Yesterday there was just SO MUCH NOISE in the house. One person was sawing and banging in a stair railing. Another was hewing beams with an electric planer. Another was taped in a closet, pumping and spraying paint. Another was watching the paint. It sounded like the dentist’s office from hell. I thought we were like a really big family, each doing our own crazy thing and each making our own big mess. The living room floor is covered in wood shavings. Gerbils anyone?
Just walked upstairs to find Kadin sitting at the table with a scrap of shim wood and a steak knife, sawing away. When asked what he was up to, he simply said: “I am making my own circle of dust.” Of course.
Friday, February 17, 2006
Thursday, February 16, 2006
Opinionated
There has been a new conflagration in the neighborhood between three contentious families. I don't know if it is something in the soil or something about the personal chemistry of these three families, but they live in perhaps the most disputed triangle of our development. It seems disputes have raged for decades and I am involved in the most recent because I have volunteered to be on the neighborhood's Architectural Review Committee.
The Architectural Review Committee is a bureaucratic thing that makes sure all external changes to houses in the neighborhood conform to the "Covenants and Guidelines," the documents set up to maintain a uniform appearance in the neighborhood.
I realized that all sounds hegemonic and elitist, and in many ways it is, but it also has some really positive side effects. And you could say that the process, though often a hassle, generally works. On the negative side, it limits people from doing whatever they want; it forces people to notify neighbors of exterior changes; and it forces people to jump through a few hoops in order to make any changes. On the positive side, it forces people to be "neighborly," to talk to their neighbors; it offers a way to moderate disputes; it generally gets people to rethink doing whacko things with their house that they might regret; and it has kept property values high.
The current case involves a family in a one-story house that wants to add a second story. About half-a-dozen other houses will be affected, but it is the two families in the two looming two-story houses behind them that are the most vociferous in their concerns and have gotten the lawyers involved.
The strategy of the committee is to ask the family wanting to "pop their top" to put up markers where the new corners of their house will be. In the past, that job alone has gotten people to reconsider any additions. Not so in this case. So the next step, once the markers were up, was to tour the affected houses and ascertain what the real impact would be.
This process usually results in some compromises and a happy conclusion for all. This time, because of the disputes that have gone back and forth between these three families, chances for that are low. Due both to the situation and the personalities involved, I feel a lawsuit is inevitable.
But still, I enjoyed our tour of the affected houses. We visited six houses and saw what impact the addition would have on each house. The two looming houses behind are really quite spectacular. I didn't want to go home at the end.
One of the houses we visited, less spectacular, less affected, is owned by a tiny, sweet, older couple. They did not participate in the meetings or the tour, but their son, a lawyer representing them, did. When we got to their house, their son said it was not a good day to go in, that his mother was not doing well. I gathered she sufferers from Alzheimer’s and some days she is more with it than others. But as we assembled to see the views from their front porch, we were invited in and she seemed to be having a good day after all.
The house was immaculate. That was the first thing that struck me. I am not old or infirm, but my house would never look that good. The woman was welcoming, but a bit confused. "What is this? Who are these people? What is going on?" she asked repeatedly as we thanked her and smiled on our way in. Her husband and son gently explained that there was a proposed change to the roofline across the street.
I doubt this was the first time she had heard the news, but it all seemed new to her again. "An addition? There? Across the street?" Someone asked her what she thought of the idea. She was not shy in her response. Despite the fact that she was confused and surrounded by strangers, she loudly and clearly said. "No, I don't want there to be a roof there. I think it is a terrible idea. I don't want that at all." No confusion there. She came through loud and clear on a cloudy and contentious day.
The dispute continues, with no compromise in sight. The strong old woman is but a minor part of it. But I enjoyed her ease at expressing her opinion. I think that is a gift that comes with age. You no longer have to be diplomatic. You no longer feel such a need to compromise. You know your opinion and you can voice it clearly. I can't wait.
The Architectural Review Committee is a bureaucratic thing that makes sure all external changes to houses in the neighborhood conform to the "Covenants and Guidelines," the documents set up to maintain a uniform appearance in the neighborhood.
I realized that all sounds hegemonic and elitist, and in many ways it is, but it also has some really positive side effects. And you could say that the process, though often a hassle, generally works. On the negative side, it limits people from doing whatever they want; it forces people to notify neighbors of exterior changes; and it forces people to jump through a few hoops in order to make any changes. On the positive side, it forces people to be "neighborly," to talk to their neighbors; it offers a way to moderate disputes; it generally gets people to rethink doing whacko things with their house that they might regret; and it has kept property values high.
The current case involves a family in a one-story house that wants to add a second story. About half-a-dozen other houses will be affected, but it is the two families in the two looming two-story houses behind them that are the most vociferous in their concerns and have gotten the lawyers involved.
The strategy of the committee is to ask the family wanting to "pop their top" to put up markers where the new corners of their house will be. In the past, that job alone has gotten people to reconsider any additions. Not so in this case. So the next step, once the markers were up, was to tour the affected houses and ascertain what the real impact would be.
This process usually results in some compromises and a happy conclusion for all. This time, because of the disputes that have gone back and forth between these three families, chances for that are low. Due both to the situation and the personalities involved, I feel a lawsuit is inevitable.
But still, I enjoyed our tour of the affected houses. We visited six houses and saw what impact the addition would have on each house. The two looming houses behind are really quite spectacular. I didn't want to go home at the end.
One of the houses we visited, less spectacular, less affected, is owned by a tiny, sweet, older couple. They did not participate in the meetings or the tour, but their son, a lawyer representing them, did. When we got to their house, their son said it was not a good day to go in, that his mother was not doing well. I gathered she sufferers from Alzheimer’s and some days she is more with it than others. But as we assembled to see the views from their front porch, we were invited in and she seemed to be having a good day after all.
The house was immaculate. That was the first thing that struck me. I am not old or infirm, but my house would never look that good. The woman was welcoming, but a bit confused. "What is this? Who are these people? What is going on?" she asked repeatedly as we thanked her and smiled on our way in. Her husband and son gently explained that there was a proposed change to the roofline across the street.
I doubt this was the first time she had heard the news, but it all seemed new to her again. "An addition? There? Across the street?" Someone asked her what she thought of the idea. She was not shy in her response. Despite the fact that she was confused and surrounded by strangers, she loudly and clearly said. "No, I don't want there to be a roof there. I think it is a terrible idea. I don't want that at all." No confusion there. She came through loud and clear on a cloudy and contentious day.
The dispute continues, with no compromise in sight. The strong old woman is but a minor part of it. But I enjoyed her ease at expressing her opinion. I think that is a gift that comes with age. You no longer have to be diplomatic. You no longer feel such a need to compromise. You know your opinion and you can voice it clearly. I can't wait.
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
Madonna
This is up there in the category of "least likely titles for a post in my blog," but no joke, it is about Madonna. A couple weeks ago I did two NIA classes where the teacher played all Madonna tunes. More recent Madonna stuff, not from the Like a Virgin and Material Girl era. I would not have guessed it was Madonna. The songs had the ubiquitous dance beat typical of her songs, but also chanting and world beats that gave it an Indian or African feel.
Now I don't follow Madonna and know very little about what she has been up to for the past twenty years. I know she is older now and married (how many times?), living in England, I think, and has kids. I had heard that she was into Jewish mysticism and had written some children's books. I had actually seen and bought three of her children's books at the local dollar store. She is a good storyteller and the books gave me some more insight into her creativity.
She is obviously a very talented, creative person, even if you may not have her same taste. After the first NIA class, I was surprised to learn that the music, which I thought was a compilation of world music, was all by the same artist and that that artist was Madonna. When the same music was used the next day, I thought I'd listen more carefully to see if I could glean more about what makes her tick these days, what inspires her creativity.
It was interesting. It occurred to me that a lot of the appeal of Madonna is that she dares to voice people's deepest wishes. I enjoyed exercising to her music and I was amazed at her skill at articulating dreams. The lyrics don't necessarily tell a story or make a lot of sense (to me) but there are impelling repeated words and phrases such as "soar,” “butterfly," and "remember who you are." I can't recall them all, but they gave a real impression of empowerment and self-determination with a little bit of mysticism thrown in.
I never was a big fan of Madonna, but my respect for her and her ability to invent and reinvent herself has grown. Good exercise music. Good transformation music. Good messages. I bet she is a really great mother.
Now I don't follow Madonna and know very little about what she has been up to for the past twenty years. I know she is older now and married (how many times?), living in England, I think, and has kids. I had heard that she was into Jewish mysticism and had written some children's books. I had actually seen and bought three of her children's books at the local dollar store. She is a good storyteller and the books gave me some more insight into her creativity.
She is obviously a very talented, creative person, even if you may not have her same taste. After the first NIA class, I was surprised to learn that the music, which I thought was a compilation of world music, was all by the same artist and that that artist was Madonna. When the same music was used the next day, I thought I'd listen more carefully to see if I could glean more about what makes her tick these days, what inspires her creativity.
It was interesting. It occurred to me that a lot of the appeal of Madonna is that she dares to voice people's deepest wishes. I enjoyed exercising to her music and I was amazed at her skill at articulating dreams. The lyrics don't necessarily tell a story or make a lot of sense (to me) but there are impelling repeated words and phrases such as "soar,” “butterfly," and "remember who you are." I can't recall them all, but they gave a real impression of empowerment and self-determination with a little bit of mysticism thrown in.
I never was a big fan of Madonna, but my respect for her and her ability to invent and reinvent herself has grown. Good exercise music. Good transformation music. Good messages. I bet she is a really great mother.
Saturday, February 04, 2006
The big bus adventure
The kids had the day off school and the kitchen had a Christo number done on it: wrapped from head to toe in tape and plastic. Men were walking around the house on stilts, painting mud on the walls and turning it into a dusty mess.
We had to flee so we embarked on a great bus adventure. We took the Skip, Jump, and the Hop—wrong order but works for us—as the busses in Boulder are optimistically named. Fun to launch from a Jump Stop for a change.
We dropped Kadin off at a birthday party for lunch enroute and Rees and I brought burritos to Greg's office. We reconnected, then the kids and I set off to explore the Engineering building we had enjoyed during invention day.
We spent quite a lot of time there exploring and playing with the exhibits. After, on our way to the fun-to-say Hop Stop, we ended up playing with snow in a courtyard and I noticed a place called The Discovery Center. I saw a big airplane engine in the window and, peering through, I spied what looked like an interesting gift shop inside. Curious, we found the door and went to the intruiging glass case. It turned out to be a display of all kinds of fun creations and puzzles by engineering students. There were three dimensional mazes, pop-up cards, robot-type creatures, wheels, gears, and more fascinating objects. As we were looking at them through the glass, a man came by and invited us in.
Inside was a lab with two graduate students creating colorful textile pieces. Some were sewing kits that taught kids about circuit design, another demonstrated a flashing bracelet that modeled a noble gas (not sure I understood that, but Rees, er Sonic, wants one in a big way now). Not only that, but the room contained IT: the printer that works in three dimensions. In the adjacent room, surrounded by fun toys, was a laser cutter that could make all kinds of other shapes and creations. The man who had invited us in was Michael Eisenberg, the professor who runs the lab. What a fun place! I am now inspired to look into this program some more. I will have to ask what kind of background his students have and what kinds of projects he is working on.
That was the highlight of the day for me. Everything I loved about invention day and more. Then we hopped on the Hop, transfered to the Skip, and were home by evening. In time to go out to eat. We wouldn't eat at home again for another 5 days.
We had to flee so we embarked on a great bus adventure. We took the Skip, Jump, and the Hop—wrong order but works for us—as the busses in Boulder are optimistically named. Fun to launch from a Jump Stop for a change.
We dropped Kadin off at a birthday party for lunch enroute and Rees and I brought burritos to Greg's office. We reconnected, then the kids and I set off to explore the Engineering building we had enjoyed during invention day.
We spent quite a lot of time there exploring and playing with the exhibits. After, on our way to the fun-to-say Hop Stop, we ended up playing with snow in a courtyard and I noticed a place called The Discovery Center. I saw a big airplane engine in the window and, peering through, I spied what looked like an interesting gift shop inside. Curious, we found the door and went to the intruiging glass case. It turned out to be a display of all kinds of fun creations and puzzles by engineering students. There were three dimensional mazes, pop-up cards, robot-type creatures, wheels, gears, and more fascinating objects. As we were looking at them through the glass, a man came by and invited us in.
Inside was a lab with two graduate students creating colorful textile pieces. Some were sewing kits that taught kids about circuit design, another demonstrated a flashing bracelet that modeled a noble gas (not sure I understood that, but Rees, er Sonic, wants one in a big way now). Not only that, but the room contained IT: the printer that works in three dimensions. In the adjacent room, surrounded by fun toys, was a laser cutter that could make all kinds of other shapes and creations. The man who had invited us in was Michael Eisenberg, the professor who runs the lab. What a fun place! I am now inspired to look into this program some more. I will have to ask what kind of background his students have and what kinds of projects he is working on.
That was the highlight of the day for me. Everything I loved about invention day and more. Then we hopped on the Hop, transfered to the Skip, and were home by evening. In time to go out to eat. We wouldn't eat at home again for another 5 days.
Friday, February 03, 2006
Names— why l will be sainted
A couple of kids that Rees knows well have changed their names. I have been thinking about this and wondering how it feels to have a child who doesn't like the name you chose for them. I decided I wanted to take such a desire seriously, but not take it personally. There was a time in England when Rees wanted to be called Michael, and with three Reeses (Rees, Rhys, and Rhys) in his class, who could blame him? The only problem with Michael, in my opinion, is that so many people have it. But Michael is a serious, respectable name.
Rees has always had strong opinions and genearally sticks with his decisions. If the topic came up again, I told myself, I would be accepting and open. The topic came up and Rees said he wanted to change his name. "Okay," I said, "What do you want to be called?" And that's when he answered: "Sonic."
What? Sonic? Is that a name? I thought it was an adjective. If I react or refuse, he'll want it all the more. Sonic it is. But how can I call him that with a straight face?
Rees has always had strong opinions and genearally sticks with his decisions. If the topic came up again, I told myself, I would be accepting and open. The topic came up and Rees said he wanted to change his name. "Okay," I said, "What do you want to be called?" And that's when he answered: "Sonic."
What? Sonic? Is that a name? I thought it was an adjective. If I react or refuse, he'll want it all the more. Sonic it is. But how can I call him that with a straight face?
Thursday, February 02, 2006
Back injury—a new aproach
Luckily, this is all in the past,* but I did it again, tweaked my back. I had been feeling very strong and flexible until that one tiny moment when I bent over to pick up a case of water and didn't bend my knees. Twing! Oops!
I am always amazed how one second can result in a long recovery time. In the past (not that this is common, but it has happened a couple of times), I would hobble around whining and feeling sorry for myself, stoically carrying on. This time was the first time I have tweaked my back and not had a toddler to deal with as well. I have learned that the worst thing to do is sit. Standing is fine, walking is fine, lying down is fine. Getting in and out of the car is the worst.
The day after the twing, I thought I was taking it easy by driving places. Not so. It was worse by evening. The next day I walked everywhere, lay down whenever I could, and basically tried to find ways to nurture and care for my body without whining or feeling sorry for myself. It was a nice change, and, for a change, I was able to take some time for myself.
Bottom line? It worked. Pretty much all better now. Took a couple of weeks before I felt I could do everything I wanted, but it was a much more pleasant recovery period. No more soldiering on for me.
*2/6/06 Spoke too soon! Tweaked again! Either I was getting cocky and brazen or it's Kadin's determination to step on too many cracks…
I am always amazed how one second can result in a long recovery time. In the past (not that this is common, but it has happened a couple of times), I would hobble around whining and feeling sorry for myself, stoically carrying on. This time was the first time I have tweaked my back and not had a toddler to deal with as well. I have learned that the worst thing to do is sit. Standing is fine, walking is fine, lying down is fine. Getting in and out of the car is the worst.
The day after the twing, I thought I was taking it easy by driving places. Not so. It was worse by evening. The next day I walked everywhere, lay down whenever I could, and basically tried to find ways to nurture and care for my body without whining or feeling sorry for myself. It was a nice change, and, for a change, I was able to take some time for myself.
Bottom line? It worked. Pretty much all better now. Took a couple of weeks before I felt I could do everything I wanted, but it was a much more pleasant recovery period. No more soldiering on for me.
*2/6/06 Spoke too soon! Tweaked again! Either I was getting cocky and brazen or it's Kadin's determination to step on too many cracks…
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
Subcontractor personalities
I am going to go off on some gross generalizations and stereotypes based on very small samples, but I find the personalities of the different subcontractor crews so interesting. I have already written about how generally pleasant and easy-to-talk to the general contractor and the main carpentry crew are. Don't know if it is typical, but their motto seems to be, "We will do whatever you want; our goal is to make you happy." That is a treat. The concrete cutters, one of the first subcontractor crews, were very different. They were large and burly, displayed no emotion, and I can't remember even a word spoken out of their mouths.
The concrete pouring crew was similarly stoic. They looked thin and wiry and had that real hardened, western kind of look like the Marlborough man. No hint of expression or emotion, just get the job done. You wouldn't even think of joking around with these guys.
The HVAC (Heating Vents and Air Conditioning? Something like that) guys were older and very friendly, but a bit comical in their stoicism. They would forget things and make mistakes, but worked hard and thoroughly without complaint. Their names were Tom and Jerry and they were soon dubbed "the Tom and Jerry show." They were not unpleasant to have around, but a bit like a cartoon with disasters and near-disasters abounding.
Then there were the electricians. They were talkative, and able to joke, but big whiners and complainers. They needed a session with Greg's cousin Marcy, so she could help them find their true path. They were clearly not happy and felt burdened by every job and request. Lots of sighing a swearing and general discontent filled the house when they were here. And it was COLD.
The roofers were, like the concrete guys, almost subhuman. They would not make eye contact and did not seem able to communicate in any way. If they spoke English, they did not let on. They suffered through snow and rain and wind storms. I felt that just about every night the wind blew off all the work they had done the night before. But they just kept at it until it was finally done.
Next came the insulators. The foam insulation guys were just a quick, smart, two-man team, one of whom owned the business. The fiberglass guys were a crew, again very efficient, not talkative. They took that icky batting and stoically stuffed it in every last crack, and topped it with plastic so that it looked like our walls were wearing a puffy pink coat.
The inspector was a nice but humorless fellow. No luck getting him to crack a smile. Sigh. But we passed.
The drywall guys have several different crews. There are the ones who come to drop off the drywall and load the requisite number of sheets in each room. There were just two or three of them and they spoke a little English then went about their work.
The next day came the crew to put up the drywall. They didn't speak much English either, and looked a little red-eyed, but they were a surprisingly lively bunch, laughing and joking in Spanish and listening to music. They brought a toaster oven for lunch on-site. And though we couldn't communicate, they seemed like real people with real emotions and real appetites.
After them came the taping and filling crew. Again, they didn't speak much English, but it was possible to communicate with them and, despite their rough job conditions, they seemed human and emotive. They are the ones who wrapped up everything in the kitchen and sanded the walls, making the house seem like the inside of a snow globe. Yuk!
The stone masons out front, though again not speaking English, have had the best lunches yet of any crew. They bring a small round griddle and toast fresh corn tortillas on them. Yum! They get to be outside in relatively pleasant conditions and seem to really enjoy and take pride in their work.
The painter is here and he loves his music (the quality of music goes up dramatically when he is around). He is very particular and loves to talk, tell stories, and offer his opinion about colors. An artist at heart. He reminds me of the painter character on Murphy Brown. He would fit right in if he moved in. It feels like he lives here already.
The flooring guy comes next week. He works alone (because he has to due to his exacting personality, says our GC). And the stone guys who will do the fireplace surround are said to be stone-like Russians. Can’t wait to see that. The indoor conditions have improved dramatically with the departure of the drywallers (and thanks to the insulators).
And so it goes, our home is not our own. Sometimes if feels like the world in miniature with different culture clashes and turf battles. Each type of work attracts and/or makes it own personality type. Each crew specializes in what they do and each has disdain for at least one other type of subcontractor. Roofers are not generally liked and the painter hates drywallers because he gets the job of cleaning up after them. Drywallers get irritated with the work of the framers. Electricians whine and moan about the framers and the architects/lighting designers, and so on.
One day I came home, long after the roof was supposed to be done, and I saw someone up there. It turned out to be one of the carpenters.
“Oh,” I said, “I thought you were a roofer.”
“Don’t call me a roofer,” came the offended reply.
Lesson learned.
The concrete pouring crew was similarly stoic. They looked thin and wiry and had that real hardened, western kind of look like the Marlborough man. No hint of expression or emotion, just get the job done. You wouldn't even think of joking around with these guys.
The HVAC (Heating Vents and Air Conditioning? Something like that) guys were older and very friendly, but a bit comical in their stoicism. They would forget things and make mistakes, but worked hard and thoroughly without complaint. Their names were Tom and Jerry and they were soon dubbed "the Tom and Jerry show." They were not unpleasant to have around, but a bit like a cartoon with disasters and near-disasters abounding.
Then there were the electricians. They were talkative, and able to joke, but big whiners and complainers. They needed a session with Greg's cousin Marcy, so she could help them find their true path. They were clearly not happy and felt burdened by every job and request. Lots of sighing a swearing and general discontent filled the house when they were here. And it was COLD.
The roofers were, like the concrete guys, almost subhuman. They would not make eye contact and did not seem able to communicate in any way. If they spoke English, they did not let on. They suffered through snow and rain and wind storms. I felt that just about every night the wind blew off all the work they had done the night before. But they just kept at it until it was finally done.
Next came the insulators. The foam insulation guys were just a quick, smart, two-man team, one of whom owned the business. The fiberglass guys were a crew, again very efficient, not talkative. They took that icky batting and stoically stuffed it in every last crack, and topped it with plastic so that it looked like our walls were wearing a puffy pink coat.
The inspector was a nice but humorless fellow. No luck getting him to crack a smile. Sigh. But we passed.
The drywall guys have several different crews. There are the ones who come to drop off the drywall and load the requisite number of sheets in each room. There were just two or three of them and they spoke a little English then went about their work.
The next day came the crew to put up the drywall. They didn't speak much English either, and looked a little red-eyed, but they were a surprisingly lively bunch, laughing and joking in Spanish and listening to music. They brought a toaster oven for lunch on-site. And though we couldn't communicate, they seemed like real people with real emotions and real appetites.
After them came the taping and filling crew. Again, they didn't speak much English, but it was possible to communicate with them and, despite their rough job conditions, they seemed human and emotive. They are the ones who wrapped up everything in the kitchen and sanded the walls, making the house seem like the inside of a snow globe. Yuk!
The stone masons out front, though again not speaking English, have had the best lunches yet of any crew. They bring a small round griddle and toast fresh corn tortillas on them. Yum! They get to be outside in relatively pleasant conditions and seem to really enjoy and take pride in their work.
The painter is here and he loves his music (the quality of music goes up dramatically when he is around). He is very particular and loves to talk, tell stories, and offer his opinion about colors. An artist at heart. He reminds me of the painter character on Murphy Brown. He would fit right in if he moved in. It feels like he lives here already.
The flooring guy comes next week. He works alone (because he has to due to his exacting personality, says our GC). And the stone guys who will do the fireplace surround are said to be stone-like Russians. Can’t wait to see that. The indoor conditions have improved dramatically with the departure of the drywallers (and thanks to the insulators).
And so it goes, our home is not our own. Sometimes if feels like the world in miniature with different culture clashes and turf battles. Each type of work attracts and/or makes it own personality type. Each crew specializes in what they do and each has disdain for at least one other type of subcontractor. Roofers are not generally liked and the painter hates drywallers because he gets the job of cleaning up after them. Drywallers get irritated with the work of the framers. Electricians whine and moan about the framers and the architects/lighting designers, and so on.
One day I came home, long after the roof was supposed to be done, and I saw someone up there. It turned out to be one of the carpenters.
“Oh,” I said, “I thought you were a roofer.”
“Don’t call me a roofer,” came the offended reply.
Lesson learned.
Friday, January 27, 2006
Kadin's 5—or—How to turn a hazard into an asset
This blog has barely made into the New Year and the month is almost over. I feel about 30 days behind and, what do you know? I AM about 30 days behind. The house has entered a new state of upheaval, I tweaked my back (again), Kadin had a birthday (party) and Rees has decided to change his name (again).
More on all of those in future posts. But first, Kadin's party, or "How to turn a hazard into an asset."
I took a risk and scheduled Kadin's party for Jan 8, the Sunday before his real birthday on Monday. Who knew what condition the house would be in? Who knew what the weather would be like? He picked the theme dinosaurs (after flirting with superheros and pirates) and wanted to have a party, but, being an introvert, didn't want to invite anyone. We finally worked that out and in the end 5 guests (the tradition being to invite as many as you are old) did indeed come.
Next obstacle was location. Being stubborn, I decided to just make do and have it at the house, another tradition. At the house or bust. On the negative side, there was no room in the now kitchen/dining room/office combo, there was a big pit and a big pile of dirt out front, and there was debris (nails, roof shingles, splintered boards) everywhere due to the high winds we've had this winter. On the positive side, the electricians had finished, the first layer of insulation was in, the roof was on (completed the Saturday before the party), and we had lots of unoccupied, but dusty, indoor space that the kids could not trash in any way.
The plan: a dino hunt and dig. We had the tools: paint brushes from the painter, lots of 5-gal buckets from the workers, and some cheap sandbox shovels and rakes. We had the treasures: I bulk ordered some plastic dino skeletons, way too many small plastic dinos, and found a bag of glass pebbles with fish/trilobyte impressions on them at the Dollar Store. The week before the party I made dinosaur eggs by embedding the small plastic dinos in plaster of paris, using old hollow easter eggs for moulds.
We made each guest a "dig" by burying the treasures in sand in a bucket. We still didn't know if we should try to do it inside or out. It was a pretty nice morning. Greg made little cards for each guest with pictures of three hiding places (a tire swing, a wagon, a hose pot). And wouldn't you know it? A half-hour before the party, just as we were setting up outside, the wind started gusting and it started snowing. Typical.
The guests began to arrive. They dressed up with dinosaur tails and had some of the snacks. We gave them each an empty bucket and explained the hunt. We were going on a dig, but we needed to find our tools first. At the location of each picture, there were hidden tools and each person had to find three tools all together. On their way to the hiding places, they could look for and pick up "treasures," of nails, screws, roof shingles, scraps of metal, etc. At the end they could turn in each "treasure" for a penny.
Yes, it was cold, but at least the kids were running around outside, and at least they were looking for nails instead of stepping on them.
We moved the digs inside. For Rees' 5th birthday, outside, in September, with all boys, there was no problem encouraging the guests to smash open the dinosaur eggs with hammers. They could have done that all day. But these kids, for whatever reason (younger? colder? girls?) were not so keen on smashing with hammers. But with Greg and I and Rees and the helpful 9-year-old guest, there was plenty of smashing. The kids put their tools and the finds from their digs in their buckets. Later we put these all in party bags.
Then it was wash hands and cake and presents. I am happy to report that no one was injured and most of the kids opted to keep their pennies AND their "treasures" that they collected. Don't know what their parents thought when they opened party bags with nails and shards of asphalt roof shingles, but the place was a little cleaner as a result.
Kadin had a good time too. Now, I need to find a way to turn a stubborn 5-year-old into an asset…
More on all of those in future posts. But first, Kadin's party, or "How to turn a hazard into an asset."
I took a risk and scheduled Kadin's party for Jan 8, the Sunday before his real birthday on Monday. Who knew what condition the house would be in? Who knew what the weather would be like? He picked the theme dinosaurs (after flirting with superheros and pirates) and wanted to have a party, but, being an introvert, didn't want to invite anyone. We finally worked that out and in the end 5 guests (the tradition being to invite as many as you are old) did indeed come.
Next obstacle was location. Being stubborn, I decided to just make do and have it at the house, another tradition. At the house or bust. On the negative side, there was no room in the now kitchen/dining room/office combo, there was a big pit and a big pile of dirt out front, and there was debris (nails, roof shingles, splintered boards) everywhere due to the high winds we've had this winter. On the positive side, the electricians had finished, the first layer of insulation was in, the roof was on (completed the Saturday before the party), and we had lots of unoccupied, but dusty, indoor space that the kids could not trash in any way.
The plan: a dino hunt and dig. We had the tools: paint brushes from the painter, lots of 5-gal buckets from the workers, and some cheap sandbox shovels and rakes. We had the treasures: I bulk ordered some plastic dino skeletons, way too many small plastic dinos, and found a bag of glass pebbles with fish/trilobyte impressions on them at the Dollar Store. The week before the party I made dinosaur eggs by embedding the small plastic dinos in plaster of paris, using old hollow easter eggs for moulds.
We made each guest a "dig" by burying the treasures in sand in a bucket. We still didn't know if we should try to do it inside or out. It was a pretty nice morning. Greg made little cards for each guest with pictures of three hiding places (a tire swing, a wagon, a hose pot). And wouldn't you know it? A half-hour before the party, just as we were setting up outside, the wind started gusting and it started snowing. Typical.
The guests began to arrive. They dressed up with dinosaur tails and had some of the snacks. We gave them each an empty bucket and explained the hunt. We were going on a dig, but we needed to find our tools first. At the location of each picture, there were hidden tools and each person had to find three tools all together. On their way to the hiding places, they could look for and pick up "treasures," of nails, screws, roof shingles, scraps of metal, etc. At the end they could turn in each "treasure" for a penny.
Yes, it was cold, but at least the kids were running around outside, and at least they were looking for nails instead of stepping on them.
We moved the digs inside. For Rees' 5th birthday, outside, in September, with all boys, there was no problem encouraging the guests to smash open the dinosaur eggs with hammers. They could have done that all day. But these kids, for whatever reason (younger? colder? girls?) were not so keen on smashing with hammers. But with Greg and I and Rees and the helpful 9-year-old guest, there was plenty of smashing. The kids put their tools and the finds from their digs in their buckets. Later we put these all in party bags.
Then it was wash hands and cake and presents. I am happy to report that no one was injured and most of the kids opted to keep their pennies AND their "treasures" that they collected. Don't know what their parents thought when they opened party bags with nails and shards of asphalt roof shingles, but the place was a little cleaner as a result.
Kadin had a good time too. Now, I need to find a way to turn a stubborn 5-year-old into an asset…
Sunday, January 15, 2006
Transient are all conditioned things
Here is my own New Year's response to my previous post:
In the winter, I like to take the time to reflect, look inward, and plan for the future. Someone once told me of the “stop, start, continue” model where you evaluate what you want to stop, start, or continue, and the New Year is a time that I like to think along these lines. The big thing I have been thinking about of late is change. I realize just how much change is going on, how it will never stop, and how I'd better get used to it!
I have already written about how I am now into embracing any new exercise fad that comes along and enjoying short-lived toys. That is a revolutionary approach to life for me. I have always been one to seek permanence or classics, but now I reflect on that and ask myself, “why?”
I think about the things that bother me these days and usually they are things that change too quickly. I don’t feel that I have time to find my feet and get organized before everything has changed again. I know with the kids, change comes all too quickly. I get things all set up the way I like them, in a way that is appropriate for their age and activities, and before you know it, before I am used to it, they are off into a whole new phase again. Whoosh!
I was reading a book by Buddhist teacher Sylvia Boorstein (a Christmas present from Greg from a year ago) called It's Easier Than You Think. It is a very down-to-earth, practical, funny book that talks about (among other things) how there will always be pain, but there doesn’t have to be suffering. Pain we don’t have control over, but suffering we do. I realized that for me, change is painful, yes, but I don’t have to suffer. I can just let it go and decide to ride the waves of change. The title of this post—transient are all conditioned things—is a quote from the book. I don’t understand it, but I like it.
When I think about the previous post on the Right Way that I wrote last March, I realize that this is one of the reasons I suffer when things change. I naturally seek a more permanent, universal Right Way, one that doesn’t, or shouldn’t, change. I think I have found IT, then it moves, and then I suffer irritation and annoyance. It is good to know that is where my irritation comes from. Now I try to just see that as the pattern for me, think of the beauty of transience, and move on. I am hoping this will keep me younger.
So my new year’s resolution is to be more open to change, to be flexible, to enjoy and notice my desire for a Right Way, to enjoy the process of working toward a smooth and efficient life, but to accept change as the natural state of things. It’s the journey, not the destination, and all that.
I remember my grandmother, a very thoughtful, adaptable, forward thinking, and open-minded woman who had seen a lot of change, expressing her frustration on this subject. “I am tired of change,” she said when she was in her late eighties, ”I have changed my whole life, and now I'm tired of it.” I can completely understand where she was coming from and I am less than half her age! I loved her, respected her, learned a lot from her, and would be blessed to be as energetic, interesting, and dynamic as she was at her age, but I think I will have to give change a little more leeway if I’m going to succeed. I am too young to stop changing now!
In the winter, I like to take the time to reflect, look inward, and plan for the future. Someone once told me of the “stop, start, continue” model where you evaluate what you want to stop, start, or continue, and the New Year is a time that I like to think along these lines. The big thing I have been thinking about of late is change. I realize just how much change is going on, how it will never stop, and how I'd better get used to it!
I have already written about how I am now into embracing any new exercise fad that comes along and enjoying short-lived toys. That is a revolutionary approach to life for me. I have always been one to seek permanence or classics, but now I reflect on that and ask myself, “why?”
I think about the things that bother me these days and usually they are things that change too quickly. I don’t feel that I have time to find my feet and get organized before everything has changed again. I know with the kids, change comes all too quickly. I get things all set up the way I like them, in a way that is appropriate for their age and activities, and before you know it, before I am used to it, they are off into a whole new phase again. Whoosh!
I was reading a book by Buddhist teacher Sylvia Boorstein (a Christmas present from Greg from a year ago) called It's Easier Than You Think. It is a very down-to-earth, practical, funny book that talks about (among other things) how there will always be pain, but there doesn’t have to be suffering. Pain we don’t have control over, but suffering we do. I realized that for me, change is painful, yes, but I don’t have to suffer. I can just let it go and decide to ride the waves of change. The title of this post—transient are all conditioned things—is a quote from the book. I don’t understand it, but I like it.
When I think about the previous post on the Right Way that I wrote last March, I realize that this is one of the reasons I suffer when things change. I naturally seek a more permanent, universal Right Way, one that doesn’t, or shouldn’t, change. I think I have found IT, then it moves, and then I suffer irritation and annoyance. It is good to know that is where my irritation comes from. Now I try to just see that as the pattern for me, think of the beauty of transience, and move on. I am hoping this will keep me younger.
So my new year’s resolution is to be more open to change, to be flexible, to enjoy and notice my desire for a Right Way, to enjoy the process of working toward a smooth and efficient life, but to accept change as the natural state of things. It’s the journey, not the destination, and all that.
I remember my grandmother, a very thoughtful, adaptable, forward thinking, and open-minded woman who had seen a lot of change, expressing her frustration on this subject. “I am tired of change,” she said when she was in her late eighties, ”I have changed my whole life, and now I'm tired of it.” I can completely understand where she was coming from and I am less than half her age! I loved her, respected her, learned a lot from her, and would be blessed to be as energetic, interesting, and dynamic as she was at her age, but I think I will have to give change a little more leeway if I’m going to succeed. I am too young to stop changing now!
The Right Way
Can’t believe I haven’t posted for almost two weeks! Before I start talking about the New Year and my thoughts, I want to post something I wrote nearly a year ago when I started this blog:
There was one thing on my father’s Morning Edition interview that struck me that I didn’t really consciously process at the time, but the more I think about it, the more important I see that it is to his life, my mother’s life, and my life. The interviewer said that one thing that made my father stand out as a computer programmer was his belief that there is a best way, a right way.
I see now that this belief is very deeply ingrained in my soul. And it’s not about people or religion or cultures at all, but something more quantifiable, more evidence based: how to do things. (I think believing there is a best way can lead to very negative things like nationalism or prejudice, but that isn’t what it means for me at all. George Bush would be an example of someone who has this view. But I would like to think that my best way and right way is more in the realm of evidence-based practices---things that can be measured.) For me the “best way” is about the most measurably efficient, simple, or parsimonious way to do something. That is beautiful. This is an aesthetic my parents share that they have passed down to me. While this belief/aesthetic has been a great motivator for me, it has also gotten me into trouble. I don’t think it is necessarily the best thing or the right thing to have such a belief, but I do have it, so it is perhaps the best way for me. It is interesting to think about how the life of a person who is constantly seeking a best way or a right way to do something is affected.
First, you have to believe that there IS a best way. If everything were equal, why would you bother? And I find I often believe there is A BEST WAY and seek to find IT. Over time I have come to understand that there are different best ways for different people. For me, the best way is the most efficient, simplest, and most parsimonious way. I see now that I am ruled by these criteria for almost everything.
This ideal of a best way often leads me to a position that seems inflexible (though I would like to think that, presented with a measurably better way, I would be instantly flexible) and hampers my ability to finesse a situation. I am not interested in doing something any old way, I want to do it the best way.
It also inhibits a certain romantic view of the world. I remember once asking someone why she walked back to work the way she did if it was longer. “I like to smell the flowers,” she replied. Well, that just would not have occurred to me.
This is perhaps why I nearly go into convulsions if Greg is driving and takes a wrong turn. It’s not like it really matters that much in the long run, he’ll get us there, but it has upset my inner core. I don’t just want to get there; I want to get there the best way. I had a friend in high school that told another friend to stop evaluating my suggestions and just do what I said because, “Jenny is always right.” Well, I was not and am not always right, but I want to be! And I realize that many of the conflicts I have with Greg come from me thinking I know the best way and him thinking that I have rejected his idea because it was his. I argue that it is not a his-idea vs. my-idea kind of thing, but a working-together-to-find-the-best-way kind of thing (albeit using my criteria of the best way!). Sometimes I wish he would take the attitude of my friend from high school. But then I can think of times where we were working together, loading a moving van, for example, and I would be paralyzed by evaluating what was the best way to do it and he would just keep working and carrying and get more done in the end.
The biggest conflict this belief has had in my life was in graduate school. I was in the humanities (not the sciences where there is more of a belief in the quantifiable best way or right way) and the fashion was to “recomplicate” what had been done before. Previous scholars has sought to simplify and define in a way that was “hegemonic and violent” and their scholarship had to be overthrown by a new, dynamic “unreadability." My encountering such a philosophy was like taking my square head and banging it into a round hole. It was so contrary to the way I naturally thought. I learned a lot, but did not thrive in this environment.
I hope I have become a lot more tolerant and accepting over the years, but that includes accepting who I am and the way I naturally think. I realize that this isn’t the best way or the right way and certainly not the only way, but it’s a way I can’t escape.
There was one thing on my father’s Morning Edition interview that struck me that I didn’t really consciously process at the time, but the more I think about it, the more important I see that it is to his life, my mother’s life, and my life. The interviewer said that one thing that made my father stand out as a computer programmer was his belief that there is a best way, a right way.
I see now that this belief is very deeply ingrained in my soul. And it’s not about people or religion or cultures at all, but something more quantifiable, more evidence based: how to do things. (I think believing there is a best way can lead to very negative things like nationalism or prejudice, but that isn’t what it means for me at all. George Bush would be an example of someone who has this view. But I would like to think that my best way and right way is more in the realm of evidence-based practices---things that can be measured.) For me the “best way” is about the most measurably efficient, simple, or parsimonious way to do something. That is beautiful. This is an aesthetic my parents share that they have passed down to me. While this belief/aesthetic has been a great motivator for me, it has also gotten me into trouble. I don’t think it is necessarily the best thing or the right thing to have such a belief, but I do have it, so it is perhaps the best way for me. It is interesting to think about how the life of a person who is constantly seeking a best way or a right way to do something is affected.
First, you have to believe that there IS a best way. If everything were equal, why would you bother? And I find I often believe there is A BEST WAY and seek to find IT. Over time I have come to understand that there are different best ways for different people. For me, the best way is the most efficient, simplest, and most parsimonious way. I see now that I am ruled by these criteria for almost everything.
This ideal of a best way often leads me to a position that seems inflexible (though I would like to think that, presented with a measurably better way, I would be instantly flexible) and hampers my ability to finesse a situation. I am not interested in doing something any old way, I want to do it the best way.
It also inhibits a certain romantic view of the world. I remember once asking someone why she walked back to work the way she did if it was longer. “I like to smell the flowers,” she replied. Well, that just would not have occurred to me.
This is perhaps why I nearly go into convulsions if Greg is driving and takes a wrong turn. It’s not like it really matters that much in the long run, he’ll get us there, but it has upset my inner core. I don’t just want to get there; I want to get there the best way. I had a friend in high school that told another friend to stop evaluating my suggestions and just do what I said because, “Jenny is always right.” Well, I was not and am not always right, but I want to be! And I realize that many of the conflicts I have with Greg come from me thinking I know the best way and him thinking that I have rejected his idea because it was his. I argue that it is not a his-idea vs. my-idea kind of thing, but a working-together-to-find-the-best-way kind of thing (albeit using my criteria of the best way!). Sometimes I wish he would take the attitude of my friend from high school. But then I can think of times where we were working together, loading a moving van, for example, and I would be paralyzed by evaluating what was the best way to do it and he would just keep working and carrying and get more done in the end.
The biggest conflict this belief has had in my life was in graduate school. I was in the humanities (not the sciences where there is more of a belief in the quantifiable best way or right way) and the fashion was to “recomplicate” what had been done before. Previous scholars has sought to simplify and define in a way that was “hegemonic and violent” and their scholarship had to be overthrown by a new, dynamic “unreadability." My encountering such a philosophy was like taking my square head and banging it into a round hole. It was so contrary to the way I naturally thought. I learned a lot, but did not thrive in this environment.
I hope I have become a lot more tolerant and accepting over the years, but that includes accepting who I am and the way I naturally think. I realize that this isn’t the best way or the right way and certainly not the only way, but it’s a way I can’t escape.
Sunday, January 01, 2006
A few plugs…
In the post-consumer lull, I recommend:
Cosmo Doogood’s Urban Almanac: Celebrating Nature & Her Rhythms in the City
A great book that seems to read my mind: everything I always wanted to know, in one great place. It’s a calendar (including motions of the sun and moon, information about seasonal changes in urban flora and fauna, secular and religious festivals, famous birthdays, etc.) and a magazine (Eric Utne produces it) with articles about politics, rituals, and nature. I think everyone should have one of these. It’s thoughtful and fun—every day of the year. The theme and form encourage you to “Look up; Look out; Look back; Look in.” If you need to give yourself a new year’s present or a calendar, I recommend this one.
Craig’s List
On the night before Christmas Eve, the construction workers were cleaning up and straightening up. I asked them if there were any items I could put on the web to try to recycle. I posted some fiberglass insulation batting, a storm door, and a garage door opener on Denver’s craigslist. We also put out a fan from the old (ancient) furnace. About 15 minutes later a man drove up in a van. “You have some insulation?” He took it all. That’s a big chunk that won’t be going to the landfill! The workers were stunned. This was about 4pm. By 7am the next morning (Saturday, Christmas Eve) when I was leaving for yoga, everything was gone (that is, everything we wanted to be gone was gone—even the ancient fan—everything we wanted to stay was there) and I took the posting off Craig’s list. We were all impressed by how quick and easy that was and how well it worked, even on a holiday weekend. Craigslist also has job postings, local events, stuff for sale, discussion forums, apartments for rent, and just about everything about your community. Find the one for your city and check it out!
Journey to the Wild Divine
A computer game that Greg gave the family for Christmas. Unlike most games that rev you up, this one uses biofeedback to teach you how to calm down and control your emotions. It’s similar to Myst and Riven (fun adventure games that our whole family has enjoyed), but with an added biofeedback twist. You explore a garden and temples using your mind to levitate a sphere, juggle balls, aim a bow and arrow, open doors, direct elevators, etc. Yes, you control the game with your mind (via “magic rings” on your fingers). It works and it’s really cool. Rees was thrilled with it and very serious about making it work. The tricky thing is, the harder you try, the less likely you are to succeed! It encourages and teaches you to be patient and accepting (two emotions that are often in short supply around here). After a bit of practice, though, Rees could do it! Very imaginative and well presented; calming and good for the soul.
Cosmo Doogood’s Urban Almanac: Celebrating Nature & Her Rhythms in the City
A great book that seems to read my mind: everything I always wanted to know, in one great place. It’s a calendar (including motions of the sun and moon, information about seasonal changes in urban flora and fauna, secular and religious festivals, famous birthdays, etc.) and a magazine (Eric Utne produces it) with articles about politics, rituals, and nature. I think everyone should have one of these. It’s thoughtful and fun—every day of the year. The theme and form encourage you to “Look up; Look out; Look back; Look in.” If you need to give yourself a new year’s present or a calendar, I recommend this one.
Craig’s List
On the night before Christmas Eve, the construction workers were cleaning up and straightening up. I asked them if there were any items I could put on the web to try to recycle. I posted some fiberglass insulation batting, a storm door, and a garage door opener on Denver’s craigslist. We also put out a fan from the old (ancient) furnace. About 15 minutes later a man drove up in a van. “You have some insulation?” He took it all. That’s a big chunk that won’t be going to the landfill! The workers were stunned. This was about 4pm. By 7am the next morning (Saturday, Christmas Eve) when I was leaving for yoga, everything was gone (that is, everything we wanted to be gone was gone—even the ancient fan—everything we wanted to stay was there) and I took the posting off Craig’s list. We were all impressed by how quick and easy that was and how well it worked, even on a holiday weekend. Craigslist also has job postings, local events, stuff for sale, discussion forums, apartments for rent, and just about everything about your community. Find the one for your city and check it out!
Journey to the Wild Divine
A computer game that Greg gave the family for Christmas. Unlike most games that rev you up, this one uses biofeedback to teach you how to calm down and control your emotions. It’s similar to Myst and Riven (fun adventure games that our whole family has enjoyed), but with an added biofeedback twist. You explore a garden and temples using your mind to levitate a sphere, juggle balls, aim a bow and arrow, open doors, direct elevators, etc. Yes, you control the game with your mind (via “magic rings” on your fingers). It works and it’s really cool. Rees was thrilled with it and very serious about making it work. The tricky thing is, the harder you try, the less likely you are to succeed! It encourages and teaches you to be patient and accepting (two emotions that are often in short supply around here). After a bit of practice, though, Rees could do it! Very imaginative and well presented; calming and good for the soul.
Friday, December 30, 2005
Arghhh!
It's Friday and the kids have been home all week. They are running out of productive ways to amuse themselves. Why can't they see that perhaps jumping on the trampoline with rocks is not such a good idea? And that carrying sheets of plywood across the lawn when there are 50mph gusts of wind is also not a good alternative?
So today it's errand day. The idea being to finish up some long delayed errands and to keep the kids out of trouble. Delayed because when the kids are home, I tend to put off errands, and after a week-and-a-half without school, there are lots of errands to do.
It starts out badly at the library. At our small local branch the kids are running around, chasing each other, giggling incessantly. A little talk to them about how to amuse themselves without disturbing other patrons goes unheeded. I want to leave immediately, but I came here to get something for me, and I want to get it. I tell them we will abandon the trip to the Lego store (part of a Christmas present and how I got them to clean the house and leave the house in the first place) if they can't control themselves. They can't control themselves.
As I am getting gas I tell them how disappointed I am in their behavior at the library. Okay, so we talk about it and come up with this deal: we will do another errand, their chance to redeem themselves. If they can listen to me and follow directions on the next errand, we will go to the Lego store. If not, no go.
It's about a 20-minute drive, so I get in the car after the gas and ask if everyone is buckled in. They assure me this is true. I have put a couple of new Bill Harley CDs in the car. I ask which one they want to listen to first. Kadin says, "mine!" Rees says, "mine!" Okay, another tack. One is stories, one is songs, I ask them if they want to listen to stories or songs. "Songs" says Kadin, "stories" says Rees. I figure that gives me license to choose since Kadin's is stories and Rees's is songs. I say "I am putting on Kadin's, it's stories." Nobody can protest that. Phew!
On the highway, Kadin says, "Look Rees, look!" and as he points to something he stands up and turns around in his seat. "Hey! Kadin! You're not buckled in!" Usually he is very good about this. Problem is, he can't do it himself. As I am looking for a place to pull over I say, "Kadin, hand me the buckle, here, Rees, please buckle it." Kadin screams, "No! I want Mama to do it!" "I can't, I'm driving," I reply. He has become the boss of the world in the worst way lately. His view of what is important can only be categorized as ridiculous. I find a place to pull over and he finally lets Rees buckle him in. Sheesh!
Then it is a trip to a certain DIY store to buy a dryer vent. No, not fun, but they have the Lego store to look forward to. I am ready to cancel the whole endeavor, but this is their chance.
Only problem is, I can't find the DIY store. It is right there, bigger than life, on the right side of the road, with a huge sign in front of it, but danged if I can figure out how to get there. It's at an intersection of three major highways and I blow it a couple of times, taking at least a extra 30-minute detour of circling round and round with no exit in sight and one wrong move after another. I feel I am being sorely tested. Luckily the kids are riveted by the new Bill Harley CD with tales of swamp monsters and the pirate Dirty Joe. The songs and stories have this really funny way of seeing the world from both the child's and the adult's perspective, so it's giving me some respite as well. Finally, after driving about 50 endless, pointless miles, we get to the parking lot.
Will the kids let me pick a dryer vent? Sure, but they have to fiddle with and fondle just about everything in sight so concentration is at a minimum and who knew there would be so many perplexing options? I just want a dryer vent. I sure hope I get the right thing. I measured and everything, but... oh well, guess I can always return it if I get the wrong one, but the thought of coming back fills me with dread…
Then I need the bathroom and one graciously appears near us at the back of the store. Rees goes into the men's, Kadin refuses all options. I need to go, so I look at Kadin and say, "I am going in here, you are welcome to join me." "Never!" he replies, his stock reply these days. No sooner am I in a stall than I hear an ear-piercing shriek of "Mama! Where are you?" I hear the woman who was washing her hands at the sink as I came in go out to investigate. "It's okay, your mom's in there," she says. Kadin refuses all help continuing to pitifully and convincingly wail, "I want my mom!" "I pinched my finger!" "I want my mommy!" Another woman in the stall next to me goes out to help. He keeps up the "I want my mom!" line. I know he is a little bit hurt and a lot angry and even more stubborn. He will not come to me, I cannot go to him, he will not calm down for these other women. I quickly finish and tend to his minor wound. Scornful eyes look at me from everywhere. Heads wag. Sigh.
We pick up some teak oil for the deck furniture and head to the checkout. This is when the one good thing of the day happens. The woman asks me how much the dryer vent is. I say I don't remember (I don't but it was somewhere around $15) and she says not to worry about it and only charges me for the teak oil. Wow! That saves me an errand to return it at least!
Things are looking up, it is time for the Lego store. We find the mall and park at the door closest to the store. We find the store and this kids happily fill the boxes they got for Christmas. Then the snag. Kadin takes a long time, debating this, debating that, wishing he had this, wishing he had that. Finally his box is full and then overfull. I tell him he has to put some back. He refuses. I take some out of his overfull box and put some of them in Rees' underfull box. He is incensed and starts wailing. I try to explain to him that I am trying to help him (knowing it will all end up in the same place, but how to convince a 4 year old?). He continues to make a scene. I tell him we can walk away right there if he wants to. I take four big pieces out of his box, now it works. I tell him his choice is to have the box as it is or leave without it. He is livid. Finally, I manage to get the box put in a bag, return the four big pieces, and distract him to play with the Legos at the play table.
Now it is lunchtime. We can go to the food court. I am hungry. Rees is hungry. Kadin wants to stay at the play table. "When will you be ready to leave?" I ask. "When I am finished with this," is the reply. That sounds reasonable. "Finish up and we'll go," I say, hoping for once for a graceful transition. It takes a while, but finally he is ready and we go to eat. We are in line at the Burger King and Kadin says, "I want McDonalds." I tell him there is no McDonalds. He starts crying again. This boy is lucky to be at Burger King, I tell you!
Lunch is reasonably uneventful, but the food court has taken us to the opposite end of the mall from the car. Kadin is moving like molasses. He is in his own world, playing a game, walking in a certain pattern on the colored bricks on the floor. Rees and I try to walk slowly, but Kadin is making no attempt to stay with us. It is agony. Slowly, slowly we make progress. I have my eye on the door near the car. We are finally almost there, just a few yards to go. "I have to go to the bathroom," Kadin announces. If only he'd used the one at the DIY store!
Okay, find a bathroom. Luckily there is one not too far from the door, but it is down one of those long corridors. I tell Kadin to follow me. He is again lost in his own world. I gently take his hand and guide him reluctantly to the bathroom. He goes, I go, Rees goes, and we all move off down the corridor again to the desired doors. This time we make it. Just outside the door, Rees says, "Where's the Lego bag?" The Lego bag! The bathroom! I left it in the bathroom! I turn around and sprint back to the bathroom. Rees is hot on my heels. Kadin is moving so slowly I figure I will be there and back before he has moved an inch. .
In moments I am at the bathroom and just coming out is a nice older woman with a Lego bag. Panting, I eye it, she says, "Did you leave this in the stall?" Yes, thanks! I take it and run back with Rees to where we last saw Kadin. Predictably, he has now disappeared. I can't believe it, or maybe I can. How far could he have gotten?
Rees and I re-enter the mall and I call Kadin's name in a loud, clear voice. A woman nearby asks if he was wearing blue pants and a striped shirt. Yes! He ran down that way, she points. We pursue, find him, and then make the agonizing trek back to the car. The car! Hooray!
I know that I should follow my instincts, drive directly home and take a nap while the boys play with their new Legos, but no, I am a glutton for punishment and determined to finish up the one last errand of the day, a simple exchange at another store at a different mall. It can't get any worse.
It doesn't. But at the last mall there is the final incident of who pushed which button to open which door and how one or the other of the boys won't come in or go out or has to do it again. It's all a horrible blur. We soldier on and are back at the car and on the way home at last.
More of Bill Harley on the CD player. This time it is a great story about the skunk family and the middle child who refuses to set the table. Her older brother demands it of her. She argues back in a singsong voice, "You're not the boss of me. You're not the boss of me. You might be the boss of you, but you're not the boss of me." This angers her brother who calls in the mother who is similarly incensed, then her father, then the chief of police, and the judge (each with charming extra details thrown in), but her argument remains the same throughout and she refuses to set the table singing her self-righteous little song. Finally she is taken before the stinky skunk King who says, "Oh, she won’t set the table? Well…” Then he turns to the child and says, “Will you please set the table?" And she says, "Yes, since you asked so nicely, I'd be happy to." And all is well in the skunk world. Amazing how a change of perspective can do that.
So today it's errand day. The idea being to finish up some long delayed errands and to keep the kids out of trouble. Delayed because when the kids are home, I tend to put off errands, and after a week-and-a-half without school, there are lots of errands to do.
It starts out badly at the library. At our small local branch the kids are running around, chasing each other, giggling incessantly. A little talk to them about how to amuse themselves without disturbing other patrons goes unheeded. I want to leave immediately, but I came here to get something for me, and I want to get it. I tell them we will abandon the trip to the Lego store (part of a Christmas present and how I got them to clean the house and leave the house in the first place) if they can't control themselves. They can't control themselves.
As I am getting gas I tell them how disappointed I am in their behavior at the library. Okay, so we talk about it and come up with this deal: we will do another errand, their chance to redeem themselves. If they can listen to me and follow directions on the next errand, we will go to the Lego store. If not, no go.
It's about a 20-minute drive, so I get in the car after the gas and ask if everyone is buckled in. They assure me this is true. I have put a couple of new Bill Harley CDs in the car. I ask which one they want to listen to first. Kadin says, "mine!" Rees says, "mine!" Okay, another tack. One is stories, one is songs, I ask them if they want to listen to stories or songs. "Songs" says Kadin, "stories" says Rees. I figure that gives me license to choose since Kadin's is stories and Rees's is songs. I say "I am putting on Kadin's, it's stories." Nobody can protest that. Phew!
On the highway, Kadin says, "Look Rees, look!" and as he points to something he stands up and turns around in his seat. "Hey! Kadin! You're not buckled in!" Usually he is very good about this. Problem is, he can't do it himself. As I am looking for a place to pull over I say, "Kadin, hand me the buckle, here, Rees, please buckle it." Kadin screams, "No! I want Mama to do it!" "I can't, I'm driving," I reply. He has become the boss of the world in the worst way lately. His view of what is important can only be categorized as ridiculous. I find a place to pull over and he finally lets Rees buckle him in. Sheesh!
Then it is a trip to a certain DIY store to buy a dryer vent. No, not fun, but they have the Lego store to look forward to. I am ready to cancel the whole endeavor, but this is their chance.
Only problem is, I can't find the DIY store. It is right there, bigger than life, on the right side of the road, with a huge sign in front of it, but danged if I can figure out how to get there. It's at an intersection of three major highways and I blow it a couple of times, taking at least a extra 30-minute detour of circling round and round with no exit in sight and one wrong move after another. I feel I am being sorely tested. Luckily the kids are riveted by the new Bill Harley CD with tales of swamp monsters and the pirate Dirty Joe. The songs and stories have this really funny way of seeing the world from both the child's and the adult's perspective, so it's giving me some respite as well. Finally, after driving about 50 endless, pointless miles, we get to the parking lot.
Will the kids let me pick a dryer vent? Sure, but they have to fiddle with and fondle just about everything in sight so concentration is at a minimum and who knew there would be so many perplexing options? I just want a dryer vent. I sure hope I get the right thing. I measured and everything, but... oh well, guess I can always return it if I get the wrong one, but the thought of coming back fills me with dread…
Then I need the bathroom and one graciously appears near us at the back of the store. Rees goes into the men's, Kadin refuses all options. I need to go, so I look at Kadin and say, "I am going in here, you are welcome to join me." "Never!" he replies, his stock reply these days. No sooner am I in a stall than I hear an ear-piercing shriek of "Mama! Where are you?" I hear the woman who was washing her hands at the sink as I came in go out to investigate. "It's okay, your mom's in there," she says. Kadin refuses all help continuing to pitifully and convincingly wail, "I want my mom!" "I pinched my finger!" "I want my mommy!" Another woman in the stall next to me goes out to help. He keeps up the "I want my mom!" line. I know he is a little bit hurt and a lot angry and even more stubborn. He will not come to me, I cannot go to him, he will not calm down for these other women. I quickly finish and tend to his minor wound. Scornful eyes look at me from everywhere. Heads wag. Sigh.
We pick up some teak oil for the deck furniture and head to the checkout. This is when the one good thing of the day happens. The woman asks me how much the dryer vent is. I say I don't remember (I don't but it was somewhere around $15) and she says not to worry about it and only charges me for the teak oil. Wow! That saves me an errand to return it at least!
Things are looking up, it is time for the Lego store. We find the mall and park at the door closest to the store. We find the store and this kids happily fill the boxes they got for Christmas. Then the snag. Kadin takes a long time, debating this, debating that, wishing he had this, wishing he had that. Finally his box is full and then overfull. I tell him he has to put some back. He refuses. I take some out of his overfull box and put some of them in Rees' underfull box. He is incensed and starts wailing. I try to explain to him that I am trying to help him (knowing it will all end up in the same place, but how to convince a 4 year old?). He continues to make a scene. I tell him we can walk away right there if he wants to. I take four big pieces out of his box, now it works. I tell him his choice is to have the box as it is or leave without it. He is livid. Finally, I manage to get the box put in a bag, return the four big pieces, and distract him to play with the Legos at the play table.
Now it is lunchtime. We can go to the food court. I am hungry. Rees is hungry. Kadin wants to stay at the play table. "When will you be ready to leave?" I ask. "When I am finished with this," is the reply. That sounds reasonable. "Finish up and we'll go," I say, hoping for once for a graceful transition. It takes a while, but finally he is ready and we go to eat. We are in line at the Burger King and Kadin says, "I want McDonalds." I tell him there is no McDonalds. He starts crying again. This boy is lucky to be at Burger King, I tell you!
Lunch is reasonably uneventful, but the food court has taken us to the opposite end of the mall from the car. Kadin is moving like molasses. He is in his own world, playing a game, walking in a certain pattern on the colored bricks on the floor. Rees and I try to walk slowly, but Kadin is making no attempt to stay with us. It is agony. Slowly, slowly we make progress. I have my eye on the door near the car. We are finally almost there, just a few yards to go. "I have to go to the bathroom," Kadin announces. If only he'd used the one at the DIY store!
Okay, find a bathroom. Luckily there is one not too far from the door, but it is down one of those long corridors. I tell Kadin to follow me. He is again lost in his own world. I gently take his hand and guide him reluctantly to the bathroom. He goes, I go, Rees goes, and we all move off down the corridor again to the desired doors. This time we make it. Just outside the door, Rees says, "Where's the Lego bag?" The Lego bag! The bathroom! I left it in the bathroom! I turn around and sprint back to the bathroom. Rees is hot on my heels. Kadin is moving so slowly I figure I will be there and back before he has moved an inch. .
In moments I am at the bathroom and just coming out is a nice older woman with a Lego bag. Panting, I eye it, she says, "Did you leave this in the stall?" Yes, thanks! I take it and run back with Rees to where we last saw Kadin. Predictably, he has now disappeared. I can't believe it, or maybe I can. How far could he have gotten?
Rees and I re-enter the mall and I call Kadin's name in a loud, clear voice. A woman nearby asks if he was wearing blue pants and a striped shirt. Yes! He ran down that way, she points. We pursue, find him, and then make the agonizing trek back to the car. The car! Hooray!
I know that I should follow my instincts, drive directly home and take a nap while the boys play with their new Legos, but no, I am a glutton for punishment and determined to finish up the one last errand of the day, a simple exchange at another store at a different mall. It can't get any worse.
It doesn't. But at the last mall there is the final incident of who pushed which button to open which door and how one or the other of the boys won't come in or go out or has to do it again. It's all a horrible blur. We soldier on and are back at the car and on the way home at last.
More of Bill Harley on the CD player. This time it is a great story about the skunk family and the middle child who refuses to set the table. Her older brother demands it of her. She argues back in a singsong voice, "You're not the boss of me. You're not the boss of me. You might be the boss of you, but you're not the boss of me." This angers her brother who calls in the mother who is similarly incensed, then her father, then the chief of police, and the judge (each with charming extra details thrown in), but her argument remains the same throughout and she refuses to set the table singing her self-righteous little song. Finally she is taken before the stinky skunk King who says, "Oh, she won’t set the table? Well…” Then he turns to the child and says, “Will you please set the table?" And she says, "Yes, since you asked so nicely, I'd be happy to." And all is well in the skunk world. Amazing how a change of perspective can do that.
Monday, December 26, 2005
Sincere melancholy
Just so you know, "Party in a bare tree" is a suitably melancholy lyric for Kadin. For him such sentiments are not negative things. He seems quite in tune with and accepting of life's bittersweet offerings. To the tune of "Oh Christmas Tree, Oh Christmas Tree" Kadin has come up with these lyrics, sung with genuine awe and love (Rex is a cat):
Oh Rexy-poo oh Rexy-poo
Dee dee di dee di dee dee
Oh Rexy-poo oh Rexy-poo
Dee dee di dee di dee dee
The cats are come to bite and scratch
You'll never know their tears are sad
Oh Rexy-poo oh Rexy-poo
Dee dee di dee di dee dee
Oh Rexy-poo oh Rexy-poo
Dee dee di dee di dee dee
Oh Rexy-poo oh Rexy-poo
Dee dee di dee di dee dee
The cats are come to bite and scratch
You'll never know their tears are sad
Oh Rexy-poo oh Rexy-poo
Dee dee di dee di dee dee
And a party in a bare tree
The kids have picked up on our twelve day theme and the "Twelve Days of…" (insert Christmas, Solstice, whatever!) song is very popular around here. Kadin's version goes:
On the fifth day of Christmas/Solstice my jewler gave to me:
Five golden rings
Four calling birds
Three French friends
Two turtle gloves
And a party in a bare tree
On the fifth day of Christmas/Solstice my jewler gave to me:
Five golden rings
Four calling birds
Three French friends
Two turtle gloves
And a party in a bare tree
Saturday, December 24, 2005
Twelve days of...
There is so much controversy over this time of year. In addition to the overwhelming consumer-oriented frenzy, there is also the "Christmas" vs. "Holiday" tree debates, the boycott of Target because they won't put the word "Christmas" on their signs, the (understandable) resentment of people who don't celebrate Christmas in any form, etc. You are forced to "pick a side," and even in not choosing you are by default making a statement. Sigh.
Whether you like it or not, the fact remains, there IS a lot of energy around at this time of year. Is it up to each of us to find what works for ourselves and our families because it is impossible to ignore the whole thing or be passive. That alone takes energy!
I really do enjoy the idea of a celebration of light at this darkest time of year. I love the lighted trees and the candles. I also like the idea of bringing in the evergreens to remind us of spring. They smell fantastic! And that deep red color on berries and clothes is just so perfectly warming in winter. The darkness, the end of the year, invites a time for calm introspection.
For the past few years our family has been doing its own sort of ceremony starting on the darkest day (the 21st) and going for twelve days, through the 1st of January. This includes both the natural cycles of the sun and the not-so-natural but now ingrained holiday/vacation season.
Each night, for twelve nights, we light a candle, sing a song, and focus on a theme for the day. This works great for us, but I don't know what to call it.
Whether you like it or not, the fact remains, there IS a lot of energy around at this time of year. Is it up to each of us to find what works for ourselves and our families because it is impossible to ignore the whole thing or be passive. That alone takes energy!
I really do enjoy the idea of a celebration of light at this darkest time of year. I love the lighted trees and the candles. I also like the idea of bringing in the evergreens to remind us of spring. They smell fantastic! And that deep red color on berries and clothes is just so perfectly warming in winter. The darkness, the end of the year, invites a time for calm introspection.
For the past few years our family has been doing its own sort of ceremony starting on the darkest day (the 21st) and going for twelve days, through the 1st of January. This includes both the natural cycles of the sun and the not-so-natural but now ingrained holiday/vacation season.
Each night, for twelve nights, we light a candle, sing a song, and focus on a theme for the day. This works great for us, but I don't know what to call it.
Friday, December 16, 2005
Brotherly insults
The boys have this new game where one of them will angrily shout the name of the other. “Kadin!” Rees will say harshly. When Kadin looks up, Rees will quickly change tack and say in a gentle, goofy voice, “You’re silly.” Kadin will laugh, enjoy the adrenaline rush, and they’ll do it all over again. Sometimes the response is “nice shoes” or some other such silly non-sequitor. Why is this fun? Is it the tension and release that they like?
Needless to say, I don’t enjoy this game so much. Bad feng shui.
They have another, similarly passive aggressive type game where they take turns reciting dialog from movies. It is usually sort of sarcastic, harsh, but funny dialog. One dialog, said in a irritated, reluctant tone, goes:
"Thank you!"
"You're welcome!"
"Don't mention it!"
"I won't!"
"Bye to you!"
"Same to you!"
We have heard that about 586 times.
Another example is the JibJab version of "This Land is Your Land" where Bush and Kerry exchange insults. The boys loved reenacting that.
Is it some sort of sibling thing? Oh joy!
Needless to say, I don’t enjoy this game so much. Bad feng shui.
They have another, similarly passive aggressive type game where they take turns reciting dialog from movies. It is usually sort of sarcastic, harsh, but funny dialog. One dialog, said in a irritated, reluctant tone, goes:
"Thank you!"
"You're welcome!"
"Don't mention it!"
"I won't!"
"Bye to you!"
"Same to you!"
We have heard that about 586 times.
Another example is the JibJab version of "This Land is Your Land" where Bush and Kerry exchange insults. The boys loved reenacting that.
Is it some sort of sibling thing? Oh joy!
Sunday, December 11, 2005
Pearl's close encounter
We keep the cats in the bedroom during the day when the workers are here. The cats are just too curious to have around construction. Not that it is to so great when the workers leave, either.
The workers took the sheet rock off a wall with a furnace vent in it. It has been really cold and the house is not insulated (insulation by Christmas is the goal!). The cats found that it was nice and warm down under the floor in the vent. The furnace is going most of the time and I shudder to think what our bill will be this month…
Yesterday I hadn't seen Pearl for a little while. Then I could hear some distant meowing. I looked around for her a bit, with no luck. The meowing didn't stop, so I looked in the furnace closet where it sounded like it was coming from. She wasn't in there either. Where could she be? Finally, incredulous, not knowing where else to look, I opened the cover to the furnace filter and she crawled out. She had apparently crawled down one of the air returns into the furnace.
I thought I'd better check to make sure the furnace was okay. When I looked at the thermostat, it was blank. Nothing. Nada. Great, she had broken our new furnace! I checked the circuit breaker and that was okay. I opened up the furnace panel to see if she'd jiggled any wires loose. Everything looked attached.
From what I could see, it looked like it worked like this: the return air vents, where she likely was exploring, attach to the shaft in the ceiling/floor. It is a straight drop down about 12ft to the filter area. The air would then pass through the filter and into a big drum with a fan or turbine that would then push the air back up into furnace, warm it, and push it up into the house.
Pearl was in the turbine area. I shudder to think what would happen if she was exploring in there and it turned on and started spinning fast with lots of force. Would she have been chopped up or cooked? What a tragic mess that would have been.
I called the contractor to see if he had any suggestions for easy things I could try to get the furnace going again. His suggestion was to reset the furnace by turning the electricity off and then on again. This proved successful and we had both a cat and functioning furnace in a matter of moments.
Thinking about it some more, I think Pearl probably did go in the turbine and then the furnace did go on. At that point, some safety system set in because there was a large heavy object on the turbine. The furnace shut off to avoid burning itself out.
We heard Pearl, found her, and let her out. Phew! Glad to have a cat and to also know the safety system in the furnace worked.
I put in a new filter (she pretty badly dented the first), and made the return air vents too narrow for cats to fit through. Pearl seemed a little upset by the whole thing, though, so I don't think she'd venture down there again. Curiosity and cats and all that.
The workers took the sheet rock off a wall with a furnace vent in it. It has been really cold and the house is not insulated (insulation by Christmas is the goal!). The cats found that it was nice and warm down under the floor in the vent. The furnace is going most of the time and I shudder to think what our bill will be this month…
Yesterday I hadn't seen Pearl for a little while. Then I could hear some distant meowing. I looked around for her a bit, with no luck. The meowing didn't stop, so I looked in the furnace closet where it sounded like it was coming from. She wasn't in there either. Where could she be? Finally, incredulous, not knowing where else to look, I opened the cover to the furnace filter and she crawled out. She had apparently crawled down one of the air returns into the furnace.
I thought I'd better check to make sure the furnace was okay. When I looked at the thermostat, it was blank. Nothing. Nada. Great, she had broken our new furnace! I checked the circuit breaker and that was okay. I opened up the furnace panel to see if she'd jiggled any wires loose. Everything looked attached.
From what I could see, it looked like it worked like this: the return air vents, where she likely was exploring, attach to the shaft in the ceiling/floor. It is a straight drop down about 12ft to the filter area. The air would then pass through the filter and into a big drum with a fan or turbine that would then push the air back up into furnace, warm it, and push it up into the house.
Pearl was in the turbine area. I shudder to think what would happen if she was exploring in there and it turned on and started spinning fast with lots of force. Would she have been chopped up or cooked? What a tragic mess that would have been.
I called the contractor to see if he had any suggestions for easy things I could try to get the furnace going again. His suggestion was to reset the furnace by turning the electricity off and then on again. This proved successful and we had both a cat and functioning furnace in a matter of moments.
Thinking about it some more, I think Pearl probably did go in the turbine and then the furnace did go on. At that point, some safety system set in because there was a large heavy object on the turbine. The furnace shut off to avoid burning itself out.
We heard Pearl, found her, and let her out. Phew! Glad to have a cat and to also know the safety system in the furnace worked.
I put in a new filter (she pretty badly dented the first), and made the return air vents too narrow for cats to fit through. Pearl seemed a little upset by the whole thing, though, so I don't think she'd venture down there again. Curiosity and cats and all that.
Thursday, December 08, 2005
Lighting design
It is now coming down to decision time on much of the house. For the first time in our lives we are able to decide what we want and where we want it. For years we have been mastering the creative art of making do, but now we have a choice and we must decide. Its a new and interesting concept. A skill we have not cultivated. The electricians are coming so we need to know where we want light and what we want it to look like. If only we really knew what we wanted and what it would look like!
The design of lighting has been an interesting lesson is a couple of ways. First, there is the design, and then there is the dealing with the electricians.
The architect designed most of the rooms with symmetrically laid out recessed can lights in grids on the ceilings. I am fine with recessed can lights and the symmetrical grid thing seemed sensible. Until the electricians came. Turns out they couldn't exactly put things symmetrically because of the way the roof is shaped, where the rafters are, where the heating ducts go, etc. The electricians are like, "we can't do this, we can't do this..." Arghhh!
After the invention day we went over to a friend's house for dinner. She had added on a room last summer and had the same architect. I wanted to see how her lighting was. It turned out to be different, but neat. Instead of symmetrical grids of lights, she had more functional clusters of lights in the ceiling: over the kitchen counters where you would stand, in the corners of the room where there were easy chairs. It looked nice, organic, and functional.
And then there are the electricians. With most of the workers who have been to the house, I have felt like they had my interest at heart. If something was difficult, but better, they would be willing to do it. The electricians were different. They were more pushy. "It would be a whole lot easier for us if you'd put the switches on this wall...it's not going to work this way, if I were you I'd..." Blah, blah, blah. It was getting annoying. I didn’t want to intentionally make their lives difficult but it isn’t their house! The worst was the “if I were you” part because it was patently clear that their taste was very different from mine. How to say, “Yuk! What a terrible idea!” in a tactful way?
After debriefing about it with everyone from the carpenters to the contractor and friends, I felt much more able to make decisions and tell the electricians what I wanted. Friend Adrienne gave me the best response when they gave me the "this won't work" news. The correct response, my new mantra, is: "What are the options?"
And, if I had to do it again, I'd forego symmetry in favor of functional constellations. Works, looks cool, and if something doesn't fit exactly as drawn, you have more options in the end.
The design of lighting has been an interesting lesson is a couple of ways. First, there is the design, and then there is the dealing with the electricians.
The architect designed most of the rooms with symmetrically laid out recessed can lights in grids on the ceilings. I am fine with recessed can lights and the symmetrical grid thing seemed sensible. Until the electricians came. Turns out they couldn't exactly put things symmetrically because of the way the roof is shaped, where the rafters are, where the heating ducts go, etc. The electricians are like, "we can't do this, we can't do this..." Arghhh!
After the invention day we went over to a friend's house for dinner. She had added on a room last summer and had the same architect. I wanted to see how her lighting was. It turned out to be different, but neat. Instead of symmetrical grids of lights, she had more functional clusters of lights in the ceiling: over the kitchen counters where you would stand, in the corners of the room where there were easy chairs. It looked nice, organic, and functional.
And then there are the electricians. With most of the workers who have been to the house, I have felt like they had my interest at heart. If something was difficult, but better, they would be willing to do it. The electricians were different. They were more pushy. "It would be a whole lot easier for us if you'd put the switches on this wall...it's not going to work this way, if I were you I'd..." Blah, blah, blah. It was getting annoying. I didn’t want to intentionally make their lives difficult but it isn’t their house! The worst was the “if I were you” part because it was patently clear that their taste was very different from mine. How to say, “Yuk! What a terrible idea!” in a tactful way?
After debriefing about it with everyone from the carpenters to the contractor and friends, I felt much more able to make decisions and tell the electricians what I wanted. Friend Adrienne gave me the best response when they gave me the "this won't work" news. The correct response, my new mantra, is: "What are the options?"
And, if I had to do it again, I'd forego symmetry in favor of functional constellations. Works, looks cool, and if something doesn't fit exactly as drawn, you have more options in the end.
Monday, December 05, 2005
Invention day
We went to the Design Expo at CU where undergraduates in the industrial design program show off their projects. I thought it would be fun to see clever designs and I was even thinking I might be interested in getting a degree in the program.
The expo was crowded and a bit disappointing. I was mostly struck by just how YOUNG the students were. There were all these fresh-faced mop tops. And that made me feel old. There may have been some really interesting things in the mix, but it was hard to see because of the crowds and because the presentation by the students left something to be desired. But what did I expect? Did I mention they are young?
The most interesting exhibits—at least to the kids, which is where my attention was diverted—seemed to be the permanent exhibits in the engineering building. The building was kind of like a children's museum with perpetual motion pendulums, tectonic movement sand tables, square wheels, rhythmic patterns made from squirting water, and so on. Parts of the building have been left exposed and there are signs explaining construction techniques. We'll have to go back another time when it is less crowded to explore these at leisure. Greg also says there is a cafe with good coffee in the building. Sounds like a pleasant future outing.
The most amazing thing I saw was not an invention by the students, but something the students used to make their inventions. As one woman explained it to me, they have a three-dimensional printer. Yes, a printer that produces 3-D. She said you design a three-dimensional shape on a CAD program on the computer screen and then you "print" it out. The printer lays down layers of plastic and can make any shape you specify. I asked if you could make anything: fountains, sculptures, etc. She said yes, as long as it was smaller than about 18 inches. The idea is like a dream come true. You can envision and object then just print it out. Can't wait until that is old hat!
The expo was crowded and a bit disappointing. I was mostly struck by just how YOUNG the students were. There were all these fresh-faced mop tops. And that made me feel old. There may have been some really interesting things in the mix, but it was hard to see because of the crowds and because the presentation by the students left something to be desired. But what did I expect? Did I mention they are young?
The most interesting exhibits—at least to the kids, which is where my attention was diverted—seemed to be the permanent exhibits in the engineering building. The building was kind of like a children's museum with perpetual motion pendulums, tectonic movement sand tables, square wheels, rhythmic patterns made from squirting water, and so on. Parts of the building have been left exposed and there are signs explaining construction techniques. We'll have to go back another time when it is less crowded to explore these at leisure. Greg also says there is a cafe with good coffee in the building. Sounds like a pleasant future outing.
The most amazing thing I saw was not an invention by the students, but something the students used to make their inventions. As one woman explained it to me, they have a three-dimensional printer. Yes, a printer that produces 3-D. She said you design a three-dimensional shape on a CAD program on the computer screen and then you "print" it out. The printer lays down layers of plastic and can make any shape you specify. I asked if you could make anything: fountains, sculptures, etc. She said yes, as long as it was smaller than about 18 inches. The idea is like a dream come true. You can envision and object then just print it out. Can't wait until that is old hat!
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
Nia
Nia is my exciting new discovery of the morning that I just have to share with everyone.
Nia stands for Neuromuscular Integrative Action and this is the latest exercise THING for me. Yes, I have found IT for the moment. A while back, I wrote about how I am now embracing new exercise fads and more recently about how I want to seek more outlets for creative expression. Well, Nia takes the cake for both of these.
I first experienced Nia a little over a month ago when I went to a breastfeeding and parenting conference. On the second day of the conference, this being Colorado, they had early morning exercise classes for those who must exercise each day. One of those early morning options was Nia. I had heard about Nia, but was a little intimidated to try it since I didn’t know what it was. (In fitness-obsessed Boulder it is easy to get in over your head.) But at this conference, most everybody was new to Nia so it seemed a safe place to give it a go.
I had a great time, so I asked around for good places to do Nia in Boulder, then picked up a schedule from one of them and finally, this morning, over a month later, I had time to give it a try. It was fantastic.
In the lobby they sold interesting clothes and jewelry and I was told the first class was free. I walked back into a dance studio painted a rich, dark red. The mirror-lined walls were draped with strings of lights. Candles sat on a railing. It was exotic and inviting. Not like the sparse gyms or yoga rooms where exercise classes are usually offered.
The instructor welcomed everyone and said that if anyone felt lost at any point and couldn’t grasp the movement, her advice was to not think too hard about it, but to just feel it, to make a kinesthetic connection. I liked that. It seemed easy to be transported away from your mind and into your body in this funky atmosphere. This wasn't about discipline or effort or skill, but about expression. There were no harsh lights or pictures of proper form.
Nia is like yoga, martial arts, and dance, with a good combination of structure and freedom. You could say it is also like aerobics, but it seemed to me that the aerobic exercise part of it was just a nice side effect of the movements: incidental, but not the goal. To me, it was like a really fun dance class where you were first guided a few times in a simple step, and then encouraged to embellish it and elaborate in your own way. It was everything I like about Yoga Booty Ballet but with more freedom.
Some of my favorite parts of the Nia class this morning were the parts that seemed to be based on martial arts. We punched, we kicked, we yelled, and nobody was judging us or watching us. I feel that it was a great kind of self-defense class, a great release, a chance to pretend to be something else. It reminded me of the one time I tried (and liked!) African dance. It was dynamic and expressive and powerful. I felt strong and good.
The music was interesting, funky, and varied: lots of world music and good dance beats. Sometimes the instructor would be didactic and tell us to “do this for four counts,” other times she would direct us to free dance. Mostly she would give more interesting directions like “follow your hands,” “open yourself,” or “melt.” There was no strict “technique” but more suggestions and images that pushed you in new directions. It was like being quickly taught a song, singing it together a few times, and then being encouraged to lose yourself in harmonies.
Basically, though, it was just dancing. So I ask myself, why don’t I just put on a CD and dance? I guess that would simpler. But it would be similar to saying, why don’t I just sing any old song or make up my own tunes? That just wouldn’t be the same. It was great to have the basic structure of the steps to work with and the atmosphere of the room and the other dancers to work off of. It was great to have the instructor telling me to do something specific and then telling me to do whatever I wanted. If I was just told to dance for an hour, I don’t know what I would do. I would get bored or get into a rut, but this was a perfect balance of structure and freedom. It was demanding and creative at the same time. I know with Yoga I can and do practice on my own, but I benefit immensely from a teacher and a more structured class. I do more in class, I have guidance, and I go farther.
Yoga is great and I hope will always be something I practice, but Yoga is more about discipline and correct form and structure. It too is about combining body and mind, but I would not say it is creative in the way that Nia is. I loved that creative part of Nia, it was like the missing link. A Pilates DVD that I have (thanks again Clare!) is presented by a female student of Joseph Pilates as the “true Pilates method.” She has something in there about how music should never be allowed into a “real” Pilates workout, that the movement should be “pure” and there should be no distractions. Oh bother! That was such a boring DVD! I was not motivated by it at all. As far as I could tell, it was full of strict, nearly impossible, “pure” movements, with a rigid, didactic instructor yelling at these perfect women to do better. Not for me. Not at least until I am a physical goddess like the women in that one!
But back to the wonderful Nia. To conclude my rant about how enthralled I am by this new-to-me discovery, and in case you still have no idea what I am talking about, I will close with the description of Nia given by its founders, Debbie and Carlos Rosas. Their description is still vague (you really have to try it to understand), but it rings true to me, and at least then you have it from the horse’s mouth:
Nia is a personal growth, mind-body-spirit fitness program. It is a "living system," that works with the natural wisdom and intelligence of the body, mind, spirit and emotions. Nia supports the Pleasure Principle: If it feels good keep doing it, if it hurts, stop! The blueprint of Nia is practical, experiential, and focuses on internal guidance to change and develop awareness. Process oriented, the format is user-friendly. Nia empowers students and teachers to make their own movement choices by offering students a flexible structure they can personally modify to suit their needs. Nia combines a diverse blend of Eastern and Western movements, concepts and philosophies from the worlds of the healing arts (love), martial arts (mindfulness), and dance (technique). Nia reaches people emotionally, in their hearts, motivating them to get fit and healthy by creating a deep personal desire to explore their potential and love their growth. Fitness, health, well-being, and self-love naturally result from the magnetic Nia experience. What makes Nia so innovative is its unlimited adaptability. Not only can people of all kinds participate, but a wide range of therapeutic, wellness, self-growth and educational models can effectively integrate Nia.
Nia stands for Neuromuscular Integrative Action and this is the latest exercise THING for me. Yes, I have found IT for the moment. A while back, I wrote about how I am now embracing new exercise fads and more recently about how I want to seek more outlets for creative expression. Well, Nia takes the cake for both of these.
I first experienced Nia a little over a month ago when I went to a breastfeeding and parenting conference. On the second day of the conference, this being Colorado, they had early morning exercise classes for those who must exercise each day. One of those early morning options was Nia. I had heard about Nia, but was a little intimidated to try it since I didn’t know what it was. (In fitness-obsessed Boulder it is easy to get in over your head.) But at this conference, most everybody was new to Nia so it seemed a safe place to give it a go.
I had a great time, so I asked around for good places to do Nia in Boulder, then picked up a schedule from one of them and finally, this morning, over a month later, I had time to give it a try. It was fantastic.
In the lobby they sold interesting clothes and jewelry and I was told the first class was free. I walked back into a dance studio painted a rich, dark red. The mirror-lined walls were draped with strings of lights. Candles sat on a railing. It was exotic and inviting. Not like the sparse gyms or yoga rooms where exercise classes are usually offered.
The instructor welcomed everyone and said that if anyone felt lost at any point and couldn’t grasp the movement, her advice was to not think too hard about it, but to just feel it, to make a kinesthetic connection. I liked that. It seemed easy to be transported away from your mind and into your body in this funky atmosphere. This wasn't about discipline or effort or skill, but about expression. There were no harsh lights or pictures of proper form.
Nia is like yoga, martial arts, and dance, with a good combination of structure and freedom. You could say it is also like aerobics, but it seemed to me that the aerobic exercise part of it was just a nice side effect of the movements: incidental, but not the goal. To me, it was like a really fun dance class where you were first guided a few times in a simple step, and then encouraged to embellish it and elaborate in your own way. It was everything I like about Yoga Booty Ballet but with more freedom.
Some of my favorite parts of the Nia class this morning were the parts that seemed to be based on martial arts. We punched, we kicked, we yelled, and nobody was judging us or watching us. I feel that it was a great kind of self-defense class, a great release, a chance to pretend to be something else. It reminded me of the one time I tried (and liked!) African dance. It was dynamic and expressive and powerful. I felt strong and good.
The music was interesting, funky, and varied: lots of world music and good dance beats. Sometimes the instructor would be didactic and tell us to “do this for four counts,” other times she would direct us to free dance. Mostly she would give more interesting directions like “follow your hands,” “open yourself,” or “melt.” There was no strict “technique” but more suggestions and images that pushed you in new directions. It was like being quickly taught a song, singing it together a few times, and then being encouraged to lose yourself in harmonies.
Basically, though, it was just dancing. So I ask myself, why don’t I just put on a CD and dance? I guess that would simpler. But it would be similar to saying, why don’t I just sing any old song or make up my own tunes? That just wouldn’t be the same. It was great to have the basic structure of the steps to work with and the atmosphere of the room and the other dancers to work off of. It was great to have the instructor telling me to do something specific and then telling me to do whatever I wanted. If I was just told to dance for an hour, I don’t know what I would do. I would get bored or get into a rut, but this was a perfect balance of structure and freedom. It was demanding and creative at the same time. I know with Yoga I can and do practice on my own, but I benefit immensely from a teacher and a more structured class. I do more in class, I have guidance, and I go farther.
Yoga is great and I hope will always be something I practice, but Yoga is more about discipline and correct form and structure. It too is about combining body and mind, but I would not say it is creative in the way that Nia is. I loved that creative part of Nia, it was like the missing link. A Pilates DVD that I have (thanks again Clare!) is presented by a female student of Joseph Pilates as the “true Pilates method.” She has something in there about how music should never be allowed into a “real” Pilates workout, that the movement should be “pure” and there should be no distractions. Oh bother! That was such a boring DVD! I was not motivated by it at all. As far as I could tell, it was full of strict, nearly impossible, “pure” movements, with a rigid, didactic instructor yelling at these perfect women to do better. Not for me. Not at least until I am a physical goddess like the women in that one!
But back to the wonderful Nia. To conclude my rant about how enthralled I am by this new-to-me discovery, and in case you still have no idea what I am talking about, I will close with the description of Nia given by its founders, Debbie and Carlos Rosas. Their description is still vague (you really have to try it to understand), but it rings true to me, and at least then you have it from the horse’s mouth:
Nia is a personal growth, mind-body-spirit fitness program. It is a "living system," that works with the natural wisdom and intelligence of the body, mind, spirit and emotions. Nia supports the Pleasure Principle: If it feels good keep doing it, if it hurts, stop! The blueprint of Nia is practical, experiential, and focuses on internal guidance to change and develop awareness. Process oriented, the format is user-friendly. Nia empowers students and teachers to make their own movement choices by offering students a flexible structure they can personally modify to suit their needs. Nia combines a diverse blend of Eastern and Western movements, concepts and philosophies from the worlds of the healing arts (love), martial arts (mindfulness), and dance (technique). Nia reaches people emotionally, in their hearts, motivating them to get fit and healthy by creating a deep personal desire to explore their potential and love their growth. Fitness, health, well-being, and self-love naturally result from the magnetic Nia experience. What makes Nia so innovative is its unlimited adaptability. Not only can people of all kinds participate, but a wide range of therapeutic, wellness, self-growth and educational models can effectively integrate Nia.
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