Thursday, November 22, 2007
Daughter and SIL are hosting Thanksgiving dinner this year, first one in their new home, but for a variety of reasons they're doing it tomorrow, not today. So today, it's me, Jasper, and Miss Thunderfoot. Tomorrow morning I head to central NJ.
When I got up this morning, I opened the refrigerator for my usual yogurt breakfast, and discovered I'm out of yogurt. Hmmmm. What to eat? I've got all kinds of cold cereals, eggs, grits, several types of oatmeal, bread and jelly, scones, hash browns, and even some frozen breakfast "dinners". But I still felt deprived because I didn't have my yogurt. Pout pout.
Then I realized how spoiled I am.
Today, people all over this overfed, over-commercialized, self-satisfied country will be consuming individually enough food to feed an entire family throughout most of the rest of the world, and giving thanks for the ability to do so. Even in this country, there will be people who will go hungry today.
I was in my twenties through the hippie era, Woodstock, Viet Nam anti-war marches, sit-ins, all the turmoil, and I was not a part of any of it. I was busy learning how to be a corporate clone. Now, as I get older, I'm getting more stubborn and rebellious. (Little symbolic rebellions - don't want to draw attention....) I decided that in solidarity with those less fortunate, I'll fast today.
Big deal. I often don't eat for a day or so, but I do it by choice (well, not actually choice - I forget to eat, but the fact that I don't feel hungry says something). Others feel hunger but have no choice.
So, I'm thankful that it is a choice. I'm thankful for my friends, for the fact that my Daughter counts me among her friends, for my long-distance lover, for having two guys on the back burner who would like to be lovers (pretty damn good for a little old lady!), for an economy that allows me a life of leisure, and a slew of other harder-to-pin-down advantages.
But at the moment, I'm thankful that the grocery store will be open tomorrow, and I can buy yogurt.
.
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
1565 The Ghost
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
In the previous post I mentioned seeing a ghost at that fantasy B&B.
The driveway leading to the hotel wound through bits of woods and stone-walled fields. The second day of our stay, Daughter and I had gone to visit a nearby ancient burial chamber (I think it was this one - http://www.anima.demon.co.uk/sites/sh505703.html).
On the way back to the B&B, while coming up the drive, I saw a woman ahead, in a field to our right. As we got closer, I saw her crossing a stile in the rock wall. I slowed the car, and she crossed the road in front of us, and went into the field on the left, through another stile.
She was an older woman, very small and slight in build, wearing a gray-brown tweed walking suit consisting of a jacket and long A-line skirt, a brown knit tam-shaped hat, and boots. White hair, and the lightest fairest skin I have ever seen. As she passed in front of the car, she turned and looked straight at me and smiled. Her eyes were the most beautiful I've ever seen. After 20 years I still remember them. They were blue, light blue, mesmerizing blue, the blue of flowers and skies, and I couldn't look away from them until she turned away.
Her beauty fascinated me, so when we got to the hotel, I asked the locals at the desk who she could be. It was a small village. People tend to know everyone, but no one had any idea who she might be. I mentioned that she had come through a stile, and that got a frown - "there are no stiles in those walls. Not any more, anyway."
Later, Daughter and I went into town for dinner, and on the way down the drive, I looked for the stile. There was none. I turned around and went back to look again. No stiles. Daughter asked why I was retracing the drive, and I said I was looking for the stile.
"What stile?"
"The stile that woman came through when we came back from the chamber."
"What woman?"
Daughter had seen no woman.
There was no stile.
Either I'd seen a ghost, or I'd experienced a fold in time.
I still remember the eyes.
.
In the previous post I mentioned seeing a ghost at that fantasy B&B.
The driveway leading to the hotel wound through bits of woods and stone-walled fields. The second day of our stay, Daughter and I had gone to visit a nearby ancient burial chamber (I think it was this one - http://www.anima.demon.co.uk/sites/sh505703.html).
On the way back to the B&B, while coming up the drive, I saw a woman ahead, in a field to our right. As we got closer, I saw her crossing a stile in the rock wall. I slowed the car, and she crossed the road in front of us, and went into the field on the left, through another stile.
She was an older woman, very small and slight in build, wearing a gray-brown tweed walking suit consisting of a jacket and long A-line skirt, a brown knit tam-shaped hat, and boots. White hair, and the lightest fairest skin I have ever seen. As she passed in front of the car, she turned and looked straight at me and smiled. Her eyes were the most beautiful I've ever seen. After 20 years I still remember them. They were blue, light blue, mesmerizing blue, the blue of flowers and skies, and I couldn't look away from them until she turned away.
Her beauty fascinated me, so when we got to the hotel, I asked the locals at the desk who she could be. It was a small village. People tend to know everyone, but no one had any idea who she might be. I mentioned that she had come through a stile, and that got a frown - "there are no stiles in those walls. Not any more, anyway."
Later, Daughter and I went into town for dinner, and on the way down the drive, I looked for the stile. There was none. I turned around and went back to look again. No stiles. Daughter asked why I was retracing the drive, and I said I was looking for the stile.
"What stile?"
"The stile that woman came through when we came back from the chamber."
"What woman?"
Daughter had seen no woman.
There was no stile.
Either I'd seen a ghost, or I'd experienced a fold in time.
I still remember the eyes.
.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
1564 Trip Photos 4 (of 4)
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
And now, the pièce de résistance, our B&B on the Isle of Anglesey, Wales.
All together now -
Oh!
My!
Gawd!
That was certainly my reaction when we came around the bend in the long tree-lined drive and saw it.
It looked inside exactly as one would expect from the exterior. Huge curved staircases, carved dark paneling, fireplaces, crystal chandeliers, palms in Chinese pots. Our room had a high four-poster bed with canopy and velvet and lace drapery all around for me, and they had set up a smaller bed for Daughter, WITH a "princess" half-canopy. In the mornings, there was a discreet knock on the door, and a maid came in with a huge English breakfast, which was served in bed. That was the "wakeup call".
Our hotel in Kensington had been nice but tiny - five rooms total in a converted white marble townhouse. Then there was the boat, and then on our wanders from Hadrian's Wall to Roman ruins to castles in Wales we'd had no reservations, had simply knocked on doors of private homes with B&B signs out front. This was a reservation, made by our travel agent before we'd left the US, and it was listed as a B&B, so ... it was a shock.
This is where I saw the ghost.
That's for another post.
.
And now, the pièce de résistance, our B&B on the Isle of Anglesey, Wales.
All together now -
Oh!
My!
Gawd!
That was certainly my reaction when we came around the bend in the long tree-lined drive and saw it.
It looked inside exactly as one would expect from the exterior. Huge curved staircases, carved dark paneling, fireplaces, crystal chandeliers, palms in Chinese pots. Our room had a high four-poster bed with canopy and velvet and lace drapery all around for me, and they had set up a smaller bed for Daughter, WITH a "princess" half-canopy. In the mornings, there was a discreet knock on the door, and a maid came in with a huge English breakfast, which was served in bed. That was the "wakeup call".
Our hotel in Kensington had been nice but tiny - five rooms total in a converted white marble townhouse. Then there was the boat, and then on our wanders from Hadrian's Wall to Roman ruins to castles in Wales we'd had no reservations, had simply knocked on doors of private homes with B&B signs out front. This was a reservation, made by our travel agent before we'd left the US, and it was listed as a B&B, so ... it was a shock.
This is where I saw the ghost.
That's for another post.
.
1563 Trip Photos 3
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
More photos from our narrowboat adventure on the Grand Union Canal, England, 1988.
Daughter operating a lock. Note the "treads" on the ground to the left of her feet. They're for traction in pushing the gates open. This particular lock had quite a drop.
Pleasant scenery along the way. If it had been getting dark, and we had tied up there, we probably would have been invited in for tea.
This was a frequent scene at the locks. It's a good thing that Daughter (in red) was not afraid of large curious beasts.
After turning the boat in, we rented a car and wandered around England, headed in the general direction of The Isle of Anglesey, in the northwestern part of Wales. My ancesters had been slate and coal miners, so we visited a slate mine. Also a wool mill, several parks, a zoo (where I overheard a child ask her mother "Is that a bald eagle?" and the mother replied, "Yes. Never understood what the Americans saw in it." "It" was a vulture!), and every dolmen and castle ruin along the way.
I fell wildly madly in love with thatched roofs. Some of them are true works of art.
Traveling through Snowdonia National Park. The sheep are everywhere, and loud. Stereophonic sheep. At one point we attempted to climb a hill to look at the heather, but although it looks like grass, it's more like a wet sponge out there.
Snowdonia. I didn't lighten the photos up because that's the way it really was. Clouds were low and constant. It felt like you could wring water out of the air. The sogginess of the turf was due to mist, fog, clouds perpetually condensing on the mountains. Some of it ran down in little streams, but mostly it was a constant seep down through the turf.
A road sign.
In one of the castle ruins.
.
More photos from our narrowboat adventure on the Grand Union Canal, England, 1988.
Daughter operating a lock. Note the "treads" on the ground to the left of her feet. They're for traction in pushing the gates open. This particular lock had quite a drop.
Pleasant scenery along the way. If it had been getting dark, and we had tied up there, we probably would have been invited in for tea.
This was a frequent scene at the locks. It's a good thing that Daughter (in red) was not afraid of large curious beasts.
After turning the boat in, we rented a car and wandered around England, headed in the general direction of The Isle of Anglesey, in the northwestern part of Wales. My ancesters had been slate and coal miners, so we visited a slate mine. Also a wool mill, several parks, a zoo (where I overheard a child ask her mother "Is that a bald eagle?" and the mother replied, "Yes. Never understood what the Americans saw in it." "It" was a vulture!), and every dolmen and castle ruin along the way.
I fell wildly madly in love with thatched roofs. Some of them are true works of art.
Traveling through Snowdonia National Park. The sheep are everywhere, and loud. Stereophonic sheep. At one point we attempted to climb a hill to look at the heather, but although it looks like grass, it's more like a wet sponge out there.
Snowdonia. I didn't lighten the photos up because that's the way it really was. Clouds were low and constant. It felt like you could wring water out of the air. The sogginess of the turf was due to mist, fog, clouds perpetually condensing on the mountains. Some of it ran down in little streams, but mostly it was a constant seep down through the turf.
A road sign.
In one of the castle ruins.
.
1562 Smile
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
The Man always makes me laugh. I hope he doesn't mind my writing this, but I want to preserve the him-isms. I just hope I can do them justice.
We were on the phone today, and I was telling him that I had decided to no longer keep giving a certain friend second chances, that the last time she pulled this stunt I'd decided the next time was the end, and she has blown it now.
He said, "She ran into your tomato."
"Tomato?"
And he told me the tomato story.
His little brother came home from school one day and told their mother that the teacher was going to throw something at them. "What's she going to throw at you?"
"Tomatoes."
"Tomatoes?"
"Yeah. She said that if we didn't settle down, she was going to throw an old tomato at us."
"An old tomato?"
(An ultimatum.)
The image of her running into my tomato is just too funny.
One day when he was talking about a tense situation at work, he said he had to "get his ducks in a bag." A friend of his had used the phrase once, and it amused him so much, he adopted it in lieu of "ducks in a line". The mental image of the lumpy bag is funny, but even funnier is the quacking sounds coming from the bag. Next time I have to get my ducks in a row, I'll put them in a bag.
"How's your cold?"
"Lots better. I'm just a pony."
"A pony?"
"Yeah, you know, pony. A little horse."
Friends like this are valuable.
Later: I just realized he and I are starting to speak in code. "Perhaps I was a pony, so my friend didn't hear me well, and that's why she ignored my old tomato and didn't get her ducks in the bag."
Makes sense to us....
.
The Man always makes me laugh. I hope he doesn't mind my writing this, but I want to preserve the him-isms. I just hope I can do them justice.
We were on the phone today, and I was telling him that I had decided to no longer keep giving a certain friend second chances, that the last time she pulled this stunt I'd decided the next time was the end, and she has blown it now.
He said, "She ran into your tomato."
"Tomato?"
And he told me the tomato story.
His little brother came home from school one day and told their mother that the teacher was going to throw something at them. "What's she going to throw at you?"
"Tomatoes."
"Tomatoes?"
"Yeah. She said that if we didn't settle down, she was going to throw an old tomato at us."
"An old tomato?"
(An ultimatum.)
The image of her running into my tomato is just too funny.
One day when he was talking about a tense situation at work, he said he had to "get his ducks in a bag." A friend of his had used the phrase once, and it amused him so much, he adopted it in lieu of "ducks in a line". The mental image of the lumpy bag is funny, but even funnier is the quacking sounds coming from the bag. Next time I have to get my ducks in a row, I'll put them in a bag.
"How's your cold?"
"Lots better. I'm just a pony."
"A pony?"
"Yeah, you know, pony. A little horse."
Friends like this are valuable.
Later: I just realized he and I are starting to speak in code. "Perhaps I was a pony, so my friend didn't hear me well, and that's why she ignored my old tomato and didn't get her ducks in the bag."
Makes sense to us....
.
Monday, November 19, 2007
1561 Trip Photos 2
Sunday, November 19, 2007
A narrow section of the Grand Union Canal. Under a bridge. Bridges were sneaky. We'd head for the dead center of the span, and STILL manage to hit or scrape the side.
Coming up on a town. Bigger towns excited us, because we might be able to do some laundry, buy food, and mail some postcards. But ONLY if we could cash some travelers' checks.
This was pre-ATM days. We had taken travelers' checks, and then discovered they were very inconvenient, because no one in the smaller villages would take them, because "the bank came" only one day a week, and if a shop cashed a travelers' check for us, and had to give us too much change, then there wasn't enough cash left in the village for the village to operate until the bank came again. Wow.
Over and over we kept missing the bank visits. At one point, we had a small fortune in useless travelers' checks, and we were counting coins and eating cheap, trying to stretch out what little cash we had.
Going through a lock. Daughter on the right. Locks were easy and fun. Boats tended to "pile up" at the locks, waiting to go through, and everybody helped everybody else.
One thing that bugged me - if anyone jumped line, went out of turn, it was a 100% certainty it was American tourists. For some reason, most of the people we met, local and other visitors, concluded that we were Canadian (later we were pegged as Welsh), and after exposure to other loud and rude American tourists, we let them believe it.
.
A narrow section of the Grand Union Canal. Under a bridge. Bridges were sneaky. We'd head for the dead center of the span, and STILL manage to hit or scrape the side.
Coming up on a town. Bigger towns excited us, because we might be able to do some laundry, buy food, and mail some postcards. But ONLY if we could cash some travelers' checks.
This was pre-ATM days. We had taken travelers' checks, and then discovered they were very inconvenient, because no one in the smaller villages would take them, because "the bank came" only one day a week, and if a shop cashed a travelers' check for us, and had to give us too much change, then there wasn't enough cash left in the village for the village to operate until the bank came again. Wow.
Over and over we kept missing the bank visits. At one point, we had a small fortune in useless travelers' checks, and we were counting coins and eating cheap, trying to stretch out what little cash we had.
Going through a lock. Daughter on the right. Locks were easy and fun. Boats tended to "pile up" at the locks, waiting to go through, and everybody helped everybody else.
One thing that bugged me - if anyone jumped line, went out of turn, it was a 100% certainty it was American tourists. For some reason, most of the people we met, local and other visitors, concluded that we were Canadian (later we were pegged as Welsh), and after exposure to other loud and rude American tourists, we let them believe it.
.
1560 Trip Photos
Monday, November 19, 2007
I've been putting a selection of old photos on Flickr. Last night and this morning I scanned and uploaded some pictures from a trip to England and Wales that Daughter and I took in the summer of 1988 (or 1987, I forget...). I think maybe I'll start including more photos in entries. Here's the first:
Daughter and I spent the first week in London. The above photo was taken from a Thames tour boat, as we passed under the bridge.
Our B&B was in Kensington, where there are beautiful houses, ponds, and gardens.
I'm not certain, but I think the above may have been at Kensington Palace. That's Daughter, at 11 or 12. I'm under orders not to put her face in this blog, but no one would recognize her from this shot, so I think I'm safe. Besides, hey, I'm the Mommy!
The next week, we rented a canal boat, a "narrowboat", and spent somewhere between 10 days and two weeks, I forget, on the Grand Union (no relationship to the grocery store) Canal. This was the interior of our boat, the Naiad, looking from the front toward the back:
The table dropped down to make a double bed, and to the right in the back you can see two bunks. There was a gas stove-top and oven, an electric refrigerator, electric heater, a sink, and a bathroom with shower. Except that the rear bunks were a bit damp (so we used the double bed) it was quite comfortable, but a LOT of work.
You could moor at night anywhere you wanted along the canal. Just pull over and pound in stakes. We soon learned to avoid spending the night near sheep. Man, those things are LOUD, and they keep it up all night.
We had to clean out the screws every morning. You'd open a hatch in the back deck, and reach way down in there, into cold dark muddy water, and feel around for fishing line and weeds wrapped around the axle and screws, and that was the absolute worst job, because you couldn't see what was there, the weeds were squishy and could have any kind of beasty living in it, and the fishing line could include hooks. But it had to be done.
We had to keep an eye on the fuel and water, because the places you could refill (DIY!) were few and far between. And the motor had to run for a certain amount of time to fully charge the battery, or we wouldn't have lights or heat at night, which meant that even if it was pouring rain, you had to be out there at the tiller and controls.
The stern of our boat, moored. Cows are a lot quieter than sheep. That red bar just above the first "A" in Naiad is the tiller, and those are stool seats on either side. The boat is only 7 feet wide, and very long, and learning to steer the thing is an adventure. The canals are wide in some places, and narrow in others, and turning around is a horror.
There are a lot of locks, but the locks were easy and fun. However, there are also a lot of bigger hills, and therefore tunnels. Tunnels were scary. They were perfectly round, concrete, 15 feet in diameter, and half that is water, so a taller person standing on deck had to duck to avoid bumping his head. We were extremely conscious of all that earth above us. They were coal-mine dark. If the tunnel was short and straight, so you could see the light at the end of the tunnel, and if no other narrowboats were coming from the other direction, then it wasn't so bad. But at least one tunnel we went through was over two miles, with a curve in the middle, so you couldn't see the end. AND, in that tunnel we met up with several other boats. Sound is magnified and echos, and that adds to the weirdness. The tunnels are 15 feet wide. The boats are 7 feet wide. Do the math.
That's where you learn what "light at the end of the tunnel" really means.
We cooked breakfast, but stopped for lunch and dinner at taverns on the canal (where I developed a taste for hard cider - nothing like what you get in the states!). Several times we managed to catch festivals, Morris dancers, and other friendly narrowboaters. There are people who live on the boats year-round, and still a few people who make a living transporting goods on the canals.
More canal photos later.
.
I've been putting a selection of old photos on Flickr. Last night and this morning I scanned and uploaded some pictures from a trip to England and Wales that Daughter and I took in the summer of 1988 (or 1987, I forget...). I think maybe I'll start including more photos in entries. Here's the first:
Daughter and I spent the first week in London. The above photo was taken from a Thames tour boat, as we passed under the bridge.
Our B&B was in Kensington, where there are beautiful houses, ponds, and gardens.
I'm not certain, but I think the above may have been at Kensington Palace. That's Daughter, at 11 or 12. I'm under orders not to put her face in this blog, but no one would recognize her from this shot, so I think I'm safe. Besides, hey, I'm the Mommy!
The next week, we rented a canal boat, a "narrowboat", and spent somewhere between 10 days and two weeks, I forget, on the Grand Union (no relationship to the grocery store) Canal. This was the interior of our boat, the Naiad, looking from the front toward the back:
The table dropped down to make a double bed, and to the right in the back you can see two bunks. There was a gas stove-top and oven, an electric refrigerator, electric heater, a sink, and a bathroom with shower. Except that the rear bunks were a bit damp (so we used the double bed) it was quite comfortable, but a LOT of work.
You could moor at night anywhere you wanted along the canal. Just pull over and pound in stakes. We soon learned to avoid spending the night near sheep. Man, those things are LOUD, and they keep it up all night.
We had to clean out the screws every morning. You'd open a hatch in the back deck, and reach way down in there, into cold dark muddy water, and feel around for fishing line and weeds wrapped around the axle and screws, and that was the absolute worst job, because you couldn't see what was there, the weeds were squishy and could have any kind of beasty living in it, and the fishing line could include hooks. But it had to be done.
We had to keep an eye on the fuel and water, because the places you could refill (DIY!) were few and far between. And the motor had to run for a certain amount of time to fully charge the battery, or we wouldn't have lights or heat at night, which meant that even if it was pouring rain, you had to be out there at the tiller and controls.
The stern of our boat, moored. Cows are a lot quieter than sheep. That red bar just above the first "A" in Naiad is the tiller, and those are stool seats on either side. The boat is only 7 feet wide, and very long, and learning to steer the thing is an adventure. The canals are wide in some places, and narrow in others, and turning around is a horror.
There are a lot of locks, but the locks were easy and fun. However, there are also a lot of bigger hills, and therefore tunnels. Tunnels were scary. They were perfectly round, concrete, 15 feet in diameter, and half that is water, so a taller person standing on deck had to duck to avoid bumping his head. We were extremely conscious of all that earth above us. They were coal-mine dark. If the tunnel was short and straight, so you could see the light at the end of the tunnel, and if no other narrowboats were coming from the other direction, then it wasn't so bad. But at least one tunnel we went through was over two miles, with a curve in the middle, so you couldn't see the end. AND, in that tunnel we met up with several other boats. Sound is magnified and echos, and that adds to the weirdness. The tunnels are 15 feet wide. The boats are 7 feet wide. Do the math.
That's where you learn what "light at the end of the tunnel" really means.
We cooked breakfast, but stopped for lunch and dinner at taverns on the canal (where I developed a taste for hard cider - nothing like what you get in the states!). Several times we managed to catch festivals, Morris dancers, and other friendly narrowboaters. There are people who live on the boats year-round, and still a few people who make a living transporting goods on the canals.
More canal photos later.
.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
1559 Weird Standing
Sunday, November 18, 2007
I'm weird. Yeah, I know that. Perhaps my biggest weirdness is that I often don't understand why people think something I do or think is weird. Everything I do or say seems perfectly reasonable to me. I think it's weird that they think it's weird.
Some people think the way I stand is weird.
If I'm going to be standing anywhere for more than a few seconds, I "assume the position". I put all my weight on one leg, with that foot turned slightly outward, weight toward the ball of the foot. The other foot is slightly to the front of the weight-bearing foot, and at a 90-degree angle to it. Knee on the free leg is bent, so there's a slight hip tilt.
Try it. It's very comfortable. I can stand like that for hours, with occasional side-to-side swaps.
I guess it does look a little weird, but if everybody stood that way, it wouldn't be weird at all.
Over the years I've had many many women, always women, never men, tell me that I shouldn't stand that way.
"Why not?"
"It looks bad."
"How does it look bad? Does it make my hip look big?"
"No. It just looks bad."
"Awkward?"
"No, just bad."
"How do you mean bad? Ugly?"
"No. I dunno. Just bad."
Well, a dating body language article I read yesterday said that if a woman stands with her ankles crossed talking to a man, she's sexually unavailable (I think she's liable to fall over), and if she stands with her legs apart, she's sexually receptive to him.
Is that what was "bad"?
I'm not sending any message. It's just the absolutely most comfortable stance. Well, second most comfortable. The first most comfy draws way too much attention, and I can't do it at all in public.
Man, those women should have seen the way I stood in high school and college, when nobody was looking, anyway, until I started wearing high heels all the time and it was no longer feasible , and eventually I fell out of the habit. If you have to stand, this is the closest thing to not standing.
Again, all weight on one leg. The flat of the free foot is pressed against the inside of the standing leg, at or above knee level. There's a kind of bulge at the top side of the knee that the sole of the foot fits over perfectly. You see those really tall skinny African guys with all the cows (Watusi?) standing that way when they're out watching the herds. Again, it's very comfortable. If you do it right, it feels like sitting. Try it at first with bare feet.
I suspect that both of those stances involve less strain on the muscles of the hips and lower back than a standard stance.
I have had since adolescence a weak lower back and some hip problems.
So it's not weird, and not sending any availability messages. It's just comfortable and easy.
So there.
.
I'm weird. Yeah, I know that. Perhaps my biggest weirdness is that I often don't understand why people think something I do or think is weird. Everything I do or say seems perfectly reasonable to me. I think it's weird that they think it's weird.
Some people think the way I stand is weird.
If I'm going to be standing anywhere for more than a few seconds, I "assume the position". I put all my weight on one leg, with that foot turned slightly outward, weight toward the ball of the foot. The other foot is slightly to the front of the weight-bearing foot, and at a 90-degree angle to it. Knee on the free leg is bent, so there's a slight hip tilt.
Try it. It's very comfortable. I can stand like that for hours, with occasional side-to-side swaps.
I guess it does look a little weird, but if everybody stood that way, it wouldn't be weird at all.
Over the years I've had many many women, always women, never men, tell me that I shouldn't stand that way.
"Why not?"
"It looks bad."
"How does it look bad? Does it make my hip look big?"
"No. It just looks bad."
"Awkward?"
"No, just bad."
"How do you mean bad? Ugly?"
"No. I dunno. Just bad."
Well, a dating body language article I read yesterday said that if a woman stands with her ankles crossed talking to a man, she's sexually unavailable (I think she's liable to fall over), and if she stands with her legs apart, she's sexually receptive to him.
Is that what was "bad"?
I'm not sending any message. It's just the absolutely most comfortable stance. Well, second most comfortable. The first most comfy draws way too much attention, and I can't do it at all in public.
Man, those women should have seen the way I stood in high school and college, when nobody was looking, anyway, until I started wearing high heels all the time and it was no longer feasible , and eventually I fell out of the habit. If you have to stand, this is the closest thing to not standing.
Again, all weight on one leg. The flat of the free foot is pressed against the inside of the standing leg, at or above knee level. There's a kind of bulge at the top side of the knee that the sole of the foot fits over perfectly. You see those really tall skinny African guys with all the cows (Watusi?) standing that way when they're out watching the herds. Again, it's very comfortable. If you do it right, it feels like sitting. Try it at first with bare feet.
I suspect that both of those stances involve less strain on the muscles of the hips and lower back than a standard stance.
I have had since adolescence a weak lower back and some hip problems.
So it's not weird, and not sending any availability messages. It's just comfortable and easy.
So there.
.
Saturday, November 17, 2007
1558 Paths Not Taken
Saturday, November 17, 2007
Back when I was going through some very bad times in my twenties and early thirties, I "seriously" considered suicide a few times. "Seriously" is in quotes because I didn't do it, and the "only" reason I didn't is because I had to stay alive to take care of my cat. But I thought about it a lot.
Another thing I thought about a lot was prostitution. Not the standing on the street corner kind, and not the getting calls to "escort" a stranger, either. More like a mistress to a few men who could afford me. Maybe three or four "regulars". It seemed like handled discreetly and carefully, it could be an easier way to make a lot more money than whatever I was doing, and I'd be in control of my time. I could make at least five times what I was making legit, doing something that wasn't much effort and I enjoyed anyway, and I'd invest the money carefully, and be fully retired by 35.
I had met a lot of older guys (by "older", then, I meant over 40) who thought I was just wonderful. They liked the way I could converse about almost anything. They thought I was just the sexiest little thing. I could have picked several suitable clients.
There were a few I found without even trying, like the Italian electrical engineer in H---ford who wanted me, but couldn't marry me because I was a divorcee, but actually offered me a "hostess" contract, covering duties, an attractive salary, and child support should any result.
Then there was the 45-year-old guy in G---burg who used to knock on my door whenever he'd had a few drinks. I knew him as one of the more successful businessmen in town, and often talked with him when he was sober, but I never opened the door to him on these slightly drunk nocturnal visits. He'd sit on my doorstep outside the closed door, and we'd talk for hours through the door, about cabbages and kings, until he sobered up and went home to his invalid (as in ill, not illegal) wife. Usually, depending on how much he remembered of the conversation, a few days later I'd find a gift on the doorstep, perfume, books, a scarf, usually something in the $40-$60 range (at a time when I was making $100 a week teaching), along with a note thanking me for my patience and understanding.
I often wondered what I'd have gotten if I had opened the door.
Well, those were paths not taken. But I do wonder sometimes.
.
Back when I was going through some very bad times in my twenties and early thirties, I "seriously" considered suicide a few times. "Seriously" is in quotes because I didn't do it, and the "only" reason I didn't is because I had to stay alive to take care of my cat. But I thought about it a lot.
Another thing I thought about a lot was prostitution. Not the standing on the street corner kind, and not the getting calls to "escort" a stranger, either. More like a mistress to a few men who could afford me. Maybe three or four "regulars". It seemed like handled discreetly and carefully, it could be an easier way to make a lot more money than whatever I was doing, and I'd be in control of my time. I could make at least five times what I was making legit, doing something that wasn't much effort and I enjoyed anyway, and I'd invest the money carefully, and be fully retired by 35.
I had met a lot of older guys (by "older", then, I meant over 40) who thought I was just wonderful. They liked the way I could converse about almost anything. They thought I was just the sexiest little thing. I could have picked several suitable clients.
There were a few I found without even trying, like the Italian electrical engineer in H---ford who wanted me, but couldn't marry me because I was a divorcee, but actually offered me a "hostess" contract, covering duties, an attractive salary, and child support should any result.
Then there was the 45-year-old guy in G---burg who used to knock on my door whenever he'd had a few drinks. I knew him as one of the more successful businessmen in town, and often talked with him when he was sober, but I never opened the door to him on these slightly drunk nocturnal visits. He'd sit on my doorstep outside the closed door, and we'd talk for hours through the door, about cabbages and kings, until he sobered up and went home to his invalid (as in ill, not illegal) wife. Usually, depending on how much he remembered of the conversation, a few days later I'd find a gift on the doorstep, perfume, books, a scarf, usually something in the $40-$60 range (at a time when I was making $100 a week teaching), along with a note thanking me for my patience and understanding.
I often wondered what I'd have gotten if I had opened the door.
Well, those were paths not taken. But I do wonder sometimes.
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Friday, November 16, 2007
1557 Honesty
Friday, November 16, 2007
I like to think I'm honest. I do try, honest....
I just did something that bothers me, a little bit.
There's a particular store where I buy almost all of my clothing. Their cut and sizing just happens to fit me well. I've bought enough from them that they now consider me a special customer, and I get advance opportunities on sales, $-off coupons in the mail, and a "personal shopper" (whatever that is) in the brick & mortar store. They also have an online store with an outlet section with some great deals.
I've dropped another size since last winter, so this morning I filled in my winter wardrobe.
They've got a deal going now where if your order is over $100, you get $30 off the order. Not 30 percent - a flat $30.
I went through the online catalog, and ordered a bunch of stuff, mostly from the outlet, so it was already a good 50% or more off (which, actually, is about what the stuff should cost in the first place, but that's another issue). Anyway, when I had my entire order together, I noticed that the total came to a little over $400.
I thought about that. I was going to get a flat $30 off.
I printed out the "shopping cart" page, divided it up into four separate orders, started over and placed the first $100 order, got $30 off, then started over again, placed the second $100 order, got another $30 off ... and so on.
So instead of saving $30, I saved $120.
Somehow, that feels dishonest. Very satisfying, but dishonest.
.
I like to think I'm honest. I do try, honest....
I just did something that bothers me, a little bit.
There's a particular store where I buy almost all of my clothing. Their cut and sizing just happens to fit me well. I've bought enough from them that they now consider me a special customer, and I get advance opportunities on sales, $-off coupons in the mail, and a "personal shopper" (whatever that is) in the brick & mortar store. They also have an online store with an outlet section with some great deals.
I've dropped another size since last winter, so this morning I filled in my winter wardrobe.
They've got a deal going now where if your order is over $100, you get $30 off the order. Not 30 percent - a flat $30.
I went through the online catalog, and ordered a bunch of stuff, mostly from the outlet, so it was already a good 50% or more off (which, actually, is about what the stuff should cost in the first place, but that's another issue). Anyway, when I had my entire order together, I noticed that the total came to a little over $400.
I thought about that. I was going to get a flat $30 off.
I printed out the "shopping cart" page, divided it up into four separate orders, started over and placed the first $100 order, got $30 off, then started over again, placed the second $100 order, got another $30 off ... and so on.
So instead of saving $30, I saved $120.
Somehow, that feels dishonest. Very satisfying, but dishonest.
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1556 Triple Your Money
Late night. Stupid "paid program" on tv, trying to convince people to sell trashy junk for a drop-ship company. Any remote possibility that I might be tempted to try it evaporated when they showed an item that sells for $12, but "costs you only $4", giving you an $8 profit, "you instantly triple your money!"
I can't see doing business with a company that can't do simple math.
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I can't see doing business with a company that can't do simple math.
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Thursday, November 15, 2007
1555 Boooorrring....
When I was very young, I learned that it was much easier to always tell the truth, because then you didn't have to remember which made-up story you had told to whom.
Now I'm older, and and truth is ingrained. The difficulty in age is in remembering which true stories I've already told to whom. And how many times.
Now I'm older, and and truth is ingrained. The difficulty in age is in remembering which true stories I've already told to whom. And how many times.
1554 Domino Pool
This is a little fuzzy (low resolution?) but pretty cool anyway.
[http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s-SAKCuVyjI]
It's not that terribly complicated. You set up the ramps first, and you can fiddle around with them until they send the balls exactly where you want them to go, then the dominoes are (literally) child's play. Even knowing that, the effect is pretty good.
What I'm having trouble with is - what starts the balls on the cues, that go from table to table? I don't see anything bumping them.
[http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s-SAKCuVyjI]
It's not that terribly complicated. You set up the ramps first, and you can fiddle around with them until they send the balls exactly where you want them to go, then the dominoes are (literally) child's play. Even knowing that, the effect is pretty good.
What I'm having trouble with is - what starts the balls on the cues, that go from table to table? I don't see anything bumping them.
1553 Cavemen
Thursday, November 15, 2007
I loved the Geico commercials with the caveman, and looked forward to the sitcom. I got annoyed at people who, never having seen a single episode, were predicting that it would die early. Before it started, a friend told me he had pulled "four episodes" in the office pool. I'm glad he lost. Nya nya!
I've been watching it online, and loving it. The three cavemen roommates have distinct personalities, and the storyline and comedic material is consistent and believable. The writing reminds me of the early days of Frasier. It's clean. No sexual innuendo or boob shots. If it dies, that will be why. (I never understood the fascination with Two and a Half Men. An ugly show.)
For anyone who has never seen it, I recommend the episode of Cavemen that aired 11/13/07. You can watch it on www.abc.com - click on "full episodes", ensure popups are allowed (it screens in a popup), select the cavemen, and select the 11/13 episode. There are only two or three extremely short commercials, for other ABC shows.
(I always have a small problem with the sound breaking up toward the middle or end, probably having to do with my line speed, and if that happens, just back it up to replay a tiny bit, and that fixes it.)
.
I loved the Geico commercials with the caveman, and looked forward to the sitcom. I got annoyed at people who, never having seen a single episode, were predicting that it would die early. Before it started, a friend told me he had pulled "four episodes" in the office pool. I'm glad he lost. Nya nya!
I've been watching it online, and loving it. The three cavemen roommates have distinct personalities, and the storyline and comedic material is consistent and believable. The writing reminds me of the early days of Frasier. It's clean. No sexual innuendo or boob shots. If it dies, that will be why. (I never understood the fascination with Two and a Half Men. An ugly show.)
For anyone who has never seen it, I recommend the episode of Cavemen that aired 11/13/07. You can watch it on www.abc.com - click on "full episodes", ensure popups are allowed (it screens in a popup), select the cavemen, and select the 11/13 episode. There are only two or three extremely short commercials, for other ABC shows.
(I always have a small problem with the sound breaking up toward the middle or end, probably having to do with my line speed, and if that happens, just back it up to replay a tiny bit, and that fixes it.)
.
1552 Third Thursday
Thursday, November 15, 2007
The Third Thursday dinner was tonight. Roman, who usually hosts it, is teaching an evening class, so he had passed the hosting duties to First Woman, whose car died, so she passed it on to John, who decided he couldn't come because he has a long drive through the mountains, and freezing rain was predicted, so in a phone call this afternoon he passed it on to me.
I was wondering if there was any point in going, because the above list is pretty much the entire core group, and it's pretty obvious none of them will be showing up. It's a 40 minute drive for me. But somebody has to be there, just in case. Especially since I'm the one who complained so loudly when in the past I'd arrive at the gathering place, and no one was there.
So, I went. The only other person to arrive was The Ditz.
You know, something has changed with her. She's gotten a lot easier to talk with. We had a good time with just the two of us, and at parting, she said she was glad it was just us, because we had an opportunity to get to know each other.
Yeah. It was ok.
.
The Third Thursday dinner was tonight. Roman, who usually hosts it, is teaching an evening class, so he had passed the hosting duties to First Woman, whose car died, so she passed it on to John, who decided he couldn't come because he has a long drive through the mountains, and freezing rain was predicted, so in a phone call this afternoon he passed it on to me.
I was wondering if there was any point in going, because the above list is pretty much the entire core group, and it's pretty obvious none of them will be showing up. It's a 40 minute drive for me. But somebody has to be there, just in case. Especially since I'm the one who complained so loudly when in the past I'd arrive at the gathering place, and no one was there.
So, I went. The only other person to arrive was The Ditz.
You know, something has changed with her. She's gotten a lot easier to talk with. We had a good time with just the two of us, and at parting, she said she was glad it was just us, because we had an opportunity to get to know each other.
Yeah. It was ok.
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1551 Think
The AOL "Goodbye" screen had an interesting warning this evening:
Good advice. I've had a few blog posts I wish I'd never written, not because they were injurious to anyone, but because they were found in searches by people I would prefer not to deal with. I considered deleting the entries, or at least changing some words so they wouldn't turn up in searches, but it wouldn't do any good, because the original version will still be out there in caches. It really IS forever!
(My foreskin restoration post (not one that worries me, BTW) is apparently being passed around in emails or something - people are coming in to that post from all over the world, but not usually from links or searches. They're coming direct. Weird, because searches turn up lots of much more interesting sites on that topic.)
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Anything you post online can be seen by anyone.
Forever.
Think before you post.
Good advice. I've had a few blog posts I wish I'd never written, not because they were injurious to anyone, but because they were found in searches by people I would prefer not to deal with. I considered deleting the entries, or at least changing some words so they wouldn't turn up in searches, but it wouldn't do any good, because the original version will still be out there in caches. It really IS forever!
(My foreskin restoration post (not one that worries me, BTW) is apparently being passed around in emails or something - people are coming in to that post from all over the world, but not usually from links or searches. They're coming direct. Weird, because searches turn up lots of much more interesting sites on that topic.)
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Wednesday, November 14, 2007
1550 So, How's It Going?
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Yeah, I'm not writing about people and relationships much lately. That's on purpose.
Another blogger asked people to say whether they were happier now than five years ago. He got nineteen comments, and of the nineteen, seventeen said they were happier. I wonder if that's true for almost everyone. When we look back five years, do almost all of us feel happier now? Are we really, or does it just seem that way?
The answer's pretty easy for me.
Five years ago, November 2002, Jay had been gone eleven months. My support structure had collapsed during his illness - all my friends from The Company had transferred out, moved away, and I'd lost touch with everyone else. That first year I had tried to be active. I took some classes, joined the volunteer fire department rescue squad (kind of as a payback for their help with Jay), and went to fairs and antique auctions. In November it all kind of fell apart. The rescue squad started talking about holding the ambulance on calls so that I could make it (I lived just that wee bit too far out), and so I quit rather than be responsible for that. And then winter came, and I pretty much crashed. I went into seclusion for the next two and a half years, bought tons of stuff on eBay, lost all the muscles I'd gained caring for Jay, and gained 45 pounds.
It's been a long climb out of that hole. Oddly, asked then how I felt, I always answered "Content", and I was. Asked if I were lonely, I always answered "No", and I wasn't.
Now, 2007, I've found a man who fascinates me and appreciates me. I complain about the distance, which makes it hard to give or get a hug when it's needed, but on the other hand, distance has slowed things down, so hormonal overflow is not running the show, and that's good. Daughter is married, bought a house, and is finally finding herself. And although I have only a few local friends (2 male, 2 female), they're good ones.
So, yeah, I'm a lot happier now than five years ago.
You?
.
Yeah, I'm not writing about people and relationships much lately. That's on purpose.
Another blogger asked people to say whether they were happier now than five years ago. He got nineteen comments, and of the nineteen, seventeen said they were happier. I wonder if that's true for almost everyone. When we look back five years, do almost all of us feel happier now? Are we really, or does it just seem that way?
The answer's pretty easy for me.
Five years ago, November 2002, Jay had been gone eleven months. My support structure had collapsed during his illness - all my friends from The Company had transferred out, moved away, and I'd lost touch with everyone else. That first year I had tried to be active. I took some classes, joined the volunteer fire department rescue squad (kind of as a payback for their help with Jay), and went to fairs and antique auctions. In November it all kind of fell apart. The rescue squad started talking about holding the ambulance on calls so that I could make it (I lived just that wee bit too far out), and so I quit rather than be responsible for that. And then winter came, and I pretty much crashed. I went into seclusion for the next two and a half years, bought tons of stuff on eBay, lost all the muscles I'd gained caring for Jay, and gained 45 pounds.
It's been a long climb out of that hole. Oddly, asked then how I felt, I always answered "Content", and I was. Asked if I were lonely, I always answered "No", and I wasn't.
Now, 2007, I've found a man who fascinates me and appreciates me. I complain about the distance, which makes it hard to give or get a hug when it's needed, but on the other hand, distance has slowed things down, so hormonal overflow is not running the show, and that's good. Daughter is married, bought a house, and is finally finding herself. And although I have only a few local friends (2 male, 2 female), they're good ones.
So, yeah, I'm a lot happier now than five years ago.
You?
.
1549 New Read
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
If anybody is looking for something more to read, try the blog "Witt and Wisdom" (http://www.wittandwisdom.com/home/). I haven't the faintest idea how I discovered it, don't remember, maybe through a TAR fan, but I enjoy the way the author's mind works.
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If anybody is looking for something more to read, try the blog "Witt and Wisdom" (http://www.wittandwisdom.com/home/). I haven't the faintest idea how I discovered it, don't remember, maybe through a TAR fan, but I enjoy the way the author's mind works.
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Tuesday, November 13, 2007
1548 Gender Gap
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
The 2007 Global Gender Gap report is out, at http://www.weforum.org/en/initiatives/gcp/Gender%20Gap/index.htm. The US comes in at #31, and you'd be surprised at some of the countries that are ahead of the US.
Odd - it seems like the colder the country, the more gains women have made in education, political empowerment, and economic participation.
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The 2007 Global Gender Gap report is out, at http://www.weforum.org/en/initiatives/gcp/Gender%20Gap/index.htm. The US comes in at #31, and you'd be surprised at some of the countries that are ahead of the US.
Odd - it seems like the colder the country, the more gains women have made in education, political empowerment, and economic participation.
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