#337 Thinking About New Orleans - 2

There's talk of New Orleans taking " months to years to come back".  Talk of cleaning up and rebuilding.  I wonder if that's wise.

It might be worth it for all those other gulf towns and cities, like Biloxi, where all the damage was caused by the hurricane, and any future damage would likely also be storm damage.  New Orleans, however, wasn't wrecked by the storm.  It was wrecked by the breaking of the levees.  That could happen again from any of several causes.

The talking heads natter on about repairing the holes in the levees, then pumping the water out, which would "take several months".  They make it sound simple, but it's not.  The water is not pure.  It's full of pollutants - oil, chemicals, bodies, disease. It's not "running off", as it would in higher areas, so it's soaking deeply into very permeable soil.  You can't pump the water out of the mud.  You can't pump the pollutants out.  It's one big super-fund site.  It will be a very long time before some of that deep silty mud will be dried out enough to rebuild on.  I predict that within a few months, some of the remaining buildings will begin sinking, subsiding, tilting, even faster than they were before.

Maybe now is the time to give it up.  Maybe clean up the downtown and reopen it as a huge museum, a tourist mecca.  The downtown Canal Street area and the more touristy part of the French Quarter are relatively higher, so perhaps a small population could be allowed there, but don't allow anyone to live in the depths of that fragile-sided bowl any more. 

That would be stupid, and it's just too tempting.   

~~Silk

#336 Thinking About New Orleans

I watch reporters on the street in downtown New Orleans, standing in water among fallen palms on Canal Street.  Beyond, the hotel I stayed in just last month, now missing most of its windows. 

The hotel where there was, among others, a program about the pumps, one of many speakers that on my way home I regretted missing.  I thought I could always go back to New Orleans, but the speakers were gone for good.

I'm not very good at predictions, I guess.

A tour guide told us that the hotels and other high-rise buildings are built on piers driven into the unsteady silt New Orleans rests on, driven many hundreds of feet deep, sometimes deeper than the buildings are tall.  That prevents the buildings from sinking.  But I wonder, as the silt soaks up water and becomes slush, will those piers remain upright?  Are they deep enough into bedrock to resist sideways leverage?  To resist the urge to topple those buildings?

Way back in 1964, dear friend Obie, rebel from Baton Rouge, told me that he wanted to take me to Mardi Gras in New Orleans.  He died before we had the chance.  I'd wanted to visit New Orleans, the New Orleans of his stories, ever since then.  To see Bourbon Street, where he played poker in the middle of the street at midnight, wearing only shoes, socks, and a top hat.  To see the second story galleries like the one Obie got pitched over the side of for trying to join a jazz session with his bongos.  More.  All of it.

I don't regret missing all those conference speakers now.  I'm glad I blew them all off and spent all my time exploring the downtown area.  I think it's remarkable that this summer was the time I finally went.  I'll always be able to read about all those dry topics, but at my age I may never again have the opportunity to see the old New Orleans.

It will come back.  But perhaps not for a very long time.

~~Silk

#335 Bits and Pieces

My absolute all time favorite blog:  http://www.margaretcho.net/blog/blog.htm   She is intelligent, perceptive, and articulate.
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T-shirt seen at the county fair:
Who are these kids,
And why do they keep calling me Mom?
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I figured out why I had trouble sleeping Sunday night. 

The nightlight had burned out, and the bedroom was too dark.  How silly is that?

The nightlight is a very dim bulb on a light-sensitive switch, low on a side wall next to the bathroom door, behind some stuff, so it illuminates only a small section of the wall.  It's not visible from my pillow, so I was not aware it had burned out.  I guess I was subconsciously aware something wasn't right. 

Replaced the bulb last night.  Slept well. 

~~Silk

#334 Sigh. Mope.

Sighing and moping around a lot today.  For some unknown reason I was completely unable to sleep last night.  I worked logic puzzles and crosswords in bed all night long while Miss Thunderfoot snored away beside me.

There was nothing in particular on my mind.  Every so often I'd turn the lights out and arrange the pillow and try to go to sleep, but the pillow just didn't feel comfortable, and I  felt too awake to go to sleep.  It rained hard all night, and I don't sleep well in rain, anyway.

I had hoped to be able to work on clearing more stuff out of the basement today and tomorrow, but now I'm just too tired.  If I'm going to want to allow visitors in the house any time before next summer, I have to get some of the tons of fabric and other supplies accumulated over the past two years, which have reduced the house to narrow pathways, sorted and packed and stowed in the basement, which means I have to get the basement cleared out BEFORE the snow starts.  I talked with The Hairless Hunk yesterday, and sometime in the next day or two he will drop off his hydraulic trailer for me to fill so we can take the stuff to the dump.  This load will be almost entirely paper, and most of it is already sorted and bagged, so It should go quickly.  But it will be heavy work.  Probably almost a half-ton.  (It is all recyclable, but it would overwhelm the local recycling centers.  Sad.)

Sigh.

Mope.

~~Silk

#333 Katrina

This picture is from AOL news, for those of you who aren't on AOL.  Look at the SIZE of that thing!  That's scary.  I didn't know storms could get that big.

We were in New Orleans when Dennis was threatening to hit, in early June, and I was amazed at the lack of response.  The hotel laconically notified us that if Dennis did hit on Sunday as expected, there would be "no services" in the hotel on Sunday or Monday, as all the employees would be staying home.  Of course, Dennis didn't visit New Orleans, and went to Florida instead.

Now, New Orleans is evacuating.  Big response this time.  I see why.  The ocean surge will be incredible.  Man, that thing's HUGE!  Water might hit New Orleans like the tsunami last Christmas hit the Philippines. 

It's interesting to note that, according to the news reports, nobody is making a special effort to get tourists out.  They are expected to stay in the hotels and enjoy "vertical shelter".  Agh!  If that's so good, why not evacuate the city into the hotels?  Let's all just "go upstairs" and have a storm party.  Yeah.  Sure.  I feel sorriest for the visitors to the city, stuck with no transportation, no "storm kit", no support system, no way out.  Abandoned to their own devices.

They never signed up for this!

~~Silk

#332 Comments

This is an experiment.  After many requests, I have turned comments back on, but I prefer that you comment only when you absolutely can't resist, ok?  Emailed responses are still preferred. 

If I have to spend any time deleting comments that divulge too much personal information (by now, you will have noticed that I don't use real names, I don't specifically name "The Company", and so on - please maintain the fiction), if comments become a bother, I will be forced to turn them off again.  This is not a forum for geographically scattered prior coworker cross-talk. 

Too many "Sheesh, what an idiot!"s will turn me off.  If you comment, make sure you are commenting on a point I made, not a conclusion your mind jumped to.  Read carefully and think before leaping.  My viewpoint is likely very different from yours, as yours is different from mine, and we both have a right to our own.

Sugar overload will turn me off.  I am not doing this for approval or pats on the back.  I am not looking for friends or support.

I still prefer that you don't leave comments, but I'm getting tired of defending that position.   The alternative is going private, which has its own form of maintenance pain, especially when invited readers are mostly non-AOL, plus you can never go back to public again.  I'd be enduring that annoyance for the benefit of comments, and considering that this whole thing is for me only, that's especially annoying.

Ok, have I discouraged you enough?  The comment function is back.  Please use it wisely.

~~Silk

#331 I Am Bugs?

Bugs Bunny!
You scored 14 Aggression, 85 Sophistication, and 71 Optimism! You have all the sophistication and charm one would expect from such a high-class hare. Very upbeat and generally laid-back, you are remarkably calm and peaceful even in the midst of the most stressful of situations. On those rare occasions that your anger is aroused, your retaliation usually results in embarrassing the aggressor and laying-bare how foolish he or she really is -- rather than doing any real harm. You likely have many friends and more than a few admirers and would make an excellent leader, if you had any interest in being one. But, being a leader would require hard work and attention to detail, both qualities you are lacking in. In fact, if you are not careful, your laid-back attitude will often lead you to drift through life completely oblivious to the changes happening around you. You also tend to have a horrible sense of direction.

Link: The Which Looney Tune Are You Test written by coolguy3000 on OkCupid Free Online Dating

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I'm a bit disappointed.  I was hoping for the Tasmanian Devil, but afraid I'd get Elmer Fudd.  Bugs is kind of boring (not as much as Elmer) but at least they had nice things to say about him.

~~Silk

#330 Strange Dream

I had a strange dream, I think it was last Tuesday night, that is still with me.  That usually means that my subconscious is trying to tell me something.  I haven't figured it out yet, and I'm beginning to think I won't ever.

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It is night, strong moonlight.  A large rustic building on stilts, rising out of a swampy area.  One story in front, roof sloping up to two stories in back, a wide deck around the front and two sides.  I am in the building, and there is a large group of people there, sort of a cocktail party going on.

The strangest part of the dream is that I am a young male.  Slender, long legs, athletic build.  I don't remember ever before being anyone but me in a dream.  Also, in usual dreams, I am sometimes inside myself, but most often outside myself, watching me.  This time I stay entirely inside this young man, so I don't know what my face looked like.

At the beginning, I am on an upstairs balcony, looking down on a large room extending across the front of the building, watching the people milling around and conversing and laughing.  I am afraid of them.  They want to catch me and hurt me.  It's important that I avoid them.

The major part of the dream is spent with me moving through the warren of halls and rooms in the back of the building, ducking into rooms to avoid people and then moving on once they've passed.  I get more and more frightened.  I must not be caught.

I finally manage to get out onto the deck.  The water is black, with clumps of reeds and other vegetation scattered around.  There's a glistening trail of silver moonlight on the water, and in the distance I can see a clump of trees.  I know that the water is clean, there's no danger in it (very odd for me - the real me doesn't trust any water where I can't see the bottom), and if I can stay out of the moontrail and make it to the trees, I will be safe. 

I shimmy down one of the pilings and set out for the trees.

The water is only waist deep, and the bottom is mud.  I get about 100 yards away when I am spotted from the deck, and three men set out after me.  When the first man catches up to me, we fight.  I manage to get him under water, and I push his face into the mud, and stand on the back of his neck.  When the second man comes up, we fight, and I push his face into the mud and stand on him, too.  When the third arrives, I get my hands around his neck, and I am choking him.

A whole crowd then arrives, and they form a circle around me and the man I am choking.  They tell me that everything is ok, no one wants to hurt me, I am safe with them, I should let go of the guy I'm holding.  That someone had slipped me some kind of hallucinogenic food or drug earlier in the evening and it has made me paranoid, and they thought that I was sleeping it off upstairs.   That everything is ok and I shouldn't be afraid.

I'm still holding the guy by the neck.  I sort of remember now.  These are in fact my friends.  They do want to take care of me.  The guys I had just fought did seem to be trying to stop me, not to hurt me.  There's nothing to be afraid of.  It really is ok.

But unknown to anyone but the guy I'm still strangling, and he hasn't been able to say anything yet, I am standing on the necks of two people I just killed!  I don't know what to do.  I want to continue strangling the guy I'm holding, just to finish the job.  I do and don't want to kill them all.  I feel dead myself.  My life has ended.  It's not ok.

And the dream ends with me indecisive, still strangling the third guy.

---------------------------------------

It sounds like a movie or short story, like some dreams I have when I fall asleep with the television still on and I dream whatever I hear.  The tv was not on.  There is absolutely no connection with anything I have seen or read within memory.  I'm stumped by this one.

~~Silk

#329 For My Daughter

Overheard in the ladies' room at a rest stop on route 684 yesterday:

Adult daughter speaking to her mother, "Of course I remember this road and that trip!  That was one of my biggest childhood traumas, and I held it against you for years!"

The human condition.

~~Mom

#328 It's All About Me

Just a reminder - this journal is all about me (nod to the gypsy who uses the same phrase more forcefully and to good effect in her own blog).  I don't comment on news events except as they directly affect me or spur internal musings.  I don't report on friends or family, but I will report on my own feelings about them (especially as events and my thoughts about them seem to be causing me to change).  I am tracking my own movement and growth.  Right now I am awakening from a long sleep, a long time of being totally involved in someone else to the point of self-negation, and perhaps I am tipping over the other way a bit.

This doesn't mean that all else is unimportant, or that I am totally self-involved.  I do pay attention to and worry about and get involved in things outside my house and my head.   There are people I've never met that I worry for, like the woman whose house flooded, or the lady in the middle of a hurricane right now, or the couple with failing liver and nonfunctioning kidneys who have shown such courage and optimism, or the friend who has walked into the middle of armed tension to fulfill an obligation of love. 

They have their support systems.  They don't need me to fuss over them.  I have me.  I need me.

This journal is all about me, and nothing else.  Its purpose is mainly to track my own movement and growth (or lack thereof).   So the journal is self-involved.  On purpose.  As I awaken, I am becoming more selfish, more possessive of my time and resources, and it shows.  

Which is why I don't mind if no one reads this.

~~Silk

#327 Jump Start

I took "Roman" to the airport today.  He's going to "a Mediterranean country" (not Italy, despite the nickname I have assigned him) to visit family.   I waited with him at the terminal until he went through security (twice - he had to come back to give me a pen knife he had in a pocket, then do it all over again).  It was nice.  We seem to fit together well.  It felt good when he put his arm around me.  He's furry.  I like furry.  And his eyes smile before his mouth.  That's nice, too.

It's interesting that he should "tap me on the shoulder" at the precise moment when I was finally ready to be tapped.   Because I've known, liked, admired, and trusted  him for many years already, it's not so difficult, frightening?, to respond.  I don't feel like I have to defend myself.  I feel safe - even if it doesn't work out, I know he won't hurt me.

Speaking of responding, I surprised myself.  I'm like 10 years past menopause, and I stopped taking replacement hormones three years ago.  I've noticed a definite degradation of skin tone since I stopped the hormones, and I'd heard of other dire consequences.  I was afraid that stopping the hormones would rust the motor, so to speak, drain the gas tank.  I am pleased to report that the motor will not only start with a kiss, it actually revs!  Smoothly!

I'm looking forward to picking him up on his return next Thursday.  I'm hoping for a hello kiss that will melt my knees.

~~Silk

#326 Language Confusions

Made a quick late trip out to the gas station to refuel for a trip tomorrow.  $2.67ish per gallon.  "Tall Dark and Handsome" was on the register tonight - haven't seen him in a while.  I noticed they had "Sugar Daddy" bars for sale, and got all excited.  I used to love Sugar Daddies when I was in the fourth grade.  (They used to be a lot bigger then.)  I haven't seen them in ages.  TD&H kidded me about loving sugar daddies (the male type), and that led to a discussion about where the term came from.  The old Sugar Daddy was the biggest sucker (as in lollipop), and a person who will believe anything is a sucker, so the biggest male sucker is called a sugar daddy, because it fits beautifully on two levels. 

That led to a discussion about how differences in the use of language (he's from Pakistan), and the phoneme set you are exposed to as a child, can lead to mishearing and misunderstanding.  For example, he has difficulty hearing the difference between "can" and "can't".  If one does not pronounce the "t" distinctly, then the only difference is a glottal stop, and glottal stops are not easy for one raised on Urdu to hear.  It's not a part of the "phoneme set".  Also, some words in American english are used very differently from in the British english he had learned.

Which then reminded me of when Daughter and I visited England (we rented a houseboat), in the mid-80's.  She was about 11 or 12 at the time, and had gotten her ears pierced, and they had gotten infected.  We were in tiny villages along the canals when I went looking for a drug store to buy some alcohol for her earrings.

I asked people on the street where I could find a drug store.  More than once, they  reared back and said "We don't do that kind of thing here!" and hurried away.  Once I stopped a woman and asked for a drug store because "I need alcohol for my daughter".  She looked me up and down, looked at Daughter, then back at me, and said "People like you don't deserve children!"  She looked like she wanted to spit on me.

Eventually it dawned on me that they misunderstood "drug store". 

I asked for a pharmacy, and got a friendlier reaction.  (Actually, it's called a "chemist's", but at least they knew what I meant by pharmacy.)

So, we got to the chemist's shop, and I searched the shelves, but couldn't find alcohol.  I went to the counter and asked for alcohol.  They said I had to go to the pub for that.

Boing.

I had to describe what the problem was, about the infected ears, and they said "Oh.  What you want is medicinal spirits!"

Such simple words.  Such a difference in meaning.

(I went back to England ten years later, and I was amazed at the difference.  England had, in the space of ten years, become so much more "Americanized" that I doubt I would have had the same problem.  Pity.) 

~~Silk

#325 Bits from Hawaii

Just a few little things to comment on.

TV on the ship
My stateroom on the ship had a TV, and the TV had TNT, CNN, one movie channel showing relatively new movies and one showing older (but not classic) movies, one for "ship news" which was mostly commercials for their stores, shops, and tours, and one channel which showed the view from the bridge, which was incredibly boring.  Every time I left the room and returned, the TV was on, set to the ship news channel.  Loudly!  I had the volume set at 3, but the steward always left it at like 14, which could be heard in the hall and I assume in the next room.  Since I was out of the room all day every day and most of the evening, I was embarrassed that my neighbors might think I was terribly noisy and inconsiderate.

I did watch a few of the current movies that I had thought about seeing when they were in the theaters, and I rediscovered why I'm not particularly interested in movies these days.  "Hitchhikers' Guide" was very disappointing.  It looked cheaply made, a high school theater group could do it better, it was in fact done better a decade or two ago.  And they left out or glossed over some of the best parts.  Signature lines were delivered as if they were throwaway lines.  "Monster-in-law" was shallow and pointless.  Another movie concerning the crusades was so bad I can't even remember the name.  Plots seem so simple and predictable these days.  I expect a movie to leave me with something to think about.

Sunglasses
I wore a hat every day, because I can't put sunblock on my face, and even if I could, my hair is transparent and my scalp would burn.  Also, I needed to shade my eyes.  Time before last that I got a new prescription I also got prescription sunglasses, but not the last time.  I guess I should do that again next time.  Clip-ons or those huge things that fit over glasses just don't work with my frames.  When I asked for the prescription sunglasses, I asked that they be bifocals, like my regular glasses.  The people in the shop acted like I was crazy.  "We don't make bifocal sunglasses!  Nobody wears bifocal sunglasses!"  I ended up talking to the guy who was going to actually make the lenses, and he asked why I needed bifocal sunglasses, and I said "Because I'd like to see both the road and the gauges on the dashboard when I drive."   He had no answer to that.  Like nobody had ever thought of that before.  I don't understand....

Tanning
I don't much tan.  I burn, and it fades quickly, then I burn some more, and it fades.  I need to get some sun every day, really work at it, to get anything that looks like a tan.  My legs are the worst - even if I do manage to get a little "color", it's so shallow that the first time I shave my legs it all comes off.  In Hawaii, I was out in the sun most of every day.  I used SPF 15 sunblock on my back, chest, and arms (30 will make me break out worse than 15 already does) and nothing on my face.  Always the hat in the sun to protect my face, eyes, and scalp.  My arms browned a little, but after four days, it's already fading away.  The really weird part is my face.  I did tan some, and it's evenly tan all over my face - even where the hat covered my forehead!  I wore the hat always, even when I was in the water.  If anything, I would have expected the "farmer forehead" stripe.  I don't understand....

Fishy hat
Hawaiians will take a palm or ti leaf, tear it into strips, fold and weave it, and end up with a fish or bird that they then fasten to the end of the leaf spine, so it bobs and flutters when you hold it.  The driver on one of our tour buses made a fish and gave it to me.  I stuck the end of the spine in the side crown of my hat, so that it arched over my head, and the fish bobbed and "swam" all around the brim of my hat whenever I moved my head or the breeze blew.  Everywhere I went that day, I heard women I passed say to their male companions "I want one of those!"  I was in a store, and a woman walked up to me with a fluffy red feather she had found on the floor.  She wanted to add it to my hat.  So we stuck it into the tail of the fish, and then I had a parrot fish!  I had more plain fun that day than any other, because I amused people, and amused myself, and people noticed me and talked to me.

Economic Issues in Hawaii
Nah, I'm not going to discuss the economy.  But almost every single one of our drivers and tour guides did.  They expressed three great concerns.  The pineapple and sugar cane plantations have been the backbone of the economy, and one byone, the growers have been leaving the islands, saying that the cost of production was too high, leaving the people with no jobs.  Real estate prices are being pushed through the roof by rich mainlanders, so that even if residents have a job, they still can't afford a home.  And developers are buying up the land and siphoning off the water for houses and hotels, so that the lush valleys fed by mountain runoff, where many of the old longtime Hawaiians have lived and farmed for generations, are drying up. 

They said that once upon a time, the sugar was processed on the island, but the sugar mills closed and the raw sugar was sent to California to be processed.  So the Hawaiians had to buy their own sugar back, at mainland prices, plus the cost to ship it back to the islands.  Many blamed "outsourcing".  The cost of producing sugar and pineapples is much lower in Asia or the Philippines.

In 2000, we were given leis almost everywhere we went, and always fresh flower leis.  This trip,  we also got leis at every turn, but they were made of shells, not flowers.  I was amused to find a "Made in the Philippines" tag on most of them.

Sigh.  I don't understand.

Airline Travel
I shall never again sit more more than two hours in tourist class.  From now on I will spring for an upgrade to at least business.  The seats are so close together that if the person in front reclines their seatback, if you drop a plumb line from the back edge of their seat, it drops about three inches beyond the edge of your seat.  Which means it is impossible for you to get up, or to lean over to reach anything in your carryon "under the seat in front of you".  Especially if your arms are short.  Anything dropped is gone forever.

Also, footrests are gone, and the seats have become very hard.  My feet don't touch the floor, so it is difficult for me to shift my weight in the seat.  I ended the return trip (11 hours on planes) with a real live black-and-blue bruise on my left sit-me-down.

Isn't it odd that business class was invented about the same time tourist got nastier?  If they took back the space they gave to business class and spread it around tourist, it might be tolerable.  But then, they wouldn't be able to demand a higher price for that few cubic feet.  Eventually, the plane will be mostly business class, and tourist class will be a few closely spaced hammocks in the tail.  With hobble chains.

Body Image
I learned something about my body on this trip.  When Jay died, I was in terrific shape, from lifting and exercising him, and so on.  Immediately after he died I started putting on weight.  I am now very unhappy with my body.  It's not just the excess weight everywhere, it's also the excess skin.  It's like my skin somehow got too big for me.  It wobbles under my upper arms and droops over my elbows when my arm is down.  My thighs are doing the same thing.  My jowls and (aaaagh!) wattles will soon hide my drapey neck.  When I sit down, I form a triangle from chin to knee.  Bleck.  I was having a hard time accepting this body as mine.  About the only thing I still like is the superstructure.

Well, I've discovered that my main problem is that I've been comparing myself to the wrong people.  I don't have much exposure to women my own age.  Everyone I spend any time with these days is either at least 20 to 30 years younger than I, or a decade or more older.  Those are the ones whose ages I know.  I am very poor at judging the age of people I don't already know.   On this trip, although there was no one from my college class, the group included alumni from many Pennsylvania schools, so there were many women from other schools who graduated about the same time I did.  So although you could never ask a new acquaintance "How old are you?", it was perfectly acceptable to ask "What year did you graduate?"   There were a whole bunch of women within a year or two of my age, and you know what?  I look pretty darn good, comparatively speaking!  I'm certainly younger in spirit and outlook than most.

So I bought a bathing suit, and I wore it.

~~Silk

#324 Hani Kaua Wiki Wiki !!

I'm back.  It was good, I guess.  However, I don't think I'll be taking a cruise or formal tours alone again.  It's just too awkward to be alone among all those couples.  If I'm going to go alone, it's better to be alone.

The first three days were in a hotel on Waikiki beach.  I bought a bathing suit.  Just can't resist swells and surf and salt water, even though my legs embarrass me every time I let them out in public. 

Then to the ship.  It was huge.  Long lines everywhere.  Too many people.  But my room was nice, and I enjoyed my balcony, and the jaccuzzi/hot tub.  And don't let anyone tell you that you can't feel a big ship moving.  The first night, it was like riding a carousel horse - a carousel horse who likes to slam you into walls occasionally.

Then to the islands.  I liked Maui best. 

I had been worried about visiting "the big island", because of the trip there with Jay just before his fourth surgery destroyed him.  We had stayed in a hotel on the water in Hilo, and just behind the hotel there was a little island (Diamond Island?) you could get to on a footbridge.  He and I went out to the island every evening, and waded in a little tidal pool, and watched the sun go down.  I half did and half didn't want to see that island again. 

I had signed up for a tour that included Rainbow Falls, the volcano park, and a few other things.  I was worried about how I would feel seeing many of the same places again without him.  But the ship was docked quite a distance from the hotel and the little island, so my chances of seeing that spot were slim to none.

Now here's the weird thing.

The buses for the tour left the dock at 9:30 am.  On the graph I had made up at home when I scheduled the tours I had clearly marked the start line at 9:30.  Then on the ship, I had gone through the tour booklet and noted the start times in ink to make absolutely sure I didn't misread my chart.  I wrote 10:00 am right on the 9:30 line for this tour.  The morning of the tour, I double checked, and I swear I read 10:00 in the tour booklet (a later check verified that it did say 9:30 in the booklet). 

I missed the bus.  By a half hour.

A ship security guard felt sorry for me, so he phoned the bus driver to find out where they were, and then he drove  me to meet the bus, in his own car (Yes, I tipped him well.  He could easily have just said "Too bad".)

We arrived in a parking lot next to the hotel Jay and I had stayed in, just as the tour group was reboarding after having visited Diamond Island.  !!!

Note that the first stop in the itinerary for this tour was Rainbow Falls.  Diamond Island was never mentioned.   No one on the tour had been aware they were going to stop there.  It turned out that some spot at the volcano that was planned for later in the day had been unexpectedly closed to buses, so the tour operators had substituted this stop at the last minute.

The next stop was Rainbow Falls.  Jay and I had visited those falls only once, but at the lookout spot there was a particular tree that we loved.  When we got to the falls, I looked up the path and saw that tree, and I started crying.  I didn't go up with everyone else, and I don't think anyone noticed, but I know that from my reaction to the tree, I would have completely broken down if I had gotten close to our little island.

It was good that I was a half hour late for the bus.  There was no way I could have made myself see 10:00 all the places it said 9:30, because there was no way I could have known the island stop was scheduled. 

I think Jay was with me, knew I couldn't go there, and was watching out for me. 

He's still taking care of me. 

~~Silk

#323 Passing Through Philadelphia

We get heavier as we get older because there is a lot more information in our heads.
So I'm just really intelligent and my head can't store all that information, so it has to be
stored other places.

That's my story and I’m sticking to it.

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

In John Scalzi's entry about his return from Scotland, he has some not nice things to say about the Philadelphia airport.

Returning from New Orleans, I wasn't too happy in Philadelphia, either.  I went to the gate number printed on my boarding pass for my connecting flight.  The board over the gate had a different flight number on it, but that didn't worry me because there was a 50-minute wait for my flight.    Eventually most of the people in the gate area boarded a plane and left. 

Then another fight number was put up.  Not mine.  15 minutes before my flight was supposed to depart,  my flight number was still not up.  So I went to the desk and asked about my flight.  The clerk clicked at her terminal a bit, and said "Oh, that flight has been delayed.  The new departure time is xx."  I sat back down.   Eventually most of the people in the gate area boarded a plane and left. 

Then there were no flight numbers at the gate.  The attendants left.  20 minutes before my flight was supposed to depart, my flight number was still not up at this gate, and there was no one from the airlines around.  A dead gate.  So I went to the next gate down and asked about my flight.  The clerk clicked at her terminal a bit, and said "Oh, that flight has been moved to gate zz."   I went back and announced it to the people still waiting at the old gate. 

Wouldn't it have been nice if someone had told us officially?

And yes, I saw a mouse, too.

~~Silk

Link in this entry:  http://journals.aol.com/johnmscalzi/bytheway/entries/4558

#322 The "Would You Have Been a Nazi" Test

I found this, from the same guy who did the humor test (a few entries down).

The Would You Have Been a Nazi Test

The Expatriate
Achtung! You are 30% brainwashworthy, 31% antitolerant, and 38% blindly patriotic.

Congratulations! You are not susceptible to brainwashing, your values and cares extend beyond the borders of your own country, and your Blind Patriotism ("patriotism" for short) does not reach unhealthy levels. In Germany in the 30s, you would've left the country.

One bad scenario -- as I hypothetically project you back in time -- is that you just wouldn't have cared one way or the other about Nazism. Maybe politics don't interest you enough. But the fact that you took this test means they probably do. I'm gonna give you the benefit of the doubt.

Did you know that many of the smartest Germans departed prior to the beginning of World War II, because they knew some evil shit was brewing? Brain Drain. Many of them were scientists. It is very possible you could be one of them, depending on your age.

Conclusion: Born and raised in Germany in the early 1930's, you would not have been a Nazi.

(An aside - I never understood why Cousin Albert's hair looked like that.  I mean, haircuts don't take that long.  Even a rough chop from the wife would have helped.)

~~Silk

Links in this entry: http://www.okcupid.com/tests/take?stid=17675020579094199926

#321 Bits and Pieces

Black holes are where God divided by zero.

                 --------------------------------------------------------------

I wrote this in an email note to an acquaintance earlier today, and decided to save it:
"One of the biggest problems facing the world today is overpopulation, and if the religious types want everything to be according to their version of God's plan, well, perhaps they should recognize that homosexuality might be part of God's plan to stem overpopulation, the "natural" way.  A gentle way.  The other ways are unthinkable."

                  -------------------------------------------------------------- 
            
'FlossiePumpkin", of berts world, wrote an entry recently, LIVING IN A SENIOR COMMUNITY, wherein she mentions the lopsided ratio of women to men in the community.  She ends with, "can u relate??? widowhood is lonely, but being independent is a great thing".

I chuckled.  I wouldn't mind falling in love, but I doubt that I will ever marry again.  Unless I find one of those men like Roberta describes, who "can drive at night (lol), have big bucks to spend on diners and shows, and at least can match their shirts to their pants. cooking also helps. if he can do the laundry, mop the floors, vacumm that is a BIG plus." 

Well, maybe not even then.  I'm with FlossiePumpkin.  I cherish my independence.  I don't ever want to have to cook and clean, do laundry, and all that for someone else.  I don't want someone in my house 24/7.  (Although it would be nice to have a man around occasionally to play with.)  Of course, that could change.  I'm still growing and changing.

When I lived in DC, I knew a couple that I thought had worked it out beautifully.  After they had been a "couple" for several years, they decided it was time to make a bigger commitment.  However, they had different schedules, different standards, different tastes, and a fierce desire for independence (especially her).  They bought adjoining condominiums, and knocked a hole in the wall between them.  She had her apartment, and he had his, where they could indulge their own tastes (and do their own cleaning to their own standards).  They were a guest in each other's space, but were free to wander in or out at any time.  And yes, they were married. 

I loved that!  I thought it was ideal!  I want to do that!

I mentioned it to May last night, and she said she'd want a lock on the door between.  I think she missed the point. I'd want nothing more than maybe a screen door if there were animals to control.  Or a door without a latch if there was loud music.  But the idea of a man and me having our own spaces, for which we were solely responsible, but which we still shared in a being-together way, appeals to me.   A lot.

"FlossiePumpkin" mentioned the male/female ratio.  My mother experienced that.  Several years after my father died, she fell in love with a man (who not so incidentally looked very much like my father).  They were a good couple, but the competition for his attention among the widows and divorcees was fierce.  Suave, urbane, and financially secure, he was a prize that other women were willing to lie, cheat, and disgrace themselves for.  My mother wasn't used to that kind of infighting.  It wasn't pretty.  She lost out to a woman who was able to travel all over the country, meeting him "by chance" on his business travels (and was willing to pretend to be whatever he wanted).  

I choose not to compete.  If someone doesn't come along who thinks I'm the biggest prize without my having to convince him of that, and without my having to wait on him hand and foot, well, I may be very lonely in my later  years.  

Oh, yeah, he'll also have to be willing to get his own condo.

~~Silk

#320 Musings on the Paranormal

All those who believe in psychokinesis raise my hand.

James Randi is out to debunk all claims of paranormal abilities.  The James Randi Educational Foundation offers a one million dollar prize to anyone who can prove that they have such abilities, and can demonstrate them in a two tier test designed and administered by the foundation. They claim that "To date, no one has ever passed the preliminary tests."  Details at  http://www.randi.org/research/index.html.

Some of my friends are gloating that the most recent candidate (http://forums.randi.org/showthread.php?s=cfaca0798a4edde39e260ba54d327aa0&threadid=46657) failed miserably, having performed at even less than what random probabilities would predict (which is not an accurate statement, because given the design of the test, there could be no prediction, but anyway....)  Results are at http://www.randi.org/documents/AchauNguyenTest.html.  I'm not surprised either, but not because such abilities cannot possibly exist.  I'm not surprised because of the conditions of the test, and because, well, the test subject may have been a bit deluded.

In my opinion, there are four classes when it comes to paranormal phenomena: 
1.) Disbelievers of the "I have an open mind, I'll believe it when I see it" persuasion.
2.) Disbelievers who reject even the possibility, and who wouldn't believe it even if they did see it.
3.) Believers who are whacked out weirdoes who will believe anything they want to believe.
4.) Believers who are so because they have experienced it for themselves.

At the risk of ridicule, I will state that I am frankly and firmly in the fourth group.  That doesn't mean I will believe any claim that comes down the pike.  But I do believe there is more out there than we know right now.  Call it another dimension if you like.  Fairies.  Whatever.

I have experienced very detailed precognitive repeating dreams that scared me.  It happened.  I experienced it, and yes, I did tell people about the dreams, and when they then came true, right down to the details, the precognitive aspect was independently verified. 

On many occasions, I have experienced the disembodied voice in my head that told me something I could not have known otherwise, and I did in fact mention it to others, and it was verified.  One example of what I mean:  We had adopted a beautiful pregnant little Russian Blue.  I was holding her on my lap one day, and I said to Ex#2, "I wonder how many kittens she's going to have?" and the phrase "Three and two" popped into my head, in a voice different from my normal "thinking voice". 
I repeated it aloud: "Three and two." 
Ex#2 looked up and said, "What?" 
Me: "Three and two.  It just popped into my head." 
He: "What does that mean?" 
Me: "I don't know.  I think it has to do with Suzy's kittens."  A few weeks later, Suzy gave birth to three female and two male kittens.  Ex#2 was a little bit afraid of me because of stuff like that. 

I scared Jay's father one time by slowing down before a curve on a hill one night, and creeping around the curve.  When I slowed down, he asked "Why are you stopping?", and as we crept around the curve, a herd of about 20 deer came down the hill and crossed the road.  It was not a deer crossing zone.  He looked at me in shock and said "How did you know?"  I always know when there are deer in my path.  I also always know when there is a patrol car hidden nearby, long before I see it.  (Ex#1 found that very useful.  He was too stupid to be afraid of it.)

I've had a three-year-old tell me detailed stories of a prior life in another culture, in a very much older voice, using terms that were not a part of her vocabulary.  All the descriptions, the terrain, the animals, the clothing, the food, the family relationships, the homes, the customs, all, all fitted together.  She described daily items like a clay beehive oven, far removed from her three-year-old experience.  She referred to her "Before-Mother".  ("Before mother?"  "Yeah.  My mother before you.")  She described her previous death from pneumonia at age 12.  All this from a child at an age where what exists in the now is and was and shall ever be as it is.

Lots more.

So yeah, put me firmly in group four.  Although I have no command of it.  And as I get older, it happens less and less.  I think life has closed my mind more and more.  It's harder to be open.

I'm not surprised that the candidate failed the test, even if I assume he's not in group three, because Rand's Foundation is frankly negative.  They make it clear from the start that the test will be adversarial.  The observers/judges start out negative.  Even if the ability exists, and even if it can be done on command, I suspect negative energy interferes, and the foundation is relentlessly negative.  So I don't think the foundation is proving anything (even though it is impossible to prove a negative anyway) because it's not a fair test.  Everything about it conspires to ensure failure.

As an example, I can debunk your claim that you can start a fire with kindling, flint, and steel.  You just have to play by my rules.  The test will be conducted out of doors, with no cover, in a driving rainstorm, using the wet kindling at hand.  That's pretty much what the foundation does to their candidates.  They rain negativity.

(Plus that I suspect most of the candidates are nuts, but that's beside the point.)

There are those who will believe only what they see, and those who will see only what they believe.  The potential for reward is far greater if we are neither.

~~Silk

#319 Drums and Bugles, Oh My!

Over the past two days, I'd noticed an unusual number of large tour buses crossing the bridge and on the roads into Kingston.  On my way to pick up May, I noticed something was going on at the stadium.  Then I passed the large lawn in front of an insurance building and saw an honest to gosh drum line drilling.

Oh no!  Drum and Bugle Corps Competition!  Tonight!  I'm going to miss it!  I love drum lines!  Oh, no!  This is a top-of-the-line competition, too.  Blue Devils and Phantoms and everything!  How did I miss that?

By not reading the newspaper, you idiot.

After I dropped May off, after the dance show, I went to the stadium to see if maybe I could catch the end of the competition, but they had the bands all massed in the middle, and were handing out the trophies. 

Damn.  I love those competitions.  You know, I'd have blown off the dance show if I'd known.

I haven't been in years. 

The last time I went I had a really good seat, right down in center front.  I was sitting there before the competition started, and a black man walked up with two very small boys.  He settled them next to me, and said "Now I'll be up there, just up there (pointing up the stands).  You stay right here and don't move.  I'm just up there.  Don't worry."  As he was walking away, I stopped him and asked if he'd like to trade seats, so he could sit with the boys.

He was surprised and grateful.  He took me up the stands to show me where his seat was, and to introduce me to my new seat-neighbors, all nice-looking black guys in their (probably) early thirties.

I was amply rewarded for my impulsive gift.  I was now sitting right smack in the middle of the all-grown-up-now drum line from the old defunct Kingston corps!  They took over my education.  They explained why some things are tricky.  They showed me what to watch for.  They pointed out the good stuff, and the stuff that looks good but doesn't get the points.  They explained the scoring.  I think they were happy to have an appreciative student.  They had purposely got seats at the top so they could stand up and jump up and down when something exciting happened.  When they did get up, the men on either side of me picked me up and held me up high so I could cheer, too.  I had an absolute ball!   I loved it!

They told me that some of those all-grown-up-looking marchers out there were only like 13 years old, that you age out at 21, that the average age is young because if a member goes off to college, they usually drop out because practice is all-consuming.

They were all relatively successful now in careers and business, and they gave total credit to the corps.  How they'd been picked up off the street corners, how they learned and loved the drills, how much they'd learned from it.  The discipline.  The confidence and vision.

I asked why Kingston no longer had a drum & bugle corps, and they got all sad.  They wished there were one.  I asked if it would be possible to start one up again, what would it take.  There are so many kids out there now who need it.  By the end of the competition, they were discussing funding sources.

I read in the paper a year or so later that Kingston (or maybe it was Port Ewen) had a new junior corps.   I wonder if it was those guys.  I wonder if I was present at its birth.  I'm gonna have to check on the corps, find out what they're doing.  They should be a senior corps by now.  I wonder if they compete.  I wonder if they compete in Kingston.  Agh.  It's going to be a whole year until the next competition.  I'll try harder to get to it.  It's much better in person than on tv.

I hadn't realized how much I miss it, until I realized I'd missed it.

~~Silk

#318 Mission Impossible - The Mideast Dance Show.

Well, I went to the show this evening.  I picked up May for dinner, and we sat outside the parking garage waiting for NJ for a half an hour.  I had called NJ earlier to remind her, and she wasn't home, so I had assumed she had already left.  So when she was a half hour late at the garage, I called again.  She answered.  Apparently there was a misunderstanding.  When I had talked to her last week, I had said that I had invited May to dinner and the show, and I wanted NJ to join us. 

What I heard: NJ said that the show was too late for her, but that she'd enjoy dinner.  We even discussed when and where to meet.  We discussed possible restaurants.  I even mentioned other people who might join us.  I am 100% certain of that.

What NJ heard:  That I wanted dinner alone with May, a treat for her, and since NJ couldn't make the show, she was not invited.

I don't understand.  I say that so often I may just have to change the name of this journal to that. 

Sigh.

Dinner was very good - from one who rarely notices.  I may go back again some time and order the same thing again.

So after dinner, I could take May on home, or I could take her to the show.  At dinner, I told her what the show was, and my concerns that it might be crowded and difficult to see.  She didn't ask to be taken home.  We walked over to the studio, got there 15 minutes before the show was to start, and it wasn't crowded.  They had lots of chairs set up.  However, most of the seats were roped off - reserved.  I didn't know you could reserve.  The only phone number I had seen on the flyers was "for more information".  Nothing about advance tickets or reservations.  Only about "at the door".  I didn't know I needed "more information".   I could get paranoid about stuff like this.

The back few rows of chairs were the high "bistro" type.  We figured we'd have a better chance of seeing from the higher seats in the back than from the few unreserved low chairs just in front of them, so that's where we sat.  It was in fact a little better, but not much better.  We got to see the dancers from bust level up.  They really truly needed a raised stage.  Nobody beyond the first three rows saw much more than glimpses of hip work, and you can forget the floor work completely. 

The seats were metal, with straps under the seat that hit May right in the tailbone.  It was obvious she was uncomfortable.  And with little but waving arms to distract her --- well, if I were nice I should have taken her home in the middle of the first half of the show.  If I had been there alone, I'd have been standing against the side wall up front, but I knew May couldn't stand that long.  (She wasn't very steady walking.  I'm a little worried about her.)  But I'd about had it with life in general at that point, and so I let her sit there.  And I thanked her profusely for doing so when I took her home.  I may never get her out again.

On the other hand, she did ask if there were many shows like that.  I told her haflas are better.  Looser.  Bigger rooms.  Better view.  She didn't say anything after that, but ... maybe....

She did take an interest in some numbers, and oddly enough, with no prior knowledge of what she was seeing, she made exactly the right judgments.  The third number, the tribal fusion, was absolutely terrific - it looked like the dancers were actually having fun.  Later she was impressed with the soloist in red, and when the dancer in green came out, she whispered "The girl in red was much better." 

If "the girl in red" is reading this, I assure you it's the absolute truth, and I second it.  It was a wonderful routine, beautifully executed.  No bones.  The audience agreed.  But, if you are reading this, "girl in red", you should smile more.  Not necessarily flashes at the audience - maybe just open your mouth a little more, a little looser, secret smiles to yourself, "oh, I'm so wonderful, so happy with myself".  But then, maybe too much perfection is courting disaster.  Ok, be serious.  Perhaps that allows us to focus more on your impossible moves and your graceful arms and hands. 

During the intermission, a dancer did a fireball routine right in the middle of Wall Street, the main uptown thoroughfare.  Amazing.  Stopped traffic.  I can't imagine what the people in the stopped cars thought.  All these people standing in a circle in the middle of the street, with balls of fire flying everywhere.  At the end, as the balls were burning down, her drummer joined her in the dance, flipping in and out of the flying fire.  I never tire of watching that.  It was pretty cool.

If Piper was there, I didn't see him. Unless the guy who tried to engage me in intense conversation on the sidewalk at the end of intermission was him and I didn’t recognize him.  Possible.  We know how bad I am at placing faces when seen out of context.

...Nah... Couldn’t be. Could it? Nah. Shoot - I don't know....  Whoever he was, he got blown off.

Sigh.

~~Silk

#317 The Letter

I read this in toonguykc's journal, Inner and Outer Demons, and decided to reproduce it here.  I don't think I've ever seen it said so well.  Pass it on.

The following is a very strong and moving letter written by the mother of
a gay boy in Vermont...

"Many letters have been sent to the Valley News concerning the homosexual
menace in Vermont. I am the mother of a gay son and I've taken enough from
you good people. I'm tired of your foolish rhetoric about the "homosexual
agenda" and your allegations that accepting homosexuality is the same thing
as advocating sex with children. You are cruel and ignorant. You have been
robbing me of the joys of motherhood ever since my children were tiny.

My firstborn son started suffering at the hands of the moral little thugs from
your moral, upright families from the time he was in the first grade. He was
physically and verbally abused from first grade straight through high school
because he was perceived to be gay.

He never professed to be gay or had any association with anything gay, but
he had the misfortune not to walk or have gestures like the other boys. He
was called "fag" incessantly, starting when he was 6.

In high school, while your children were doing what kids that age should be
doing, mine labored over a suicide note, drafting and redrafting it to be sure
his family knew how much he loved them. My sobbing 17-year-old tore the
heart out of me as he choked out that he just couldn't bear to continue living
any longer, that he didn't want to be gay and that he couldn't face a life without
dignity.

You have the audacity to talk about protecting families and children from the
homosexual menace, while you yourselves tear apart families and drive children
to despair. I don't know why my son is gay, but I do know that God didn't put him,
and millions like him, on this Earth to give you someone to abuse. God gave you
brains so that you could think, and it's about time you started doing that.

At the core of all your misguided beliefs is the belief that this could never happen
to you, that there is some kind of subculture out there that people have chosen to
join. The fact is that if it can happen to my family, it can happen to yours, and you
won't get to choose. Whether it is genetic or whether something occurs during a
critical time of fetal development, I don't know. I can only tell you with an absolute
certainty that it is inborn.

If you want to tout your own morality, you'd best come up with something more
substantive than your heterosexuality. You did nothing to earn it; it was given to
you. If you disagree, I would be interested in hearing your story, because my own
heterosexuality was a blessing I received with no effort whatsoever on my part.
It is so woven into the very soul of me that nothing could ever change it. For those
of you who reduce sexual orientation to a simple choice, a character issue, a bad
habit or something that can be changed by a 10-step program, I'm puzzled. Are
you saying that your own sexual orientation is nothing more than something you
have chosen, that you could change it at will? If that's not the case, then why
would you suggest that someone else can?

A popular theme in your letters is that Vermont has been infiltrated by outsiders.
Both sides of my family have lived in Vermont for generations. I am heart and soul
a Vermonter, so I'll thank you to stop saying that you are speaking for "true
Vermonters."

You invoke the memory of the brave people who have fought on the battlefield for
this great country, saying that they didn't give their lives so that the "homosexual
agenda" could tear down the principles they died defending. My 83-year-old father
fought in some of the most horrific battles of World War II, was wounded and awarded
the Purple Heart.

He shakes his head in sadness at the life his grandson has had to live. He says he
fought alongside homosexuals in those battles, that they did their part and bothered
no one. One of his best friends in the service was gay, and he never knew it until the
end, and when he did find out, it mattered not at all. That wasn't the measure of the
man.

You religious folk just can't bear the thought that as my son emerges from the hell
that was his childhood he might like to find a lifelong companion and have a measure
of happiness. It offends your sensibilities that he should request the right to visit that
companion in the hospital, to make medical decisions for him or to benefit from tax
laws governing inheritance.

How dare he? you say. These outrageous requests would threaten the very existence
of your family, would undermine the sanctity of marriage. You use religion to abdicate
your responsibility to be thinking human beings. There are vast numbers of religious
people who find your attitudes repugnant. God is not for the privileged majority, and
God knows my son has committed no sin.

The deep-thinking author of a letter to the April 12 Valley News who lectures about
homosexual sin and tells us about "those of us who have been blessed with the benefits
of a religious upbringing" asks: "What ever happened to the idea of striving . . . to be
better human beings than we are?"

Indeed, sir, what ever happened to that? "

~~Silk

Links in this entry:
http://journals.aol.com/toonguykc/InnerOuterDemons/entries/1905

#316 Dear Diary

Dear Diary,
     I am so sad tonight.  None of the other kids like me.  Nobody wants to play with me.  Nobody wants to share my toys.  I took a lollipop at the bank today because I thought it was grape.  It wasn't.  It was just in a purple wrapper.  A lot of icky stuff seems to be in purple wrappers these days.  I'm leaving on an alumni cruise next week, and no one from my class is going.  I don't know any of the names on the passenger list.  One day I threw a party, and nobody came.  I feel like Mommy has grounded me.  Unfairly.
      Sniff.

                      ***********************************************************

Went to dinner with The Pixie and her fiance this evening.  It was nice to see them again, a good evening.

They had gone to last year's version of the show that I'm so looking forward to tomorrow evening.  I asked how early I should plan on arriving, and ... oh, dear ....

Last Tuesday, I had located the studio where it's to be held, and peered in the windows.  The place looked tiny, about the size of my kitchen and dining area.  The front third was filled with a bar setup.  In the back two-thirds there were a few of those tiny bistro tables.  The back wall seemed to have a black backdrop, so I naively assumed there must be perhaps a raised stage behind that scrim.

Nope.

What I saw is all there is.

The dancers will perform at floor level.  In an area about the size of a placemat.  If they get any kind of crowd at all, everyone will be standing.  I am short.  So's The Pixie.  She said last year they couldn't get in much past the doorway, and she couldn't see anything at all.  It may be worse this year because of the advertising.  I know May and NJ won't stay if it's that crowded, even if I can get them that far to start with.

You'd think when the view is so limited, they'd ask everyone to please sit on the floor.

I am very unhappy.  I am very very unhappy.  I am very very very unhappy.

And to top it off, when I got home, there were two messages on my phone that removed any chance of any consolation  prizes if I can't see the show.

I'm considering unplugging the tape and never answering the phone either!  Dang things!

Mother is not happy.  Maybe I'll ground the cat just for spite.

I think I'll go to a County Fair on Sunday.  That might happy me up.  I'll fluff my hair and wear something sexy and flirt with the carnies.  Or the goats.  But not the old goats.

Sniff.  

~~Silk

#315 Buncha Phone Calls

I got more phone calls today than I normally get in a week - and I answered every one of them before the tape got it.  I'm so proud of myself.

Daughter called from a class she's taking in Manhattan, just to check in.  I worry about her riding the NYC subways.  Three and a half hour round trip commute on bus, train, and subway while she's taking this class, and the class is 10 hours a day!  I worry about her getting rundown from the long days and bad air and getting sick.  She's so tiny.  Quite capable of taking care of herself, she will remind me, but she's still my baby girl.

Bonnie from Pussyfoot Lodge called to verify Miss Thunderfoot's stay next week, and to set up a dropoff time.

Roman called to get directions for Saturday evening.  I told him that at that moment I was happily trying on the things I'd bought Tuesday but had left in the van until today.  I told him I was, right then, wearing a new black lacy fringy poncho that I absolutely love.  I didn't tell him that was all I was wearing.  Aren't you proud of my restraint?

The Pixie called to change our dinner from tonight to tomorrow night - schedule conflict.  We also moved the time up, which is nice 'cause that'll give me a chance to do a little shopping in New Paltz.  It's a college town, so the shops are fun, and I haven't been there during the day in years.

(There were at least two more calls, but I can't remember who or for what.  Stuff like online order verification and so on I think - nothing I have to remember.)

I've got to find a ratty old T-shirt to sleep in for the next few days.  Bonnie likes the kitty-parents to bring something they've worn or slept in for the cats to have for comfort while their people are away.  I know Thunder would like that.  I had a pile of Jay's old jeans in a corner, to eventually make a quilt of, and Thunder slept on the floor next to that pile for months after Jay died.  If I'd had a better nose, I probably would have, too.

Trying to get to bed early tonight.  For once.

~~Silk

#314 Humor Type Test

I lifted this from 'plittle' at AuroraWalkingVacation. Warning, it's a longish test, but I giggled my way through it, so if you get the same questions I did, it might be worth it. I'm not sure I agree with their choice of comedians for me. I think I'm more Margaret Cho, Bill Maher, Bob Newhart, Lake Woebegone. Sharply perceptive or sweetly gentle stuff.

(Later edit: Re the "I think I'm more..."  That's what I like, not necessarily what I am like.  I am not particularly humorous - more like droll.  I like droll, too.)

The 3 Variable Funny Test

 

the Prankster

(34% dark, 34% spontaneous, 5% vulgar) your humor style:
CLEAN | COMPLEX | LIGHT

Your humor has an intellectual, even conceptual slant to it. You're not pretentious, but neither are you into what some would call 'low humor'. You'll laugh at a good dirty joke, but you definitely prefer something clever to something moist.

You probably like well-thought-out pranks and/or spoofs and it's highly likely you've tried one of these things yourself. In a lot of ways, yours is the most entertaining type of humor.

PEOPLE LIKE YOU: Conan O'Brian - Ashton Kutcher

~~Silk

Links in this entry:
http://journals.aol.ca/plittle/AuroraWalkingVacation/entries/1514
http://www.okcupid.com/tests/take?testid=17565214125862764376

#313 A Sad Story

I apologize in advance for this joke.  I include it  because I've never heard/read it before, and forgive me, it is sadly funny.  (Cringe.)

M'hammid is having his daily chat and coffee with his friend, Rachid.  One topic leads to another and he gets his wallet out and shows his friend a photo of a young man.  "My eldest son, Hadj.  He is a martyr."

Rachid softly replies "Hamdulilah."

M'hammid shows a second photo of another young man.  "My youngest, Ahmed.  Also a martyr." 

Rachid, pensive, sadly smiles and says, "Ah yes. They blow up too soon, don't they."

~~Silk

Now, aren't you ashamed you laughed?

#312 Analysis of a Marriage

Jay and I had the most amazing relationship.  We meshed perfectly and deeply.  It felt like more than just chance.  It felt like Destiny.  Like we had been together before, and would be together again, that we had searched all of this life for each other, our lost half. 

During the eight years that we were platonic friends, before we were intimate, all of our friends and coworkers had picked up on something.  They thought we were having an affair for years before we actually touched (touched anything!  Including clothing!)  When we did first touch, it was an explosion.  We both reeled.  Matter meets antimatter.  After we were married, many people remarked on how one of us would change when the other walked into the room, the brightening, the change in posture, the softening of expression.  We were so comfortable with each other, necessary to each other, really like the much-maligned "two parts of a whole".  We were the embodiment of union.

In the last few years, the doctors and nurses noticed and mentioned it.  I think that's one reason why I was allowed so many liberties in the hospitals that were allowed to no one else. I was good for Jay, and they saw it.

And then he died.  I figured life after Jay would be just marking time.  I couldn't imagine romance after Jay.  There wasn't another man on earth who could meet my standards after Jay, no man who could live up to the precedent set by Jay, and it wouldn't be fair to ask any to try. 

So, now it's four years.

I'm starting to notice men again, and maybe even want one of them thangs fer myself.  There are things I miss touching.

I have been trying to understand the relationship between Jay and me, to figure out why we were the way we were.  And why I don't expect to see that again.  And what it means to possible future relationships. 

I think I finally understand.

As I've mentioned before, Jay was (accidentally - they weren't looking for it) diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome (amusingly called The Geek Syndrome) during testing before brain surgery.  No one said anything to him about it, but apparently he was aware he'd "failed" some of the tests, did some research on his own, and a few weeks later he came up with the same diagnosis.   He was very excited.  He'd finally found his "box of bent pieces"!  We dropped it then, sort of forgot about it, because we had other more important stuff, like life and death stuff, going on. 

The past few months, I've been reading books about autism in general.  The past few weeks, I've been reading specifically about long-term relationships and Asperger's.  One book is Asperger Syndrome and Long-Term Relationships, by Ashley Stanford, wife of an Aspie.  I've been carrying it around with me to read during wait-times, and it has had me laughing out loud in automobile service stations and restaurants.  It is SO VERY Jay.  I recognize so much of him in her interactions with her Aspie husband. 

Another book,  The Other Half of Asperger Syndrome - "A guide to living in an intimate relationship with a partner who has Asperger Syndrome", by Maxine C. Aston, is not so upbeat, not so much fun.  Apparently, the usual non-Aspie has a lot of unhappiness and difficulty in the relationship, because of the Aspie's different social responses.  The non-Aspie has to do a lot of basically unnatural things to get the reactions she needs, and to accept that in some cases, she will just have to grin and bear it, understanding that her partner is simply incapable of understanding or doing some things.

Judging by the second book, either Jay had a mild case, or his high intelligence had enabled him to learn to fake it.  And they have to learn to fake it - the connections for certain normal innate social things, like recognizing nonverbal cues, knowing what other people are thinking or feeling, those connections are simply not there in the Aspie brain.  Asking them to "try harder" would be like asking someone blind since birth to try harder to see.    

The reason Jay and I meshed so well was that the typical Aspie deficits didn't bother me at all, in some cases even amused me.  I am the type that if I don't get what I need, I ask for it.  I don't sit around waiting for it.

Jay had great difficulty making decisions, I have no difficulty, so in all but the things that were most important to him, I made all the decisions, and it didn't bother me, and he was grateful.  I frankly managed him, even micromanaged him, and he appreciated it.  He needed it.

The Aspie positive aspects - they, and most definitely Jay, tend to be unusually gentle, tender, loyal, higher than average in intelligence, and eager to please.  This is exactly what I appreciate most in a man.  I didn't have a preconceived idea of roles, and neither did he - with the exception that, in Aspie fashion, he felt it was his duty to "take care of" me, so I let him.  The difference in our sizes helped him to feel that he was succeeding in that, and of course as an Aspie he never noticed the things I was doing in the background to make sure he succeeded.

Aspies usually have one all-consuming interest, which can drive those close to them crazy.  Jay had several - computers, chemistry, math, photography, and practically everything else.  The difference between a normal interest and an Aspie interest is the depth, and that the Aspie thinks everyone else shares their interest to the same degree, or would if they only understood the topic better (remember, they don't have the wiring to detect otherwise) and they will happily bore people to tears.  Jay seemed to have learned somewhere along the line (probably painfully) that he shouldn't assume others are interested, so he never initiated conversations, but if anyone at work asked a question about almost any programming issue, they were astounded at his knowledge and his willingness, even eagerness, to share it.  He was well known as the "go-to" guy for any arcane question, and for inventive solutions.

At home, he was free to indulge his passions.  I learned more chemistry (complete with diagrams) than I ever wanted to.  When he started explaining to me how crude oils and plastics are related, and how and why slight changes in the molecular structure cause large changes in the properties, I loved the way he got so excited, his intensity, and thinking of perspicacious questions to ask was a good mental exercise, which I enjoy, so he was happy that I seemed interested, and I was happy that he was happy.   Apparently other Aspie/non-Aspie couples don't do that for each other.    

Aspies have usually had a hard childhood, teased, always feeling on the outside of things, knowing that something is wrong, but not knowing what, except that it's somehow them.  So Aspie men often marry older women, because Aspies aren't as concerned about social conventions, and they instinctively recognize that older women are more maternal, and it makes them feel safe.  I was about 8 years older than Jay.  And (oh good grief!) my favorite pet name for him was "Baby Boy"!  I meant it teasingly, (when I first found out his birthdate, after we had become physically intimate, I was 46, he was 38, I said "My God, you're a baby!  I'm a child molester!"), but I see now that "Baby Boy" was emotionally comforting to him.  I must have unconsciously picked up on that, because until I fell into it with him, I had always considered "Baby Boy" (a southern endearment) to be demeaning.

So now I understand a lot more about our relationship.  Maybe no other man can ever be like him, I won't ever mesh with anyone like that again, but that's only because most other men are "normal".  And after all, a "normal" relationship can't be all that bad.  Just different.  Any "normal" man would just have to be strong enough to stand up to me sometimes, when I try to "handle" him the same way that was necessary with Jay, and actually, I'd kinda like that.

I'd hate to have to admit I can't be normal.

~~Silk

PS - I think there actually was some destiny involved - I fell instantly in love with him at first sight.  I rounded a corner into a friend's office, and he was sitting at her keyboard, debugging something for her.  My view was a south-west view of his back and side.  He said "oops!" and froze, peering at the terminal, and I fell immediately in love with his intensity, and his voice, and a silky spot under and behind his left ear.  I didn't know anything about his personality then.  Hadn't even seen his face.  But I somehow knew.  Destiny.

PPS - Most descriptions of Asperger's mention physical clumsiness.  Jay was unusually graceful, in body and movement.  Before meeting me, he had been a competitive ballroom dancer, and a national-level square dancer.  He also skied and scuba dived - more solitary pursuits.  He, like most Aspies, was not interested in team sports.  Most sports are social, often depending on non-verbal communication, and attempting a sport (or any social interaction) is stressful to an Aspie, resulting in frustration and awkwardness. 

Links in this entry:
http://users.wpi.edu/~trek/aspergers.html
http://www.time.com/time/covers/1101020506/scaspergers.html
http://journals.aol.com/jaykolb/Moraine/entries/731

#311 Wandering Through Fields of Poetry

Someone mentioned a particular poetry board.  I tried to find it by searching AOL and was unsuccessful.  However, I did find some sad stuff.

From the introduction to one group:  "...a group where poets can come and share there [sic] work, have dicussions [sic] groups, post photots [sic], read fine poetry and recieve [sic] critique on the poems." 

And another:  "...a group where christian poets can post and get input for their poems, a friendly place to read other's work and worship God. But no stealing, it is expected that members will be honest."  This is the only one that seemed to feel it necessary to remind people to be honest.

That's just plain depressing.

~~Silk

#310 My Day

I couldn't get to sleep again last night, was awake until something like 6 am (logic puzzles don't put me to sleep like crosswords do), so I didn't wake up until noon.

Called Dutchess Community College, and signed up for some noncredit classes this fall - one in building a website, and a one-day class in drumming (I should be far enough along by then, on my own, to be able to keep up).

Returned a call from Piper regarding the mideast dance show this Saturday.  An intern in his office has had hip surgery, so he has to cover some meetings in Atlantic City.  He may not be back in time for the show.  He'll call on Friday and let me know for sure.  I took the opportunity to say "...and bring a spouse, date, friend, many friends!"  If he caught the hint there, it will head off any misunderstandings.  To make sure, when he does call, I think I won't mention dinner.

Yesterday, I had called May and NJ and invited them, too.  I told May that I would pick her up and take her "to dinner and a show", but I wouldn't tell her what kind of show, because if I did, she'd reject it offhand.  NJ was interested, and will come to dinner, but the show doesn't start until 9, and that's awfully late for NJ, so she'll probably leave after dinner.  There's a fair chance May will decide to have NJ take her home then.

My friends are wonderful people, but they're so darn "stuck-in-the-mud"!   May is stuck in the house.  It's hard to pry her out.

I had also called the Pixie and her fiance last evening, but they are going to Connecticut this weekend - it's Pixie's birthday.  She hates to miss the show, but her mother wants her.  So I'm having dinner with them in New Paltz this Thursday evening  (uh, somewhere around here there's a slip of paper with the time on it....  Hmmm....)

Gypsy, who will be dancing in the show, has opened up a new workshop in Kingston for her costuming business, and I had to go into Kingston this afternoon anyway, so I called her and asked If I could visit and see her new space.  Got me washed and dressed, and (man, am I poky!) left the house at 4.  Visited Gypsy.  It's a very roomy art-studio-type space, very quiet, right across the street from the post office, big parking lot, lots of light.  If she doesn't get lonesome, she should be able to get a lot done there.

Then I went to uptown to locate the place where the show will be.  Window shopped all around uptown, found a store with lots of nice hair clips, bought some (still looking for a silver bar, though). 

I know that Hoffman House is one of May's favorite places, but she and her late husband always ate there on Friday evenings, so I wasn't sure that would be a good idea for Saturday evening.  NJ said it would be fine, that May isn't sentimental.  But it's a bit of a hike from the uptown parking garage to Hoffman House.  Won't bother me or NJ, but a) I don't know about May, and b) if we get short on time, it would be a fast hike back to the show venue (which is near the garage).   Besides, even if May isn't sentimental, I am.  So I wandered around some more, looking for a likely restaurant.  I found three, all on the same corner, one long block from the garage, and one block from the show.  I collected cards from all three, and when I know more about who will be there, I'll pick one and make reservations.

Then I went to the Wal-Mart to buy some small plastic laundry baskets to use to take Miss Thunderfoot to Pussyfoot Lodge while I'm in Hawaii.  One on top of the other makes a more comfortable carrier.  You hold them together with bungee cords.  Given that Thunder tried her best to tear the regular carrier apart the last time, I'm hoping the bungees hold!

Interesting discovery - Wal-Mart has the exact same drapey lycra tops and pants that I love from Coldwater Creek, but with a different label, and at about 1/5 the price!  I could get five of them for what one cost at Coldwater Creek.  I bought four.  I didn't need "one" more.  (Snork...  See how much money I can save by spending?)

Wal-Mart also had Lindt truffles, too.  There goes the five pounds I dropped in the past two weeks.

Then as I was pulling out of the access road, I saw Burlington across the way, and I haven't been in there in years, so I stopped there, too.  More hair clips, an orange! hat, and another beautiful soft sheer lacy tasselly poncho.

Then home to salivate over Kaysar (see previous entry, #304).  I normally like beards, but I don't like that funny Van Dyke thing he's got going now.  I like my beards full face.  Cover the cheeks.

Then, this evening, I got an email from the man from last Thursday  night - let's see - I'll call him - "Roman".  He will be coming Saturday night, too.  So that makes May, NJ, me, and Roman for dinner, then me, Roman, and possibly but not likely May, and possibly Piper, for the dance show.  I'm so glad Roman responded positively.  Otherwise I could end up alone, or alone with Piper if he doesn't bring anyone, which in itself is not a bad thing, he's very nice, but I prefer to keep him at a short distance. 

(BTW - I considered and then rejected "Seadog" as a nickname for Roman.  Those in the know should find that a painful pun.)

And that was my day.  I actually saw real people today.  First time since last Thursday.  And I complain that May is stuck in the house.  But the difference between May and me is that if someone calls and says "Hey, let's ...", I leap in with "Yes!!  Let's!!  Let's what?"

~~Silk

Links in this entry:
http://journals.aol.com/jaykolb/Moraine/entries/1594

 

#309 Grammar Lesson

AOL Entertainment News asks the question, "Who do you blame for Jen and Brad's split?" 

Ahem.  It's "Whom do you blame...."

~~Silk

#308 Open Letter to the Cat

When you are lying on the floor in the middle of the hall, and Mommy goes to step over you, don't stand up!

~~The Kitty Mommy with another banged-up knee

#307 It All Depends on How You Look at It

I watch "Antiques Roadshow", and something gets appraised at $30,000, and I think "Wow!  That's a buncha money!" 

Then I think "Whoa!  That's one year at a 'name' university!"

Tuition kinda puts things in perspective.

~~Silk