I've been moving in this direction a long time--probably since 6th grade (I've mentioned to people that I've been a Benedictine all my life and didn't know it until 2006). I've read a lot of books along the way, not all written by Benedictines but all sort of converging on this point. I became an oblate in October 2007 at Clyde Monastery. I started reading during the summer of 2006. And here are the highlights.
Bake and Be Blessed by Fr. Dominic Garramone. It doesn't sound like much, and it isn't much--a short book, each chapter about a different stage of bread baking and how we take that step and create an analogy for our spiritual lives. I read this in the summer of '06 during the 3 day long black out after the "Storm of the Century." I stayed up late, read it by flashlight, and was hunting down monasteries as soon as the lights came back on.
Wisdom Distilled From the Daily: Living the Rule of St. Benedict Today by Joan Chittister. This book takes different aspects of the Rule and of Benedictine life (hospitality, work, humility, stability, etc) and teases them out for what they mean for us in modern life, in places that aren't monasteries, for people who aren't monks.
The Rule of Benedict by Joan Chittister (well, the Rule isn't by her, it's obviously by Benedict, but this is a commentary). A wonderful translation and each daily reading has reflections from other traditions--mostly Eastern influences--that help draw out the truth of the Rule.
Becoming Fully Human by Joan Chittister. Each chapter of this book is a question, for instance, How is caring for the earth spiritual? Or When is war unjust? Each chapter is short and full of little vignettes.
How To Be A Monastic And Not Leave Your Day Job by Benet Tvedten. What it sounds like. A guide book for oblate candidates. It's dedicated, by the way, to my oblate director, who read and commented on it for him.
In Search of Belief, by (again) Joan Chittister. This is the Apostle's Creed, taken line by line. It troubled, shocked, heartened, and enlivened me when I read it the first time.
The Cloister Walk by Kathleen Norris. Many oblates start the tale of their journey with "A friend let me borrow the Cloister Walk..." Not true for me, but Kathleen's journey matches many folks' attempts to find a place in their system of belief.
Radical Hospitality by Daniel Homan and Lottie Pratt. The only thing wrong with this is that, written by two people with two very different styles/voices, it is jarring. And they refer to themselves in 3rd person, interspersing both writers in a single chapter. Sometimes I have a hard time getting past that. But the idea is solid and useful reminder.
Benedict's Way by Daniel Homan and Lottie Pratt. Daniel Homan, again, is a Benedictine priest, and Lottie is a friend of his monastery--I don't think she's an oblate. This is probably the most "popular spirituality" of all the books I own about Benedictine thought and spirituality. It is a jumping off point.
Praying the Bible: An Introduction to Lectio Divina by Mariano Magrassi is just what it says it is. Much more scholarly work, less accessible to the general public. But exactly what it claims to be.
The Quotidian Mysteries by Kathleen Norris. Quotidian means everyday. Mundane things. The dullness of life--laundry, dishes, carpools, that sort of stuff. This book is her attempt to find God there. I liked this one much more than the whole of the Cloister Walk, although bits of that one are gold.
Blessings of the Daily by Br. Victor-Antoine D'Avila-LaTourette (yes, that's his name...). This is one of those reflection-a-day books, but about a monastery in New England. I got this book because I also have his Year of Monastery Salads, which, oh my goodness, is so worth it.
There are others--a number of oblates besides Kathleen Norris have written books, although several of them kind of run together in my mind. There is a book by an oblate that discusses at length the Benedictine ladder of humility (flippantly put, the 12 step program for monks), which interests me, but honestly, her writing style isn't as good as mine. This grates on my nerves on many levels. So I don't read her stuff anymore...and this summer I am going to do my best to read Cistercian Michael Casey's The Undivided Heart. But I don't have it here because, well, I haven't read it yet!
The one non-Benedictine I'd put on this list is Thomas R. Kelly. He was a Quaker and wrote deeply about spiritual matters. A Testament of Devotion is the one I've read (he has a very short bibliography, dying young and published only posthumously).
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
The Archbishop (ha ha fooled you)
If you have a moment and feel like a heartwarming story, go over to My Green Vermont and read her current post about her mother's hospitalization. I know, that sounds grim, but today's was lovely.
Ten On Tuesday: 10 books on my summer reading list
Ok, summer is a month in for me, so I'll include some here that I've already read in the past 4 weeks or so...alas most of them are jfic. It's my time of life. Sophia reads, she's just impatient because she has dyslexia and visual problems involving words and letters jumping and waving around--which is different from dyslexia, by the way). Graphic novels are perfect at this stage (and manga, if I read it first). But she wants to be a part of the greater reading world. So I'm going to spend a lot of the next several years reading these kinds of things....
1. Fogmound II: Faradawn by Susan Schade. A graphic novel/jfic novel (every other chapter is graphic novel) about a group of talking animals in a post-apocalyptic world.
2. Mennonite in a Little Black Dress by Rhoda Janzen: memoir about an ex-Mennonite who is dumped by her bipolar abusive husband and is forced to move home to her in-the-world but not of-the-world Mennonite parents. I'm done with this if anyone wants to read it next. It was funny and touching and good.
3. The Undivided Heart by Michael Casey: This has been on my reading list for two summers now. It's thick reading. Chapters like "Spiritual Desire in the Gospel Homilies of St. Gregory the Great." My oblate director did a year long series on it and I'm using her emails as a guide.
4. Everyday Hospitality by Thea Jarvis: I have a ton of Benedictine spirituality books and I've read about 60% of them. Here's one I haven't.
5. Diary of a Wimpy Kid by Jeff Kinney: Sophia started it but put it down. I kind of want to read ahead of her and see if it's worth her while to pick back up. I'm thinking not, but I'll try.
6. The Silver Chair by CS Lewis: Because that's next on Sophia's bedtime story list. Honestly, the Narnia Series jumped the shark for me in Prince Caspian. The Voyage of the Dawn Treader was excruciating, like a bad role-playing game. But I'll keep going. It'll be good for me.
7. In This House of Brede by Rumer Godden: Sr. Mary loaned this to me last year and It's sat here nagging me. I started the first few chapters and I think I could sit by the pool and consume this one.
8. Missouri Department of Conservation Archery Manual: it's designed as a course to teach children archery. I've already got experience doing that, but I think it would be nice to really know what I'm doing, like with the right vocabulary terms.
9. Ramona the Brave by Beverly Cleary: Maeve's next bedtime book.
10. Mossflower by Brian Jacques: the next in the Redwall Series. Sophia wants to get more into them; I think they'll lose her attention read silently. But they're excellent and I don't want her to give up.
1. Fogmound II: Faradawn by Susan Schade. A graphic novel/jfic novel (every other chapter is graphic novel) about a group of talking animals in a post-apocalyptic world.
2. Mennonite in a Little Black Dress by Rhoda Janzen: memoir about an ex-Mennonite who is dumped by her bipolar abusive husband and is forced to move home to her in-the-world but not of-the-world Mennonite parents. I'm done with this if anyone wants to read it next. It was funny and touching and good.
3. The Undivided Heart by Michael Casey: This has been on my reading list for two summers now. It's thick reading. Chapters like "Spiritual Desire in the Gospel Homilies of St. Gregory the Great." My oblate director did a year long series on it and I'm using her emails as a guide.
4. Everyday Hospitality by Thea Jarvis: I have a ton of Benedictine spirituality books and I've read about 60% of them. Here's one I haven't.
5. Diary of a Wimpy Kid by Jeff Kinney: Sophia started it but put it down. I kind of want to read ahead of her and see if it's worth her while to pick back up. I'm thinking not, but I'll try.
6. The Silver Chair by CS Lewis: Because that's next on Sophia's bedtime story list. Honestly, the Narnia Series jumped the shark for me in Prince Caspian. The Voyage of the Dawn Treader was excruciating, like a bad role-playing game. But I'll keep going. It'll be good for me.
7. In This House of Brede by Rumer Godden: Sr. Mary loaned this to me last year and It's sat here nagging me. I started the first few chapters and I think I could sit by the pool and consume this one.
8. Missouri Department of Conservation Archery Manual: it's designed as a course to teach children archery. I've already got experience doing that, but I think it would be nice to really know what I'm doing, like with the right vocabulary terms.
9. Ramona the Brave by Beverly Cleary: Maeve's next bedtime book.
10. Mossflower by Brian Jacques: the next in the Redwall Series. Sophia wants to get more into them; I think they'll lose her attention read silently. But they're excellent and I don't want her to give up.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Never Look a Gift Pool in the Mouth
The block captain behind me called a few weeks back. She's a landscaper and one of her clients, who lives in Compton Heights, has a granddaughter visiting for the summer. Near to Sophia's age, would we be interested in playing with her sometime this summer?
Sounds so benign.
Sure, I tell her. Whatever. I'm thinking she and her grandmother will come over, sit on the stoop, pass the time while this kid (I'll call her Patti) and our neighbor kids will play.
She has a pool, is the next statement. That's great, I think. We'll go over there some, over here some, maybe once a week or something?
But nothing is ever that easy.
We set it up. I bring my kids plus two of the girls Sophia's age (on the other blog they are Bree and Iris). We arrive at the house--keep in mind that Compton Heights is made up of 120 year old gorgeous mansion style houses. The grandmother answers the door and invites us in. The girls change and we head out to the pool. It works about as well as any first time meeting between kids usually does. We only stay about an hour because a thunderstorm approaches, but we promise to come back later in the week.
Later in the week, we do return, but just with my kids and Bree. It works really well that time, from a kid perspective. But that's when things get weird. The grandmother leaves me there with the kids. Her nephew, who is an adult, is there, too, playing with his dogs. But it's really kind of my responsibility--which is fine, except not. It's fine at my aunt's pool when we bring a friend, but this was weird because I had this other kid, too. And the grandmother got in her car and left. Bye bye. But she left rules: don't let the dogs in, don't go through the gate, go through and out the side door, etc. It wouldn't have bothered me if she hadn't left me there with her granddaughter like I was a member of the household staff.
Then the block captain sends me an email. She and the grandmother have talked it over and have decided I shouldn't bring Bree back with me next time because "she's such a born leader and the other girls follow her and exclude Patti."
It takes about ten tries for me to come up with an email response I'm willing to be responsible for. The whole thing starts to feel not like I'm doing this woman a favor, but that I'm mooching off her goodwill. Which is not the way it was supposed to go in my head when I said yes to this plan.
Well, she gets my home number from the block captain and calls me last week. "Can you come over today?" she asks. I tell her no, honestly, that we have a busy evening. But I give in and offer Friday.
We went on Friday--Maeve was at camp and my mom kept Leo. I brought Sophia and Iris this time. The grandmother stayed and sat in a chair next to me while we watched the kids. This was more normal, but it still grated on my nerves that we were always meeting here, that I was somehow responsible to provide her granddaughter with friends, and that I was supposed to feel grateful.
She finds out I'm a teacher and asks, "Do you know any tricks to get kids to do things they are good at but don't necessarily like to do?"
I ask for details. Piano. Patti is "naturally talented" but hates to practice. I suggest bribery. This is met with a thin-lipped shake of the head. Later she asks me about the swim camp Maeve attends. "Perhaps we'll do that next summer. Patti is a good swimmer but has such poor form."
There were other mentions of Patti's natural abilities but sheer laziness and lack of drive (for shame, she's 7 years old after all). It was just weird. Everything had this Mrs. Havisham feel to it, like aging grandeur covered in dust and a new generation of unacceptably mediocre children.
When we left, she stood at the side door with her hand on the knob asking when we would return. Not until I'd agreed to Thursday afternoon did she open the door and let us out.
Ugh. I seem to always wind up in stupid things like this. I say yes to something that sounds ok and it turns out to be a chore. But at least the kids haven't picked up on it. It really is my problem--they see pool and jump in. And Bree does not exclude Patti (in fact she's probably the most inclusive of the girls on our block, Sophia included). I've decided to totally ignore that pronouncement. As Ann put it, kids aren't sprinkles you put in a jar and shake up to mix.
Maybe I'll bring knitting next time and look busy instead of play with my phone and invite conversation....
Sounds so benign.
Sure, I tell her. Whatever. I'm thinking she and her grandmother will come over, sit on the stoop, pass the time while this kid (I'll call her Patti) and our neighbor kids will play.
She has a pool, is the next statement. That's great, I think. We'll go over there some, over here some, maybe once a week or something?
But nothing is ever that easy.
We set it up. I bring my kids plus two of the girls Sophia's age (on the other blog they are Bree and Iris). We arrive at the house--keep in mind that Compton Heights is made up of 120 year old gorgeous mansion style houses. The grandmother answers the door and invites us in. The girls change and we head out to the pool. It works about as well as any first time meeting between kids usually does. We only stay about an hour because a thunderstorm approaches, but we promise to come back later in the week.
Later in the week, we do return, but just with my kids and Bree. It works really well that time, from a kid perspective. But that's when things get weird. The grandmother leaves me there with the kids. Her nephew, who is an adult, is there, too, playing with his dogs. But it's really kind of my responsibility--which is fine, except not. It's fine at my aunt's pool when we bring a friend, but this was weird because I had this other kid, too. And the grandmother got in her car and left. Bye bye. But she left rules: don't let the dogs in, don't go through the gate, go through and out the side door, etc. It wouldn't have bothered me if she hadn't left me there with her granddaughter like I was a member of the household staff.
Then the block captain sends me an email. She and the grandmother have talked it over and have decided I shouldn't bring Bree back with me next time because "she's such a born leader and the other girls follow her and exclude Patti."
It takes about ten tries for me to come up with an email response I'm willing to be responsible for. The whole thing starts to feel not like I'm doing this woman a favor, but that I'm mooching off her goodwill. Which is not the way it was supposed to go in my head when I said yes to this plan.
Well, she gets my home number from the block captain and calls me last week. "Can you come over today?" she asks. I tell her no, honestly, that we have a busy evening. But I give in and offer Friday.
We went on Friday--Maeve was at camp and my mom kept Leo. I brought Sophia and Iris this time. The grandmother stayed and sat in a chair next to me while we watched the kids. This was more normal, but it still grated on my nerves that we were always meeting here, that I was somehow responsible to provide her granddaughter with friends, and that I was supposed to feel grateful.
She finds out I'm a teacher and asks, "Do you know any tricks to get kids to do things they are good at but don't necessarily like to do?"
I ask for details. Piano. Patti is "naturally talented" but hates to practice. I suggest bribery. This is met with a thin-lipped shake of the head. Later she asks me about the swim camp Maeve attends. "Perhaps we'll do that next summer. Patti is a good swimmer but has such poor form."
There were other mentions of Patti's natural abilities but sheer laziness and lack of drive (for shame, she's 7 years old after all). It was just weird. Everything had this Mrs. Havisham feel to it, like aging grandeur covered in dust and a new generation of unacceptably mediocre children.
When we left, she stood at the side door with her hand on the knob asking when we would return. Not until I'd agreed to Thursday afternoon did she open the door and let us out.
Ugh. I seem to always wind up in stupid things like this. I say yes to something that sounds ok and it turns out to be a chore. But at least the kids haven't picked up on it. It really is my problem--they see pool and jump in. And Bree does not exclude Patti (in fact she's probably the most inclusive of the girls on our block, Sophia included). I've decided to totally ignore that pronouncement. As Ann put it, kids aren't sprinkles you put in a jar and shake up to mix.
Maybe I'll bring knitting next time and look busy instead of play with my phone and invite conversation....
Summer Complaint
Leo is teething. This never ends.
My sister, who is awesome, borrowed my vacuum, which was fine. But the house is now suffering.
It is hot. And starting to sprinkle.
I'm sleepy--the heat plus the teething, mostly. I keep nodding off and then remembering that oh yeah, I'm the adult.
Have to keep moving.
But otherwise, summer is good. It's going fast. The garden is producing things--swiss chard, garlic scapes, the first yellow tomatoes (which taste like early tomatoes, kind of crisp and citrusy instead of the smoky mellow black tomatoes of August). We have swam our butts off at my aunt's pool and Maplewood and at another neighborhood pool (more on that later). The kids are tan and rested. Summer is good.
But I'm already ready for the sharp dry days of autumn.
My sister, who is awesome, borrowed my vacuum, which was fine. But the house is now suffering.
It is hot. And starting to sprinkle.
I'm sleepy--the heat plus the teething, mostly. I keep nodding off and then remembering that oh yeah, I'm the adult.
Have to keep moving.
But otherwise, summer is good. It's going fast. The garden is producing things--swiss chard, garlic scapes, the first yellow tomatoes (which taste like early tomatoes, kind of crisp and citrusy instead of the smoky mellow black tomatoes of August). We have swam our butts off at my aunt's pool and Maplewood and at another neighborhood pool (more on that later). The kids are tan and rested. Summer is good.
But I'm already ready for the sharp dry days of autumn.
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Winnebago
"What happened to Leo?" I ask as I check my blogs in the dark upstairs library, keeping cool on this hot hot day. Leo is crying, but a mad cry, not something I'm too worried about.
Mike is sitting on the couch behind me and he turns to look. "Oh, he got his hand caught in a winnebago."
I know what he means: there is an old tonka truck winnebago that came from my parents' house, with a hatchback that flips up and there his hand is stuck. It is easily unstuck, but now mad, he yells again and throws some things on the ground.
But I like that phrase: he got his hand caught in a winnebago.
Mike is sitting on the couch behind me and he turns to look. "Oh, he got his hand caught in a winnebago."
I know what he means: there is an old tonka truck winnebago that came from my parents' house, with a hatchback that flips up and there his hand is stuck. It is easily unstuck, but now mad, he yells again and throws some things on the ground.
But I like that phrase: he got his hand caught in a winnebago.
Friday, June 25, 2010
Your marriage is not at risk
So on facebook, which I do belong to against my better judgment (side note: why isn't there an e in the middle of the word judgment? Why isn't it judgement? dgm isn't something that should run together in English), anyway, on facebook, you can list your relationship status. For instance, a neighbor recently announced she was married (she's been married, what, 16 years, was it?).
Today I opened up facebook and there was the little icon for my cousin Joey. He's in his early 40s, lives in New York, has a ton of money writing books for women who are too clueless to know how to pick out clothing, etc. And what once said "in a relationship" now says "engaged."
I sent my little congratulations note, but I need to send him an email or just call because I have so many questions, beginning with "in what jurisdiction?" and ending (well, not ending, but continuing through) with "when?" I mean, this is a big deal for my family. Working class folks who don't pay more than $5 for a haircut kind of people, and their nephew is marrying his boyfriend.
But maybe that's why he just changed it to "engaged" instead of answering a bunch of danged questions from nosy cousins like me Actually, my generation is pretty blase about the whole sitch--it's my parents' generation that are all wringing their hands, even though they like Joey and Tim and haven't banished them from Christmas or something like that. I guess it's kind of like hanging out with your racist relatives who fill uncomfortable pauses with "some of my best friends are black." (Which is true for most of that generation as well). Knowing Joey and hanging out with him (while he gets completely toasted at Christmas) is one thing. Supporting him and cheering him on is another. I suppose. Maybe I'd feel differently if I were older.
But I just don't think so.
And I know just saying this next part is opening me up for a flame war that will rival the time I had things to say about our former archbishop (my eyes are still watering from the smoke from that one). I just, I can't understand what all the fuss is about. There may be biblical reasons why certain denominations don't want to participate in gay marriage. I'm not saying they should--for that matter, Catholics have LOTS of rules about who can get married. WAY LOTS. Pregnancies, previous marriages, standing in the church due to previous marriages, etc. Lots of rules. I'm not talking about that.
But Joey in a monogamous relationship for the rest of his life with Tim just doesn't even drop a pebble in the pond to stir waters around my monogamous relationship for the rest of my life with Mike. In fact, it kind of makes me like him better because I like it when people get married. I like the hope involved. The risk of saying yes. The bravery involved in standing up in public and saying, hey, I love this person and we're going to find our way together. No matter what. What is more life-affirming than that? Having Joey get married makes me turn to Mike and say, "life is good. I'm so glad I'm with you and we're here together." Weddings make me reflect, especially hard-won weddings between strong personalities. I think about my life and my choices and luck (good and bad) and hopes. And this joy, this affirmation of life and love and our human story? I can't stand against that.
Today I opened up facebook and there was the little icon for my cousin Joey. He's in his early 40s, lives in New York, has a ton of money writing books for women who are too clueless to know how to pick out clothing, etc. And what once said "in a relationship" now says "engaged."
I sent my little congratulations note, but I need to send him an email or just call because I have so many questions, beginning with "in what jurisdiction?" and ending (well, not ending, but continuing through) with "when?" I mean, this is a big deal for my family. Working class folks who don't pay more than $5 for a haircut kind of people, and their nephew is marrying his boyfriend.
But maybe that's why he just changed it to "engaged" instead of answering a bunch of danged questions from nosy cousins like me Actually, my generation is pretty blase about the whole sitch--it's my parents' generation that are all wringing their hands, even though they like Joey and Tim and haven't banished them from Christmas or something like that. I guess it's kind of like hanging out with your racist relatives who fill uncomfortable pauses with "some of my best friends are black." (Which is true for most of that generation as well). Knowing Joey and hanging out with him (while he gets completely toasted at Christmas) is one thing. Supporting him and cheering him on is another. I suppose. Maybe I'd feel differently if I were older.
But I just don't think so.
And I know just saying this next part is opening me up for a flame war that will rival the time I had things to say about our former archbishop (my eyes are still watering from the smoke from that one). I just, I can't understand what all the fuss is about. There may be biblical reasons why certain denominations don't want to participate in gay marriage. I'm not saying they should--for that matter, Catholics have LOTS of rules about who can get married. WAY LOTS. Pregnancies, previous marriages, standing in the church due to previous marriages, etc. Lots of rules. I'm not talking about that.
But Joey in a monogamous relationship for the rest of his life with Tim just doesn't even drop a pebble in the pond to stir waters around my monogamous relationship for the rest of my life with Mike. In fact, it kind of makes me like him better because I like it when people get married. I like the hope involved. The risk of saying yes. The bravery involved in standing up in public and saying, hey, I love this person and we're going to find our way together. No matter what. What is more life-affirming than that? Having Joey get married makes me turn to Mike and say, "life is good. I'm so glad I'm with you and we're here together." Weddings make me reflect, especially hard-won weddings between strong personalities. I think about my life and my choices and luck (good and bad) and hopes. And this joy, this affirmation of life and love and our human story? I can't stand against that.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Eating Our Way Down
Millions of berries we didn't deserve, eating our way down (apologies to Genevieve Taggard)
We went blueberry picking this morning. I have a new favorite pick-your-own place. I have switched over the years between various u-pick-its, including the behemoth across the river that I now avoid after their "Rah Rah Pesticides!" presentation I witnessed on a school trip several years ago. We like Mills Apple Farm in Pocahontas Illinois, and Lakeview off highway 94 for raspberries (and strawberries but I am too danged impatient and my knees are too bad to go genuflecting down those aisles anymore). And we had a spot where we'd picked blueberries and blackberries, long ago, pretty far out, and I was planning to give it a go later this week.
Then my neighbor mentioned she went to this new spot, Huckleberry Hollow, in St. Clair, Missouri. No pesticides (and on soft fruit I care about this a lot) or fungicides, just ten million blueberry bushes, 6 or 7 feet high for the most part. So this morning we left the house at 6 to get there by 7 to get picking before we all burned alive in the summer sun.
We only got 5 quarts, which cost me $15 total. That is, by the way, seriously cheap for blueberries in the stores here (because, hey, I'm doing the work, I suppose...but still, it's amazing). I'm going back after swim camp is over, with both girls, for blackberries in early July. If it were even 20 minutes closer, I'd go back on my own this week, frankly. But I need to save up the energy and think about gas money and make a plan--make it an outing, not just a grocery run.
They're open from 7 til dark and will give you buckets to pick in but they take them back--they have plastic grocery bags, or, like I will next time, you can bring your own containers to bring them home. I googled their name and the word blueberries to find the map, which was a no-brainer from I-44.
I highly recommend.
We went blueberry picking this morning. I have a new favorite pick-your-own place. I have switched over the years between various u-pick-its, including the behemoth across the river that I now avoid after their "Rah Rah Pesticides!" presentation I witnessed on a school trip several years ago. We like Mills Apple Farm in Pocahontas Illinois, and Lakeview off highway 94 for raspberries (and strawberries but I am too danged impatient and my knees are too bad to go genuflecting down those aisles anymore). And we had a spot where we'd picked blueberries and blackberries, long ago, pretty far out, and I was planning to give it a go later this week.
Then my neighbor mentioned she went to this new spot, Huckleberry Hollow, in St. Clair, Missouri. No pesticides (and on soft fruit I care about this a lot) or fungicides, just ten million blueberry bushes, 6 or 7 feet high for the most part. So this morning we left the house at 6 to get there by 7 to get picking before we all burned alive in the summer sun.
We only got 5 quarts, which cost me $15 total. That is, by the way, seriously cheap for blueberries in the stores here (because, hey, I'm doing the work, I suppose...but still, it's amazing). I'm going back after swim camp is over, with both girls, for blackberries in early July. If it were even 20 minutes closer, I'd go back on my own this week, frankly. But I need to save up the energy and think about gas money and make a plan--make it an outing, not just a grocery run.
They're open from 7 til dark and will give you buckets to pick in but they take them back--they have plastic grocery bags, or, like I will next time, you can bring your own containers to bring them home. I googled their name and the word blueberries to find the map, which was a no-brainer from I-44.
I highly recommend.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Ten On Tuesday: 10 Ways to Entertain a Child
I had lost the feed for 10 on Tuesday...but Annie posted this one today and I decided that one wouldn't be so bad:
1. Ignore them while they get into something they are usually forbidden to do (play with tools, knitting needles, books, etc).
2. Compliant cats
3. A box of discarded fabric and permission to make your own bathing suit
4. Parades
5. Fire
6. Water features: sprinklers, pools, rivers, ponds, creeks, oceans, whatever
7. kid-friendly websites that aren't kid-centered (like mosaic maker or the flickr hunt by color)
8. Teacher edition textbooks (seriously, I have dorky children)
9. Harvesting in the garden. They really like this.
10. Talking about adult things in front of them without making them leave the room. Or the campfire ring.
1. Ignore them while they get into something they are usually forbidden to do (play with tools, knitting needles, books, etc).
2. Compliant cats
3. A box of discarded fabric and permission to make your own bathing suit
4. Parades
5. Fire
6. Water features: sprinklers, pools, rivers, ponds, creeks, oceans, whatever
7. kid-friendly websites that aren't kid-centered (like mosaic maker or the flickr hunt by color)
8. Teacher edition textbooks (seriously, I have dorky children)
9. Harvesting in the garden. They really like this.
10. Talking about adult things in front of them without making them leave the room. Or the campfire ring.
Auntie Sarah's Last Word
My Aunt Sarah, you know, died this spring. She was 93 and all that. Well, before she died, when she moved into the nursing home last fall, she and her son went to the safe deposit box and went through important things because she was realistic about what was coming next.
In the box were two envelopes (along with all the other stuff). One was addressed to her sister Mary and one to her granddaughter Christine.
She has 6 grandchildren in all, but only Christine was named on the envelope. Sarah opened the envelope, read what was inside, and folded it back up and resealed it. "Do you want me to give it to Christine now?" her son, Christine's father, asked.
"Nah, wait until I die."
Well, 6 months went by with anticipation. Was Christine to inherit something no one else was? Was Sarah going to give her some specific message or wisdom? She is the oldest granddaughter, so perhaps it had something to do with that (as a side note, my grandmother passed a statue of Mary to me recently because I'm the oldest granddaughter, as was she). Christine and her parents pondered and waited.
Sarah died, and a few weeks later, her dad handed her the envelope. He also passed the other one on to Sarah's sister. We have no idea what was in that envelope. But Christine opened it, with her parents and brother and sister-in-law waiting for the news.
It was an article about the evils of birth control.
They'd argued in the past. Friendly disagreements, but still argued about birth control.
And I guess Sarah gets the last word.
In the box were two envelopes (along with all the other stuff). One was addressed to her sister Mary and one to her granddaughter Christine.
She has 6 grandchildren in all, but only Christine was named on the envelope. Sarah opened the envelope, read what was inside, and folded it back up and resealed it. "Do you want me to give it to Christine now?" her son, Christine's father, asked.
"Nah, wait until I die."
Well, 6 months went by with anticipation. Was Christine to inherit something no one else was? Was Sarah going to give her some specific message or wisdom? She is the oldest granddaughter, so perhaps it had something to do with that (as a side note, my grandmother passed a statue of Mary to me recently because I'm the oldest granddaughter, as was she). Christine and her parents pondered and waited.
Sarah died, and a few weeks later, her dad handed her the envelope. He also passed the other one on to Sarah's sister. We have no idea what was in that envelope. But Christine opened it, with her parents and brother and sister-in-law waiting for the news.
It was an article about the evils of birth control.
They'd argued in the past. Friendly disagreements, but still argued about birth control.
And I guess Sarah gets the last word.
Monday, June 21, 2010
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Last Year's Camping: List of Links
Last year's trip merited several blog posts:
The decision to go
Friday's report
The trip to Quincy
The park ranger incident
Saturday's ill-fated, well, fate
And the end.
Whatever does not kill us...probably makes a powerful good story.
The decision to go
Friday's report
The trip to Quincy
The park ranger incident
Saturday's ill-fated, well, fate
And the end.
Whatever does not kill us...probably makes a powerful good story.
So Much Better Than Last Year
That would be the motto for this year's camping trip: So much better than last year.
Remember last year at Lake Wakonda? Let me sum up: hot, no shade, a pond of liquefied goose poop next to the campsite, bad bad tattoos, MethMom, the Bataan Death Trail, windstorm destroying the girls' tent, the flea market attack, the boil order, the trip to the golden corral.
This year wasn't like that at all. It was really good. Really hot, but really good. We returned to Onondaga Cave State Park (last year it was flooded, hence the ill-fated last-minute decision to go to Wakonda). Lower loop basic campground. We played in the Meramec, took the cave tour, ate good food, chatted, the whole thing. We didn't play mah jongg--but it was really hot even by evening. And we were chatting.
The only moment was Friday night about 3:00 in the morning. I woke up to the wind, and saw distant lightning. It was like some sort of primal instinct--no, it was more like PTSD, I would think, based on last year's traumatic thunderstorm. I was up out of that tent and running across the campsite to the girls' tent to get my kids. A couple of girls (there were 5 in all in the tent, two of them mine) had awakened and were trying to get their bearings. The wind was so strong and loud. I got one girl to her tent, where her parents, sheltered at the edge of the campground, were out of the wind and not awake yet. Mike stayed at the girls' tent passing girls out of it to other adults like the last flight out of Saigon.
One family got in their car and drove away to find cell coverage to see what this was--was it just going to blow over, the edge of a storm, or were we in for it. We, actually pretty methodically, tied down things that might blow away, stuck other things in our car, moved the few things in our tent to the center away from the walls (we'd learned from last year to keep most things in the car anyway). We sat in the car trying to find weather on the radio, and I mumbled about wishing I'd brought my weather radio...like Sam wishing he'd brought some rope. Neighbors came back and reported: the storm was north of 44, we were on the southern edge. So we returned to our tents and lasted out the night. If it hadn't been for last year, we probably would have done that anyway--although the wind really was whipping the tents around pretty good.
The rest of the trip was great. I spent most of the time saying "this is so much better than last year," and remember, it was 90+ degrees each day. It wasn't perfect. It was just really great.
These four families--we spend a lot of time in meta-conversations, about how nice it is to have neighbors like us. Other neighbors on the block, too--not just us four. How sometimes when we talk about our neighbors and other people who don't live here say, "oh, we have good neighbors too" and I have to smile and nod, thinking to myself, no you don't. You have somebody to feed your dog when you go on vacation, sure, but you don't have this. No one has this.
Yay that we do.
On a side note, as I started writing this, I googled Wakonda so I could remember how to spell it. And I found a press release. The swimming beach and lake at Wakonda was closed for the weekend and into next week. Reason? High e.coli levels in the water. The maximum average level is 126 e.coli colonies per 100 mL of water, or for a single sample is 235 colonies/100 mL. Wakonda had 1986/100mL this week. More than 8 times the allowable level for a single sample. Bleah.
I knew that place was awful.
Remember last year at Lake Wakonda? Let me sum up: hot, no shade, a pond of liquefied goose poop next to the campsite, bad bad tattoos, MethMom, the Bataan Death Trail, windstorm destroying the girls' tent, the flea market attack, the boil order, the trip to the golden corral.
This year wasn't like that at all. It was really good. Really hot, but really good. We returned to Onondaga Cave State Park (last year it was flooded, hence the ill-fated last-minute decision to go to Wakonda). Lower loop basic campground. We played in the Meramec, took the cave tour, ate good food, chatted, the whole thing. We didn't play mah jongg--but it was really hot even by evening. And we were chatting.
The only moment was Friday night about 3:00 in the morning. I woke up to the wind, and saw distant lightning. It was like some sort of primal instinct--no, it was more like PTSD, I would think, based on last year's traumatic thunderstorm. I was up out of that tent and running across the campsite to the girls' tent to get my kids. A couple of girls (there were 5 in all in the tent, two of them mine) had awakened and were trying to get their bearings. The wind was so strong and loud. I got one girl to her tent, where her parents, sheltered at the edge of the campground, were out of the wind and not awake yet. Mike stayed at the girls' tent passing girls out of it to other adults like the last flight out of Saigon.
One family got in their car and drove away to find cell coverage to see what this was--was it just going to blow over, the edge of a storm, or were we in for it. We, actually pretty methodically, tied down things that might blow away, stuck other things in our car, moved the few things in our tent to the center away from the walls (we'd learned from last year to keep most things in the car anyway). We sat in the car trying to find weather on the radio, and I mumbled about wishing I'd brought my weather radio...like Sam wishing he'd brought some rope. Neighbors came back and reported: the storm was north of 44, we were on the southern edge. So we returned to our tents and lasted out the night. If it hadn't been for last year, we probably would have done that anyway--although the wind really was whipping the tents around pretty good.
The rest of the trip was great. I spent most of the time saying "this is so much better than last year," and remember, it was 90+ degrees each day. It wasn't perfect. It was just really great.
These four families--we spend a lot of time in meta-conversations, about how nice it is to have neighbors like us. Other neighbors on the block, too--not just us four. How sometimes when we talk about our neighbors and other people who don't live here say, "oh, we have good neighbors too" and I have to smile and nod, thinking to myself, no you don't. You have somebody to feed your dog when you go on vacation, sure, but you don't have this. No one has this.
Yay that we do.
On a side note, as I started writing this, I googled Wakonda so I could remember how to spell it. And I found a press release. The swimming beach and lake at Wakonda was closed for the weekend and into next week. Reason? High e.coli levels in the water. The maximum average level is 126 e.coli colonies per 100 mL of water, or for a single sample is 235 colonies/100 mL. Wakonda had 1986/100mL this week. More than 8 times the allowable level for a single sample. Bleah.
I knew that place was awful.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Board Meeting Moment
I went to the board meeting to see the proposal about the one building--the other building isn't being proposed yet.
I'm all up in the air now. I'll just wait and see and not be too worried.
But there was one moment. The meeting hadn't started. I was sitting in the chairs lined up against a bookshelf, where the "public" sits, watching the board at the set of tables like looking into an exhibit in the zoo. And the developers walk in and start setting up their screen and their placards and whatnot.
And there he was.
I hadn't seen him, well, regularly since my freshman year of college. I walked over to him, nervous, because frankly, meeting people I haven't seen in 10+ years is a little freaky.
"You're John O'Brien, aren't you," I say to him.
"Bridgett! Bridgett 'Sarah' Blake!"
We chatted. He explained how he came to be there. I did the same. It was lovely. He complimented my choice of husbands. He has three kids. And he was still as awesome as he ever was. I smiled through the whole danged presentation, and he wasn't even doing the presenting.
If you took Mike, and combined him with my brother Ian, and threw in dimples and green eyes, there ya go. It's a small town after all.
I'm all up in the air now. I'll just wait and see and not be too worried.
But there was one moment. The meeting hadn't started. I was sitting in the chairs lined up against a bookshelf, where the "public" sits, watching the board at the set of tables like looking into an exhibit in the zoo. And the developers walk in and start setting up their screen and their placards and whatnot.
And there he was.
I hadn't seen him, well, regularly since my freshman year of college. I walked over to him, nervous, because frankly, meeting people I haven't seen in 10+ years is a little freaky.
"You're John O'Brien, aren't you," I say to him.
"Bridgett! Bridgett 'Sarah' Blake!"
We chatted. He explained how he came to be there. I did the same. It was lovely. He complimented my choice of husbands. He has three kids. And he was still as awesome as he ever was. I smiled through the whole danged presentation, and he wasn't even doing the presenting.
If you took Mike, and combined him with my brother Ian, and threw in dimples and green eyes, there ya go. It's a small town after all.
Ten On Tuesday: 10 Favorite Dates
I don't mean things like "November 5". I mean, things I've done with boys out in public. Mostly, except 2, with Mike. In no particular order:
1. Paddleboating in Forest Park, followed by Bailey's Chocolate Bar
2. Day outing to Fern Clyffe in Shawnee National Forest, and Triple-E Barbecue
3. Anytime at Laumeier Sculpture Park (amalgamated)
4. Taking the train from Houston to Galveston for the day
5. A good movie followed by a good talk. My favorite, and it's so standard for us.
6. Tori Amos and Willie Porter at the Fox Theater
7. Beach walking on Galveston followed by the long drive home
8. San Francisco (that's like, one long date, right?)
9. Weekend trip to Hermann, Missouri, complete with getting too drunk to converse intelligently
10. Walk down to Clifty Creek (mostly we go with kids but this was when Sophia was a baby and she stayed behind with folks at the cabin)
1. Paddleboating in Forest Park, followed by Bailey's Chocolate Bar
2. Day outing to Fern Clyffe in Shawnee National Forest, and Triple-E Barbecue
3. Anytime at Laumeier Sculpture Park (amalgamated)
4. Taking the train from Houston to Galveston for the day
5. A good movie followed by a good talk. My favorite, and it's so standard for us.
6. Tori Amos and Willie Porter at the Fox Theater
7. Beach walking on Galveston followed by the long drive home
8. San Francisco (that's like, one long date, right?)
9. Weekend trip to Hermann, Missouri, complete with getting too drunk to converse intelligently
10. Walk down to Clifty Creek (mostly we go with kids but this was when Sophia was a baby and she stayed behind with folks at the cabin)
Juggling Act
Summertime and the living is easy is a lie.
This week, with no camps, I figured we'd take it easy. Go to the pool. Hang out at home. And we have done that. But suddenly it's jam-packed again just like always. I guess there's never any real extended downtime, in the end.
We hit the pool yesterday, and the grocery store, and Penzeys (spice store). And my mother-in-law was in town with her sister and her nieces--one of them had a doctor's appointment (a specialist, obviously) and we had them, and Mike's brother Pete and his fiance Kaylen, over for dinner. Which was wonderful, but it was also work. Good work, but still work!
We spent the morning up at school doing some cleaning out of the room that will be Sophia's classroom next year. Going up to school always means getting some sort of dirt on something--this time it was on our possible new locations come Autumn 2011. There's a meeting tonight I'm attending to see the two proposals. I'm heavily biased towards one of them, HEAVILY BIASED, but it is 4.2 million dollars total, compared to just over 2 million dollars. Both are final prices--after a graduated lease and rehab and all that jazz. One is a much better location, would be a fabulous improvement to the neighborhood, and is of course the more expensive one (and just outside our current "boundaries" but don't get me started on that bullshit). The other one I drove by after our visit to school and I just sighed. It's an old industrial building, which can be very cool in some cases, but this one just turned me off. It is supposedly bigger, but it seems to have less land around it (unless I'm not seeing it all). Easier to convert, I heard today, and therefore cheaper, BUT. My choice is on a main street, would be a wonderful reuse of an historic building, and and and. So I'm going to go listen to the two proposals at the hideous board meeting tonight.
But before that, we are going over to visit with a grandmother whose granddaughter is in town for the summer, 7 years old, and bored out of her skull. They have a pool, so that will be the swimming for the day. And then home for dinner and drive Sophia out to dance class and then zoom back to the city for the board meeting. I really wanted to swim tonight out at Maplewood, but once I remembered dance class, oh yeah, duh. And then the board meeting.
Tomorrow is no better--Shakespeare in the park in the evening means swimming with kids in the morning (but no laps for me, without a second adult) and spending the day getting ready for the picnic in the heat (and potential wet). And then the weekend is upon us. Next week Maeve goes to swim camp, and that might actually be easier. I don't know. I'm exhilarated by being able to get all this stuff done, but it's also exhausting.
My doctor has tweaked my medication so that I take 7/8 of it in the morning and then the remainder between lunch and dinner. This gets me through that afternoon lag so much better!
I guess it's just that I've realized this summer is going to slip through my fingers in a different way than it did last summer--but still go faster than I would think possible. It's the middle of June already. Yikes.
This week, with no camps, I figured we'd take it easy. Go to the pool. Hang out at home. And we have done that. But suddenly it's jam-packed again just like always. I guess there's never any real extended downtime, in the end.
We hit the pool yesterday, and the grocery store, and Penzeys (spice store). And my mother-in-law was in town with her sister and her nieces--one of them had a doctor's appointment (a specialist, obviously) and we had them, and Mike's brother Pete and his fiance Kaylen, over for dinner. Which was wonderful, but it was also work. Good work, but still work!
We spent the morning up at school doing some cleaning out of the room that will be Sophia's classroom next year. Going up to school always means getting some sort of dirt on something--this time it was on our possible new locations come Autumn 2011. There's a meeting tonight I'm attending to see the two proposals. I'm heavily biased towards one of them, HEAVILY BIASED, but it is 4.2 million dollars total, compared to just over 2 million dollars. Both are final prices--after a graduated lease and rehab and all that jazz. One is a much better location, would be a fabulous improvement to the neighborhood, and is of course the more expensive one (and just outside our current "boundaries" but don't get me started on that bullshit). The other one I drove by after our visit to school and I just sighed. It's an old industrial building, which can be very cool in some cases, but this one just turned me off. It is supposedly bigger, but it seems to have less land around it (unless I'm not seeing it all). Easier to convert, I heard today, and therefore cheaper, BUT. My choice is on a main street, would be a wonderful reuse of an historic building, and and and. So I'm going to go listen to the two proposals at the hideous board meeting tonight.
But before that, we are going over to visit with a grandmother whose granddaughter is in town for the summer, 7 years old, and bored out of her skull. They have a pool, so that will be the swimming for the day. And then home for dinner and drive Sophia out to dance class and then zoom back to the city for the board meeting. I really wanted to swim tonight out at Maplewood, but once I remembered dance class, oh yeah, duh. And then the board meeting.
Tomorrow is no better--Shakespeare in the park in the evening means swimming with kids in the morning (but no laps for me, without a second adult) and spending the day getting ready for the picnic in the heat (and potential wet). And then the weekend is upon us. Next week Maeve goes to swim camp, and that might actually be easier. I don't know. I'm exhilarated by being able to get all this stuff done, but it's also exhausting.
My doctor has tweaked my medication so that I take 7/8 of it in the morning and then the remainder between lunch and dinner. This gets me through that afternoon lag so much better!
I guess it's just that I've realized this summer is going to slip through my fingers in a different way than it did last summer--but still go faster than I would think possible. It's the middle of June already. Yikes.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Dream. For Ann.
Mostly for Ann's enjoyment...she recently employed Sophia to take care of her dogs when she was out of town. And here is the dream I had, obviously anxiety about my ability, and Sophia's ability, to complete said job:
We show up. We're late. The dogs are crated, which wasn't part of the plan. So they've been packed into crates for too long. I can't get either of the crates open, however, so Sophie and I drag the crates to the backyard so that they technically get to be outside. We go back in to feed and water and the sink is broken. So I have to connect a hose to the bathroom sink to fill the obviously immovable bowls.
Sophia then promptly pours dog food into the water. So I have to siphon the water out, scoop out the now mushy food, and start over. During this process, a woman and her son arrive and ask to use the bathroom. I figure, whatever, sure, use the bathroom. But after that, they sit at the kitchen table and read a story. The woman asks if I have a light, cigarette in hand. I do, of course. So now she's smoking.
And then Ann's husband comes home unexpectedly. Mike is very mild-mannered, sort of a Clark Kent type, and he stands in the doorway of the kitchen watching the bowl-filling chaos. And I look over at him, mortified, and say, "Those people just walked in." I shrug. "I couldn't stop them."
Neither does he, but he does pick up the phone and call Janet to tell her that he's fired Sophia and could she bring her son back over to finish the job?
Then, like most dreams, it twists around into a potato sack race in their side yard, the dogs manage to free themselves and go running around jumping on the racers. I try to take pictures to prove my innocence but they all come out like etch-a-sketch pictures of the scenes....
We show up. We're late. The dogs are crated, which wasn't part of the plan. So they've been packed into crates for too long. I can't get either of the crates open, however, so Sophie and I drag the crates to the backyard so that they technically get to be outside. We go back in to feed and water and the sink is broken. So I have to connect a hose to the bathroom sink to fill the obviously immovable bowls.
Sophia then promptly pours dog food into the water. So I have to siphon the water out, scoop out the now mushy food, and start over. During this process, a woman and her son arrive and ask to use the bathroom. I figure, whatever, sure, use the bathroom. But after that, they sit at the kitchen table and read a story. The woman asks if I have a light, cigarette in hand. I do, of course. So now she's smoking.
And then Ann's husband comes home unexpectedly. Mike is very mild-mannered, sort of a Clark Kent type, and he stands in the doorway of the kitchen watching the bowl-filling chaos. And I look over at him, mortified, and say, "Those people just walked in." I shrug. "I couldn't stop them."
Neither does he, but he does pick up the phone and call Janet to tell her that he's fired Sophia and could she bring her son back over to finish the job?
Then, like most dreams, it twists around into a potato sack race in their side yard, the dogs manage to free themselves and go running around jumping on the racers. I try to take pictures to prove my innocence but they all come out like etch-a-sketch pictures of the scenes....
Friday, June 11, 2010
RSS Feed
I need a new way to track everyone I read because bloglines has changed. I fear and loathe most change and this one fits into that category. Instead of having a little alert icon on my bottom toolbar that tells me how many entries are new, I have a blank icon. I can click on it, sure, and the bloglines page comes up, but I have to sign in. Sign in. Including one of those prove you're a person word pictures. Which I often fail and have to try again. And on top of that, some of the blogs don't load the first time...and so I have to sign in and try again later.
I hate when something simple that works well decides to enhance itself and screws it up for me.
What's your method of finding all the blogs you read? Does it work for you? Please tell me. Grr.
(And yes, I know in the grand scheme of things, this problem is not a problem. I'm not really all caught up in it. Just mildly irritated and thinking about it at the moment!).
I hate when something simple that works well decides to enhance itself and screws it up for me.
What's your method of finding all the blogs you read? Does it work for you? Please tell me. Grr.
(And yes, I know in the grand scheme of things, this problem is not a problem. I'm not really all caught up in it. Just mildly irritated and thinking about it at the moment!).
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Swimming, biking, happy
We went for our first visit to Maplewood for the summer. Kids played and I walked around with Leo while he experienced the pool. It's a zero-entry, like a shore, and so he can dabble in it with his feet and not be terrified. Got a little sun, girls got whatever was left of their energy out, and now that we've been once, it's easier next time.
I went over to the other pool, which is Olympic-sized (50m) and that first lap? I thought I was going to die at the end of it. Gee. I guess it's been a long time since I've done laps--since Maeve was a baby, actually. I used to knock out a mile, easy. In this pool, 32 lengths is a mile if I understand it correctly. I did 8 today. Eight. I could have done more, but I think I would have fallen down getting out of the pool afterward.
So now I have that goal, too. Swim a mile by the time I hang up my suit for autumn.
My other goal is biking: I want to have 660 miles under my belt by the time I put the bike away in late fall. I think this will be no big thing, although finally getting everything we need to transport the bikes elsewhere is KEY because my park is starting to really bore me. Why 660? Because in early May my odometer read 440 and I thought a nice round 1100 would be good. I would do just 1000 but that didn't seem challenging enough. This might not be either but I can reevaluate it later. Right now it reads 530, so only 570 miles left to go before, say, mid-November.
It's kind of amazing how much my hypothyroidism brought me down last year. I don't know if I biked 150 miles last summer, and I certainly didn't swim. I sat on deck chairs and watched my kids play. I'm so happy I got it fixed. But also kind of angry, you know, because I let it go so long. I knew tonight that life is different--I went swimming after a long day of average existence, and I didn't stagger into the house to nap. A walk in the park would have done that to me last summer. Things just keep getting better.
I went over to the other pool, which is Olympic-sized (50m) and that first lap? I thought I was going to die at the end of it. Gee. I guess it's been a long time since I've done laps--since Maeve was a baby, actually. I used to knock out a mile, easy. In this pool, 32 lengths is a mile if I understand it correctly. I did 8 today. Eight. I could have done more, but I think I would have fallen down getting out of the pool afterward.
So now I have that goal, too. Swim a mile by the time I hang up my suit for autumn.
My other goal is biking: I want to have 660 miles under my belt by the time I put the bike away in late fall. I think this will be no big thing, although finally getting everything we need to transport the bikes elsewhere is KEY because my park is starting to really bore me. Why 660? Because in early May my odometer read 440 and I thought a nice round 1100 would be good. I would do just 1000 but that didn't seem challenging enough. This might not be either but I can reevaluate it later. Right now it reads 530, so only 570 miles left to go before, say, mid-November.
It's kind of amazing how much my hypothyroidism brought me down last year. I don't know if I biked 150 miles last summer, and I certainly didn't swim. I sat on deck chairs and watched my kids play. I'm so happy I got it fixed. But also kind of angry, you know, because I let it go so long. I knew tonight that life is different--I went swimming after a long day of average existence, and I didn't stagger into the house to nap. A walk in the park would have done that to me last summer. Things just keep getting better.
Monday, June 07, 2010
The Buzz on the Buzzer
Mike stopped me before I closed one of the tabs he had open. "No, read that," he told me. I clicked to read it. The title went something like "The Buzzer (UVB-76) has stopped transmitting! UH-OH!"
And I got sucked right back in.
When I lived in Georgia, which is on the eastern seaboard, I had an average shortwave radio. No antenna on the roof, for instance, and it was all slide-rule (before digital was the standard). I would listen to the radio at night when I could tune in all over the world, and at the time (1988-1990) it was an interesting world to tune into. I listened to, essentially, the fall of the eastern bloc countries. I fell in love with BBC-style programming (news at the top of the hour, random stuff the rest of the time, oh, maybe we'll read a chapter from Frankenstein tonight...).
And then one night as I was looking for something to listen to (remember, I had nothing to go on but my notes from previous nights and a little pamphlet from the radio manufacturer), I found a little something like that:
Foxtrot - Romeo - Kilo - Kilo - Golf
All in this mechanical female voice. Well, I couldn't just stop with that. A little music interlude and then numbers. The whole thing repeated and then the station. Went. Away. I tried tuning back in the next night, and then the same weeknight, with nothing. Never came back.
But of course, in my emerging weirdness, I copied the message (I kept pen and paper by the radio to record things like "Radio Kiev heard, faintly, at such and such frequency)--it's somewhere in a box of stuff from high school.
Then I forgot about it until after I was married and listening to NPR and there was a segment on numbers stations. They're used for clandestine communication to spies in the field. Anyone can hear them...but nobody knows what they mean except the person with the decoder. And even if you found the decoder ring (actually, a tear off one-time pad), you wouldn't be able to use it unless you matched it to the correct broadcast. This has never been confirmed by any of the countries that use these stations, but it is well known that this is what is going on. And that's what I must have heard sitting in my bedroom in 1989.
That was creepy as all get-out to begin with. But with the internet, I was able to find a whole community of folks with shortwave radios who spend their free time searching these stations out. The stations have names: Cherry Ripe, Attencion!, Lincolnshire Poacher. I heard a recording of one that starts with a clip of Louis Armstrong and then falls into Czech numbers. Voices are garbled and mechanical. The stuff is freaky. It's one of those "the world is bigger than I thought" kind of things.
Also in reading on the internet, I learned about other stations that they don't quite understand. Stations with nicknames like "The Squeaky Wheel" and "The Buzzer". Nobody talks on these stations (well, maybe 4 times in 30 years), and they are there all the time. Nobody explains them away. They sound like their names--I've heard both, live, although I let my obsession slip many years ago.
They intrigue and mystify people. What could they be for? If they are numbers stations, how come the dang buzzer is always the same since 1982? Why do some people hear voices in the background of the buzzer, speaking in Russian, but saying things like "There's some work on the hardware"? I don't know. Maybe it's just me, but these sorts of things freak me out.
So to read that it had stopped, well, that kept me up an hour past my bedtime. Because most radio anoraks seem to believe one or more of the following theories about the buzzer:
1. It's simply an ionosphere research station, nothing more, sending a constant signal up and away to do science stuff.
2. It's a numbers station (it certainly seems to have been used for such things at least 3 times) but not used often
3. It's part of the Dead Hand system (a dead man's switch, if you will, that is triggered to launch nuclear warheads back at those who have killed off all the Soviet government).
Now, if it's 1, the only thing that bothers me is that nobody's been forthcoming about this fact--of course, nobody would believe them...If it's 2, then I can shiver and move on. But the idea that it is part of some soviet era "if you kill all of us, you're dead too" mechanism (also called "Hand from the Coffin" or the Perimeter System) is enough to stop you cold. I mean, we've all read about the demise of Soviet power and the mess it has left behind. The idea that this low power radio station might be a domino in a chain of events that could lead to the destruction of, well, everything we know...is troubling. So having it go offline suddenly is also troubling.
But it's back up. I listened to it for about 5 minutes just now on global tuners (an online collection of shortwave receivers around the world). UVB-76 is still with us. There's no explanation, of course, no well-modulated voice apologizing for the outage. Was there a storm in Povarovo? Did they switch out some old microphones? Did the cleaning lady kick something over? Who knows. But it's back up.
I don't think it's part of Dead Hand. I also don't buy the ionosphere research station theory. My thought, which isn't original, but something I'd read ages ago when I first got interested in shortwave, is that the buzzer is simply a placeholder in case most of society collapses, that kind of thing. This station is open and you know how to find it and if we need to, we'll have something to say. Sort of related to Dead Hand, sure, a post-apocalyptic kind of vision, but in the event that society collapses but someone somewhere still has batteries in their radio, the Russians might have something to tell us.
On Global Tuners, I'm new and it took me a while to figure out how to actually tune an online shortwave radio, but on my 5th try I got it out of Hannover. About 5 minutes into the broadcast (which is, remember, 25 tones a minute that sounds like, well, click the video below), someone got onto the chat program and said, "gosh the buzzer is popular tonight." I felt kind of ashamed to be listening to something like that, at least without my tinfoil hat on, and I let the guy know he could go ahead and tune to something else....
And I got sucked right back in.
When I lived in Georgia, which is on the eastern seaboard, I had an average shortwave radio. No antenna on the roof, for instance, and it was all slide-rule (before digital was the standard). I would listen to the radio at night when I could tune in all over the world, and at the time (1988-1990) it was an interesting world to tune into. I listened to, essentially, the fall of the eastern bloc countries. I fell in love with BBC-style programming (news at the top of the hour, random stuff the rest of the time, oh, maybe we'll read a chapter from Frankenstein tonight...).
And then one night as I was looking for something to listen to (remember, I had nothing to go on but my notes from previous nights and a little pamphlet from the radio manufacturer), I found a little something like that:
Foxtrot - Romeo - Kilo - Kilo - Golf
All in this mechanical female voice. Well, I couldn't just stop with that. A little music interlude and then numbers. The whole thing repeated and then the station. Went. Away. I tried tuning back in the next night, and then the same weeknight, with nothing. Never came back.
But of course, in my emerging weirdness, I copied the message (I kept pen and paper by the radio to record things like "Radio Kiev heard, faintly, at such and such frequency)--it's somewhere in a box of stuff from high school.
Then I forgot about it until after I was married and listening to NPR and there was a segment on numbers stations. They're used for clandestine communication to spies in the field. Anyone can hear them...but nobody knows what they mean except the person with the decoder. And even if you found the decoder ring (actually, a tear off one-time pad), you wouldn't be able to use it unless you matched it to the correct broadcast. This has never been confirmed by any of the countries that use these stations, but it is well known that this is what is going on. And that's what I must have heard sitting in my bedroom in 1989.
That was creepy as all get-out to begin with. But with the internet, I was able to find a whole community of folks with shortwave radios who spend their free time searching these stations out. The stations have names: Cherry Ripe, Attencion!, Lincolnshire Poacher. I heard a recording of one that starts with a clip of Louis Armstrong and then falls into Czech numbers. Voices are garbled and mechanical. The stuff is freaky. It's one of those "the world is bigger than I thought" kind of things.
Also in reading on the internet, I learned about other stations that they don't quite understand. Stations with nicknames like "The Squeaky Wheel" and "The Buzzer". Nobody talks on these stations (well, maybe 4 times in 30 years), and they are there all the time. Nobody explains them away. They sound like their names--I've heard both, live, although I let my obsession slip many years ago.
They intrigue and mystify people. What could they be for? If they are numbers stations, how come the dang buzzer is always the same since 1982? Why do some people hear voices in the background of the buzzer, speaking in Russian, but saying things like "There's some work on the hardware"? I don't know. Maybe it's just me, but these sorts of things freak me out.
So to read that it had stopped, well, that kept me up an hour past my bedtime. Because most radio anoraks seem to believe one or more of the following theories about the buzzer:
1. It's simply an ionosphere research station, nothing more, sending a constant signal up and away to do science stuff.
2. It's a numbers station (it certainly seems to have been used for such things at least 3 times) but not used often
3. It's part of the Dead Hand system (a dead man's switch, if you will, that is triggered to launch nuclear warheads back at those who have killed off all the Soviet government).
Now, if it's 1, the only thing that bothers me is that nobody's been forthcoming about this fact--of course, nobody would believe them...If it's 2, then I can shiver and move on. But the idea that it is part of some soviet era "if you kill all of us, you're dead too" mechanism (also called "Hand from the Coffin" or the Perimeter System) is enough to stop you cold. I mean, we've all read about the demise of Soviet power and the mess it has left behind. The idea that this low power radio station might be a domino in a chain of events that could lead to the destruction of, well, everything we know...is troubling. So having it go offline suddenly is also troubling.
But it's back up. I listened to it for about 5 minutes just now on global tuners (an online collection of shortwave receivers around the world). UVB-76 is still with us. There's no explanation, of course, no well-modulated voice apologizing for the outage. Was there a storm in Povarovo? Did they switch out some old microphones? Did the cleaning lady kick something over? Who knows. But it's back up.
I don't think it's part of Dead Hand. I also don't buy the ionosphere research station theory. My thought, which isn't original, but something I'd read ages ago when I first got interested in shortwave, is that the buzzer is simply a placeholder in case most of society collapses, that kind of thing. This station is open and you know how to find it and if we need to, we'll have something to say. Sort of related to Dead Hand, sure, a post-apocalyptic kind of vision, but in the event that society collapses but someone somewhere still has batteries in their radio, the Russians might have something to tell us.
On Global Tuners, I'm new and it took me a while to figure out how to actually tune an online shortwave radio, but on my 5th try I got it out of Hannover. About 5 minutes into the broadcast (which is, remember, 25 tones a minute that sounds like, well, click the video below), someone got onto the chat program and said, "gosh the buzzer is popular tonight." I felt kind of ashamed to be listening to something like that, at least without my tinfoil hat on, and I let the guy know he could go ahead and tune to something else....
FINALLY
I can post again. It's been three days of forced silence (blogger was down). Here are the things that have occupied our time:
*The girls' school ended for the year. Maeve is officially a kindergartner now and I assume Sophia will be in 4th grade (she actually skipped the last 3 days of school this week because of many reasons, most of them involving the phrase "June 9th is ridiculous", so we don't actually have a report card yet). Don't know who the new kindergarten teachers will be, but Mr. Rouse will be in charge of Sophia again next year. This is awesome.
*We went to Bradburns today while we waited for Maeve's dance class to end, and I got a math summer workbook for Sophia. It's the bridge from 6th to 7th grade. Not quite pre-algebra but everything but, you know? And Sophia looked at the front cover and said, "Six to seven? They think 6 and 7 year olds can do this?" I pointed out the little th's by the numbers, that this was for folks three years ahead of her in school and she said, "oh, that's better." I've decided I'm just going to start bragging about her math abilities right now and never stop.
*On Friday night, I had mah jongg at my house, which was desperately needed (we'd forgotten how to deal, for instance). Didn't go too late but we got some games in. And some wine.
*On Saturday night Maloki came over to watch Dr. Who with Mike and I cleaned the guest room. Again. For the first time. Or something. Ugh.
*On Sunday after church we went to the Missouri Botanical Garden with my parents. It was such a beautiful day after a week and a half of 90 degree swamp.
*Last night, my pastor came over for our first salon! There were 6 of us there that night besides him. He talked about his recent trip to Sacre Coeur Hospital in Milot, Haiti. Gave a brief sad history of the nation, which really helped with the burning question about how things have gotten to where they are now. He went down about a month post-earthquake and had a lot to bring us. At the end of the evening after Janine and I had split a bottle and a half of red wine, I had a lot of stupid things to say, too, but that was after we'd stopped talking about Haiti and had moved on to topics like, well, I don't know if I rightly remember. I just remember I laughed a lot at the end. I really like everyone who came and I think it was a good evening. I can't wait for the next one, Ann. Hmmm.
*Today was the start of the summer camp roulette. Maeve went to art camp, Sophia went to dance camp. They start and end at the same time and are a half hour apart from each other. Hence, roulette. Early care here, carpool there...we're making it work. But today was made even more hectic because:
a) Maeve had dance CLASS at 4:30 after Sophia's camp was over at 3. Wasting time in between is excruciating, but the studio is too far away to come home in between
b) Sophia had dance class from 5:30 to 7. So both girls managed separate dinners (I have to pack bentos tomorrow evening and next week and beyond) and Maeve went with Leo and me to Target as well.
c) this morning, I had a hangover, the first one I've had since my teaching days. Stupid me. So I dragged myself out to the studio and dragged myself back and...Leo obliged with a big old morning nap. From which I awakened slightly more refreshed and really really ashamed of myself!
*And this weekend, anoraks and tin-foil hat folk around the world listened in horror as UVB-76 shut down (cue dangerous sounding cut to commercial music).
*The girls' school ended for the year. Maeve is officially a kindergartner now and I assume Sophia will be in 4th grade (she actually skipped the last 3 days of school this week because of many reasons, most of them involving the phrase "June 9th is ridiculous", so we don't actually have a report card yet). Don't know who the new kindergarten teachers will be, but Mr. Rouse will be in charge of Sophia again next year. This is awesome.
*We went to Bradburns today while we waited for Maeve's dance class to end, and I got a math summer workbook for Sophia. It's the bridge from 6th to 7th grade. Not quite pre-algebra but everything but, you know? And Sophia looked at the front cover and said, "Six to seven? They think 6 and 7 year olds can do this?" I pointed out the little th's by the numbers, that this was for folks three years ahead of her in school and she said, "oh, that's better." I've decided I'm just going to start bragging about her math abilities right now and never stop.
*On Friday night, I had mah jongg at my house, which was desperately needed (we'd forgotten how to deal, for instance). Didn't go too late but we got some games in. And some wine.
*On Saturday night Maloki came over to watch Dr. Who with Mike and I cleaned the guest room. Again. For the first time. Or something. Ugh.
*On Sunday after church we went to the Missouri Botanical Garden with my parents. It was such a beautiful day after a week and a half of 90 degree swamp.
*Last night, my pastor came over for our first salon! There were 6 of us there that night besides him. He talked about his recent trip to Sacre Coeur Hospital in Milot, Haiti. Gave a brief sad history of the nation, which really helped with the burning question about how things have gotten to where they are now. He went down about a month post-earthquake and had a lot to bring us. At the end of the evening after Janine and I had split a bottle and a half of red wine, I had a lot of stupid things to say, too, but that was after we'd stopped talking about Haiti and had moved on to topics like, well, I don't know if I rightly remember. I just remember I laughed a lot at the end. I really like everyone who came and I think it was a good evening. I can't wait for the next one, Ann. Hmmm.
*Today was the start of the summer camp roulette. Maeve went to art camp, Sophia went to dance camp. They start and end at the same time and are a half hour apart from each other. Hence, roulette. Early care here, carpool there...we're making it work. But today was made even more hectic because:
a) Maeve had dance CLASS at 4:30 after Sophia's camp was over at 3. Wasting time in between is excruciating, but the studio is too far away to come home in between
b) Sophia had dance class from 5:30 to 7. So both girls managed separate dinners (I have to pack bentos tomorrow evening and next week and beyond) and Maeve went with Leo and me to Target as well.
c) this morning, I had a hangover, the first one I've had since my teaching days. Stupid me. So I dragged myself out to the studio and dragged myself back and...Leo obliged with a big old morning nap. From which I awakened slightly more refreshed and really really ashamed of myself!
*And this weekend, anoraks and tin-foil hat folk around the world listened in horror as UVB-76 shut down (cue dangerous sounding cut to commercial music).
Wednesday, June 02, 2010
Maeve Moment
"Is Beatrix Potter dead?" she asks, coming up the stairs to see me. Her middle name is Beatrix and she knows Potter is the namesake.
"Yes, she is," I tell her. "She lived a long time ago."
"Was she married to George Washington?" she asks like she's suspicious it might just be true.
"No, honey."
"Yes, she is," I tell her. "She lived a long time ago."
"Was she married to George Washington?" she asks like she's suspicious it might just be true.
"No, honey."
It's not like it's the first time.
Some British Petroleum Oopsies:
The Prudhoe Bay Oil Spill
Texas City Refinery Disaster
And Deepwater Horizon Oil Spill
But this map I found to be very informative:
If it was my home
The Prudhoe Bay Oil Spill
Texas City Refinery Disaster
And Deepwater Horizon Oil Spill
But this map I found to be very informative:
If it was my home
Doh! A Deer!
Last night was our school's music program.
This is one of those instances when I wish this blog was more anonymous. If everyone had pseudonyms and nobody knew who I was, and all my pictures were doctored (or even better, of other people), then I could let it rip on this topic.
I won't, completely, because Mike told me to "switch off the cynic" when we walked into the building. And as another mom said, I love my kids, I love my kids' school, their classmates, their classmates' parents. But I would rather jab my eye with a rusty fork than go to music programs. In general and this one specifically.
I remember when I had homeschooling fantasies, back when Sophia was just tiptoeing into the realm of learning. No fundraisers, I thought. No field trip chaperones meeting their drug connections at the zoo (this is based on a real field trip where I was the teacher). No asinine homework assignments. And no music programs. Ahh.
But no. Here is this lovely school filled with really very lovely people. And usually, we do things our own way and it's fine. I go on field trips, but thus far, no drug sales. There is absolutely no asinine homework assignments. There are fundraisers...but we're working on that. At least we're trying to be creative. And most parents are like me, only more so, you know? We have similar values and similar frustrations. We live nearby and have the same troubles that living in a city brings. It's a good place.
But every new school has growing pains. It took me a long time to realize (because Sophia is so much nicer than I am) that the music program was essentially showtunes and Pete Seeger's greatest hits. Which is great for a preschool, but it dawned on me, slowly, that Sophia could be teaching this class. I could. And next year, music and art will be taught in the classrooms by the teachers--I hope to help out with the art--so maybe I'll look back and miss The Sunny Side of the Street and Michael Row the Boat Ashore (or as Mike sings it: My goat knows the bowling scores, alleluia).
The music teacher plays acoustic guitar (of course), and last night stood at the microphone and accompanied the kids as they sang their songs. I sat in the back and did some sewing during the kindergarten portion, planning to stand up and watch when it was Sophia's turn.
But first there was a drumming circle to, I suppose, learn about African drumming circles? Unfortunately, in my mind, the kids doing the drumming were all African-Americans, and all boys. If we were planning to continue that sort of division, then only flamboyant young boys in top hats would get to sing during the Bob Fosse portion of the evening, right? Maybe the one Liza Minelli look alike in first grade (just kidding). Start the car I know a whoopee spot
Where the gin is cold but the piano's hot!
Then Sophia's class came on to sing some songs with choreography that worked really well, actually. Sophia said they'd been practicing for weeks--which is a good reason not to go to school next week...I mean, if things are so done they're learning choreography to Follow the Drinking Gourd?
Some of it reminded me of Waiting for Guffman, the part where they're making stools:
But it is a grade school. And so that's just fine.
The only other thing that really got me was the banjo. I fooled around with a banjo briefly after my freshman year of college, and I think I could have gotten up there and done a better job accompanying I've Been Working on the Railroad. One staff member told me we'd lucked out: it wasn't in tune during all of practice.
Then there was the obligatory "Music Teacher Introduces Her Daughter" portion. Oh wait, that doesn't happen everywhere. Yeah, the 18 year old had to stand up and wave at people. And then someone else had to mention she was valedictorian. It was a strange segue. And then back for more greatest folk hits of 1971.
And now we're done. Well, until preschool graduation tomorrow.
This is one of those instances when I wish this blog was more anonymous. If everyone had pseudonyms and nobody knew who I was, and all my pictures were doctored (or even better, of other people), then I could let it rip on this topic.
I won't, completely, because Mike told me to "switch off the cynic" when we walked into the building. And as another mom said, I love my kids, I love my kids' school, their classmates, their classmates' parents. But I would rather jab my eye with a rusty fork than go to music programs. In general and this one specifically.
I remember when I had homeschooling fantasies, back when Sophia was just tiptoeing into the realm of learning. No fundraisers, I thought. No field trip chaperones meeting their drug connections at the zoo (this is based on a real field trip where I was the teacher). No asinine homework assignments. And no music programs. Ahh.
But no. Here is this lovely school filled with really very lovely people. And usually, we do things our own way and it's fine. I go on field trips, but thus far, no drug sales. There is absolutely no asinine homework assignments. There are fundraisers...but we're working on that. At least we're trying to be creative. And most parents are like me, only more so, you know? We have similar values and similar frustrations. We live nearby and have the same troubles that living in a city brings. It's a good place.
But every new school has growing pains. It took me a long time to realize (because Sophia is so much nicer than I am) that the music program was essentially showtunes and Pete Seeger's greatest hits. Which is great for a preschool, but it dawned on me, slowly, that Sophia could be teaching this class. I could. And next year, music and art will be taught in the classrooms by the teachers--I hope to help out with the art--so maybe I'll look back and miss The Sunny Side of the Street and Michael Row the Boat Ashore (or as Mike sings it: My goat knows the bowling scores, alleluia).
The music teacher plays acoustic guitar (of course), and last night stood at the microphone and accompanied the kids as they sang their songs. I sat in the back and did some sewing during the kindergarten portion, planning to stand up and watch when it was Sophia's turn.
But first there was a drumming circle to, I suppose, learn about African drumming circles? Unfortunately, in my mind, the kids doing the drumming were all African-Americans, and all boys. If we were planning to continue that sort of division, then only flamboyant young boys in top hats would get to sing during the Bob Fosse portion of the evening, right? Maybe the one Liza Minelli look alike in first grade (just kidding). Start the car I know a whoopee spot
Where the gin is cold but the piano's hot!
Then Sophia's class came on to sing some songs with choreography that worked really well, actually. Sophia said they'd been practicing for weeks--which is a good reason not to go to school next week...I mean, if things are so done they're learning choreography to Follow the Drinking Gourd?
Some of it reminded me of Waiting for Guffman, the part where they're making stools:
But it is a grade school. And so that's just fine.
The only other thing that really got me was the banjo. I fooled around with a banjo briefly after my freshman year of college, and I think I could have gotten up there and done a better job accompanying I've Been Working on the Railroad. One staff member told me we'd lucked out: it wasn't in tune during all of practice.
Then there was the obligatory "Music Teacher Introduces Her Daughter" portion. Oh wait, that doesn't happen everywhere. Yeah, the 18 year old had to stand up and wave at people. And then someone else had to mention she was valedictorian. It was a strange segue. And then back for more greatest folk hits of 1971.
And now we're done. Well, until preschool graduation tomorrow.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
