#228 A Riddle

What is greater than God,

More evil than the devil,

The  poor have it,

The rich need it,

And if you eat it, you'll die?

?

?

For a clue to the answer, press "Shift" and see what happens.

#227 Beam Me There, Scotty, Please?

I had planned to work on the front flower bed yesterday.  It's literally a jungle - it's beginning to develop its own microclimate.  But first, I wanted to pin down my transportation to the Mensa Annual Gathering in New Orleans in July.  I thought that might take a half-hour or so.

Four hours later....

I had earlier asked NJ and May if they planned to go.  NJ had said no, because the only flights she could find out of the local airport involved either a five-hour layover in Chicago or two plane changes, and she just wasn't that excited about it.  May had said "New Orleans in July?  Are you kidding?!  You know how hot and steamy it's gonna to be?"   But most stuff happens in the *air-conditioned* hotel.  I have signed up for some walking tours (the garden district and the French Quarter), but those are in the morning, and a club crawl I also want is in the evening.  Most mornings are free for if one wants to go explore.  Afternoons are sensibly filled with speakers and inside fun.  Where's the problem? 

So, I went to the first of several travel-booking sites.  I wanted to leave here in the late morning, arriving early enough to get some dinner.  Coming home, I wanted to leave after noon, and get home before full night. 

The first site found a decent leaving flight, 10:40 am, with a one hour layover and one plane change,  arriving at 5:40 pm.  But they absolutely insisted that there was no return flight later than 9:30 am!  Ouch!  After six nights of little to no sleep, that will be tempting fate a little too much.

I was about to shrug and sign up for that when it occurred to me that maybe I should check the prices for the same flights on another site.

Second site did have better prices.  Better yet, they found a return flight at noon!  Perfect!

So I tried the third site.  I could get the same flight numbers and times as the second, but a higher price.  (This is starting to seem like buying a car!  No set price.) So I went back to the second and attempted to book those flights. 

I got an error message when it tried to book the package.  It couldn't book the noon return flight.  "Try again later."  So I went to some federal sites and and read up on luggage information and security and all that, went to the airport sites and found that the security wait times for my flights are 20 minutes and 30 minutes max, average much lower, which is nice to know, kept trying to book flights, kept getting error messages.

I noticed that all four flights were the same airline.  So I decided to go to the airline website and try there.  Surprise!  No wonder the other sites had so much trouble with the return flight - they had the number wrong!  Like if the flight number was 1023, they had it as 123!  So I booked through the airline directly, and got the second surprise - the cost of the round trip was 25% lower than the lowest of the other three sites. 

I absolutely refuse to send my luggage through completely unlocked!  I've had suitcases get mixed up and delayed too many times in the past.  So I guess I'm going to have to buy one of those new bags with locks that the security folks can unlock.  They won't keep criminals out, but they will stop the casual rifler/snooper.

Next I have to find Miss Thunderfoot a place to stay.

===============================================

Daughter not so casually mentioned that it's time to start riding my bicycle again.  I measured my favorite loop today (trip odometer in the van) and it's exactly six miles.  Now, if it ever stops raining....

~~ Silk

#226 Healing Hands

For anyone out there who has never has a massage, thinking perhaps that it's a silly affectation or something just for snooty self-absorbed "spa-types", I'm here to tell you different.

After the hike on the 21st, daughter massaged my feet, and when I mentioned that my upper back felt like it might be starting up again, she spent a few minutes on that, too (through clothing, no oil). That was ten days ago.

It wasn't until today that I realized what a god job she had done on my feet.

My feet usually ache all the time. The ache is back this morning, and it is only now that I realize I have had no ache in my feet for a whole ten days! Also, with only gentle touch, she made the threat in my back disappear immediately and completely.

After the beatings I have taken from chiropractors with less definite results, I consider this nothing short of a miracle.

So, get a massage. Start with a clothed "chair massage" if that's more comfortable for you. But make sure you find a licensed practitioner with the best training (there are lots of "oh, I can do that" poseurs out there), who has the sensitivity and intelligence to apply it well.

Like my daughter.

=================================================

On the same general topic, I have been told many times that I have "healing hands", by every palm reader and fortune teller I've visited at Renn Faires, by others who claim to sense stuff like that, by a highly respected visiting Tibetan monk, and by the nurses when Jay was in the hospitals.

My GreatGramma was said to have healing hands.

I like the idea, but I don't think its true. I tried so hard to "heal" Jay. I thought well, maybe there's something to this, and it would be terrible not to at least try, so I really tried, but it didn't work. I could comfort, but not heal.

However, I do think I do have a similar skill. (There's a name for it, but I forget what it's called.) I can ease transitions. I can ease birth and death. It's not as nice as healing, but in the greater scheme of things, I suppose it's just as good.

Daughter seems to have inherited GreatGramma's hands.

~~ Silk

#225 Horoscope

I was just going through the newspapers from last weekend, and was amazed by my horoscope for Sunday, the 22nd, the day after the hike down the mountain.

"The pain of exercise will be a beautiful, all-over-body experience that will remind you with every movement how proud you should be of yourself."

Wow.

#224 Froggy Draws the Weirdos

Daughter  knows I've been flying low in Journal-land.  I have not encouraged dropin readers, have turned off comments to keep the crazies away, and so on.    So she was surprised that I allowed AOL to feature the froggy photo on the "AOL People Connections: Journals" main page.   "Gee Mom.  People are gonna click on that and they'll find you!  You're going to get some weird stuff...."

Well, I have received some nice emailed comments, and some "weird stuff".  There are a few very strange (read "immature") people out there.  But, as I said to Daughter, I have two secret weapons that will keep them from hanging around very long.  One, my journal is boring, and two, I don't allow comments, ergo, no billboard for their graffiti. 

I have a third secret weapon which I will share with you all now.  If you ever get foul, frightening, or threatening email, forward said email intact to abuse@(their-isp).  If it comes from a netscape account, for example, forward it to abuse@netscape.com, and so on.  Note that even if they use a temporary screenname, their isp can trace who set up that account/screenname. 

State and federal attorney generals will crack down on especially egregious cases.  You are never as anonymous as you think you are.

~~ Silk

#223 Heavy Equipment in my Bedroom

I was awakened this morning by the sound of heavy machinery just beyond the back yard.  The bedroom wall is mostly glass, which magnifies the sound, so it was like I had a bulldozer or something in the bedroom with me.  Vrooomroooomrrrrrooooom screech crash wrooooom vroooom, meep meep meep meep (backing up), vroooommmmm creeeeeeecrash vroooooommmm meep meep ....   I ignored it as long as I could, but, well, it got me up in time to watch Sunday Morning, which I love, and Face the Nation.  So it's ok, I guess.

A young couple, newlyweds I suspect, have bought the lot down the hill from the back yard, and it's amazing how hard the young man has been working.  It's about ten acres of woods and pond, with an old barn down by the road.  I met the couple last spring, when they stopped by to check on where my lot line was, and to ask my preference on keeping or cutting the trees just below my lot line.  (My response was that as it is, the trees act as a windbreak, which is good, but if they remove the trees, I get back the summer 40-mile view, so either way works for me.)

The lot was very overgrown.  Huge trees, brambles, undergrowth.  Me, if I wanted to build a house, I'd probably pick the spot for the house, clear just enough around to build the house, then gradually expand outward.  Not this kid.  He has worked every weekend for the past year, and it looks beautiful!  He has uncovered some big old weeping willows, some dogwoods, apple trees, and birches that he's keeping.  He has cleared out the brush and volunteer trees, and is grading most of it now.   The lower part even has some nice grass started, and it has already been mowed at least twice.  I don't know how far up the hill toward my yard he will be clearing, it gets awfully steep toward the top, but I think I won't mind looking down on his yard.

The one "ouch" is that in the beginning, he was burning the brush in piles, and he'd go home at the end of the day, leaving huge burning piles.  It worried me a bit.  One of his piles was directly under a tree next to the barn, and the flames and sparks were shooting up.  Somebody (not me) called the fire department, and after the third occasion that  the FD had to come and put a fire out, there was no more burning.  I don't know what he's been doing with the brush since, there'd have been so much of it, but there has been no more burning. 

The kid may not learn quickly (the fires), but he sure is a hard worker.

I hope nobody buys the woods next door (maybe 20+ acres), and starts clearing it.  Where will the groundhogs and deer and rabbits and foxes go then?  I know of at least twice that people have considered buying it in the past 10 years, but the lot is landlocked.  The only access from the road is a narrow strip, where you'd have to put the driveway, and that strip goes straight up, very steeply.  Nobody familiar with the local winters could want it.  However, since 9/11 we've been getting a lot of NYC folks moving up here, and I've seen a few new mini-mansions with 40 degree driveways, so who knows.  Those fools heavily salt the impossible driveways, and too much of that is going to affect the wells - but nobody wants to hear about that until it's too late, (and until after "I've got mine") so.... 

Well, I'm going to have to go down and see what the kid did this morning. 

~~ Silk

#222 The Hawk and the Crows

The previous entry about the pigeons reminded me of the hawks.  I'd forgotten about them.  Back when Jay was healthy, we had a big bird feeder off the deck, which lead to lots of songbirds and a thundering herd of chipmunks in the back yard.  I got to know the chipmunks well enough to name them - the dominant male, Stubs, had half a tail, and so on.

One year, a pair of red-tailed hawks took up residence in a tall pine at the end of the yard, at the top of the slope down to the pond and farmland.  One of them would perch all day at the very top of the tree, which distressed me.  I was afraid for my songbirds and chipmunks. 

The hawk, however, didn't seem too interested in the small birds, and the chipmunks had an alert system and plenty of brush to hide in.  But when the hawk saw a larger bird coming across the fields, he (or she?) would fly up high and circle the slope, waiting.

The woods beside the house were full of nesting crows (not ravens, crows!  The ravens live over by the swamp), who were also apparently distressed by the hawk.   It was like the crows were lurking, waiting for the opportunity.  When the circling hawk looked just about ready to stoop, the whole mob of crows would burst out of the woods and attack.  They'd take turns swooping in and hitting the hawk's back.  There'd be this big double figure 8 loop of crows, one after another, pow! pow! pow! at the hawk, cawing and whooping and laughing the whole time.  Sometimes the hawk actually flew upside-down, with his talons up, trying to fend off the crows.  Nobody got hurt - but the crows made hunting difficult.

The hawk family didn't come back the next year.

I'm wondering now if maybe it was my neighbor's pigeons that attracted the hawk.  The crows may have saved some racers.

~~ Silk

#221 Yard Sales & Pigeons

I got up early enough this morning to load up the van and take stuff to the recycle center.  One of these days, I'll figure out how to do it right.  I don't get all gussied up because I know I'll just get messy and dirty heaving cutup boxes and newspapers around, plus the center is frequently muddy, so I go in near rags, no makeup, bushy hair.  Then, it being a Saturday morning in the village, I see all kinds of stuff I want to check out on the way home.  I visit outdoor stalls and yard sales, and stop for the Elks' take-home barbecue, looking like a bag lady.

I saw a very ugly woman at a yard sale this morning - you know, the floppy body, big nose, droopy lower lip, missing teeth, that kind of thing.  She was smiling and laughing and flirting, and people were responding to her.  I thought "Wow.  She doesn't know how ugly she is, and no one else does either!"  (I hadn't come under her direct influence yet.)  And then I climbed in the van, glanced in the mirror, and thought "Ouch!  I gotta smile and laugh more today!"  

I stopped at three yard sales.  Before you scowl at me, Daughter, may I point out that the New Paltz Craft Fair is this weekend, and I have decided not to go.  So it could have been a lot worse!

I bought a pair of Brand-New-In-The-Box Crate & Barrel candlesticks for $1, a B-N-I-T-B leather accordion credit card wallet for $1, three hardcovers and one paperback book for $3.50 total, a good fillet/boning knife for $1, and the find of the day - a large original oil on canvas of a renaissance mother and child in a museum-quality gesso frame.  It's beautiful.  Old, but not "antique".  Signed, but it's still in the van and I forget the artist.  I fell in love with it the moment I saw it.  $20.  The frame alone is worth ten times that.  The painting was in a yard on a side road near home.  If it had been out on the main road, It would not have still been there at noon.

The last place I stopped, the place with the painting, was filled with the sound of cooing.  Across the end of the driveway was ... ummm, the one question I forgot to ask ... what's the proper term ... pigeon coops?  cotes?  enormous bird cages? ... full of pigeons.  The lady mentioned that they were waiting for some birds, that had been released some 250 miles away that morning, to comein.  There were seven more still out.  Just then a man a bit older than I came outside, and she said that's her brother, and to ask him anything, they're his birds.

He was really easy to talk to.  We sat in the shade in lawn chairs for over an hour, and he told me all kinds of stuff about homing pigeons, and racing birds, showed me how they get electronically clocked in, and how you determine who wins a race when the birds are flying back to different homes.  He explained the breeding lines, how to encourage a bird to come home quickly, all kinds of good stuff.  It was very interesting.  He has about 250 birds right now, with adults, juveniles, and nestlings.

He took me inside the coop, and showed me how each bird has its own little roosting shelf, and that they always use the same one - and yes, there are occasional squabbles over the best ones - and the boxes where the ladies build their nests, and so on.

He spread a bird's wing, and explained how, close to the body, the wing feathers angle toward the body, and then the outer ten feathers angle out.  When a bird molts wing feathers, they lose them in order, one after another from the body outward.  Before you fly a bird, you have to count the outer feathers, and if any of the outer eight or so are missing, you shouldn't fly the bird.  Not because they can't fly as well, but because when a wing feather is missing and a new one is coming in, it feels like a toothache, or teething, and the vibration of flying any distance is painful for the bird.   Neat!  (But I wonder how we know that....)

And no, he doesn't eat squab.

I stayed until a bird arrived.  It was interesting that she flew directly in over the fields, and then circled the house and yard several times, lower each time, and then dropped right onto the checkin pad. 

Now when I see pigeons flying over my deck, I'll know where they're going.

~~ Silk

#220 Fast Tracked?

Wow.  Got a question on my last entry already.  I forget that somma youse guys is on the west coast, and it's still early out there. 

I mentioned that Yuppie was "clearly marked by the Company for fast-tracking".  Question:  Clearly?  What are you referring to?

Well, while everyone else in our hiring group was given technical assignments, did you notice that he was always assigned to project tracking, resource allocation, and information-gathering-type stuff?  Management training.  No gruntwork for the anointed....

#219 Lost Friends

I sent a note to an old friend today, whom I haven't seen or spoken to in probably 20 years.  We had worked together and rammed around together in the early 80s.  I had spent my high school years living on an air force base, and she had grown up with something like a half a dozen brothers - the result being that we both knew our way around a pool table.

One evening, she and I headed down Route 9w, hitting every bar between Kingston and Newburgh that had a pool table (and in the early '80s, there were a lot of them).   We'd watch for a bit, then ask to play some guys for drinks, then proceed to embarrass them terribly, stomp them into the ground.  Then we'd down our drinks and skip out before anyone got over their shock.  She wracked up her car on the Mid-Hudson Bridge access road on her way home that night, and walked several miles home in the dark (no cell phones then).  I felt very guilty.  I was a good 13 years older than her, and I should have known better than to let her drive.

Thinking about her got me to thinking about a mutual friend of ours, a very pretty Ivy-league yuppyish young man clearly marked by the Company for fast-tracking.  She decided she had a crush on him.  I kinda figured he was gay but didn't know it.  Again, this was the early '80s, and it was a lot easier to stay in the closet, even to oneself.

I offended him twice within a year in the mid-'80s, and he hasn't spoken to me since.

The first occasion involved a new manager.  She was one of those very large very feminine very proper women that at first strike one as maybe a transvestite who's trying too hard.  She was a good manager, very good at both technical and people skills.  Many of the younger people in my department laughed at her, they picked up on her need to be accepted, and, well, perfect, and her obvious pride in her daughter.  There didn't seem to be a husband, so we assumed she was divorced.

I happened to mention to a Mensa friend that she was our new manager, and it turned out that he had known her for many years.  He said that she'd had a very rough life, and that he was happy for her that she was now doing so well. 

He told me that she had gotten pregnant as a young woman in the mid'70s.  In those days, one simply did not get pregnant, even if one's hippy friends were espousing "free love"!  And if one did, one either got married immediately, or "went away" for a while, and gave the baby up for adoption.  One simply did not KEEP the baby.  This woman fought to keep the child, and refused to name the father.  Her parents threw her out on the street in her 7th month and virtually disowned her.  She worked her way through college alone while supporting herself and her infant daughter.  Along the way there was a physically abusive relationship or two.  

So, the aforementioned young yuppie was one of those who made fun of her.  One day in his office, I said that she was to be admired, not made fun of, and I told him her story, in confidence, I thought.  I guess I'd hoped that he could influence others to cool it and give her a chance. 

The next day, I was walking past his office, and he called me in.  There were several other recent college graduates there, looking all big-eyed and hopping up and down with excitement.  He said "Come on, back me up here.  Ummm, what's Hilda'(not-her-real-name)'s father's last name?"  I gave him a blank look, and said "I don't know."  He said "Oh, come on.  It's the same as hers, right?"  I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction.  I have to admit I was a little pissed at him.  "I really don't know what her father's name is.  You should ask her."  And I walked out.

He was annoyed that I wouldn't back him up on the unwed mother story, but that blew over after a while.  I think he knew that I was disappointed in him.

A few months later, several people asked me, rolling their eyes, if I'd seen the shrine in the yuppie's office.  One of the guys he'd been hired with, and had been roommates with, had transferred to a field office.  They were keeping in contact through the Company net, and Yuppie had visited the friend over a holiday a few weeks before.   Later, as I walked past his office, he called me in "to see something wonderful".  The something was the latest note from his friend.  It was just an old joke, but Yuppie acted like it was it was the absolute height of wit.  On the bulletin board over his desk, he had a photo of his friend, surrounded by leaf-napkin-ticketstub souvenirs of their visit, plus cut outs, tastefully bordered, from notes the friend had sent.  I thought "Oh, my God!  Not in the office!"

I closed his door and said "You've got to stop doing this!"  "Doing what?"   I told him this looked to others like a shrine to the friend.  That it looked like a schoolgirl crush.  That people were wondering when he'd start writing the friend's name all over his notebooks.  And then he looked down, and I followed his eyes, and ... yep ... all over his desk blotter.  I wanted to ask him if the friend knew how he felt, but I don't think HE knew what he felt.  But there wasn't going to be a chance, because when he looked up and met my eyes, the shutters were down.

He never spoke another word to me from that moment on.  If we passed in the hall, he looked straight through me.

Ten years later, he was a manager in one of the products that I oversaw in a legal capacity, and he always absented himself from any meeting I called.  He'd send a rep.  I dealt with his lead designers/programmers, not him.  I'm non-confrontational.  As long as it worked, that was fine with me.

He's probably in his mid-40s now.  I still wonder if he ever figured himself out.  I still miss him.  When he wasn't being immature, he was awfully sweet and bright.  And so very nice to look at!

(Oh!  PS to the old friend of the billiard balls - last time I saw Yuppie he was very heavy!  Chipmunk cheeks!  What a surprise!  If it wasn't for the perfect hair and cold stare, I wouldn't have recognized him.)

#218 [P] Benton in the Twilight Zone, HS Photo

It just occurred to me that Sunday, when I drove through Benton, and I thought it looked so pretty, I didn't see one single person anywhere on the streets.  The only other moving cars I saw were passing through.   I saw no cars moving on any of the side streets, as I wandered around searching out houses I or my friends had once lived in.  Now I'm wondering if I had passed through the Twilight Zone or something.

_______________________________________________

Since I'm in a nostalgic mood, I thought I'd include this photo from late 1961 or early 1962, taken in the Turnpike Area High School library.  That's Harriet on the top left and Deloris top right, Helen in the middle, me bottom left, and Catherine bottom right.  Helen and Deloris were my best friends from school.  Harriet I would have liked to have known better, but because I lived on the AF base, and her mother had some problems in that area, I couldn't be too friendly with her.  Catherine and I had some early friction, but then when we were both majorettes, we were thrown together more, and it got better.

#217 The Silken Drum

"The Silken Drum" is the title of a play based on an Asian fable. There are various translations and versions throughout the world. In the story, a young gardener falls in love with the beautiful young daughter of the house (sometimes described as a princess). He often sees her walking in the gardens with her attendants. He tries, but fails, to attract her eye. She does not simply ignore him; she looks through him as if he does not exist.

One day, the gardener meets a gnarled old woman, who tells him that there is a silken drum hanging from a tree in the garden, and that if he can get the drum to sound, he will win the lady's heart.

So the gardener goes to the drum, and begins beating on it. He beats and beats the drum, but, of course, a silken drumhead makes no sound. He tries and tries until eventually his heart bursts, and he dies.

He goes to the netherworld, where his resentment of the young woman grows.

Eventually, the young woman dies (I don't recall why or when) and she joins him in the netherworld. She is pleased to see a familiar face, but he proceeds to make her suffer for ignoring him in life. The rest of the play is not pleasant.

I have taken SilkenDrum as an alter-ego because I liked the idea of a drum floating in the breeze, making no sound, disturbing no one except those who unreasonably ask of it more than it is willing to give. 

(Of course, there can be a lot more interpretations, some even involving the word "nonfunctional".  But I like mine.  Also note that the title of the play is not "The Frustrated Gardener".  It's "The Silken Drum" for a reason.)

#216 Changes on and around My Mountain

I was surprised at how much development has occurred on and around Red Rock mountain. 

On route 118 between Dallas and Red Rock, where there used to be nothing, there are now little restaurants, fair-sized businesses, clusters of houses, and even a few mini-mansions tucked in here and there.  As little as three years ago, you'd have to drive 10 or 15 miles, to Benton or Dushore, to find a place for breakfast.  Now there are several restaurants just a bit down the road.   Amazing.  There were even a few spots where a cell phone could be coaxed to work.

Not much has changed on top of the mountain on route 487 between Ricketts Glen and Dushore.  In fact, what's amazing on that stretch is how little has changed, even after 40 years. 

But I would not have recognized Dushore at all!  Ten years ago it looked pretty much the same as ever - one grungy little 2-story hunter's hotel, buildings that were in desperate need of paint, one grocery store that anywhere else would be called a deli, a few family businesses, no buildings less than 50 years old.  Now, it looks like the population has doubled.  The whole 3 blocks of the main street is transformed!  New bank buildings.  Big new stores with national chain names on them!  Even a little strip mall or two.  If it weren't for the tiny old Sullivan Review building still hanging on in the middle, I would never have recognized it as Dushore.

I was even more confused, because I distinctly remember ice skating parties on the creek in the center of town.  The creek was at least 50 feet wide, with a wide grassy area sloping down to it.  The boys would burn a tire on the ice in the middle for warmth, and we'd skate all around it.  The main street crossed on a bridge just above our party.  On a street alongside the creek, there was a small store where we could get sodas and cookies.   However, the creek passing through Dushore was less than 8 feet wide, with steep banks, and didn't pass under the main street.  Maybe we had the skating parties in LaPorte?  I'm very confused.

Late Saturday afternoon, we drove through Jamison City and Central (each village has maybe 20 houses, one bar/restaurant/hunter hotel, and a tiny store).  Both villages looked like they'd had a major makeover, and the bar/restaurants looked  prosperous, newly painted, packed with people. 

On Sunday I drove through Benton.  Something wonderful has happened to Benton - it's pretty!  The last time I passed through in daylight was when daughter was in college, in the mid-90s.  I wandered through Bloomsburg and Benton on my way back from a visit to Penn State.   The town of Bloomsburg hadn't changed much then, but my old alma mater (Once Bloomsburg State College, now Bloomsburg University of Pennsylvania or something like that) was almost unrecognizable. 

Benton was downright depressing back then.  The main street was lined with boarded up shops, falling-down porches, and peeling paint.  Sad.  Now, it looks like someone donated thousands of gallons of paint, and hanging baskets of flowers.  There are big new buildings and businesses in the middle of town.  Even the side streets look all beloved village spiffy!   It really looks like a nice place to live.  It looks happy!

When I lived on the mountain, in the early '60s, it was the kind of economy where people lived by doing for each other.  Fathers of my friends were variously hunting guides, lumberjacks, highway crewmen, storekeepers, bootleggers, farmers.  The county was poor, so "welfare" mostly consisted of year-round hunting licenses.  You mostly bought from and sold to your neighbors, so the same dollar bills circulated until they fell apart.  Barter and tax-avoidance were rampant.

Benton was similar, except that it was close enough to Bloomsburg that there was a bit more choice of salaried jobs, up the road a bit.

I wonder what happened?  Everything in Dushore, Jamison City, Central, and Benton looks so much more prosperous and happy.  Where did all the new people come from, and why did they go there?  There's obviously more disposable income floating around.  Where did it come from?  What is supporting all this activity?

Gee - if there was a better medical center available, I'd consider moving back to Benton.  I'd buy one of those old white Victorians with a mohogany circular staircase in the foyer and a porch with a cupola and wicker settees, and really retire. 

#215 Lisa Marie Presley

Back on May 18, I heard Lisa Marie Presley sing on "The View".  Her band drowned her out.  From what little I heard of her singing, I suspect that was on purpose.

#214 [P] The Falls Trail - I Made IT! I Lived!

Daughter and I did the falls trail on Saturday, and today I am stiff and sore, but very happy.   We took the west branch from the top all the way down.  Jay and I had once made a circle from the west branch to where it meets the east branch and then back up, and several times we had walked up to the "Meeting of the Waters" from the bottom and then back down.  But it had been at least 14 years or more since I'd walked from the top all the way to the bottom. 

I am proud of myself.  I remember when it was nothing to walk down and then back up!, back when I thought nothing of 30 mile bicycle trips (no gears!) up and down mountains, back when there was no path along the falls, and only ropes tied to trees to help you up the steep spots.   But I'm 45 years older now, and 60 pounds heavier, with shot knees and 40 years of cigarettes to contend with.

When Daughter and I came to the first falls, my heart fell.  Standing at the top of the drop, two feet from the series of flat stones the state had imbedded to get folks down the cliff, I couldn't see the series of steps ahead of me.  It was just a dropoff after that first step.  Ahead was a deep gorge, down down down.  I was looking at the tops of 300+year-old trees.  I'd forgotten how steep it was.  I wondered if I'd made a bad mistake. 

I had brought a 3-foot walking stick with a large knob on the end, and planned to help my knees by planting the stick down each step, and using it to take my upper body weight.  I now wondered if that was going to work.  It would help to take the strain off my knees, but it wasn't going to prevent a fall.  The trail is mostly right up against the falls, with a sheer dropoff to the left.  If a knee gave, it would give without warning, and I'd go down.  Down down down.   Down.

I took me about three seconds to decide that yes, it was that important to me.

My right knee did give out twice, but both times I caught it going and snapped it back.  We moved slowly, but that was fine with Daughter.  There was lots to look at: trees, rocks, moss, ferns, and she appreciates all.  I am proud that I didn't need rest stops.  The worst trouble I had was that my feet kept slipping forward in my shoes, no matter how tight I pulled them, and my big toes were getting painfully squished. 

Daughter brought a digital camera, and she will be emailing me pictures.  Our route took us past 13 of the 22 waterfalls. Until I get the photos from Daughter, here are some postcards:

Mohawk Falls. Height 37 feet.

Ganoga Falls. Height 94 feet.

Jay's ashes are beside Murray Reynolds Falls, near the bottom of the trail.  I was shocked at the difference since I'd last seen Murray Reynolds.  It looks like the cliff was undermined, and the large rock shelf that the water used to go over has shifted and dropped a lot more.  The cliff to the side has collapsed into rubble.  Several large trees have fallen from the top down across the bottom.  My comment was that it looked like Jay had done some redecorating!  Maybe he was angry because I hadn't visited last fall?  Daughter pointed out that the fallen trees had young leaves, so it must had happened this spring.  Now that I think about it, it still could have been any time since last fall.  The buds for the new leaves, complete with starter food, would have set late in the fall, and the tree won't know it's been uprooted until it tries to draw more water to grow the leaves further.   

Next entry - Amazing changes on and under the mountain!

#213 [P] Night shot

John Scalzi at By The Way... wants night scenes.  This is one of my favorites:

A tiny tree frog had discovered that the floodlights over the downspout on the back deck attracted lots of bugs.  So he took up residence on the trim over the sliding door, and every night he worshipped the floodlight moon.   Jay took this picture of him sitting on the downspout, waiting for bugs.

#212 Wednesday - Plans for Saturday

Oops - late entry again.  I accidentally found a knitters' site with gazillions of free patterns, and the entire afternoon and evening disappeared (with an hour out for "Lost", and a steak, and leek soup).   Bedtime already.  I'll be out much of tomorrow - have to get the oil changed and other stuff.

For Saturday at the falls - long sleeves and long pants.  Layer.  Socks and sturdy shoes with grippy (not leather) soles.   Even better if they can get wet.  I'll bring some bug stuff to share, but I've been checking the weather reports for the mountain, and it's been running in the mid-50s to low 60s, 30s overnight, so I'm hoping there will be no bugs.  

I plan to park in the south lot.  Meet me there at 10 am on Saturday.  If you're not there by 11, I'm heading up from the bottom on my own.  If 10 am is a problem, you should let me know by 2 pm Friday.  Note that cell phones won't work - except maybe if you open the car door and crouch low tight into the V of the door and body.  I got it to work that way, intermittently, on the last trip.  And even though you have the hotel number, from closing Friday night until opening Saturday lunchtime, there's no one there.  I doubt that the rooms have individual phones.

To help figure your time, it's about 30 minutes from Wilkes Barre.

See you soon ....

#211 Leek Soup!

Flash!! I actually cooked this evening!  I made potato leek soup.  One large potato, three leeks, enough water to cover, coarse pepper, packaged potato soup seasonings (yeah, well, if I didn't cheat a little I'd have skipped the whole thing), butter, a pint of sweet cream, a little flour.  I ate three big bowls.  My tummy hurts.  There are two bowls left for tomorrow.  Yummy!

#210 Tuesday - Nesters

Busy busy.  Trying to clean out the van and get recyclables together.  One of these days, I'll be able to get to the recycle center when it's open, and I want to be ready!

I want to go to --- some store --- and buy a motion-detector-type light to put on the garage, to replace the fixture that's there now.  I'm tired of having no porch light. 

There are three lights out front now, one on the garage and one on either end of the porch.  Every year a tiny bird with a long beak manages to attract two wives by building nests on top of both porch fixtures, where they proceed to raise two litters each over the summer.  All three lights work on one switch, so all summer I can't turn the lights on, because I don't want to cook the eggs or the babies.

Last fall I got smart, and after the birds left I arranged some wire screening over the fixtures, so when he came back this spring, he'd have to find another nesting spot.  I mean, there's a whole flippin' forest fifty feet away!

Big storm last month.  Lots of wind.  Goodbye screening.  Hello birdy?  Damn!  He worked fast this year. 

All three lights are on one switch, so what I think I'll do is put a motion-activated light on the garage, leave the switch on constantly, and unscrew the bulbs in the porch lights/nest box.  That should solve the problem, plus I don't have to remember to leave a light on when I'm going to be out late (no need to advertise a late return, anyway...).

#209 Monday

Aaaagggghhhh.... I forgot!  Count this as Monday.  I'm fine.

#208 Sunday

Lazy day Sunday. 

The library wasn't selling any books yesterday.  Disappointment.  Usually during the festivals, there's a bandstand set up in the village parking lot, leaving little available parking for the festival attendees.  Yesterday there was no bandstand.  The parking lot was carefully blocked off with sawhorses, and completely empty.

Sigh.  I don't understand.... 

#207 Saratoga and Apple Blossoms

It took about an hour and 55 minutes to get to Saratoga Springs.  I was very interested in Mark Lawson Antiques - they are the major sponsor of Antiques Roadshow on the local PBS channel, so I thought they would have a big store.   I was looking forward to exploring it. 

They were open from like 9 to 3, and had asked me to call with my arrival time.  I gave them an estimate of 2 pm, and got there at 1:50.  It's a smallish house.  I had to ring the bell, and a man unlocked the door and let me into the foyer.  They gave me my box of paperweights.  I left.  Duh.

They were on route 9, so I decided to just take route 9 home.  Somewhere in Saratoga there's a street (at least) of gorgeous old victorian houses.  I've always wanted to see them, but I have no idea where they are.  Route 9 took me right through the center of the business district, which is full of old hotels - four stories of gingerbread verandahs (looking very New Orleans), for rich Victorian-era folks who came to "take the waters".  Lots of boutiques, sidewalk cafes, hordes of people strolling.  No parking spaces anywhere. 

I did find the visitors' center, but couldn't find a parking space within six blocks in any direction, so I just kept going.  I'll come back sometime either outside tourist season, or the middle of the week.

When Jay was in the rehab center in Schenectady, he and I used to explore Schenectady on our practice trips out, looking for glorious houses.  Schenectady has some neighborhoods full of big old houses with wrap-around porches with fancy wicker furniture, towers, solariums, arched stained glass windows.  Jay and I both loved stuff like that.  If he had lived, we would eventually have sold this house (which had been built to his ex-wife's specifications) and bought a small old gingerbread house.  He required a garden with a gazebo, and stained glass in the windows - I required a huge wrapping porch and non-rectangular areas inside.  We both absolutely required a tall round tower.  I was going to fill the next-to-highest level with pillows, for lolling and reading.  He had plans for the top level  involving a retracting roof and a telescope.  (I once caught him looking speculatively at an old abandoned barn  with an attached silo near New Paltz.)

Long ago, when I lived in Highland, my mother was visiting, and I was taking her to Kingston.  Instead of going the direct route, I took her the back way, through New Paltz, Stone Ridge, Hurley, and uptown Kingston, so I could show her the colonial stone houses along the way.  I was very enthusiastic, described the interiors of those I had been in, what history I knew of the others - until she finally said, "Why are you showing me houses?  I have no interest in any of this.  They're just houses.  Old ones, at that."  I was crushed.  I would never do that to Daughter (at least, not on purpose.)  Daughter - you always try to show me things in your area that you think I'd like.  I'd like to see the things you like.   (But not so much the people - strangers make me nervous.)

Well, the village is having its Apple Blossom Festival today, so I'm going to wander off now.  The library will be having its $1 used book sale, and I'd like to stop by.

#206 Back and Weather

The back is behaving. Finger pressing, not knuckle, just enough to remind me to stand and sit straight. 

The weather is not behaving.  Yesterday it was in the 80s.  Today it's the high 50s.  We have a frost warning for tonight.  Yesterday I started out the door in my bunny fur shrug, and had to go back in and change to sleeveless.  Today I started out sleeveless, and went back in for the shrug.  People are walking around in cotton sundresses under ski jackets.  The orchard people are worried - they figure they may have already lost 25% of the crop.

Earlier in the week, driving through the village, I had about decided that May was my favorite month.  All the fruit trees are in glorious bloom, and the other trees have those fresh bright light green leaves, and the temperatures are about perfect!  I may have to rethink that.  May can be awfully fickle.

Tomorrow I plan to go to Saratoga Springs to pick up some paperweights I won in an online Mark Lawson auction.  I've never been to the Saratoga area, so I want to wander around a little, so if I don't make an entry here and I'm not home in the evening, don't worry.

#205 Update on my Upper Back

During the day yesterday it was not too bad, just felt like someone was pushing a knuckle into my spine.  I went to bed early (early for me, about 11:30 pm), and couldn't get to sleep until after 5 am, because no position was comfortable. 

The most comfortable position was flat on my back with my knees up, but a) I can't sleep on my back, and b) as soon as I did manage to doze off, my knees fell down, and that hurt.  (Yeah, pillow under knees is supposed to work.  I've tried that in the past, but that can be dangerous.  As soon as I fall asleep, I roll to my side, and sleeping on the side with the knees raised sideways makes things worse.)

When I woke this morning, well, ok, at noon, it was much better.  Even the knuckle was pressing more gently.  But at almost exactly 6 pm, right after I ate some yogurt and drank some (warm) iced tea, something went very wrong.  I had sharp cramping pain in my upper belly so bad that my entire body, even my fingers and toes, was trembling inside.  I broke out in a sweat.  You couldn't see the trembling on the outside, but inside it felt like there was an enormous motor spinning off-kilter.  I took 2 ordinary aspirin at 6:30, and literally within seconds, the pain went away.   Except for that knuckle, still pressing.  (I had decided that if the aspirin didn't help, I was heading for the emergency room.)

Razzelfrats!  I hate it when nerves get nasty.

#204 But Everybody Does It, Mommy

A certain powerful Republican has been accused (by Democrats) of breaking congressional ethics rules.

His defenders have pointed out that some Democrats have broken the same rules.  They seem to think that this means he should therefore not be punished. 

I do hope their mommies have explained to them that no, this means they ALL should be punished.

#203 The Motion-activated Lights

Well, I put some batteries in them and set them up.  They do work as advertised.  Howsomever - even on "high" they cast just enough light that you can locate them.  "Yup, there it is, right over there."   But you'll probably trip over everything on the way to it.  I think I just figured out why they were on sale.

#202 Sony and Me

Back in entry # 169 I mentioned that I figured Sony owed me a few million dollars, and that I'd write about it later.  Here's the story:

In the mid to late 70s, running and jogging was all the rage.  Everybody "went out for a run" as soon as they got home from work (the real crazies went out before work!)  If you didn't run, or at least jog, you were sneered at.  Not taking care of yourself.  Something like how smokers are treated now (back then, even many of the runners smoked).  You'd see people all along the sides of the roads, trotting along with very pained looks on their faces.

I'm not a runner or even jogger.  Never have been.  Imagine a short-legged Dolly Parton jogging, and you'll understand.  Bruises the chin and all that.  But I did walk.  I used to walk two or more miles a day around our spread-out subdivision, at a good swinging clip, and ten miles along the Potomac River on a Saturday.

In 1978, I was starting Mid-Eastern dance, and learning to play the zills (finger cymbals).  You don't dare practice sitting or standing in place, or you'll never get it together with your feet.  Also, the sound made my toddler daughter cry and the dog howl.  So I figured the best time to practice the zills was on my walks. 

There are several patterns for each of the different rhythms, so I made a tape of my rhythms album, and took the portable tape recorder and my zills on my walks.  (Daughter - for zill patterns, see http://www.middleeasterndance.homestead.com/ZillPatern.html)

In 1978, "portable" merely meant it had a handle or strap.  Had nothing to do with size or weight.  The smallest thing I could find to play my tapes was a player/recorder, about 9"x4"x2.5",  quite heavy, with a shoulder strap.  It thumped against my hips as I walked, especially if I tried any fancy "traveling" dance steps.

One day, as I picked it up to go out the door, it occurred to me that I never used the "record" feature - I recorded on the stereo in the living room.  I wondered how much that contributed to the weight.  Also, it had an ear plug, which I always used, so I never used the speakers.  Then I really thought about it, and got excited.  What I really needed was a tape player, alone, with just an ear plug.  If you got rid of the speakers, and the recording circuits, and half the buttons, you'd end up with something very light, slightly larger than a cigarette pack, that would be much easier to walk with!  There had to be something like that out there somewhere!

So I got on the phone.  (Ex#2 should remember this....)  I called every place in Washington DC and the suburbs that sold tape recorders.  I called every department store.  Nobody had anything even remotely like what I wanted.  Several salesmen gave me phone numbers for their distributors.  They had nothing, but several of them gave me manufacturers' numbers.  I ended up having a long telephone conversation with the chief honcho for Sony US sales.  He had nothing to offer me, and didn't see where such a simple thing would have much use anyway.  I said no no, I don't want it to DO anything, I just want it to WALK with!   Then he was interested.  But still had nothing.

End of my half of the story.  I eventually gave up carrying the recorder on my walks because the weight of it unbalanced me and was causing back problems.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Meanwhile, on the other side of the world, Sony Japan was undergoing a shakeup.  According to some accounts, they had all new upper management, and were looking to reorganize and streamline, and the tape recorder division was on the chopping block.  Their sales had been stagnant.  They needed something new.  Quoting from Chapter 17 of http://inventors.about.com/gi/dynamic/offsite.htm?site=http://www.sony.co.jp/en/Fun/SH/ , the "official" Sony history:

"Ibuka (then Honorary Chairman) was a regular user of the TC-D5 [similar to the heavier recorder I'd complained about], and he would take one with a set of headphones on overseas trips, so that he could listen to music in stereo on the plane. However, he found it too heavy. One day, before going on a trip to the United States, he asked Ohga (then ExecutiveDeputy President) for a simple, playback-only stereo version of the Pressman, the small, monaural tape recorder that Sony had launched in 1977.  Ohga immediately called Kozo Ohsone, general manager of the Tape Recorder Business Division."

This was in late 1978.  What you wanna bet Ibuka-San had talked on the phone with the US head sales honcho before he left on the trip?  What you wanna bet that the honcho had recounted the call he'd gotten about a new idea?  I know, deep in my heart, that Ibuka-San got the idea through him, from me.  I am certain!  It's only natural.  The connection is much too strong to be coincidence.

The Sony Walkman(ä)* went on sale in Japan in July of 1979, then in Europe, then eventually in the United States.   By the time I saw my first Walkman, there was enough time difference (about 3 years) that I didn't make the connection between my telephone calls and the device.   Mainly I just thought "Well, good.  Finally!"  It's only through the internet that I recently discovered the true timing.

Sony owes me a gazillion dollars.  Any lawyers out there want to take the case?  Hmmm.  I didn't think so.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

*(The funny symbol may or may not come out.  It's supposed to be the trademark symbol.) 

#201 Bits & Pieces

Well, I did take the lights to the Sharper Image store, and three clerks worked on them and finally got the screws out.  At one point, one clerk said to another, "All our lights like this are always burned out.  Do you think maybe it's because no one wants to change the batteries?" 

The bottoms fit quite tightly without the screws, so I'm not going to put them back in.

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A lot of people are surprised and disappointed that the man chosen as the new pope is so conservative.  I am not surprised.  If your boat is in a safe harbor, and the tide is getting stronger and the wind is rising, and your boat is in danger of drifting, you don't put on canvas.  You drop an anchor.  Now, if you drop the anchor but you don't "set" it, the boat might still drift, but more slowly.  By choosing a much older man than they might have, the cardinals have not set the anchor.  It's a surprisingly perspicacious choice.  (Although probably not by conscious plan.)

________________________________________________________

I must have slept in an odd position last night.  I have a really bad pain on the right edge of my spine just below the shoulder blade.  It extends around to the front along the rib, with another sharp node of pain in the front.  It's making my stomach feel queasy, and it's causing acid reflux.  Tylenol helps both the pain and queasiness. 

At first I was worried about heart, lungs, nastiness, but poking confirmed that it's definitely very near the surface, probably a pinched nerve in the back that's also affecting my stomach, and the usual inflammation from a rib out of kilter in the front, so I guess it's nothing serious. 

I worry, though, about stuff like this.  I have so much pain here and there and everywhere all the time, that I worry that I will ignore something serious.  The surgeon was surprised that I didn't feel anything wrong when the gall bladder went west.  I drove myself to the emergency room in the middle of the night only after I started throwing up blood.  He kept asking "You didn't feel any pain?", and rather than try to explain, I just answered "Nothing unusual...".   Doctors don't want to hear about chronic pain.  If they can't pinpoint it, can't fix it, it's "all in your head", or "You're too sensitive".  Hey - I gave birth twice with absolutely no meds, and found it "interesting".  I went to school with a ruptured disk and split ribs.  I didn't feel a gall bladder that required emergency surgery.  I am absolutely NOT "too sensitive"! 

____________________________________________________

Word for the day - "Punk" is not a verb!!!!!   And if it ever were, it wouldn't have anything to do with playing a harmless prank, anyway.  Whoever started using it as a verb didn't know what the noun meant.  (Is it possible they confused "punk" and "prank"?)

#200 The Women

I've had a few questions about the women in the previous entry.  One about the strong family resemblance, and another about faith.

Yeah, the cheeks and chin seem to breed true!  I'm a bit of an anomaly, my version is a bit rounder, but Daughter has the same cheeks and chin as her feminine forebears.  They came through in her!  They all had enormous soft deep dark brown eyes.  Mine are gray (if you love me, you will see some green there), and Daughter's change color with the weather and her mood, all the way from light brown to turquoise.  Daughter has my mother's mouth and her smile.  All three of them had the most amazing translucent butter-soft skin, it glowed in soft light.  Daughter and I seem to have lost that - but perhaps it's still lurking, waiting to pop out again in a future generation.

GreatGramma, Mary Elizabeth Twiss Evans, came from Wales.  She spoke Welsh.  She could speak and understand English, but refused to use English unless absolutely necessary.  She used to tell me bedtime stories in Welsh.  In Wales, she had been a wisewoman - you know, fairies, herbal remedies, mild spells, ancient knowledge.   A white witch.  I believe she was a founding member of the Puritan Church on Market Street in North Scranton, the one with the big round rose window in front.  The only thing I have that I know(believe) once belonged to her is the gold cross I gave Daughter on her 21st birthday. 

Gramma, Mary Elizabeth Evans Morris, aged rather quickly (although she lived semi-independently into her nineties), I guess because she was raising a young family during WWI and the Great Depression.   Grampa worked for the Lackawanna Railroad, so they were relatively secure, but with everyone else around them in imminent danger of ruin, including her sisters and brothers, she became pretty much the head of the family.   I didn't realize until she was gone, and I learned some of the family secrets, that she was a very intelligent and strong person.  Much more than I ever gave her credit for.

Gramma was also Puritan, but not especially religious.  She went to church every Sunday, but I think it was mostly social.  She was a member of the Eastern Star,  and active in the church auxiliary,  especially in the making of the Welsh cookies, the major money-maker every year.   She would not allow alcohol, tobacco, or playing cards in her house, but I suspect that had less to do with puritan tenets than with having seen bad results.  She took oaths seriously.  When I went off to college, she made me promise on the Bible never to gamble.  And I didn't, until I bought my first lottery ticket when I was 40.  Even then, I sat in the car and had a silent discussion about it with Gramma, first.

There are a few funny stories about Gramma and alcohol.  The big family gathering every year was Thanksgiving, and we always ended the meal with plum or mince pudding with hard sauce.  Grampa always made the hard sauce from his own secret recipe.  He'd shoo everyone else out of the kitchen and close the door when he was making it.   At some point, I realized that hard sauce is made with brandy.  I asked my mother if Gramma knew, and she laughed and said "Why do you think it's a secret?"  Gramma knew all right, but figured if she didn't acknowledge it and thereby approve it, then it was ok.

Mother, another Mary Elizabeth, was a butterfly.  She was a bottle of champagne.  She was also unusually intelligent, mainly a kind of social intelligence and skill, but she wasn't much of a fighter.  She was a lifelong member of the Puritan church, even paid her dues and tithed until the day of her death, but that's about as far as it went.  Sort of like insurance, I guess.    If we lived on a base where my father was the commander, as the commander's wife she was the social and moral leader, and we went to the weekly multi-denominational services on the base as a duty, but otherwise, religion was not a big deal with her.    

I was baptized Puritan, and still have a little bit of the prude about me, but religion-wise, I have gone my own way.  If you have to put a label on it, I'm Pagan.   Bit of GreatGramma coming through, I guess.  Daughter is even more so.

I've been asked why the photos I have included seem to be just me, and deceased people.  It's because the live people I'd most like to include mostly don't want their likeness broadcast all over the ether.  I understand and respect that.

#199 [P] Friday - For Mother's Day

(Half the time, one or the other of these pictures doesn't load.  If you get the raspberry X, try again.  And don't scroll while it's loading - AOL doesn't like interruptions.)

The top picture is my mother and me (I just remembered - that spot in her mouth is braces!   Like Daughter, her eye teeth were crowded out, and she took advantage of the military dental plan). The lower one is Gramma, me, GreatGramma, and Mom.

Both photos were taken on the same day - one in a studio, the other in the back yard.   My father was off fighting WWII at the time, and GreatGramma was widowed, so they were all living together, with Grampa and my mother's baby brother Raymond (who was probably somewhere between 8 and 12 years old then). 

Nobody's over 4'10" tall.  Gramma got a lot shorter over time, but GreatGramma was the tallest, and stayed that way.  She never lost any height with age.

Note - I'm really tiny inside all those clothes, but look how chubby my legs are!  See?  It's fate, not fat!

#198 Thursday - I'm here....

Talked to Daughter twice today.  So this entry is mainly just to keep the promise.

If I can get moving early enough tomorrow, I'm going to drive down to the Sharper Image store in Woodbury Mall (apparently the closest, according to their website), and raise some cain.

I bought three little battery-operated motion detecting lights from Sharper Image, through Amazon, for like 1/4 the list price during Amazon's Friday Specials sale.  I thought I'd put one in my bathroom, one in the cat's bathroom, and one in the livingroom. 

Step one of the instructions: "Using a screwdriver, remove the screws from the bottom, and insert three AA batteries."  There are four screws, Phillips head, and they are only slightly larger than the screws at the temple of my glasses.  This is not your standard household screwdriver size!  Luckily, Jay had a set of tiny screwdrivers.  The smallest one fit.  The screwdrivers are the type where there's a flat fixed part at the end that you seat in the palm, and then turn the shaft with the tips of your fingers.

I tried using the screwdrivers as designed, and the screws wouldn't turn!   I ended up bracing the light with the heel of my left hand, holding the screwdriver in place with my left fingers and pushing it into the screw with my chin (!), while with my right hand I turned the screwdriver with a wrench around the shaft.   It took me 45 minutes to get the first screw out!  There are 11 more to go.  The second screw's head started to strip, so I gave up.  (I figured if I could get four out, I'd leave the screws out and put the danged thing back together with duct tape....)

So I intend to go to the Sharper Image store tomorrow, plunk the fer'kaka things on the counter, and insist that THEY insert the batteries for me!  When they give up (I'll even provide the screwdriver and wrench), I want my money back.  I fully intend to make noise.  This is a really bad design !

Just out of curiosity - they detect motion (not heat) in a dark room, and turnthe light on.  Exactly how do they detect motion?  In the dark?  Without rapidly using up the batteries?  (Jay would know.)

#197 Wednesday - Grocery Store Orders

I love Dannon coffee yogurt.  The village grocery store doesn't stock enough, despite my having asked them to stock more.  Whenever I see it on the shelf, I clean them out.  Unfortunately, there must be several other people who do the same thing, because if I don't get there as soon as it's put out, sometimes I don't get any until the next week.  (Meanwhile, the lemon and vanilla sit there untouched!) 

Well, I complained about three weeks ago, and found out that I can place a standing order!  I didn't know that was a possibility. 

Now I'm getting a case every second Friday.  Cool, huh?

#196 Birthdates

http://www.blogthings.com/whatdoesyourbirthdatemeanquiz/

Me: Your birth on the 27th day of the month (9 energy) adds a tone of selflessness and humanitarianism to your life path.
Certainly, you are one who can work very well with people, but at the same time you need a good bit of time to be by yourself to rest and meditate.
There is a very humanistic and philanthropic approach in most of the things that you do.

This birthday helps you be broadminded, tolerant, generous and very cooperative.
You are the type of person who uses persuasion rather than force to achieve your ends.
You tend to be very sensitive to others' needs and feelings, and you are able to give much in the way of friendship without expecting a lot in return.

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Daughter: Your birth on the 19th day of the month adds a tone of independence and extra energy to your life path.
But at the same time, it poses a number of obstacles to overcome before you are able to be as independent as you would like. The number 1 energy suggests more executive ability and leadership qualities than your path may have indicated.

A birthday on the 19th of any month gives greater will power and self-confidence, and very often a rather original approach. However, a somewhat self-centered approach to life may be in conflict with some of the other influences in your life.
This 1 energy may diminish your ability and desire to handle details, preferring instead to paint with a broad brush.

You are sensitive, but your feelings stay somewhat repressed.
You have a compelling manner that can be dominating in many situations.
You do not tend to follow convention or take advice very well.

Consequently, you tend to learn through experience; sometimes hard experiences.
The 19/1 is a loner number and you may experience feelings of being alone even if you are married.
You may take on a tendency to be nervous and angry.

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Jay:  With a birthday on the 5th of the month you are inclined  to work well with people and enjoy them.
You are talented and versatile, very good at presenting ideas.
You may have a tendency to get itchy feet at times and need change and travel.

You tend to be very progressive, imaginative and adaptable.
Your mind is quick, clever and analytical.
A restlessness in your nature may make you a bit impatient and easily bored with routine.
You may have a tendency to shirk responsibility.

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Ex#2: Your birth on the 16th day of the month gives a sense of loneliness and generally the desire to work alone.
You are relatively inflexible, and insist on your being independent.
You need a good deal of time to rest and to meditate.

You are introspective and a little stubborn.
Because of this, it may not be easy for you to maintain permanent relationships, but you probably will as you are very much into home and family.
This birth day inclines to interests in the technical, the scientific, and to the religious or the unknown realm of spiritual explorations.

The date gives you a tendency to seek unusual approaches and makes your style seem a little different and unique to those around you.
Your intuition is aided by the day of your birth, but most of your actions are bedded in logic, responsibility, and the rational approach.
You may be emotional, but have a hard time expressing these emotions.
Because of this, there may be some difficulty in giving or receiving affection.

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WOW !!!  How'd they do that!

#195 Monday - Passage of Time

I had to draw a mini-timeline for the previous entry, to get the years right.  It didn't look right, didn't feel right.  I'm amazed that I lived in Gettysburg only 2 years !!, from August 1965 to August 1967, because it feels like an enormous part of my life.  I interacted with so many people, had so many experiences, so much happened, so much that affected the rest of my life.  There were so many other lives I was involved with in one way or another.

Nowadays, there's not much change from one year to the next.  I have to count on my fingers.  The progress of my life feels so slow, and yet the time passes so quickly.  Two years of my younger life were filled like eight are now.  There was so much packed in there. 

The pace must have been head-spinning!

I wonder if this is true for everyone?

#194 Sunday. The Mistress Contract.

Back in Entry #169, I mentioned that I had once been offered a contract as a mistress, and promised to write about it.  Here goes.

I married Ex#1 in August 1965, about a week after my college graduation.  He was in the Army, stationed in Germany, and had returned for my graduation.  He decided we would get married while he was home on leave.  My mother wouldn't sign for us to get married (I was underaged) unless I promised not to return to Germany (and poverty, and babies) with him.  Actually, I had hoped she'd flatly refuse permission and get me out of it entirely, but she didn't.  I didn't want to marry him at all, but Ex#1 made threats, and I wasn't strong enough to withstand them.  I was pretty solidly beaten down by then.  At that time of my life, I'd go along with pretty much anything anyone else wanted to do because it was easier - and going my own way certainly hadn't worked for me.   I think my mother was worried about my going off alone so young (remember, this was the 60s) and thought marrying me off would keep me safe.  Or maybe that's too charitable.   

Anyway, after the mini-wedding, he went back to Germany, and in the fall of 1965 I started teaching high school math in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania.  I acquired some single female friends - Jeannie and Ruby - and we used to go dancing every weekend at the 6-15 Club in York.  Ruby had a driver's license, but no car, and I had a car but only a learner's permit, so I would drive and Ruby would drink.  Worked out fine.

The "theme" for the place (if it had one at all) was the Roaring 20s, Speakeasy, so the band always played a Charleston at the beginning and end of every set.  Jeannie and Ruby and I had worked out a smokin' Charleston, and several times we were boosted up onto the stage, and delayed the band's break time  (until the owner said not to do that - insurance problems - we had to stay on the dance floor).  The three of us were pretty much the queens of the 6-15.  At closing time, almost everyone went to a particular all-night diner for breakfast, and we three were always cheered and applauded there when we walked in (we went all-out on the closing Charleston). 

Since I was the married one, I didn't dance with men.  If any asked me to dance (and a lot did - the 6-15 club had ultraviolet light only, and for some reason, my chestnut hair and unpolished fingernails glowed lavender white - I was gorgeous!) I'd tell them I wouldn't dance, but if they'd like to sit down, I'd talk with them for the duration of one dance.  

That's how I met Amadeo.

Amadeo was in his early 30s, an electrical engineer from Naples, Italy, had gone to graduate school at Yale, and then stayed.  He wasn't tall (but was taller than I), but was dark and handsome, very intelligent and cultured, knew his way around a wine list, spoke English, Italian, French, and Spanish fluently, and German and Portugese well enough to get around.  He found me very different from most American girls, and a mutual fascination developed. 

Through the spring of 1966, Amadeo and I talked often at the 6-15, and at breakfast after.  That summer, we visited Hanover Farms, home of the famous harness racers.  He knew one of the trainers, so we got a private tour.  Romantic "dating" was not an option, but it seemed like innocent daytime field trips were ok.  I also accompanied him to a few business functions where he needed a "date" to round out the table.  I fell madly in fascination.  I wished things were different.  I wanted my own life back!  There are fascinating things out there, and I wanted them!  Eventually I had to stop seeing him, because I knew it wasn't going anywhere good.  He accepted that.

And then, Ex#1 returned.  Actually, he had been transferred from Germany to Seattle about six months before, but apparently had been enjoying single life himself, and hadn't even suggested that I join him there.  When he got out of the Army late in the summer of 1967, I told him I wanted out.  He didn't.  I didn't have the strength to leave.  I wanted him to leave me.  He wouldn't.

We movedto Lansdale, Pennsylvania, in late August 1967, and  I started teaching there. That's  a whole story in itself, but anyway, in like January 1968, one of the other teachers showed me an ad in the paper - The Company was testing applicants for programming school.  He suggested that I would be good at that, so I went to Philadelphia and took the test - just for fun, with no thought that I would actually be able to take a job if offered anyway.  As it happened, I scored higher on the test than any other applicant in history.  The Company went after me BIG TIME!  They even offered me the services of the corporate lawyers if I had legal issues keeping me in Pennsylvania.  That gave me the courage I needed, and I finally left.

So, summer of 1968, I am in the Mid-Hudson valley, working for The Company, and who do I get a call from? 

After Amadeo and I had broken off contact, he had transferred to New Haven, Connecticut.  Unbeknownst to me, he had kept track of me through my Gettysburg friend, Jeannie.  Jeannie told him I had left Ex#1, and gave him my address and phone number. He immediately drove to within a few miles of my home, and called for directions to the house.   I met him at a restaurant in town.

The next weekend, there was some big deal in New Haven (Yale Homecoming football game?) and he invited me for the weekend.  He got a room in a hotel for me, and when I checked in, I told the desk that they were not to give out my room number to anyone.  When he arrived to pick me up for dinner, I met him in the lobby, and he was steamed because the clerks wouldn't give him my room number.  He got really pissed when later that evening, I wouldn't let him come up with me.  He had no intention of continuing the relationship on the same basis as before.  He wanted more.

I wanted to move slowly.  That's just the way I am.  But then I remembered Byron, in college.  I really liked him, too, but he wandered away because I wouldn't "produce".  He never once so much as got a button undone on me, but he absolutely destroyed my reputation (and my mind, what little sanity I had left...) on the way out.  I was afraid of losing Amadeo for the samereason.  What good is being a "good girl" if you can't keep a man.  There's something wrong there. 

Sooooo .... pretty soon things got pretty hot and heavy. 

And then one day he said he wanted to keep me with him forever.  But, as I was a divorcee, he couldn't marry me.  He explained how things work in his world.  I don't know how much this applies to Italy in general, but it's how things worked in his social/cultural set.  Or at least that's what he told me. 

He came to the US first and worked to bring his parents over.  Then his father worked to bring his mistress.  (Then the rest of his children.) The mistress has an apartment a few miles from his parents'home in New Haven.  Yes, his mother knows about her.  No problem.  It's accepted.

When a young man marries, he finds a woman who fits into his family, who gets along well with and is approved by his mother, sisters, other female relatives.  Virtue, suitability, and social standing are foremost.  Love and compatibility are optional.  Then, after a proper number of children, he finds a mistress.  The mistress is chosen based on love and compatibility.  She is chosen even more carefully than the wife, because although the wife comes first, the mistress is every bit as secure as the wife, because she has a contract.  It's definitely not a temporary appointment.

The contract outlines the duties and responsibilities of the man and the mistress. 

She is to be available to him whenever he needs her.  She will be a hostess when he entertains.  She is free to have an outside job, but it's better if she is self-employed, if at all, so that she can adjust her worktime and vacations to fit his needs.  It is of course assumed that she will always strive to be comforting and supportive.

He will provide her with suitable accomodations, and will pay for all the utilities and necessities and so on, plus a stipend for her personal purchases.  He will also be available to her on demand, with the understanding that the legal family has priority.  If he should die, she will be taken care of.

If there are children, they will be provided for through college.

In the United States, the contracts must be cleverly written to be legally enforced, but this is not a big concern because the rest of the man's family will ensure that the contracts are honored, as a matter of Family Honor, so not to worry.   The only way out of the contract for either party is death or mutual agreement.   

He said the wife doesn't mind, because she knows that's how it is, and her social and financial position are not threatened.  She knows she will take priority.  Plus, the mistress "takes the pressure off" so to speak.  Most wives of his class appreciate the release.  

He said he is breaking tradition by having found the mistress first.  His parents won't be happy - they have been putting pressure on him to marry - but he is sure they'll give in and accept it, especially since, once he's sure I'm in his corner, he would be more willing to marry anyone they chose.   He was so happy, so excited.

I stopped answering the phone, returned his letters unopened, and cried for months.