusts, or the park. He knows the animals and we got to see bald eagles and seals, cormorants and auks and terns. He explained the boom and bust cycles of the fishing trade and described how lobstering has survived all these years. He even had a few lobster traps waiting and showed us what it's like when you pull up a trap - what to throw back, how to measure a lobster, and so on.
Our stop was in Frenchboro, a small town on Long Island. There are summer people there, but just 50 people live there year round. Last year, someone from the island graduated from high school on the mainland; the last high school senior is five years older.
After our return, we enacted a hens-foxes-and-boats scenario with B's repaired boat. The boat was on one side of the harbor and needed to be taken out on the other side. We had two cars and three people and no parking places on the other side. It took a while. I was the designated person to wait on the other side with jeep and trailer, and I didn't mind at all. It was a very pretty wait.
Dinner at home again, followed by a scrabble-like game called Bananagrams. I don't play games often, but this one was fun and we were well-matched, which made it more so.
Wednesday, Robert and I took off for another hike while B stayed behind to take care of some work items, or at least that was the plan. B was feeling funny, amused, something that we had not yet seen the "main highlight" of Acadia NP, so sent us over to the eastern lobe for some hiking.
The main part of the park has a 27-mile long driving loop, carriage roads (originally for horses; today there are more bikers and walkers), and extensive hiking trails. We got a good taste of all three, with some stunning views thrown in. We started out by driving half the loop, the half along the ocean. It's a slow drive, but not a crowded one, at least not while we were there.
We parked at Sand Beach (notable for its sand - most of Maine's beaches are rocky) which we visited briefly. Then we headed up to the peak of Gorham Mountain. The walk parallels the shore, so you get views along the way and you especially get views at the top, which is less like a point and more like an extended ridge line. This walk was more crowded, in that we saw people along the trail, but there were plenty of times that we felt like the only people on the trail.
The trails around here are a mix of flat boulders, shaded tree trunks, natural cobblestone paths up small creeks, and carved steps. The maintainers do a great job of keeping the trails clean and well-marked. In places exposed to weather, they also place cairns, small arrangements of rocks, to guide you in case the blazes wear away.
Near the top, we saw a fawn browsing on blueberries, and I hope getting fat for the coming winter. Although you could not see its ribs, it was so hungry that it didn't mind our presence. Every now and then it would look up to see if we were still there, then go back to the job at hand. We were able to talk quietly, take pictures, move around, all without disturbing it. Such a gift.
When we got back down, we walked on a path between the road and the ocean. We saw thunder hole. In quieter waters, it's more like "Hole that sloshes." But in rough weather, it apparently booms with each wave that comes in. A few weeks ago, several tourists were swept off the rocks there and one girl died. This despite the best efforts of rangers who tried to keep people off the rocks because they knew how dangerous the situation was. Apparently an unheard-of huge wave came out of nowhere and managed to snare seven people. Very sad.
There were beautiful little coves, some with perfectly round pebble-like rocks at the bottom of the cliff. There were people and dogs, wildflowers, gorgeous rocks you could walk onto. Back at the parking lot, we realized we were hungry, so we headed for the only restaurant in the park. But so had everyone else, and we headed out of the park to a small nearby town where we called B to check in.
Turns out that friends of his had sailed into that same town and he was helping them dock. Off they went for a sail, and we went in search of lunch and for a stroll in the little village. Then, because it was yet another beautiful day in this corner of paradise, we decided to drive up Cadillac Mountain (over 1000 feet!). At the top, there's a huge parking lot and lots of people. Still, it's very pretty and very windy and we took a short walk on a carefully paved path.
Another checkin with B and plans were still gelling, so we headed back across the island and walked for a bit on carriage roads. Very peaceful and quiet there, with just a few people in sight. These are wide roads with very gentle rises and falls and beautiful bridges to carry traffic above and out of sight. After a bit, B called (thank goodness for modern technology) to say that the five of us had dinner reservations at 6:30. So we tore back to the house, washed all the salt off, and returned to the other side of the island.
The restaurant was in an out of the way town, south of Bar Harbor, and the food was absolutely delicious. The place was packed, too. I have been loving the fresh fish here and have been eating way more than I typically do.
That brings us to yesterday. B had mentioned a place up the coast (off the island) called Schoodic Peninsula. Apparently, this Sunday's Boston Globe had a brief article about it which said that it's the quieter side of Acadia, undiscovered, almost unvisited. Part of the peninsula is devoted to fishing villages; the other part is owned by the Park Service. It also has a loop road, which we drove. There's a little area from when the Navy owned it, and a sculpture event going on with massive pieces of granite and sculptors from different countries. Along our drive, we stopped to hike up the very short Schoodic Mountain. It was still a challenging hike and there were some very vertical parts, although we did not take the trail described as "steep."
Then we noodled around the countryside, partly in search of antiques (I ended up with a tiny cat statue for $2), partly in search of lunch, which was ok, not stellar. And on another country road, we stumbled on a small organic farm that has a 25-family CSA and bought some food for dinner. Then into a town for some feta to complete our salad.
We had a small cocktail party with the neighbor across the street, then started dinner. Fortunately there were three dishes because I made one of them way too hot. Whoops. We put yogurt on top, which helped, but still.
So that's the trip so far. We have two more days here, then we're off to Portland for two days before easing back into society as we know it.
The island is shaped like a person's lungs. B lives on the west side of the western lobe, the quiet side, diagonally opposite bustling Bar Harbor.
When B invited us to stay here, I wasn't sure how things would work out, if he wanted to be solitary and occasionally wave at us across the clothesline, or if he wanted to spend more time with us. It turns out that we've had the pleasure of his companies on a number of his adventures.
On Sunday, we took a short walk into Acadia NP to see a few ponds and walk on well-kept roads surrounded by tall pines. Later, the three of us drove into Bar Harbor for dinner at a place down a little alley behind a barn. Very fun and very good food. And we walked around BH a bit after dinner. What years before had been a charming town to my eyes suddenly felt like too much -- too many stores, too many tee shirts, too many people. I was glad to get back home.
Monday, we hiked up Acadia Mountain (eastern side of western lobe). It was actually hard going for me, or maybe I should say challenging. For one thing, it was quite vertical, and although many kind souls had cut steps and blazed paths, still, there was some work involved. B thinks the climb was "moderate," a few outside opinions call it "strenuous," and my ankles and knees thought that perhaps doing a climb like that every other day would be appropriate.
Regardless, as we wound our way to the top across rough granite boulders and through twisted trees, we started to get glimpses of the lay of the land. It was a brilliant day and we could see for miles. We were also right next to the water, so we could see sounds, expensive houses next to the sounds, and islands. B pointed out the spot below where he woke up one morning and realized he needed to move to Maine. (He now spends most of his time in Boston and comes to Maine every month.)
Back at sea level, we returned to the house and made dinner for B and his delightful neighbor A. They've both owned houses here for 25 years and enjoy each others' company a great deal.
On Tuesday, B took his boat for repairs. We met him in the boatyard, from which a tourist cruise goes to a small island. The three of us hopped on the tourist cruise. Funny - my expectations were that a bored captain would take us to the island, then sullenly take us back. Far from it. The highlight was the boat ride - the captain knows the islands and which parts are owned by nature conservancies, land trusts, or the park. He knows the animals and we got to see bald eagles and seals, cormorants and auks and terns. He explained the boom and bust cycles of the fishing trade and described how lobstering has survived all these years. He even had a few lobster traps waiting and showed us what it's like when you pull up a trap - what to throw back, how to measure a lobster, and so on.
Our stop was in Frenchboro, a small town on Long Island. There are summer people there, but just 50 people live there year round. Last year, someone from the island graduated from high school on the mainland; the last high school senior is five years older.
After our return, we enacted a hens-foxes-and-boats scenario with B's repaired boat. The boat was on one side of the harbor and needed to be taken out on the other side. We had two cars and three people and no parking places on the other side. It took a while. I was the designated person to wait on the other side with jeep and trailer, and I didn't mind at all. It was a very pretty wait.
Dinner at home again, followed by a scrabble-like game called Bananagrams. I don't play games often, but this one was fun and we were well-matched, which made it more so.
Wednesday, Robert and I took off for another hike while B stayed behind to take care of some work items, or at least that was the plan. B was feeling funny, amused, something that we had not yet seen the "main highlight" of Acadia NP, so sent us over to the eastern lobe for some hiking.
The main part of the park has a 27-mile long driving loop, carriage roads (originally for horses; today there are more bikers and walkers), and extensive hiking trails. We got a good taste of all three, with some stunning views thrown in. We started out by driving half the loop, the half along the ocean. It's a slow drive, but not a crowded one, at least not while we were there.
We parked at Sand Beach (notable for its sand - most of Maine's beaches are rocky) which we visited briefly. Then we headed up to the peak of Gorham Mountain. The walk parallels the shore, so you get views along the way and you especially get views at the top, which is less like a point and more like an extended ridge line. This walk was more crowded, in that we saw people along the trail, but there were plenty of times that we felt like the only people on the trail.
The trails around here are a mix of flat boulders, shaded tree trunks, natural cobblestone paths up small creeks, and carved steps. The maintainers do a great job of keeping the trails clean and well-marked. In places exposed to weather, they also place cairns, small arrangements of rocks, to guide you in case the blazes wear away.
Near the top, we saw a fawn browsing on blueberries, and I hope getting fat for the coming winter. Although you could not see its ribs, it was so hungry that it didn't mind our presence. Every now and then it would look up to see if we were still there, then go back to the job at hand. We were able to talk quietly, take pictures, move around, all without disturbing it. Such a gift.
When we got back down, we walked on a path between the road and the ocean. We saw thunder hole. In quieter waters, it's more like "Hole that sloshes." But in rough weather, it apparently booms with each wave that comes in. A few weeks ago, several tourists were swept off the rocks there and one girl died. This despite the best efforts of rangers who tried to keep people off the rocks because they knew how dangerous the situation was. Apparently an unheard-of huge wave came out of nowhere and managed to snare seven people. Very sad.
There were beautiful little coves, some with perfectly round pebble-like rocks at the bottom of the cliff. There were people and dogs, wildflowers, gorgeous rocks you could walk onto. Back at the parking lot, we realized we were hungry, so we headed for the only restaurant in the park. But so had everyone else, and we headed out of the park to a small nearby town where we called B to check in.
Turns out that friends of his had sailed into that same town and he was helping them dock. Off they went for a sail, and we went in search of lunch and for a stroll in the little village. Then, because it was yet another beautiful day in this corner of paradise, we decided to drive up Cadillac Mountain (over 1000 feet!). At the top, there's a huge parking lot and lots of people. Still, it's very pretty and very windy and we took a short walk on a carefully paved path.
Another checkin with B and plans were still gelling, so we headed back across the island and walked for a bit on carriage roads. Very peaceful and quiet there, with just a few people in sight. These are wide roads with very gentle rises and falls and beautiful bridges to carry traffic above and out of sight. After a bit, B called (thank goodness for modern technology) to say that the five of us had dinner reservations at 6:30. So we tore back to the house, washed all the salt off, and returned to the other side of the island.
The restaurant was in an out of the way town, south of Bar Harbor, and the food was absolutely delicious. The place was packed, too. I have been loving the fresh fish here and have been eating way more than I typically do.
That brings us to yesterday. B had mentioned a place up the coast (off the island) called Schoodic Peninsula. Apparently, this Sunday's Boston Globe had a brief article about it which said that it's the quieter side of Acadia, undiscovered, almost unvisited. Part of the peninsula is devoted to fishing villages; the other part is owned by the Park Service. It also has a loop road, which we drove. There's a little area from when the Navy owned it, and a sculpture event going on with massive pieces of granite and sculptors from different countries. Along our drive, we stopped to hike up the very short Schoodic Mountain. It was still a challenging hike and there were some very vertical parts, although we did not take the trail described as "steep."
Then we noodled around the countryside, partly in search of antiques (I ended up with a tiny cat statue for $2), partly in search of lunch, which was ok, not stellar. And on another country road, we stumbled on a small organic farm that has a 25-family CSA and bought some food for dinner. Then into a town for some feta to complete our salad.
We had a small cocktail party with the neighbor across the street, then started dinner. Fortunately there were three dishes because I made one of them way too hot. Whoops. We put yogurt on top, which helped, but still.
So that's the trip so far. We have two more days here, then we're off to Portland for two days before easing back into society as we know it.
Wednesday, September 02, 2009
summer vacation, part 1
Finally, we're on vacation! Last Thursday, Robert worked a half day, and then we drove northeast to our first destination, Belfast Maine.
We ended up at a very sweet B&B, run by a mostly-retired couple from New Jersey who've had the inn for about 20 years. It's an old Victorian with interesting rambling rooms and just a few guest rooms. It turns out we were the only guests.
The wife of the couple cooked amazing breakfasts and chatted with us a lot. The inn is nicely decorated, but not overly so - we were totally comfortable there.
Our first night, we went for a walk downtown and ended up at a brewpub called Three Tides. We sat on a deck overlooking the harbor, sipped beer, and nibbled on American tapas.
On Friday, Robert drove while I navigated - about 150 miles of noodling. We first went to a beautiful new bridge that has an observatory tower from which you can see scenery for miles around. We continued across the next peninsula and onto an island, keeping to the coast. We went through Brooklin (where EB White summered), onto Stonington, and back up the other side and around Castine.
We stopped for lunch in Stonington and found a really nice local place with very fresh fish. Of course, we got to sit outside and enjoy the view of the working harbor.
That evening, we made it back to Belfast in time for the last bit of their weekly open gallery tour. We made it to perhaps five galleries and saw some good work before heading back to Three Tides for beer samplers - nine beers in small glasses. Yum.
The next day it poured rain and we headed south. Years ago, we'd visited the Farnsworth Museum which I remembered fondly, especially for it's multi-generation Wyeth holdings. Before we left, though, we stopped off at a Belfast gallery and bought some artwork that we'd admired the night before (small pieces). We talked to the artist a bit - about her work, about her "winter" job as a school nurse, her family, politics, the usual.
Then south, with a long stop at the Carver Hill Gallery, a mix between a home design showroom and one of the best art galleries we've ever been in. It's set up like a house, complete with working kitchen, living spaces, bathrooms, and the art is displayed in every room. They display traditional wall art, furniture, sculpture, textiles, and kids' art. Another nice chat with the manager, and we finally went on to the Farnsworth, where...
The Andrew Wyeths were wonderful and satisfying. The lady at the desk was snotty (she scolded me for not making their Robert Indiana show a top priority - not what I came for). The Jamie Wyeths (son) were disappointing - lots of seagulls in a show called the Seven Deadly Sins. I didn't even see half of it. And the NC Wyeths (father) were *fine*, not my favorites. We did see another exhibit, mostly of modern prints and a few paintings, mostly by Maine painters, that was satisfying. But we felt that the Carver Hill experience was far more interesting with a small exception for the Andrew Wyeths.
Then back to Belfast, an early (and delicious dinner), and back to the inn. It was rainy and cold and the innkeepers made a fire for us. They invited us to play board games with them but instead, we opted to spend the evening reading. One of the innkeeper's cats decided that my lap was the designated two-hour evening nap spot, and I can't say I minded.
The cats were beautiful - a mix between sealpoint Siamese and Persian, with comfortable faces (neither pointy nor smooshed) and luxurious medium-length coats. And such placid personalities.
On Sunday, we drove further into Maine, mostly east. We are now downeast on Mount Desert Island, staying in the upstairs apartment of a friend whose property borders Acadia National Park. A few adventures down, and a few more to go. It is very peaceful here and a good place to be.
We ended up at a very sweet B&B, run by a mostly-retired couple from New Jersey who've had the inn for about 20 years. It's an old Victorian with interesting rambling rooms and just a few guest rooms. It turns out we were the only guests.
The wife of the couple cooked amazing breakfasts and chatted with us a lot. The inn is nicely decorated, but not overly so - we were totally comfortable there.
Our first night, we went for a walk downtown and ended up at a brewpub called Three Tides. We sat on a deck overlooking the harbor, sipped beer, and nibbled on American tapas.
On Friday, Robert drove while I navigated - about 150 miles of noodling. We first went to a beautiful new bridge that has an observatory tower from which you can see scenery for miles around. We continued across the next peninsula and onto an island, keeping to the coast. We went through Brooklin (where EB White summered), onto Stonington, and back up the other side and around Castine.
We stopped for lunch in Stonington and found a really nice local place with very fresh fish. Of course, we got to sit outside and enjoy the view of the working harbor.
That evening, we made it back to Belfast in time for the last bit of their weekly open gallery tour. We made it to perhaps five galleries and saw some good work before heading back to Three Tides for beer samplers - nine beers in small glasses. Yum.
The next day it poured rain and we headed south. Years ago, we'd visited the Farnsworth Museum which I remembered fondly, especially for it's multi-generation Wyeth holdings. Before we left, though, we stopped off at a Belfast gallery and bought some artwork that we'd admired the night before (small pieces). We talked to the artist a bit - about her work, about her "winter" job as a school nurse, her family, politics, the usual.
Then south, with a long stop at the Carver Hill Gallery, a mix between a home design showroom and one of the best art galleries we've ever been in. It's set up like a house, complete with working kitchen, living spaces, bathrooms, and the art is displayed in every room. They display traditional wall art, furniture, sculpture, textiles, and kids' art. Another nice chat with the manager, and we finally went on to the Farnsworth, where...
The Andrew Wyeths were wonderful and satisfying. The lady at the desk was snotty (she scolded me for not making their Robert Indiana show a top priority - not what I came for). The Jamie Wyeths (son) were disappointing - lots of seagulls in a show called the Seven Deadly Sins. I didn't even see half of it. And the NC Wyeths (father) were *fine*, not my favorites. We did see another exhibit, mostly of modern prints and a few paintings, mostly by Maine painters, that was satisfying. But we felt that the Carver Hill experience was far more interesting with a small exception for the Andrew Wyeths.
Then back to Belfast, an early (and delicious dinner), and back to the inn. It was rainy and cold and the innkeepers made a fire for us. They invited us to play board games with them but instead, we opted to spend the evening reading. One of the innkeeper's cats decided that my lap was the designated two-hour evening nap spot, and I can't say I minded.
The cats were beautiful - a mix between sealpoint Siamese and Persian, with comfortable faces (neither pointy nor smooshed) and luxurious medium-length coats. And such placid personalities.
On Sunday, we drove further into Maine, mostly east. We are now downeast on Mount Desert Island, staying in the upstairs apartment of a friend whose property borders Acadia National Park. A few adventures down, and a few more to go. It is very peaceful here and a good place to be.
Monday, August 24, 2009
practice vaca #2 - back to the berkshires
Another great weekend in the Berkshires, though shorter this time, and a little less packed with activity.
We saw two very satisfying concerts led by Kurt Masur. Mr. Masur is 82 years old and worked entirely without a musical score for both concerts. He has tremors in his hands. It looks like he's giving extra instructions to the orchestra, but somehow the orchestra understands all his nuances and plays masterfully under him. His eyes sparkle and he clearly loves the musicians, often blowing them kisses at the end of a piece. He also is much more concerned with recognizing the musicians than in being recognized himself. The orchestra seems completely devoted to him, in turn. It all makes for very good chemistry.
We were sitting up front and way to the side for both concerts, giving us a good perspective on the conductor's face and allowing me to hear parts of the orchestra that somehow don't come across as clearly when heard head on.
The first concert was Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven, with a young and very good pianist, David Fray (someone we'd never heard of until the event, though there was a short blurb about him in the Globe on Friday). He earned a standing ovation for his first performance at Tanglewood, a nice accolade.
The second concert was all-Mendelsohn, but three "greatest hits" pieces, all very familiar. The soloist was Gil Shaham, whom we first stumbled on in London, on a night when we couldn't find an open theater, so decided to go to a concert. That night long ago, we heard a wild, showy violinist who sounded in danger of burning up his instrument. This weekend, we heard a wildly restrained violinist with amazing control over his instrument, especially at the higher notes. I kept thinking that it would be hard to find another soloist this good with this piece.
Unfortunately, the weather was highly uncooperative, dumping massive amounts of rain on the area in short amounts of time. Both nights, the lawn was nearly empty, a sight I've never seen before. Good thing, then, that for next week's five sold-out performances, James Taylor is donating his entire fee (a cool half mil) to Tanglewood. Good for him, and I'm sure, especially appreciated this year.
A side-benefit at Tanglewood was that we bumped into a fellow contra dancer who lives in the area, someone we haven't seen for ages. She volunteers as a greeter there, and we got to catch up with her on both nights. Very sweet person and we may have convinced her to come to dance camp this fall.
On Saturday during the day, we went to the Norman Rockwell museum, where they have two main exhibits. One is a a traveling exhibit of "greatest hits," now back home. We've seen many of these pieces before, but now they have great explanatory plaques. It was like visiting again with old friends.
The second exhibit is of NR's son's work, a lot of sculptures and some water colors. I especially enjoyed a series of small bronzes - tiny, exuberant, in-the-moment, acrobatic human figures.
One of the exciting things about this museum is that NR died just 30 years ago, which means that many people still remember him. It's fun to listen in on tours because they're mostly stories about NR, gossipy without a touch of meanness, and not so much scholarly dissertations on the art. I've actually met two models for his paintings, one a co-worker, and one the model for "The Problem We All Live With." The spirit of NR is very much kept alive.
As a side-note, Robert said that in the 18 years of knowing me, he's never seen me stand up for such an extended time as I did on Saturday. I was really enjoying myself and fortunately came away not even needing my usual ibuprofen antidote.
On this visit, we stayed at our favorite place, in a little out-of-the-way town that most people don't know about (ssshh! don't tell anyone!). We've now stayed there at least six times. We love staying in a place where the owners grew up, hearing family stories, and even hearing about the current struggles the family is going through. Yesterday, we sat at the breakfast table for three hours, first talking to other guests and then to family members.
And then we came home. We flew down the Pike - the Sunday afternoon traffic hadn't picked up yet. Our neighbor did a great job taking care of the cats, so they were happy to see us and seemingly undisturbed that we'd been away.
And now... on to the week and the long-awaited real vacation which starts at the end of this week.
We saw two very satisfying concerts led by Kurt Masur. Mr. Masur is 82 years old and worked entirely without a musical score for both concerts. He has tremors in his hands. It looks like he's giving extra instructions to the orchestra, but somehow the orchestra understands all his nuances and plays masterfully under him. His eyes sparkle and he clearly loves the musicians, often blowing them kisses at the end of a piece. He also is much more concerned with recognizing the musicians than in being recognized himself. The orchestra seems completely devoted to him, in turn. It all makes for very good chemistry.
We were sitting up front and way to the side for both concerts, giving us a good perspective on the conductor's face and allowing me to hear parts of the orchestra that somehow don't come across as clearly when heard head on.
The first concert was Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven, with a young and very good pianist, David Fray (someone we'd never heard of until the event, though there was a short blurb about him in the Globe on Friday). He earned a standing ovation for his first performance at Tanglewood, a nice accolade.
The second concert was all-Mendelsohn, but three "greatest hits" pieces, all very familiar. The soloist was Gil Shaham, whom we first stumbled on in London, on a night when we couldn't find an open theater, so decided to go to a concert. That night long ago, we heard a wild, showy violinist who sounded in danger of burning up his instrument. This weekend, we heard a wildly restrained violinist with amazing control over his instrument, especially at the higher notes. I kept thinking that it would be hard to find another soloist this good with this piece.
Unfortunately, the weather was highly uncooperative, dumping massive amounts of rain on the area in short amounts of time. Both nights, the lawn was nearly empty, a sight I've never seen before. Good thing, then, that for next week's five sold-out performances, James Taylor is donating his entire fee (a cool half mil) to Tanglewood. Good for him, and I'm sure, especially appreciated this year.
A side-benefit at Tanglewood was that we bumped into a fellow contra dancer who lives in the area, someone we haven't seen for ages. She volunteers as a greeter there, and we got to catch up with her on both nights. Very sweet person and we may have convinced her to come to dance camp this fall.
On Saturday during the day, we went to the Norman Rockwell museum, where they have two main exhibits. One is a a traveling exhibit of "greatest hits," now back home. We've seen many of these pieces before, but now they have great explanatory plaques. It was like visiting again with old friends.
The second exhibit is of NR's son's work, a lot of sculptures and some water colors. I especially enjoyed a series of small bronzes - tiny, exuberant, in-the-moment, acrobatic human figures.
One of the exciting things about this museum is that NR died just 30 years ago, which means that many people still remember him. It's fun to listen in on tours because they're mostly stories about NR, gossipy without a touch of meanness, and not so much scholarly dissertations on the art. I've actually met two models for his paintings, one a co-worker, and one the model for "The Problem We All Live With." The spirit of NR is very much kept alive.
As a side-note, Robert said that in the 18 years of knowing me, he's never seen me stand up for such an extended time as I did on Saturday. I was really enjoying myself and fortunately came away not even needing my usual ibuprofen antidote.
On this visit, we stayed at our favorite place, in a little out-of-the-way town that most people don't know about (ssshh! don't tell anyone!). We've now stayed there at least six times. We love staying in a place where the owners grew up, hearing family stories, and even hearing about the current struggles the family is going through. Yesterday, we sat at the breakfast table for three hours, first talking to other guests and then to family members.
And then we came home. We flew down the Pike - the Sunday afternoon traffic hadn't picked up yet. Our neighbor did a great job taking care of the cats, so they were happy to see us and seemingly undisturbed that we'd been away.
And now... on to the week and the long-awaited real vacation which starts at the end of this week.
Monday, August 10, 2009
excellent weekend - practice vacation 1
This August, we have two tiny practice vacations in the Berkshires before going on our real vacation at the end of the month. We had our first practice this past weekend, and what a lovely time it was.
At this point, we have two favorite places to stay in the Berkshires, and given that we go about twice a year, we get to stay in each every year. This time, we stayed with Richard on his llama farm. Richard has three guest rooms and fascinating guests every time. He lives on a stunning piece of property half way up a mountain, with beautiful views to the west and the rest of the mountain (and over 100 square miles of public land) rising behind. We were privileged to go on a llama trek, this time with him. It turns out that he loves noticing animal tracks and reconstructing the story. We saw many deer tracks, some walking, some running, some raccoon, turkey, and coyote tracks. We even found some scat and Richard was able to tell us what the animal had been eating -- fruit and voles.
On Thursday night, we went to a performance at Tanglewood in the littler hall (Seiji Ozawa), which is stunning -- I often wish Mark had lived long enough to see it. One of the clever parts of its design is that the back of the hall rises to two massive doors. For concerts, the doors are open and the floor continues directly onto the lawn, which continues to rise.
We saw just about our favorite dance troupe -- Mark Morris, accompanied (in part) by two little-known but talented musicians -- Yo Yo Ma and Emanuel Ax. I'm sure they'll make it some day with a little more practice. I wanted to sit through the performance five times. It was hard to know whether to listen to the music, watch the dancers, look at the hall, try to integrate the whole experience (really hard), or just sit and let the experience come to me. In the end, I decided that if we were disappointed with every thing else this weekend, this performance would have made the trip worthwhile. Of course, that was far from the case: MMDG was only the beginning of a great time.
Friday, we headed up to the Clark Museum in the Northwest corner of the state. This is one of my favorite museums, both for its permanent collections and for its special exhibitions. They currently have an exhibit on Georgia O'Keefe and one of her mentors, Arthur Dove. The curators at this museum have a special talent for juxtaposing works so that you can compare themes, styles, ideas, which all made the exhibit even more wonderful.
Last year in New Mexico, we saw a lot of O'Keefe's works at her museum in Santa Fe. We also drove over to Abiqui to see Ghost Ranch where she did a lot of her southwest work. So it was especially interesting this year to see an exhibit mostly of east coast work with a little southwest thrown in.
We revisited an exhibit we saw last year of American landscapes in the permanent collection. Landscapes are typically not my favorite, but these are great -- powerful, evocative -- and it's a small exhibit of large works.
They've just opened a new trail through their nearly vertical meadow, so we took the long way to their two-year old conservation and exhibit building. On entry to the meadow, we were met by two stunningly beautiful horses who sniffed us all over to see if we'd brought them treats. I called them the attack horses, but really, they were very gentle and happy to be petted if not fed. The walk was complete with gorgeous views of the next mountain over, of woods and meadow flowers. The resident cows barely glanced at us and resumed their munching.
The new building, the Stone Center, could be the most awful kind of architecture in less skilled hands. Instead, it is modern and purposeful and well integrated into its surroundings. They are running a lovely exhibit on Japanese landscapes (from about 150 years ago) and modern Japanese ceramics. Later, we sat on their patio and had a light lunch just so we could watch the landscape some more.
That evening, we headed to Jacob's Pillow for a dance performance of Rennie Harris. RH is a hip-hop artist with street training who came to formal dance later in life. Last time we saw him, he was just working with men, and now women have joined his troupe. The beat rocks and so do the dancers. Amazing work.
On Saturday, we visited the Berkshire Botanical Garden, always a treat. They have a meandering path around a park with different types of gardens -- cottage, herb, rock, water, farm. It's a peaceful place.
Then we headed back to Jacob's Pillow to see a talk I'd noticed in the brochure the night before -- Rachel Maddow speaking about public policy and the arts. Doesn't that sound like the most boring topic imaginable? Of course, it wasn't. She was funny, delightful, insightful. She started by giving a history of Jacob's Pillow, complete with tiny eye wiggles and admiration. She talked about funding arts as an act of patriotism. During audience questions, someone mentioned that they'd read that RM's partner is an artist and suddenly the conversation switched from the political to the personal.
At the beginning, during the history portion, RM said that she originally thought 10 people would come and so she'd brought a picture to pass around. Given that about 1000 of us showed up (dancers, grandmothers, baby dykes, us, everyone in between), she decided that was a little impractical. We didn't get to see the picture, buy Boy Howdy (as she would say), we did get to see her.
That evening, we went back to Tanglewood to see a Prokofiev symphony (very short, very listenable) and the star attraction, Carmina Burana. Perhaps I should mention that I despise classical singing and this piece not only has three soloists but an adult chorus and a children's chorus. And we still went. And it was fantastic. I've heard recordings over the years, but to see it live was an absolute privelege.
Yesterday, we went on our llama hike, then headed back to Tanglewood for a long concert with four pieces, all by people I'm unfamiliar with. Shostakovitch was perhaps the most familiar name. Some of the descriptions (atonal, for example) made some of the pieces sound frightening, but they were all very easy and pleasant to listen to. But the star attraction was Yo Yo Ma (again) and a young conductor who got his big break last summer when James Levine fell ill at the start of the summer season. Both were excellent, and Yo Yo Ma makes nearly every piece we've heard him perform into something listenable.
Then home, and work starts up shortly. Phew. What a great time. And we get to go back soon.
At this point, we have two favorite places to stay in the Berkshires, and given that we go about twice a year, we get to stay in each every year. This time, we stayed with Richard on his llama farm. Richard has three guest rooms and fascinating guests every time. He lives on a stunning piece of property half way up a mountain, with beautiful views to the west and the rest of the mountain (and over 100 square miles of public land) rising behind. We were privileged to go on a llama trek, this time with him. It turns out that he loves noticing animal tracks and reconstructing the story. We saw many deer tracks, some walking, some running, some raccoon, turkey, and coyote tracks. We even found some scat and Richard was able to tell us what the animal had been eating -- fruit and voles.
On Thursday night, we went to a performance at Tanglewood in the littler hall (Seiji Ozawa), which is stunning -- I often wish Mark had lived long enough to see it. One of the clever parts of its design is that the back of the hall rises to two massive doors. For concerts, the doors are open and the floor continues directly onto the lawn, which continues to rise.
We saw just about our favorite dance troupe -- Mark Morris, accompanied (in part) by two little-known but talented musicians -- Yo Yo Ma and Emanuel Ax. I'm sure they'll make it some day with a little more practice. I wanted to sit through the performance five times. It was hard to know whether to listen to the music, watch the dancers, look at the hall, try to integrate the whole experience (really hard), or just sit and let the experience come to me. In the end, I decided that if we were disappointed with every thing else this weekend, this performance would have made the trip worthwhile. Of course, that was far from the case: MMDG was only the beginning of a great time.
Friday, we headed up to the Clark Museum in the Northwest corner of the state. This is one of my favorite museums, both for its permanent collections and for its special exhibitions. They currently have an exhibit on Georgia O'Keefe and one of her mentors, Arthur Dove. The curators at this museum have a special talent for juxtaposing works so that you can compare themes, styles, ideas, which all made the exhibit even more wonderful.
Last year in New Mexico, we saw a lot of O'Keefe's works at her museum in Santa Fe. We also drove over to Abiqui to see Ghost Ranch where she did a lot of her southwest work. So it was especially interesting this year to see an exhibit mostly of east coast work with a little southwest thrown in.
We revisited an exhibit we saw last year of American landscapes in the permanent collection. Landscapes are typically not my favorite, but these are great -- powerful, evocative -- and it's a small exhibit of large works.
They've just opened a new trail through their nearly vertical meadow, so we took the long way to their two-year old conservation and exhibit building. On entry to the meadow, we were met by two stunningly beautiful horses who sniffed us all over to see if we'd brought them treats. I called them the attack horses, but really, they were very gentle and happy to be petted if not fed. The walk was complete with gorgeous views of the next mountain over, of woods and meadow flowers. The resident cows barely glanced at us and resumed their munching.
The new building, the Stone Center, could be the most awful kind of architecture in less skilled hands. Instead, it is modern and purposeful and well integrated into its surroundings. They are running a lovely exhibit on Japanese landscapes (from about 150 years ago) and modern Japanese ceramics. Later, we sat on their patio and had a light lunch just so we could watch the landscape some more.
That evening, we headed to Jacob's Pillow for a dance performance of Rennie Harris. RH is a hip-hop artist with street training who came to formal dance later in life. Last time we saw him, he was just working with men, and now women have joined his troupe. The beat rocks and so do the dancers. Amazing work.
On Saturday, we visited the Berkshire Botanical Garden, always a treat. They have a meandering path around a park with different types of gardens -- cottage, herb, rock, water, farm. It's a peaceful place.
Then we headed back to Jacob's Pillow to see a talk I'd noticed in the brochure the night before -- Rachel Maddow speaking about public policy and the arts. Doesn't that sound like the most boring topic imaginable? Of course, it wasn't. She was funny, delightful, insightful. She started by giving a history of Jacob's Pillow, complete with tiny eye wiggles and admiration. She talked about funding arts as an act of patriotism. During audience questions, someone mentioned that they'd read that RM's partner is an artist and suddenly the conversation switched from the political to the personal.
At the beginning, during the history portion, RM said that she originally thought 10 people would come and so she'd brought a picture to pass around. Given that about 1000 of us showed up (dancers, grandmothers, baby dykes, us, everyone in between), she decided that was a little impractical. We didn't get to see the picture, buy Boy Howdy (as she would say), we did get to see her.
That evening, we went back to Tanglewood to see a Prokofiev symphony (very short, very listenable) and the star attraction, Carmina Burana. Perhaps I should mention that I despise classical singing and this piece not only has three soloists but an adult chorus and a children's chorus. And we still went. And it was fantastic. I've heard recordings over the years, but to see it live was an absolute privelege.
Yesterday, we went on our llama hike, then headed back to Tanglewood for a long concert with four pieces, all by people I'm unfamiliar with. Shostakovitch was perhaps the most familiar name. Some of the descriptions (atonal, for example) made some of the pieces sound frightening, but they were all very easy and pleasant to listen to. But the star attraction was Yo Yo Ma (again) and a young conductor who got his big break last summer when James Levine fell ill at the start of the summer season. Both were excellent, and Yo Yo Ma makes nearly every piece we've heard him perform into something listenable.
Then home, and work starts up shortly. Phew. What a great time. And we get to go back soon.
Friday, July 24, 2009
busy and thinking
Last night, we had perhaps one of the best meals I've ever eaten. I've become friends with a man who works in our India office and is in the states for two months. He was lucky enough to bring his wife. He and I have been talking -- about food, our respective cultures, family, and so on. A few weeks ago, he shyly asked if I would like to come for lunch. That turned into an invitation to dinner and it included Robert.
So last night was the night. They were so sweet -- very eager for us to feel at home, curious about us, as we are about them. She's an architect, and readers of this blog know that I have a huge soft spot for architects. She's also intelligent and lovely.
And the food was transporting. She served an appetizer, a "salad" (though not what we think of), a cabbage dish, a sweet smokey eggplant dish, homemade Indian bread, a buttermilk drink, a sprouted bean dish, and delicious lemon rice. Then for dessert, we had butter pecan ice cream.
Funny moment with the bread -- apparently they eat the first half of the meal with bread, mostly without using utensils. Then they have rice with a little bit of additional food. When she gave me my first piece of bread, she started to explain it -- that it was like roti, but different. Funny, I said, it looks a lot like chappati. They started laughing hard. Turns out it *was* chappati but they didn't think we'd know it.
Somehow this morning, I managed to sleep in. Good thing too, with a late bedtime and several interruptions from half-crazed animals. Slept right through the garage door going up and down, and it's loud.
I eventually got out for a swim, but after the day campers had arrived. The good news is that I managed to miss them in the locker room both going into the pool and coming out -- blessed quiet. But I did run into a friend after my swim and caught up a bit.
Then lots of errands, culminating with a trip to the farm to do Tuesday's picking. (I'd hoped it would be a little drier today. Yes, but I'm glad I wore my muck boots.) There's something so lovely about being at the farm. For one thing, it's beautiful there. If you're quiet, you can hear the birds sing. I found myself smiling for no reason at all.
They have a great crop of blueberries this year. I enjoyed looking at them in their various colors, from pale green, to paler lavender, all the way up to deepest purple. The delicate smells, the sun peeking through clouds, being in a giant net enclosure with dragonflies, all so peaceful, and a great way to finish up the afternoon.
So last night was the night. They were so sweet -- very eager for us to feel at home, curious about us, as we are about them. She's an architect, and readers of this blog know that I have a huge soft spot for architects. She's also intelligent and lovely.
And the food was transporting. She served an appetizer, a "salad" (though not what we think of), a cabbage dish, a sweet smokey eggplant dish, homemade Indian bread, a buttermilk drink, a sprouted bean dish, and delicious lemon rice. Then for dessert, we had butter pecan ice cream.
Funny moment with the bread -- apparently they eat the first half of the meal with bread, mostly without using utensils. Then they have rice with a little bit of additional food. When she gave me my first piece of bread, she started to explain it -- that it was like roti, but different. Funny, I said, it looks a lot like chappati. They started laughing hard. Turns out it *was* chappati but they didn't think we'd know it.
Somehow this morning, I managed to sleep in. Good thing too, with a late bedtime and several interruptions from half-crazed animals. Slept right through the garage door going up and down, and it's loud.
I eventually got out for a swim, but after the day campers had arrived. The good news is that I managed to miss them in the locker room both going into the pool and coming out -- blessed quiet. But I did run into a friend after my swim and caught up a bit.
Then lots of errands, culminating with a trip to the farm to do Tuesday's picking. (I'd hoped it would be a little drier today. Yes, but I'm glad I wore my muck boots.) There's something so lovely about being at the farm. For one thing, it's beautiful there. If you're quiet, you can hear the birds sing. I found myself smiling for no reason at all.
They have a great crop of blueberries this year. I enjoyed looking at them in their various colors, from pale green, to paler lavender, all the way up to deepest purple. The delicate smells, the sun peeking through clouds, being in a giant net enclosure with dragonflies, all so peaceful, and a great way to finish up the afternoon.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Driving while white
A while back, Robert' car failed its annual inspection, mostly because of a few broken lightbulbs. Instead of a number on his sticker, he got a big fat red R (for rejected, I think, probably not for Robert).
Robert assured me that he had 60 days to address the issue. A week ago, his car went into the shop to have the work done.
On Sunday, we were driving through a local wealthy suburb on the way home from delivering my mother to the airport. It was a quiet day, not too much traffic, but we were in a short line of cars. We went past a side street out of which shot a police car, lights blazing. Everyone pulled over and then one by one drove off. The cop was after us.
Robert rolled down the window and handed over his license and registration. Turns out it was a slow day, indeed. The cop had noticed the big fat red R. He wanted to know why the car had failed. He told us that we were supposed to fix those problems immediately. (I later read the fine print on the sticker, and yes, you have sixty days to fix emissions issues but you're supposed to get everything else fixed right away.)
Eventually, we were given a warning (because it was Sunday and the cop realized that we couldn't have gotten an inspection right then).
I remember thinking at the time that it was a good thing we're white and older and boring looking.
And then on Monday, news broke that a world-famous Harvard professor had committed the ultimate crime of breathing while black. Actually, he'd come home from a trip, realized his front door was stuck, come in through the back, then applied a little English to the front door. Cops were alerted to a possible breakin. They arrived, looked at his ID, lured him onto his porch, and promptly arrested him, basically for being rude. Charges were dropped recently, but not before this became a national, if not international, incident.
Ah, justice.
Robert assured me that he had 60 days to address the issue. A week ago, his car went into the shop to have the work done.
On Sunday, we were driving through a local wealthy suburb on the way home from delivering my mother to the airport. It was a quiet day, not too much traffic, but we were in a short line of cars. We went past a side street out of which shot a police car, lights blazing. Everyone pulled over and then one by one drove off. The cop was after us.
Robert rolled down the window and handed over his license and registration. Turns out it was a slow day, indeed. The cop had noticed the big fat red R. He wanted to know why the car had failed. He told us that we were supposed to fix those problems immediately. (I later read the fine print on the sticker, and yes, you have sixty days to fix emissions issues but you're supposed to get everything else fixed right away.)
Eventually, we were given a warning (because it was Sunday and the cop realized that we couldn't have gotten an inspection right then).
I remember thinking at the time that it was a good thing we're white and older and boring looking.
And then on Monday, news broke that a world-famous Harvard professor had committed the ultimate crime of breathing while black. Actually, he'd come home from a trip, realized his front door was stuck, come in through the back, then applied a little English to the front door. Cops were alerted to a possible breakin. They arrived, looked at his ID, lured him onto his porch, and promptly arrested him, basically for being rude. Charges were dropped recently, but not before this became a national, if not international, incident.
Ah, justice.
Falsettos
It was 1990. I'd met Mark in the spring. We volunteered together at the AIDS Action Committee, then met up at the AIDS Walk that year. He was sweet. He wanted to be friends. I cooked for him. We had adventures together. We were deeply romantic in that marvelously platonic kind of way.
One night, we went to dinner in the North End. At the end of our meal, a woman on the other side of the tiny but packed restaurant -- a woman who looked like she slept under bridges -- leaned back in her chair and sang O Sole Mio beautifully. We burst into applause, then paid our bill and strolled back along Beacon Hill in the fog, admiring the architecture.
Another time, I was going through a rough spot and Mark arranged a perfect evening with another friend -- appetizers at his house, dinner out, a stroll by the Public Garden afterwards, many laughs, just what the doctor ordered.
We had amazing evenings in Provincetown where his boyfriend, Michael, had a house. He told me stories of sailing off Santa Monica on elegant evenings. He reintroduced me to Bonnie Raitt.
By the time the autumn rolled around and his time in Boston was ending, I knew he'd come share Thanksgiving with my family in New York.
A friend had told me that I must see Falsettos by William Finn but didn't tell me what it was about. So we went. And I sat through my first Finn experience -- a cheerful nearly cartoony sung-through performance about a man who dies of AIDS.
We walked out of the theater into the Village unable to speak -- too much fear and horror hung between us. We just walked quietly for a little bit. Little did we know.
And then shouts, commotion, and a runaway horse went tearing by, clearly scared out of its mind. It was big. No one knew what to do until a man stepped out from the sidewalk and stood right in the horse's path. The horse stopped, that brave man took the reins, and held the horse until one very pissed off tiny policewoman came running through the crowd looking for her ride.
After that, the ice was broken. Such magic happened around that man.
One night, we went to dinner in the North End. At the end of our meal, a woman on the other side of the tiny but packed restaurant -- a woman who looked like she slept under bridges -- leaned back in her chair and sang O Sole Mio beautifully. We burst into applause, then paid our bill and strolled back along Beacon Hill in the fog, admiring the architecture.
Another time, I was going through a rough spot and Mark arranged a perfect evening with another friend -- appetizers at his house, dinner out, a stroll by the Public Garden afterwards, many laughs, just what the doctor ordered.
We had amazing evenings in Provincetown where his boyfriend, Michael, had a house. He told me stories of sailing off Santa Monica on elegant evenings. He reintroduced me to Bonnie Raitt.
By the time the autumn rolled around and his time in Boston was ending, I knew he'd come share Thanksgiving with my family in New York.
A friend had told me that I must see Falsettos by William Finn but didn't tell me what it was about. So we went. And I sat through my first Finn experience -- a cheerful nearly cartoony sung-through performance about a man who dies of AIDS.
We walked out of the theater into the Village unable to speak -- too much fear and horror hung between us. We just walked quietly for a little bit. Little did we know.
And then shouts, commotion, and a runaway horse went tearing by, clearly scared out of its mind. It was big. No one knew what to do until a man stepped out from the sidewalk and stood right in the horse's path. The horse stopped, that brave man took the reins, and held the horse until one very pissed off tiny policewoman came running through the crowd looking for her ride.
After that, the ice was broken. Such magic happened around that man.
May the force be with you.
for DW and KAH
Years ago, in the late fall or early winter, my sister was moving households. She was driving her fragile items in a van along a mountain road. The van slid on ice, she narrowly avoided going over the cliff, and the van fell over. The sound of breaking (and I'm sure, braking) was apparently quite stunning.
She was injured but conscious. The friend who was following in the car behind stopped and rushed up to see what happened. My sister later said that she envisioned her friend's horror and wanted him to know that at least she didn't die in the wreck. So she started yelling "I'm alive! I'm alive!"
I think about that moment when I come through challenges of my own. I think about being in near-shock but with life coursing through, cherishing that life force and yelling "I'm alive! I'm alive!". I think of my attachment -- to people, to cats, even to things -- and I suspect that my life force will be the last one I let go of.
For me, it exists inside like a small light burning near my solar plexus. It warms me and illuminates my path. I sometimes call it my little grace light. Robert, who briefly experienced Presbyterianiasm as in impressionable youth, was shocked to discover that I believe grace exists within me. It is not an outside command, but an inside motivation, pushing, inspiring, and at times helping me to go on.
Oddly, I feel its power on some of the days that I swim, towards the latter part of a mile, when mind, body, and quiet all come together. I know that it's there when I dance -- I can remember it, but because of the busy-ness of dance, I notice it almost always in hindsight, rarely in that moment. (But, oh, when it all comes together in that moment, it is pure heaven.)
Today I honor two friends whom I notice striving toward the light as they move through the most challenging of times. My thoughts and hopes are with them.
Years ago, in the late fall or early winter, my sister was moving households. She was driving her fragile items in a van along a mountain road. The van slid on ice, she narrowly avoided going over the cliff, and the van fell over. The sound of breaking (and I'm sure, braking) was apparently quite stunning.
She was injured but conscious. The friend who was following in the car behind stopped and rushed up to see what happened. My sister later said that she envisioned her friend's horror and wanted him to know that at least she didn't die in the wreck. So she started yelling "I'm alive! I'm alive!"
I think about that moment when I come through challenges of my own. I think about being in near-shock but with life coursing through, cherishing that life force and yelling "I'm alive! I'm alive!". I think of my attachment -- to people, to cats, even to things -- and I suspect that my life force will be the last one I let go of.
For me, it exists inside like a small light burning near my solar plexus. It warms me and illuminates my path. I sometimes call it my little grace light. Robert, who briefly experienced Presbyterianiasm as in impressionable youth, was shocked to discover that I believe grace exists within me. It is not an outside command, but an inside motivation, pushing, inspiring, and at times helping me to go on.
Oddly, I feel its power on some of the days that I swim, towards the latter part of a mile, when mind, body, and quiet all come together. I know that it's there when I dance -- I can remember it, but because of the busy-ness of dance, I notice it almost always in hindsight, rarely in that moment. (But, oh, when it all comes together in that moment, it is pure heaven.)
Today I honor two friends whom I notice striving toward the light as they move through the most challenging of times. My thoughts and hopes are with them.
Saturday, July 04, 2009
quiet fourth
It's turning out to be a quiet weekend. We were invited to a party today a few doors down from where we live. I saw the host two days ago; he seemed pleased that we were attending. Then yesterday, a phone message said that suddenly, there was way too much work to do around their house. The party was canceled, but we were still welcome to "stop by." I am so confused by the invitation, non-invitation, and kinda-invitation, and Robert was so convinced that "stop by" meant "help us with our weeding" that we've decided to ignore the whole thing.
Instead, we're going out by ourselves for southeast Asian food -- melting-pot food, to match our melting-pot country, in one of the most melting-pot cities I know of.
This morning, we woke up early, walked to the farmer's market, bought shell peas and bread, and talked to a distant neighbor for a bit. Then we headed to our local cafe and hung out with friends for a while while sipping coffee drinks before walking home.
Yesterday, a day off for both of us, I went swimming while Robert slept in. We walked downtown for haircuts, stopped in at a newly hung art show for our own private viewing, and walked home. Later, we headed to Lexington for an hour-long walk on the rail trail. We bumped into a friend -- a colleague from several jobs back who caught us up on some company gossip. We broke away when we realized we were all getting eaten alive by bugs newly hatched after the rains.
We finished up just as the skies opened and headed off for dinner to a recent find -- a Mexican restaurant that I knew even Robert couldn't mock. He was indeed very happy, though he mentioned a Mexican restaurant in western MA that he likes slightly better. We'll have to go there later this summer when we're out that way.
For now, skies are blue, there's a light breeze, and our solar panels are finally getting a nice workout. Happy fourth.
Instead, we're going out by ourselves for southeast Asian food -- melting-pot food, to match our melting-pot country, in one of the most melting-pot cities I know of.
This morning, we woke up early, walked to the farmer's market, bought shell peas and bread, and talked to a distant neighbor for a bit. Then we headed to our local cafe and hung out with friends for a while while sipping coffee drinks before walking home.
Yesterday, a day off for both of us, I went swimming while Robert slept in. We walked downtown for haircuts, stopped in at a newly hung art show for our own private viewing, and walked home. Later, we headed to Lexington for an hour-long walk on the rail trail. We bumped into a friend -- a colleague from several jobs back who caught us up on some company gossip. We broke away when we realized we were all getting eaten alive by bugs newly hatched after the rains.
We finished up just as the skies opened and headed off for dinner to a recent find -- a Mexican restaurant that I knew even Robert couldn't mock. He was indeed very happy, though he mentioned a Mexican restaurant in western MA that he likes slightly better. We'll have to go there later this summer when we're out that way.
For now, skies are blue, there's a light breeze, and our solar panels are finally getting a nice workout. Happy fourth.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
annoying physical bookstore experience
A few nights ago, I was early for a dinner meeting with a colleague. I was at a strip mall that included a Borders Books. Robert and I had been talking about our next vacation, so it seemed worth picking up travel books for that destination.
So there I was, a specific type of book in mind, not much time, and a bookstore in front of me. I went in and saw one worker behind the counter, helping other customers. I searched for the travel section, which was in the far corner facing away from the door. Much like grocery stores forcing you to walk the furthest for the orange juice, this bookstore had arranged the one thing I wanted to be one of the hardest to find.
I looked over the travel books twice. They were arranged not alphabetically, but geographically. And they started with USA travel and immediately hopped to New York. The New England books were just not there. (So what are you supposed to do if you want a travel book for a particular area of the country but you're not too good on geography?) I think the European travel books were arranged similarly. I guess someone in headquarters thought they were being clever.
So I went searching for someone to help me. I went downstairs and finally heard some russling and found the second employee on duty. He brightly said "Oh, of course you couldn't find New England books -- they're under "All things local!" (another twist of cleverness from HQ). Of course, "All things local" was closer to the door, but again facing away and not terribly obvious from the end of the row. Why would you separate the same type of book with an entire store full of other books?
Back upstairs I went, where I finally located a few books of interest and was able to purchase them after employee #1 (who was actually quite pleasant and lovely) came back to the register.
Interestingly, when I posted a briefer synopsis of this story on Facebook and commented that it's this sort of experience that makes me appreciate Amazon even more, several friends chimed in to contradict my report. They feel that physical bookstores are better for browsing (I would disagree, but maybe I've just figured out how to browse online and in this case, I knew what I wanted and couldn't find it) and that there are better bookstores out there (true, but I wasn't *at* a better bookstore. I was at a specific Borders.)
In all of this, I completely do not blame the people who were working there, trying to do their jobs despite cutbacks and weird organizational principles from HQ. Well, maybe employee #2 was hiding; it sure seemed like that, but maybe he was actually working.
D'oh! Just when I think I've done a service to physical bookstores by actually shopping in one, I am reminded of why I don't shop in them more often.
So there I was, a specific type of book in mind, not much time, and a bookstore in front of me. I went in and saw one worker behind the counter, helping other customers. I searched for the travel section, which was in the far corner facing away from the door. Much like grocery stores forcing you to walk the furthest for the orange juice, this bookstore had arranged the one thing I wanted to be one of the hardest to find.
I looked over the travel books twice. They were arranged not alphabetically, but geographically. And they started with USA travel and immediately hopped to New York. The New England books were just not there. (So what are you supposed to do if you want a travel book for a particular area of the country but you're not too good on geography?) I think the European travel books were arranged similarly. I guess someone in headquarters thought they were being clever.
So I went searching for someone to help me. I went downstairs and finally heard some russling and found the second employee on duty. He brightly said "Oh, of course you couldn't find New England books -- they're under "All things local!" (another twist of cleverness from HQ). Of course, "All things local" was closer to the door, but again facing away and not terribly obvious from the end of the row. Why would you separate the same type of book with an entire store full of other books?
Back upstairs I went, where I finally located a few books of interest and was able to purchase them after employee #1 (who was actually quite pleasant and lovely) came back to the register.
Interestingly, when I posted a briefer synopsis of this story on Facebook and commented that it's this sort of experience that makes me appreciate Amazon even more, several friends chimed in to contradict my report. They feel that physical bookstores are better for browsing (I would disagree, but maybe I've just figured out how to browse online and in this case, I knew what I wanted and couldn't find it) and that there are better bookstores out there (true, but I wasn't *at* a better bookstore. I was at a specific Borders.)
In all of this, I completely do not blame the people who were working there, trying to do their jobs despite cutbacks and weird organizational principles from HQ. Well, maybe employee #2 was hiding; it sure seemed like that, but maybe he was actually working.
D'oh! Just when I think I've done a service to physical bookstores by actually shopping in one, I am reminded of why I don't shop in them more often.
Monday, June 15, 2009
friend-filled weekend
My weekend started on Friday at the pool. I bumped into an old fellow coop-er and we had a nice catch-up chat. Then home for a few minutes and to the house of another old friend, a former colleague from years back, for lunch. On the way home, I stopped off at a coffee shop for a visit with yet another friend. Friday night was fairly quiet, just Robert and me.
Saturday, Robert dashed out of the house early for a pre-pride Interfaith service, followed by a long and reportedly fun Pride parade. Apparently the LGBTQ (alphabet soup) dancers in the area (about 12 groups) all walked together. Sounds like fun.
I stayed home because I had arranged for another friend to come for a lunch visit. She's often out of town on weekends and this was one of the few weekends she was in the area. She left, I cleaned up, Robert came home, and we went back into town for dinner with more friends and an evening dance.
The dance was called by someone who long ago moved from Boston to the left coast but comes back every year to call Pride Dance. He did a great job -- involving beginners, challenging experienced dancers -- and the place was packed! We had a rare three lines of dancers and hopping great music. I'm not even sure I sat out one dance.
We brought our dinner friends home, we all crashed, and then spent a leisurely morning together yesterday. After they left, Robert and I cleaned up and then crashed again -- I slept two hours and he three. The cats seemed all too happy to help us nap.
I'm fairly refreshed, ready to face this week.
Next weekend, my friend JCK and I are taking an intermediate DSLR course, called something like "after the introductions." Should be fun to hear what the instructor has to say and to spend time with Ms. K. Robert says her middle initial stands for camera, btw. Close!
Onward.
Saturday, Robert dashed out of the house early for a pre-pride Interfaith service, followed by a long and reportedly fun Pride parade. Apparently the LGBTQ (alphabet soup) dancers in the area (about 12 groups) all walked together. Sounds like fun.
I stayed home because I had arranged for another friend to come for a lunch visit. She's often out of town on weekends and this was one of the few weekends she was in the area. She left, I cleaned up, Robert came home, and we went back into town for dinner with more friends and an evening dance.
The dance was called by someone who long ago moved from Boston to the left coast but comes back every year to call Pride Dance. He did a great job -- involving beginners, challenging experienced dancers -- and the place was packed! We had a rare three lines of dancers and hopping great music. I'm not even sure I sat out one dance.
We brought our dinner friends home, we all crashed, and then spent a leisurely morning together yesterday. After they left, Robert and I cleaned up and then crashed again -- I slept two hours and he three. The cats seemed all too happy to help us nap.
I'm fairly refreshed, ready to face this week.
Next weekend, my friend JCK and I are taking an intermediate DSLR course, called something like "after the introductions." Should be fun to hear what the instructor has to say and to spend time with Ms. K. Robert says her middle initial stands for camera, btw. Close!
Onward.
Monday, June 08, 2009
Poetry reading
My friend Richard, who's a talented writer, let me know that he had a reading in Cambridge on Saturday night. We wanted to go, both to hear his work and to support him. We started the evening with dinner at our favorite little Eritrean spot.
Then we moved over to the art gallery where the reading was taking place. Later, I read on the web that this poetry reading series has gone on every week since 1971 and is now at home in this particular gallery.
The woman who owns the gallery is warm and welcoming and clearly wanted to make everyone feel at home. So she started out by reading poems from her self-published book about her childhood sexual abuse. Just when I thought she was winding down, she'd read another. This was the kind of material that you work out with a brave therapist and rarely with an audience of 30.
I guess that opened things up because the next reader started with a poem that Robert, kind as ever, called "raw," another howl about horrific mistreatment. I kind of wish they'd warned us so that I could have run out to the sidewalk and taken up smoking again.
A regular stood up and read a love poem to his wife about how their wedding anniversary coincided with the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire so that the young women who worked and died at the factory would never know the love that he and his wife got to experience. Um, yeah, so what does he write in a hate poem? He closed with a letter to the Globe editor he'd sent five years ago decrying the Abu Ghraib treatment as "torture," I think trying to show that he'd named it long before anyone else had.
Just when I thought I couldn't bear to sit in the metal unpadded chair any longer, just when I thought my friend Richard was going on, someone in the back said that she wanted to read. Ohhh kayyy... Robert, pulling out all the stops, said "I had an uncharitable thought. [pause] But she was very sweet."
About this time, I thought that I was given the unpadded chair to teach me a little more charity, but even that thought wasn't helping. I was squirming, and not just outwardly.
Finally, our friend Richard went on. Mercifully, he had us all stand up, turn around, and stretch, before sitting down again. And then for the next 45 minutes, we were treated to a series of delightful monologues, performed by six actors. The perspectives and geography were varied, there was a lot of humor amongst the seriousness, and at the end, I was left wanting more.
Ready to go home? Not quite. Partway through the proceedings, a tiny man walked in looking lost and homeless. At first, I thought the kind gallery owner had told him he was always welcome to use the bathroom. He was ancient, with wispy long hair, and dressed with an odd nod to a night on the town -- an incredibly stained blue searsucker jacket (complete with ink stains), on a stained white shirt, a jaunty green bandana at his throat, all over huge green zip-up sweatpants.
After Richard's pieces, the gallery owner introduced this person as Billy Barnum of THE Barnum family (I didn't catch the reference, but perhaps the circus family?). When he talked, he was hard to understand -- there was a shake in his voice that made him sound like he was coming in over a bad cell phone connection. The effect was aided by the absence of many of his teeth.
His first piece was about riding in the subway, helpful, because his voice was perfect for the setting, making hims ound as if he was being jarred by the train's movement. He was actually quite lithe and acted out being nearly unbalanced as he recited. He did another very cute piece about two drag queens and the owner of a doll hospital, bringing us back to the late 40s or early 50s. Very sweet, and clearly his mind is still intact, full of stories and good humor.
So that was our Saturday night out, an evening that brought me back to the late 70s when I moved in around the corner from that gallery and experienced the tail-end of old Cambridge, a part of the city that continues to thrive in some small corners. And I am very grateful for that.
Then we moved over to the art gallery where the reading was taking place. Later, I read on the web that this poetry reading series has gone on every week since 1971 and is now at home in this particular gallery.
The woman who owns the gallery is warm and welcoming and clearly wanted to make everyone feel at home. So she started out by reading poems from her self-published book about her childhood sexual abuse. Just when I thought she was winding down, she'd read another. This was the kind of material that you work out with a brave therapist and rarely with an audience of 30.
I guess that opened things up because the next reader started with a poem that Robert, kind as ever, called "raw," another howl about horrific mistreatment. I kind of wish they'd warned us so that I could have run out to the sidewalk and taken up smoking again.
A regular stood up and read a love poem to his wife about how their wedding anniversary coincided with the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire so that the young women who worked and died at the factory would never know the love that he and his wife got to experience. Um, yeah, so what does he write in a hate poem? He closed with a letter to the Globe editor he'd sent five years ago decrying the Abu Ghraib treatment as "torture," I think trying to show that he'd named it long before anyone else had.
Just when I thought I couldn't bear to sit in the metal unpadded chair any longer, just when I thought my friend Richard was going on, someone in the back said that she wanted to read. Ohhh kayyy... Robert, pulling out all the stops, said "I had an uncharitable thought. [pause] But she was very sweet."
About this time, I thought that I was given the unpadded chair to teach me a little more charity, but even that thought wasn't helping. I was squirming, and not just outwardly.
Finally, our friend Richard went on. Mercifully, he had us all stand up, turn around, and stretch, before sitting down again. And then for the next 45 minutes, we were treated to a series of delightful monologues, performed by six actors. The perspectives and geography were varied, there was a lot of humor amongst the seriousness, and at the end, I was left wanting more.
Ready to go home? Not quite. Partway through the proceedings, a tiny man walked in looking lost and homeless. At first, I thought the kind gallery owner had told him he was always welcome to use the bathroom. He was ancient, with wispy long hair, and dressed with an odd nod to a night on the town -- an incredibly stained blue searsucker jacket (complete with ink stains), on a stained white shirt, a jaunty green bandana at his throat, all over huge green zip-up sweatpants.
After Richard's pieces, the gallery owner introduced this person as Billy Barnum of THE Barnum family (I didn't catch the reference, but perhaps the circus family?). When he talked, he was hard to understand -- there was a shake in his voice that made him sound like he was coming in over a bad cell phone connection. The effect was aided by the absence of many of his teeth.
His first piece was about riding in the subway, helpful, because his voice was perfect for the setting, making hims ound as if he was being jarred by the train's movement. He was actually quite lithe and acted out being nearly unbalanced as he recited. He did another very cute piece about two drag queens and the owner of a doll hospital, bringing us back to the late 40s or early 50s. Very sweet, and clearly his mind is still intact, full of stories and good humor.
So that was our Saturday night out, an evening that brought me back to the late 70s when I moved in around the corner from that gallery and experienced the tail-end of old Cambridge, a part of the city that continues to thrive in some small corners. And I am very grateful for that.
Tuesday, June 02, 2009
mini-vacas
We have a vacation policy at work that I did not strictly adhere to last year. So I ended up carrying over more time than I was supposed to. And now the company is cracking down and saying that except for extreme circumstances, we need to use up every last bit of vacation before year end. So before January 1, I need to finish up last year's allotted days and whittle away at this year's.
To complicate things, I work four days a week. When we go away for long weekends, Robert ends up taking vacation time that I don't have to declare. As a result, he has much less leftover vacation time than I have. And that extra day off every week makes for a pretty relaxed life. Oh, and it's crunch time at work right now and my boss would prefer that I spend every available hour at work.
Such a problem to have -- too much vacation time!
I have proposed to my boss, and she has tentatively allowed the experiment -- I will take half days off on Tuesdays in June. I've assured her that if it doesn't work out, or if I need to back off, we'll stop or at least suspend the experiment.
Today was the first of five Tuesdays in June. Here's how my day went:
I woke up early, thanks to a cat who was patient beyond belief after the sun came up. After about half an hour of light, she decided she needed time with me and sat on my hip. She was very quiet and dignified and we all woke up slowly. Did some exploring on the intertubes. Then went for a mile long swim and got to work by 9. Got some things done, had a long meeting, wrapped more up, and then went off to the farm with my share-mate who's also a co-worker.
At the farm, we ran into an old friend, talked to her for a while, then gathered vegetables, got flowers out of the cutting garden, and went back to work where I retrieved my car. Came home, planned dinner, put away the goodies, checked email briefly, and I set out for a walk.
I just went downtown, where I sat outside, had an Italian soda and a biscotti, and saw all manner of people I know -- the woman who drives the limo when we need a ride to the airport (probably the only limo driver who hugs her departing passengers), the woman who owns the new frame shop in town, a friend with his baby, followed by his wife with the stroller. I had a few friendly conversations, did some of the newspaper puzzles, came home (chatting with our hairdresser's boyfriend on the way), and started dinner. The hubster arrived, we talked a bit, ate dinner, had some wine, I read the paper, and now I'm upstairs with my computer kitty catching up on the day's happenings.
From my point of view, this half-day was a huge success. I think my challenge will be to do something with the extra time that I might not ordinarily do. Such a nice challenge to have.
To complicate things, I work four days a week. When we go away for long weekends, Robert ends up taking vacation time that I don't have to declare. As a result, he has much less leftover vacation time than I have. And that extra day off every week makes for a pretty relaxed life. Oh, and it's crunch time at work right now and my boss would prefer that I spend every available hour at work.
Such a problem to have -- too much vacation time!
I have proposed to my boss, and she has tentatively allowed the experiment -- I will take half days off on Tuesdays in June. I've assured her that if it doesn't work out, or if I need to back off, we'll stop or at least suspend the experiment.
Today was the first of five Tuesdays in June. Here's how my day went:
I woke up early, thanks to a cat who was patient beyond belief after the sun came up. After about half an hour of light, she decided she needed time with me and sat on my hip. She was very quiet and dignified and we all woke up slowly. Did some exploring on the intertubes. Then went for a mile long swim and got to work by 9. Got some things done, had a long meeting, wrapped more up, and then went off to the farm with my share-mate who's also a co-worker.
At the farm, we ran into an old friend, talked to her for a while, then gathered vegetables, got flowers out of the cutting garden, and went back to work where I retrieved my car. Came home, planned dinner, put away the goodies, checked email briefly, and I set out for a walk.
I just went downtown, where I sat outside, had an Italian soda and a biscotti, and saw all manner of people I know -- the woman who drives the limo when we need a ride to the airport (probably the only limo driver who hugs her departing passengers), the woman who owns the new frame shop in town, a friend with his baby, followed by his wife with the stroller. I had a few friendly conversations, did some of the newspaper puzzles, came home (chatting with our hairdresser's boyfriend on the way), and started dinner. The hubster arrived, we talked a bit, ate dinner, had some wine, I read the paper, and now I'm upstairs with my computer kitty catching up on the day's happenings.
From my point of view, this half-day was a huge success. I think my challenge will be to do something with the extra time that I might not ordinarily do. Such a nice challenge to have.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
walkin' around
We did some walking this weekend. Yesterday, we walked into our little village for haircuts, some errands, and a stop at our favorite coffee shop. We of course ran into all sorts of people we know and got to catch up with our hairdresser, someone we see more often than we see most of our friends.
Later, we walked back into town for dinner, a concert at our local theater (excellent guitar and flute duos), and home again.
Today we decided to walk in the woods. Near us, there's a town where Mass Audubon has bought property adjacent to town land of two types, belonging to the "Conservation Trust" and "Conservation Commission." We had a fairly good map. And man, are we glad we had long sleeves on. After the rains this week, all the insects in the universe seem to have been born. We walked past a pond and a marsh, met almost no one on the trail except for a woman on horseback, and we saw a heron. We kept following the map until we realized that we had no idea where we were.
I should say that some of the trails had very helpful markings, but none of those were reflected on the map, which was becoming increasingly useless. We were somewhere on the edge of a golf course, so we got onto their cart path. Everyone we talked to had no idea where they were either -- it's a stunningly beautiful place that people must travel to from long distances.
We finally wound our way past many friendly people to the club house and stumbled inside, likely looking completely ridiculous -- everyone else was neatly dressed in long shorts and polo shirts. We looked like sun-fearing monsters of the deep, I'm sure.
We eventually made our way to the owners' office. She kept shaking her head and saying she had no idea how we ended up where we were. Finally, she called out "PJ! Could you please drive these people to their car?" We got a lift and suddenly there we were, back where we started.
As if to confirm our luck, nearer to home, we ran into an old coworker out for a stroll with his five-day old baby and the rest of his family. We got to tell him and his wife in person how happy we are for their good news. A nice cap to a very pleasant weekend.
Later, we walked back into town for dinner, a concert at our local theater (excellent guitar and flute duos), and home again.
Today we decided to walk in the woods. Near us, there's a town where Mass Audubon has bought property adjacent to town land of two types, belonging to the "Conservation Trust" and "Conservation Commission." We had a fairly good map. And man, are we glad we had long sleeves on. After the rains this week, all the insects in the universe seem to have been born. We walked past a pond and a marsh, met almost no one on the trail except for a woman on horseback, and we saw a heron. We kept following the map until we realized that we had no idea where we were.
I should say that some of the trails had very helpful markings, but none of those were reflected on the map, which was becoming increasingly useless. We were somewhere on the edge of a golf course, so we got onto their cart path. Everyone we talked to had no idea where they were either -- it's a stunningly beautiful place that people must travel to from long distances.
We finally wound our way past many friendly people to the club house and stumbled inside, likely looking completely ridiculous -- everyone else was neatly dressed in long shorts and polo shirts. We looked like sun-fearing monsters of the deep, I'm sure.
We eventually made our way to the owners' office. She kept shaking her head and saying she had no idea how we ended up where we were. Finally, she called out "PJ! Could you please drive these people to their car?" We got a lift and suddenly there we were, back where we started.
As if to confirm our luck, nearer to home, we ran into an old coworker out for a stroll with his five-day old baby and the rest of his family. We got to tell him and his wife in person how happy we are for their good news. A nice cap to a very pleasant weekend.
Monday, May 25, 2009
nice weekend
We're just coming out of a long weekend. Going into it, we had few plans and I worried a bit that we'd fritter away the time playing on our computers and staring at our electric meter.
We started out fairly relaxed with dinner on Friday night at one of our favorite South Indian restaurants.
On Saturday, we went for a walk around town and then to a contra dance. We have a tradition once a year of mixing English and contra, with two of my favorite callers. The contra caller's husband always plays and gathers a group of fine musicians. This year, we had a pianist, fiddler, someone on pennywhistle, and the husband who played banjo and mandolin, though not simultaneously.
The contra caller is blind and I always marvel at her ability to know how the dance is going, whether the chatter is urgent (no one understood the teaching) or friendly and relaxed (everyone got it). And she is a joyous and lovely dancer. She always dances English, which is especially challenging because you're expected to make wide graceful loops away from your partner and back again. She's quite good and of course everyone helps.
The first time she called for us, I didn't realize she was blind until I saw her dog under the piano and even then it took a while to figure out who the dog belonged to. She's at least on her next dog after that one. This time, there was a slight kerfuffle during English teaching. She was in line, the dog was lying next to the piano, and suddenly realized they weren't next to each other. So the dog came and found her, wagging his tail, so happy to be reunited. Our English caller said "Excuse us, we're having a canine moment." The dog, reassured, was led back to his blanket and we kept going. A very nice evening.
Yesterday, we journeyed up to the Currier Art Museum in Manchester NH, mostly to see a David McCauley exhibit of original sketches and final drawings that ended up in his books (Ship, The Way Things Work, Cathedral, and so on). There's so much detail in his work, and there were great placards that explained things. He's just updated TWTW and has written The Way We Work about bodies. Needless to say, we got involved in each piece. The rest of the museum is small but has some fine pieces. So, for example, the European room has works that range over four or five hundred years, but they are very good works. The smaller upstairs is devoted to American paintings and furniture, especially work created in New England.
And today, we drove west to an Audubon sanctuary at the base of a local mountain. The sanctuary has 1200 acres that go through meadows, past ponds, and through woods. We took two loops, one down to a vast abandoned beaver pond that is drying up and looks, from a distance, like a forest fire went through. Then we walked up to the summit of a hill and looked down on a massive birch that was recently split in two and now forms a wide V shape. I am most grateful to the family that used to summer there and ensured that the land would retain its beauty forever.
So it turned out that this weekend was full of activities after all, delights that tickled our senses and our souls. Add to that some down time, some good sleeping weather and great cat interactions, and I could definitely have more time of this quality.
We started out fairly relaxed with dinner on Friday night at one of our favorite South Indian restaurants.
On Saturday, we went for a walk around town and then to a contra dance. We have a tradition once a year of mixing English and contra, with two of my favorite callers. The contra caller's husband always plays and gathers a group of fine musicians. This year, we had a pianist, fiddler, someone on pennywhistle, and the husband who played banjo and mandolin, though not simultaneously.
The contra caller is blind and I always marvel at her ability to know how the dance is going, whether the chatter is urgent (no one understood the teaching) or friendly and relaxed (everyone got it). And she is a joyous and lovely dancer. She always dances English, which is especially challenging because you're expected to make wide graceful loops away from your partner and back again. She's quite good and of course everyone helps.
The first time she called for us, I didn't realize she was blind until I saw her dog under the piano and even then it took a while to figure out who the dog belonged to. She's at least on her next dog after that one. This time, there was a slight kerfuffle during English teaching. She was in line, the dog was lying next to the piano, and suddenly realized they weren't next to each other. So the dog came and found her, wagging his tail, so happy to be reunited. Our English caller said "Excuse us, we're having a canine moment." The dog, reassured, was led back to his blanket and we kept going. A very nice evening.
Yesterday, we journeyed up to the Currier Art Museum in Manchester NH, mostly to see a David McCauley exhibit of original sketches and final drawings that ended up in his books (Ship, The Way Things Work, Cathedral, and so on). There's so much detail in his work, and there were great placards that explained things. He's just updated TWTW and has written The Way We Work about bodies. Needless to say, we got involved in each piece. The rest of the museum is small but has some fine pieces. So, for example, the European room has works that range over four or five hundred years, but they are very good works. The smaller upstairs is devoted to American paintings and furniture, especially work created in New England.
And today, we drove west to an Audubon sanctuary at the base of a local mountain. The sanctuary has 1200 acres that go through meadows, past ponds, and through woods. We took two loops, one down to a vast abandoned beaver pond that is drying up and looks, from a distance, like a forest fire went through. Then we walked up to the summit of a hill and looked down on a massive birch that was recently split in two and now forms a wide V shape. I am most grateful to the family that used to summer there and ensured that the land would retain its beauty forever.
So it turned out that this weekend was full of activities after all, delights that tickled our senses and our souls. Add to that some down time, some good sleeping weather and great cat interactions, and I could definitely have more time of this quality.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
more life in a small town
On an unintentionally slow walk around the town center this afternoon, we stopped to talk to a man who was doing some fix-up work at our local "gateway" church. Or maybe he stopped us with a comment about the ugliness of the Walgreen's going up (and up) right next door to the church. There had been a letter to the editor of the local newspaper on this very topic this week, expressing surprise that it wasn't aesthetically appealing. It just makes me want to say "What did you expect, historical accuracy?" It's Walgreen's for crying out loud! It's a notch in their business belt so that they can get points for opening more stores this year.
Our new friend said that he'd heard that the Board of Zoning had been "paid off" with a $50,000 donation to the library. I mused that it least the payoffs hadn't been to the individuals on the board, to which he replied "not that they've discovered yet." That's about how it goes.
He told us that in Concord in the 50s, there were no zoning laws for downtown because it was expected that everyone knew what stores were supposed to look like. Woolworths apparently built a brand new standard-issue store, held their grand opening, and ... nobody came. And people stayed away, too, until WW put up a fake colonial front and changed their sign to discreet carved gold leaf letters.
Our friend also worried about whether his church could survive. The congregation is aging and dying off. At 63, he's one of the "kids" and apparently serves as chief cook and bottle washer on the maintenance committee. The Episcopal church in town has already closed. It would be sad to lose this one too. Then again, we as members of no church really don't have the right to comment on those matters.
Our new friend said that he'd heard that the Board of Zoning had been "paid off" with a $50,000 donation to the library. I mused that it least the payoffs hadn't been to the individuals on the board, to which he replied "not that they've discovered yet." That's about how it goes.
He told us that in Concord in the 50s, there were no zoning laws for downtown because it was expected that everyone knew what stores were supposed to look like. Woolworths apparently built a brand new standard-issue store, held their grand opening, and ... nobody came. And people stayed away, too, until WW put up a fake colonial front and changed their sign to discreet carved gold leaf letters.
Our friend also worried about whether his church could survive. The congregation is aging and dying off. At 63, he's one of the "kids" and apparently serves as chief cook and bottle washer on the maintenance committee. The Episcopal church in town has already closed. It would be sad to lose this one too. Then again, we as members of no church really don't have the right to comment on those matters.
life in a small town
From the police blotter of our crime-ridden neighborhood:
- Monday May 11, 2:23 pm. Police were advised of a man parked on Common Road who appeared to be disoriented. Turns out, the man was looking for a lost pair of eyeglasses. [He lost the eyeglasses on West Road, so he really was disoriented. Police advised him of his location and sent him on his way.]
- Tuesday May 12, 2:57 pm. A caller on Randall Road reported a youth came to his door and asked if he needed his lawn mowed. The caller was worried the youth might not be legitimate. [And after all, who would want the son of unmarried parents to mow their lawn?]
- Thursday May 14, 7:50 pm. A caller on Espie Avenue reported a larceny of an umbrella. Police are investigating. [Our men in blue, fighting crime every day.]
- Saturday May 16, 5:15 pm. A resident called to report four boys on the town raft in the middle basin of Lake Boon. The boys appeared to be cooking something on a hibachi. An officer responded, collected pertinent information, and sent the boys on their way. [Key question: Would you share your recipe for marinated grilled duck with the audience at home?]
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
here comes the sun!
A short slideshow on the solar installation going on at our house. Everything's in place. When the final inspections happen, we'll be making our own electricity!
Monday, May 18, 2009
rapprochement, of sorts
The cats spent a few days on opposite sides of a door. They were both very curious about what was going on on the other cat's side. Several times on Friday, I carried Theo into Koa's area and held on to him as she rushed up, sniffed his face, and ran away. Finally, on Friday night, we opened the door and allowed them full access to the house and to each other.
Koa is still sore but seems to be improving. She also continues to be annoyed at Theo whenever he moves toward her. He is doing his best to be respectful -- one glare from her is often all it takes to get him to turn tail. Unfortunately, he continues to be oblivious and playful, and he has occasionally given chase.
Koa continues to stand her ground. She hisses. She growls. And she makes a sound not unlike a theremin. But she is so non-aggressive that she does not take the next step, which is to run after Theo. Theo finds all this terribly unsettling. He seems to convey that he knows he's done something wrong, but he has no idea what.
They clearly have to work something out on their own; there are plenty of hours when we're not around to act as referee. So all we can do is make them both feel safe and loved when we are around and provide an occasional distraction. Theo is particularly good at the "look! shiny!" sleight-of-hand. And really, all he wants to do is play and chase, which may be what got both of them into trouble in the first place.
The good news is that yesterday, they were both sleeping on the bed, Koa in her basket and Theo in his tent. She awoke first, stretched, and licked Theo's face for a bit. That tells me that she doesn't permanently hate him, she just wants her space right now. Onward.
Koa is still sore but seems to be improving. She also continues to be annoyed at Theo whenever he moves toward her. He is doing his best to be respectful -- one glare from her is often all it takes to get him to turn tail. Unfortunately, he continues to be oblivious and playful, and he has occasionally given chase.
Koa continues to stand her ground. She hisses. She growls. And she makes a sound not unlike a theremin. But she is so non-aggressive that she does not take the next step, which is to run after Theo. Theo finds all this terribly unsettling. He seems to convey that he knows he's done something wrong, but he has no idea what.
They clearly have to work something out on their own; there are plenty of hours when we're not around to act as referee. So all we can do is make them both feel safe and loved when we are around and provide an occasional distraction. Theo is particularly good at the "look! shiny!" sleight-of-hand. And really, all he wants to do is play and chase, which may be what got both of them into trouble in the first place.
The good news is that yesterday, they were both sleeping on the bed, Koa in her basket and Theo in his tent. She awoke first, stretched, and licked Theo's face for a bit. That tells me that she doesn't permanently hate him, she just wants her space right now. Onward.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
tee hee!
Just saw an emailed Costco ad, which included a come-on for Clorox and 409 cleaning products:
Help protect you and your family!*
* When used as directed
The mind boggles -- what a ridiculous claim and funny disclaimer. I wonder what lawsuit brought that one on?
Help protect you and your family!*
* When used as directed
The mind boggles -- what a ridiculous claim and funny disclaimer. I wonder what lawsuit brought that one on?
koa, theater
The separation of kitties continues. Both are curious about what's on the other side of the door. They are both extra affectionate with their humans and I've heard Theo cry outside the door a few times -- typical response to a closed door.
I have a new theory about what's happening, which is that Koa somehow injured herself. I don't think she has any broken bones, but a good deal of her back and one side is sore. It's ok to pet her gently but if you apply any pressure at all, she vocalizes a little (rrah, rrrah). I wonder if the first night -- the one when she was hissing at Theo -- was when the injury occurred. The good news is that she seems better already. I think we'll continue the separation until she seems more improved. And take her to the vet if she doesn't.
Last Friday, we went to the theater in town and saw a disturbing play called The Dead Guy. I liked the acting. Jury's still out on the play. The basic premise is that a small-town Loser (whose story was worthy of a bad country music song) is offered a million dollars to spend over the course of a week while being filmed for a reality show. At the end of the week, the viewing audience gets to decide how he dies. Of course, during the course of the week, viewer ratings shoot up, he becomes a better person, he's reunited with his girlfriend, and the person who conceived the show is wildly successful.
I guess there are a lot of underlying messages about just how base Americans are (as reflected by the protagonist, the viewing audience, and the show producer), the redemptive power of being a short-timer, etc etc. But I was left with a bad taste in my mouth. The play was funny, it was well-acted, but I felt like the messages were too broad, too obvious, and I didn't like the ending at all. So there.
Tonight, we're seeing another show a few towns over. The troupe was supposed to put on one of those modern Irish plays that leave you hoping you won't slit your wrists in the middle of the night. Fortunately, they didn't get the rights to that play, so they're doing a play I've wanted to see for a while -- um... oh yes, The Lady's Not for Burning by Christopher Fry. Sounds more fun to me.
I have a new theory about what's happening, which is that Koa somehow injured herself. I don't think she has any broken bones, but a good deal of her back and one side is sore. It's ok to pet her gently but if you apply any pressure at all, she vocalizes a little (rrah, rrrah). I wonder if the first night -- the one when she was hissing at Theo -- was when the injury occurred. The good news is that she seems better already. I think we'll continue the separation until she seems more improved. And take her to the vet if she doesn't.
Last Friday, we went to the theater in town and saw a disturbing play called The Dead Guy. I liked the acting. Jury's still out on the play. The basic premise is that a small-town Loser (whose story was worthy of a bad country music song) is offered a million dollars to spend over the course of a week while being filmed for a reality show. At the end of the week, the viewing audience gets to decide how he dies. Of course, during the course of the week, viewer ratings shoot up, he becomes a better person, he's reunited with his girlfriend, and the person who conceived the show is wildly successful.
I guess there are a lot of underlying messages about just how base Americans are (as reflected by the protagonist, the viewing audience, and the show producer), the redemptive power of being a short-timer, etc etc. But I was left with a bad taste in my mouth. The play was funny, it was well-acted, but I felt like the messages were too broad, too obvious, and I didn't like the ending at all. So there.
Tonight, we're seeing another show a few towns over. The troupe was supposed to put on one of those modern Irish plays that leave you hoping you won't slit your wrists in the middle of the night. Fortunately, they didn't get the rights to that play, so they're doing a play I've wanted to see for a while -- um... oh yes, The Lady's Not for Burning by Christopher Fry. Sounds more fun to me.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
cat fight
I've been meaning to write a bit about the cats. They have been doing well and seem to have become closer to each other. Koa demands to have her head licked; Theo sometimes obliges and is sometimes completely oblivious to her wishes. It is very sweet to see them wash each other.
Koa has been spending more time downstairs and is getting braver in general. I've been working on picking her up, usually just a few inches at a time. She is acclimating to the indignity. She seems happy most of the time.
Unfortunately, she is Theo's favorite toy. I don't think he'd intentionally hurt her, but he likes to play at being Alpha dog and he loves to chase her. She runs away. He catches up and mounts her and acts as if he's biting her neck. She sometimes meeps at him. We try to ignore the rough housing or distract them from it. Eventually they go back to greeting each other and getting along.
Something happened yesterday and now the cats are taking a vacation from each other, courtesy of moi. Last night, I noticed that Koa was on the high shelf. I haven't seen her up there for months. She didn't come downstairs all evening. When I got into bed, she hissed at Theo, who seemed hurt and confused by her hostility. He got into muffin position on the floor (very non-aggressive, especially for him) and tried blinking at her. After lights out, Theo crept onto the bed and snuggled along my ankles.
Then at 5:30 this morning, I woke up to a screaming fight. Theo would not back off. Koa was under a chair and still hasn't come out. I finally caught Theo, held him for a little while, gave him a treat, and shut the door behind him. Koa has the addition to herself; Theo has the rest of the house.
I'm hoping they can somehow reset and re-establish a relationship. It saddens me that they can't get along right now, but I don't want them to endanger each other or upset themselves more. Theo continues to be oblivious. He seems to miss his pal. She just seems worried and nervous.
Koa has been spending more time downstairs and is getting braver in general. I've been working on picking her up, usually just a few inches at a time. She is acclimating to the indignity. She seems happy most of the time.
Unfortunately, she is Theo's favorite toy. I don't think he'd intentionally hurt her, but he likes to play at being Alpha dog and he loves to chase her. She runs away. He catches up and mounts her and acts as if he's biting her neck. She sometimes meeps at him. We try to ignore the rough housing or distract them from it. Eventually they go back to greeting each other and getting along.
Something happened yesterday and now the cats are taking a vacation from each other, courtesy of moi. Last night, I noticed that Koa was on the high shelf. I haven't seen her up there for months. She didn't come downstairs all evening. When I got into bed, she hissed at Theo, who seemed hurt and confused by her hostility. He got into muffin position on the floor (very non-aggressive, especially for him) and tried blinking at her. After lights out, Theo crept onto the bed and snuggled along my ankles.
Then at 5:30 this morning, I woke up to a screaming fight. Theo would not back off. Koa was under a chair and still hasn't come out. I finally caught Theo, held him for a little while, gave him a treat, and shut the door behind him. Koa has the addition to herself; Theo has the rest of the house.
I'm hoping they can somehow reset and re-establish a relationship. It saddens me that they can't get along right now, but I don't want them to endanger each other or upset themselves more. Theo continues to be oblivious. He seems to miss his pal. She just seems worried and nervous.
what it's like now
Five years ago, I left the company -- the one I had once loved -- for the unknown. I was suddenly no longer blue. I was also unemployed - I was in such a hurry to get out that I hadn't given a lot of thought to what was next. I couldn't until I'd calmed down a bit.
To be honest, I've never looked back in wistfulness or regret. Sure, there were years that I loved being there, years when recruiters would call and I would say "I'm honored but no thanks." But in the end, it was time to go. I knew it then, I know it now. I've never missed the place that I left, just the place that was years before.
And then, as I kept up with my friends, I realized how increasingly miserable the place became. Some of the stalwart rocks left for greener pastures. My buddies who were still there seemed more depressed each time I talked to them. Some of them seemed completely incapacitated. I'd nudge gently, but never push -- you can't go until you're ready.
Until, of course, someone else is ready for you to go. This year already, more of my friends are no longer blue. There have been two huge waves; I assume there will be more within a few months. Suddenly, my friends are out in the bright daylight, blinking, and pondering what's next, wondering how they'll get a job in this difficult climate.
I had lunch with one of them yesterday. I had thought it would be a friendly catch-up with a little job-related encouragement thrown in. He read it as an "informational interview" and a "networking opportunity," which was fine. This happened a few weeks ago with another friend. I'll probably follow up with both as I hear of jobs that are appropriate for them.
In any case, the conversation was rather interesting. My friend went on about how it seemed like the company had stopped caring -- about the product and the employees. They had sent an important nugget of the product overseas for maintenance, something of an outrage for people who care about the product. Management had said that other interesting jobs would be found for those who had worked on the nugget. At this point, my friend complained "but they didn't *want* to work on anything else." And so it went.
And he's probably right. People making those decisions Did. Not. Care. about the effect of those decisions on the lives of the workers. They cannot allow themselves to care when they cut highly-paid, once-valued workers from the payroll. The difference is that I see that as reality; he is shocked and offended at the thought.
And then my friend mused aloud about his next job. He said that he'd always assumed that if you wanted to get the work done, you hired a contractor. If you wanted to engage someone, get someone who was creative and would take the product to the next level, you hired a permanent person. I had to break it to him that you don't go to interviews talking about your passions and about how wonderful a job can be for you. You always have to think -- both before the job offer and after -- about what the company can gain from you.
I felt like the doomsayer from hell. I felt like the most negative nabob. I felt like arealist. I still believe it's possible to be satisfied in a job. I think it's possible to find good bosses and even decent companies. But I also think you can never let go of the fact that you're a commodity in a hot market. The moment you fall behind, someone else (heck, ten people) are willing to take your place.
I'm hoping that these waves of unemployed people find meaningful work. We're all still relatively young, sharp, and capable. But the climate has changed dramatically in the last few decades and if you haven't been paying attention, it's a bit of a shock. And I fear this situation will continue for a while longer. Sad times.
To be honest, I've never looked back in wistfulness or regret. Sure, there were years that I loved being there, years when recruiters would call and I would say "I'm honored but no thanks." But in the end, it was time to go. I knew it then, I know it now. I've never missed the place that I left, just the place that was years before.
And then, as I kept up with my friends, I realized how increasingly miserable the place became. Some of the stalwart rocks left for greener pastures. My buddies who were still there seemed more depressed each time I talked to them. Some of them seemed completely incapacitated. I'd nudge gently, but never push -- you can't go until you're ready.
Until, of course, someone else is ready for you to go. This year already, more of my friends are no longer blue. There have been two huge waves; I assume there will be more within a few months. Suddenly, my friends are out in the bright daylight, blinking, and pondering what's next, wondering how they'll get a job in this difficult climate.
I had lunch with one of them yesterday. I had thought it would be a friendly catch-up with a little job-related encouragement thrown in. He read it as an "informational interview" and a "networking opportunity," which was fine. This happened a few weeks ago with another friend. I'll probably follow up with both as I hear of jobs that are appropriate for them.
In any case, the conversation was rather interesting. My friend went on about how it seemed like the company had stopped caring -- about the product and the employees. They had sent an important nugget of the product overseas for maintenance, something of an outrage for people who care about the product. Management had said that other interesting jobs would be found for those who had worked on the nugget. At this point, my friend complained "but they didn't *want* to work on anything else." And so it went.
And he's probably right. People making those decisions Did. Not. Care. about the effect of those decisions on the lives of the workers. They cannot allow themselves to care when they cut highly-paid, once-valued workers from the payroll. The difference is that I see that as reality; he is shocked and offended at the thought.
And then my friend mused aloud about his next job. He said that he'd always assumed that if you wanted to get the work done, you hired a contractor. If you wanted to engage someone, get someone who was creative and would take the product to the next level, you hired a permanent person. I had to break it to him that you don't go to interviews talking about your passions and about how wonderful a job can be for you. You always have to think -- both before the job offer and after -- about what the company can gain from you.
I felt like the doomsayer from hell. I felt like the most negative nabob. I felt like a
I'm hoping that these waves of unemployed people find meaningful work. We're all still relatively young, sharp, and capable. But the climate has changed dramatically in the last few decades and if you haven't been paying attention, it's a bit of a shock. And I fear this situation will continue for a while longer. Sad times.
Monday, May 11, 2009
saturday dance
We went to a dance on Saturday, the first one since our friend Fred died. There was a beautiful picture of him from a past dance camp, looking relaxed and happy, smiling as I remember him.
I dreamed about him sometime this weekend -- not the "I've come back briefly to tell you I'm ok" kind of dream I usually have. In this dream, he was just there, comfortable and happy, ok in his own way, smiling, part of the whole. The dream was reassuring in any case, and I suppose it did make me feel slightly better in the end.
I dreamed about him sometime this weekend -- not the "I've come back briefly to tell you I'm ok" kind of dream I usually have. In this dream, he was just there, comfortable and happy, ok in his own way, smiling, part of the whole. The dream was reassuring in any case, and I suppose it did make me feel slightly better in the end.
Thursday, May 07, 2009
BSOD
A few days ago, I transferred the presentations from last week's conference. I copied them from a thumb drive onto my computer. Somehow it occurred to me to install Internet Explorer 8 onto my system while I was mucking around. The install caused a reboot, and then everything came to a halt.
No, not the Blue screen of death (which, truth to tell, I haven't seen in ages), but something worse -- the BLACK screen of death. The incredibly obscure error message said that some acronymy file couldn't be found -- press any key to reboot. I pressed a lot of keys, causing the same message to repeat over and over.
I decided to stop trying and waited for Robert to come home.
Turns out that my computer was set up a little oddly. It was trying to restart in this order:
My prince in shining armor rearranged the "boot order," calm was restored, and my computer resumed its usual behavior. Phew.
So why do they make things so hard? If I ran the world, that error message would have said something like "cannot find an acronymy file on USB drive 3," which would have at least sent me in the right direction. And maybe with a little more thought I could design a message that would make even more sense. How about: "Looking on USB drive 3 for [file]. Would you like me to try the CD? No? How about the hard drive?" How hard would that be? D'oh!
No, not the Blue screen of death (which, truth to tell, I haven't seen in ages), but something worse -- the BLACK screen of death. The incredibly obscure error message said that some acronymy file couldn't be found -- press any key to reboot. I pressed a lot of keys, causing the same message to repeat over and over.
I decided to stop trying and waited for Robert to come home.
Turns out that my computer was set up a little oddly. It was trying to restart in this order:
- Look on the USB ports for attached drives and use the files on the drives to restart.
- Look in the CD drives for disks and use the files on the CD to restart.
- Look in the hard disk in the normal place and restart.
My prince in shining armor rearranged the "boot order," calm was restored, and my computer resumed its usual behavior. Phew.
So why do they make things so hard? If I ran the world, that error message would have said something like "cannot find an acronymy file on USB drive 3," which would have at least sent me in the right direction. And maybe with a little more thought I could design a message that would make even more sense. How about: "Looking on USB drive 3 for [file]
Wednesday, May 06, 2009
florida, conference, and other doings
Last week, I went to a conference in Florida both to learn new stuff and to make a presentation. I arranged my travel so that I'd have a little vacation while I was there.
Where was I?
I was in St. Petersburg, a town with tremendous wealth, tremendous poverty, and a lot of (human) snowbirds. It's a very pretty town on a large bay. I stayed in a friendly bed and breakfast in a neighborhood that was constructed in the 1920s, at least according to the stamps in the concrete sidewalks.
What was the conference about?
The conference was related to software tools and techniques I use at work. Some of the leading architects and thinkers in the industry were there and available for chats. The talks centered around how to start using the tools and get the best use out of them.
I learned some helpful tips about using the tools that we have, tips that will help alleviate some of those annoying issues my work team faces, the kind of problems that are "nibbling us to death."
How'd my talk go?
My talk was about how my team at work determined that we needed a piece of software and selected it in eleven weeks. Most people take one to two years to make the selection. I talked about how we formed the team, how we figured out what we needed, and gave some specific examples of documents we produced along the way.
A handful of people who attended the talk were incredibly kind and a few said it was the best talk of the conference. One person said it made the entire conference worthwhile.
I was also pleased with how it went. I was not nearly as nervous this time as I was a few years ago when I made my first conference presentation. I'm still not super relaxed in front of a large audience, though I'm getting better at it. I thought I was clear and that I handled questions well.
So I was happy in the end and I'd do it again.
What else did I do?
St. Petersburg is compact enough that I decided to go car free. I walked for miles. There was a triathlon the second day I was there, and I watched the runners. What an impressive accomplishment for them!
I saw lots of unusual animals, including three dolphins swimming close to a sea wall. The large shore birds -- pelicans, herons, egrets -- were incredibly calm and allowed me to get quite close. There were also many tiny squirrels, not shy either.
I took advantage of the museums and gardens there and went to:
I ate well and had company every night for dinner.
Travel was smooth and uneventful -- the best kind. I even had an empty seat next to me on both airplane flights.
So an exhausting trip, but a very good one. I'm so glad I had the opportunity to go.
Where was I?
I was in St. Petersburg, a town with tremendous wealth, tremendous poverty, and a lot of (human) snowbirds. It's a very pretty town on a large bay. I stayed in a friendly bed and breakfast in a neighborhood that was constructed in the 1920s, at least according to the stamps in the concrete sidewalks.
What was the conference about?
The conference was related to software tools and techniques I use at work. Some of the leading architects and thinkers in the industry were there and available for chats. The talks centered around how to start using the tools and get the best use out of them.
I learned some helpful tips about using the tools that we have, tips that will help alleviate some of those annoying issues my work team faces, the kind of problems that are "nibbling us to death."
How'd my talk go?
My talk was about how my team at work determined that we needed a piece of software and selected it in eleven weeks. Most people take one to two years to make the selection. I talked about how we formed the team, how we figured out what we needed, and gave some specific examples of documents we produced along the way.
A handful of people who attended the talk were incredibly kind and a few said it was the best talk of the conference. One person said it made the entire conference worthwhile.
I was also pleased with how it went. I was not nearly as nervous this time as I was a few years ago when I made my first conference presentation. I'm still not super relaxed in front of a large audience, though I'm getting better at it. I thought I was clear and that I handled questions well.
So I was happy in the end and I'd do it again.
What else did I do?
St. Petersburg is compact enough that I decided to go car free. I walked for miles. There was a triathlon the second day I was there, and I watched the runners. What an impressive accomplishment for them!
I saw lots of unusual animals, including three dolphins swimming close to a sea wall. The large shore birds -- pelicans, herons, egrets -- were incredibly calm and allowed me to get quite close. There were also many tiny squirrels, not shy either.
I took advantage of the museums and gardens there and went to:
- Sunken Gardens, a botanical garden
- Salvador Dali museum
- the Museum of Fine Arts, which I especially enjoyed
I ate well and had company every night for dinner.
Travel was smooth and uneventful -- the best kind. I even had an empty seat next to me on both airplane flights.
So an exhausting trip, but a very good one. I'm so glad I had the opportunity to go.
Friday, April 24, 2009
antidote
Today was a nice antidote to a weird week.
In addition to the incredible tragedy that I wrote about yesterday, we attended a play on Tuesday night that was disturbing and brutal. It was a premiere called Trojan Barbie, staged at the oh-so-intellectual and oh-so-avant-garde and oh-I'm-so-over-it ART (something something Theater). TB was inspired by Trojan Women, itself a purely tragic play from all I've heard.
The premise was kind of interesting, the execution less so. A precious, shallow doll repairwoman vacations in Troy, falls through the cracks (of archaeological layers? of time?), and lands in the detention camps of the Trojan Women, who are now all modern. We witnessed horrible tragedy after horrible tragedy, and heard more described in graphic detail. The tourist is "rescued" and brought home. Eventually, she re-encounters Hecuba who by now has gone completely mad.
I think the main points are that "war is hell," times never change, and we keep a neat distance between ourselves and evil until we're directly involved.
There's a reason some plays don't have an intermission, this being a good example. I was fairly shaken up by the play. The only thing that kept me from leaving about half an hour in was that I would have had to disturb way too many people on my way out. So I sat through the whole thing. Ick.
Then yesterday, I wangled a doctor's appointment at lunch time to start understanding something that might be minor (would be nice); we'll see. Of course, the doctor couldn't see anything and the whole point of that exercise was to get a referral, and I'll have to wait a few weeks until the next appointment. More on that if anything happens.
And work has been very intense. I've been fairly busy lately and had mapped out all of this week to get a surge of work done when... at the last minute... I was informed that I had meetings every day for about four hours each day. I managed to fit everything in -- the pre-mapped work wasn't as bad as I'd feared -- but it was intense.
Today is a relatively quiet day before I go away for that conference I'm speaking at. I got up early (thanks, kitties!) and went for a nice long swim, then came home for a spot of coffee, and out again to get my hair cut. It's always a pleasure to see my hair cutter. Then I went to a recently-opened coffee shop in town and ran into someone I know distantly, a rather lovely woman, and was brave enough to ask if I could sit with her. We ended up having a nice conversation and we were even joined for a bit by the shop owner.
On top of that, it's a beautiful spring day. Colors are intense, temperatures are mild, and everyone has a smile on their face.
Now I just need to get ready for the trip and off I go!
In addition to the incredible tragedy that I wrote about yesterday, we attended a play on Tuesday night that was disturbing and brutal. It was a premiere called Trojan Barbie, staged at the oh-so-intellectual and oh-so-avant-garde and oh-I'm-so-over-it ART (something something Theater). TB was inspired by Trojan Women, itself a purely tragic play from all I've heard.
The premise was kind of interesting, the execution less so. A precious, shallow doll repairwoman vacations in Troy, falls through the cracks (of archaeological layers? of time?), and lands in the detention camps of the Trojan Women, who are now all modern. We witnessed horrible tragedy after horrible tragedy, and heard more described in graphic detail. The tourist is "rescued" and brought home. Eventually, she re-encounters Hecuba who by now has gone completely mad.
I think the main points are that "war is hell," times never change, and we keep a neat distance between ourselves and evil until we're directly involved.
There's a reason some plays don't have an intermission, this being a good example. I was fairly shaken up by the play. The only thing that kept me from leaving about half an hour in was that I would have had to disturb way too many people on my way out. So I sat through the whole thing. Ick.
Then yesterday, I wangled a doctor's appointment at lunch time to start understanding something that might be minor (would be nice); we'll see. Of course, the doctor couldn't see anything and the whole point of that exercise was to get a referral, and I'll have to wait a few weeks until the next appointment. More on that if anything happens.
And work has been very intense. I've been fairly busy lately and had mapped out all of this week to get a surge of work done when... at the last minute... I was informed that I had meetings every day for about four hours each day. I managed to fit everything in -- the pre-mapped work wasn't as bad as I'd feared -- but it was intense.
Today is a relatively quiet day before I go away for that conference I'm speaking at. I got up early (thanks, kitties!) and went for a nice long swim, then came home for a spot of coffee, and out again to get my hair cut. It's always a pleasure to see my hair cutter. Then I went to a recently-opened coffee shop in town and ran into someone I know distantly, a rather lovely woman, and was brave enough to ask if I could sit with her. We ended up having a nice conversation and we were even joined for a bit by the shop owner.
On top of that, it's a beautiful spring day. Colors are intense, temperatures are mild, and everyone has a smile on their face.
Now I just need to get ready for the trip and off I go!
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Fred Wilson
They say that when you talk to someone, you never know when it will be the last time. I attempt to imbue my leave-takings with fondness and caring. I especially practice that habit with Robert, even if not always consciously. A car accident, a sudden encounter in a dark alley, and you've just experienced your last memory of someone you care for.
And so it goes with our friend Fred Wilson. Ten or so days ago, he and I had a lovely catch-up chat at one of our regular contra dances. He lived in Maine, in Portland, and regularly came all the way to the south of Boston to dance with our group. He worked for many years with a close-knit group of people in a computer department, and had recently set out on his own as a consultant. He lived by himself, was sweet and gentle and a pleasure to dance with. We saw him fairly regularly at evening dances and at dance camps, had gotten to know him, and liked him quite a bit.
And then yesterday came the news that he had been found murdered in his own house. His neighbors were fond of him and called the police because something wasn't right. The murder weapon has been found. The police know who killed him and are investigating further. I don't know much more. It is a mystery, and a very sad one. He will be deeply missed.
And so it goes with our friend Fred Wilson. Ten or so days ago, he and I had a lovely catch-up chat at one of our regular contra dances. He lived in Maine, in Portland, and regularly came all the way to the south of Boston to dance with our group. He worked for many years with a close-knit group of people in a computer department, and had recently set out on his own as a consultant. He lived by himself, was sweet and gentle and a pleasure to dance with. We saw him fairly regularly at evening dances and at dance camps, had gotten to know him, and liked him quite a bit.
And then yesterday came the news that he had been found murdered in his own house. His neighbors were fond of him and called the police because something wasn't right. The murder weapon has been found. The police know who killed him and are investigating further. I don't know much more. It is a mystery, and a very sad one. He will be deeply missed.
Wednesday, April 08, 2009
passing over, through, and out the other side
Tonight marks the beginning of Passover, a holiday of joy, transformation, hope, and liberation -- at least that's how I see it. It's the only holiday that I celebrate from my distant past -- the rest are typically too silly or too morose. I note the rest, nod politely, and they pass me by. Sometimes the polite nodding includes a bit of sharing in a little traditional food.
But this one -- with its references to celebrating our freedoms, to spring and fertility, to renewal, to life continuing, to the cycle of the seasons -- this one really inspires me.
In the past, we've attended seders at the houses of two friends, quite different one from the other (both the friends and their seders). Unfortunately, one half of that perfect pair died a few years back, so we attend just one seder for now.
We always bring a fruit salad to contribute to the festive meal. This year, I offered to bring something in addition and was assigned a kugel, a dish that does not require fancy or careful baking techniques. I thought I could handle it.
We made it last night. I figure that anything that starts with eight eggs, a stick of butter, two kinds of sugar, and fresh and dried fruit can't go too wrong. Robert got in on the fun and we did have some good laughs in the process. I gave him the chore of breaking up matzoh, soaking it in a cup of water (until moistened but not soaking - wtf?), then squeezing the moisture out.
He kept saying "Who makes this stuff up?" and "I can't believe I'm standing here squeezing out wet matzoh." It was a little surreal, especially given that we're attending a meat meal and our hostess said that using butter (rather than margarine) was just fine with her. Couldn't we just have thrown in some flour and be done with it? No.
So we had some good giggles and the finished product looks very good indeed.
I'm looking forward to sharing the festive meal with old friends and to celebrating the holiday in out hostess' style. I will give quiet thoughts to the parts left unspoken.
But this one -- with its references to celebrating our freedoms, to spring and fertility, to renewal, to life continuing, to the cycle of the seasons -- this one really inspires me.
In the past, we've attended seders at the houses of two friends, quite different one from the other (both the friends and their seders). Unfortunately, one half of that perfect pair died a few years back, so we attend just one seder for now.
We always bring a fruit salad to contribute to the festive meal. This year, I offered to bring something in addition and was assigned a kugel, a dish that does not require fancy or careful baking techniques. I thought I could handle it.
We made it last night. I figure that anything that starts with eight eggs, a stick of butter, two kinds of sugar, and fresh and dried fruit can't go too wrong. Robert got in on the fun and we did have some good laughs in the process. I gave him the chore of breaking up matzoh, soaking it in a cup of water (until moistened but not soaking - wtf?), then squeezing the moisture out.
He kept saying "Who makes this stuff up?" and "I can't believe I'm standing here squeezing out wet matzoh." It was a little surreal, especially given that we're attending a meat meal and our hostess said that using butter (rather than margarine) was just fine with her. Couldn't we just have thrown in some flour and be done with it? No.
So we had some good giggles and the finished product looks very good indeed.
I'm looking forward to sharing the festive meal with old friends and to celebrating the holiday in out hostess' style. I will give quiet thoughts to the parts left unspoken.
Monday, April 06, 2009
weekend - more relaxing
We had a slower weekend this time around. Now I feel like it's been ages since I've been at work, even though it's been the same three days as always.
On Friday night, we thought about going to a concert for which a friend formed one-third of the percussion section. It was close to home and it would have been nice to support her. We also thought of going to a CD-release party for a friend who's just made his very first recording.
Instead, we attended to our own exhaustion and went out to dinner and home to bed. Boring. Necessary.
On Saturday afternoon, a friend who has picked up the trumpet of late gave her very first recital. We definitely went to that. There we were amongst fewer than 20 people listening to live music being made. I don't think I've ever before been that close to a live trumpet. I think my friend was frustrated because her playing wasn't as phenomenal as it is without an audience. But how wonderful to see her live out her passion, and how brave she was to ask a group of loving friends to watch. Very exciting.
Then in the evening, we headed into Boston for a sold-out Bernadette Peters concert. She was phenomenal. She had a 25-piece orchestra supporting her, looked fabulous, moved gracefully, and her voice -- she was made to sing. She did a handful of Broadway hits, and then moved on to mostly-Sondheim.
I should note that when I first started listening to Sondheim I didn't much like him, but I've developed a taste for his work over the years. This is a Good Thing, given that BP devoted so much of the concert to his songs. This woman makes singing Sondheim look easy and natural, something I know to not actually be the case.
At one poignant moment, she sang Not a Day Goes By, extra emotional because her own husband died four years ago (she didn't mention that in the concert) and because the same song was performed at the memorial service we attended a few weeks ago. She also sang Shenandoah, of all songs, and I thought I was going to cry. Lovely. A very generous concert and I'm so glad I convinced Robert to go with me.
We did get to spend some time outside this weekend and got work done in the yard. Things actually look better as a result. And we went for a long walk yesterday, just around town. So we're well-rested and ready to face the week with a little more energy than we had last Monday.
On Friday night, we thought about going to a concert for which a friend formed one-third of the percussion section. It was close to home and it would have been nice to support her. We also thought of going to a CD-release party for a friend who's just made his very first recording.
Instead, we attended to our own exhaustion and went out to dinner and home to bed. Boring. Necessary.
On Saturday afternoon, a friend who has picked up the trumpet of late gave her very first recital. We definitely went to that. There we were amongst fewer than 20 people listening to live music being made. I don't think I've ever before been that close to a live trumpet. I think my friend was frustrated because her playing wasn't as phenomenal as it is without an audience. But how wonderful to see her live out her passion, and how brave she was to ask a group of loving friends to watch. Very exciting.
Then in the evening, we headed into Boston for a sold-out Bernadette Peters concert. She was phenomenal. She had a 25-piece orchestra supporting her, looked fabulous, moved gracefully, and her voice -- she was made to sing. She did a handful of Broadway hits, and then moved on to mostly-Sondheim.
I should note that when I first started listening to Sondheim I didn't much like him, but I've developed a taste for his work over the years. This is a Good Thing, given that BP devoted so much of the concert to his songs. This woman makes singing Sondheim look easy and natural, something I know to not actually be the case.
At one poignant moment, she sang Not a Day Goes By, extra emotional because her own husband died four years ago (she didn't mention that in the concert) and because the same song was performed at the memorial service we attended a few weeks ago. She also sang Shenandoah, of all songs, and I thought I was going to cry. Lovely. A very generous concert and I'm so glad I convinced Robert to go with me.
We did get to spend some time outside this weekend and got work done in the yard. Things actually look better as a result. And we went for a long walk yesterday, just around town. So we're well-rested and ready to face the week with a little more energy than we had last Monday.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
1000 words
I am happy to report that Robert decided to start up the wood stove this morning. And in case my last post didn't convey my current state, Cheezburger is thinking along the same lines:
marathon, or, welcome to the nut house
Some time last spring, a friend mentioned that our local home team was playing a Stravinsky piece that she'd always wanted to hear. She was frustrated because the only time she could go was on a Friday afternoon and she didn't want to go alone. Just an idle comment. Because I don't work Fridays, and because I enjoy watching music being made, I offered to go along with her.
Then we got busy and started arranging our other music schedules and somehow forgot that we'd signed up for a Friday afternoon concert. Through another series, we both separately signed up for concerts on Friday night and Saturday night.
I realized it would be a challenging but fun weekend, requiring me to be well rested and alert. I wanted to get the most possible out of each event. Then an old college friend called to say he and his son were doing the traditional spring break east coast college tour and he'd like to stay with me. Of course! Any time! And of course, it turned out to be this weekend.
So. Wednesday night, we had a haircut. Thursday, I was out the door early so I could swim a day early -- I realized there was no way I'd fit a swim in on Friday. Then I had one of those days-from-hell at work, where fortunately, my manager rose to the challenge I posed for her and she helped me straighten things out. But I was tired by the end of the day.
My friend and his son showed up late Thursday night and we stayed up late talking. On Friday, Robert went to work and the rest of us hung around for a bit. Around noon, we picked up my concert buddy and headed into town, dropping friend and son off at the subway. They had their day and the son spent the night with his older brother, who's attending a local college.
My concert buddy, college friend, and Robert all met for dinner, then went off to the concert together, where my concert buddy met her husband and two additional friends.
Saturday morning, we hung out with the college friend, then shoved him out the door so he could meet up with his son and drive to western MA for more colleges. I caught up on three days' worth of newspapers. Then, we stripped beds, did laundry, Robert worked on the yard, and I went for a walk. Finally, we dashed into town, met completely other friends who were also going to the Saturday evening concert, and then headed off to the concert hall together.
At intermission, we dashed upstairs to greet my concert buddy, her husband, and two additional friends.
Back at home, we climbed into bed and are now ready to face this rainy morning. My calendar for today is marked "do not schedule anything." However, my concert buddy is giving a recital next week that we can't attend, so we may go to her dress rehearsal. But otherwise, we'll use Sunday as the good lord intended it -- as a day of rest. Phew.
Oh -- and the concert lineup:
Friday afternoon: Boston Symphony Orchestra played Ravel, Prokofiev, and Stravinsky, conducted by Charles Dutoit.
http://bso.org/bso/index.jsp?id=bcat5220002
Friday evening: Preservation Hall Jazz Band and Blind Boys of Alabama (loved PHJB, BBfA were fine but weird).
http://www.blindboys.com/
http://www.preservationhall.com/band/index-about.htm
Saturday evening: Another in the Rob Kapilow "What Makes it Great Series" -- this time a Dvorak string quartet.
http://www.robkapilow.com/wmigreat.shtml
Then we got busy and started arranging our other music schedules and somehow forgot that we'd signed up for a Friday afternoon concert. Through another series, we both separately signed up for concerts on Friday night and Saturday night.
I realized it would be a challenging but fun weekend, requiring me to be well rested and alert. I wanted to get the most possible out of each event. Then an old college friend called to say he and his son were doing the traditional spring break east coast college tour and he'd like to stay with me. Of course! Any time! And of course, it turned out to be this weekend.
So. Wednesday night, we had a haircut. Thursday, I was out the door early so I could swim a day early -- I realized there was no way I'd fit a swim in on Friday. Then I had one of those days-from-hell at work, where fortunately, my manager rose to the challenge I posed for her and she helped me straighten things out. But I was tired by the end of the day.
My friend and his son showed up late Thursday night and we stayed up late talking. On Friday, Robert went to work and the rest of us hung around for a bit. Around noon, we picked up my concert buddy and headed into town, dropping friend and son off at the subway. They had their day and the son spent the night with his older brother, who's attending a local college.
My concert buddy, college friend, and Robert all met for dinner, then went off to the concert together, where my concert buddy met her husband and two additional friends.
Saturday morning, we hung out with the college friend, then shoved him out the door so he could meet up with his son and drive to western MA for more colleges. I caught up on three days' worth of newspapers. Then, we stripped beds, did laundry, Robert worked on the yard, and I went for a walk. Finally, we dashed into town, met completely other friends who were also going to the Saturday evening concert, and then headed off to the concert hall together.
At intermission, we dashed upstairs to greet my concert buddy, her husband, and two additional friends.
Back at home, we climbed into bed and are now ready to face this rainy morning. My calendar for today is marked "do not schedule anything." However, my concert buddy is giving a recital next week that we can't attend, so we may go to her dress rehearsal. But otherwise, we'll use Sunday as the good lord intended it -- as a day of rest. Phew.
Oh -- and the concert lineup:
Friday afternoon: Boston Symphony Orchestra played Ravel, Prokofiev, and Stravinsky, conducted by Charles Dutoit.
http://bso.org/bso/index.jsp?id=bcat5220002
Friday evening: Preservation Hall Jazz Band and Blind Boys of Alabama (loved PHJB, BBfA were fine but weird).
http://www.blindboys.com/
http://www.preservationhall.com/band/index-about.htm
Saturday evening: Another in the Rob Kapilow "What Makes it Great Series" -- this time a Dvorak string quartet.
http://www.robkapilow.com/wmigreat.shtml
Monday, March 23, 2009
unprofessionalism at the new medical place
The new medical place I'm going to has a lot of services on site. I no longer need to go to the hospital facilities for blood draws and other common tests.
This morning, I was scheduled for a blood test. I showed up at the appointed hour, having dutifully fasted. As I rounded the corner to check in, there was an unpleasant stench coming from the open office area. Turns out that the young woman who checks your name off on the clipboard hadn't quite finished eating her fast-food breakfast sandwich. In fact, she hadn't quite finished chewing when she asked me if I had fasted.
Not that I was all that hungry, but the whole thing smacked of unprofessionalism and real unkindness. I ended up emailing the organization and mentioning that I was glad to be healthy -- were I sick, this would have really upset me. I also said something about how young this person was and "perhaps she didn't know better."
I was pleasantly surprised to receive a very nice note in return, including the line "i've spoken collectively as well as sternly yet tactfully with staff." The note closed with "apologies and reassurances."
OK, they get another chance.
I forgot that I get dehydrated overnight and I forgot to drink water this morning. I was consequently punished with four pokes administered by three people. Thankfully, they have a "two strikes and you're out" policy, but one of the people gave up after one strike. Next time, I'll drink a lot of water before heading over to see the vampires. And hope that the breakfast hour is over before I arrive.
This morning, I was scheduled for a blood test. I showed up at the appointed hour, having dutifully fasted. As I rounded the corner to check in, there was an unpleasant stench coming from the open office area. Turns out that the young woman who checks your name off on the clipboard hadn't quite finished eating her fast-food breakfast sandwich. In fact, she hadn't quite finished chewing when she asked me if I had fasted.
Not that I was all that hungry, but the whole thing smacked of unprofessionalism and real unkindness. I ended up emailing the organization and mentioning that I was glad to be healthy -- were I sick, this would have really upset me. I also said something about how young this person was and "perhaps she didn't know better."
I was pleasantly surprised to receive a very nice note in return, including the line "i've spoken collectively as well as sternly yet tactfully with staff." The note closed with "apologies and reassurances."
OK, they get another chance.
I forgot that I get dehydrated overnight and I forgot to drink water this morning. I was consequently punished with four pokes administered by three people. Thankfully, they have a "two strikes and you're out" policy, but one of the people gave up after one strike. Next time, I'll drink a lot of water before heading over to see the vampires. And hope that the breakfast hour is over before I arrive.
utterly repulsive, smug and cold blooded as a frozen tofu wiener
My unfortunate brother, again. OK, so I don't have caller ID yet. He called yesterday and started hammering at me. I said that I needed another week -- that to me, taking a break did not include two emails and several phone calls. I used my best Samaritan hotline technique to calmly say that I was going to hang up. More hammering. I eventually did hang up after about three warnings, with MUB still going at it in the background.
Then an email including the above quote. My initial response is "I have read Edmond Rostand (in the original French, TYVM) and You Sir, are no Cyrano de Bergerac." My second response is to make the title the subtitle of this blog -- to wear it like a banner as it were.
However, I will probably send one follow-up email in the week that I promised that basically reiterates that I cannot fix the relationship between MUB and our father, and I'm unwilling to help. And if that makes me cold and repulsive, well, he's entitled to his own opinion. Think the passive aggressive responses - then try to communicate with clarity.
Then an email including the above quote. My initial response is "I have read Edmond Rostand (in the original French, TYVM) and You Sir, are no Cyrano de Bergerac." My second response is to make the title the subtitle of this blog -- to wear it like a banner as it were.
However, I will probably send one follow-up email in the week that I promised that basically reiterates that I cannot fix the relationship between MUB and our father, and I'm unwilling to help. And if that makes me cold and repulsive, well, he's entitled to his own opinion. Think the passive aggressive responses - then try to communicate with clarity.
Friday, March 20, 2009
off the charts!
I had my first bone density exam today. It sounded intimidating when my doc first brought it up, only because I couldn't imagine how they could tell without actually getting in there and doing something that involved touching the bone. eeuuuw. But it's much easier than that -- you lie back for a few minutes while a scanner runs over you, first checking your spine, then your hips. My appointment was at 9, I was all done by 9:10.
In the middle of the whole thing, the technician let escape "You're off the charts!" Apparently, my bone density is so good that my prescription is going to be not to take calcium supplements. I thanked her and said she'd made my day. She said that I'd made hers too -- she usually looks at dismal numbers and says that the radiologist will be in touch -- she doesn't know how to break bad news to patient after patient.
This is really nice news to get. Now on to the next set of tests...
In the middle of the whole thing, the technician let escape "You're off the charts!" Apparently, my bone density is so good that my prescription is going to be not to take calcium supplements. I thanked her and said she'd made my day. She said that I'd made hers too -- she usually looks at dismal numbers and says that the radiologist will be in touch -- she doesn't know how to break bad news to patient after patient.
This is really nice news to get. Now on to the next set of tests...
Monday, March 16, 2009
reunion
Yesterday, four women held a reunion of a now-defunct woman-only book group. It met at my house for five years, starting 19 years ago. We read books only by women. We'd snack on goodies and discuss, sometimes with no enthusiasm whatsoever. But usually we'd have a rollicking conversation.
We are all strong, have lots of opinions, are well-educated (whether formally or not), and have amazingly diverse backgrounds. We range in age from 49 to 59. From the picture, you probably can't guess who is which age. It's hard for me to believe that any of us are as old, even, as 49.
Yesterday, we mostly caught up on our lives -- the sequels to the novels we were playing out back then. We talked a little about books, though not much, and a bit about politics, though again, not much. We are all in long-term relationships and fairly well settled in our lives. We are all, as far as I can tell, reasonably comfortable in our situations.
And we all clicked as if almost no time at all had passed. What a pleasure. I hope we do it again.
flight from florida
The last week has been fraught for the paternal side of my family, spilling over to the maternal side. I've been trying to detach, to be available when I've had the energy, to at least attempt to be clear when I don't (not that my communications have been heard or attended to).
About ten days ago, my father was vacationing with his partner of 25 years and some friends. They were in Florida. My father snapped, his partner locked herself in the bathroom for two hours, and when she emerged, there was a horrible split.
My father took one of the rental cars and headed to the airport, where he called my mother and asked if he could stay with her for a few days. While in DC, my mother apparently "talked some sense" into my father. Her advice apparently did not involve the decision about maintaining the split or repairing things. Mind you, my parents broke up nearly my entire lifetime ago but have always maintained a fondness for each other.
Somehow, my father made his way back to Toronto, stopping off in a bar in Manhattan and bonding with the bartender and a patron (a playright whose play was opening that night). He stayed in a B&B for a few days, then I don't know where, and then, after a long day of negotiation, decided to move back into his own house.
This whole series of events has kicked up a lot of weird energy for both my mother and for my unfortunate brother, and they've both been calling a lot, ignoring my pleas in the latter part of the weekend that I've been too bone-tired to really offer much support or interest. Yesterday morning, when I told my mother that I really didn't want to hear about it, she apparently thought the statute of limitations was just a couple of hours. So last night, when she called and told me all about -- MUB has been calling her and asking her to intervene -- I didn't even have the energy to wave her off.
I have told my father that I just want him to be happy, that I do not know what the answer is for him, and that I will support whatever decision he makes. I have thought to my mother that it is a good thing that she is travelling internationally soon and won't think to call me for a few weeks. And I have told MUB that I need a break from him.
Tend to one's own garden before tending to that of others. Detach, stay steady, care but not too much, don't try to intervene in the drama because there's no way to affect the outcome. And get some sleep.
About ten days ago, my father was vacationing with his partner of 25 years and some friends. They were in Florida. My father snapped, his partner locked herself in the bathroom for two hours, and when she emerged, there was a horrible split.
My father took one of the rental cars and headed to the airport, where he called my mother and asked if he could stay with her for a few days. While in DC, my mother apparently "talked some sense" into my father. Her advice apparently did not involve the decision about maintaining the split or repairing things. Mind you, my parents broke up nearly my entire lifetime ago but have always maintained a fondness for each other.
Somehow, my father made his way back to Toronto, stopping off in a bar in Manhattan and bonding with the bartender and a patron (a playright whose play was opening that night). He stayed in a B&B for a few days, then I don't know where, and then, after a long day of negotiation, decided to move back into his own house.
This whole series of events has kicked up a lot of weird energy for both my mother and for my unfortunate brother, and they've both been calling a lot, ignoring my pleas in the latter part of the weekend that I've been too bone-tired to really offer much support or interest. Yesterday morning, when I told my mother that I really didn't want to hear about it, she apparently thought the statute of limitations was just a couple of hours. So last night, when she called and told me all about -- MUB has been calling her and asking her to intervene -- I didn't even have the energy to wave her off.
I have told my father that I just want him to be happy, that I do not know what the answer is for him, and that I will support whatever decision he makes. I have thought to my mother that it is a good thing that she is travelling internationally soon and won't think to call me for a few weeks. And I have told MUB that I need a break from him.
Tend to one's own garden before tending to that of others. Detach, stay steady, care but not too much, don't try to intervene in the drama because there's no way to affect the outcome. And get some sleep.
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