I figure after the previous post I should tell y'all about some good stuff, too.
The roofers of last week installed a rooftop thermostat-controlled fan, and it's great! It got up to at least 84 outside today, which would ordinarily push the house into the 90s, and tax my poor groundwater heat pump air conditioning (read high electric bill) to the max to pull it down. But it got to only 81 inside, for a short period, without the air conditioning on or any windows open. Very nice.
-------------------------------------
You may remember that last fall I gave the young man building a house below mine permission to run his electric line through my property, in exchange for his clearing my strip of woods of all undergrowth, downed trees, and all trees smaller than my thigh. (It's mostly wild roses and raspberries in there, which smell nice when they bloom, but make it impossible to walk in the woods, and try to take over the lawn and driveway.)
He started working on that on Friday, and he's half done already. He's even going further than we had agreed, in that he's also leveling the ground. It looks great! I had imagined that it would take him weeks, but he's got some major equipment out there, a narrow beast with tires up to my chin with a bucket on the front and a brush hog on the back. He's not leaving stumps, either. I don't know exactly how he's doing it, but even without grass, it already looks like lawn in there. The kid's a worker!
(My only concern is that the monster he's using is bumping trees, and tearing holes in the bark. I hope it doesn't kill them. I'll have to check, and any that are torn more than a total of 1/4 of the circumference will have to come out now.)
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You may have heard of Zillow.com. It's supposed to give you all kinds of details about houses you're considering buying, in particular the market value. I looked up my house a week ago, and they didn't have any data on this area yet. A few days ago, Hercules suggested that I look again. They have my house now. Zillow gave me one more bedroom, one less bathroom, an additional few hundred square feet, and claimed my tax assessment was about half the actual. It didn't even sound like my house. The market value they came up with wouldn't buy you a hovel around here. About the only thing they had right was the acreage. They have a button to "tell us if we got any details wrong", so I clicked it and sent them a note. I got back an immediate screen that said that they are unable to act on or respond to any comments, but thanked me for letting them know what I thought. Sheesh! Why bother offering the opportunity to correct the entry if they're not interested in correcting the entry?
Where's the happy dance here? I wonder if I can use this info to fight the tax assessment. (Giggle) "It's on the internet. It's Zillow. It's gotta be right, right?"
Saturday, May 27, 2006
705 Pity Party
The Maritime Museum needed someone to cover the gift shop yesterday (Friday) from 1 to 5 pm, and the volunteer coordinator begged me, so I went in. I thought we'd have a lot of visitors, people getting a jump on the weekend - but we didn't. Only one couple came in, and they wanted only information ("How do we get out to the lighthouse?")
The tedium was relieved by the arrival of the schooner Mystic Whaler. Captain John came in to ask where he could find a grocery store. Ho hum.
I did make one sale - I bought a book.
By the time I left I was very depressed. One of my reasons for volunteering was to meet people (and maybe even some 60-ish single men). But I seem to be spending all my time at the museum alone. Driving home, I felt like I wanted to cry - you know, that lump in the throat thing - but I couldn't seem to muster any tears, so I didn't. I'm so alone. Here it is a holiday weekend, and I have no one to share it with. I have friends, but they're all either old and tired (in mind if not body), married, or in relationships, leaving no room for me.
I intended today to go to the antiques fair in Rhinebeck and then to the 4:15 showing of "Water" at the Upstate Cinema, but when I realized that I'd left myself only 2 hours for the fair, I skipped it and just went to the movie. Alone.
That was also a depressing experience when I realized two things. There wasn't a single person in the audience younger than me, and I was the only person there alone.
Then I went out for dinner at the new restaurant in the village. Alone. I read my Smithsonian at the table.
I feel like I want to cry again, but there are no tears.
I'll go to the antiques fair tomorrow. Alone.
The tedium was relieved by the arrival of the schooner Mystic Whaler. Captain John came in to ask where he could find a grocery store. Ho hum.
I did make one sale - I bought a book.
By the time I left I was very depressed. One of my reasons for volunteering was to meet people (and maybe even some 60-ish single men). But I seem to be spending all my time at the museum alone. Driving home, I felt like I wanted to cry - you know, that lump in the throat thing - but I couldn't seem to muster any tears, so I didn't. I'm so alone. Here it is a holiday weekend, and I have no one to share it with. I have friends, but they're all either old and tired (in mind if not body), married, or in relationships, leaving no room for me.
I intended today to go to the antiques fair in Rhinebeck and then to the 4:15 showing of "Water" at the Upstate Cinema, but when I realized that I'd left myself only 2 hours for the fair, I skipped it and just went to the movie. Alone.
That was also a depressing experience when I realized two things. There wasn't a single person in the audience younger than me, and I was the only person there alone.
Then I went out for dinner at the new restaurant in the village. Alone. I read my Smithsonian at the table.
I feel like I want to cry again, but there are no tears.
I'll go to the antiques fair tomorrow. Alone.
Friday, May 26, 2006
704 - More Falls Photos (4)
More of Roman's photos.
The glen is often called Waterfall Heaven. It smells good. It's clean. I've never seen a tick or a mosquito there. Deer, bears, bobcats, lynxes, rattlesnakes, copperheads, yes. Ticks and mosquitoes, no. Kitchen Creek is fed from Lake Jean, and Lake Jean is fed from springs. The water is clear and cold.
This Jack-in-the-Pulpit was at the edge of the path. In my experience, they are very rare! This guy was tiny - the entire pulpit was no more than 2 or 2.5 inches tall I think Roman did an excellent job photographing it.
One of these days, I'll manage to visit when the mountain laurel is in bloom.
703 - More Falls Photos (3)
More of Roman's photos.
A cliff wall alongside the trail. By summer, this will be full of ferns. That's water dribbling down. It's not from the recent rains - there's always water coming through the cliff faces along the path.
A cliff wall alongside the trail. By summer, this will be full of ferns. That's water dribbling down. It's not from the recent rains - there's always water coming through the cliff faces along the path.
A cascade.
And another. The little beige blob just above the water, on the left, is a hiker.
Thursday, May 25, 2006
702 -More Falls Photos (2)
More of Roman's photos.
Ganoga, I think.
Another....
Some little old lady at the above falls. She'd been rained on. Tsk. Wet mouse.
701 - More Falls Photos (1)
This is a selection of Roman's photos from our trip to Ricketts Glen.
A huge rock at the top of the trail. It fascinated him.
Kitchen Creek.
Falls.
The same falls as above, different view.
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
700 Lotsa Bits
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
If you have ever driven the Taconic Parkway (or if you have never driven it), please please go read this short poem from Michael, of "One Foot in Front of the Other".
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I learned something today from The Sandmonkey that I didn't know before. Under Egyptian laws based on Sharia (Islamic law) if a baby is born out of wedlock, and the father has refused to acknowledge the child, the child "gets no birth certificate, no passport, no nothing, and you couldn't force the father to take a paternity test either". This means the child will be treated as an outcast and a non-citizen in its own country, and can't leave either I suppose, having no identity as far as the government is concerned. I would suppose that it limits educational and employment opportunities, too, for no fault of the child. To spare their children this hell, many single pregnant Egyptian women get abortions.
But a young woman, Hind Al Hinnawy (do read the article, and do follow the link about Urfi marriages), took the man to court in a paternity suit, and against all odds, has won. The child will have the father's name. Hind has set a precedent, which The Sandmonkey finds significant.
Wow. How bad must it be if this is exciting? I, as a '70s liberationist, find it still horribly sexist. The child still doesn't exist unless a man says it does, or, as in this case, is forced by the court to admit it does. Oh, well, baby steps, I guess.
----------------------------------
And finally,
If you have ever driven the Taconic Parkway (or if you have never driven it), please please go read this short poem from Michael, of "One Foot in Front of the Other".
-------------------------------------------
I learned something today from The Sandmonkey that I didn't know before. Under Egyptian laws based on Sharia (Islamic law) if a baby is born out of wedlock, and the father has refused to acknowledge the child, the child "gets no birth certificate, no passport, no nothing, and you couldn't force the father to take a paternity test either". This means the child will be treated as an outcast and a non-citizen in its own country, and can't leave either I suppose, having no identity as far as the government is concerned. I would suppose that it limits educational and employment opportunities, too, for no fault of the child. To spare their children this hell, many single pregnant Egyptian women get abortions.
But a young woman, Hind Al Hinnawy (do read the article, and do follow the link about Urfi marriages), took the man to court in a paternity suit, and against all odds, has won. The child will have the father's name. Hind has set a precedent, which The Sandmonkey finds significant.
Wow. How bad must it be if this is exciting? I, as a '70s liberationist, find it still horribly sexist. The child still doesn't exist unless a man says it does, or, as in this case, is forced by the court to admit it does. Oh, well, baby steps, I guess.
----------------------------------
And finally,
| You Are Chinese Food |
 Exotic yet ordinary. People think they've had enough of you, but they're back for more in an hour. |
699 Too Much Museum (Exactly what I was afraid of!)
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Roman tried to send me his pix from the falls trip, but the zip file was too large for email attachment, so he'll try again later, when he can break it up. I'm anxious.
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I went to the Maritime Museum yesterday to set up the information notebooks they'd asked me to do. The volunteers in the museum, on the phones, and in the gift shop are always getting questions from tourists (when, where, how much, what's there, etc.) about the other museums and tours around town, so they wanted a page on each. (The official visitor's center is about two blocks up the street, and open every day, so I don't see why they couldn't just send people there, but I am in "shut-up-and-do-as-you're-told" mode these days, so....)
It wasn't as easy as it sounds. The available brochures and web sites have conflicting information. Many of the places are open only on weekends, and there's no cell phone service on the mountain, so I wasn't able to call any of them until just before they closed (5 pm) last Sunday, when we got closer to civilization on the way home. (BTW, Daughter, there's a brand new cell tower directly across the road from the little hotel. Not functional yet, but soon. Roman's daughter's birthday was last weekend, and he wanted to call her and was very frustrated by the sight "Is that what I think it is?!" of a non-functioning tower. So near and yet so far.)
Then when I tried to type up what I had yesterday, the editor on the museum computer kept program-checking, and every time it did, it locked the file I had been working on. [Insert choice words here.] I wanted to have it done by Friday, to be ready for the influx of tourists Memorial Day weekend. When I got home yesterday, I found a newspaper insert devoted to the river. All the information I was missing! Current information! Serendipity!
So I went in today to finish. The woman who was supposed to come in to work the shop never showed, so again I found myself minding the register, but we weren't busy, so I was still able to sneak upstairs and finish the notebooks. They look good. I'm proud of them.
In an earlier entry I said something about this being a rinkydink operation (in reference to charging sales tax). I needed a key today. I asked where it was kept. They told me. Incredible. I can't tell you what or where, but it's tantamount to keeping the front door key under the doormat, WITH a list of all the house valuables attached.
I need to draw the maps for the notebooks by Friday, and I have committed to tend the shop Friday afternoon. This is more time than I had planned to contribute - I still have this house to clear out - but I'll back off a bit after Friday. I'll ride on the goodwill from those wonderful notebooks for a while.
Roman tried to send me his pix from the falls trip, but the zip file was too large for email attachment, so he'll try again later, when he can break it up. I'm anxious.
-----------------------------------
I went to the Maritime Museum yesterday to set up the information notebooks they'd asked me to do. The volunteers in the museum, on the phones, and in the gift shop are always getting questions from tourists (when, where, how much, what's there, etc.) about the other museums and tours around town, so they wanted a page on each. (The official visitor's center is about two blocks up the street, and open every day, so I don't see why they couldn't just send people there, but I am in "shut-up-and-do-as-you're-told" mode these days, so....)
It wasn't as easy as it sounds. The available brochures and web sites have conflicting information. Many of the places are open only on weekends, and there's no cell phone service on the mountain, so I wasn't able to call any of them until just before they closed (5 pm) last Sunday, when we got closer to civilization on the way home. (BTW, Daughter, there's a brand new cell tower directly across the road from the little hotel. Not functional yet, but soon. Roman's daughter's birthday was last weekend, and he wanted to call her and was very frustrated by the sight "Is that what I think it is?!" of a non-functioning tower. So near and yet so far.)
Then when I tried to type up what I had yesterday, the editor on the museum computer kept program-checking, and every time it did, it locked the file I had been working on. [Insert choice words here.] I wanted to have it done by Friday, to be ready for the influx of tourists Memorial Day weekend. When I got home yesterday, I found a newspaper insert devoted to the river. All the information I was missing! Current information! Serendipity!
So I went in today to finish. The woman who was supposed to come in to work the shop never showed, so again I found myself minding the register, but we weren't busy, so I was still able to sneak upstairs and finish the notebooks. They look good. I'm proud of them.
In an earlier entry I said something about this being a rinkydink operation (in reference to charging sales tax). I needed a key today. I asked where it was kept. They told me. Incredible. I can't tell you what or where, but it's tantamount to keeping the front door key under the doormat, WITH a list of all the house valuables attached.
I need to draw the maps for the notebooks by Friday, and I have committed to tend the shop Friday afternoon. This is more time than I had planned to contribute - I still have this house to clear out - but I'll back off a bit after Friday. I'll ride on the goodwill from those wonderful notebooks for a while.
698 Some Photos from the Glen
I don't have many photos I can post. Roman photographed the falls, and I mostly took pictures of Roman photographing the falls. I'll post what he sends me later.
The first falls, at the top of the trail. The trail runs very close to the falls - you can see a part of it in the lower right corner. That's a person standing on the large flat rock downstream. Gives you some idea of how steep it is.
The first falls again, from slightly further down.
Ganoga Falls.
Ganoga again. That spot of bright blue is a hiker.
Another falls - I forget which this is - there are 20-some of them....
The trail. It's mostly rocks.
You may notice that I've removed a photo since this was first published. Yeah, the anonymous hiker in beige was Roman. Wasn't he pretty?
And now, something different:
Miss Thunderfoot. She'd rather sleep on scraps of cardboard than on the carpet. Probably because the carpet is full of clumps of fur.
The first falls, at the top of the trail. The trail runs very close to the falls - you can see a part of it in the lower right corner. That's a person standing on the large flat rock downstream. Gives you some idea of how steep it is.
The first falls again, from slightly further down.
Ganoga Falls.
Ganoga again. That spot of bright blue is a hiker.
Another falls - I forget which this is - there are 20-some of them....
The trail. It's mostly rocks.
You may notice that I've removed a photo since this was first published. Yeah, the anonymous hiker in beige was Roman. Wasn't he pretty?
And now, something different:
Miss Thunderfoot. She'd rather sleep on scraps of cardboard than on the carpet. Probably because the carpet is full of clumps of fur.
Monday, May 22, 2006
697 Back From the Glen
I'm back. I'm happy.
I went home with Roman after the Third Thursday dinner, and we left from there after his Friday morning class. We needed two cars, one to leave at the bottom of the mountain, and the other to drive to the top, so we picked up a rental at Avoca. We stayed at the little hotel (which advertises itself as "conveniently located in the Middle of Nowhere"). I can't tell the name of it here because they don't rent to anyone they don't already know, because there's no one there when the restaurant isn't open, so they have to trust you. We had the whole place to ourselves.
It did rain off and on all weekend, but on the mountain it was mostly cloudy, with occasional patches of sun, and occasional patches of showers, so we did the trail anyway. It sprinkled three times during the 3.5 miles of the falls trail, but only the last shower was very heavy, and we were almost at the end by then. We got very wet and very very muddy from the knees down (we may never get the stains out of our shoes), but it wasn't too bad.
The rain actually made things perhaps more beautiful. There was more water roaring over the falls, the leaves were bright and shiny, and the wet tree trunks were in high contrast. Every once in a while the sun would burst through, and it was glorious.
I wore the right shoes this time, Daughter, so my toes didn't get stubbed. I hurt nowhere today.
Roman took a lot of photographs, which he will email to me soon, and I took a few with my 35-mm which I'll take in today to get developed and put on a CD. I'll post a selection sometime later.
He surprised me at one point. He set the timer on the camera so we could get a picture of us together, and then when it was counting down for the second photo, he kissed me. So there are two photos of us standing in front of the trail map sign, and one of them is rather incriminatingly difficult to explain away. It will be interesting to see whether he trusts me enough to send me a copy of that one.
Now I have to get dressed to go to the Maritime Museum to finish a project, and tonight there's a Mensa activities-planning dinner in Fishkill that I had promised to attend.
I went home with Roman after the Third Thursday dinner, and we left from there after his Friday morning class. We needed two cars, one to leave at the bottom of the mountain, and the other to drive to the top, so we picked up a rental at Avoca. We stayed at the little hotel (which advertises itself as "conveniently located in the Middle of Nowhere"). I can't tell the name of it here because they don't rent to anyone they don't already know, because there's no one there when the restaurant isn't open, so they have to trust you. We had the whole place to ourselves.
It did rain off and on all weekend, but on the mountain it was mostly cloudy, with occasional patches of sun, and occasional patches of showers, so we did the trail anyway. It sprinkled three times during the 3.5 miles of the falls trail, but only the last shower was very heavy, and we were almost at the end by then. We got very wet and very very muddy from the knees down (we may never get the stains out of our shoes), but it wasn't too bad.
The rain actually made things perhaps more beautiful. There was more water roaring over the falls, the leaves were bright and shiny, and the wet tree trunks were in high contrast. Every once in a while the sun would burst through, and it was glorious.
I wore the right shoes this time, Daughter, so my toes didn't get stubbed. I hurt nowhere today.
Roman took a lot of photographs, which he will email to me soon, and I took a few with my 35-mm which I'll take in today to get developed and put on a CD. I'll post a selection sometime later.
He surprised me at one point. He set the timer on the camera so we could get a picture of us together, and then when it was counting down for the second photo, he kissed me. So there are two photos of us standing in front of the trail map sign, and one of them is rather incriminatingly difficult to explain away. It will be interesting to see whether he trusts me enough to send me a copy of that one.
Now I have to get dressed to go to the Maritime Museum to finish a project, and tonight there's a Mensa activities-planning dinner in Fishkill that I had promised to attend.
Thursday, May 18, 2006
696 Pardon Me While I ....
I'll be very busy, so don't worry if you don't hear from me until, say, Monday.
Unless it rains all weekend.
Then worry.
Because then I would be in a very very bad mood.
Unless it rains all weekend.
Then worry.
Because then I would be in a very very bad mood.
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
695 Sonnet
Let me not to the marriage of true minds (Sonnet CXVI)
William Shakespeare
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
William Shakespeare
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
Monday, May 15, 2006
694 True Fact #1 - Holding Breath
Monday, May 14, 2006
(This entry and the previous two refer to an earlier entry where journalers were to report three "facts" about themselves, two true and one false.)
I was pregnant with Daughter in 1975, in St. Louis, Missouri. I was 30 years old. I'd had three prior miscarriages and one late term stillbirth, and when I got into the seventh month with this pregnancy and realized this one might really go all the way, I decided I wanted an absolutely natural birth. No meds. No "lines". No monitors. No strapping down. No artificially breaking the waters. No episiotomy. No nothing!
Lamaze was big on the coasts, but in the middle states, it hadn't caught on yet. We had the best obstetrical team in the county, but when they shrugged and patted me on the head and said, "Well, you can try if you want, but...", I went doctor shopping. One after another discouraged me. Most male doctors acted like it was THEIR baby, and they were going to "deliver" it, and if there was some way they could figure out how to do it without me there, they'd prefer that. I really think they frightened women to the point where the women tensed so much they needed the drugs, then they drugged them to "get rid of the women" during the birth.
I finally found Dr. M., an Indian woman (complete with sari) who, when I described what I wanted and asked if it was possible, shrugged and said "Of course. I had my own four that way."
I went to the Lamaze classes, but all that silly panting and hooting turned me off. I had learned self hypnosis during the year of the double tic doloreaux, and decided that was the way to go - to find a bright light as a focus point, and pour myself out of my body and into that point. I also learned and practiced relaxing every part of my body, every muscle except across the top of the stomach. I got very good at it. I also practiced hyperventilating and then holding my breath while totally relaxed and "out of body", and tightening and relaxing that one pushing muscle. Ex#2 timed me several times, and he says I often went 6 minutes without breathing.
When the time came, I didn't know I was in labor at first, because the contractions never settled into any rhythm. They were all over the place, a cluster, then nothing for a while, and I thought it was just cramps. From the time that they got insistent enough that I decided it must be labor and went to the hospital, until Daughter was born, was only two hours.
Everything went exactly as I had wanted. Dr. M. did a perineal massage, but other than that, nobody touched me. Daughter got a 10 Apgar, even though we later discovered that she had a hole in her heart, between the ventricles. (It closed on its own when she was 9 months old.)
During and between the two big delivery pushes, the doctor told me that I had held my breath for over five minutes, and both my heart rate and blood pressure (the only monitors allowed) had dropped during delivery. I credit the total relaxation and self hypnosis ... and that everyone kept their hands off me and let me do my job.
(That guy who recently tried to break the record for breath holding was under enormous stress while doing it. He was burning oxygen and making carbon dioxide at a high rate. I wasn't. Total relaxation makes all the difference.)
(This entry and the previous two refer to an earlier entry where journalers were to report three "facts" about themselves, two true and one false.)
I was pregnant with Daughter in 1975, in St. Louis, Missouri. I was 30 years old. I'd had three prior miscarriages and one late term stillbirth, and when I got into the seventh month with this pregnancy and realized this one might really go all the way, I decided I wanted an absolutely natural birth. No meds. No "lines". No monitors. No strapping down. No artificially breaking the waters. No episiotomy. No nothing!
Lamaze was big on the coasts, but in the middle states, it hadn't caught on yet. We had the best obstetrical team in the county, but when they shrugged and patted me on the head and said, "Well, you can try if you want, but...", I went doctor shopping. One after another discouraged me. Most male doctors acted like it was THEIR baby, and they were going to "deliver" it, and if there was some way they could figure out how to do it without me there, they'd prefer that. I really think they frightened women to the point where the women tensed so much they needed the drugs, then they drugged them to "get rid of the women" during the birth.
I finally found Dr. M., an Indian woman (complete with sari) who, when I described what I wanted and asked if it was possible, shrugged and said "Of course. I had my own four that way."
I went to the Lamaze classes, but all that silly panting and hooting turned me off. I had learned self hypnosis during the year of the double tic doloreaux, and decided that was the way to go - to find a bright light as a focus point, and pour myself out of my body and into that point. I also learned and practiced relaxing every part of my body, every muscle except across the top of the stomach. I got very good at it. I also practiced hyperventilating and then holding my breath while totally relaxed and "out of body", and tightening and relaxing that one pushing muscle. Ex#2 timed me several times, and he says I often went 6 minutes without breathing.
When the time came, I didn't know I was in labor at first, because the contractions never settled into any rhythm. They were all over the place, a cluster, then nothing for a while, and I thought it was just cramps. From the time that they got insistent enough that I decided it must be labor and went to the hospital, until Daughter was born, was only two hours.
Everything went exactly as I had wanted. Dr. M. did a perineal massage, but other than that, nobody touched me. Daughter got a 10 Apgar, even though we later discovered that she had a hole in her heart, between the ventricles. (It closed on its own when she was 9 months old.)
During and between the two big delivery pushes, the doctor told me that I had held my breath for over five minutes, and both my heart rate and blood pressure (the only monitors allowed) had dropped during delivery. I credit the total relaxation and self hypnosis ... and that everyone kept their hands off me and let me do my job.
(That guy who recently tried to break the record for breath holding was under enormous stress while doing it. He was burning oxygen and making carbon dioxide at a high rate. I wasn't. Total relaxation makes all the difference.)
693 True Fact #3 - Manhunt
Monday, May 14, 2006
(Daughter - you already know this story. You can skip this.)
During high school, 1959-1962, I lived on an Air Force base (a SAGE base, for those who know) on top of a mountain in the middle of state game lands in the middle of nowhere. Nothing but forests and bears and vipers all around. My father was the base commander.
There was a strong fence around the base itself, like a prison fence, topped with razor wire. The family housing, baseball field, rifle range, and other support structures were outside that fence, and then there was another fence around the outer perimeter of the government property, sort of like a cattle fence. Just three strands of barbed wire.
Alerts were a frequent occurrence. Some were just exercises, but some were serious, when "something was going on" somewhere in the world. During an alert, airmen were stationed around the base and along both fences. Depending on the level of alert, they may or may not have had ammunition.
That summer was very tense. Some weirdo had tried to bust through the gate onto base, and the APs had shot out his tires to stop him. There had been several red alerts of two or three days duration, and then one day two men who claimed to be officers from Wright-Patterson had tried to get on base (to get the equipment for the sailboat the AF kept on a nearby lake), but their paperwork was suspicious. The APs at the gate detained them, searched their car, and found explosives in the trunk.
My father interrogated them, and finally found that they had their real ids taped to their stomachs. They were from headquarters and were going to plant bombs around the base near the radar towers, and then call and say "Go look at the north wall of the height-finder tower...". It was a test, and the base passed. It was the year before the Cuban Missile Crisis, and the international situation was already tense.
Shortly after that incident, another red alert was called. The men were deployed, and fully armed. This one was unusual in several ways. For one thing, it went on for something like two weeks. During other alerts, civilian family members had been allowed to drive in and out through the outer gate. The school bus, for example, was not allowed in, but we kids had been allowed to walk out to meet the bus on the highway. This time, not only was absolutely no one allowed on or off the base, but we in the family compound were told not to leave our houses.
After a week or so in a tiny house with four younger squabbling siblings, I was going crazy. I decided to go for a walk in the woods. I knew a spot in the swampy area below the houses where there were no guards on the outer fence. Nobody wanted to stand there (it was full of snakes - including rattlers and copperheads), so the guys assigned there tended to shift left and right, leaving an unguarded space. My German Shepherd, Sparky, and I could get through undetected. We'd walk in the woods around the base, and then come back through the same spot we went out.
We did just that.
The woods were old growth. There was very little undergrowth once you got past the edge of the cleared government property, so it was easy walking. I let Sparky off the leash, and he scouted ahead and around me, 300' or so out from me, but he always kept coming back to check on me. The day was still, and the woods were silent. We walked on a carpet of hundreds of years of fallen leaves and pine needles.
We had been out about 2 hours, and were about 3/4 the way around the base, when Sparky, who was walking next to me as we climbed a hill, suddenly stiffened and growled. I looked up to see what bothered him, and --- it was like a scene in a movie. Silhouetted against the sky, at the top of the hill, were men with guns, pointed at me. In the center was a lieutenant, standing with his legs spread, and his hands on his hips. He said, "Who the Hell are you?!"
They surrounded me. Sparky growled, he wasn't going to let anyone get near me. One of the airmen suggested shooting Sparky if he attacked, but another said, "Uh, I think that's [the commander]'s daughter. Don't shoot his dog." The lieutenant mulled that over, and said, "I don't care who she might be. We do this by the book."
They made me tie Sparky's leash around his muzzle and then hold him by the collar as they marched me back to the base. There were three or four guys on either side of me, and they kept the guns pointed at me.
What I didn't know until later was that sentries had seen had seen Sparky as he ranged close to the edge of the woods, and had thought they had seen glimpses of human movement. They had been shouting "Halt, who goes there" and all that happy hoopla, and getting no response. Reports had been coming in from sentries all along the perimeter of "man or men in the woods", and "police dog or dogs in the woods". The idea of dogs for some reason scared them more than human attackers. At least ten sentries reported activity of some kind, around the entire perimeter. Most reported having seen "police dogs" (plural). As the reports went back and forth, more men thought they saw and heard more activity.
Suddenly it sounded like the base was under attack by an army of men and dogs. Headquarters denied any knowledge of any such exercise. Patrols were sent out to locate and ... whatever. All I know is that they were fully armed and fully scared, and had been told to shoot anyone who didn't cooperate. This was serious. These were guys whose entire military careers had been spent greasing motor pool vehicles or tending SAGE computers, and it was freak-out time. The Russians were coming!
The lieutenant radioed in that he had captured the intruder, and that it appeared to be the commander's daughter and dog.
I wasn't scared at all until we broke out of the woods at the far end of the athletic field, and I could see my father's car tearing down the road toward the baseball field. Then I got scared. He was going to kill me. Literally. I had embarrassed him big time in front of all his men, and possibly jeopardized his career. He could quite possibly beat me to death for this.
When the call from the lieutenant came in, my father had freaked. When he left his office, one of the other men called our house to warn my mother. Another officer's wife, Mrs M., happened to be there, and Mrs M. ran up the road to intercept my father. She flagged him down, and said, "Oh, What a terrific idea you had! Wonderful! What a great way to make sure the men stayed on their toes! I'll bet nobody will be sleeping on duty tonight! How did you ever think of this?"
She saved my life.
When my father met up with us, he said "Good work" to the men, and "Good job. Go home now" to me (Huh? Good job?). He never said anything else to me about it. But the next day I was in the Provost Marshall's office pointing out on maps where the open spaces were, where it was easy to get in and out. I told them I'd never heard anyone yell Halt or any other challenge. And I noted that the way they had marched me through the woods, in two lines on either side of me, if it had been necessary to shoot me, they'd have shot each other, too.
After the alert was finally over, there were groups of men at either end of the main road practicing shouting "Halt, who goes there" at each other at the top of their lungs. The guys assigned to the swamp were issued snake leggings. And everybody got a lesson in how to safely escort a prisoner.
(Daughter - you already know this story. You can skip this.)
During high school, 1959-1962, I lived on an Air Force base (a SAGE base, for those who know) on top of a mountain in the middle of state game lands in the middle of nowhere. Nothing but forests and bears and vipers all around. My father was the base commander.
There was a strong fence around the base itself, like a prison fence, topped with razor wire. The family housing, baseball field, rifle range, and other support structures were outside that fence, and then there was another fence around the outer perimeter of the government property, sort of like a cattle fence. Just three strands of barbed wire.
Alerts were a frequent occurrence. Some were just exercises, but some were serious, when "something was going on" somewhere in the world. During an alert, airmen were stationed around the base and along both fences. Depending on the level of alert, they may or may not have had ammunition.
That summer was very tense. Some weirdo had tried to bust through the gate onto base, and the APs had shot out his tires to stop him. There had been several red alerts of two or three days duration, and then one day two men who claimed to be officers from Wright-Patterson had tried to get on base (to get the equipment for the sailboat the AF kept on a nearby lake), but their paperwork was suspicious. The APs at the gate detained them, searched their car, and found explosives in the trunk.
My father interrogated them, and finally found that they had their real ids taped to their stomachs. They were from headquarters and were going to plant bombs around the base near the radar towers, and then call and say "Go look at the north wall of the height-finder tower...". It was a test, and the base passed. It was the year before the Cuban Missile Crisis, and the international situation was already tense.
Shortly after that incident, another red alert was called. The men were deployed, and fully armed. This one was unusual in several ways. For one thing, it went on for something like two weeks. During other alerts, civilian family members had been allowed to drive in and out through the outer gate. The school bus, for example, was not allowed in, but we kids had been allowed to walk out to meet the bus on the highway. This time, not only was absolutely no one allowed on or off the base, but we in the family compound were told not to leave our houses.
After a week or so in a tiny house with four younger squabbling siblings, I was going crazy. I decided to go for a walk in the woods. I knew a spot in the swampy area below the houses where there were no guards on the outer fence. Nobody wanted to stand there (it was full of snakes - including rattlers and copperheads), so the guys assigned there tended to shift left and right, leaving an unguarded space. My German Shepherd, Sparky, and I could get through undetected. We'd walk in the woods around the base, and then come back through the same spot we went out.
We did just that.
The woods were old growth. There was very little undergrowth once you got past the edge of the cleared government property, so it was easy walking. I let Sparky off the leash, and he scouted ahead and around me, 300' or so out from me, but he always kept coming back to check on me. The day was still, and the woods were silent. We walked on a carpet of hundreds of years of fallen leaves and pine needles.
We had been out about 2 hours, and were about 3/4 the way around the base, when Sparky, who was walking next to me as we climbed a hill, suddenly stiffened and growled. I looked up to see what bothered him, and --- it was like a scene in a movie. Silhouetted against the sky, at the top of the hill, were men with guns, pointed at me. In the center was a lieutenant, standing with his legs spread, and his hands on his hips. He said, "Who the Hell are you?!"
They surrounded me. Sparky growled, he wasn't going to let anyone get near me. One of the airmen suggested shooting Sparky if he attacked, but another said, "Uh, I think that's [the commander]'s daughter. Don't shoot his dog." The lieutenant mulled that over, and said, "I don't care who she might be. We do this by the book."
They made me tie Sparky's leash around his muzzle and then hold him by the collar as they marched me back to the base. There were three or four guys on either side of me, and they kept the guns pointed at me.
What I didn't know until later was that sentries had seen had seen Sparky as he ranged close to the edge of the woods, and had thought they had seen glimpses of human movement. They had been shouting "Halt, who goes there" and all that happy hoopla, and getting no response. Reports had been coming in from sentries all along the perimeter of "man or men in the woods", and "police dog or dogs in the woods". The idea of dogs for some reason scared them more than human attackers. At least ten sentries reported activity of some kind, around the entire perimeter. Most reported having seen "police dogs" (plural). As the reports went back and forth, more men thought they saw and heard more activity.
Suddenly it sounded like the base was under attack by an army of men and dogs. Headquarters denied any knowledge of any such exercise. Patrols were sent out to locate and ... whatever. All I know is that they were fully armed and fully scared, and had been told to shoot anyone who didn't cooperate. This was serious. These were guys whose entire military careers had been spent greasing motor pool vehicles or tending SAGE computers, and it was freak-out time. The Russians were coming!
The lieutenant radioed in that he had captured the intruder, and that it appeared to be the commander's daughter and dog.
I wasn't scared at all until we broke out of the woods at the far end of the athletic field, and I could see my father's car tearing down the road toward the baseball field. Then I got scared. He was going to kill me. Literally. I had embarrassed him big time in front of all his men, and possibly jeopardized his career. He could quite possibly beat me to death for this.
When the call from the lieutenant came in, my father had freaked. When he left his office, one of the other men called our house to warn my mother. Another officer's wife, Mrs M., happened to be there, and Mrs M. ran up the road to intercept my father. She flagged him down, and said, "Oh, What a terrific idea you had! Wonderful! What a great way to make sure the men stayed on their toes! I'll bet nobody will be sleeping on duty tonight! How did you ever think of this?"
She saved my life.
When my father met up with us, he said "Good work" to the men, and "Good job. Go home now" to me (Huh? Good job?). He never said anything else to me about it. But the next day I was in the Provost Marshall's office pointing out on maps where the open spaces were, where it was easy to get in and out. I told them I'd never heard anyone yell Halt or any other challenge. And I noted that the way they had marched me through the woods, in two lines on either side of me, if it had been necessary to shoot me, they'd have shot each other, too.
After the alert was finally over, there were groups of men at either end of the main road practicing shouting "Halt, who goes there" at each other at the top of their lungs. The guys assigned to the swamp were issued snake leggings. And everybody got a lesson in how to safely escort a prisoner.
692 True, False, True
Monday, May 14, 2006
See entry #685, wherein you were given three facts about me, two true and one false, and then were to detect the false claim. Here's the answers.
Fact 1: I once held my breath for over five minutes.
It's true. I really did. Story to follow pretty soon. (Later Update: The story is at "694 True Fact #1 - Holding Breath". )
Four people figured #1 is the lie.
Fact 2: When I was in college, I sold my hair to buy winter clothing every fall.
This is the lie. Readers of this journal may be aware that I had very little clothing in college - I went one Pennsylvania winter without a coat, just a rubberized poncho and a sweater. It is also true that my hair grew quickly then, about 1.5 inches a month (it grows about an inch a month now - I can tell by the dark roots). But my hair was very dry, and had not only split ends, but splits in the middle of the shaft. Nobody would buy it. However, as proof that it was possible, I had a friend in the dorm who really did do it. She started college with hair down to her tailbone, and sold a bit over a foot every fall to buy textbooks. This was the early 60s, wigs were fashionable, and they paid top dollar for real hair.
Seven people decided #2 was the lie, which surprised me. I thought it would easily be the most, not least, believable.
Fact 3: I was the subject of a military manhunt, orders to shoot on sight.
It's true. And when the patrol didn't kill me, I thought my father would. Details will follow, pretty soon. (Later Update: The story is at "693 True Fact #3 - Manhunt".)
Six people thought #3 was the lie.
So, as a group, you pegged me! Which is a surprise. I really thought y'all would buy my hair, even if no one else would....
See entry #685, wherein you were given three facts about me, two true and one false, and then were to detect the false claim. Here's the answers.
Fact 1: I once held my breath for over five minutes.
It's true. I really did. Story to follow pretty soon. (Later Update: The story is at "694 True Fact #1 - Holding Breath". )
Four people figured #1 is the lie.
Fact 2: When I was in college, I sold my hair to buy winter clothing every fall.
This is the lie. Readers of this journal may be aware that I had very little clothing in college - I went one Pennsylvania winter without a coat, just a rubberized poncho and a sweater. It is also true that my hair grew quickly then, about 1.5 inches a month (it grows about an inch a month now - I can tell by the dark roots). But my hair was very dry, and had not only split ends, but splits in the middle of the shaft. Nobody would buy it. However, as proof that it was possible, I had a friend in the dorm who really did do it. She started college with hair down to her tailbone, and sold a bit over a foot every fall to buy textbooks. This was the early 60s, wigs were fashionable, and they paid top dollar for real hair.
Seven people decided #2 was the lie, which surprised me. I thought it would easily be the most, not least, believable.
Fact 3: I was the subject of a military manhunt, orders to shoot on sight.
It's true. And when the patrol didn't kill me, I thought my father would. Details will follow, pretty soon. (Later Update: The story is at "693 True Fact #3 - Manhunt".)
Six people thought #3 was the lie.
So, as a group, you pegged me! Which is a surprise. I really thought y'all would buy my hair, even if no one else would....
Sunday, May 14, 2006
691 Can't See the Links?
A few posts back I added links to many of the blogs and journals I read. It appears that if you are looking at an individual entry (like this one, for instance) you won't see the list of links on the right. Very odd. I don't know how to change that. To see the list, you have to be looking at the "main page" - that's the one you get if you click the page title up there at the top.
690 Flattering? Only a little it is.
You are Yoda
| Wise and all knowing you are…yes. Tall, dark, and handsome? Not so much I'd say.  | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| (This list displays the top 10 results out of a possible 21 characters.) Click here to take the "Which Star Wars character are you?" quiz... | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
689 Mothers' Day Offering
Sunday, May 14, 2006
I lifted this from Linda's World. This was the second entry in her journal, Mothers' Day 2005.
I lifted this from Linda's World. This was the second entry in her journal, Mothers' Day 2005.
"Mom's Special Brownies"
Remove teddy bear from oven and preheat oven to 375.
Melt 1 cup margarine in saucepan.
Remove teddy bear from oven and tell Jr., "No, no."
Add margarine to 2 cups sugar.
Take shortening can away from Jr. and clean cupboards.
Measure 1/3 cup cocoa.
Take shortening can away from Jr. again and bathe cat.
Apply antiseptic and bandages to scratches sustained while removing shortening from cat's tail.
Assemble 4 eggs, 2 tsp. vanilla, and 1-1/2 cups sifted flour.
Take smoldering teddy bear from oven and open all doors and windows for ventilation.
Take telephone away from Billy and assure party on the line the call was a mistake. Call operator and attempt to have direct dialed call removed from bill.
Measure 1 tsp. salt, 1/2 cup nuts and beat all ingredients well.
Let cat out of refrigerator.
Pour mixture into well-greased 9x13-inch pan.
Bake 25 minutes.
Rescue cat and take razor away from Billy.
Explain to kids that you have no idea if shaved cats will sunburn. Throw cat outside while there's still time and he's still able to run away.
FROSTING Mix the following in saucepan:
1 cup sugar
1 oz unsweetened chocolate
1/4 cup margarine Take the darn teddy bear out of the broiler and throw it away -- far away.
Answer the door and meekly explain to nice policeman that you didn't know Jr. had slipped out of the house and was heading for the street.
Put Jr. in playpen.
Add 1/3 cup milk, dash of salt, and boil, stirring constantly for 2 minutes.
Answer door and apologize to neighbor for Billy having stuck a garden hose in man's front door mail slot. Promise to pay for ruined carpet.
Tie Billy to clothesline.
Remove burned brownies from oven.
Collapse and call the baker for delivery.
Pastor Tim's CleanLaugh ListSaturday, May 13, 2006
688 Saturday Apple Blossoms
Today was the Apple Blossom Festival in the village. They should call it the Lilac and Wild Onion Festival. The whole village smells of blooming lilacs, and since everyone mowed the lawns to look nice for a town full of visitors, there were undertones of wild onion/chive. Fresh-mown onion is one of those scents that says "Spring" to me.
I got quite a bit of walking in today, checking out all the booths and stores. I was a little disappointed that the library didn't have their usual used book sale, but it had rained in the morning and the afternoon sun wasn't trustworthy (although it is still beautiful out), so I understand why not. And being in "throwing out" mode, I really didn't need the temptation anyway.
I got quite a bit of walking in today, checking out all the booths and stores. I was a little disappointed that the library didn't have their usual used book sale, but it had rained in the morning and the afternoon sun wasn't trustworthy (although it is still beautiful out), so I understand why not. And being in "throwing out" mode, I really didn't need the temptation anyway.
Friday, May 12, 2006
687 My Ignorance, Too
Read this: http://www.bigpharaoh.com/2006/05/12/ali-and-my-ignorance/
It's very much what I tried to tell people back when it all started, and everyone said I was ignorant then, too. You cannot ignore history. You can't remake a culture just because you want to. Unlike, say, Egypt or Saudi Arabia, Iraq is in large part still a tribal culture. You have what you have won and what you are strong enough to keep. There are certain ways that things have been done, that disputes have been settled, for thousands of years, and they aren't going to change overnight.
The Americans pulled the cork. They let the genie out of the bottle, and he's not going back in until someone comes along strong enough to pound a few heads and threaten to remove a few more.
It's very much what I tried to tell people back when it all started, and everyone said I was ignorant then, too. You cannot ignore history. You can't remake a culture just because you want to. Unlike, say, Egypt or Saudi Arabia, Iraq is in large part still a tribal culture. You have what you have won and what you are strong enough to keep. There are certain ways that things have been done, that disputes have been settled, for thousands of years, and they aren't going to change overnight.
The Americans pulled the cork. They let the genie out of the bottle, and he's not going back in until someone comes along strong enough to pound a few heads and threaten to remove a few more.
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