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