Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in furzicle's LiveJournal:

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Wednesday, November 25th, 2009
4:22 pm	D'oh I've been to the grocery store about six times since last Saturday. Now that my kitchen floor is covered with shopping bags, I guess I better start cooking instead of doing LJ. I'm sure as soon as I start cooking I'll realize what else I forgot to buy. (Comment on this)
Tuesday, November 24th, 2009
5:39 pm	What to have? Some anonymous person posted this on my "what to have?" thanksgiving post. Then I read down further and found out it was brother Ben who posted. But in the minute and a half before I knew who it was, it was interesting to contemplate. I also gives me permission to comment. His list is in bold, my comments in italics. All the regular turkey dinner stuff. by which I assume he means roasted turkey and homemade stuffing cooked in the turkey. I long ago decided that stuffing the actual bird was way too labor intensive. So I don't do that anymore. However, I haven't quite stooped to stove top stuffing, at least for the main dinner. Green salad not a must. For me it is a must. I LOVE green salad. But it has to be good. No white anglo saxon iceberg stuff. I want the whole dark green, crunchy, bowl of surprises! But a Waldorf would be nice. enhh, take it or leave it. Minimal embellishment to the sweet potatoes. I'll see you and raise you one--No embellishment to the sweet potatoes! I'll add a little butter and salt myself. Why do people add marshmallows to something that is already so sweet? And delicious? I'll pass on jello dishes. I have to agree with you here. Though certain family members get such a kick out of it that it's almost worth it to see their happiness. This year, however, we're going simple. A decent bottle of chardonnay. (Decent comes easily, for me) I don't know if it's Chardonnay that I like. Obviously, I have VERY un sophisticated tastes. Cranberries One of the all time most important ingredients for Thanksgiving! A good walk outside. Joyful family or friends. Absolutely Kids (of any age) in the kitchen. What would really make me happy is kids between the ages of 24 and 30 in the kitchen. If you get my drift. Dessert, of course. It's hard to even think that far in the future. This sounds like an excellent place for those little children (aged 24 - 30) to step forward. Our holiday has gotten whittled down further and further. At first it looked like it would be the whole slew at Tweedy. Then Tobin said he wasn't coming and we learned the northern Cal group wasn't coming. The venue shifted to Camarillo. Now I learn that Kris will be leaving at about 5 am Friday morning to catch a plane for Portland for his next adventure. So this leaves us traveling on Thursday, cooking on Thursday, eating on Thursday, washing on Thursday, and maybe that walk will happen on Friday. Have I mentioned that I am seriously getting heebie jeebies about this whole thing.I've been shopping since early Saturday morning and haven't had the nerve to contemplate doing anything exotic whatsoever. It's a one man show and that man is me. (7 Comments |Comment on this)
Sunday, November 22nd, 2009
9:41 am	A family gathering We all long for the jolly family gathering. The laughter and banter as we dig into a golden brown turkey. The ruby cranberry sauce being passed past the steaming stuffing. The junk mail and extra jackets that usually pile on the table being banished to hidden places. In years past we gathered with 120 of our closest relatives in a large hall. We had committees to provide 6 or 7 turkeys for the crowd and assignments on what else we should provide. There was a salad table with thirty or so various salads. There were large bins of stuffing. And the dessert table was to die for--at least thirty or more pies and cakes of all varieties. mmmmmmm (Parenthetical aside, Roger always referred to these gatherings as "that fiasco." It was years before I realized that fiasco was not a synonym for family reunion.) More recently our family has met at the family cabin called Tweedy in the high desert. Twenty of us would sit cheek by jowl around a loaded table. A small herd of large dogs would lie sleeping on the floor near the wood burning stove, scratching and twitching and (dare I say it?)... farting in close proximity. For this feast my brother Ben and I did most of the cooking. He became the go-to man on brining. stuffing, and roasting a turkey; I orchestrated most of the rest of the food. Donna, a sister-in-law, would bring fudge, Sherri, sister-in-law #2, would bake some pumpkin pies. Bev, s-i-l #1, would float around making things like spinach dip. One year Ben and I and our respective families did not go to the Tweedy feast. Privately we joked about who would be left to cook. I never heard, Maybe no one did? This year may be even more tragic. My three brothers and their families are all staying up north for their own Thanksgiving. I will assemble my straggly bunch of husband and three 20 something sons and join my father at Tweedy. The upside is that there will be only one dog to lie odorifically on the floor. There will be no violin practice to endure while groups of people do target practice with shotguns across the driveway to the hill opposite. We won't have to wait very long for the stuffing to be passed down the long table. But it looks like I will be the one and only cook. Let me say that again: I will be the one and only cook. I think I'm getting nervous chills already. It must be said that O is an excellent dish washer. Kris can be strong-armed into scrubbing a dish now and then, himself. Eric will set the table in about 58 seconds, pausing long enough to toss a candle into the general area of the center of the table. Tobin, unfortunately, may well not be there as he has discovered that flights from Baton Rouge are pretty pricey at this late date. He's the only one I would be comfortable relying on for cooking help. Were Tobin there we could possibly even get some cheesy shrimpy dish that included unusual herbs and spices. If Tobin were there we might even get to meet the new lady in his life, Little Dog. Yes, that's a canine, not a person. Little Dog is so named because she is actually smaller than our cat. Surely she wouldn't even smell very much. I have bought the turkey and the stuffing kit. I have cranberries in the fridge. Don't hope for unusual herbs and spices. Just wish me luck. But, better yet, if you know how to cook, please join us! You can even bring your dog if it swears not to ...you know. (3 Comments |Comment on this)
Saturday, November 21st, 2009
5:07 pm	Opinions solicited What shall we have for Thanksgiving? (5 Comments |Comment on this)
4:18 pm	Endangered swimmer Cute but Tragic Today I looked outside just in time to see a swimmer in our pool. It was a rodent intently swimming diagonally across the pool. Opinions here vary upon whether it was a large mouse or a small rat. * At any rate, said rodent was making good time, paddling with her little paws. Her long, snaky tail gracefully waved to and fro, you might say from starboard to port, propelling her quickly along. Her little nose was just barely above the water line. The reason for her swim was quite evident. Our cat, Pele, was keeping a very close eye on the proceedings. As the rat would approach one edge of the pool, the cat would reach waaaaaay down to bat at it. Undoubtedly, the rat was in the pool because the cat had chased her in there. By and by the rat found the plastic corrugated hose which floats on the surface of the water and connects the pool vacuum to the pump. Greatly relieved, the soggy rat would perch on the hose, taking a breather from her olympic swim. The cat sat down to wait it out. But soon our little nadadore was stroking the waves again, heading off for another edge of the pool. The cat followed, again reaching down about a foot to claw at the enticing snack. Watching the cat's antics, I considered the possibility that she would also end up in the drink. Wouldn't that be the irony! The completely soaked ratling would occasionally slow. Was she tired or cold? With mid-fifty degree water and completely soaked fur, the question became what would get her first? Vicious cat claws? Drowning? Or hypothermia? The rat turned back toward the shallow end. The deck of the pool is much closer to the water level there. The cat easily reached down to rake the rat with her claws. But the you know how much a cat likes getting wet. As much as she wanted that rat, she did NOT want to get her paws wet.! She made several brave attempts to paw that rat but was turned back every time by the intolerably wet water. Again she sat down to wait. I would like to tell you that the cat eventually took the bull by the horns and leaped into the water to claim her prize. It would have been so easy, with the rat expiring right there, hovering over the first step of the pool before her very eyes. But no. The exhausted little rat began to list to starboard. And then it was over. Just like in the movies, the victim suddenly went quite limp. And the silly cat was just as suddenly completely bored. We fished the rodent out of the water and laid it to rest upon the deck. No CPR was attempted. If you click the link provided, you will learn much about the difference between rats and mice. There is even a quiz to test yourself on your ability to differentiate them! After reading all this, I believe our swimmer was actually a rat. (Taking the test on this site, click the submit button above the quiz, not the lower one.) (9 Comments |Comment on this)
Friday, November 20th, 2009
7:11 pm	If the Truth is Inconvenient,... (LJ Idol entry) Note: Names have been changed to protect the guilty David Golden, Headmaster at St. Lucre's Exclusive Protestant Prep School (known in inner circles as "SCHLEPP") stared across his desk at his hapless underling, Principal Van Cleve. "Jane, you're going to have to slash at least $100,000 from your budget. We've overspent this year on extra expenses and too-generous scholarships. Somehow you have to find a way to trim it down. We're really in the red now." Jane Van Cleve, the principal of the elementary division of St. Lucre's responded, "But David, we already budgeted all these things. The field trips are scheduled, the textbooks are ordered, the teachers are hired. How in the world are we going to slim down our budget?? "I don't know Jane. Just do it. But make sure that our parents here feel that they still are at the finest school money can buy. The word budget must never be used. And whatever you do, don't cut out anything that will smack of a difficult economy. Remember, we must always keep the bells and whistles, while trimming back the expensive fundamentals." "But David, How will I do that?" she whimpered. "I'm sure you can find a way, Jane," David said seriously."Oh, and by the way, I have scheduled your review for next month. Let's make sure that our budget is in line before we consider your position for next year." Though the smile never left his face, the eyes were piercing and somehow threatening. He stood abruptly. It was clear the meeting was over. Jane gathered up her papers shakily to leave the room. A small twitch worried the corner of her face. She wondered if maybe there was something she was forgetting. "Oh well, never mind. It will come to me," she thought. She hurried off to find Meredith and work this out. *** "Meredith, as the curriculum director of St. Lucre's, I'm sure you understand the importance of aligning our curriculum to the state standards. I want you to find a way to ensure that only the most pertinent field trips and textbooks are used. Tell me about this field trip that our geography teacher, Mr. Fogg, has planned to the "South American Cultural Center." Meredith Appleby referred to her notes to fill her boss in on all the arrangements the third grade team had compiled. "Jane, the third grade team feels that this would greatly enhance the unit the students are covering on cultural diversity. The museum divides the students into groups of six, each with a docent. They learn South American songs, dances, and folk tales. The students get to create an art project using indigenous materials and sample South American food. The site is about an hour's drive away. We would like to take the students there next month." She paused. "You know this is just the kind of field studies program that attracts parents to our school, she added." "How much does this trip cost, Meredith?" interrupted Principal Van Cleve abruptly. "Well, the field trip itself runs $350.00 for our fifty students. Oh, and the bus costs $1000 to get us there. So that's going to be $1350.00 total." Jane's eyes widened slightly. Unbeknownst to her, the twitch in her face went back to its tic. "Isn't that an awful lot of money for a song and dance festival?" Meredith, slightly flustered, replied that the program was very highly regarded. "We're also trying to trim our budget," Van Cleve went on. "And, I've heard stories that this particular third grade is rather unruly. Can they really maintain their behavior for that one hour drive?" She looked away at the wall as she said this, rearranging a flower that she perceived was out of place in a vase. Meredith sensed that the tide in this little meeting was turning. She had only had this job for six months. She certainly didn't want to be like the last poor sod who lasted only one year. She felt her heart pick up its beat a little erratically. "You know, I've heard the same stories," she said, perhaps a little too quickly. Privately, she also thought grimly of the ongoing budget crisis and how her position was newly created. Would it be the first to go?. "I'll check with the third grade teachers," she responded. *** The third grade teachers perched on small chairs around diminutive student desks. Neat handwriting charts lined the walls around them. "Thanks for getting together on such short notice," Meredith Appleby said , giving a pained smile at the assembled teachers. "You know, we want to reevaluate the advisability of taking this third grade class on such a long and difficult field trip out to the South American Cultural Center. I'm not sure this group has the self- control to last all day off campus." Mrs. Durst, Mrs. Farkrimter, and Miss Felicity looked back at Meredith blankly. This group? Difficult field trip? Mrs. Durst, who was approaching retirement, thought about that long bus ride and the limited capacity of her aging bladder. "Yes," she said thoughtfully. "I'm sure that such a long bus ride will be hard on the kids. They can't go twenty minutes without running to the bathroom." She squirmed slightly in the too small seat. Mrs. Farkrimter, who was known as a stickler for rules, glanced at Mrs. Durst and agreed slowly. "You know, the kids are very poorly supervised out there. You never know what they'll do." Frankly, the thought of being on her feet all day had her more than a little a little worried. She would never admit it, but since she put on that last 20 pounds, her feet had been killing her at the end of every day. "And the walking," she threw in. "The kids get so tired, and then they misbehave." She shook her head in dismay as she arranged the pencils into neat rows on the desk in front of her, putting all the pointed ends side by side. Miss Felicity tried to hide her nervousness. She felt the students were sweet and well behaved, but she was a first year teacher and sometimes the incredible workload seemed a little too much to handle. But she certainly didn't want to look like a quitter. "I think it sounds like a nice trip," she offered timidly. She gnawed on her hangnail and looked expectantly around the group. Meredith looked around from face to face. "So, it's decided then," she smiled. "We'll offer an on-campus trip instead, and use it as a practice field trip." She smiled wanly at the other women and then hurried out of the room. "What was that all about?" asked a baffled Miss Felicity, looking to the other teachers for explanation. *** Mr. Fogg looked out across the desks in his sunny classroom at his enthusiastic third graders. Posters of African tribesmen and maps of the world lined the walls. Sun poured through the large windows. The students' eyes were expectantly focused on Mr. P. Fogg. They knew that fun things always happened in this classroom. "Boys and girls, I'm sorry to have to tell you that this year's trip to the South American Cultural Center has been cancelled," he told them. "But we have a very special opportunity for you in its place. We will be having a special assembly here at school on verbs, instead." The children looked from one to the other. Confusion and dismay spread from face to face. Groans filled the air. "What?" "No fair!" "Yes, boys and girls. It's a very special opportunity that we are very lucky to get.. Now, let's get out our books on South America. Jacob, will you begin reading on page 345 with the brain teaser at the top please?" Jacob continued to look at Mr. Fogg for a moment and then lowered his eyes to the page. What a bummer, he thought. I really wanted to go out to that place. Slowly, he began to read: A missionary visits an island where two tribes live. One tribe always tells the truth. The other always lies. Asking just one question, what must the missionary ask in order to find the truth tellers' village? (17 Comments |Comment on this)
Thursday, November 19th, 2009
9:36 pm	Soup of the Day Serves four people at least 2 bowls of soup each. 5 small potatoes, peeled and diced 1/2 head cabbage, cut into chunks 1 lite kielbasa, cut into chunks 1 stalk celery, sliced thinly Add all except celery to a large soup pot. Add about 1.5 inches of water. Salt and freshly ground pepper to taste. Cook until potatoes are tender. Add 2 tablespoons of butter (optional) Take about 1 - 2 tablespoons of flour in a cup. Add a small amount of water and stir with a fork to remove lumps. Add more water until it is of pouring consistency. Stir into soup. Add celery. Simmer about 5 more minutes. Serve. Beer: Abita dobbelbock (sp?) (6 Comments |Comment on this)
Monday, November 16th, 2009
7:39 pm	Ode to Trader Joe's Trader Joe's, I salute you! One of the happiest days of my life was the day I realized that TJ's was moving in down the street. Why, it was even within walking distance! I think it only took me one time of lugging home a heavy bag of groceries before I realized that the store had too many good things to offer. It was suicide to think that everything you bought would actually fit into just one bag. Now I always bring the car and load it up. What's so good about Trader Joe's? (Well, if you live in California, you already know. And if you don't, you don't know what you're missing so you don't care.) Basically, it's all about chocolate. Or beer. Or nuts. There's something essential there for everyone. For me it's mostly about cheap prices and convenience food. And beer and chocolate, of course. I sympathize with those folks who have moved away so that they are no longer within the Trader Joe's orbit of influence. I have known people (Bev) who, while away on trips away from their own island known as Davis, stop in at any Trader Joe's they happen to come across and go in and splurge on massive amounts of almonds. Perhaps these individuals ( Ben) actually plan their trips around Trader Joe's shopping opportunities, for all I know. Then there are those who make a special trip to Trader Joe's when they visit in order to stock up. A certain Louisianan (Tobin) was known to recently take back with him some of those chocolate covered orange jellies. The only real question was whether they would last long enough around here before his departure date so that we wouldn't have to go shopping again. One guy I know (Roger) even gets to shop Trader Joe's seconds. Trader Joe's contributes their expired goods to a local food bank. When the food bank has too much (hard to believe, I know) they put it out for their neighbors. So if Roger has bouquets of flowers or broken cookies around, they're likely rejects from TJ's. But another great reason to go there is that they often offer samples of food they're promoting. It's a pretty small store, so it's a little tricky to stealthily circle back to score a second helping of their offerings, but sometimes I manage. (Those flourless chocolate cake bites were fabulous, inluding the extra two servings I had no shame about picking up.) Just last week they had a very tasty tortilla soup that I've made twice since then. I served the soup when Tobin was visiting. He's back home now, but he called to get the recipe. Considering how infrequently he calls, I guess I should thank Trader Joe's for that, too. For Tobin: Tortilla Soup 1 quart chicken broth 1 jar salsa 1 can minestrone soup plus the water to reconstitute it properly Heat together Break up some tortilla chips in your soup bowl. Sprinkle it with grated cheese Ladle the soup over the top. Sprinkle that generously with cilantro, if available Enjoy! BTW: this soup tastes rather bland until you add the tortilla chips and other additions. Then it's dynamite. Improvements: Add some chunks of chicken. Garnish with sour cream. Add tabasco, if desired. Add cut corn or black beans or any other tortilla soup friendly ingredients you have. This recpe is pretty versatile. When T was here we made it with two quarts of soup. one of them being a creamed corn/ roasted pepper concoction. It was delicious. Using the minestrone is a good way to get some of those vegies in there without opening up a half dozen other containers of food. (Comment on this)
Saturday, November 14th, 2009
6:17 pm	As a response to alexpgp and his recent readings... I think you may be the person who referred me to Robert B. Parker. I enjoyed those voraciously for a while. But then I discovered Michael Connolly and then I had to read every one of his works. After that, I went back to Spenser, R. B. Parker's character, and some of them did seem a little light. My latest discovery is Randy Wayne White, who writes in the same genre. His books are set in Florida and Central America. His books are not quite as tightly woven as Connolly's, but more so than Parker's. His prose is often quite poetic and I am enjoying getting an introduction to the tropical paradise where his events occur. Now I finally have an urge to visit that area, which I never did before. I also recently finished The Genesis Code, by John Case. I almost gave up on it at one point. I do think it should have been compacted. But when I finished it, I realized where a lot of the symbolism fit in. In the end you see a lot of Christian references, which makes it kind of interesting. But you do have to wait a long time to get there. Thanks for your reading lists. I will check them out. (Comment on this)
Wednesday, November 11th, 2009
9:44 pm	A Beautiful Day for a Sail Salt spray lashed my face. I squinted my eyes against the bright sun. As I watched, the bow of the boat slid down a steep 20 foot swell of green sea  water. Suddenly the prow plunged into the uphill edge of the next wave and foamy white water crashed over the bowsprit. Two members of our crew held on tight so that they would not be washed overboard. Whoa, I thought. I sure am glad this boat is so solidly built.. The power of the sea was overwhelming. Our tallship, all 118 feet of her, relentlessly  plowed ahead, taking one drenching wave after another. Some crashed over the bow, others surprised us broadside. Though constructed of timbers and hemp ropes, canvas and ladders, the boat held on. The sea was beautiful that day. The sun shone gloriously overhead and the waves were a vibrant blue green. But the effects of the gale force wind were devastating. Without warning, a lamp was torn from its mooring thirty feet up the mast. The bracket that had held it in place missed a sailor's head by just a few feet.  Later a tsunami-like wave poured straight down on five of us as we huddled on the aft deck. "Wow! If I hadn't moved just one minute ago, I think I might have washed away!" I exclaimed. Everyone else around me was too busy wiping water out of their eyebrows to even reply. But I reflected on the story told the previous day of a girl who had lost her life in just that same way. It was another boat and another day, but she had been swept overboard while sitting near the helm as I was and never seen again. I have many memories of this eventful day. The eighteen hours of mountainous seas which prevented any of us from eating, let alone cooking. The nearly impossible task of walking across the deck. A cup five feet away was a a journey of a thousand miles. Who needs it?!  The several crew members whose feet suddenly were airborne as they went sliding horizontally, crashing into whatever obstacles the deck had to offer. The small boat which was torn from the stern and hung by just one cable, requiring emergency repairs by anxious crew members. The sight of those plunging and swaying swells. Had any of us gone over it would have been the end for sure. I've gotten numerous comments since about "...that ill-fated voyage" or "...that frightening trip." Was it frightening? No it was not! The captain claimed later it was the "most fun he'd had in a long time!" The first mate agreed, calling it, "A great day sailing!" What's up with that? Why is it that the more horrendously dangerous something appears to be, the more impressed we are. No one writes home about how fabulous the pleasant view is. No, they write home about how incredible the 3000 foot drop to the bottom of the valley is from the peak. The very danger whets the appetite! Why do skydivers jump out of airplanes? For relaxation? No, the thrill is the beauty. Survival is part of the thrill. People love the Grand Canyon because they can't imagine how incredibly deep it is. The recognize the challenge of getting out alive from that dry, forbidding place. Reflecting on the hardship is part of the thrill. Would I go on that same sea voyage again? Probably not knowingly. Have I thought about how I would do it differently? You bet. I can't believe we didn't wear life vests! As we lived through it, however, we we too busy trying to get from one moment to the next. Yes, next time I would wear a life vest. But was it one of the most memorable days of my life? Absolutely. And absolutely beautiful in its frightening possibility of destruction. **** On October 3, 2009, the Spirit of Dana Point left for the Port of Santa Barbara from Dana Point. What was to have been a 24 hour sail was extended by an additional 30 hours as the boat encountered gale force winds while rounding Point Mugu. After spending 18 hours trying to make headway north without success, the boat backtracked south to find safe harbor in Malibu. The next morning, conditions improved enough to finally make it all the say north. (19 Comments |Comment on this)
7:58 am	Assignment: Use the word "visceral" in a post. (5 Comments |Comment on this)
Sunday, November 8th, 2009
11:04 am	tallship crew, wedding cake not included I went to a Pirate Wedding yesterday. Actually, I worked as the crew for a pirate wedding. Unfortunately I didn't get to wear Pirate clothes, though the bride and groom did. Many strange things happened.  Before we left the dock, the father of the groom collapsed. His face was a grayish, greenish yellow. The ambulance was called. It looked an awful lot like a heart attack. The medical staff sent him to the hospital, where they determined that all his vital signs appeared to be OK. We heard later that he didn't approve of the wedding and was prone to pulling these kinds of stunts. The bride disappeared for a while. Apparently she was wandering the parking lot. There is speculation that the fainting father of the groom stunt had her more than a little miffed. In spite of these pre-wedding events, the ceremony proceeded more or less as planned. The groom wore a knee length coat with lots of buttons, a tricorn hat, and swashbuckler boots. The bride wore a burgundy and black period dress and carried a bouquet that included black tipped roses. A number of the guests were heavily tattooed. The "pastor" officiating the wedding, which occurred dockside, wore a pirate T-shirt, tattered shorts, and a pirate bandanna. He was a little odd. As the vows concluded, he kept talking. And talking. And talking some more. He was said to have included his web site address as part of his pronouncements. After all that, the post- ceremony sail was somewhat uneventful, though I found it amusing that a few of the guests were wearing formal attire as they were pressed into service hoisting sails. Heels really aren't a good choice for footwear, nor is a pinstriped suit the best all-weather gear. I was kept very busy. I feel like I should wear a sign that says, "I really don't know what I'm doing," but they put me to work, anyway. I hoisted and hauled in lines, reefed sails, and kept a bow watch for lobster buoys. They even wanted me to go out on the bowsprit to take in the jibs, but I declined that invitation. At the close of the day, when the wedding festivities were all over, the crew went on over to the Pilgrim to score some dinner. (There was an elementary program going on over there.) We sat in the aft cabin and told stories. Conveniently, the wedding itself provided plenty of material for discussion. Summary: I enjoyed wearing my pea coat. I bought it a few years ago but never used it. However, it was perfect for sailing. We didn't get any wedding cake. Drat. (The only food served on board was a Costco tray of vegies and dip. Low budget, I guess.) The captain absolves himself of any responsibility for the success of the nuptials. And no zombies showed up, though maybe they worked in mysterious ways to jinx the wedding. (5 Comments |Comment on this)
Friday, November 6th, 2009
9:34 pm	Current events Went out for Persian food tonight. It was very delicious.  Tachmin, a rice/chicken dish. Tomorrow I will work as part of the crew on the Spirit of Dana Point as we set sail, hosting a wedding onboard ship. Maybe there will be cake! (Comment on this)
4:13 pm	Today There is a peloton of bicycle riders that I become enveloped by frequently on Tuesday and Thursday mornings as I drive to work at 7:15 a.m.  [ I want to use the verb "enmired" but dictionary dot com doesn't believe that is a real word. They also didn't like peloton, so what do they know, anyway?] Fifty (I've counted them!) cyclists swarm alongside the busy road. They are, of course, all fitted out in their cycling gear: the spandex pants, the brightly printed stretchy shirts. They talk to each other as they ride. I wonder who these people are that they can afford to ride bikes a couple mornings a week. I'm guessing they are lawyers. Or maybe out of work mortgage brokers. They do seem to have plenty of free time, as well as money, to sink into bike equipment. At intersections they play this little game that doesn't fool anyone-- they swoop to the right as if they are going to go down that road, but then, within 20 feet, swirl in a U-turn across that street and then get into position to cross at right angles across in front of me. They then begin to climb a long, slow hill. Now I understand the difficulties in keeping one's momentum going while climbing a hill. But these people have at least a 6 foot wide bicycle lane and yet they still pay little attention to staying in their lane. Their ranks swell outward until no vehicle can drive in the right hand traffic lane. Cars are forced to merge to the lane on the left. Sometimes there's already plenty of traffic and the merge has to happen rather suddenly. And yet, still, I am forgiving, though cursing. I'll cut them some slack on the hill. At the top of the hill they want to turn left, but they don't bother with faking us out by pretending to be turning right. They just ooze across the entire road until they are all in the left hand turn lane. Usually, if the guy in front looks to check for traffic, no one else does. They all just blindly drift across the road, amoeba-like. Then they all turn left as if they have a parade pass. I'm less amused when they swoop down the next hill, through a stop sign, and keep going without blinking an eye. OK, maybe they blink, but it's not obvious to me. Sure. it's not a busy cross street. But I have to follow the rules of the road. Why not them? It's when we get to the wide street with the 6 foot wide bicycle lane and one lane of traffic in my direction that I really have to think bad words at them. They STILL care very little for staying in the bicycle lane. All forward progress of cars and trucks is slowed as we must wait for these selfish people. If I dare to pass them, I take the chance that an oncoming car and I will pass each other just as I pass a bike rider. That is not a good equation. Don't they care that the cars are much bigger and heavier than they are? Do they realize that a cyclist was killed on this very street about a year ago?? That guy decided suddenly to do a U turn right in front of a car. Dumb. And deadly. Considering that O is a dedicated bike rider, putting in fifty or more miles on a typical weekend ride, you'd think I'd have a little sympathy for these guys. But instead I'm wondering what they are using for brains. And just because it's technically legal to use the road in the same way cars do, doesn't make it a good idea. I do think there needs to be better signage letting drivers know what the bike riders' rights are. But riders need to think a little harder about who they're sharing the road with. Or not sharing, as the case may be. Today a single rider rode toward me. He was riding a unicycle! Not only was it a unicycle, the wheel on it was easily three feet in diameter. It was huge! Now that was something worth smiling about. And he wasn't even wearing spandex. Hallelujah! (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Wednesday, November 4th, 2009
6:36 pm	Taunting Fate I grip the bare, thirty foot tall telephone pole in a bear hug, my thighs gripped around it, my arms encircling it. I am roughly ten feet up the pole, probably, but I haven't looked. I don't want to know. I am completely focused on the task at hand: slithering up this weathered pole. I reach my right hand up as far as it can reach and grasp a metal "staple." Next I stretch my left arm and grab the staple on my left. I then lift my left knee until I can place my foot on a staple that is at least knee high to the last one I was standing on. Then I laboriously push on my left foot, lifting my body another two feet, pulling all the while with my two arms, to hoist myself up another precious section of the pole. Whew! A little bit farther! But I'm not there yet. I look to the next staple... I am at Astro Camp, chaperoning a horde of ten year olds. Forty four of them! These kids are here to learn about rocket science. They will blow up hydrogen and helium,  point lasers and dance in front of infrared cameras, and launch bottle rockets one hundred feet in the air. They will swim underwater to learn about micro-gravity, and squirm inside an inflatable planetarium to learn about constellations.. They will make a mess at dinner, sniffle when they are homesick, and not sleep very much at night. But more than anything else, they are here at camp for the power pole. They have come to conquer the thirty foot challenge that is The Pole. When we walked up to the power pole site, we had a preview of the thrills that were to come. From a hundred yards away we could see a student, dangling like a spider, or more likely a hanged criminal, suspended way above the ground. A taut rope seemed hooked to his neck. His legs and arms hung slack. What could possibly have possessed this kid to subject himself to this fate? As we walked up, I privately told myself that this year I would do It. I hadn't confided to the kids that last year I had wimped out. They probably all thought that I was the woman of steel. Truth be told, climbing thirty feet up in the air on a spindly pole is not my idea of fun. I know, perhaps better than most, that being on top of those kinds of poles is actually much, much harder to do than you might think. Looking upon ten year old kids clambering up with effortless skill makes it look easy. But could I really do it?? I would try. My hike up Half Dome two weeks ago brought home one very important lesson to me: take it one step at a time. When you really think something is going to be a bear, just do it one step at a time. Literally. Don't look around. Don't look ahead. And what ever you do, don't ever, ever look down. Pre-climb, I bravely (foolishly?) stepped up to the harnesses to gear up. As directed by the instructor, I placed my feet one at a time into the cat's cradle of red webbing straps and pulled the harness up around my legs. Next, first one shoulder and then the other were slipped into the appropriate black straps. Observant guides carefully inspected every step of tightening and belting and strapping as our group of eight climbers prepared for the ultimate challenge. By the time we were done, we were trussed up like turkeys, our bodies criss-crossed with webs. Finally ready, we got into position to climb, one by one. Little Sam was first. The belay rope was tied into a sort of noose and clipped into a carabiner attached to the back of his harness behind his neck. That rope stretched up and up forty feet to a pulley on a cable up above the pole. The other end, also called by sailors the bitter end, (interesting choice of words, don't you think?) came back down to our instructor, Liz.. There, the rope was expertly twisted through a harness which was designed to enable her to apply leverage to the rope, bringing it  instantly to a stop. She held Sam's life within her gloved hands. Should she somehow faint dead away, that rope was also chained to the ground. We were all assured that "nothing could go wrong." Really? I watched Sam. Tiny and lithe, and driven to be first at whatever he does, he easily spider-manned up the pole. At the very top, he hesitated. "It's moving!" he called down to us. Concern was in his voice. Sure enough, the pole swayed slightly as Sam perched at the top. "Make it stop!" Now this was interesting. Even good old Sam was pausing. "It's still moving!" he shouted, a tremor of worry animating his voice. One of the adults went to bear hug the pole. Would this even help? I watched Sam and tried not to think about how scary it would be up there. Last year I knew I wouldn't, couldn't do it. This year I silently told myself, I'll try.... I'll try. ....I'll try. Sam wiggled his little body up and onto the pole. Cautiously he pulled first one foot and then the other up and stood up. "It's awfully high up here," he let us know. "Jump!" we shouted. "Go for it! Jump!" And he did, reaching out to bat the orange tether ball suspended way up there to give the climber something to swat at. Slowly Liz lowered him to the ground, one more body. But by and by it was my turn. It had gotten darker and darker. No matter how much I had willed them to not have time for me, or light enough for me, they did. And here I was half way up the pole. Again I repeated the steps. Right hand, left hand, left foot, pull. Set my right foot. Breathe heavily. Another two feet up. Right hand, left hand, left foot, pull. Step. Two feet more. Breathe heavily. Breathe some more. I clutched at that pole like a desperate lover. But I realized that there was no moving up unless I grabbed and heaved with my arms and pushed with my feet. I did remember not to look down. The kids yelled and shouted as I worked my way up. "Julie! Julie!" "You go girl!" And then their voices faded to distant messages. Inch by inch I moved up. Finally I got to the top. I knew there was no choice but to clutch the disk at the top of the pole and heave myself up. I gingerly eased my butt onto the disk.  And then I looked down. Oh my God! Far, far below me khaki colored dust speared by brittle sticks of straw promised a very distant and unforgiving welcoming should I plummet downwards. I knew instantly that I was not going to be standing up on that 12 inch platform of plywood so far above the hard, cold earth. I always say, "Know Thyself." And I knew that standing was not an option for this astronaut. "I'm going to buttjump!" I shouted. Ok, decision made. Decision announced. Now to do it. Do it? Am I crazy?? As firmly as I realized that I wasn't going to stand up there, I realized that I wasn't going to jump. Trouble is, there really isn't any other way down. You HAVE to jump! I took one more totally incredulous look, and pushed myself off. "AAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaahhhHHHH!" Immediately Liz had me safely belayed and I was hanging there, dangling like a dummy, way up high. Instantly I felt safe. Relief washed over me. A huge silly grin spread across my face.  "You go girl!" My ten year old fans gave me a seriously rousing ovation. And I thought, I can't believe I did that! I still can't believe it! (32 Comments |Comment on this)
Sunday, November 1st, 2009
3:59 pm	Today It is 95 degrees Fahrenheit and the ocean temps have dropped about ten degrees since last week to 57. Ridiculous! (Comment on this)
3:06 pm	Escape! I f you should feel compelled to vote for me in the livejournal vote for decent writing, please go here. In the meantime, I still have to pack for my three day excursion to Idyllwild for Astro Camp. Pluses: three days in the mountains doing fun spacey activities. Not having to cook. Skipping school for three days. Negatives: Two nights trying desperately to get over 50 ten year olds to go to bed. I really, really like going to the mountains. But I also really, really like going to bed early, so it's something of a toss-up. Wish me luck! (Comment on this)
Saturday, October 31st, 2009
9:06 pm	The ghouls Halloween has come and gone.It seemed a little strange this year. For one thing, there weren't really very many kids, and for the second, I felt I didn't know anyone who came to the door. The only exceptions were twelve year old  Zach from the north side of our house and fourteen year old Andrew from the south. And perhaps Andrew was the scariest visitor of all. He told us he was sick. When pressed for details he said he had swine flu, at which point we quickly said, "Then leave!" When Zach came by, we shared this story with him and he told us he had swine flu two weeks ago, but that his dad has it now. Great! We're surrounded! Five year old Marcus & his mom Stacie came by for the Halloween wrap up, or should I say, "un-wrap." Marcus was wearing a Wolverine costume, which is yellow and comes complete with bulging pecs. Wolverine is apparently an arch enemy of Spiderman, but don't hold me to that, I may just be hopelessly confused about my super heroes. I purposely bought Halloween candy that I wouldn't find tempting, so now we're stuck with half a bowl full of tootsie pops and caramel apple lollipops. D'oh! (But don't tell, I also bought a package of m & m's! ) Some things stay the same; we had our huge 6 ft tall cardboard stand-up movie promotion poster of Mr. Bean greeting kids when they came to the door. That usually gets a reaction. For some unknown reason, O ran and made himself scarce so he wouldn't have to answer the door. Wimp!! Maybe he knew Andrew was coming with the H1N1. Maybe I'll just go hide with the m & m's. (3 Comments |Comment on this)
Thursday, October 29th, 2009
7:02 pm	Going to Astro Camp next week For now there is just the crunch of getting everything and everybody ready. Fortunately our fifth graders are really sweet kids.( I'm beginning to wonder what that will all be like when today's third graders are ready for their turn!) Here at home the weather has turned. The days are now mild and the nights get pretty brisk. Brisk for California that is. Puts me in mind for going to Idyllwild, near San Jacinto. (Comment on this)
Tuesday, October 27th, 2009
5:40 pm	The More Things Change, The More They Stay the Same LJ Idol entry #2 My phone rings in my knapsack. I am standing on top of a granite dome in Yosemite National Park. I am thousands of feet above almost every other peak in the area.  I bend over to sift through the stuff in the knapsack, struggling to find the phone amongst all the other dreck. I miss the call, but notice it is O calling, so I call him back. "Hi, sorry I missed your call," I say. "I'm on top of Half Dome! It's incredible up here! You wouldn't believe the view! " he says. "Where are you?" "I'm on the Sub-Dome," I respond, "You know that little dome right beside Half Dome." "Wow, really? Boy, you don't want to come up here. It's pretty spooky. I had the heebie jeebies myself. I walked over toward the edge but couldn't bring myself to look over. Oh wait, gotta go, Tobin is calling." O disconnects from my phone call to answer the one from Tobin. The more things stay the same, the more they change. Here we were, the two of us. Each making calls on our cell phones while in the middle of the wilderness. And in that, we repeat a generations' old tradition of using the soles of our feet and pounding of our hearts to make our way to the top. I did it myself in my youth. I hiked the nine miles up to Half Dome with beanpole legs, energy, and enthusiasm. We camped out overnight at the base and hiked back down the next day. Some cute guys gave me a spray of mountain azaleas. I was jazzed by that.  My mother before me did it. For all I know, perhaps her mother strained up the incline back in the thirties, dressed in her demure house dress.There is no other way to reach this place. You can't drive here; there are no roads. In fact it's a very long nine miles to any road of any kind from this remote, barren outpost of granite.                            Remote, yes, but alone? Oh no. Not even close. Hordes of other hikers patiently wait in line to clamber up the cables that string up the side of that oh-so-classic half sphere of solid rock, Half Dome, the icon of Yosemite. We had started our hike at 6 a.m. It's one thing to get up in the dark when you are at home and getting ready for work. When you are camping, that all just seems so wrong! And yet, as we stepped out briskly to begin what the guidebooks described as an "extremely strenuous" eighteen mile hike, stars twinkled overhead. The forest was black on either side of the path as we tromped off for the trailhead. The only other people out were obviously heading in the same direction. Up! Other crazy people! I quickly tired. Let's face it, when I last did this hike I was thirteen years old. It was hard then, too. That time I carried a backpack made of wooden dowels, and carried the essentials for sleeping out over night. Back then, we didn't even carry pads for sleeping on. We thought we were so avant garde; we carried plastic bubble wrap to cushion the hard cold ground from our sleeping bodies. We also drank straight from the rushing mountain streams. Picking up a bug from untreated water didn't even cross our radar then. This time I meant to do it all in one day. No overnight backpack! (And I brought water with me!) But now I'm considerably older. My odometer has turned over more than a few times. My beating heart had become unused to pushing my older body up such a punishing trail. Within 40 minutes of starting out I felt like I was going to puke. Catching your breath is one thing, feeling like you're going to lose all your insides is quite another. I clutched a boulder and hung my head. Waves of nausea eventually passed. Our hiking group had long ago gone on. Oh well, it's not a race, I thought to myself. It's a good thing I didn't even know that it would take 4800 feet of constant climbing to reach the top.  4800 feet! Yikes! Hour after hour we moved onward. Onward and upward. The Mist Trail that we followed is a series of about a million granite steps that go up alongside Vernal Falls. At least in October it isn't very misty. Usually the pounding waterfall provides a constant spray of mountain water over everything. That day I hiked when I was thirteen we all wore ponchos. No need for that today. Ten steps, rest. Five steps, rest. Five steps, rest. It was going to be a very long day. Eventually, near the top,  I encouraged O to go on without me. The peak was nearly in sight. I knew he really wanted to summit. I was holding him back. "Go on," I said. "It's OK. I've been here before." He left, reluctantly. I rested. Ahhh. But then I grew bored. Maybe I'll go on up to the top, I thought. I climbed another ten feet. Maybe I won't, I reconsidered. I sat another fifteen minutes. But the top is so close, I pondered yet again. I moved up a little more. Finally, I couldn't resist any longer. The top of the sub dome really was RIGHT THERE. I made it! Hallelujah! The view was incredible. It was even more incredible to surprise O as he came off the peak. He had thought I was a total washout. We celebrated by eating some cheese. We took some pictures, and then turned to go back down the mountain. About this time I realized that the sole of my right boot had detached. Fifty percent of it was hanging, dead, like a flap of useless skin. I would have to watch how I placed my foot. It is a nearly universally held belief that while walking uphill is hard,  walking downhill is easy. Not so fast! Things are not always what they seem. Those nine miles back down the mountain went on and on and on. And on. We ate a little supper. We walked more miles. The daylight dimmed. We walked even more miles. The trail dipped down and down and down some more. We pulled out flashlights to better see the stones and ruts. And still the trail inexorably slipped down and down and down. My muscles ached from going downhill. As it continued steeply down, I slowed, more and more. There was no way to go quickly. Sometime back, my SECOND boot had lost contact with half its sole. So now I was trudging, trudging, and carefully trying not to lose both soles completely. I called my shoes my hiking flip flops. Kind of funny, but then again, not so much. I couldn't even imagine totally losing the soles to my shoes! Frustratingly, for a while, we could see that we were a long ways from the bottom of the valley. But as darkness closed in, it was like being on some kind of blind treadmill. We would walk, and yet the scenery would not change. Blackness surrounded us on every side. Only the trail immediately in front of us was visible. We started to see little night creatures, like mice. Shadows loomed ahead. At every bend in the path I expected to see something familiar. Like the end. But it didn't happen. At long last we reached the road through the valley. Still the treadmill sensation continued. Our little patch of brightness stayed with us, never revealing the sights just ahead. At 7:42 pm we at long last reached our tent. Our friends had gone to dinner. We, however, were far too tired. We hobbled to the showers and then to bed. Dinner? Who needs it. All we really wanted was to crawl into a solf bed and sleep. They say walking downhill is so much easier. But I would guess that "they" have never really tried it. Climbing uphill strains your heart and lungs. Going down kills your legs and knees and feet. And then the memory stays with you for days. I think it was a week before I could walk down stairs after I got home. What a souvenir! Ouch! Aagh! ooh!  Thank goodness I had a bright flashlight. Thank God my shoes held out. Thank God for still being able to hike and thank you God for such a beautiful place to do it. Uphill, both ways. Figuratively, anyways.  Check. Barefoot. Almost. Thank God, no snow! ********* Post script: I am walking around work the next day. One of the other teachers notices that I am wearing flip-flops. She gives a meaningful glance at my feet and raises her eyebrows. "Aren't you cold?" she asks. (It's threatening to rain, so the temperature has probably dropped down to a frigid 65 degrees.) "No, no," I answer. "I'm just wearing flip flops because I was hiking this weekend. I have some blisters." I show her my raw heel. "I was at on Half Dome on Sunday!" I proudly tell her. I get a totally blank stare. "You know, Half Dome?. ...More blankness. "You know, Yosemite?" I continue. "You've been to Yosemite, right?" She shakes her head. "Well maybe when I was really small" she answers, still not comprehending. This is a lady who is easily fifty years old. I guess I'll have to bring her a picture. (62 Comments |Comment on this)