The Road To Oconomowoc

Except that no one has a basket of fruit on their head and there has been very little Chica, Chica, Boom -- the last week has been similar to The Road To Rio. Except that Hope and Crosby are missing as is Carmen Miranda (although dw is here). Also there's been little actual excitement or peril or chasing anything and the closest thing to da bomb here in Oconomowoc is Mighty Mount Olympus.

   The flight from Portland to Madison via Minneapolis / St Paul was uneventful. No geeks, freaks or knuckle-draggers in the airports or on the planes. The only thing of mild interest happened in MSP: dw and I had a two hour layover and I decided to get a burger. While I waited for it to be delivered (It was a not very good burger from A@W, but lowered expectations are useful in any airport) -- while I waited for it to be delivered, two young women  looked at me and amid a flurry of giggles asked for my name. I answered and one of they asked "Is it OK if I name my frog after you?" Of course I agreed, so somewhere in the great Midwest a large stuffed plush frog is carrying my name, and how many others can make such a claim?

   Our time has been pleasantly spent visiting with family and friends. dw's Dad Robert, and Aunt Barbara live here in Oconomowoc, and other family and childhood friends are scattered around the area. Brother John @ wife Jan also are here from Portland Today we went to the zoo in Milwaukee -- it's a nice zoo, and tomorrow we're going back to Madison (where brother Steve and SO Kay live) where again we'll largely hang out and visit.

   On the way to Milwaukee, we passed Mighty Mount Olympus, aka Mighty Mount Oconomowoc, aka The Great Pimple, aka Southern Wisconsin Highlands -- The highest point of land between Milwaukee and Madison!!  If you look closely at the first picture you can see the post(s) for the chair lift and distinguish individual skiers -- giving a sense of scale that makes Mighty Mount Gaining-On-Vail look even bigger than it actually is.

   There's nothing wrong with quiet and uneventful visits with family and friends -- actually it's quite pleasant. But it doesn't make for exciting reading -- but so it goes. DA

Christmas Is Nigh

  dw has largely finished putting up the decorations. The Christmas tree, as happens about every other year, is unusual -- this year it's not actually a tree, or even organic: Two weeks ago I was working in the studio when dw came in, noticed an incomplete steel sculpture leaning against the wall and after a moments thought asked if we could use it as a tree. There was no reason not to, so I cleaned it up a bit, built a temporary stand and voila' -- a Christmas tree.

(The sculpture was inspired by -- but isn't a representation of -- Yggdrasil, a tree in Norse mythology. I anticipate I'll be able to write a particularly insipid piece for an artists statement)

   Last year we used a potted evergreen. That one we really liked because it looked like a Xmas tree drawn by Berkeley Breathed for Bill The Cat. On another occasion I cobbled together three bamboo stalks for a tree -- that wasn't very successful, it just looked goofy  -- In between times we do a real tree
   The second picture is part of the assorted wall hangings dw puts up. The total effect is quite festive  and way more work than I'd ever do on my own.

   My sister, Rosemary L. stopped by Saturday to show off her way cool sports car (a Mazda rx7) She was looking very sports-car-driverish, with a long duster type coat, driving gloves and shades. Having a sports car has been a life-long dream for her and it's great that she finally has one.
   I've scratched my sports car itch a couple of times: Once with a Porsche, which needed far more work than I was willing to do myself, and which I certainly couldn't afford to have done. But when it ran, it was really fun. And my favorite was a Triumph TR3 -- it was a piece of junk but I loved that car. On one occasion some of the wiring under the dash caught fire -- the smoke was so thick I couldn't see the floor pan. I pulled over, jumped out, and waited to see if I owned a TR3 Brulee. After the smoke cleared, I got back in, started the car and drove away. I never did figure it out. Another time the wheel studs started snapping off. I did manage to limp home but two of the wheels had only one stud each left. Finally it got a leak in the gas tank and became a yule log -- a TR3 Flambe'  -- I sold it to the knackers at that point.      

   In spite of all dw's decorating efforts, we're going to be gone for Christmas. We're going to visit dw's family in Wisconsin where I expect I'll freeze my Mediterranean Climate Buns off. And I will note that I already got no ass. I use duct tape to hold up my underwear. All of my flab is up front where I can see it.    

   Books:  A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again (David Foster Wallace) -- a collection of essays from the 90's -- some are dated, some very erudite and some very funny. I enjoyed the book a lot -- it's really too bad he died so young (suicide). I've started Trophy Hunt (C. J. Box) so far so good, and I don't think I've already read it. And Great Paintings (assorted authors)  reproduction of assorted works from 1100 to the present. With an analysis of each work and a brief discussion of the artist. It's very good.  DA                                                                                                                        

Xmas Moose

  Several years ago dw gave me this moose head as a Christmas present. It is one of my all-time favorite presents and for awhile it was a peripatetic House Moose, but now it has settled into it's permanent home -- perched above the computer. And there it has been growing old, losing it's proud erect stance. The Moose doesn't have a bladder as such, it sort of is a bladder, and I feared that -- as some old things do -- it had a leaking bladder. In the event, I took it down and with several strong puffs, restored it to it's former erect strength. I confess I hesitated but what else could I do? Fortunately no artificial assistance was needed, not even duct tape, and now it seems to be holding it's own, even sporting it's Christmas earring.

  dw has been putting up our Christmas decorations and I, as usual, have been emotionally supportive with the project. (In a couple of days I'll post some pictures)

  Otherwise things have been quiet. dw has been working a lot and I'm continuing work on a couple of sculptures -- It's been cold enough that I've used up nearly a quarter of my wood pile (the studio has a small wood heater). And I've started a new painting which will be the best thing I've ever done until it's done and then not so much. 

   Books:  Charlie Chan (Yunte Huang) -- "The untold story of the honorable detective and his rendezvous with American history"  Huang uses Biggers' Charlie Chan books and the character to explore U.S. racism particularly as it applies to Asians, as well as writing a general biography of Biggers and providing the back story for Charlie Chan. Of particular interest to me: Chan was based on a real person -- Chang Apana -- a real Hawaiian cop. I thought the book was remarkably interesting. Cold Wind (C.J. Box) A mystery set in Wyoming. I enjoyed it but as I noted before I never remember mysteries -- I was nearly finished with this one before I remembered I had already read it. The Relentless Case of the Rose City Rain (Robert Durand) An unpublished first draft from my long time friend. Sort of a mixed genre mystery which I enjoyed. -- Murder in PDX -- And re-reading parts of Napoleon's Buttons (Le Couteur and Burreson) a discussion of seventeen important molecules -- their chemistry and discovery. Science medium-lite and much more interesting than it sounds.    DA

More Pussy Galore

   To take care of business, specifically my car -- it's up and running again and I didn't need to kick it. It was just a bad battery, but the new battery (from United Battery, Inc.) was also defective and that fault didn't show up except by a load test. (the details aren't important or interesting) In the event, I got my money back from United Battery and only had to tolerate for a few minutes the a-hole clerk who treated me like a senile idiot. It's good to know some businesses are doing so well that they can casually alienate customers

   Back to cats. The item has been around for a couple of years, but if anyone hasn't read "Missing Missy" by David Thorne it's really funny -- good for a re-read if you've already seen it. (www.27bslash6.com) click on Missing Missy. Thorne has a bunch of other items and most of them are worth a look, but Missing Missy is the best (in my opinion).

   And I reliably heard that a pet, which, to save it from embarrassment, I won't identify by name or species or sex -- enjoys it's visits to the vet. So much so that when her (oops) temperature is taken she (oops) lies on the table purring (oops). Again we can each draw our own private conclusions.  DA
  

The Cat's Meow

   dw spent most of last week enjoying some R and R visiting friends in Mountain View CA. (MV is a town south of San Francisco, north of San Jose). Kate and John G. have a house here in Portland and a condo in MV, where they spend half the year and where John is an anatomy professor of some distinction. (Here in Portland, among friends, he's just another old git)
    Before she left, dw called the G's and asked if there was anything they'd like her to bring down. Nothing was really needed, but dw did say she would stop at Zupan's (an upscale grocery store) and buy some particular French ham which isn't available in MV, and which Beaner sorely missed. (dw likes Beaner, and the French ham is the only ham Beaner will eat) "Beaner" (aka Victoria) isn't John's nickname as one might think -- given the special need for French ham -- Beaner is their cat. At this point you might think Beaner has a gold lined silver food bowl with matching charger, a bed lined with de-allergized dog fur (Take THAT Fifi -- I snooze on your grave!!) and a crystal water bowl filled with Evian water. But not so. In all other respects Beaner is a pleasant ordinary cat and treated as such. I don't know how Victoria came to merit such a special snack food, but there you are. I also don't know how Victoria came to be called Beaner, especially since it's Beaner and not Biner -- short for carabiner -- as John is a mountain/rock climber of 60 years standing. Another of life's mysteries. 

   The name "Beaner" reminds me of a cat my Uncle Percy owned some 60 years ago. Another seemingly ordinary cat (certainly amouldering in it's grave at this point) but in that case named "Stringbean". Stringbean got it's name for the cat's inordinate fondness for canned string beans -- fond to the point that string beans were about all Stringbean would eat -- the world's first and only vegan house cat. I was a child and didn't know Stringbean very well but I imagine, like all other cats, Stringbean loved hunting and pouncing -- so one can picture Stringbean catching a mouse, crunching it's tiny mouse skull, and then spending the next five minutes thinking: "Ooo, nasty -- mouse brains all over my mouth -- (spit, spit, spit) -- ooo, nasty -- (spit, spit)" -- sigh -- "Now I suppose I need to carry the nasty thing into the house and put it in the giant's shoe" -- sigh --

  If there's a moral to be drawn from this, I haven't thought of it, so if you want one you'll have to make it up yourself. 

Books:  "The Curse of the Labrador Duck" (Glen Chilton). Chilton is an ornithologist who developed an obsession with the Labrador duck -- extinct for 150 years -- and spent 10 years or so traveling around looking at and measuring all of the extant stuffed Labrador ducks. Another amusing science lite book, only in this case it's really lite since (according to Chilton) almost nothing is known about the Labrador duck. While I haven't traveled to see any of the stuffed ducks, having read this book I fancy I'm something of a world authority on the Labrador duck. Almost nothing is known, and I know almost nothing: Q.E.D. In a notable passage the author writes that one of the last of the ducks was shot by a Simon F. Cheney. I don't know if Simon is an ancestor of Dick, but people named Cheney seem to have a predilection for indiscriminate blasting away with a shotgun.  DA

April Fools (Or Not)

I picked up a copy of Willamette Week Wednesday, and in the "news" section: What to do this week in arts and culture -- Came across this blurb. "Willy Week" presented this as a regular featured article under "what to do". It's amazing. Two reasons: WW presents this as a regular news and this guy actually convinces people to pay him for looking at them.
   It's not April 1, but I thought this was a joke.  If it's not 4-1, then WW must be channeling  The Onion. Alas, it isn't so. The page is WW being "non-critical".
   (In full disclosure -- WW seems to feel that's important -- I stared at his picture for awhile.  -- According to Braco's web site this should work -- And my knee is still crap.  And my stents didn't spring from my chest like a lot of useless junk -- I've got doubts about how good at healing he is) 
  But look at him. At his sad brown eyes and soft gentle (smirking) smile that seems to say: "I got you to pay me $100 to look at you, and I bet I can do it again."
   WW pretends to be a legitimate newspaper  but it publishes crap like this as real news.
   But I thought: This is a GREAT scam. This guy doesn't actually talk to the public or press. (He probably sounds like a chipmunk on helium) while I have a fine mellifluous bass-baritone so I can actually talk. -- But all I would really need to do is sit and stare at my suckers clients.   I can do this. 

      Are you healed? (That's only $75 -- My special first time rate) Braco is a bit more gentle than I am.  He looks like "Lets all get together, sing Kum-By-Ah, and get well and feel good."  I seem to have a look of: "HEAL, DAMN YOU!" But I think that should work. 
   I've been looking for work that I'm willing to do, (A VERY limited range) and I think this fits the bill. I will definitely pay taxes and social security and everything else on every penny I earn.  DA
      

Cravings

   Cravings often cause us to do unfortunate things. A week ago Sunday I was saved only because I commonly don't carry money when I ride my bike to the gym. I was riding back (it's a 15 mile round trip) and got caught in a riot of aromas from restaurant row on Williams Avenue. A touch of chocolate from Pix, (a patisserie to die for), and from the other restaurants, maple syrup, bacon, butter, hash browns and eggs. If I had been carrying any cash, I would have stopped and inhaled a couple of thousand calories.
   (I prefer to exercise on an empty stomach, so typically I'll only have a slice of bread or a banana before I leave for the gym)
   But this last Sunday it was my loathing for lines saved me. I had a few dollars and decided I'd buy a few Voodoo doughnuts to eat when I got home.  (for those who don't know, Voodoo Doughnuts is noted for it's unusual toppings, including such things as Pepto Bismol icing -- A portmanteau treat: catch and cure stomach upset -- all in one bite) I intended to get a few doughnuts topped with maple icing and bacon bits.  There was a vast line, so once again I was saved from my cravings. 

  (Unless it's something I really want or need, I won't stand in line for anything. McDonald's for example. -- to my mind the worst of the big burger chains -- So I'll go hungry rather than stand in line for one of their burgers. It isn't that I consider myself -- in this regard anyway -- better than other people, it's just that I can't see the point in waiting to get something that's both bad for you and tasteless.)

 Other people's cravings are often just funny, particularly when it's attention that's being sought: The fashion of many years for young men to wear their pants below their butt. An amazing style that often requires the guys to walk with a wide stance, waddling along legs apart, so their pants don't fall down.  It's been a style for so long that unless they trip on their own pants they don't even get the attention they crave.
   And what caused this blog: two new (to me -- for all I know they've been around for years) words -- vajazzling and pejazzling. Referring to women and men.  In both cases the benighted wretches crave more sexual attention so they shave their private parts and then glue on sequins in assorted designs. It seems to me that all of that shaving and gluing would defeat the purpose of having the equipment (especially the men) but as Hamlet said:  "There are more things in heaven and earth / than are dreamt of in (my) philosophy.  -- If you're interested in photos, Google either word under images, or try www.mybodydecor.com ---

   Today was gym day but after a brief discussion we found, Bob D. and I, that neither of us had much interest. Instead I took a 15 or 20 mile bike ride.  Of interest along the way: a painted intersection at 8th and Holman and an event: The brakes on my bike need to be cleaned so they give a loud squeal when I use them. A woman with two leashed northern dogs was standing at the bottom of one hill I descended.  When I put on my brakes to slow down, the dogs started to howl. It was great. I'd release the brakes, they'd stop -- I'd apply the brakes they'd howl. I thought of trying for "Shave and a haircut, six bits" but considered that too ambitious.  The dogs' timing wasn't quite good enough. 
   Midway through the ride I stopped at Bob and Roberta (two D's) -- (aka "The Bobs") house for coffee and a short visit.  All in all a pleasant ride.  DA
  

Reference Books: Hah! I Laughed In Their Face

   For the second time (that I'm aware of) the author of a blog that I follow (Other Men's Flowers) published a list of 20 questions. Since I do enjoy useless trivia I went through the list with reasonable success, patted myself on my back, and went back to keeping up with the Beavises and Buttheads (aka the current presidential race)
   (I told dw of my trivia success. She said: "That's nice dear." ---- I'm impressed that I know hematite is a type of iron ore)
   (dw wants it known that she also has a fund of trivia, including: Riddick Bowe and Evander Holyfield fought for the heavyweight championship in the '90s -- interesting since dw has no interest at all in boxing.)

   A cautionary tale: The subject of trivia reminded me of the time, a few years ago, I was reading an encyclopedia (Encarta) and came across an error. Under the subject of stained glass, the accompanying photo of San Chapelle was misidentified as Notre Dame. That error wasn't as momentous as describing the Fibonacci sequence as a series of pasta shapes would be, but it still shows a certain carelessness. And last week I was reading "Western Words" a dictionary of the American West (by Ramon F. Adams) and came across a really appalling entry.  He defines misery whip as "A logger's term for a cant hook."  The aptly named misery whip is actually a large cross cut saw.  I was on the blister end of one of those saws a few times when, many years ago, I was on a forest fire lookout.  I'm not claiming much real experience but anyone who knows anything at all about the subject knows that a misery whip is a big human powered saw, not a cant hook, hooker, peavey, sky hook or anything but a saw.    
   Even if it's printed in a reference book, as Sportin' Life says:  "It ain't necessarily so"

   We're presently in the midst of Halloween.  It's her turn so dw has door duty tonight.  Me: "You've got door-duty, but that's better than do-duty." dw: "I've got enough do-duty at work.  I'm an all around do-door-duty person." --- Our witty repartee for the evening.

   Books:  "Whatever Gets You Through The Night" (Andrei Codrescu) I am only familiar with him through his commentaries on public radio so this book was a bit of a surprise.  It's sort of a retelling and sort of about, Sheherezade and the 1001 nights.  With comments about the story and the stories and the translators and the present day all thrown in with lots of footnotes and author's asides to boot.  It's interesting and entertaining and occasionally funny and kind of annoying.  An odd mix. 
   And "About Rothko" (Dore Ashton) -- which, as everyone probably can guess, is about Mark Rothko. Interestingly (if I ever knew this, I'd forgotten it) he emigrated from Russia to Portland, OR as a child, and grew up in Portland.  He had his first solo show in Portland at the Art Museum (after he had moved to New York).
   Reading of and seeing pictures of his early work (influenced by impressionists, cubists, fauvists and just about everyone else) and following his progress (or whatever) into his later monumental paintings with their large masses of color, follows the history of 20th century art.  I haven't finished reading the book, but so far I'd recommend it to anyone interested in art history.  DA

We Should Be On TV

These trees are across the street from our front door.   They aren't yet showing their full color, but they certainly enhance the view from our porch.
 
    Monday I had my one year/10,000 mile check-up.  It was all good and I get to drop one of my daily pills -- just in time to apply the pill cost to my car which won't start.  The car isn't even trying to start, it just sits there, a 3000lb. lump.  I've checked a couple of things and over the next couple of days I'll replace a couple of parts.  After that I'll limp around on my sore foot which I'll get because I'm going to kick the damn thing before I tow it to a shop.
  
   The other day, public broadcasting had a show on TV about ferrets.  We didn't watch it since dw really isn't fond of ferrets, but it reminded me of an article from Outside magazine about Ferret Legging.  Ferret Legging is a "sport" wherein the competitors tie off the cuffs of their pants, stuff in a couple of ferrets, and compete to see who can stand it the longest.  The putative world record is 5 hours 26 minutes.  It's considered a dying sport (Can you imagine why?!) but there have been stirrings of local interest.  As a competitor said:  "You have to be ready to have your tool bitten and not care."  The sport possibly arose in Yorkshire public houses (Scotland --I'm not sure why -- also claims to have started it ) And it's easy to see how a warm pint or ten or fifteen could lead to ferret legging. 
   And lest people think I'm maligning the Brits -- (My god! Are the British Isles so boring that for excitement men get a snootful and then stuff their pants with rapacious toothy, clawing animals?) --- For a couple of years Richmond, Virginia has had a Ferret Legging contest, but I'm pretty sure the beer of choice isn't warm and is probably PBR or Bud Lite  ("We might have lost the Civil War,  but by god! we'll show you Yanks.  We're gonna stuff some ferrets in our pants!")  But there's more:  St. Vital Park, Winnipeg also has a contest.  Though I doubt if it's the same (but kudos to Canada for trying): in Winnipeg every one's tool would be frozen and even the most eager ferret would find it hard to get traction.

   This afternoon dw stopped knitting and checked for email.  I paused from reading and said:  "We should have our own reality show on TV."  dw: "Why so?"  "It would be titled: The Last Best Hope For Insomniacs"  We've had a quiet week. 

Books:  Perfect Figures (Bunny Crumpacker) A history of numbers -- how they came to have their present form and function.  Very little actual math and an easy read.  Very enjoyable.  The Velocity of Honey (Jay Ingram)  Another science light -- a collection of essays "science of everyday life"  -- a little denser than the previous book but still an easy interesting read.  And Visible Bones (Jack Nisbet)  Natural history essays about the Columbia River Basin.  Well written and a good read.  I've enjoyed this one so much that I'm going to look for another one of his books: Sources of the River,

  

A Modest Proposal*

   I read in the paper (The Oregonian 10/9/11 -- Washington Post - Bloomberg) that  Florida State Rep.  Ritch Workman (R) has introduced a bill in Florida to rescind the ban on "dwarf-tossing".  Workman claims that his measure isn't a jobs bill, but he also says it will enable a few little people to work instead of standing in an unemployment line, where, because of their limited stature they might not even be noticed. 
   (When I read the headline to dw she said:  "Please tell me that's from the Onion".)
  -- For anyone who doesn't know, "dwarf-tossing"  is a tavern competition where some drunks see who can throw a small person the farthest. --
   Regardless of the merits of this particular bill, Rep. (R) Workman is showing the all too common limitation that plagues politicians -- a limited imagination.  While he's about it he needs to introduce a bill legalizing baby tossing.  Baby tossing is an age-long, world-wide occupation. 
   In southern India, babies are thrown off a fifty foot tower and caught in a blanket held by several men -- to the enjoyment of everyone concerned (apparently even the babies since there's no record of a single baby complaint -- crying doesn't count since babies frequently cry for no reason at all).  For people who don't have a baby, baby-rich people could rent out their children for tossing about.  Traditionally babies -- particularly tossable babies -- make little if any effort to contribute to their family's finances -- so baby hurling would add an entire new class of work that would add to the GDP.
   Since some people (probably liberals) might sneer at Baby Tossing as a low class sport it should be noted that English nobility threw babies around for a good many years (the infant brother of Henry IV died when somebody missed as he was being tossed from window to window -- The only recorded fatality connected with the sport -- so Baby Tossing is safer than rodeo bull riding and there's no need to find a 2000 pound bull)
  
Not that it concerns me (the Revolutionary War and all), but the English could widen the sport by tossing a few adult royals from window to window.  The royals seem mostly to just ponce about and they could be be put to good use by being tossed about.  As a tourist attraction I think watching Prince Charles tossed out a window would be a huge draw.  He'd land on a giant air bag  and the bookies could offer odds on whether (ear-wise) he'd fly or just glide.

   And on the subject of royals I'm reminded of the great gaseous farts from the press regarding the recent Kardashian wedding.  (According to the press)  America's "royal wedding".  As if.  At least none of the English royals have ever released a porn video, although a few years ago Koo Stark had a lot of potential.   And so it goes.  DA

*Apologies to Jonathan Swift -- but he's been dead for 250 years, so why should he care?

Taking Care of Business

   I believe I've found out about the three ships I wrote of on 7-17-11 (What The Hell ?).  I stopped at a nearby boat yard and asked one of the workmen about the three giant tents on the barge.  He told me that they are used to shelter yachts while being worked on.  The barge is just used as a movable floating dock, and the white framed tents are just stored there until needed.      Mundane and sort of boring.  Definitely a sight best left for the imagination to conjure on. 
   And the two ships with the large radar domes?  Here I'm guessing (the Swan Island ship yard doesn't let people wander around asking questions) but the ships are probably connected with the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, which is establishing it's NW home port in Newport.  Portland is the nearest place to work on large ships.  Again sort of boring.  Much more interesting to imagine a CIA / NSA operation with men and women in fedoras, raincoats and dark glasses scurrying about.  Easier to imagine a few years ago.  The scene only needs Cheney sneering in the background -- panting at the thought of more waterboarding. 

    Recently Drew commented on the 5-5-11 blog  (Profligate Blue Jay).  He pointed out that Guam uses more Spam (nearly three times as much per person) than Hawaii.  He also mentioned a special Spam that Hormel developed particularly for Guam.    A Tabasco Spam -- So now I have to look around for Tabasco Spam.  It sounds -- great isn't the right word -- interesting.

   Completely irrelevant:  The Jackson Hole Daily (9-23) carried an article about an endangered 10 foot American crocodile (most American "crocodiles" are alligators) discovered in a Florida gated community.  At the end of the story the article said that Lindsey Hord -- Florida crocodile response coordinator -- urged people not to feed or touch alligators or crocodiles and to keep pets away from them.
   "Oh, Look Ma!!  There's a ten foot gator over there.  Man he sure has a lot of teeth.  I know!!  Let's go pet it!"  "That's a great idea Pa!  And I'll bring Fifi.  Maybe they'll play together!"   I'm not sure the Lindsey Hord type of warnings should be given -- Such warnings only help those type of people survive and breed. 

  
 

Lastly, the house paint job is mostly finished.   The storm windows need to be re-installed and some details on the balcony and patio need to be taken care of.  None of is critical.  Installing the storm windows will be a quick job, and the bits of painting that are left can wait until next spring if necessary.  I am so glad to be done with the job.  But dw and I are really pleased with the result.  Except for the gable ends the colors are similar to the old scheme but are a bit brighter so the effect (we feel) is much more pleasing.  In the end dw did about 25% of the painting and I did nearly all of the rest.  The other help  mentioned largely concentrated on prep work --  That's actually a pretty big deal help-wise.  Picture on the left:  The Last Square Foot.  Above:  The Finished Product. 

I have been reading, and will get back to books read in my next entry.  And so it goes.  DA

Jackson, Wy -- A Short Trip With A Fun Event

   Last week dw and I drove to Jackson, Wyoming to watch her brother Steve and Steve's SO Kay, run a marathon.   Actually we only watched the finish -- we were awake, but we didn't get up to watch the 7:30 start, and we didn't find a spot to watch any part of the middle of the run -- so by "watching a marathon" I mean we waited at the finish for fifteen minutes and actually watched the last fifty yards of the 26+ mile run.   But our thoughts were positive and we offered strong moral support.  As we drove to our spot at the finish we passed both Steve and Kay as they ran on a road-side path.   We honked  waved and yelled in a strongly supportive fashion. 
   Our stay in Jackson was only two days so we didn't do any hiking -- it was mostly a social event.  We  (dw and I) did visit the National Museum of Wildlife Art, located just north of Jackson.  The 1994 building is reminiscent of Anasazi ruins, and the collection is, as advertised, wildlife art --  Mostly but not exclusively American artists and North American wildlife -- nearly all of the art is realistic.  The subjects and style of art isn't particularly to our taste, but we were glad we went and it's a very nice museum / collection.
   Eating in Jackson was a disappointment (for me).  First we went to the Snake River Brewery (good beer, as it happens).  I ordered a BBQ pulled-pork sandwich.  The bun was stale, the pork was too sweet without much flavor and was nearly cold.  The fries were cold.  And it wasn't cheap.  In my opinion, go there for the beer and pass on the food.  We also ate at Thai Me Up.  I ordered drunken noodles (no alcohol involved) with chicken.  It tasted good but the chicken seemed to be the same sort of faux glop that McDonalds uses to make it's McNuggets.  For the price I expected better than that.  But as I said, it tasted good (true, it's hard to mess up Thai).
  
   Small events along the road:
    Supreme Court Justice Sonia Sotomayer was in Teton Village (where the marathon finished) -- We didn't see her but there were a bunch of Secret Service guys lurking around with their ear buds and dark glasses.  One was wearing a magenta colored shirt and tie! -- I didn't think that would be allowed. 
   We went to the Jackson Farmers Market where I found a selection of Stetson hats for only 40 dollars.  I felt the craving for another hat but they only offered XXL or XXS.  I tried the XXL and my head felt like the clapper in Big Ben.  The XXS would only fit a toddler or a pinhead -- made me feel like I really am a fathead. 
   Road sign outside of Idaho Falls:  "Warning to tourists:  Don't laugh at the natives"  --  I didn't see anyone there who was risible but I didn't really look. 
   Sign at Rupert, Idaho:  Corn Dogs -- at Mr. Gas -- a service station.
   Downtown Rupert is a town square surrounded by 1910-20 buildings, mostly unaltered.  It's an attractive little town which seems to be kept alive by Hispanic people.  We ate at a bodega / carniceria / cafe.  (Three tacos and a burrito).  The place had the feel of Baja California except for the unexpected zydeco music. 
   A feedlot west of Massacre Rock State Park has a large manure holding pond sited beside the freeway.  It had a pontoon boat floating in it.  I guess some people take their recreation wherever they can. 
   We ate at the Rainbow Cafe in Pendleton.  Two older women were sitting on a bench outside the cafe having a smoke.  They strongly recommended the place, and on the basis of one of their recommendations I had the chili-burger -- it was good.   The cafe (according to a photograph) looks much like it did when it opened in 1940.  It has a bunch of neon lights and signs which they never turn off because they aren't sure the neon would fire up again if they were turned off. 
   We had breakfast at Frosty's Cafe & Lounge in Rufus Oregon, where the waitress shooed us away from the "fly table".  It was a table in front of a window which apparently was very popular with the local flies. 

And the Fun Event:  On our return drive we stopped at Horseshoe Bend (north of Boise Idaho) where we did a zip-line ride.  It was great!  The first picture was just before we started on the paired line (the other lines were single).  This line ended at the light spot above the greenery nearly centered between our helmets.  The second picture I took while we were sliding down the cable.  --  Because I weigh a bit more than dw shortly after I took the picture I passed her.  Again:  the end of these cables is the light tan spot  just right of the left-hand cable.  The tour had six different cables, four short and two long.  If we ever do it again we'll want more long cables but this was an excellent first time out.   And so it goes.  DA 

Smith Rocks Yet Again

   Bob D. and I returned (for the final time this year?) to Smith Rocks, intending to do a five pitch climb.
    (The climb was close to, but not connected to, Monkey Face -- either the back side or the front side.   Some years ago I climbed a route on the front side.  The only way we could ever get up the back side would be with a rocket engine up our bum. -- The pictures of Monkey Face are irrelevant to this blog, but I think it's an interesting formation.)
   The approach hike to the climb really took a toll on us.  It was down into the gorge of Crooked River, up the aptly named Misery Ridge.  Down the backside of Misery Ridge, up the climb.  Back down to the base of the climb to get our stuff.  By that time we weren't interested in re-ascending Misery Ridge (front side or back) so we descended clear down to the river and did the three or four mile hike along the river to get back to the car -- not forgetting the climb to reverse the original descent to the river.  I'd say it knocked the stuffing out of me, but part of the problem is the too much stuffing still in me. 
   Anyway, Bob led off the first pitch which to our mind was notably harder than advertised.  I did the second which was supposed to be the hardest pitch and which was, again, notably harder than advertised -- it was as much as I was ready to deal with.  Bob started the third (a traverse) and after a lot of difficulty communicating (out of sight, a traverse, and wind) reached a point where he didn't want to continue.  He reversed the pitch (I had largely lost my "eye of the tiger" and didn't want to try it myself) and we then exited the climb via a short easy pitch.
   It was a longish hike with a hard middle section and a bit of climbing thrown in. 

   During the hike I noticed that many of the young people we met addressed me as "sir",  which was nice and certainly polite.  Much more polite than what they really meant:  "OMG.  Look at that geezer on crutches."  (I have a bad knee and use crutches when walking any distance)*
   On the drive back to Portland I commented on the "sirs" to Bob.
    Bob:  "Well, if you'd shave that stupid beard and dye your hair, you'd look ten years younger."
   "Maybe so, but this way it looks like I have a child bride."
   "Yeah, and poor (dw) is married to an old geezer."
   Later in the drive I commented on how tired I was and said I was glad I wouldn't be doing much of the driving on our trip -- (dw and I --leaving tomorrow) -- to the Tetons.  Bob:  "So you're going to let The Deerslayer drive?" -- referring to an earlier trip that started out with dw smooshing Bambi's Brother.

* --- I use elbow, or Canadian crutches.  Invented in Canada I guess.  In any case small recompense for all the honking, befowling (sic) geese they keep sending south. 
  

Exploding Eyeballs And Other Fearful Things

   I'm happy to announce two milestones in the Great Painting The House Project.  First, I'm finished painting around the power line.  I've messed around the line on several occasions, and have developed a system that insulates me from the electricity (more than just the usual insulation on the wires) but it still is an uncomfortable place to be.  With 220 volts and 100 amps the lines carry enough juice to make your eyeballs shoot from your head and splatter against the house -- damaging what is quite a nice paint job.  (And what is it with vitreous humor? It's not so funny if it's your eyeballs that are splattering all over the wall.)   And the second milestone is the end of standing 25 feet up on a ladder -- holding on with one hand and painting with the other.  A great sigh of relief.  The weather has moderated, nearly 20 degrees cooler, and I've been able to paint as much in the last couple of days as I did in a week of high temperatures.
    I was on the ladder because I thought the grandchildren were a bit too cavalier about the height, and son Sean operates with only one and a half hands (on a good day).  So I was on the top of the ladder, making mini-movements, carefully keeping in balance and slowly getting the paint on.  All of the rest is close to the ground -- easy-peasy. 

   For the last two days we had house guests:  One of dw's cousins -- Cindy Z, and her SO Ken G.  They were easy guests, largely entertaining themselves.  We had some pleasant conversation, and Saturday night dw's local family branch (brother John and Jan W.,  Aunt Dee and cousin Craig)  came over for dinner and wine.  We had a very nice time.  A lot of laughing and light on the politics -- which can be contentious.

   Books: "Unnatural Selection"  (Aaron Elkins) A murder mystery that's an easy and entertaining read.  Although I was troubled to read that Elkins transferred Land's End and the Isles of Scilly from the SW of Cornwall to the SE of England.  To me that was a bit of reckless adventuring with geography.  I perused "The 20TH Century Art Book"  -- a compendium of artists A to Z with about one page each -- a color plate and short blurb apiece.  A bunch of the artists I've never heard of, which says more about me than the artists.  And I'm nearly finished with "Pulse" (Julian Barnes)  -- it's a collection of short stories.  I haven't enjoyed it as much as I did "Nothing To Be Frightened Of".  The short stories strike me as being dry and uninvolving.  He's certainly a skilled writer but this collection hasn't grabbed me. 

   P.S.  dw and I don't watch much television, and what we do watch is largely on Public Broadcasting (in no small part because of our aversion to commercials).  This week has been PBS fund drive with all of the dismal programs they insist on showing.  It seems to me that if the station is attracting viewers with Nature or other similar programs, they shouldn't expect to get donations by showing Celtic Thunder -- Which makes me think of a bunch of Irishmen who drank too much Guiness and are now really gassy.  A Celtic mass chorus of "Le Petomane".  And I must say I don't care for Celtic music either.  It's all jigga-jigga, tootle-toot / jigga-jigga, tootle-toot quick time,  and then jigga-jigga, tootle-toot / jigga-jigga, tootle-toot even faster.  And every tune is exactly the same.  They need to give it a rest. 
P.P.S. -- I contribute to PBS, and I haven't visited Ireland or Scotland but I hope to sometime.  DA

An Intriguing Offer

  Several days ago I received an email informing me that I have been selected for the Registry Of Distinguished Women.   I immediately abandoned the game of solitaire I was playing, even though I nearly had a win, and rushed into the living room to tell dw of the new honor.  dw and I rarely practice one-up-manship, but I did (modestly) point out that she hadn't been selected, and since I had been selected, some kind of special recognition would be appropriate.  dw turned a page in the book she was reading and said  "That's nice, dear.  It's really special."
   I recognize being placed in the company of Distinguished Women carries a heavy responsibility along with the great honor so after some deep thoughts I have concluded that I need to continue my life as I have been living it.  My life has been notable enough for the selection so ipso facto my present manner is good (and distinguished) enough for the honor. 
   In full disclosure:  dw and I share the same email address, so the offer might have been meant for her.  Also, though it was meant for me, it might be contingent on a sex change operation (to fix the world-wide imbalance caused by Chas Bono's switch to the other side).  If that's the case the Registry of Distinguished Women is just SOL.  I'm entirely happy with the hardware I've got.  The knees need a tune-up but otherwise everything is fine the way it is. 
   Books:  "The Thief At The End Of The World"  (Joe Jackson)  How Henry Wickham smuggled rubber tree seeds away from the Amazon into England -- ending Brazil's monopoly on rubber.  An interesting read.  It worked well for Great Britain -- Wickham went from one failure to another.  And  "Group Theory In The Bedroom and Other Mathematical Diversions"  (Brian Hayes)   A series of essays concerning math curiosities and conundrums.  Interesting with some occasional heavy sledding.  And so it goes.  DA

Gallimaufry

   Lately it seems I've been giving this blog something of a cloacal theme, so I thought I'd feature a photo of a toilet from the men's room in the Kohler Art Museum (Sheboygan, Wisconsin).  I wrote about the museum on 9-14-2010.  The entire room, walls, sinks, urinals is similarly decorated.  There are five other restrooms in the museum, each decorated with a different theme.  The museum itself still ranks as one of the high-lights from that car trip.

   But to the point of this blog:  Several times and several different people have wondered about the photo I use on my facebook page -- the one of me in a Viking helmet, horns turned down.  I bought the helmet on the same car trip as the Kohler, but at a later date in Kensington, Minn: home of the Kensington Runestone (a faux Viking relic)  Apparently the good folks in Kensington, and perhaps all of Minnesota, believe the runestone is real.  You might think it unlikely a whole city, let alone a state, would be so gullible -- But the fine folks there also elected Michele (Crazy Eyes) Bachmann and Tim (I'm going to save the USA from the heathen liberals! -- Oh, -- Well -- Never mind!) Pawlenty.  So properly parsing out the Minnesota belief system might not be possible.

   So dw and I visited the Official Runestone Gift Shop where I found the helmet.  I hesitated a bit, but finally bought it.  (the pic is for anyone who hasn't noticed the facebook pic).  Later, as dw was driving,  I found the horns are not only removable they are reversible so for the rest of the trip we used the horny positions as an indication of the appeal of any particular site.  Two horns up (good!). One up, one down (so-so). And two down, not so great.  This specific picture was taken at a field of sand dunes in eastern Idaho and was actually two horns way down.

   Since I started writing this blog I've been looking at other blogs.  Most are commercial or not worth looking at (in my opinion), but I've been surprised at the amount of interesting writing available on the web.  A couple I've been reading:  Other Men's Flowers (http://omf.blogspot.com) -- written by Tony (who commented about my P.C. Wren bit -- thanks)  He's a few years older than me, frequently funny, occasionally dyspeptic and always enjoyable.  Another is "Attack Of The Redneck Mommy" written by a young woman about her life as a mother and other -- Also consistently amusing  (I don't have an address for her blog --- the title should work).   (while I'm writing about blogging -- thanks for the greeting Laurie)
  
    To continue on the subject of modern communications:  A few days ago a nephew-in-law -- (is there such a thing? -- he's married to one of my nieces so we're some sort of relations) -- Joe H. -- posted a simple cypher on facebook, (in support of the U.S. Armed Forces) and suggested his readers  cut and paste and post it -- A reasonable thought but I pointed out that cutting and pasting was unlikely to happen on my watch (I'm not a Luddite but my motto web-wise and other is KISS -- keep it simple stupid) On return post Joe did a short tutorial (apparently I too can cut and paste) but mentioned the task is more difficult with an iphone.  As if -- a different young friend (Alan M.) -- said my cell phone is the equivalent of a tricycle with training wheels.  Ha!! Take that Steve Jobs.

Books:  Finished "Life" (Keith Richards) -- There's a long boring section in the last half when he writes about his drug-addled period.  Boring, particularly since he periodically insists he didn't kill himself because of his wise use of drugs.  He really doesn't acknowledge that he's still alive just because of dumb stupid luck.  And there's a lot of "I played with this guy, or that gal or her or him" -- not interesting to me but others might find it so.  And so it goes.  DA


    

Home Entertainment

     The toilet paper (or tissue paper if you're delicate) core collection started some years ago.   About fifteen years ago, for Christmas, our oldest grandson gave us (at the behest of his mother)  the garden statue of a boy with a bird.  Shane A. didn't think we would want it and was embarrassed about giving it, but what could he do? -- His mother thought it was a great idea or at least thought it was an adequate idea.  And Shane was right, the statue wasn't to our taste, but what could we do?  One certainly doesn't dis a Christmas present, particularly one from a six year old, so we stuck it in the downstairs bathroom until we could figure out a place for it.  After a few weeks, I added white and pupils to the statue's eyes so it appeared to be looking at a person who was sitting doing his or her business.
   After a few more weeks dw and I started decorating the statue by bandaging it with paper, making a hat from a paper roll,  giving it a paper scarf and so on.  At one point someone (I think it was Dan -- younger son) who gave it the leggings.  Following a period of increasing escalation and saving the paper cores for later inspiration, we started noting the date, time, weather  and anything of interest on each roll core as it appeared.  For a time we just stacked the cores until a year ago when we started hanging them.   It should be noted that any legitimate use for the actual paper is fair.  It needn't be of a scatological nature.  (I got to label one core when I used the paper to wipe off an oil-paint brush)  Some of our friends think we should get out more. 

   Yesterday was my birthday (Hurrah, Happy Birthday to Me!) and dw surprised me with a present.  We don't ordinarily do much for birthdays, a card and a "Happy Birthday"  (and if anyone is feeling sarcastic:  "You're how old now?  Wow!!") commonly is the extent of the celebration.  So the gift -- discovered when I went to get milk for my morning coffee -- was quite a surprise.  Now, as a creamer it's sort of gross, and it drips so it really needs a very tiny nursing bra but I think it's great.  dw knows and shares my taste for the outre'.  (It's made by a local potter -- Mudshark Studios)
   And in the afternoon we met friends for light dinner -- Largely for a going away dinner as they're leaving for their annual half-year sojourn teaching at Stanford.  A pleasant day.

   The house painting is coming along.  The actual painting has started and the end is in sight if still a ways away.  

   Books:  "Life" (Keith Richards with James Fox)  It's to his credit that Richards gives prominent credit to Fox.  Usually celebrities like to pretend they actually wrote their autobiography.  The book starts with an account of his arrest in Arkansas for drug possession (he beat the rap) and I feared the worst.  I think a chronicle of "I get drunk and do drugs and therefore I'm wonderful" is really boring.  But Richards doesn't take that path.  Periodically he mentions using drugs but it isn't the center of his story.  I'm finding it very interesting  -- it's mostly a tale of how he came to music and how he keeps working at and exploring music.  I've always liked the Stones, but I think even a non-fan, if interested in how an artist works, would find the book interesting.  -- An irrelevant aside:  the copy I'm reading is a library book -- large print edition (it was the only copy available) Large print -- you could get carpal tunnel from having to turn the pages so often.    DA

Home Maintenance

   I haven't written anything recently because we're in the process of painting the house and I've put in ten hour days for the last week.  Oldest son Sean has been rebuilding the storm windows and grandsons Shane and Josh have been helping with the actual paint job.  (Youngest son Dan works swing shift and his hours aren't compatible with the rest of us).  So far our time has been largely spent pressure-washing, scraping and sanding with the occasional foray into Git-Rot and Bondo.  Thankfully all of that is nearly done and we've actually started painting.
   The front gable is the most inaccessible part of the building and after I set up the scaffold (it's more secure than it looks) dw wanted to give it a try.  -- dw wants to put it on record that a sit-harness adds a good 15 pounds to a person's appearance (for me that ship has sailed) --  So dw spent a couple of hours getting some climbing exposure.  -- I was up there yesterday afternoon --  We both use a safety rope and a Gibbs ascender that I dug out of my pile of long-unused climbing stuff --
   I took the day off and  ran some errands:  Renewed my driver's license (including a new photo -- surprisingly,  it's not awful)  And since my car wouldn't start this morning, I jump-started it and drove to a battery place.  Of course it needed a new battery.  After the running around I spent the day reading. 

   When she's not on a scaffold, dw is a skilled health-care professional.  A few days ago in the course of a discussion (between the two of us) regarding health-care costs, she mentioned a place where she once worked that, as a matter of course, gave 100% oxygen to post-operation patients.  She thinks the procedure was a waste of time and money with no real health benefit.  I, however, think that the practice is a definitive explanation for the problem of SHC.  -- Spontaneous Human Combustion -- A mysterious malady where people burst into flames and keep combusting until they're charcoal.  But if someone inhales pure oxygen and then tries to light a fart:  Presto!  Bubba Brulee.

Books:  Other than the newspaper I've been too busy to read much, but I have started "Lost Discoveries" (Dick Teresi).  Blurb:  The ancient roots of modern science -- from the Babylonians to the Maya --- Which  summarizes the book.  It's interesting but the author spends way too much time erecting straw men to knock over.  (OMG, India or somebody invented the zero way before the prideful Europeans thought of it!)  It's good enough to pass the time.  DA
  

Holy Toast

   It has come to my attention that dw doesn't care for Sundays.  Even though, as she puts it, her family didn't go to church on Sundays -- or any other day, for that matter.  Some might say that church-going could improve Sundays (Kate G. suggested that a simple genuflection in front of our Toasted Virgin would be a good substitute for church) but I think her ennui is caused by a strong sense of unrealized Sunday Potential.  We could do nearly anything on Sundays:  A short car trip,  A hike in the Columbia Gorge, Visit friends or relatives, do any number of things in Portland -- but come the day we seldom do any of the above.  dw will usually visit a friend (skipping the chance to pop in and visit a stranger) and I thoroughly read the paper, work up a good case of umbrage, and give the paper a hard shake which satisfies my need for excitement.  
   But back to the Madonna Col Butter:  The painting in the background is an older work of mine -- called by Sean A. (oldest son) The Sunny Side Up Egg.  It's actual title is "Fall Sunset", or "Apocalypse Then", or "What? It Was The Sixties!"  It's hanging outside to add some interest to a dull section of fence, and the Virgin On Toast was a later improvement.  I haven't previously written about the Miracle Of The Toast because I worry that our back yard will become a pilgrimage site and I'll have a continuous job of shooing away people crawling through the alley -- giving each a crumb from the Blessed Loaf, the very origin of the Holy Mother of Baked Flour And Yeast.  (It's called Wonder Bread for a reason).  But to enliven our Sundays I am now sharing our own  Miracle Of The GE Toaster.  Please call for an appointment if you need to share the Awesome Buttered Madonna.

   In my last post, I wrote of Peninsula Park and the several hundred rose bushes.  I checked and there are 10,000 rose bushes -- each a different variety.  No wonder the scent is so strong. 

   Books:  I finished Mark Twain's Autobiography -- or finished the part he actually wrote or dictated.  There are several hundred pages of notes and appendices which I largely skipped.  I enjoyed as much as I read but, to be truthful, the hundreds of pages of scholarly research was more than I am interested in.  I'm now reading "Napoleon's Buttons" (Penny Le Couteur & Jay Burreson) -- A collection of essays about "17 molecules that changed history" (the sub-title).  They write about such things as tobacco and caffeine and pepper.  It's a good read.  DA

  

The Smell of Roses

   My usual bike route whether to and from the gym, returning from downtown or returning from most locations south and east in town, passes Peninsula Park.  It's one of the city's older parks and the site of Portland's original rose test garden.  This time of year when many of the rose bushes (there are a hundred or so varieties and five or six hundred plants)  are in bloom, the area for a couple of blocks around smells of roses.  It's remarkably pleasant.  The scent isn't the cloying aroma of too much perfume but is light and refreshing.  Each time I pass the park I think of a large rose bush from somewhere in my youth -- Probably the lumber camp where I grew up and where my mother, who loved flowers, devoted much time and energy to her flower garden.  When we three kids got a bit older we went on regular excursions to find and transplant bushes and flowers from the forest to our yard. 
   (The tiger lily photo is from Forest Park.  I don't think our mother would have taken any plants from an actual established park, but anywhere else was fair game.  If they had been outside of a park, those lilies would have been dug up -- using our fingernails if necessary -- before anyone could have said "Aren't those pretty.", and replanted in our yard where they would have been far prettier)
   Another, less pleasant memory, comes with the smell of diesel smoke -- evoking my high-school summers -- which I spent loading hay bales, throwing hay bales, stacking hay bales, chopping (grinding the hay into bits -- cattle and sheep will eat a lower quality of hay when it's ground up) the hay -- all the while being hot, sweaty, covered with hay dust and inhaling diesel fumes -- and commonly surrounded by rutting sheep,  which was very frustrating to a teenage boy who wasn't getting any --   Such fun it was.   Proust had it wrong to my mind.  It isn't the taste of madeleine with tea that brings memories, but the smell of them.

   Dredging up memories reminds me:  for the last few days I've been trying to remember this WWII ditty and today I finally Googled it.
(to the tune of Colonel Bogey's March)

Goring has only got one ball
Hitler has two but very small
Himmler has something similar
And Goebbels has no balls at all

Still reading Mark Twain's Autobiography.  DA

  

    

Anatomy Lessons

   A few weeks ago I noticed a depression in my right bicep.  I've never been confused with Charles Atlas --  (that reference shows my age, but there's no way I'm going to refer to Arnold or any of the other contemporary bulging geeks) -- I've never been confused with Charles Atlas but heretofore my arms have bulged in a modest but pleasingly proper manner.  There's been no slacking off, no slumping, no dents where there should be bumps -- so a couple of months ago when I saw a dent in my upper arm I was suitably alarmed.  So much so that after a few weeks I mentioned it to dw who said "That's weird."  And still later I asked John G. (climbing partner and anatomy teacher/author) -- who looked at it and said "It looks like you've torn off the long head of your bicep". 
   Who knew.  The bicep is called a bicep instead of a unicep or monocep or cep, because it has two attachments on your shoulder.  I didn't know that and now I've had a learning moment -- I know even more about anatomy -- I know the bicep has a long head and a short head.   I know that neither the "bi" nor the "long head" nor the "short head" has  any sexual connotation whatsoever.  Regardless of what anyone might claim or think.  
   Since I waited so long to see a doctor about the problem it's really too late to re-attach the tendon, and it apparently isn't necessary anyway.  My arm cramps with little or no provocation but I'm seeing a physical therapist and getting some exercises which along with time should take care of the cramping. 
Several people have asked if it hurt when I tore it and it probably did but I must have ignored the event as another sign of aging and went on with my business.   I don't remember doing the damage.

   In other news there isn't much.  I'm getting ready to paint the house and have arranged with sons and grandsons for help.  I haven't chosen any colors yet.  dw said she trusts my taste and isn't interested in looking at colors.  (Her color choices:  "Think of shades of dirt.")  I'm leaning toward something similar to what we have now (redwood, with white and steel blue trim) but I'll go brighter than the steel blue trim. 

   I was asked if I had found out what the barge with white tents is all about.  I haven't, but if I ever do, I'll post it. 

   Books:  "The Autobiography of Mark Twain"  (ed.  Harriet Elinor Smith) At 700+ pages (volume 1) I plan to  some selective reading.  I read the early abridged version some years ago and to be frank it was a little dull.  I hope this is more interesting.  The 700 pages reminds me:  Prince William Henry, Duke of Gloucester and Edinburgh (upholding the fine intellectual traditions of English royalty) said -- on the occasion of receiving a copy of "The Decline and Fall Of the Roman Empire" -- "Another damned thick book! Always scribble, scribble, scribble! Eh, Mr. Gibbon?"
   And speaking of dull autobiographies by famous writers, Tennessee Williams' effort (I don't remember the title) just might be the prize winner.  A summary (as I recall):  "And then when I was in New Orleans I met this MARVELOUS young man who was SO GOOD LOOKING.  And then I went to St. Louis where I met this MARVELOUS young man who was SO GOOD LOOKING."  Casanova and Anais Nin wrote about their sex lives and made it sort of interesting (largely, I suspect, because they lied)  Most writers can't manage that trick.  At least Twain isn't likely to think we will be interested in what he did with his genitals.  And so it goes.  DA
  

Social Butterflies

   Yesterday dw and I topped off our social quota for the year by attending two events.  First we went to Lauri L.'s (one of my nieces)  house for a family party.  The event was to welcome back to the U.S.  her brother Greg L. who just finished three months larking about over-seas -- He's a military guy of some rank and oddly enough he wasn't in Afghanistan or Iraq -- Of course he didn't offer any proof of where he was, so he might have been hanging out in Paris or Minsk, but since his wife (Kristen) and daughter (Sara) --- also at the party --- took his word for where he was, the rest of us might as well.  Also present were Chris, another brother, and Rosemary and Gene -- parents and my sister and brother in law respectively -- We spent a pleasant couple of hours visiting and looked at some of Lauri's work (she does really nice bead jewelry and lately, leaded glass)
   After that we went to El Casa Matador, a good tex-mex place, for Mel M.'s 60th birthday party.  (He's one of dw's favorite co-workers)  In addition to Mel, his wife and two (adult) children, there were 20 or so people present.  It was very pleasant with the added fun of the cake (ordered by Jill -- manager) from Whole Foods having a typo.  It was supposed to say "Birthday Vigil" but actually said "Happy Birthday Vgil" and then they squeezed in an "i" so it finally read "Happy Birthday Vigil"  -- we could have used beer to re-baptize Mel so his name would match the cake but no one thought of it in time. 

   In other news, dw has been doing graphic designs using MS-Paint.  I was going to post a couple of them, but she says she isn't ready for her public debut.  (I pointed out that while a ton of people could read this blog not many actually do -- it made no difference) -- A temperamental artist -- And half-joking she said I would need to help her write an artist's statement.  I pointed out that writing a statement is really easy:
Exploring -- blah, blah
By means of -- blah, blah, blah
Refer to exploring color and form or the absence of color and form
Refer to exploring unusual tools or combination there-of :  hammers and feathers or termites
If possible include or refer to something disgusting
Two of the final three are usually sufficient
Voila: an artists statement

Books: "Secret Knowledge" (David Hockney -- the painter) It's a large art book with lots of color illustrations.  Hockney presents his theory that the old masters actually used  cameras obscura (a room sized pin-hole camera) or a combination of mirrors and lenses (similar to an opaque projector) to assist them with their drawing.  It's a very interesting book and he makes a good case.  It makes me feel good since I use similar techniques -- on my best day, my draftsmanship is mediocre at best.  Thanks to modern technology I haven't needed to convert an entire room into a camera, but just think --- Rembrandt, David and me:  we're almost like triplets -- DA

What The Hell!?

   Thursday I took the bicycle to do some errands and shopping.  The first leg of the ride was to Jantzen Beach's Michaels to get some two inch wooden balls  (insert your own joke here: _____________)  which I needed -- oddly enough -- to finish a painting.  Part of the ride circles around a sewage treatment plant, which occasionally smells bad enough to stun a buzzard, but Thursday was just slightly rank.  After circling the plant and passing an assortment of installation art pieces (most of them are quite nice),  the route crosses a pedestrian/bicycle bridge over the Columbia Slough.  Of interest to me was a new port-a-potty stationed at the end of the bridge.  -- Put there because the odor stimulates the foot/bicycle traffic? --  It's nice that it's there but really -- would the occasional whiz in the bushes make all that much difference?  Also at the far end of the bridge is a one or two acre holding pond for treated (I assume) effluent.  On this occasion a small boat was floating in the liquid.  Purpose unknown but I doubt that anyone was going to water ski.
   (As a side bar devoted to all those people opposed to covering Portland's water storage ponds:  Consider the ducks and geese which paddle around in this sewage pond and then fly over to paddle around in our drinking water)

   Which brings us to What The Hell Is That Thing Floating In The River?   I wrote about this first example last January 20.  I still don't have a clue as to what it might be.  It seems to be a radar dome of some sort but it's not military (or probably not, since the military might not like me taking a picture with my trusty Kodak).  It seems to be a research vessel but it's sure odd.  (maybe it's the Navy equivalent of an AWAC plane)  But the real inspiration for What the Hell!? is the second photo which I took on the ride to Jantzen Beach.  And that thing leaves me with no possible explanation.  -- A camping trip/pleasure-boat for giraffes?  Regarding the scale, the little boat on the left is the same size as the Canby 6-car ferry.  I'm absolutely clueless about it.  There's nothing in the tents.  There are no open (or closed) hatches visible.  The masts have no rigging to use as cranes or davits.  It's just ----- What the hell IS it? ----
   In other news, the guy who was dropped at the Portland Rock Gym (I wrote about the accident on April 27) was back climbing when I was last at the gym.  I was surprised to see him back so soon as I thought his injuries were bad enough to keep him out for longer than three months.  The woman who dropped him was also back although they weren't climbing together.  I didn't notice if anyone was being belayed by the dropper. 
   Finally, yesterday dw and I met John W. (dw's bro) Jan W. (John's wife) Laurel (Jan's mother) and dw's aunt Dee, for dinner at El Indio a tex-mex place in far NE Portland.  The occasion was a celebration of John's 60th B-day.  (dw's dad Bob footed the bill.  Too bad he couldn't be here)  It was good food, and we had a nice time.  The event was slightly dampened by the absence of cousin Craig who is having some health issues.  It was tough, but we honored John's insistence that we NOT tell the waiter it was a birthday celebration -- so we missed out on a clutch of wait people singing Happy Birthday in both Spanish and English.
   Books:  "Genghis Khan" (John Man).  It's the history of Genghis Khan and accounts of Man's experiences in Mongolia and China.  I'm not finished but so far it's a good read. 

Happy Feet

   I bought a new pair of walking (running, except I don't run any more) shoes.  New Balance, for anyone who's keeping score.  I don't mind naming the shoe since it makes no difference at all.  The different brands are all equal with some variation in how they look.  Buy what feels good.  New Balance shoes are usually a bit wider than other brands so that's what I wear.  The model I got is the same as my last two pairs, so I bought a second pair -- figuring that N.B. is due to discontinue the shoe.  And now my feet are very happy.  So happy I considered posting a picture of myself dancing in my new shoes -- Then I decided that no one wants to see that.  Including me.  Instead of a photo just imagine my feet covered with felt pen smiley-faces.  My new shoes celebration was a five mile walk which went well if no faster than usual. 
  From several different people I heard that, in my last post, I may have offended people who want to have, have had or have an RV.  Oops. 
   Books:  Just one this time.  "Beau Geste" (Percival Christopher Wren)  I don't think I've ever read the book and I only vaguely remember the movie.  I'm surprised that the book is a "locked room" mystery (Three Cheers for Ft. Zinderneuf!!) with a missing Sapphire thrown in for good measure.  I had thought it would be a Boys' Own Adventure sort of novel but it's a mildly interesting novel for grownups.  Who knew.  DA

Smith Rocks Again

"Did I push the damn self-timer button  or not?"

   Thursday, (L to R) Bob D., myself, and John G. took another climbing trip to Smith Rocks.  It went pretty well with four climbs done before it got too hot and we  lost interest.  I felt much stronger than I did on our last two outings so it was particularly satisfying for me.  The day was clear and sunny and got far too hot by early afternoon.  (When we stopped, even the younger generation was quitting for the day).  We'll probably get out once or twice more this summer -- Which will be the most frequently I've climbed in ten years or so. 
   On this trip dw was interested in a short getaway herself, so she and I drove down  Wednesday and spent the night in Redmond.  We drove hwy 224 between Estacada and Detroit (Oregon's Detroit: pop. 15, and at that much bigger than nearby Idanha),  which I haven't been on for years beyond reckoning (20 or more).  The drive is really pretty as the road follows the Clackamas river for the entire distance.  Steep canyon, ripples and rapids, cliffs and etc.  -- a lovely drive.  We had lunch at K.C.'S in Detroit.  A burger for me and a dog for dw, iced tea and split the fries.  It was alright.  We stopped at Sisters and poked around a bit:  dw looked for a particular sort of top she wanted and I cruised the main street and looked at some books (Paulina Springs Bookstore) but neither of us found anything we had to buy. 
   Thursday we met Bob and John at the Smith Rocks parking lot.  We three went climbing and dw went to Bend to look around and shop -- again not finding something to buy.  (Neither one of us is very good at supporting the modern consumer culture)  After the climbing we met up at the Pump House (?) in Terrebonne where we weren't interested in eating so we  got something to drink and then took off for Portland.  Bob and John returned the usual way:  hwy 26 over Mt. Hood.  dw and I headed north out of Madras through Maupin to The Dalles.  We stopped for a bit in Hood River where dw found a satisfactory top and we each got a book from the Artifact, where I embarrassed myself by leaning too heavily on a shelf and breaking it.  Books didn't avalanche but still -- I hate being the clumsy old guy. 
   At the motel dw asked the clerk about the upcoming Redmond Oregon National RV Convention. (10,000 are expected)  The clerk was nonplussed about the prospect and didn't seem very interested.  dw and I, on the other hand, lie awake at night: images of RV horrors filling our minds.  Central Oregon roads and passes full of endless trains of waddling RVs, sometimes moving as fast as 25 mph.  The passing lanes full of RVs moving 26 mph.  All visible from Google Earth.  All like clusters of rednecks converging on the smell of BBQ and Bud Lite.  (None of the above refers to family or friends.  Particularly any family or friend on a continent-spanning road trip.)
   Books:  "Dave Barry's Money Secrets"  Typical Dave Barry.  Sophomoric and sometimes really funny.  And "India Calling" (Anand Giridharadas) an analysis of modern India.  DA