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