St. George And The Fish

St. George (the town, and perhaps the Dragon Slayer -- history makes no comment either way) has a fish whisperer. Most of us, I think, will require a few moments to digest that fact. -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Enough time. But I feel I must repeat: St. George has a fish whisperer who serves not only St. George but all of Southern Utah, curiously he doesn't seem to swim into Nevada or Arizona. Since I don't wish to appear judgemental if any readers of this entry need a fish whisperer to annoy their fish feel free to call, he's listed in the St. George Yellow Pages. I won't know and if I find you've called I won't tell ---------- not at once, anyway. I have so many questions: Does he stick his head into the fish bowl? Conversing with the fish: BLUB, BLUD, BLOOP -- but he's a fish whisperer so I imagine its: blub, blub, bloop. Does he only whisper to fish who have a bowl big enough that he can get his fat head into it? Is he a she? Does she have a buzz cut or does her hair clog the filter? Does the fish reply? When the fish replies does it swim up to the whisperer's ear to whisper and if it swims too close for an intimate whisper, does it ever get stuck? When the whisperer gets a fish stuck in his ear, does he rear back, shaking his head like a wet poodle? And when she shakes her head, does the fish fly across the room? And when the flying fish lands in a hot frying pan does the fish whisperer enjoy a fried fish meal? So many questions, so few answers. But so it goes. DJA P.S. Sorry, now Google isn't honoring my paragraph breaks.

Dateline: Kanab, Utah

This is in the nature of an interum blog about the Grand Canyon/canyonland trip dw and I are presently taking.
I'm writing in Kanab, but this is just a short note regarding the Flying J service station/rest stop/petting zoo in Scipio, Utah.
The petting zoo was of mild interest with (among other things) an emu, a goat, a zebra, a zebu calf, a donkey and lama. Prominently posted was a disclaimer sign noting that any or all of the animals might bite, spit, or stomp and the petting zoo accepted no responsibility should you be dumb enough to pay $5 (?) to let your five year old be bitten, spit on, or stomped on.
All common stuff, but worth a stop should anyone be in the area.Displayed near the cash register: "Grandma's Nasal Brush". Something I've never seen before, from Grandma or anyone else. You might think it's a brush for a remarkably hirsuit guy. Or perhaps an old geezer who has let his nose hair run amok. It's nothing of the sort. The instructions directed the purchaser shove it up his or her nose and twirl. -- rinse and re-use as needed. Good for colds, allergies, pollen, dandruff and scrofula -- or some such. If any readers need a nasal brush let me know and I'll try to buy you a set (Grandma's Nasal Brush comes three to a package). And so it goes. DJA
Note: gmail blog program presently makes it nearly impossible to fix typos or mis-spellingsto delete or insert words or phrases. Or to add photos. I believe it's their problem and not mine. If it continues I'll start a new blog with a different host. dw tried to make a correction to this blog and said: "This is unacceptable." DJA

A Road Trip Of Modest Proportions

   But first, a moment of silence for the effective passing of Perry Mason, who for nearly fifty years(as all Portlanders know) was firmly settled into noon re-runs. Alas, the station featuring Perry moved him to the Siberia of 8 A.M. on some -- Hah! you think you're a real TV station -- channel. Admittedly it has been some years since dw and I watched him, but it was always a comfort to know he was there. 
   The regulars knew which episodes to watch and which to turn off and perhaps do something vaguely constructive. The ones to definitely skip would involve a little blond curly-haired girl insipid, with a sappy little voice just begging to have a sock stuffed in it. A little less skippable would feature an artist, a hippy, a musician or a beatnik, always languid -- overwhelmed with ennui -- sometimes good for a laugh, particularly the inevitable beatnik coffee house. Nearly as entertaining as when Paul Drake would haul out a cement block sized portable phone. 
   Alas, it's nearly unreachable now. A moment of silence. .........................................................

   To the current point: dw and I have started a modest road trip. We're driving to the Grand Canyon North Rim where we'll meet Steve and Kay (bro and SO) We'll hang out a bit, do a few small (anything dw and I do will be small) hikes, and then Steve and Kay will run their second marathon in a week and dw and I will look for some doable slot canyon hikes.

   The drive to Twin Falls, ID was uneventful. Just the usual assortment of other drivers who bust their asses to pass, pull in front, and then slow down. Or the other ones who park in the left lane (By God! I'm almost driving the speed limit and that's good enough for everyone else.).  I regularly tell myself: "Patience is a virtue." ------ After some thought I need to admit -- I've never claimed to be virtuous.  But so it goes. DJA      

Not Quite A Milestone

   dw and I quietly celebrated my birthday a few days ago. A quiet day because I have one more year before I will admit to being old, in body at least. We went out to dinner and and three days later, due to unforeseen circumstances, I bought myself an expensive present.

  --- I just told dw that I recently read a list of texting shortcuts (such as lolz) one of which was "dw" which stands for "darling wife" and which I've been using for some time (dw is also dw's initials). We both agree that that's just precious ---

   In any case, dw asked me where I wanted to go to eat and I said I didn't know but I didn't want Tex-Mex or Italian and was indifferent to Thai or any other Asian cuisine --- so dw asked: "What about fish & chips?" and that was exactly what I wanted so off we went to Halibut's, a restaurant / blues bar on tres chic Alberta Street where once a month the young now-wow-and-today artistes and wannabes walk around looking at street art & crafts, eat street food and drink too much and pee on neighborhood lawns and complain about the man bringing me down dude.

   But Halibut's serves really good fish&chips along with live jazz and blues on weekends -- the rest of the time the music is canned and bands are represented with life size plastic statues of Frank Sinatra, Sammy Davis and Dean Martin -- it's kind of creepy.

 

(N.B. -- For some reason, I'm not able to transfer photos into this page. Until I figure it out this blog will be photo less. At the moment, whatever is going on is beyond my skill level to solve. --) *

 

  For part of the dinner time, dw patiently listened to me bitching about my bicycle, which had suddenly become unrideable: it wouldn't stay in gear, wouldn't shift and the chain kept jumping from one sprocket to another. I had taken it in to the Bike Gallery and got a free adjustment which had made it worse -- I had a lot of bicycle bitching material.

   The next day I  tried to fix it myself and found that everything worked when it was on a stand but it acted up when I tried to ride it.

   So I stopped cursing the Bike Gallery mechanic, took the bike back for a more thorough tune-up, and the second time being a charm, the mechanic found the down tube (the front part of the frame's triangle) was broken in half. I'm really glad the break happened when I was standing on the pedals to accelerate and not when I was going down-hill at 25 or 30 mph (the bike is 20+ years old -- but the frame still shouldn't have snapped)

   But now I have a shiny new Trek -- my present to myself. This time I got a touring bike rather than a road/racing bike. It's heavier but is a better fit for the way I ride: I'm not going to enter a race anytime soon and the new bike will handle rough roads or packed gravel better than my old bike. Plus it's nearly as fast and agile as a road bike.

   Thursday, Bob D., Leslie B. and I went to Smith Rocks for a climbing outing. It was successful in a modest way -- four climbs and I led two 7's and a 9 -- As I said, modest. We got an early start -- 6A.M.-- but it became too hot for me and Bob (Leslie seemed less troubled) sooner than we thought it would so we quit early in the afternoon
   (Leslie, an attractive young woman, told one of her friends about the planned climbing trip -- including who she was going with and when we would be starting. On hearing the leaving time the friend said:  "Why so early? Do they drive that slow?" --  Leslie told the story with a quiet glee.  You gotta love a snarky youth.)
   The bit of a hike bothered me more than I thought it would. Once again I was reminded that my knee surgeon said complete recovery will take a year or more. 
 
   WORDS: -- dree one's weird -- which means to pursue or submit to one's destiny or fate. (Scottish or northern England) -- I first came across this in Enderby by Anthony Burgess -- a very funny book -- which wasn't a real surprise since Burgess tosses around ten dollar words as if they are five for a dollar. I had to look it up, of course. Since then I found that James Joyce has used the phrase.  Again, not a surprise although with Joyce I would suspect he just made it up. And Kenneth Graham (Wind In The Willows) has used it. Perhaps in some circles it's a common saying. Perhaps it's common currency among those who swim around looking for the Loch Ness Monster or trek around, nose to the ground, looking for the foul smelling Sasquatch.

   BOOKS: Death In The Afternoon (Hemingway) -- A great title, but disgusting on nearly every level. Good old Ernie starts by detailing the use of horses to stick the bulls with the vara (the things they stab into the bull's neck -- which weakens the bull, makes it harder for it to lift it's head and makes it  less dangerous --  The horses are purposely allowed to be gored and they then run around the ring, stiff legged, trailing their entrails -- A comic interlude for Ernie. The rest of the book discussed the details of bull fighting and various fighters. I admit the book is interesting, in a fashion, but even more than before -- even if he was a good writer -- I despise Hemingway and his smug, juvenile "I can buy a big gun and kill things", macho persona.
   The Peloponnesian War (Donald Kagan) Sparta and Athens go at it. Interesting and well written, but to be honest, at 500 pages, it told me more about the war than I really needed to know. And so it goes DJA

*since I can't seem to get photos into this page, I'll put some on my Facebook page.
  

 

  

  

 

Oconomowoc Anew

   dw and I just returned from another trip to Wisconsin. We went back to celebrate dw's Aunt Barbara's 80th birthday. It was very low-key as Barbara wasn't interested in a party or anything else even semi-elaborate -- Steve (dw's brother), Kay (Steve's SO), dw and I treated Barbara to a lunch and a cake -- quiet but pleasant. Otherwise, in the evening we sat outside and talked; we did a modest amount of yard-work; we went with Barbara to her favorite bar/restaurant -- Pauline's -- and went to the Oconomowoc Fire Station to see the hose cart:

The hose cart is an early 20th century piece of fire equipment. It carried 800 feet of 3 inch fire hose, and the hose plus cart weighed over 1000 pounds. The firemen towed it to the fire by hand (A manly bunch, it seems). dw's grandfather and great-grandfather were volunteer firemen and the older one built the cart (at his own expense) for the department to use. At some point he got PO'd and took his cart and went home. It stayed in the attic of his garage (the family home -- still occupied by his descendant) for the next 90 years until this year when Barbara donated it to the fire department which restored it to it's present splendor. A deputy chief (Glenn Leidel) gave us a talk on how the cart was used and then gave a tour of the station -- It was great. Thoroughly interesting and entertaining. And he let dw try on his fire-fighting outfit:

   I can see a new fashion trend starting.

   We also revisited the Kohler Art Museum in Sheboygan. Again I must say it's one of my favorite museums anywhere. The Kohler collects vernacular or outsider art works and installations -- they'll buy whole buildings or rooms (most of their collection is stored someplace -- they only display a few items at a time) A good article:  www.nytimes.com/2009/07/12/arts/design/12 

 And the Kohler is famous for it's bathrooms:

This is one of six -- three men's and three women's.

Some notes from the road: Except for two delays (one meant we returned home a day later than planned), the flights, going and coming, were uneventful and we even scored some good seats.

   At the Minneapolis airport we saw an iPhone cover -- a piece of plastic, a 5cent item -- for $35 dollars. We didn't believe it and dw asked the clerk about it. The clerk scanned it, confirmed the price, and said: "No wonder we haven't sold any."  I guess even Apple fanboyz have their limits.

We walked around the grounds of a small monastery across the street from Steve's house. At a small shrine to the Virgin Mary dw asked me why Mary was stepping on a snake. I explained that Mary is sort of a reincarnation of Eve, only this time she doesn't succumb to the snakely wiles of Satan -- But that particular story has never rung true to me. Would any woman take an apple from a snake? It was a snake for god's sake. In my opinion any woman, past or present, would say: "You're a snake. At least make it a piece of pie and we might talk."

Books: The Worst Hard Time (Timothy Egan) About the monumental dust storms that occurred during the Great Depression. -- The same area and time that Steinbeck wrote of in The Grapes of Wrath (one of America's great novels) -- Egan interviewed survivors who stayed in the area -- It's an amazing, fascinating book. Of interest to me: The whole area was unquestionably saved from complete depopulation and destruction by the efforts of Franklin Roosevelt's administration -- and I don't believe the region has ever voted for a Democrat  -- Oh well.

   Word for the week: Isn't actually a word, it's a name or a phrase. Osedas Mucofloris or in English: Bone Eating Snot Worm. Since I read about the bone eating snot worm, I sometimes lie awake at night -- worried about what might be under the bed. If such a thing must exist it should be named a Bone-Eating Gertrude and just forget about mentioning the mucus coating. But so it goes DJA

P.S.  For some reason the Times link isn't working. If you're interested Google: NYT Kohler Art Museum. -- The article is one of the first links that will come up.  DJA

More On The Bicycle

   Since the last post, the biggest news here is that dw has officially retired. I won't comment on her new status since she has promised several times to write an entry. We shall all wait with bated breath.

   Regarding the bicycle: On my regular route to the rock-climbing gym I've been passing this street person:

  He had the largest collection on his shopping cart I've ever seen (If you look closely you can see a wheel). He was organized, with a green tarp to cover his cart and a blue tarp to sleep under. And the location was odd because the corner is essentially a residential neighborhood with little pedestrian traffic to pass on a dollar or two. After he had been there for two months, he was missing one morning and I figured the police had moved him on. On returning home I saw a small wreath of flowers at the base of the no-parking sign. I looked in the paper but didn't find any notice of his death -- brief or otherwise --- But I'm assuming he died. Another person little noticed  nor long remembered, but someone noticed and cared enough to lay a small temporary memorial.  Donne had it right: the death of a stranger, even if seen indirectly, is affecting.

On a better note, I've had two bicycle adventures with birds. First, I was going down a hill -- moving about 20mph -- when I caught up to a crow who was just drifting along. He (? -- I'm not good at sex identifying crows -- ) was flying low and I came up behind him getting close enough to actually grab his tail (I didn't) before he sped up and turned away. I followed him for about half a block.

And second, I was approaching a bridge when a peregrine falcon swooped over my head from behind, missing me by six inches, and nailing a pigeon which was perched on the bridge. -- An explosion of feathers and a couple of seconds later the falcon flew away with the pigeon in it's talons. I don't really know, but I think the falcon used me as a moving blind. It was great and it happened so fast I didn't have time to be startled and run into a bridge pier or even fall off the curb.

Finally, I have a plane to catch -- and that's hard, they're big and fast -- so I need to bring this to a close.  DJA

The Hiatus Is Over (At Least For Now)

Last Saturday's "Pearls Before Swine" comic strip:

    Rat: "Hey Goat ... I was reading your blog at home today, but I got distracted." 

    Goat: "Yeah, that can happen with even the most compelling writing ... What distracted you? A phone call? Person at the door? TV show?"

    Rat: "A beige wall."

I'm not taking it personally.

   A few weeks ago, in a  modest celebration of dw's birthday, we took an overnight trip up the Columbia Gorge.  We drove to Goldendale for lunch at the Glass Onion, which is a surprisingly good restaurant -- for such an out of the way place.  I had a grilled chicken breast sandwich -- on focaccia with a black olive tapenade and goat cheese -- really excellent. And dw had a tilapia with caponata dish -- also excellent. For dessert I had a piece of apple pie and dw had chocolate cake with a berry sauce. The deserts were good but not up to the standard of the meal.

   After eating, we drove back roads west of Goldendale to find the end of a rail-to-trail bike ride we have been thinking about doing. After finding it we have reconsidered the ride. The trail is 35 miles long (packed gravel) and it ends 15 miles from Goldendale. We had considered riding it from Lyle to Goldendale, spending the night and then riding back to Lyle but neither one of us is in good enough shape to ride, back to back, two 50 mile days, particularly on gravel. We might do a two car relay and ride it one way.

   After that, we returned to The Dalles where we spent the night. The next day we returned to the Washington side and took a short hike at The Dalles Ranch State Park (An old working farm/ranch that was deeded to the state and turned into a park -- Farm house, barn, out-buildings, assorted horse or tractor powered farm machinery scattered around)

One site was very happy with California Poppys.
  
   Further east, we stopped at Wishram to look at a locomotive that is sitting there. (I didn't get a decent picture) The thing is HUGE. (If there's a steam engine fan reading this, it's a Baldwin 4-8-2 P-2 Mountain class.) The engine, plus tender (which is designed so it looks like one unit) is 90 feet long and 17 or 18 feet tall. The eight driver wheels are each over 6 feet in diameter. A modern diesel might be more powerful, I wouldn't know, but the Baldwin looks like the sumo wrestler of train engines. Strictly by appearance that big boy could kick sand in the face of any modern diesel around. (It also weights 260,000 pounds)
   After staring slack-jawed at the behemoth we stopped at the local tavern (The Pastime) for a burger and a beer. The burger was good and since we were sitting at the bar with the locals, we had a Bud so we would fit in. The Bud was a Bud. The Pastime has a bar cat who sleeps on it's own bar stool. With any provocation the cat will walk the length of the bar -- lap to lap -- stopping wherever it gets the most attention. When everyone shoos it away it returns to it's stool and goes back to sleep. The tavern has all the classic small town elements: A pull tab game (not for gambling purposes) Seemingly designated stools -- Local elementary school booster stuff -- Classic tavern signs:  Our credit manager is Helen Waite. If you want credit, go to Helen Waite. and: If you need credit, you don't need a drink, you need a job. We loved it -- and the burger really was good (the fries, not so much)

   After that we stopped at Maryhill, looked at the new addition and wandered around the grounds.
  
      Back at The Dalles we found that you can't get a flat tire fixed on Sunday afternoon. I finally got a can of fix-a-flat which was good enough for the rest of the day.

     Another night at The Dalles and then we came home via Dufur and a back road that led to Hood River. We got an ice cream cone at the Dufur ice-cream emporium and listened to the young woman complain about how dead Dufur is and The Dalles isn't much better. Which seemed to fit with what we'd seen, and finally we stopped at the Dufur Grocery Store. It's an amazingly well stocked grocery / deli with really cool ceiling fans.

   The nearest (top of photo) thing is the electric motor, and all of the fans are belt driven. The store has three banks of fans. After a good Thai lunch in Hood River, we came home. The mountains were in splendid view all weekend (Mts. Adams and Rainier)

   Books: I've read a bunch, but I'll just mention a couple:  Packing For Mars (Mary Roach) Which is basically about the nitty-gritty of long and short term space travel. Pee, poop, no bathing or change of underwear -- things get pretty foul. Anyway, a really entertaining book.
   Just My Type (Simon Garfield) -- "a book about fonts" -- about the history and design of various type styles. A lot more entertaining and interesting than might be imagined.

   And finally, in response to the beige wall -- a new blog feature: odd words. These will be words I come across in various places and which I never use and can't imagine anyone else using either.
  
 For starters, I'll just quote from Packing For Mars:  SCURF --- "A.k.a., shed skin. Dorland's Medical Dictionary defines scurf as 'a branny substance of epidermic origin' --- an evocative pairing of dander and breakfast cereal. Try new Kellogg's Dandruff Flakes!"

 And NAUFRAGOUS --- causing shipwreck -- If the Baldwin P-2 Mountain class locomotive is ever found floating unhelmed in the Pacific, it would potentially be:  nafragous.
   And so it goes. DJA
   

Local Color

   Today I rode the bike to the rock gym and back -- fifteen miles round trip. My knee surgeon and the physical therapists have all warned me about over-doing it while I'm recovering from the new knee surgery. But what's the fun in that? By Wednesday I hope to be able to move again.
   However I was reminded of the pleasures of bike riding: In addition to the wonderful aromas wafting about the Williams Avenue restaurant row, today one of the cafes had a quartet (piano, bass, drums and sax) entertaining their breakfast / brunch crowd with some jazz /swing music. I stopped for awhile to listen.

   Later I saw a very odd tandem bike -- the riders were back to back -- a pushmi-pullyu / Janus arrangement. It seems to me that it would be unpleasant for the person moving backwards and I couldn't see any advantage to the arrangement (the bike was nearly as long as an ordinary tandem) It seems like a pointless curiosity.

   Further along on the ride home, I saw this event. It was a neighborhood event, like a block party only they were painting the intersection. A lady involved in the project told me it was part of a week-long event that would see several intersections painted. There's a non-profit organization -- started in Portland -- that helps neighborhoods paint intersections as well as build various sorts of "earth buildings" and establish neighborhood gardens (vbc.cityrepair.org)

   Oddities:  This creation was at a bike shop. I think the rider stands on the pedals and uses the curved silver bar as handlebars. The convoluted pipe bendings seem to have an aesthetic aim. Note the red tail light and the skate-board rear wheels. I didn't see it ridden. The arrangement seems impractical for a cross-country bike tour.

   And the fellow below was sitting on a curb eating a sandwich, drinking his Pepsi and feeding his parrot. It was curious. They were clearly BFF's -- The guy was talking to the parrot and the parrot was chirping, chattering and squawking back in a very conversational manner. The guy was complaining to the bird that it had shat on his shoulder. The bird didn't care but was willing to talk about it. After a bit the guy said: "Let's go." and with a lot of chatter, the parrot walked up to his shoulder (and probably shat again).  And the guy picked up his stuff and left.
   

Bicycling is much more interesting than driving a car, and in a few more weeks I trust a couple of miles on the bike won't be such an epic struggle. DA

Leaving On A Jet Plane

   Ordinarily boarding an airplane is an unexceptional event. I get in line, shuffle along with everyone else, wait with everyone while those ahead try to stuff their steamer trunk into the overhead bin, accept whoever my seat mates are (sometimes with dread) and settle in for a few hours of unpleasantness.  My last few flights, however, have been post knee surgery and as I have been somewhat gimpy and slow I've taken advantage of early boarding. This has made boarding a different experience. I go down the aisle without the crowding and rush, put my bag in the bin, and sit down to enjoy (temporarily) the expanse of vacant seats. And once seated we early boarders assess the rest of the passengers as they come in -- rating them as suitable seat mates.
   It's a complex area of hope and dread. Not to offend anyone, but I certainly don't want to sit next to someone fat. I'm not a small person myself, but I do fit in an airline seat. I fit, but there's no room left over for another person to share -- so when a corn-fed beef comes down the aisle there's  a time of fear and dread followed with a nearly audible sigh of relief when they pass by. A woman on the small size (such as dw) is ideal. Too young and they might be a gum popper who would need to be dealt with but normally a small woman is perfect -- better than a small man since the woman is less likely to have B.O. If I happen to be in the mood for conversation (rarely -- I usually read) an older man or woman is better since they're more likely to have interesting things to talk about.

   (The exception proves the rule. On a train ride to San Francisco a couple of years ago my seat mate was a 20-something man. Due to two accidents (vehicles on the track -- what the hell is wrong with people that they can't see a damn railroad train coming) the journey took many hours more than I had planned so I ran out of reading material. The young man, it turned out, was a WWII reenactor - something new for me. I knew of Revolutionary War reenactors: Usually on the East Coast where a bunch of (mostly) men don their spiffy red and blue and white uniforms with their tri-corner hats and then march around shooting blanks with their flintlocks. Afterwards they drink corn liquor and lie and sneer at the farbs*.
   And Civil War reenactors -- they're all over the country, even here in Oregon where the nearest Civil War Battle was 2000 miles away. The Civil War reenactors march around in their drab blue and grey uniforms with ill-fitting shoes (there wasn't a distinction between left and right feet, shoe wise) shoot blanks with their percussion rifles, then they drink whiskey or moonshine and lie and sneer at the farbs.
   I've never heard of WWI reenactors. I guess they'd have to dig two facing ditches and fill them with water so they'd be muddy. Then they could crouch in the ditches and each side would take a turn jumping out of the ditch, running to the mid-point and then everybody would fall down and pretend to be dead. To be authentic they'd have to take turns for several days. Then they could drink red wine or schnapps and lie and sneer at the farbs.
   The WWII guys though. They had the guns and the machine guns. The jeeps and the howitzers and they even had REAL TANKS. I could get into that. Charging around in a jeep (or much better) a tank without worrying about bombs or cannons. It would be even better than driving a Cat where I just pushed around a pile of dirt (though that was pretty great). Then everyone would drink beer or red-wine or schnapps and lie and sneer at the farbs. )

   And the young man didn't even stink, so seat-mate assessment is an inexact science. On the last flight from Wisconsin though my luck ran out. I rolled snake-eyes. I drew to an inside straight and missed. I put in my last dollar and the slot machine came up lemons.
   My seat mates were a couple: I'll call them Ken and Kollie. The plane was  medium sized with five seats per row: ABCDE. Seat A was filled with Dollie, a friend of Kollie. B was a woman a few years older than I. She was nicely dressed and looked as if she belonged to a book club and enjoyed an occasional glass of sherry in the evening. During the flight we would exchange glances and figuratively pat each other's hand and murmur "There, there. This too shall pass."
   Then the aisle. C was me. D was Ken and E was Kollie.  (here I must stress: NONE of the following is an exaggeration)
   Ken and Kollie were among the last few to board so there was a fair amount of fussing finding space in the overhead bins and stuffing packs under the seat. No sooner were they seated when Kollie sprang up and shouted: "Fuck, it's Dollie! Hi Dollie!" Ken murmured something and Kollie (with an outside voice -- her normal volume) said "F--- You. You're always tellin' me what to do." Then Kollie got out her cell phone: "It's my f----- sister. I'm not going to hang up, asshole." And then the steward came by and told her to turn off her phone. Ken murmured something. "F--- you a--h---" and she punched him.
   (At this point I should mention that Ken seemed to be a decent sort. He was clearly a laborer and pretty big -- bigger and sturdier than I am -- and throughout the flight he tried to keep a lid on Kollie. Kollie was 5 feet or so, over weight with a very modest bust line and straggly hair )
   Then Kollie draped her legs over Ken's leg. "F--- you. I can put my F------ seat belt on." and she punched him (Pow! right in the kisser!) Then she grabbed his hair and pulled him in for some mouth to mouth tongue action. They both sat back, then she reached over and fondled his crotch. Then she punched him again. Then she frantically waved at Dollie who frantically waved back. "Hi, Dollie." "F--- you, a--h---. Dollie's my friend." (Pow! right in the kisser!) And she grabbed Ken's hand and rubbed it against her boob -- moaning with faux sexual excitement and (Pow! right in the kisser!) and grabbed his crotch again. Ken murmured something. "F--- you. I want something to drink. When do we f------ get something to drink?-- ( she ended up with four airline bottles) And it went on and on, without letup, throughout the flight.
   I considered speaking up but decided it would doubtless escalate the situation. And besides, while Ken seemed to be a decent sort he might take offence at a stranger telling his wife to shut up and he could have easily pounded me flat. I asked the steward if there was a seat I could move to. There wasn't. I had a credit card, could I upgrade to first class. It was full.
   I tried meditating -- didn't work. Considered getting drunk -- no way would I pay $7 for a tiny airline whiskey drink. Read the airline stuff-for-sale catalogue with (Pow! right in the kisser!) and moaning and crotch grabbing in the background.
    Eventually the flight ended.
   Leaving the terminal I saw Dollie leaving -- she was supported by a man and woman as she was too drunk to walk without assistance. I saw Kollie leaving -- marching out like a hog going to war (as my father used to say) followed -- with seeming reluctance -- by her husband Ken. And my ride (Bob D.), picked me up and drove me home. Earning my eternal gratitude because the ride (Bob is civilized) ended my journey in the twilight zone.    DA

   * Farb: a reenactor who is insufficiently authentic.

In Memoriam

                                                   Robert (Bob) Wessel  1928-April 21, 2012

   He was a good man, and he will be missed. Requiescat in pace.        DA

Whan That Aprill, With His Shoures Soote

The droghte of March hath perced to the roote
And bathed every veyne in swich licour,
Of which vertu engendred is the flour --

   So March wasn't what many people would call dry, what with a near record for rainfall -- more than double the normal average. And this April has had more sweet showers than the flowers really need, but Spring is a great season in the Pacific NW.  When else can you mow your lawn because it needs it, and have the lawn covered with snow the next day? Crocus come up and get hammered by hail. Fruit trees bloom and new leaves sprout -- so green they seem to glow. Until a wind storm comes through, blows a few trees over and wipes out a few cars. 70 degrees and sunshine one day, 38 degrees and rain the next. Spring weather is exciting.

   Exciting in pointed contrast with my life. I'm still in recovery from the knee replacement. The physical therapy and the surgery itself hasn't been nearly as painful as I expected. It's been pretty easy and according to the therapist my recovery is going exceptionally well. Still, I'm largely house-bound. I can walk only a couple of blocks, driving is really iffy and the bicycle is out of the question. So here I sit. I could re-arrange things to accommodate my lack of mobility, but I should be largely functional in just a few more weeks, so it doesn't seem worth while. Besides, this way I can indulge in a small bit of self-pity whining.

   The pony is a curious story. One of our neighbors is, lets be honest, a low-rent sort of family   -- details aren't necessary, but they have five vehicles (two drivers) and they're filling their back yard with tarped piles of stuff. Including the pony -- which isn't tarped, but lives in a small horse trailer that helps fill their back yard. I don't know why they have the pony, they don't seem to do anything with it. They don't have a pony cart and their children don't ride it. They don't seem to pay much attention to it at all. It seems healthy and apparently does what ponys do -- eat and poop -- but I'll probably report them to the ASPCA -- the poor animal gets no attention and spends most of it's time alone in the trailer. I can't imagine that's good for it's mental health.

Books: I've had a good run of books lately. Sex At Dawn (C. Ryan and C. Jetha) -- "the Prehistoric origins of modern sexuality"  The authors explore the origins and nature of human sexuality, rejecting both the brutal chimpanzee social model and the group hug model of the bonobos (although the bonobos come closer to the probable human prehistorical model) The book is well written and entertaining.
   Isaac's Storm (Erik Larson) A chronicle of the 1900 hurricane that wiped out Galveston, Texas killing 6000 people in the process.  The book follows the storm largely through the history of the Weather Bureau meteorologist Isaac Cline -- it's well documented and well written, with a small personal connection: some of my immigrant ancestors entered the U.S. through Galveston and their records were lost during the hurricane.
   The Pirates Of Somalia (Jay Bahadur)  The author went to Somalia and interviewed pirates and government officials (often much the same people). A fascinating book I'd highly recommend for anyone interested in the region or subject. It has a lot of things I didn't know. Somalia looks like a chevron pointing east. The southwest part, Somalia, is where Al-Shabaab (Al-Qaeda) is most active.  The eastern point is Puntland and between Puntland and Somalia is Galmudug. The north arm of the chevron is Somaliland. Puntland, Galmudug and Somaliland consider themselves semi-autonomous regions of Somalia proper, and all three are heading towards declaring themselves independent countries.  In brief, it's more of a mess than I had imagined.
   Pearl Buck In China (Hilary Spurling) I haven't read Pearl Buck since high-school, but I might re-visit her after reading this book. P.B. had an amazing and difficult early life and this biography is really well done. This is another book I'd strongly recommend. I wasn't familiar with Spurling, but after reading this book I'll read her biography of Matisse.   DA

R.U.R.

(R.U.R. or Rossum's Universal Robots -- a 1920 play by the Czech playwright, Karel Capek. I read it in college but I don't remember it, good or bad. It did, however introduce the word "robot" into the English language)

   And if I'm not feeling robot-like (what with a new total of seven pieces of metal and plastic installed in my interior), I am beginning to resemble the $6,000,000 Man (It's not that bad, but thank god for insurance)  -- It's too bad there isn't some sort of  installable window for the knee -- I could put the kids with their  silly little "piercings" in their proper place.  Or I could emulate grandson Josh who got a ankle to knee tat that illustrates his broken-leg surgery.

   The recovery and rehab are proceeding with not much to say about them. It hasn't been as painful as I heard it would be (it's very tolerable -- I'm voting to award a Nobel prize to everyone who has invented an analgesic). I'm walking about -- with crutches for balance only -- and am getting flexibility back. The staples came out Wednesday, and the Doctor's PA said I'm making excellent progress -- It might even be good to slow down on the stretching so I don't rip open the incision.

  In other news, there isn't any. Very little of interest happens when your day consists of moving from the couch with leg propped up, to some exercises and back to the couch -- with ice this time.
 
  A special commendation for my private home-care nurse, dw, who has been doing a stellar job. It's really nice having your needs taken care of before you really need them.

Books:  Quantum Man (Lawrence M. Krauss)  a biography of Richard Feynman life in science. With clear explanations of electromagnetism and quantum mechanics. The author does an excellent job with his discussions of physics, and Feynman is an intriguing subject.
   Unfamiliar Fishes (Sarah Vowell) A brief history of Hawaii. Up to her usual form, Vowell is not a humor writer but she is frequently humorous. In this book, the missionaries weren't as bad as they could have been, the Yankee whalers, soldiers, businessmen, et al, were consistently foul.  But when you're part of Manifest Destiny it's to be expected and forgiven (or at least ignored)  DA
  

dw here, dja on the sofa

Good Sunday morning to everyone. As you may remember dja has had a knee replacement as of Monday March 19 and a stellar experience it's been. Being the GudWif I channeled all of his anxiety so that dja was the epitome of calm. Really, it was almost unnatural (from my perspective anyway) but not unexpected. In spite of being warned from a well meaning friend about post op grumpiness in The Man, I've not seen it except once when waking up and perhaps too many people saying "how are you?"

He is doing exceptionally well and pretty much self care. Twice a day he does the prescribed exercises and I help with the lifting parts and can tell he's improved with each day. So have I as it's been a long time since I've done an arm curl and more than once in the beginning we've slowed for me. Now he's pretty much on his own. This is much less trauma than I was expecting as so far (knock on wood) all is going routinely. There was the temp scare the first night when he hit 101 and we diligently called the doc to report (as instructed on the handout) who said "nah, not to worry until it hits 102-103, do the incentive spirometer and call me in the morning". No aspirin, though, he was already taking it. Dja topped out at 102.4 during the night and came down to 99 during the day. Reported that all was well to the drs. office. Deja-vu the next night as he went over 101 - guess he's just a hot-toddy at night. The night temp spikes have apparently stopped.  Sooooooo, the cell phone is readily available for safety and social interaction. Hmmmmm - works too as I just called him.

That's my update and I'm sticking to it. For those interested, dja has finished Bossy Pants by Tina Fey and found it okay, so-so, not stunning. I listened to half of the audiobook read by Tina Fey while in WI. and enjoyed hearing it, then didn't finish the book. Currently on the top of the pile is Quantum Man by Lawrence M. Krauss about Richard Feynman's life in science. (Can you hear me snoring? My current book is Detective Inspector Huss by Helene Tursten (Sweden's Prime Suspect) and full of mouth tangling place names and action! Will turn this over to dja for a proofing and editing and then post. Later, dw

The Ides Of March

   This year, for the first time in over 2000 years,  the ides of March will fall on the 19th. The date wasn't considered ominous until Plutarch reported a soothsayer predicting Caesar's assassination on the 15th (the ides, in case anyone doesn't know). And then a few hundred years ago Shakespeare (to the irritation of H.S. freshmen all over the U.S.) reinforced the notion. The ides, with all of it's perilous connotations, falls on the 19th this year because the 19th (tomorrow) is the big day for my knee surgery -- an ominous epochal event in my book.

   The hospital gives every knee patient a spiral notebook which explains what's going to happen, how to navigate the hospital, prepare your home, where and how to get rehab and etc. etc.
Included is a web site with a simple-minded cartoon game that takes you through (with ample illustrations) the procedure:  www.edheads.org/activities/knee.  Simple-minded, but with chills and thrills if you're vividly empathetic and not sedated.

  After watching the cartoon, I have a theory about how the procedure developed.
  In the beginning, the surgeon went to a lot of trouble with straps, clamps, hot glue and a vice-grip to hold the cutting jig in place.
   (The cutting jig is a very good thing. Any carpenter can tell you that you make cleaner more accurate cuts when you use a jig)
   So keeping the jig in position was always a difficult part of the operation. On one occasion the surgeon was having a particularly hard time of it, cursing and swearing, vowing to retire immediately if things didn't improve post haste, when his assistant asked: "Why don't you just nail it in place?" The surgeon said: "What?!" and the assistant explained: "Nail it. As long as you don't use ring-shank nails they'll pull out easy as pie and you won't have to mess with all these clamps and stuff."
   And the surgeon did just that. Taking all the praise for the idea, as people in charge usually do.
   (The cartoon shows a light tack hammer being used. I suspect they actually use a two pound framing hammer)
   So by this time tomorrow I'll have a new knee (possibly ensuring cavity searches at the airport) and be on my way to retiring my crutches and brace. 

Books: Just one of interest:  Arguably essays (Christopher Hitchens) A great thick tome of essays covering authors, ideas, politics movies and actors and etc. A good display of his skills as an essayist, but I did start skipping parts. I simply wasn't interested in everything he wrote about. It would have been better to read a few at a time, rather than going straight through. His famed atheism was on scant display.  DA

P.S. From dw: given my penchant for decorating, it has been suggested that I do something creative with the brace perhaps turning it into a "summer" tree loosely based on the "spring" tree I currently have in the living room. I am open to suggestion and if anyone has a creative or not so creative idea please say so. All submissions will be the property of danddontheroad and will not be returned.   There will be a prize, as decided by me, for the best idea, as decided by me. Good luck.   dw
  

The Case Of The Levitating Coyote

Rather than arouse unrealistic expectations, I will admit upfront that I don't actually solve The Case Of The Levitating Coyote.

   A few blogs ago I mentioned that I had started training to ride the STP. -- The Seattle To Portland bike ride. I recently  told a friend at the rock gym, who is six weeks into rehab for a new knee, and who is a younger and fitter (than I am) bicyclist, of my plan to ride the STP. Opining that even with the interruption caused by my upcoming knee surgery I would still have enough time to train for the ride. He didn't even bother to try and conceal his snicker. Telling me, in effect, that while it is possible that pigs will develop wings and fly, the laws of evolution pretty much guarantee that it won't happen in the next five months.
   But I have been repeatedly told by my surgeon, his PA, and not least, by my spousal unit -- dw -- that the stronger and fitter my legs are pre-surgery the quicker and better the re-hab will go.
   (Completely as an aside, the uncapitalized "dw" for dw is her choice. She said that's how she always initials things.)
   Back to the bike riding:  So I have been riding with increasing frequency and distance. Most of my non-errand rides start on the same bike path. It circles around the sewage treatment plant (which generally doesn't smell -- much -- but occasionally could stun a buzzard) and after three miles I choose a long or a short ride. The short ride totals about 10 miles, and the longer one as much as 80. In each case, aside from crossing some streets, I share the way with cars or trucks for only about two miles.

For most of the short ride and the start of the long ride, the bike path is bordered by art installations. This carved limestone clam shell is one of them. There are also similarly sized stone flower buds, snails, dinosaur skulls an American Indian canoe (also stone -- it probably doesn't float) and so on.  The items have a vague connection to the specific area and they make for an entertaining ride. There is also a series of peeled and partially de-limbed trees 15 to 20 feet high set along the path. Some have stylized masks and others pod-like bird houses stuck in the limbs. I wouldn't call any of it significant art but it all provides a distraction from a bicycle-sore ass.

 

And the levitating coyote is in a fenced field that's part of the sewage treatment plant. Perhaps it was put there to discourage geese from hanging around the field  (My solution to the Mystery of the Levitating Coyote) but if that's the case it didn't work. The field is festooned with goose poop. And besides the coyote doesn't look scary, it looks like someone just kicked it in the butt. I concede it's doing its' best, but when you've got no legs and you're levitating -- you're just not very scary -- even to a goose.   DA

Wheels Are In Motion

   A quick note about Valentines Day: this is a picture of  two treats for dw and I from Pix -- a patisserie with pastries to die for. These two hearts (chocolate mousse with ganache, and strawberry mousse in a paper thin cookie shell) are two of their plainer creations. They tasted at least as good as they look.
   (Pix has a lunch menu which is good if not exceptional, and a good array of beers and wines. Notable: a float with chocolate beer and ice cream and a favorite of mine, espresso with a shot of grappa -- both much better than they might sound -- sidebar: vanilla ice cream splashed with a good balsamic vinegar is oddly tasty) (alas, I don't expect Pix will comp me with anything in return for this plug)

   The Valentine tree has been taken down, and dw -- still full of ideas for the unfinished sculpture -- redecorated it as a Spring Tree. (with today's weather, dw is being wildly optimistic) I did point out that, while there's no real hurry, I do want the tree back at some point so I can finish it. "All in good time." she said.

   And the wheels are in motion for my knee replacement. Three weeks ago I put on my leg brace, got out my crutches to go for a walk and decided I was totally sick of it. Sick of the discomfort and the fuss and bother every time I want to move, and the occasional knee collapse where I careen around like a drunken sailor. I went to see the surgeon and: surgery scheduled -- done / pre-op physical, asap -- done / pre-op bill -- done / pre-op surgical nurse to explain the horrors of it all -- scheduled / pre-op hospital visit for blood-work, and to make sure I can cover the co-pay and some money right now would be great -- scheduled.  I have the feeling that it's a slow season so everything moves very quickly. The surgery is slated for the middle of March so I should be recovered by summer.  I'm not looking forward to the process. I had a knee operation many years ago and still recall some unpleasant days but I think the end result will be worth it.

   Books: The Invention of Air (Steven Johnson) A biography of J.B. Priestley and the Age of Enlightenment with side trips into B. Franklin, T. Jefferson, J. Adams and etc. The book doesn't specifically address the subject, but I find it interesting that contemporary politicians who preach a return to the "founding principles of this country" are the same ones who sneer at science and education, history and philosophy.  And our "founding fathers" were exemplars of science, education, history and philosophy.  Burden of Desire (Robert MacNeil) A surprisingly lusty novel about Halifax by a respected journalist turned novelist. During WWI an ammunition ship blew up in the Halifax harbor. It was, and still is, the largest non-nuclear man-made explosion ever. MacNeil uses the explosion as a base for this entertaining pot-boiler / coming-of-age novel. The coming-of-age refers to  the characters and to Canada itself.  (and how is that for a book cover blurb?) DA

Old Weird Ben

The other day I went on a 21 mile bike ride (I may, or may not, be training to ride the Seattle to Portland Bike Ride -- 100+ miles two days in a row) During the ride I passed through a neighborhood I seldom go to and rode by the once-upon-a-time house of Old Weird Ben (OWB). Ben was my age or perhaps a year or two younger, but "old weird" was a perfect nickname for him.

   He was a friend of sorts, although much of my interest was similar to watching a top as it's spin slows and it starts to wobble. The fascination of wondering when, exactly, it will topple over, jerk around and  fall off the table. During one of our regular sessions of speed chess -- we'd play several games until Ben got too frustrated, then I'd let him win one, he'd gloat,  and we would stop. -- But during that session he told me of a time when he was pulled over by the police in Idaho and he happened to be carrying fifteen tabs of acid (he wasn't a dealer -- they were for his own use). The 60's was a very bad time to be arrested for drug possession in Idaho, so he swallowed all fifteen tabs. "I've never been quite the same since." he said. I imagine that sticking your tongue in a light socket to perform  do-it-yourself electro-shock therapy would produce a similar effect.
    I'm not a very good chess player, and my string of wins came, I imagine, because he couldn't always tell the difference between a pawn and a bishop or the king and queen. He hadn't let the Idaho incident change anything -- he was still a regular, enthusiastic user* and my interest in him was kind of morbid.

    Nearly every time I visited he would come up with something new. Once he told me he made a canoe by folding a sheet of corrugated aluminum, wiring the ends together, smearing on some tar and putting in a spacer. The paddle was a board nailed to a broom handle. He got the mess to the middle of the river before it collapsed and sank. OWB couldn't swim but he had carried a cooler for the beer and he was able to hold on and make his way to shore (he sadly shook his head: "I lost all the beer." -- he wasn't joking)

   (I have to give Ben his due: In the time I knew him, he wasn't a layabout. He always had a job. How he managed to get and keep a job was another of the mysteries surrounding him -- along with why he was still alive)
   

   OWB's piece de resistance also involved the river and a boat. He decided he needed to sail around the world, so he bought a derelict life boat and a derelict Airstream Trailer. He put the one on the other -- cut down an alder tree, trimmed and peeled it for a mast,  bolted them together and -- Presto -- an inexpensive ocean-going yacht. While he was cleaning and putting the finishing touches on his boat (I don't remember if he had named it) he had moved from his house and was living on the boat.
   (Another unexpected attribute: he was always neat and clean)
   On the particular day that marked the end of our acquaintance he was trying to sleep in. (I heard about this from a neighboring "yachtsman") But OWB's sleep was disturbed by an on-going river dredging operation, so he borrowed a row-boat, rowed out to the dredge, clambered on board and politely asked them to stop dredging. The dredge crew picked him up and threw him in the river.
   OWB returned to his yacht, collected a few sticks of dynamite he had laying around, rowed back to the dredge, and started lighting and throwing the dynamite at the dredge -- I don't believe Ben intended to injure anyone, he just wanted some quiet time. -- something we can all sympathize with.
In short order, the river patrol reeled him in and he got an extended period of quiet time. He was eventually released but the dynamite thing was a little too amusing and I never contacted him again.

*I didn't share his drug affections. My drugs of choice were -- and are -- in order: (1) Caffeine -- although I no longer measure my consumption in quarts per day -- (2) Nicotine -- I quit 10+ years ago but would happily start again -- and (3) alcohol -- infrequent nowadays.  DA

Books: Parisians (Graham Robb) "A creative montage of how history, individuals, and geography intersected at key moments in Paris" -- a fair description. Also a "stylish and stylized tale" -- a bit too stylish and stylized writing-wise for my taste but I did finish it. And The Nothing That Is -- a natural history of zero (Robert Kaplan) The title and sub-title pretty well describe the book. Of interest: Unlike many math historians, Robb maintains that the concept and symbol of zero came from Greece rather than India. I fear that my skill at Sanskrit and Attic Greek (let along linear B) is too limited to weigh in on the subject.  DA
  

  

Hood River

   This photo is completely irrelevant. I just find it curious that such a thing is available. dw saw a package of them in a craft store, and while she usually doesn't clutter her life with stuff like this, found them irresistible. (she actually used a few of them to make the Valentine's Tree -- last blog)

  Last week dw took a mini working vacation. She took all the tax stuff, financial files and a shredder to Hood River -- got a motel room and organized and shredded. I stayed behind, puttered around, took phone messages: Lora T. (a long-time friend with an acerbic sense of humor -- after I told her that dw was away for a few days): "Well, she finally got sick of you, did she?"  I protested that such a thing was utterly impossible. Lora said: "I just tell it like it is."
   And another message from someone who was a fast talker. Now I do have a bit of a western drawl and my speech is a medium tempo but it was way too slow for this caller. She said something about an email and hung up. "Easy, there gal" I thought "Time to rein in yur hoss there." -- I had been reading The Virginian  -- 
   After dw had been in Hood River for a couple of days I joined her for one night. She had a view room at The Vagabond, a nice locally-owned motel. There were only a few sail/kite boarders out (probably too cold) and only one barge passed but we did have two golden eagles and two bald eagles coming and going between us and the river. It was very nice with clear sunny weather. At one point we drove to the upper part of town where there was a splendid view of both Mt Hood and Mt Adams (sorry, I didn't have my camera). Saturday, before coming home, we crossed the river to White Salmon and wandered in and out of a couple of galleries and a junque store. A pleasant little outing.

   After our trip to Wisconsin I took another step towards joining the 21st century and bought an ereader (a Nook). I took four books to Wisconsin and after stopping at a couple of book stores, came back with seven. The Nook should really lighten my load when we travel, but it will only ever be a supplement to my library. I really like books. Today dw and I went to the library for a tutorial on using the thing and afterwards scheduled another tutorial for next week. Much to her surprise, dw has decided she likes the reader (like me, as a traveling tool) and will probably get one of her own. 

Books: The Virginian (Owen Wister) it's really sort of boring, but it is the source of the famous western line: "When you call me that, SMILE." -- Talking About Detective Fiction (P.D. James) No revelations, but she discusses some of her favorite authors and writes about the craft of crime novels. Interesting reading from one of the few crime writers that I really enjoy. -- An Architectural Guidebook To Portland (Bart King) I don't know enough about the subject to critique his critiques, but I like the book and plan on buying a copy (The one I read is from the library) -- Blood River (Tim Butcher) The author re-traced H. M. Stanley's trek across Africa and down the Congo River. The country is in a state of violent anarchy. It seems to be in a worse state than it was under the vile rule of Belgium. -- and Decided On The Battlefield: Grant, Sherman, Lincoln and the election of 1864 (David Alan Johnson) Briefly: if Grant and Sherman hadn't won the 1864 battles that they did, Lincoln might not have been re-elected. It's well written if not revelatory. (Johnson does hint at the perception of Grant as a mediocre general -- Grant's record actually shows that he was, by far, the best general in the war -- Much better than Lee, for example) If anyone reads the book, I would suggest skipping the fatuous epilogue where Johnson prattles on about what could have happened had Lincoln not been re-elected)

   And I finally started arranging and editing the photos I took when we drove to Vermont and Quebec two years ago. It's a problem with digital cameras -- it's really easy to take hundreds or thousands of photos but then they need to be sorted and purged. Anyway, here's one I like:  It's the tip of the Gaspe' Peninsula. DA
  
  

Valentine's Day Approaches

 We don't ordinarily do much for Valentines day. I'll get dw some flowers, a card and a small selection of good chocolate (which I get a share of), and occasionally we'll go out for dinner. And that's about it. But this year, the Christmas Tree skeleton was still in place, so dw took advantage of it and did a Valentines Day decorative installation. -- A first for this house (as best as I can recall) and there's a good chance it'll be the last -- for the present though, it's a festive bit of color in the living room.

   When the piece returns to the studio it will have been setting in the house for over two months -- it has worked out very nicely -- I've been looking at daily for all that time and I've figured out what I don't like about it and how I can fix it. When I get it finished, I'll post a photo of it.

  

Last week dw had another of her regular classes/tests for a particular job certification (she's a CCRN)* 

She spent the week studying, fretting about studying, worrying about failure, worrying about being embarrassed with failure and etc. I pointed out that this test seemed similar to all of the previous tests and that so far disaster had not struck and wasn't likely to this time.  "But it might. It could." she said -- mostly joking. I'm glad I don't have to do that, either the studying or the tests.

Lately I've had a mild case of the punies so I've done little and accomplished less.

Books: Tangled Webs (James B Stewart) A book about perjury (Martha Stewart, Scooter Libby, Barry Bonds and Bernard Madoff) There were no great surprises -- all four lied repeatedly and under oath. Although R. Armitage, and K Rove were the ones who actually outed a covert C.I.A. agent (in fact treason, although too difficult to prove and prosecute "I didn't know she was a secret agent.") Libby was the only convicted because he was the only who repeatedly lied -- Probably to protect V.P. Cheney -- As I said, no real surprises. -- And Memoirs (Kinsley Amis) it's as much a "Famous people I have known" book as it is a book about Amis himself. He's sometimes a bit smug for my taste and I don't always agree with his literary criticisms but in all it's consistently entertaining and (of course) well written.   DA

   *dw tells me she's not actually a CCRN -- which is a specific designation -- "You can write out: 'She's a Critical Care RN', or just put in: 'She's a Hot Nurse!' "  -- works for me. DA

P.S. When I put a photo in the blog, the program starts doing odd things to the spacing and margins. If I ever figure out how to fix it, the weird sentence and paragraph breaks should improve. DA

Duck!

  A couple of days ago, during a walk, I saw three bald eagles in a tree by the river below the University of Portland bluff. I think they were dad, mom, and teen aged kid, and I was surprised to see them in such an urban setting. -- Very impressive birds. The sight of them reminded me of how the U.S. came to have the bald eagle as our national bird:

   (At this point I  launched into a story about Ben Franklin -- in honor of his birthday -- an eagle, a turkey and a duck. After dw read it, I asked: "Is that as sophomoric as I think it is?" dw took a delicate pause and said: "Yes." -- So I saved myself some embarrassment and erased the  story.) 

   I haven't thought of anything to replace the story, so I'll just leave in the ink and crayon sketches of the eagle and the duck. (Sorry, no turkey)
   



  

  

Books: Grants Final Victory (Charles B. Flood) About the last two years of U.S. Grants life when he was dieing of cancer and struggling to finish writing his memoirs. It's an excellent book and it reminded me of the memoirs themselves -- One of the best memoirs ever written by anyone, I'd strongly recommend them;  Dickens (Peter Ackroyd) This book has a modest word count and few biographical surprises but it's heavily illustrated and well written. I always enjoy seeing pictures of people and places mentioned in a non-fiction book and this one delivers;   Rats (Robert Sullivan) a natural history of rats with no great surprises but well written and consistently interesting;  and Pushkin's Button (Serena Vitale) Which is about the duel that killed Alexander Pushkin -- not as interesting as I'd hoped -- I'm half done with it and I just might be all done with it.  DA
  

Home Again

   "There's nothing half so pleasant as returning home again." (M. E. Sangster) -- except starting out in the first place. In any case, we're back in Portland after our family visit to Wisconsin. It was a nice visit, and was the first time in over twenty years all of dw's immediate family has been together for a holiday. The weather was unusually benevolent: a couple of nights the temperature fell to 5 degrees F, but except for a couple of days in the twenty's, daytime temperatures were usually above freezing and one day saw a record high of 51 degrees. Some fog, two days of light snow (less than an inch) and mostly sunny days were a welcome change from Portland's grey drizzle. 

   We went to Milwaukee twice, once with John and Jan (dw's bro and his wife) to see the zoo -- It was nice enough -- a good monkey/ape exhibit and an exceptional aviary -- but we didn't have enough time to shiver through dw's bete noire, the snake and reptile house.

   The second Milwaukee visit was to MAM -- Milwaukee Art Museum -- which I briefly wrote of on 9/21/2010. This time I have pictures: The pedestrian suspension bridge crosses five lanes of traffic, a fountain area and a wide two lane driveway. Rather than being anchored in the ground, the mast's base is a three foot trunnion, and while it doesn't, it probably could waggle back and forth like a car's windshield wiper.

The wings or sails open and close in the morning at noon and at night (depending on the weather).  After viewing an exhibit of works on paper (by a bunch of artists not commonly associated with drawing -- even the sketches showed the differences between great artists and the rest of us) -- After viewing the exhibit we were wandering around in the atrium when we noticed everyone was staring at the ceiling. -- We were oblivious so we didn't see the sails opening. 

dw teasing a Chihuly (the Liberace of glass blowers -- in my opinion -- as much showman as substance --) that's near the entrance. and dw not taking art too seriously (and isn't the building amazing? -- this hallway is part of what is essentially the entrance to the museum). And the collection itself is well worth a visit. Part of the collection is examples of Outsider Art -- pieces of art done by artists without formal training. Included is a series showing the Garden of Eden, The Temptation, and the fall -- carved by Edgar Tolson. This carving is Aden and Eve getting it on -- aka -- The Fall (dw denies any responsibility for this picture)

After the museum, we returned to Oconomowoc for one day before going on to Madison for the flight home.  At Madison we again stayed at Kay and Steve's (SO and brother) house.  Their house is a large normal 1951 ranch with hardwood floors and varnished maple woodwork. The interior is low-key moderne atomic style. It's a quietly beautiful house, with what might be a unique room in the basement: an honest to god chained and locked dungeon. Steve and Kay haven't told us what they use the dungeon for, but the possibilities are vast and Steve is a retired Postal Worker. He also has read Edgar Allen Poe.

Our last night there, Steve and Kay hosted an evening three mile run for a running group they belong to. dw and I waited at the finish line.  We didn't run because we didn't have our running shoes -- or it was too dark -- or it was too cold -- or it was several other good reasons, but we didn't run. While we waited dw decided to sprint across the finish line so I could practice taking pictures, but the sprint ended in a tumble.  (I assure everyone, dw was quite sober). Her injuries were minor but a large goose-egg on her knee was painful. But the photo is amusing -- I can use it for many occasions:  dw sleeping it off -- dw, street person napping -- dw 0, gravity 1 -- dw, listening for approaching buffalo herds -- dw, listening for an approaching train, but missing the actual track. And so it goes DA