Well, looks like we have survived the summer quite well. I am not even exactly looking forward to school starting next week—even as I AM looking forward to it—the kids are so happy! They are loving their unstructured time and actually making pretty good use of it, doing that serious work of being kids.
I was worried, though.
Rees is at an age (11) where it seems that playing with a pile of blocks or Legos just doesn't really cut it anymore. He and his friends need more excitement, something slightly risky and new. I know this is normal—and a big part of growing up comes from experimenting and trial and error—but I'm not sure I'm up for the excitement myself. I was wondering just how many edgy kinds of activities I could take.
Last spring, when Rees had a friend over and they were getting antsy, I sent them out back with hedge clippers to have a go at the Russian Olive tree. I knew they wouldn't kill the tree (you get an award around here if you manage to kill a Russian Olive—considered an exotic invasive), and they would get to use sharp tools. In no time, I noticed, they had also found and commandeered the machete. A good tool for the task…no? They were having a great time, and they did a good job. Okay, not so good with the clean up of the branches, but they did manage to trim off all the new growth and put the tools away, and no blood was drawn. That's one successful morning.
A few days later they wanted to play with candles and some matches. It was a cold, rainy Sunday, so I told them they could do it out in the driveway. Needless to say, this dampened their fun, but hey, it was safe, clean-up was minimal, and they were amused.
Then there was the math class project where they needed to construct a robot of geometric solids. They constructed "Arnold" from boxes and plastic jars and asked if they could spray paint him. So I got out some tarps, they helped me cover the drive, and they chose some colors to finish off their masterpiece. At some point in there, in between coats, I had to go get Kadin. 10 minutes max, but leaving two 'tween boys in the drive with spray paint in hand??
Came back to find they had also spray painted the pogo stick and a large mullein weed bright blue. "You just couldn't resist?" I asked. "You were just going to pull it up anyway, right?" said Rees quite logically and accurately. Right. They did great. I mean, they picked the best possible thing to paint. No harm done, if you don't count leaving your mother on edge and the specter of destruction lurking in the shadows...
A couple of days after that, it was hot and sunny again. We were all out for a hike and Rees and a friend were bored and wanted to go home. Okay, we said, we'll meet you at home in about an hour, and they trotted off.
Came home to find more wax drips in the driveway, strange chemicals (like my $80/pint stone sealer) uncapped and off the shelves, and a half-hearted attempt at putting away matches and candles. Hmmm. Also found some small potato chip bags around the house. Hmmm.
First I told Rees that it was not okay to randomly play with fire and unknown garage chemicals without asking. Then I asked where the chip bags came from. "Oh, we stopped at Ben's house on the way home and he gave us some chips." So Ben was here too? Three 'tweens, hot, sunny, dry, fire, and no adults. A combustible combination!
The funny thing is, if they had been organized enough to completely cover their tracks and completely clean up and put away all evidence of playing with fire, I think perhaps that would show they were thoughtful and together enough to keep from harm. And we've all done it. We've all enjoyed playing with fire.
But boy was I glad when the next weekend Rees had a field trip with his school band to the local amusement park. Perfect: fast rides, the allure of danger, but all in all, a pretty safe environment. I finally understood and appreciated the true function of the thrill ride.
So it was with some trepidation that I saw the summer (and the next few years) looming ahead of me. I'm crossing out of the golden age where the kids are old enough to pretty much take care of themselves but young enough to not get into serious mischief. Breathe, breathe.
But so far, it has turned out fine, I'm still enjoying the golden moment. We discussed the concept of group psychology where it is okay to be home alone, but not with a group. If I need to go out, I send the bunch off to someone else's house. And I have cultivated a strategy of being welcoming but clueless when other parents call, "Oh, your son is here? Are you sure? Okay...let me check." If other parents think I don't really know what is going on, I figure that's a good thing. I also try to be a little bit boring with the kids: make them get their own food and ask them to clean up and put things away, etc. I'm not trying to win any popularity contests, and it's working.
Instead of burning down the neighborhood, they have gotten into a card game at Dakota's called "Magic," enjoy playing "Halo" at Dustin's house, and at our house they have made up endless, imaginative games and variations involving the hose and the trampoline. [Okay, full disclosure: my rule HAS changed from "no jumping off the swingset onto the trampoline," to "no doing flips off the swingset onto the trampoline."] They seem inclusive and able to work through occasional conflicts and everyone is having a good time. And I really don't mind if they play with fire—it's something they have to do, it's how they learn—I just want it to be at someone ELSE's house. Ideally, with some wise adult who is interested and engaged. But if they do it on their own and somehow manage to be wise and thoughtful enough to cover their tracks? That's okay too.
Friday, August 14, 2009
Thursday, April 09, 2009
The phone, the phone, the phone
I had just gotten home from Kadin’s very fun 2nd grade “Australia Day,” when the phone rang. Unfortunately, I was in the bathroom and I thought, “Well, I could have gotten home five minutes from now, so why kill myself to answer? They can leave a message.” And then I heard a small, thin voice coming through the machine saying, “Mom?… Mom?….” Oh dang it, I should have answered.
It was Rees. But where? He should be at school. There’s no way to call him back. He’ll probably try my cell next, but I’ll just call the school in case. So I call the school and sure enough, while it is ringing at the school my cell rings. I hang up the land line, pick up the cell, and it is Rees. Apparently the school has been evacuated due to some sort of leak and I need to go pick him up at the High School.
Sure, that throws a wrench into my afternoon plans where I had much to accomplish, but no worries, he had wanted a snow day, and this would be like a snow day but without the snow.
It turns out that Rees is no problem at all. Quite happy to amuse himself. But every time I sit down, get my focus, and try to get something done, the phone rings. A robot voice: “There is an important communication for you. Please press any numeric key to receive this message.”
What is this? Some kind of a prank? Is it from the school? The city? If so, why didn’t they identify themselves? Is it from a telemarketer who will say that because I pressed a numeric key I agreed to something? I hang up.
About twenty minutes later, again the phone. Same deal. If it is someone official, they would identify themselves, I think. If it is a marketing ploy they might not. If it was a marketing ploy that identified themselves as someone official, at least they could be accused of misleading the recipient. As it is, it’s similar to an email that says, “For important information, click this link.” I’m not going for that.
A few minutes later, again the phone rings. I don’t answer. No message. Then my cell rings. This is the first clue I have that this call really is for me personally. My two numbers dialed in quick succession. The robot voice is now on my cell. This time I press a “numeric key.” I guess this is so they can be sure an actual person is getting the message, not a machine, the toddler, or the cat. I am instructed to listen to the entire message and then press 2. Okay. So there is a long message about the school evacuation and where to pick up my kid. I listen. I have picked up my kid over an hour ago. At the end, I press 2.
The phone rings again. Of course I have to answer, it might be one of the kids. It is a teacher from Rees’s school, the one who is coaching their soccer team. He tells me their afternoon game is still on as planned, but I’ll need to bring Rees to the venue myself. Fine.
A few minutes later, again the phone rings. Robot voice again asking for a numeric key. I thought I’d pressed 2 already! I can’t bear to listen to the long message again, so hang up.
I am not getting very much done in the end. Evacuation this, evacuation that. I have also received several emails each from the school, the district, and something called nxt, informing me of the situation.
Then the phone again. I answer. It is Greg: “I just got a call about an evacuation at Rees’s school.” Yes, yes, yes, I KNOW! But of course Greg has to check in with me. So I tell him Rees is fine, I have picked him up, he is now at the skate park with Dakota.
And that’s about it. It’s time to take Rees to his afterschool soccer game. The sum total accomplished in my afternoon! I did enjoy the next couple of hours watching Rees play soccer, however. It was a beautiful day and he really puts his all into it.
It was Rees. But where? He should be at school. There’s no way to call him back. He’ll probably try my cell next, but I’ll just call the school in case. So I call the school and sure enough, while it is ringing at the school my cell rings. I hang up the land line, pick up the cell, and it is Rees. Apparently the school has been evacuated due to some sort of leak and I need to go pick him up at the High School.
Sure, that throws a wrench into my afternoon plans where I had much to accomplish, but no worries, he had wanted a snow day, and this would be like a snow day but without the snow.
It turns out that Rees is no problem at all. Quite happy to amuse himself. But every time I sit down, get my focus, and try to get something done, the phone rings. A robot voice: “There is an important communication for you. Please press any numeric key to receive this message.”
What is this? Some kind of a prank? Is it from the school? The city? If so, why didn’t they identify themselves? Is it from a telemarketer who will say that because I pressed a numeric key I agreed to something? I hang up.
About twenty minutes later, again the phone. Same deal. If it is someone official, they would identify themselves, I think. If it is a marketing ploy they might not. If it was a marketing ploy that identified themselves as someone official, at least they could be accused of misleading the recipient. As it is, it’s similar to an email that says, “For important information, click this link.” I’m not going for that.
A few minutes later, again the phone rings. I don’t answer. No message. Then my cell rings. This is the first clue I have that this call really is for me personally. My two numbers dialed in quick succession. The robot voice is now on my cell. This time I press a “numeric key.” I guess this is so they can be sure an actual person is getting the message, not a machine, the toddler, or the cat. I am instructed to listen to the entire message and then press 2. Okay. So there is a long message about the school evacuation and where to pick up my kid. I listen. I have picked up my kid over an hour ago. At the end, I press 2.
The phone rings again. Of course I have to answer, it might be one of the kids. It is a teacher from Rees’s school, the one who is coaching their soccer team. He tells me their afternoon game is still on as planned, but I’ll need to bring Rees to the venue myself. Fine.
A few minutes later, again the phone rings. Robot voice again asking for a numeric key. I thought I’d pressed 2 already! I can’t bear to listen to the long message again, so hang up.
I am not getting very much done in the end. Evacuation this, evacuation that. I have also received several emails each from the school, the district, and something called nxt, informing me of the situation.
Then the phone again. I answer. It is Greg: “I just got a call about an evacuation at Rees’s school.” Yes, yes, yes, I KNOW! But of course Greg has to check in with me. So I tell him Rees is fine, I have picked him up, he is now at the skate park with Dakota.
And that’s about it. It’s time to take Rees to his afterschool soccer game. The sum total accomplished in my afternoon! I did enjoy the next couple of hours watching Rees play soccer, however. It was a beautiful day and he really puts his all into it.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Skiing with kids (sic)
Call me crazy, but in my mind, if you take a day to go skiing, you should, well, go skiing. But I have to pat myself on the back for not getting too wrapped up in that narrow definition when we went for our first ski outing of the season last December.
Rees has a discounted pass to the Colorado resorts (the ski industry gives these passes to 5th and 6th graders precisely for this purpose: it gets their families out with them and gets them addicted to skiing) so we picked a place we’d never been, Breckenridge, rented equipment for Kadin, and set off the next morning. This was for the kids, I reminded myself, not for me. My ski season started in January when the kids were back in school. I’d save my skiing for then.
We didn’t leave late, but we didn’t leave super early either. The woman at the ski rental store suggested leaving at 5am. We opted for about 7, and a little over 2 hrs later we were at the resort. We parked, got dressed for the cold, and headed toward the kiosk. Halfway there I realized in my haste I had left my big gloves on top of the car. I went back, got the gloves, and double checked we had what we wanted with us. I would hate to have to come back to the car again. We got our passes (a fair piece of change, I might add) and headed up the gondola to the lifts. On the gondola we learned there were several stops and several mountains. The first mountain was all intermediate and advanced slopes. So we stayed in and went to the end of the line.
The kids were enjoying the gondola ride and talking it up a bit about how they wanted to ski blue and black runs (intermediate and advanced). Yeah, right. I have learned that as soon as we do a blue slope, it’s the last slope of the day. Rees has only been snowboarding a half-a-dozen times and Kadin had only been on the slopes twice, the last time over 9 months before. We needed to take it easy our first time out this season. Slow and steady and all that…
I checked my trail map and headed toward the lift that looked like it led to the nice, long, green (beginners) run the woman on the gondola had recommended. Once we got to the top, however, I realized that we had, disastrously, taken the wrong chair. Our only options to the bottom were blacks and blues. It was going to be a long run, and not in a good way…
The kids, complementary in personality, are also complementary in skiing style, but not in the way you might think. Rees on his snowboard is all about technique and form, quite cautious and in control. Kadin, on the other hand, is on skis and pretty much just goes down, come hell or high water. Kadin helps Rees go faster and Rees helps reign Kadin in.
Rees knows how to get down difficult terrain, so he was doing okay. Not as well as he wanted to be doing, but under control. Kadin, on the other hand, was hopeless. I could get myself down just fine, but am not skilled enough to do that and carry a 7-year-old as well. I don’t ski backwards, and I wasn’t sure I could hold him and guide him either.
Skiing for kids is just super different than skiing for adults. Some things that adults find hard, kids find easy, and vice versa. My strategy for getting down a slope that feels too steep for me is to (1) ski down in big zig zags or (2) side slip. Snow plow is something the kids learn, and they seem to be good at following leaders, so I told Kadin to snow plow and follow me and started out on a big zig across the slope. No dice. He followed gravity and started heading down and had his first fall. We tried a zag and another zig, but no joy. The tears started. So I tried plan B and showed him how to side slip. This was just completely incomprehensible to him. At this rate, a very long run was ahead of us indeed.
Salvation soon came when a ski patrol guy, “Tony,” came by and asked if we needed help. Boy did we ever. “Don’t worry,” he said, “I’ll get you down the mountain.” My hero!
He introduced himself to Kadin and I went on ahead to find Rees. Rees was having a bit of a hard time, but coping pretty well. Tony showed us the easiest way down and Rees and I went ahead, then stopped and waited. Tony tried a bunch of different techniques, then handed his poles to me so he could carry Kadin, and Rees and I went ahead again.
We started having a really nice run. Rees found his groove and it was sunny and the slopes nearly empty. Ideal, really. After a good bit, we stopped and waited for Tony and Kadin to appear. We waited and waited…
Finally Tony appeared, but no Kadin. He had called in the toboggan, feeling that progress had just been too slow. Sure enough, a few minutes later, a ski patrol guy guiding a toboggan with Kadin riding on top, came down. Kadin was smiling and having a grand old time, so that at least was good. We got to the bottom, thanked Tony and friend profusely, and they directed us to the lift we should have taken.
Once on the green slopes, Kadin did fantastic. Though at almost every moment he looked like he was about to fall, he had not a fall for the rest of the day. His style is both terrifying and hilarious to watch. We did a green run, then Rees said he thought it was time for lunch. Already? I thought. He reasoned that the lift lines were longer now, and they’d be shorter if we ate early and came back when everyone else was at lunch. Couldn’t argue with that.
They love cafeteria food, but for myself, I had brown bagged it. They were having a great time. Kadin even said, “Thanks for a great day, Mom.” A great day? I felt like all we’d done was get to the slope, do one run, and eat bad food. But I realized to them, it was all a much bigger experience. Riding the lifts, riding the gondola, eating soup in a bread bowl, it was all good. To me, these were impediments. But I reminded myself, it was not about me.
After lunch, Rees said he wanted to go back to the car to get his hat. Go back to the car? That was at least half-an-hour and two gondola trips away. Yes, he wanted to go back to the car. It’s not about me, so we went back to the gondola, took it back down, and walked back to the car. By this point, we were quite warm, so we took off some of our outerwear, got Rees’s hat, and went back up the mountain.
Finally, back at the lift, waiting in line again, I suddenly realized a serious problem. “Kadin? Did you leave your coat in the car?” “Yes.” “Was your lift ticket on your coat?” “Oh, I guess it was.”
There was nothing for it but to go back to the car—again—and get it. Two more gondola rides and what felt like another mile of walking in ski boots later, we were back at the lift. Hours had passed.
Had a good run again—finally!—and suddenly the kids were ready to go home. Go home? Already? I still felt as if we had just gotten started. But it was not about me. I talked them into one more run and that was it for the day. Done. Finito. Back to the gondola and back to the car. They sure loved that gondola, I had to remember that!
We stopped at Starbucks on the way home, got stuck in traffic despite leaving early (I blame the long line at Starbucks), and the kids conked out in the car. So for them it was a big day. Was it worth it? I’m not sure. We didn’t do all that much skiing, but in the end they had a great time. There would have been little point in pushing them past their limit. I gave myself a little pat on the back for not getting too wound up about it, reminding myself: it’s not about me. And, oh yeah, I had a great time skiing with friends in January.
Rees has a discounted pass to the Colorado resorts (the ski industry gives these passes to 5th and 6th graders precisely for this purpose: it gets their families out with them and gets them addicted to skiing) so we picked a place we’d never been, Breckenridge, rented equipment for Kadin, and set off the next morning. This was for the kids, I reminded myself, not for me. My ski season started in January when the kids were back in school. I’d save my skiing for then.
We didn’t leave late, but we didn’t leave super early either. The woman at the ski rental store suggested leaving at 5am. We opted for about 7, and a little over 2 hrs later we were at the resort. We parked, got dressed for the cold, and headed toward the kiosk. Halfway there I realized in my haste I had left my big gloves on top of the car. I went back, got the gloves, and double checked we had what we wanted with us. I would hate to have to come back to the car again. We got our passes (a fair piece of change, I might add) and headed up the gondola to the lifts. On the gondola we learned there were several stops and several mountains. The first mountain was all intermediate and advanced slopes. So we stayed in and went to the end of the line.
The kids were enjoying the gondola ride and talking it up a bit about how they wanted to ski blue and black runs (intermediate and advanced). Yeah, right. I have learned that as soon as we do a blue slope, it’s the last slope of the day. Rees has only been snowboarding a half-a-dozen times and Kadin had only been on the slopes twice, the last time over 9 months before. We needed to take it easy our first time out this season. Slow and steady and all that…
I checked my trail map and headed toward the lift that looked like it led to the nice, long, green (beginners) run the woman on the gondola had recommended. Once we got to the top, however, I realized that we had, disastrously, taken the wrong chair. Our only options to the bottom were blacks and blues. It was going to be a long run, and not in a good way…
The kids, complementary in personality, are also complementary in skiing style, but not in the way you might think. Rees on his snowboard is all about technique and form, quite cautious and in control. Kadin, on the other hand, is on skis and pretty much just goes down, come hell or high water. Kadin helps Rees go faster and Rees helps reign Kadin in.
Rees knows how to get down difficult terrain, so he was doing okay. Not as well as he wanted to be doing, but under control. Kadin, on the other hand, was hopeless. I could get myself down just fine, but am not skilled enough to do that and carry a 7-year-old as well. I don’t ski backwards, and I wasn’t sure I could hold him and guide him either.
Skiing for kids is just super different than skiing for adults. Some things that adults find hard, kids find easy, and vice versa. My strategy for getting down a slope that feels too steep for me is to (1) ski down in big zig zags or (2) side slip. Snow plow is something the kids learn, and they seem to be good at following leaders, so I told Kadin to snow plow and follow me and started out on a big zig across the slope. No dice. He followed gravity and started heading down and had his first fall. We tried a zag and another zig, but no joy. The tears started. So I tried plan B and showed him how to side slip. This was just completely incomprehensible to him. At this rate, a very long run was ahead of us indeed.
Salvation soon came when a ski patrol guy, “Tony,” came by and asked if we needed help. Boy did we ever. “Don’t worry,” he said, “I’ll get you down the mountain.” My hero!
He introduced himself to Kadin and I went on ahead to find Rees. Rees was having a bit of a hard time, but coping pretty well. Tony showed us the easiest way down and Rees and I went ahead, then stopped and waited. Tony tried a bunch of different techniques, then handed his poles to me so he could carry Kadin, and Rees and I went ahead again.
We started having a really nice run. Rees found his groove and it was sunny and the slopes nearly empty. Ideal, really. After a good bit, we stopped and waited for Tony and Kadin to appear. We waited and waited…
Finally Tony appeared, but no Kadin. He had called in the toboggan, feeling that progress had just been too slow. Sure enough, a few minutes later, a ski patrol guy guiding a toboggan with Kadin riding on top, came down. Kadin was smiling and having a grand old time, so that at least was good. We got to the bottom, thanked Tony and friend profusely, and they directed us to the lift we should have taken.
Once on the green slopes, Kadin did fantastic. Though at almost every moment he looked like he was about to fall, he had not a fall for the rest of the day. His style is both terrifying and hilarious to watch. We did a green run, then Rees said he thought it was time for lunch. Already? I thought. He reasoned that the lift lines were longer now, and they’d be shorter if we ate early and came back when everyone else was at lunch. Couldn’t argue with that.
They love cafeteria food, but for myself, I had brown bagged it. They were having a great time. Kadin even said, “Thanks for a great day, Mom.” A great day? I felt like all we’d done was get to the slope, do one run, and eat bad food. But I realized to them, it was all a much bigger experience. Riding the lifts, riding the gondola, eating soup in a bread bowl, it was all good. To me, these were impediments. But I reminded myself, it was not about me.
After lunch, Rees said he wanted to go back to the car to get his hat. Go back to the car? That was at least half-an-hour and two gondola trips away. Yes, he wanted to go back to the car. It’s not about me, so we went back to the gondola, took it back down, and walked back to the car. By this point, we were quite warm, so we took off some of our outerwear, got Rees’s hat, and went back up the mountain.
Finally, back at the lift, waiting in line again, I suddenly realized a serious problem. “Kadin? Did you leave your coat in the car?” “Yes.” “Was your lift ticket on your coat?” “Oh, I guess it was.”
There was nothing for it but to go back to the car—again—and get it. Two more gondola rides and what felt like another mile of walking in ski boots later, we were back at the lift. Hours had passed.
Had a good run again—finally!—and suddenly the kids were ready to go home. Go home? Already? I still felt as if we had just gotten started. But it was not about me. I talked them into one more run and that was it for the day. Done. Finito. Back to the gondola and back to the car. They sure loved that gondola, I had to remember that!
We stopped at Starbucks on the way home, got stuck in traffic despite leaving early (I blame the long line at Starbucks), and the kids conked out in the car. So for them it was a big day. Was it worth it? I’m not sure. We didn’t do all that much skiing, but in the end they had a great time. There would have been little point in pushing them past their limit. I gave myself a little pat on the back for not getting too wound up about it, reminding myself: it’s not about me. And, oh yeah, I had a great time skiing with friends in January.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Mood magnet
Went hiking with Rees and Kadin yesterday, which may have been a mistake, as the hike ended up a bit less light-hearted with them along. But, I did come away with a helpful new perspective! One exciting new option around here—that, alas, we didn't take advantage of—is they are fine if we leave them home alone. Well, mostly Kadin is fine with being left alone. He really craves/thrives on his alone time. Rees, not so much.
But, a big breakthrough last Thursday. Greg and the boys were supposed to go to Kung Fu and I had planned to go to a meeting. Then Rees came home after soccer and announced he had a big homework project due the next day, so he couldn't go to Kung Fu. I called a couple of his friends to see if he could hang with them and do his project, but no one else was home. We spelled out the options for him: stay home alone and do it, take it to Kung Fu and do it there, go to Kung Fu and do the homework later in the evening and again in the morning. Rees’s response to these options? None of the above. His ideas included: Greg take Kadin to Kung Fu and then come home and stay with him and then rush back to pick up Kadin, or, I cancel my plans and stay with him. Basically the gist of his ideas: everyone else rearrange their schedule to accommodate me.
He had some historical research he needed to do and then he had to prepare a two-minute speech, type it out, practice it, and time it. He had known about it for two days. He could have planned ahead better, but not too much. So we reluctantly left him home alone—this child who doesn’t like to be alone and has trouble concentrating—to do a multi-part project from start to finish. What were the chances? I figured either way, it would be a learning experience. Miracle of miracles, it was fine! When Greg and Kadin got home, Rees had it all typed out, practiced, and in his backpack. Milestone! He rose to the challenge! Yea!
So back to the hiking. It was a beautiful day and we wanted to go for a short hike. Thought the kids would like to get out in the woods. Rees kind of wanted to go, Kadin really did not. I could tell Kadin wanted to have some alone time, but at home Rees kept pestering him to play soccer, have a nerf-gun war, etc. Rees, in true form, said he would only go hiking if Kadin went as it would be boring without him. Nice that he wants to be with his brother—and they really do get along well—but too bad his brother is an introvert and he is not! If Kadin didn’t go, Rees said he’d stay home too. Thinking a change of scene would do everyone good, we insisted Kadin come along and offered a post-hike lunch at Chipotle as a consolation.
They did okay—Kadin going a bit slow at times, and being incredibly negative and anti- everything as can be his way—but they went along. (And, as is also typical, today, the day after, Kadin recalls it as a fun hike! We have learned not to take his negativity to heart.) At one point, Rees and I were ahead and Rees was complaining that “Kadin’s laziness” had infected him, and it was Kadin’s fault that he couldn’t go faster. Since we had been climbing steadily uphill for quite a while, I thought that was a likely reason Rees felt slow. But he didn’t see it that way at all. “Kadin’s mood has infected me, it’s all his fault!”
I hate it when Rees does this. I find it incredibly annoying and almost pathological that Rees often blames other people for his moods. I wasn’t going to play the blame game, so I just repeated Rees’s statement back to him: “You feel that Kadin’s mood has infected you, and you don’t like it.”
“Yeah, it makes me feel bad.”
“You feel bad. You don’t like this mood.”
And then it hit me. Maybe instead of a pathological blaming of others and lack of healthy responsibility, maybe Rees was right. Maybe Kadin’s mood really HAD “infected” him. I call Rees our resident mood magnet. He is very sensitive and empathetic and quite easily takes on other’s moods. Sometimes this serves him well. It’s what makes him so great at interacting with and engaging people whom others find difficult to engage with. Sometimes, though, it makes a stressful situation doubly or triply stressful. It’s what makes life around here so interesting!
He is very perceptive and can take in a lot of detail, but one of the reasons he often has difficulty concentrating is that he doesn’t know how to filter all this input. He sees it all equally. He attends to it all. It could very well be that he was absorbing Kadin’s mood because he didn’t know how to shield or filter. Seeing it this way made me less angry. He doesn’t yet realize he can choose which moods to pay attention to. I was excited about this new approach so talked with him a while about how, whether he knew it or not, he could choose which moods to absorb. It’s something I myself have only recently been experimenting with. What power! What potential!
Of course, he poo-pooed it all and didn’t share my enthusiasm. And, as we were engrossed in the conversation, we forgot to wait for Greg and Kadin at a critical fork and didn’t realize they didn’t know where to go until much later… But, as with a lot of parenting, it is mostly planting the seed. And then just as his mood was lifting and we were reaching our beautiful, climactic destination, we realized our mistake at the fork. Oh calamity! Confusion! We'd arrived, but we're torn. Should we stay or should we go back? Will we ever find them? This could take hours... As we're debating, who do we see coming up the path? Greg and Kadin! They found it! There’s hope!
But, a big breakthrough last Thursday. Greg and the boys were supposed to go to Kung Fu and I had planned to go to a meeting. Then Rees came home after soccer and announced he had a big homework project due the next day, so he couldn't go to Kung Fu. I called a couple of his friends to see if he could hang with them and do his project, but no one else was home. We spelled out the options for him: stay home alone and do it, take it to Kung Fu and do it there, go to Kung Fu and do the homework later in the evening and again in the morning. Rees’s response to these options? None of the above. His ideas included: Greg take Kadin to Kung Fu and then come home and stay with him and then rush back to pick up Kadin, or, I cancel my plans and stay with him. Basically the gist of his ideas: everyone else rearrange their schedule to accommodate me.
He had some historical research he needed to do and then he had to prepare a two-minute speech, type it out, practice it, and time it. He had known about it for two days. He could have planned ahead better, but not too much. So we reluctantly left him home alone—this child who doesn’t like to be alone and has trouble concentrating—to do a multi-part project from start to finish. What were the chances? I figured either way, it would be a learning experience. Miracle of miracles, it was fine! When Greg and Kadin got home, Rees had it all typed out, practiced, and in his backpack. Milestone! He rose to the challenge! Yea!
So back to the hiking. It was a beautiful day and we wanted to go for a short hike. Thought the kids would like to get out in the woods. Rees kind of wanted to go, Kadin really did not. I could tell Kadin wanted to have some alone time, but at home Rees kept pestering him to play soccer, have a nerf-gun war, etc. Rees, in true form, said he would only go hiking if Kadin went as it would be boring without him. Nice that he wants to be with his brother—and they really do get along well—but too bad his brother is an introvert and he is not! If Kadin didn’t go, Rees said he’d stay home too. Thinking a change of scene would do everyone good, we insisted Kadin come along and offered a post-hike lunch at Chipotle as a consolation.
They did okay—Kadin going a bit slow at times, and being incredibly negative and anti- everything as can be his way—but they went along. (And, as is also typical, today, the day after, Kadin recalls it as a fun hike! We have learned not to take his negativity to heart.) At one point, Rees and I were ahead and Rees was complaining that “Kadin’s laziness” had infected him, and it was Kadin’s fault that he couldn’t go faster. Since we had been climbing steadily uphill for quite a while, I thought that was a likely reason Rees felt slow. But he didn’t see it that way at all. “Kadin’s mood has infected me, it’s all his fault!”
I hate it when Rees does this. I find it incredibly annoying and almost pathological that Rees often blames other people for his moods. I wasn’t going to play the blame game, so I just repeated Rees’s statement back to him: “You feel that Kadin’s mood has infected you, and you don’t like it.”
“Yeah, it makes me feel bad.”
“You feel bad. You don’t like this mood.”
And then it hit me. Maybe instead of a pathological blaming of others and lack of healthy responsibility, maybe Rees was right. Maybe Kadin’s mood really HAD “infected” him. I call Rees our resident mood magnet. He is very sensitive and empathetic and quite easily takes on other’s moods. Sometimes this serves him well. It’s what makes him so great at interacting with and engaging people whom others find difficult to engage with. Sometimes, though, it makes a stressful situation doubly or triply stressful. It’s what makes life around here so interesting!
He is very perceptive and can take in a lot of detail, but one of the reasons he often has difficulty concentrating is that he doesn’t know how to filter all this input. He sees it all equally. He attends to it all. It could very well be that he was absorbing Kadin’s mood because he didn’t know how to shield or filter. Seeing it this way made me less angry. He doesn’t yet realize he can choose which moods to pay attention to. I was excited about this new approach so talked with him a while about how, whether he knew it or not, he could choose which moods to absorb. It’s something I myself have only recently been experimenting with. What power! What potential!
Of course, he poo-pooed it all and didn’t share my enthusiasm. And, as we were engrossed in the conversation, we forgot to wait for Greg and Kadin at a critical fork and didn’t realize they didn’t know where to go until much later… But, as with a lot of parenting, it is mostly planting the seed. And then just as his mood was lifting and we were reaching our beautiful, climactic destination, we realized our mistake at the fork. Oh calamity! Confusion! We'd arrived, but we're torn. Should we stay or should we go back? Will we ever find them? This could take hours... As we're debating, who do we see coming up the path? Greg and Kadin! They found it! There’s hope!
Friday, March 06, 2009
Serial remodeler (sometime in 2007, about a year after our remodel was finished)
I want to do another remodel. I miss the whole creative process and project.
I dreamt about redoing a gazebo I found in the backyard. How come I had never noticed it there before?
Dark wood. 159 years old?
Lots of ideas. Lots of fun planning. The architect and I bounce ideas off each other.
Lots of nice old wood and thoughts about how to reuse it.
Then the cost: $150,000. The dream dies.
Then I dreamt about a perfect apartment where we had everything done and painted just so. It was the perfect location. For some reason we moved out. Too small? But it was perfect. Visited the person who had moved in and envied how perfect they had it. They just needed to order one more piece of furniture for the west wall, then it would be truly done.
Another friend (Anushe?) had bought the lot next door and planned to build a house there. It seemed the perfect plan. But instead she was going to sell it and move elsewhere. Why?
I dreamt about redoing a gazebo I found in the backyard. How come I had never noticed it there before?
Dark wood. 159 years old?
Lots of ideas. Lots of fun planning. The architect and I bounce ideas off each other.
Lots of nice old wood and thoughts about how to reuse it.
Then the cost: $150,000. The dream dies.
Then I dreamt about a perfect apartment where we had everything done and painted just so. It was the perfect location. For some reason we moved out. Too small? But it was perfect. Visited the person who had moved in and envied how perfect they had it. They just needed to order one more piece of furniture for the west wall, then it would be truly done.
Another friend (Anushe?) had bought the lot next door and planned to build a house there. It seemed the perfect plan. But instead she was going to sell it and move elsewhere. Why?
Tuesday, March 03, 2009
Caribbean color
It's that time of year when we could all use a little more color. Here's a photo collage from our Caribbean trip, the first days of 2007:
Friday, February 20, 2009
Cruise Diary II: on the ship (don’t say “boat”!)
(First days of 2007)
About the ship, I don’t have as much to say, except that it was just great. Really, really nice. Everything was easy and accommodating. We were treated like royalty. We lived in luxury. We have many food options available 24hrs a day. It was so perfect I have little to report. One nice thing was that the crew was incredibly international. From just about every country you could name. They were young and seemed ambitious. They worked hard, but it seemed that they could really use this job as a stepping stone to see the world, meet others from all over the world, and get paid a decent wage. It felt like a giant melting pot with all these 20-somethings from so many countries. It felt like it really could contribute to more international harmony in it’s own small, grass-roots way.
One day, while eating at a window by myself in one of the dining rooms I hear the person next to me say:
“The ocean has a very unique beauty. Very, very beautiful.”
Is he talking to me?
“You could really loose yourself out here.”
He is talking to me. It seems so poetic and clichéd. Is this a pick up line? Just to be social, I nod, or acknowledge agreement in some way. He continues:
“There are no skyscrapers or landmarks. So it is hard to get oriented.”
Okay, so we’re being very literal. I point out some flying fish, my contribution to the beauty of the scene.
"I bet they taste good," he says.
Okay, so very, very literal.
This guy is in his twenties, and I’m beginning to understand that he is developmentally delayed. The cruise is a perfect place for a vacation for someone with disabilities. It is easy and safe with lots to see and do, all nearby. It can easily accommodate our large group with diverse ages (ranging from 2 to 84), interests, and abilities. The kids are happy, the teenagers are happy, the senior citizens are happy, the baby is happy, I am happy.
So I ask this guy next to me how many cruises he had been on. Six or so, it seems. Perfect for him and his family. Then he tells me that the big event that he is looking forward to is the upcoming release of the Transformers movie. He asks if I like the Transformers. It’s not that I don’t like the Transformers, but to be honest, I tell him that I have difficulty making sense of them, that I haven’t really paid attention. Well, he is going to help me with that. So he explains the backstory to his long-held interest. There are the Autobots who are good and the Deceptron who are bad. The Deceptron are trying to get the Autobots’ resources, their oil and energy sources. There is something about worlds colliding and getting caught in suspended animation for 1000 years. It’s definitely an insight into a new world for me!
Another night, we stay up to see some of the onboard entertainment. It is a sort of Broadway Musical smorgasbord/medley of songs. It was so serious and so intently done, that it was almost comedic. Felicity asked if one of the songs was from Spinal Tap. If only! But no, I'm afraid "sex bomb" was deadly serious.
Did help me to appreciate Queen more, though.
Roatan
Small island, very Caribbean looking. Brightly colored side gallery houses. Poor too. Almost desperate seeming. Ursula got us two cabs to airport for our rented car. Aeropuerto is closed. No rental cars available anywhere. Avis is quiet. Not a soul. Ursula bargains and bargains with taxi drivers arranges for them to take us to beach and back for $40 per car. We do this.
Take a drive around the island. See lots of desperate poverty. Cabinetmakers too. The people were not starving, but their dogs were. A small island, very rocky and hilly, with little room for cultivation. What do you do? Where do things come from? Where do they go? That is probably why they invested in the huge Cruise Ship dock. An influx of money from outside. Corruption? Desperation. Beautiful beaches. Pollution. How do they survive?
Nice black and white pottery from Honduras. Looks very fragile. Take only pictures.
Costa Maya
I like the newspapers they used to wrap up the stuff. I like the bent wire frames covered with colorful plastic tubing that they used to display their T-shirts and dresses, I like the colorful and striped plastic bags they put purchases in. All the stuff, the mall feeling, I am less into.
Belize City
Belize City is actually a city and I am reminded that in this part of the world that means crowded living conditions and, in former British colonies, open sewers. My big find is the hardware store Simon Quan and Co., "You name it, we have it!" and a good selection of tablecloth material. Buy that and dustpan and rags. Cool. But know I am a wimp and that that is about all the cultural immersion I can handle. Return to tourist area tout suite.
People friendly, no hostility here.
Cozumel
Much more development here, but still a lot of shabby (i.e. real) underside. The bluest water ever. So beautiful. Visit a church, a supermarket, a bookstore, and Los Cinco Soles.
All these places are great to visit, but they also make me so happy to live where I do. Great for the kids to see other places, though, even in this highly artificial way.
My skin is doing its tropics thing. Yuk.
Sad there are only two more days on the ship…
About the ship, I don’t have as much to say, except that it was just great. Really, really nice. Everything was easy and accommodating. We were treated like royalty. We lived in luxury. We have many food options available 24hrs a day. It was so perfect I have little to report. One nice thing was that the crew was incredibly international. From just about every country you could name. They were young and seemed ambitious. They worked hard, but it seemed that they could really use this job as a stepping stone to see the world, meet others from all over the world, and get paid a decent wage. It felt like a giant melting pot with all these 20-somethings from so many countries. It felt like it really could contribute to more international harmony in it’s own small, grass-roots way.
One day, while eating at a window by myself in one of the dining rooms I hear the person next to me say:
“The ocean has a very unique beauty. Very, very beautiful.”
Is he talking to me?
“You could really loose yourself out here.”
He is talking to me. It seems so poetic and clichéd. Is this a pick up line? Just to be social, I nod, or acknowledge agreement in some way. He continues:
“There are no skyscrapers or landmarks. So it is hard to get oriented.”
Okay, so we’re being very literal. I point out some flying fish, my contribution to the beauty of the scene.
"I bet they taste good," he says.
Okay, so very, very literal.
This guy is in his twenties, and I’m beginning to understand that he is developmentally delayed. The cruise is a perfect place for a vacation for someone with disabilities. It is easy and safe with lots to see and do, all nearby. It can easily accommodate our large group with diverse ages (ranging from 2 to 84), interests, and abilities. The kids are happy, the teenagers are happy, the senior citizens are happy, the baby is happy, I am happy.
So I ask this guy next to me how many cruises he had been on. Six or so, it seems. Perfect for him and his family. Then he tells me that the big event that he is looking forward to is the upcoming release of the Transformers movie. He asks if I like the Transformers. It’s not that I don’t like the Transformers, but to be honest, I tell him that I have difficulty making sense of them, that I haven’t really paid attention. Well, he is going to help me with that. So he explains the backstory to his long-held interest. There are the Autobots who are good and the Deceptron who are bad. The Deceptron are trying to get the Autobots’ resources, their oil and energy sources. There is something about worlds colliding and getting caught in suspended animation for 1000 years. It’s definitely an insight into a new world for me!
Another night, we stay up to see some of the onboard entertainment. It is a sort of Broadway Musical smorgasbord/medley of songs. It was so serious and so intently done, that it was almost comedic. Felicity asked if one of the songs was from Spinal Tap. If only! But no, I'm afraid "sex bomb" was deadly serious.
Did help me to appreciate Queen more, though.
Roatan
Small island, very Caribbean looking. Brightly colored side gallery houses. Poor too. Almost desperate seeming. Ursula got us two cabs to airport for our rented car. Aeropuerto is closed. No rental cars available anywhere. Avis is quiet. Not a soul. Ursula bargains and bargains with taxi drivers arranges for them to take us to beach and back for $40 per car. We do this.
Take a drive around the island. See lots of desperate poverty. Cabinetmakers too. The people were not starving, but their dogs were. A small island, very rocky and hilly, with little room for cultivation. What do you do? Where do things come from? Where do they go? That is probably why they invested in the huge Cruise Ship dock. An influx of money from outside. Corruption? Desperation. Beautiful beaches. Pollution. How do they survive?
Nice black and white pottery from Honduras. Looks very fragile. Take only pictures.
Costa Maya
I like the newspapers they used to wrap up the stuff. I like the bent wire frames covered with colorful plastic tubing that they used to display their T-shirts and dresses, I like the colorful and striped plastic bags they put purchases in. All the stuff, the mall feeling, I am less into.
Belize City
Belize City is actually a city and I am reminded that in this part of the world that means crowded living conditions and, in former British colonies, open sewers. My big find is the hardware store Simon Quan and Co., "You name it, we have it!" and a good selection of tablecloth material. Buy that and dustpan and rags. Cool. But know I am a wimp and that that is about all the cultural immersion I can handle. Return to tourist area tout suite.
People friendly, no hostility here.
Cozumel
Much more development here, but still a lot of shabby (i.e. real) underside. The bluest water ever. So beautiful. Visit a church, a supermarket, a bookstore, and Los Cinco Soles.
All these places are great to visit, but they also make me so happy to live where I do. Great for the kids to see other places, though, even in this highly artificial way.
My skin is doing its tropics thing. Yuk.
Sad there are only two more days on the ship…
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Cruise diary I: getting to the boat (last days of 2006)
We change our flight to avoid the coming blizzard. Really don’t want to miss the boat (a wonderful family trip that is a gift from Greg's father)! Rushing to get everything done 24hrs earlier than planned. Tension over "list" and what needs to get done. Table Mesa park-and-ride is full. We drive on to Broomfield park-and-ride. Hope our car won't be buried when we get back! Arrive at airport many, many hours in advance. Hang out near shops. Buy jibbitz, see Crocs boots and "hiking boots." Eat sandwiches. Was pleased to use up most of the perishables in fridge in sandwiches.
Kids enjoy playing on escalators and moving sidewalks. Board flight without incident. Flight takes off just as flakes begin to fall…
Tampa airport area
Baggage claim 12 at Tampa airport. I call La Quinta and they say to go to the door labeled Red One and catch a white van with lettering on the side that says The Blue One. We did. Watched the weather channel to see shots of Denver's blizzard. Walk across the “street” (read: huge, pedestrian-unfriendly, complicated, multi-lane intersection) to the "International Plaza." Rees says, "I hate plazas, I hate everything about them." Discovered the field we thought we were walking through turned into a lake. It was warm. The grass was green. I remember: we're in Florida. Hmmm. Might there be alligators in the water? Sure enough, we stumble across a sign: Warning, alligators may be present. Yes, we're not in Colorado anymore…
Find a food court. Kids are starving. I had eaten the last sandwich while waiting for the shuttle. Rees eats two 6" Subway sandwiches. Kadin eats his own sandwich then half of Greg's teriyaki chicken and sesame green beans.
Sleep well. Wake to have the hotel breakfast (avoiding some of the scary stuff and having a hard boiled egg, a banana, and an orange, which last me pretty well). Then back to the mall for haircuts and some sort of herbal concoction to stave off the cold Greg thinks he's getting. His plan: to work for the day at Starbucks. My plan: to amuse myself and the kids for the day. While waiting for the haircut place to open, we surf the web and find our originally scheduled plane had been canceled due to the storm. Phew! We are warm and happy, only a few miles from the boat that departs tomorrow. I look for info on public buses online. Find one site that says: the only people who take public transport in Tampa are those who have no choice. Hmmm.
Can't find an easy way to the Dali Museum across the bay in St. Petersburg, so instead, take the bus into town. We do okay, and even though the bus comes only once every half an hour, we only need to wait ten or fifteen minutes. I ask a girl who came to wait at the stop how much the bus costs. She snarls at me, almost like she couldn't believe I wasn't abusing her. I ask again, and she answers guardedly. It was clear she didn't want to talk to me or to any stranger.
We get a similarly harsh response from the driver and then we find out that for the kids to get the kid’s rate, they need ID. Kids? ID? And I just took their passports out of my purse this morning… So whatever, I pay the full rate for all of us and buy three day passes so we can take public transit at will. A man on the bus sees that we are here for the day and suggests that once we get into town, we take a trolley to Ybor city and walk around. That sounds like it would be suitably fun for the day. We transfer at the next mall to get the bus downtown.
We pass fast food restaurants and bail bond places and other marginal establishments. There is something called "The People's Church" where a bunch of people get on. Another guy asks some other passengers how to get to the Salvation Army. Then he launches into his story of his DUI conviction and how he had only had one beer. Everyone at the football game was drinking. Yes, he had refused the breathalyzer test, but that was because cops made him nervous and he didn't want to do what they said. He said it was about $700 to get his car back. Other passengers contributed their opinions, for example, that DUI was serious. That that was bad. Another woman, who I think got on at the church, told the guy that the only way for him to kick his addiction was through love of Jesus. Yes, that was the only way.
Tampa
Downtown Tampa turns out to be a typical downtown: skyscrapers, office workers, luncheon places. I could see there was not going to be much to interest the kids. So we find one of the yellow trolleys and inquire. As luck (not) would have it, this particular trolley (there are 3 trolley lines and 1 streetcar line that are separate from the busses) was the “Hooters Express,” a free service from downtown to Hooters at lunchtime. Hooters in Tampa was just about the last place I wanted to go, but it was free. I perused the trolley brochure on board, and discovered that there were other places to eat near Hooters as it was in a complex called the Channelside development.
Channelside was near the aquarium and the pier our boat would leave from AND the streetcar that went to Ybor City. In the end, it seemed a fine place to go.
When we got to Channelside, it was past lunchtime. I had promised the boys we could eat at McDs or Burger King and amazingly, though we had passed several on the bus, we could find not a one anywhere near downtown Tampa. A good thing, really, but at this moment, for once, I wouldn't have minded.
We settled instead for a large, noisy Bennigan's. The food was not any better than McD's but about twice as expensive. The up side was that we got to sit with a nice view of the harbor and the docks.
After Bennigans, I thought we'd take the streetcar into Ybor City, have an ice cream, then return to the hotel. The kids had had enough and wanted to go back to the hotel right away. I was still thinking it was time to find IT, the cool part of Tampa. But even ice cream would not sway them. Just before we hopped back on the Hooters shuttle (ughh!) Kadin got a blister and stopped being able to walk. I remembered a CVS near the bus stop. We bought bandaids and sunscreen and waited for the bus back.
Some more interesting characters were in the park waiting for the bus. The wait this time was longer. The highlight came when we discovered there are tons of lizards in Florida, running in the grass, the bushes, and up trees. Salvation!
A person who wore a shirt with a restaurant logo—The Office—and JESUS tattooed on his arm was also waiting for the bus. He told me when he thought it would come. A couple walked by in full Penn State regalia and she even had blue and white painted fingernails. It was then I began to realize something was truly up, there didn't just happen to be more than a few Penn State fans in Tampa. The guy at the bus stop told me they were playing Tennessee that weekend in the Outback Bowl in town.
Ride back was relatively uneventful. One bus this time.
Get back to find note from Greg that he is at mall (plaza) with EET LT DST J and E. Wow! They're all here already!
I try to nap to Cartoon Network. Jack comes by. We go swimming. Greg comes back. We plan transportation to the ship the next day. We hear that Fe and Dan got on a plane from Denver to Chicago. It is good, but getting late. Where to eat? I check out the hole in the fence at the back of the hotel. Ruth Chris Steakhouse on the other side of hole looks formal and pricey. Figuring we'll have plenty of good food and fancy meals on the boat, we decide instead on a light meal ordered in from a local Italian place.
Next morning, Saturday, I had read about an open market in Ybor City. I want to try again. It is not far from the pier where the boat departs. I decide to go on my own and meet Greg and the boys at the pier.
Saturday, the buses only come once an hour. I walk from stop to stop, thinking I'd rather be walking than waiting. I hear the Penn State (or maybe Tennessee) marching band playing in a nearby hotel parking lot. I finally get to a bus stop that has a schedule and find that the next bus doesn't come for almost twenty minutes. When the time gets near, I find a stop and wait. As has been typical, a couple people show up just as the bus is supposed to arrive. This guy and his friend (brother?) are very drunk and suntanned/burned. It is only 11am. They ask me what time the bus comes and where it goes in town. I tell them they are lucky as the bus only comes once an hour and they hit it right on. I tell them it doesn't go to gaslight park in this direction because Kennedy is one-way there, but they could get off just across the bridge into town at Ashley. It's almost as if I really know what I am talking about. They are really out of it. I am counting the minutes until the bus comes. They keep talking about how stupid they are. Sad as it is, I have to agree (silently). One shows me his scar from the first Gulf War. He had been in the Marines. They seem so rudderless.
We get on the bus and after a little bit, it again stops near the People's Church, or Church of the People or some such. One of the women who gets on looks weather beaten but also strangely young and beautiful. She says hello to the guys from the bus stop. I gather that they recognize each other from where they were all sleeping at some underpass. "I had to leave when you guys started drinking" I hear her say. One of the guys says something about how, yes, he does recognize her and she had lent him two dollars. She starts talking about Jesus and how she was on the straight and narrow path now. It is all very interesting.
I get off the bus in town to transfer to the streetcar. Not sure it is faster, but it is more scenic and it runs just as often on Saturday. The streetcar is not part of the regular bus system, but much more tourist oriented.
Ybor
Ybor City has some charm and the architecture is more interesting, but it doesn’t feel alive. It feels like a smaller, less happening version of the French Quarter. I think what bugs me about Tampa is that nothing seems really genuine. Things that are “nice” are sort of done up and revamped and “revitalized,” but there doesn’t seem to be any deep roots, any heart. Ybor city comes close, but it seems a has-been and it too had an attempted “restoration.” The Iguana bar was the one place that looked traditional and genuine. It had a bunch of oversized bikers out front in serious leather.
I meet up with everyone (including Dan and Fe who made it out of Denver!) at the pier and we “check in” in a massive hall, get our boat IDs, have our passports checked, and walk the long gangway to the gigantic cruise ship. We made it and all 17 of us are together. So glad we didn't miss the boat.
Kids enjoy playing on escalators and moving sidewalks. Board flight without incident. Flight takes off just as flakes begin to fall…
Tampa airport area
Baggage claim 12 at Tampa airport. I call La Quinta and they say to go to the door labeled Red One and catch a white van with lettering on the side that says The Blue One. We did. Watched the weather channel to see shots of Denver's blizzard. Walk across the “street” (read: huge, pedestrian-unfriendly, complicated, multi-lane intersection) to the "International Plaza." Rees says, "I hate plazas, I hate everything about them." Discovered the field we thought we were walking through turned into a lake. It was warm. The grass was green. I remember: we're in Florida. Hmmm. Might there be alligators in the water? Sure enough, we stumble across a sign: Warning, alligators may be present. Yes, we're not in Colorado anymore…
Find a food court. Kids are starving. I had eaten the last sandwich while waiting for the shuttle. Rees eats two 6" Subway sandwiches. Kadin eats his own sandwich then half of Greg's teriyaki chicken and sesame green beans.
Sleep well. Wake to have the hotel breakfast (avoiding some of the scary stuff and having a hard boiled egg, a banana, and an orange, which last me pretty well). Then back to the mall for haircuts and some sort of herbal concoction to stave off the cold Greg thinks he's getting. His plan: to work for the day at Starbucks. My plan: to amuse myself and the kids for the day. While waiting for the haircut place to open, we surf the web and find our originally scheduled plane had been canceled due to the storm. Phew! We are warm and happy, only a few miles from the boat that departs tomorrow. I look for info on public buses online. Find one site that says: the only people who take public transport in Tampa are those who have no choice. Hmmm.
Can't find an easy way to the Dali Museum across the bay in St. Petersburg, so instead, take the bus into town. We do okay, and even though the bus comes only once every half an hour, we only need to wait ten or fifteen minutes. I ask a girl who came to wait at the stop how much the bus costs. She snarls at me, almost like she couldn't believe I wasn't abusing her. I ask again, and she answers guardedly. It was clear she didn't want to talk to me or to any stranger.
We get a similarly harsh response from the driver and then we find out that for the kids to get the kid’s rate, they need ID. Kids? ID? And I just took their passports out of my purse this morning… So whatever, I pay the full rate for all of us and buy three day passes so we can take public transit at will. A man on the bus sees that we are here for the day and suggests that once we get into town, we take a trolley to Ybor city and walk around. That sounds like it would be suitably fun for the day. We transfer at the next mall to get the bus downtown.
We pass fast food restaurants and bail bond places and other marginal establishments. There is something called "The People's Church" where a bunch of people get on. Another guy asks some other passengers how to get to the Salvation Army. Then he launches into his story of his DUI conviction and how he had only had one beer. Everyone at the football game was drinking. Yes, he had refused the breathalyzer test, but that was because cops made him nervous and he didn't want to do what they said. He said it was about $700 to get his car back. Other passengers contributed their opinions, for example, that DUI was serious. That that was bad. Another woman, who I think got on at the church, told the guy that the only way for him to kick his addiction was through love of Jesus. Yes, that was the only way.
Tampa
Downtown Tampa turns out to be a typical downtown: skyscrapers, office workers, luncheon places. I could see there was not going to be much to interest the kids. So we find one of the yellow trolleys and inquire. As luck (not) would have it, this particular trolley (there are 3 trolley lines and 1 streetcar line that are separate from the busses) was the “Hooters Express,” a free service from downtown to Hooters at lunchtime. Hooters in Tampa was just about the last place I wanted to go, but it was free. I perused the trolley brochure on board, and discovered that there were other places to eat near Hooters as it was in a complex called the Channelside development.
Channelside was near the aquarium and the pier our boat would leave from AND the streetcar that went to Ybor City. In the end, it seemed a fine place to go.
When we got to Channelside, it was past lunchtime. I had promised the boys we could eat at McDs or Burger King and amazingly, though we had passed several on the bus, we could find not a one anywhere near downtown Tampa. A good thing, really, but at this moment, for once, I wouldn't have minded.
We settled instead for a large, noisy Bennigan's. The food was not any better than McD's but about twice as expensive. The up side was that we got to sit with a nice view of the harbor and the docks.
After Bennigans, I thought we'd take the streetcar into Ybor City, have an ice cream, then return to the hotel. The kids had had enough and wanted to go back to the hotel right away. I was still thinking it was time to find IT, the cool part of Tampa. But even ice cream would not sway them. Just before we hopped back on the Hooters shuttle (ughh!) Kadin got a blister and stopped being able to walk. I remembered a CVS near the bus stop. We bought bandaids and sunscreen and waited for the bus back.
Some more interesting characters were in the park waiting for the bus. The wait this time was longer. The highlight came when we discovered there are tons of lizards in Florida, running in the grass, the bushes, and up trees. Salvation!
A person who wore a shirt with a restaurant logo—The Office—and JESUS tattooed on his arm was also waiting for the bus. He told me when he thought it would come. A couple walked by in full Penn State regalia and she even had blue and white painted fingernails. It was then I began to realize something was truly up, there didn't just happen to be more than a few Penn State fans in Tampa. The guy at the bus stop told me they were playing Tennessee that weekend in the Outback Bowl in town.
Ride back was relatively uneventful. One bus this time.
Get back to find note from Greg that he is at mall (plaza) with EET LT DST J and E. Wow! They're all here already!
I try to nap to Cartoon Network. Jack comes by. We go swimming. Greg comes back. We plan transportation to the ship the next day. We hear that Fe and Dan got on a plane from Denver to Chicago. It is good, but getting late. Where to eat? I check out the hole in the fence at the back of the hotel. Ruth Chris Steakhouse on the other side of hole looks formal and pricey. Figuring we'll have plenty of good food and fancy meals on the boat, we decide instead on a light meal ordered in from a local Italian place.
Next morning, Saturday, I had read about an open market in Ybor City. I want to try again. It is not far from the pier where the boat departs. I decide to go on my own and meet Greg and the boys at the pier.
Saturday, the buses only come once an hour. I walk from stop to stop, thinking I'd rather be walking than waiting. I hear the Penn State (or maybe Tennessee) marching band playing in a nearby hotel parking lot. I finally get to a bus stop that has a schedule and find that the next bus doesn't come for almost twenty minutes. When the time gets near, I find a stop and wait. As has been typical, a couple people show up just as the bus is supposed to arrive. This guy and his friend (brother?) are very drunk and suntanned/burned. It is only 11am. They ask me what time the bus comes and where it goes in town. I tell them they are lucky as the bus only comes once an hour and they hit it right on. I tell them it doesn't go to gaslight park in this direction because Kennedy is one-way there, but they could get off just across the bridge into town at Ashley. It's almost as if I really know what I am talking about. They are really out of it. I am counting the minutes until the bus comes. They keep talking about how stupid they are. Sad as it is, I have to agree (silently). One shows me his scar from the first Gulf War. He had been in the Marines. They seem so rudderless.
We get on the bus and after a little bit, it again stops near the People's Church, or Church of the People or some such. One of the women who gets on looks weather beaten but also strangely young and beautiful. She says hello to the guys from the bus stop. I gather that they recognize each other from where they were all sleeping at some underpass. "I had to leave when you guys started drinking" I hear her say. One of the guys says something about how, yes, he does recognize her and she had lent him two dollars. She starts talking about Jesus and how she was on the straight and narrow path now. It is all very interesting.
I get off the bus in town to transfer to the streetcar. Not sure it is faster, but it is more scenic and it runs just as often on Saturday. The streetcar is not part of the regular bus system, but much more tourist oriented.
Ybor
Ybor City has some charm and the architecture is more interesting, but it doesn’t feel alive. It feels like a smaller, less happening version of the French Quarter. I think what bugs me about Tampa is that nothing seems really genuine. Things that are “nice” are sort of done up and revamped and “revitalized,” but there doesn’t seem to be any deep roots, any heart. Ybor city comes close, but it seems a has-been and it too had an attempted “restoration.” The Iguana bar was the one place that looked traditional and genuine. It had a bunch of oversized bikers out front in serious leather.
I meet up with everyone (including Dan and Fe who made it out of Denver!) at the pier and we “check in” in a massive hall, get our boat IDs, have our passports checked, and walk the long gangway to the gigantic cruise ship. We made it and all 17 of us are together. So glad we didn't miss the boat.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Wind and marshmallows
(Early Summer, 2005, 4 years ago)
Kadin, who is usually very calm and stable and seems to have a sort of steady, internal rudder, is irrationally afraid of the wind. I say irrationally, because he is afraid that "everything" is going to blow away. And the more you reassure him and tell him calmly not to worry about it, the more he thinks he has to take on all the responsibility and worry about it for everyone.
If there is a piece of garbage that is about to blow away, he just has to run after it and retrieve it and put it in the garbage. And cleaning up litter is admirable, not something I really want to discourage, but we (that would be myself and a screaming, terrified child) have cleaned up the school playground several times now. Why does it always seem especially windy on Fridays when the teachers send home all the papers? And he will run out of the house, terrified, to catch flying plastic bags and such. I do not know how to save him from this internal burden he carries to keep things from blowing away. I have tried talking to him about the wind as the earth’s way of breathing. How is it refreshing and freeing. How it will come and it will go. How the wind helps birds soar and dandelion seeds disperse. And even if garbage does blow away, it may not be pretty, but it is really not that much of a tragedy. But he is clearly unconvinced of it’s positive merits.
And so when he came running home the other night terrified and in tears and it wasn't windy, I wondered what was up. He had gone over to the neighbors’ with Rees to make s'mores. S'mores are one of those American things that my kids have yet to be exposed to.
These are the same neighbors who reported back to me that Kadin refused an Oreo. They thought he was deprived. Okay, so I don't buy Oreos, but I could use the excuse that they don't have them in England. Then, when they mentioned that these were orange and black Halloween Oreos, it all sort of made sense. I mean, if they looked like poison and all... So when the kids had asked if they could make s’mores, I said sure!
I find s'mores sickeningly sweet and messy and always not quite perfect. But they bring back fond memories. Not just of camps and campfires. When we first moved to England some friends sent us a care package for the Fourth of July. It had silly stars-and-stripes hats, graham crackers, hershey bars, and marshmallows. We dutifully indulged. S'mores are cozy and comfy and silly and half the fun of them is that they don’t really make sense.
So when Kadin came running home, crying and terrified, I couldn’t think what the problem was. "Mom!" he cried through red and angry eyes, "they're taking marshmallows and…putting them in the fire!" As far as he was concerned this was just a horrifying thing to do. These gentle white fluffy balls and you stick them in an inferno! Injustice! So I went over to see what all the fuss was about. Sure enough, there were all these little devils sitting around a gas fire, blithely roasting innocent marshmallows and in the process waving flames around. They were actually HAVING A GOOD TIME! The nerve! Kadin was beside himself with vigilance. A little four-year-old alerting people to overly-brown marshmallows and commenting on and redirecting every wayward flame. Once again, it seemed it was his burden and his burden alone to police the event. Everyone else was so calm and relaxed! Insanity! He would have to redouble his efforts to keep the world safe and orderly. Poor, poor marshmallows...
It took some doing, but eventually, when his head wasn’t buried under my arm, he started to relax a little. [Many a campout later, I can report that he is now able to see the fun in s’mores. It took a bit longer (like several years) for him to finally come to terms with his wind phobia, but what a relief that’s been!]
Kadin, who is usually very calm and stable and seems to have a sort of steady, internal rudder, is irrationally afraid of the wind. I say irrationally, because he is afraid that "everything" is going to blow away. And the more you reassure him and tell him calmly not to worry about it, the more he thinks he has to take on all the responsibility and worry about it for everyone.
If there is a piece of garbage that is about to blow away, he just has to run after it and retrieve it and put it in the garbage. And cleaning up litter is admirable, not something I really want to discourage, but we (that would be myself and a screaming, terrified child) have cleaned up the school playground several times now. Why does it always seem especially windy on Fridays when the teachers send home all the papers? And he will run out of the house, terrified, to catch flying plastic bags and such. I do not know how to save him from this internal burden he carries to keep things from blowing away. I have tried talking to him about the wind as the earth’s way of breathing. How is it refreshing and freeing. How it will come and it will go. How the wind helps birds soar and dandelion seeds disperse. And even if garbage does blow away, it may not be pretty, but it is really not that much of a tragedy. But he is clearly unconvinced of it’s positive merits.
And so when he came running home the other night terrified and in tears and it wasn't windy, I wondered what was up. He had gone over to the neighbors’ with Rees to make s'mores. S'mores are one of those American things that my kids have yet to be exposed to.
These are the same neighbors who reported back to me that Kadin refused an Oreo. They thought he was deprived. Okay, so I don't buy Oreos, but I could use the excuse that they don't have them in England. Then, when they mentioned that these were orange and black Halloween Oreos, it all sort of made sense. I mean, if they looked like poison and all... So when the kids had asked if they could make s’mores, I said sure!
I find s'mores sickeningly sweet and messy and always not quite perfect. But they bring back fond memories. Not just of camps and campfires. When we first moved to England some friends sent us a care package for the Fourth of July. It had silly stars-and-stripes hats, graham crackers, hershey bars, and marshmallows. We dutifully indulged. S'mores are cozy and comfy and silly and half the fun of them is that they don’t really make sense.
So when Kadin came running home, crying and terrified, I couldn’t think what the problem was. "Mom!" he cried through red and angry eyes, "they're taking marshmallows and…putting them in the fire!" As far as he was concerned this was just a horrifying thing to do. These gentle white fluffy balls and you stick them in an inferno! Injustice! So I went over to see what all the fuss was about. Sure enough, there were all these little devils sitting around a gas fire, blithely roasting innocent marshmallows and in the process waving flames around. They were actually HAVING A GOOD TIME! The nerve! Kadin was beside himself with vigilance. A little four-year-old alerting people to overly-brown marshmallows and commenting on and redirecting every wayward flame. Once again, it seemed it was his burden and his burden alone to police the event. Everyone else was so calm and relaxed! Insanity! He would have to redouble his efforts to keep the world safe and orderly. Poor, poor marshmallows...
It took some doing, but eventually, when his head wasn’t buried under my arm, he started to relax a little. [Many a campout later, I can report that he is now able to see the fun in s’mores. It took a bit longer (like several years) for him to finally come to terms with his wind phobia, but what a relief that’s been!]
Monday, February 16, 2009
Making do and the underdog (2006)
Wanted to share two small houses from our trip last summer (now almost three summers ago, 2006!) to Norway. The red one is a 20th century house from a small village that is now in one of Norway's outdoor museums. The yellow one is the guardhouse at the palace. I like them both. Which one is more authentic? Which one is more classic? Which house is more artistic? Which house deserves more attention? Which house is more alive? Which house should be preserved? Okay, enough with the art history questions that I ALWAYS get wrong! For some reason, I think I am supposed to like the yellow house more. I think it would be called the "better" house. The yellow one was likely designed and built by professionals and, this being part of the palace, money was not a major limiting factor. The red one was probably designed and built with limited funds by the self-taught. The yellow one is well-maintained, the red one is not. I would guess that both buildings were probably built around the same time. Both are charming, but I am in love with the little red one. I will choose folk over elegant every time. Why? I love that the red house is so funky and expressive and built with love on limited resources. I love it's faded color. It has a story to tell. It has personality.
On our more recent trip to the Caribbean, there was all this hype and publicity about shopping, and where to buy the best diamonds and tanzanite and how to collect fine art. This did not appeal to me at all. When I ventured out to the tourist shopping areas I liked the newspapers they used to wrap up the stuff. I liked the bent wire frames covered with colorful plastic tubing they used to display their T-shirts and dresses. I liked the colorful and striped plastic bags that they put purchases in. And I realized that I liked the "make do" stuff, the creative ways that people used what they had on hand. To me, that was where the life was. I enjoyed most my trip to the supermarket in Cozumel, the bookstore, the little shrines in the church we happened upon. I loved the cheap variety store in Belize City with the motto, "You name it, we sell it!" That was where I bought bright cleaning rags, a red tin dustpan, and tacky vinyl oil cloth printed with red and green fruit and gingham. No diamonds for me, please. Forget the palace. I like whittled wood and brightly painted houses, country music, and wine in a tin cup. I am rooting for the underdog. For whatever reason, I am happiest when I am making do. When things are too easy, something vital is lost.
Monday, February 09, 2009
Tetris
(From probably about two years ago…)
One of Rees' friends gave him a handheld Tetris game for his birthday. I have co-opted it and am a bit addicted. Again (after a serious addiction in the '80s). I don't know what it is I love about the game but there is something so elegant about the five kinds of shapes that are made of four squares and trying to fit them together in the most efficient way. Efficiency, I love it! (See post Open, press, scoop, stir for more on this topic.) Or maybe it is addicting because the way the game is set up: you go along fine for a long time and then at the end usually everything goes haywire all of a sudden, so of course you have to try again. I don't know what the best strategy is, but I do have some thoughts about the game I'd like to share. Actually, I have specific feelings about each piece and specific purposes for each one. This is just a tad too nerdly to share face to face, but that is why this blog is so freeing.
The line
This has just got to be everybody’s favorite piece. Made of four squares in a line, there is never a time when you can't fit it anywhere. It will almost always be used vertically to fill in a hole, but I see it as a good sign when I can use it horizontally and I’m not desperate to use it to fill a hole. In fact, I try not to have too many deep holes to fill while waiting for those all-too-rare lines. Prevention is better than cure. Avoid the deep pits. Opportunities are made this way. If you depend on the line, you will be forsaken. But if you do fill a pit with one, it is the only shape that can get you four lines in one fell swoop. That sure feels good.
In games where you try to complete as many lines as possible in two minutes, it is definitely a waste to use the line vertically. In these games, I strive to keep things low and horizontal.
The T
To me, this is the next most friendly shape. It is bilaterally symmetrical and has one friendly square coming off of three sides. The final side is nice and flat and three squares wide. You can almost always find a nice place to slot in your T. If you don't have any steps, then you likely have nice flat space where three in a row will fit nicely. Symmetry, simple steps, a nice broad flat side, these are good qualities in a shape.
The Z's
The Z's can be a really friendly shape. Their good quality is that they also have just one square jutting out so usually there is an easy fit. But there are two bad qualities to the Z's. First, they are not symmetrical, so there are two different Z's. Because there are two, it is sometimes difficult to determine that a Z will fit and you don't always get the Z you need. The second difficult aspect of Z's is that they have no flat side. If you don't have any steps to sit them on, then you are forced to leave a gap. This is not usually a big crisis, but it can be frustrating.
I have found a really good use for Z's, though, and that is in helping to fill in the deep holes. I used to try to wait for a line, or barring that, use the long side of an L, but it turns out that Z's are even better. If you use an L to fill in a deep hole, its cap will almost always be left on top, blocking the gaps underneath. But, if the rest of your game is “tight” (no gaps), and you can put a Z into a deep hole, only the bottom half needs to disappear to keep the gaps below exposed. If you do this, your hole gets shorter, doesn’t get capped, and stays open so it can still be filled or “Z-ed” down to oblivion.
The L
The L I find slightly annoying. Like the Z’s, there are two different versions, which can be confusing and frustrating. Also, it has this long tail that can be great for filling in shallow holes, but can also really get in the way. Still, it does have a nice, short, flat side that’s two square wide, and a longer flat side three squares wide. These can be used to bridge gaps to complete a line, especially if the nose/tail does not get in the way and block gaps underneath. Also, the little nose is a nice one step that can often fit into spaces on flat surfaces. But when I have trouble is when the L's just keep coming. It can be hard to find place after place for an L. It has its purpose, but is best in small quantities. Not as friendly as the line, the T, or even the Z’s.
The box
The box is a tight little bundle of four squares, completely symmetrical all around. It is easy to comprehend and easy to place, if you have a place for it, that is. When you do have a double space, it is a great way to fill it in quickly and compactly, but if you don't have a double space, only steps, it can be trouble. It can also be a real problem when one box comes quickly after another. The temptation then is to build the dreaded tower. So, it is good to keep a double space ready at all times for the box. You will be glad you did and you will be able to quickly fill it in when the box arrives.
So here are some of my key strategies:
1) Don't create deep holes. Two squares is plenty deep.
2) If you do get a deep hole, try to fill it in with a shape that will disappear immediately, even if it doesn't completely fill the hole. This beats waiting for a line.
3) Leave a double-wide space whenever possible. This keeps your options open.
4) Don't build towers. This limits your options.
5) Don't panic.
While I prefer to have a “tight” pattern with few holes, I am currently investigating ways to use pieces to complete lines even when they leave a gap. It is often a better investment to have the piece disappear in a completed line and be rid of it than to fit it in somewhere that has no gaps but leaves a tower or a hole. I am trying to get out of my compulsion to “fit.”
If you found this readable (and perhaps even interesting) and have thoughts/strategies of your own to share, let me know, I am all ears! What is your favorite Tetris piece? What is your best Tetris strategy???? Together, we are stronger...
One of Rees' friends gave him a handheld Tetris game for his birthday. I have co-opted it and am a bit addicted. Again (after a serious addiction in the '80s). I don't know what it is I love about the game but there is something so elegant about the five kinds of shapes that are made of four squares and trying to fit them together in the most efficient way. Efficiency, I love it! (See post Open, press, scoop, stir for more on this topic.) Or maybe it is addicting because the way the game is set up: you go along fine for a long time and then at the end usually everything goes haywire all of a sudden, so of course you have to try again. I don't know what the best strategy is, but I do have some thoughts about the game I'd like to share. Actually, I have specific feelings about each piece and specific purposes for each one. This is just a tad too nerdly to share face to face, but that is why this blog is so freeing.
The line
This has just got to be everybody’s favorite piece. Made of four squares in a line, there is never a time when you can't fit it anywhere. It will almost always be used vertically to fill in a hole, but I see it as a good sign when I can use it horizontally and I’m not desperate to use it to fill a hole. In fact, I try not to have too many deep holes to fill while waiting for those all-too-rare lines. Prevention is better than cure. Avoid the deep pits. Opportunities are made this way. If you depend on the line, you will be forsaken. But if you do fill a pit with one, it is the only shape that can get you four lines in one fell swoop. That sure feels good.
In games where you try to complete as many lines as possible in two minutes, it is definitely a waste to use the line vertically. In these games, I strive to keep things low and horizontal.
The T
To me, this is the next most friendly shape. It is bilaterally symmetrical and has one friendly square coming off of three sides. The final side is nice and flat and three squares wide. You can almost always find a nice place to slot in your T. If you don't have any steps, then you likely have nice flat space where three in a row will fit nicely. Symmetry, simple steps, a nice broad flat side, these are good qualities in a shape.
The Z's
The Z's can be a really friendly shape. Their good quality is that they also have just one square jutting out so usually there is an easy fit. But there are two bad qualities to the Z's. First, they are not symmetrical, so there are two different Z's. Because there are two, it is sometimes difficult to determine that a Z will fit and you don't always get the Z you need. The second difficult aspect of Z's is that they have no flat side. If you don't have any steps to sit them on, then you are forced to leave a gap. This is not usually a big crisis, but it can be frustrating.
I have found a really good use for Z's, though, and that is in helping to fill in the deep holes. I used to try to wait for a line, or barring that, use the long side of an L, but it turns out that Z's are even better. If you use an L to fill in a deep hole, its cap will almost always be left on top, blocking the gaps underneath. But, if the rest of your game is “tight” (no gaps), and you can put a Z into a deep hole, only the bottom half needs to disappear to keep the gaps below exposed. If you do this, your hole gets shorter, doesn’t get capped, and stays open so it can still be filled or “Z-ed” down to oblivion.
The L
The L I find slightly annoying. Like the Z’s, there are two different versions, which can be confusing and frustrating. Also, it has this long tail that can be great for filling in shallow holes, but can also really get in the way. Still, it does have a nice, short, flat side that’s two square wide, and a longer flat side three squares wide. These can be used to bridge gaps to complete a line, especially if the nose/tail does not get in the way and block gaps underneath. Also, the little nose is a nice one step that can often fit into spaces on flat surfaces. But when I have trouble is when the L's just keep coming. It can be hard to find place after place for an L. It has its purpose, but is best in small quantities. Not as friendly as the line, the T, or even the Z’s.
The box
The box is a tight little bundle of four squares, completely symmetrical all around. It is easy to comprehend and easy to place, if you have a place for it, that is. When you do have a double space, it is a great way to fill it in quickly and compactly, but if you don't have a double space, only steps, it can be trouble. It can also be a real problem when one box comes quickly after another. The temptation then is to build the dreaded tower. So, it is good to keep a double space ready at all times for the box. You will be glad you did and you will be able to quickly fill it in when the box arrives.
So here are some of my key strategies:
1) Don't create deep holes. Two squares is plenty deep.
2) If you do get a deep hole, try to fill it in with a shape that will disappear immediately, even if it doesn't completely fill the hole. This beats waiting for a line.
3) Leave a double-wide space whenever possible. This keeps your options open.
4) Don't build towers. This limits your options.
5) Don't panic.
While I prefer to have a “tight” pattern with few holes, I am currently investigating ways to use pieces to complete lines even when they leave a gap. It is often a better investment to have the piece disappear in a completed line and be rid of it than to fit it in somewhere that has no gaps but leaves a tower or a hole. I am trying to get out of my compulsion to “fit.”
If you found this readable (and perhaps even interesting) and have thoughts/strategies of your own to share, let me know, I am all ears! What is your favorite Tetris piece? What is your best Tetris strategy???? Together, we are stronger...
Monday, October 27, 2008
TrueJune
Kate visited at the tail end of the summer and introduced me to etsy.com, a fabulous site with all sorts of handmade items for sale by their creators. There are fun ways to search the site: by color, by location, by how new something is, by how popular, etc. (or should I say etsy?).
So, I opened my own etsy shop at TrueJune.etsy.com. You'll see the TrueJune link over on the right---->. Check in from time to time and see what's new, and also enjoy browsing all the other selections on etsy.com. Comments, suggestions, special orders most welcome...
So, I opened my own etsy shop at TrueJune.etsy.com. You'll see the TrueJune link over on the right---->. Check in from time to time and see what's new, and also enjoy browsing all the other selections on etsy.com. Comments, suggestions, special orders most welcome...
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Diet odyssey II
I felt great when I stuck to my diet, but over time, I lapsed, thinking maybe I was better, maybe things had shifted again. Also, I realized it was annoying to eat out with me and all these restrictions made me a difficult house guest. Not that there isn’t plenty of good food out there that is gluten/corn/dairy/soy free (like, for example, all fruits and vegetables, rice, potatoes, millet, buckwheat, quinoa, chicken, beef, lamb, etc. etc.), but if you are not used to it, you are not used to it. I didn’t think my “sensitivity” to these foods was a good enough reason to refuse eating something someone had made for me. If I was only “sensitive,” having a little every now and then wouldn’t hurt, right? It’s not like I would go into anaphylactic shock.
Meanwhile, I had been hearing more and more about laboratory tests for sensitivities to different foods from several different sources. I decided that if I was going to stick to a restrictive diet, I had to know for sure and have a good reason for my food choices, otherwise, I would waver. So I got tested through enterolab.com for gluten, soy, dairy, egg, yeast, and human antibodies and had the genetic test for celiac (they didn’t offer corn).
It was last May that I got the results: elevated antibodies to gluten, soy, and, to a lesser extent, dairy and human proteins. Wow. Pretty much what the chiropractor had told me. I also had a gene for celiac and a gene for gluten sensitivity. And there was evidence that the gluten had damaged my small intestines, as it will if you are celiac.
Though it is a shock to me, it looks like I am celiac. I was stunned at first, but then it dawned on me that this is really a good thing because there is something so simple and harmless I can to do to feel good: stay away from soy and gluten. I don’t have to take any medications, there are no side effects, I just have good health to look forward to.
I started a renewed gluten/soy-free diet, and within a few days, the eczema that had recently flared up disappeared. My skin cleared up. I felt more energetic and less bloated and inflamed. I feel overall healthier now that my body is not working so hard against these subtle yet chronic irritants.
So I guess that is where this Boulder diet odyssey leaves me. I no longer eat gluten (wheat, rye, barley) because it starts an immune reaction that damages my intestines. Even a small amount is detrimental. I avoid soy as it does not sit well with my digestion either. To a lesser degree, I try to avoid dairy and corn. I don’t find my new diet that much of a burden, on the contrary, I find it of great benefit to my health, but if I’m “weird” about food, now you know why. My intestines thank you.
Meanwhile, I had been hearing more and more about laboratory tests for sensitivities to different foods from several different sources. I decided that if I was going to stick to a restrictive diet, I had to know for sure and have a good reason for my food choices, otherwise, I would waver. So I got tested through enterolab.com for gluten, soy, dairy, egg, yeast, and human antibodies and had the genetic test for celiac (they didn’t offer corn).
It was last May that I got the results: elevated antibodies to gluten, soy, and, to a lesser extent, dairy and human proteins. Wow. Pretty much what the chiropractor had told me. I also had a gene for celiac and a gene for gluten sensitivity. And there was evidence that the gluten had damaged my small intestines, as it will if you are celiac.
Though it is a shock to me, it looks like I am celiac. I was stunned at first, but then it dawned on me that this is really a good thing because there is something so simple and harmless I can to do to feel good: stay away from soy and gluten. I don’t have to take any medications, there are no side effects, I just have good health to look forward to.
I started a renewed gluten/soy-free diet, and within a few days, the eczema that had recently flared up disappeared. My skin cleared up. I felt more energetic and less bloated and inflamed. I feel overall healthier now that my body is not working so hard against these subtle yet chronic irritants.
So I guess that is where this Boulder diet odyssey leaves me. I no longer eat gluten (wheat, rye, barley) because it starts an immune reaction that damages my intestines. Even a small amount is detrimental. I avoid soy as it does not sit well with my digestion either. To a lesser degree, I try to avoid dairy and corn. I don’t find my new diet that much of a burden, on the contrary, I find it of great benefit to my health, but if I’m “weird” about food, now you know why. My intestines thank you.
This has gone too far...
I guess I like to experience the best a place has to offer. In England, their forte was history and scenery and milk fat. There were just so many kinds of wonderful cream and butter to explore! So little time!
In Boulder it is fitness and alternative medicine. Certainly these can be healthy pursuits to explore. So the family has launched into what can only be described as a diet odyssey.
It started about a year and a half ago when Rees began throwing up at night. About once every other week he would wake up, say he felt bad, then throw up, then feel better. The first couple of times we thought he was coming down with a stomach bug, but he was a new person in the morning, completely recovered. Then we thought it might be something he ate, but it would happen even on nights when his diet remained as monotonous as ever. It was a mystery.
I thought about going to the doctor, but what would they do? They could do blood tests and allergy tests and put him on an elimination diet, but that all seemed very intrusive and exhausting to me. It was likely to be expensive and possible they wouldn’t come up with anything.
Instead, I thought I’d take him to this chiropractor/naturopath I had heard about to see what she thought. She might at least point us in the right direction based on her intuition. If it worked, great, if not, there was no harm done.
She looked Rees over and did some adjustments, tested him a bit and said that he needed to avoid five foods: banana, pepper, tomato, egg, and soy. I was surprised. I had been thinking wheat and dairy were the culprits, and since he is a vegetarian, I was concerned about his protein intake. To avoid wheat and dairy, I had been slipping egg and soy into anything I could get him to eat. I slipped it right out again and he stopped throwing up.
One day he absentmindedly grabbed a big fresh tomato Greg had used to make a sandwich and ate a few bites. That night, he threw up. Another time, after a morning bike ride and breakfast outing with some friends, he threw up again. When asked what he had for breakfast: French toast.
He hasn’t thrown up since.
At the same time, Kadin had some eczema on the inside of his elbows. I thought I’d see what this chiropractor/naturopath had to say. She said he needed to avoid peanuts and soy. He had been having peanut butter on a rice cake every morning. When he switched to almond butter, the eczema went away. A few months later, when it recurred, it turned out he had been having peanut butter and jelly sandwiches at school for lunch. When he stopped, it went away again.
Easy! Well, easy except for the soy. I started reading labels and we’re not talking just avoid the tofu and the edamamé here, we’re talking soybean oil, soy lechithin, hydrolyzed soy protein, it's in everything. It’s cheap! It’s available! It’s widely used: salad dressing, chocolate, crackers, deli meats, even some frozen fruit.
Given the success with Rees and Kadin's health, I thought I’d give it a go too. Driving to my appointment, I felt I could eat anything, that I had an iron digestion. I was going to be pleased to find out that I was as solid as a rock. But I was the worst of all: no dairy, no soy, no wheat, no peanuts. What???
Well, it couldn’t hurt to avoid these foods for a time, so I launched into a new diet. I felt much better. After a month or so, I felt things were shifting so I returned to the practitioner. Now she said dairy was okay, but gluten wasn’t, soy wasn’t, corn wasn’t. So it was no wheat, oats, rye, or barley for me. Soy, too, was difficult to avoid. But when I stuck to the diet I really did feel better: my skin cleared up, my digestion moved smoothly, I had more energy.
About the same time, the cats started seeing a new vet who made house calls. Whenever I took Rex to the vet he would suddenly transform from lovable goof and sweetie pie into attack cat. The vet hated him and wouldn’t even examine him, so what was the point? With the home-visit vet, appointments went from stressful and useless to gentle love-fests on the couch. Much better. She is also a wholistic vet and so gave me some information about a more natural diet for the cats. They too needed to eat better food and she left me with a handout of helpful suggestions that I put on the fridge.
When Greg came home one day and found a list on the fridge labeled "diet suggestions" that included things like "raw meat," he thought I'd gone off the deep. “This has gone too far!” he declared. I reassured him that it was for the cats. Well, okay then. Just shows you how far the diet odyssey had gone at that point.
In Boulder it is fitness and alternative medicine. Certainly these can be healthy pursuits to explore. So the family has launched into what can only be described as a diet odyssey.
It started about a year and a half ago when Rees began throwing up at night. About once every other week he would wake up, say he felt bad, then throw up, then feel better. The first couple of times we thought he was coming down with a stomach bug, but he was a new person in the morning, completely recovered. Then we thought it might be something he ate, but it would happen even on nights when his diet remained as monotonous as ever. It was a mystery.
I thought about going to the doctor, but what would they do? They could do blood tests and allergy tests and put him on an elimination diet, but that all seemed very intrusive and exhausting to me. It was likely to be expensive and possible they wouldn’t come up with anything.
Instead, I thought I’d take him to this chiropractor/naturopath I had heard about to see what she thought. She might at least point us in the right direction based on her intuition. If it worked, great, if not, there was no harm done.
She looked Rees over and did some adjustments, tested him a bit and said that he needed to avoid five foods: banana, pepper, tomato, egg, and soy. I was surprised. I had been thinking wheat and dairy were the culprits, and since he is a vegetarian, I was concerned about his protein intake. To avoid wheat and dairy, I had been slipping egg and soy into anything I could get him to eat. I slipped it right out again and he stopped throwing up.
One day he absentmindedly grabbed a big fresh tomato Greg had used to make a sandwich and ate a few bites. That night, he threw up. Another time, after a morning bike ride and breakfast outing with some friends, he threw up again. When asked what he had for breakfast: French toast.
He hasn’t thrown up since.
At the same time, Kadin had some eczema on the inside of his elbows. I thought I’d see what this chiropractor/naturopath had to say. She said he needed to avoid peanuts and soy. He had been having peanut butter on a rice cake every morning. When he switched to almond butter, the eczema went away. A few months later, when it recurred, it turned out he had been having peanut butter and jelly sandwiches at school for lunch. When he stopped, it went away again.
Easy! Well, easy except for the soy. I started reading labels and we’re not talking just avoid the tofu and the edamamé here, we’re talking soybean oil, soy lechithin, hydrolyzed soy protein, it's in everything. It’s cheap! It’s available! It’s widely used: salad dressing, chocolate, crackers, deli meats, even some frozen fruit.
Given the success with Rees and Kadin's health, I thought I’d give it a go too. Driving to my appointment, I felt I could eat anything, that I had an iron digestion. I was going to be pleased to find out that I was as solid as a rock. But I was the worst of all: no dairy, no soy, no wheat, no peanuts. What???
Well, it couldn’t hurt to avoid these foods for a time, so I launched into a new diet. I felt much better. After a month or so, I felt things were shifting so I returned to the practitioner. Now she said dairy was okay, but gluten wasn’t, soy wasn’t, corn wasn’t. So it was no wheat, oats, rye, or barley for me. Soy, too, was difficult to avoid. But when I stuck to the diet I really did feel better: my skin cleared up, my digestion moved smoothly, I had more energy.
About the same time, the cats started seeing a new vet who made house calls. Whenever I took Rex to the vet he would suddenly transform from lovable goof and sweetie pie into attack cat. The vet hated him and wouldn’t even examine him, so what was the point? With the home-visit vet, appointments went from stressful and useless to gentle love-fests on the couch. Much better. She is also a wholistic vet and so gave me some information about a more natural diet for the cats. They too needed to eat better food and she left me with a handout of helpful suggestions that I put on the fridge.
When Greg came home one day and found a list on the fridge labeled "diet suggestions" that included things like "raw meat," he thought I'd gone off the deep. “This has gone too far!” he declared. I reassured him that it was for the cats. Well, okay then. Just shows you how far the diet odyssey had gone at that point.
Thursday, September 04, 2008
Dog days of summer
It's been HOT and we've had a serious outbreak of flat cat. Here's what it looks like around here:
87º
87º
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93º
87º
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Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Norway, two (2!) years ago last June...
(Sequel to Oxford, only a year—or two—late...)
We met my parents at Heathrow and exchanged stories. They had flow 3,000 miles from Yerevan and had brought some food from the Armenian market. We had a few things from Sainsbury's, but the Sainsbury's apricots, though a deep golden color, did not compare in flavor to the Armenian ones. I sampled the sheep cheese and flat bread my mom had brought. The cheese had a very definite animal flavor to it, tasting very much like the way a barn smells. An acquired taste, I guess, so I only had a small bit.
Why my parents were interested in watching the Queen's 80th birthday celebration instead of the World Cup, I have no idea. The England/Trinidad game was going to be on just exactly during our flight.
Grandma and grandpa could only get their seat assignments at the airport, and since the plane was full, they were not sitting together. Great! I jumped at the chance to get my own seat and mom sat with Greg and the kids. I had a wonderfully uneventful flight. As we were standing, about to disembark, the flight attendant announced the score as “nil nil.” Oh boy, the game should be over by now. Then, just as the line out started moving, another announcement: England had won 2 nil. Everyone cheers.
Luggage took awhile since mom's suitcase did not arrive. The airport was small and pleasant and we enjoyed the little glass windows in the floor that had tiny dioramas and scenes behind them. The guy at the baggage claim saw no reason to be concerned and thought the bags were still coming. But they didn't, so mom went to the customer service desk to find that her bag was still in Heathrow. It would arrive the next day.
Oslo
We debated about the options to the hotel: bus v. train, and took the SAS bus in. Oslo struck me as a big, messy city. We had some difficulty getting the elevator to work with the security system. Tempers (especially mine) were short, the kid's bed was not made. Don't remember what we did for dinner, but probably picnicked in the room. I was tired.
Next morning we all gathered for breakfast, except mom whose stomach was not well. The sheep cheese. The rest of us set off for Akershus and the Viking Museum. At least that was the plan. The cousins were having a great time, but Kadin still couldn't walk. We finally told the rest of them to go ahead and Greg and Kadin and I could go at our own pace. We came across the Resistance Museum, and Greg and I enjoyed that. Kadin tolerates most things. Don't think we would have attempted that with Rees at all as it is a bit disturbing.
Decided to walk to another neighborhood that was billed as "hip" on the way to the Natural History museum and look for a grocery store for lunch on the way. No grocery, so we settled for a 7-11 type of deal of hotdogs and hot pockets. It was not a great lunch and cost us $40(!) We were now on Karl Johann's Gata, a walking street. We enjoyed the human statues there. The nearest bit of green was the lawn at the DomKirke so we stopped there to eat our sandwiches. There was some kind of protest about Afganistan going on, but we couldn't read the signs (in Norwegian) and just ate our lunch and Kadin used the outhouses. We walked a bit farther, towards the hip neighborhood and Natural History museum, but never made it. Just before getting back to the hotel, we found a grocery store. I bought more provisions, found a good calzone place, and that was dinner. Later we learned that our lunchtime picnic site protest was a hunger strike, of all things. How terrible of us!
The next morning we were off to the airport again and then Lillehammer with the tour group. Only Greg and the boys had just finished the 4th Harry Potter and had nothing else to read. We had about 20 minutes to find an English version of the 5th book before we got on the bus. Miraculously, we made it. We asked where there was a large bookstore and were directed to Karl Johann's Gata again. For the life of me, I couldn't understand the name of the bookstore. Finally, when we thought we were near it, we asked again. Then asked the name of the store. "Eeeaiirk" is what the reply sounded like, with about 5 syllables. Turns out, the store was called "Ark." They had the book. In English. Wow. Success.
We boarded the bus to the airport with tour guide Lisa Christine and driver Tor Arne. As Lisa said, no one in Norway has a middle name. Either they have one first name or two first names. I guess that because the selection of names is relatively small, you can be distinct with a distinct combination of names.
We got to know the airport very well this time. The plane was delayed, then the people joining our group took forever through customs, over 2 hours after they were scheduled to arrive. We snacked and amused ourselves as much as possible. We met Laurie and her two grandsons, Chris and Ian, who had flown in from Chicago that morning. They were very tired and jet lagged. I was glad that we were all over jet lag and able to wait in relative comfort. We finally all got on the bus after picking up two more grandmothers and their two granddaughters: Kay, Pauline, Sarah, and Natalie(?). Tor Arne made a wrong turn, and we detoured a bit before getting on the correct highway to Lillehammer. Lisa Christine and Tor Arne argued about which side of Lake Mjosa was the most beautiful: the "right" side or the "correct" side. Tor Arne was from Hamar on the East, "right" side, the seat of the bishop, and Lisa Christine was across from Hamar, on the West (left/correct) side. This was the bread basket of Norway with lots of farms.
Pretty soon Tor Arne said something cheerily in Norwegian to Lisa Christine, she then cheerily said into the mic that we would be pulling over shortly because of engine difficulty. Just like the delays at the airport and the wrong turn, it all sounded so friendly and innocuous in this benign environment. Help would soon be on the way.
It was unusually hot. There was no shade and we had pulled over onto the tiniest of pull-outs, not the greatest or safest place on the busy highway. And we waited for the imminent help.
There were eight kids on the bus who were understandably restless. Without the air conditioning, the bus was like an oven. We all had to get out. Everyone but dad did. He stayed on the bus, as is his way, dressed in full suit.
Most of the kids dealt okay. The four Knuth boys found games to play that were reasonably safe. Ian and Chris did their own teenage sort of thing (game boy). The girl I’m calling Natalie wrote in her journal. Sarah was the most put out. For her and the older boys it had been a very long day indeed. "Why can't we go?" "This isn't fair." "I don't like this," and so on. Eventually we ransacked Tor Arne's store of beverages: water, Coke, Fanta, and sparkling apple juice. That raised morale a bit. I regretted not filling my water bottle for what was to be a short two-hour bus ride.
Finally, a German tour bus stopped to help. We had the fan belt we needed and they helped install it. Finally, finally. We were there for about 4 hours in the end. All I can say is that the acronym for the Norwegian Automobile Association/Forbunding—NAF—was more than accurate. We got on our way, then stopped at a gas station for water and fuel. Kevin discovered that he could get a kroner for each empty bottle from Tor Arne's stash. Excitement.
Lillehammar
We arrived at the hotel in Lillehammar about 8pm for dinner. Luckily it was a buffet and luckily it was meant to be late. I was starving. I don't remember much of the evening except being exhausted and hungry and feeling like we had to take advantage in the morning of the pool and the miniature golf and the town and we only had a few hours. Whew! How to take advantage of all these luxuries?
Once again, we managed fine. We had a nice buffet breakfast. Julie and I walked down to Lillehammar center, though it was Sunday and everything was closed. We found a shop to buy some snacks and food for the trip to Brennabu (must be prepared, anything could happen…). Played a little mini golf on the disappointingly maintained course, and Greg went swimming with the boys. We met at Maihaugen, the open-air house museum, for lunch with my parents. Kadin was being a real pill and refused to walk anywhere. His foot did hurt and he was still limping, but what to do at the open-air museum? Fed up, I finally asked at the desk if they had a stroller or a wheelchair we could rent. They provided us with a wheelchair. Kadin happily rode in that.
There was a lot to see and not much time, it seemed to me. First we saw the inside exhibit of the history of Norway. It turned out to be really good. Starting with a cold ice cave it chronicled the ice ages up to the present. The kids enjoyed it and we learned a lot. Kadin related everything to the game Civilization (bronze age, iron age, etc.). I was glad we took the time to do that. Then we went outside to meet our tour guide. This was okay too and she explained things and let us into a house and told us about the customs and traditions. This was good to hear, but I felt we only got a taste. Soon it was time to get back on the bus. A new bus.
Something happened where Kadin went to the bathroom and took forever and we were really late and everyone on the bus was waiting for us and I felt rushed and guilty. We all rushed on the bus and drove to the ski jump. Lisa Christine told us we had only 20 minutes at the jump before we had to leave again for Brennabu on yet another bus. Rush, rush, rush, I was getting tired of this. I was determined to see some of the ski jump. I went down to the top of the lower jump with Rees and we walked very fast up again. Then I wanted to take the ski lift down. Finally we got word that Lisa Christine has miscalculated and we had an hour and 20 minutes. So we ended up at the bottom waiting and waiting.
Brennabu
Lisa Christine said her goodbyes and we were joined by the mother-in-law of our host at Brennabu, an outdoor education center. She would be our guide on the drive. She was very interesting. She had been the original owner of Brennabu, and now it was run by her son and his wife, Elizabeth. The drive was longish and I worried again that it might turn out to be much longer than planned. I always refilled my water bottle at this point. Bjorn was our driver from Valdres, the region we were going to. We stopped briefly to see some petroglyphs along a river of Alg (moose). Got to Brennabu and it was wonderful. Not a sort of deteriorating elegance like the Lillehammer hotel, but a charming, clean, Scandinavian feel. We were served dinner, a whole fish, I believe, but I managed to find something to eat. I was ready to settle in, only to discover that I had left my camera on the bus. Ughh. Bjorn, would we see you again?
We explored our new accommodations and the boys quickly became the “troll patrol,” hunting trolls and chasing them away. We found a “Speise stue,” the eating room; a “Piese stue,” a meeting room in the attic; the “Corner stue,” Corner room; and the “Torkerrom,” or drying room. Drying rooms are a very important part of a Norwegian house.
Turns out this was the perfect way for everyone to be together, have a Norwegian experience, and also have lots of fun. We didn’t have to decide what to do and we didn’t have to decide where to eat. It was beautiful and relaxing. A quick summary of activities:
Day One
We hiked to some boulders to do some rock climbing. Canoeing on the lake after lunch.
Day Two
Rock polishing and horseback riding.
Day Three
A drive in the bus with Bjorn (camera returned, yea!) to see fjords and glaciers and an awe-inspiring thousand-year-old stave church, all the while accompanied by the music of Peer Gynt.
Day Four
Archery and midsommar games.
Day Five
Open-air museum in nearby town.
In addition to the owners and their parents, I most vividly remember Ardun, our indefatigable leader who would entertain the children and “groundups” alike, and Anne, the cook who made the most wonderful berry jams. We were able to visit Ann’s house and her amazing weaving studio where in the winter she wove fabric into traditional patterns to be sewn into traditional dress. And we also got to tour her family’s traditional summer farm, where they took the livestock to new pasture up higher on the mountains.
I took a hike one afternoon with Greg and Julie, startled a European moose (Alg), and it was gone in a flash. And I remember the stunning drive back from the glacier, the miles and miles of mossy landscape well above treeline, both haunting and inviting.
We met my parents at Heathrow and exchanged stories. They had flow 3,000 miles from Yerevan and had brought some food from the Armenian market. We had a few things from Sainsbury's, but the Sainsbury's apricots, though a deep golden color, did not compare in flavor to the Armenian ones. I sampled the sheep cheese and flat bread my mom had brought. The cheese had a very definite animal flavor to it, tasting very much like the way a barn smells. An acquired taste, I guess, so I only had a small bit.
Why my parents were interested in watching the Queen's 80th birthday celebration instead of the World Cup, I have no idea. The England/Trinidad game was going to be on just exactly during our flight.
Grandma and grandpa could only get their seat assignments at the airport, and since the plane was full, they were not sitting together. Great! I jumped at the chance to get my own seat and mom sat with Greg and the kids. I had a wonderfully uneventful flight. As we were standing, about to disembark, the flight attendant announced the score as “nil nil.” Oh boy, the game should be over by now. Then, just as the line out started moving, another announcement: England had won 2 nil. Everyone cheers.
Luggage took awhile since mom's suitcase did not arrive. The airport was small and pleasant and we enjoyed the little glass windows in the floor that had tiny dioramas and scenes behind them. The guy at the baggage claim saw no reason to be concerned and thought the bags were still coming. But they didn't, so mom went to the customer service desk to find that her bag was still in Heathrow. It would arrive the next day.
Oslo
We debated about the options to the hotel: bus v. train, and took the SAS bus in. Oslo struck me as a big, messy city. We had some difficulty getting the elevator to work with the security system. Tempers (especially mine) were short, the kid's bed was not made. Don't remember what we did for dinner, but probably picnicked in the room. I was tired.
Next morning we all gathered for breakfast, except mom whose stomach was not well. The sheep cheese. The rest of us set off for Akershus and the Viking Museum. At least that was the plan. The cousins were having a great time, but Kadin still couldn't walk. We finally told the rest of them to go ahead and Greg and Kadin and I could go at our own pace. We came across the Resistance Museum, and Greg and I enjoyed that. Kadin tolerates most things. Don't think we would have attempted that with Rees at all as it is a bit disturbing.
Decided to walk to another neighborhood that was billed as "hip" on the way to the Natural History museum and look for a grocery store for lunch on the way. No grocery, so we settled for a 7-11 type of deal of hotdogs and hot pockets. It was not a great lunch and cost us $40(!) We were now on Karl Johann's Gata, a walking street. We enjoyed the human statues there. The nearest bit of green was the lawn at the DomKirke so we stopped there to eat our sandwiches. There was some kind of protest about Afganistan going on, but we couldn't read the signs (in Norwegian) and just ate our lunch and Kadin used the outhouses. We walked a bit farther, towards the hip neighborhood and Natural History museum, but never made it. Just before getting back to the hotel, we found a grocery store. I bought more provisions, found a good calzone place, and that was dinner. Later we learned that our lunchtime picnic site protest was a hunger strike, of all things. How terrible of us!
The next morning we were off to the airport again and then Lillehammer with the tour group. Only Greg and the boys had just finished the 4th Harry Potter and had nothing else to read. We had about 20 minutes to find an English version of the 5th book before we got on the bus. Miraculously, we made it. We asked where there was a large bookstore and were directed to Karl Johann's Gata again. For the life of me, I couldn't understand the name of the bookstore. Finally, when we thought we were near it, we asked again. Then asked the name of the store. "Eeeaiirk" is what the reply sounded like, with about 5 syllables. Turns out, the store was called "Ark." They had the book. In English. Wow. Success.
We boarded the bus to the airport with tour guide Lisa Christine and driver Tor Arne. As Lisa said, no one in Norway has a middle name. Either they have one first name or two first names. I guess that because the selection of names is relatively small, you can be distinct with a distinct combination of names.
We got to know the airport very well this time. The plane was delayed, then the people joining our group took forever through customs, over 2 hours after they were scheduled to arrive. We snacked and amused ourselves as much as possible. We met Laurie and her two grandsons, Chris and Ian, who had flown in from Chicago that morning. They were very tired and jet lagged. I was glad that we were all over jet lag and able to wait in relative comfort. We finally all got on the bus after picking up two more grandmothers and their two granddaughters: Kay, Pauline, Sarah, and Natalie(?). Tor Arne made a wrong turn, and we detoured a bit before getting on the correct highway to Lillehammer. Lisa Christine and Tor Arne argued about which side of Lake Mjosa was the most beautiful: the "right" side or the "correct" side. Tor Arne was from Hamar on the East, "right" side, the seat of the bishop, and Lisa Christine was across from Hamar, on the West (left/correct) side. This was the bread basket of Norway with lots of farms.
Pretty soon Tor Arne said something cheerily in Norwegian to Lisa Christine, she then cheerily said into the mic that we would be pulling over shortly because of engine difficulty. Just like the delays at the airport and the wrong turn, it all sounded so friendly and innocuous in this benign environment. Help would soon be on the way.
It was unusually hot. There was no shade and we had pulled over onto the tiniest of pull-outs, not the greatest or safest place on the busy highway. And we waited for the imminent help.
There were eight kids on the bus who were understandably restless. Without the air conditioning, the bus was like an oven. We all had to get out. Everyone but dad did. He stayed on the bus, as is his way, dressed in full suit.
Most of the kids dealt okay. The four Knuth boys found games to play that were reasonably safe. Ian and Chris did their own teenage sort of thing (game boy). The girl I’m calling Natalie wrote in her journal. Sarah was the most put out. For her and the older boys it had been a very long day indeed. "Why can't we go?" "This isn't fair." "I don't like this," and so on. Eventually we ransacked Tor Arne's store of beverages: water, Coke, Fanta, and sparkling apple juice. That raised morale a bit. I regretted not filling my water bottle for what was to be a short two-hour bus ride.
Finally, a German tour bus stopped to help. We had the fan belt we needed and they helped install it. Finally, finally. We were there for about 4 hours in the end. All I can say is that the acronym for the Norwegian Automobile Association/Forbunding—NAF—was more than accurate. We got on our way, then stopped at a gas station for water and fuel. Kevin discovered that he could get a kroner for each empty bottle from Tor Arne's stash. Excitement.
Lillehammar
We arrived at the hotel in Lillehammar about 8pm for dinner. Luckily it was a buffet and luckily it was meant to be late. I was starving. I don't remember much of the evening except being exhausted and hungry and feeling like we had to take advantage in the morning of the pool and the miniature golf and the town and we only had a few hours. Whew! How to take advantage of all these luxuries?
Once again, we managed fine. We had a nice buffet breakfast. Julie and I walked down to Lillehammar center, though it was Sunday and everything was closed. We found a shop to buy some snacks and food for the trip to Brennabu (must be prepared, anything could happen…). Played a little mini golf on the disappointingly maintained course, and Greg went swimming with the boys. We met at Maihaugen, the open-air house museum, for lunch with my parents. Kadin was being a real pill and refused to walk anywhere. His foot did hurt and he was still limping, but what to do at the open-air museum? Fed up, I finally asked at the desk if they had a stroller or a wheelchair we could rent. They provided us with a wheelchair. Kadin happily rode in that.
There was a lot to see and not much time, it seemed to me. First we saw the inside exhibit of the history of Norway. It turned out to be really good. Starting with a cold ice cave it chronicled the ice ages up to the present. The kids enjoyed it and we learned a lot. Kadin related everything to the game Civilization (bronze age, iron age, etc.). I was glad we took the time to do that. Then we went outside to meet our tour guide. This was okay too and she explained things and let us into a house and told us about the customs and traditions. This was good to hear, but I felt we only got a taste. Soon it was time to get back on the bus. A new bus.
Something happened where Kadin went to the bathroom and took forever and we were really late and everyone on the bus was waiting for us and I felt rushed and guilty. We all rushed on the bus and drove to the ski jump. Lisa Christine told us we had only 20 minutes at the jump before we had to leave again for Brennabu on yet another bus. Rush, rush, rush, I was getting tired of this. I was determined to see some of the ski jump. I went down to the top of the lower jump with Rees and we walked very fast up again. Then I wanted to take the ski lift down. Finally we got word that Lisa Christine has miscalculated and we had an hour and 20 minutes. So we ended up at the bottom waiting and waiting.
Brennabu
Lisa Christine said her goodbyes and we were joined by the mother-in-law of our host at Brennabu, an outdoor education center. She would be our guide on the drive. She was very interesting. She had been the original owner of Brennabu, and now it was run by her son and his wife, Elizabeth. The drive was longish and I worried again that it might turn out to be much longer than planned. I always refilled my water bottle at this point. Bjorn was our driver from Valdres, the region we were going to. We stopped briefly to see some petroglyphs along a river of Alg (moose). Got to Brennabu and it was wonderful. Not a sort of deteriorating elegance like the Lillehammer hotel, but a charming, clean, Scandinavian feel. We were served dinner, a whole fish, I believe, but I managed to find something to eat. I was ready to settle in, only to discover that I had left my camera on the bus. Ughh. Bjorn, would we see you again?
We explored our new accommodations and the boys quickly became the “troll patrol,” hunting trolls and chasing them away. We found a “Speise stue,” the eating room; a “Piese stue,” a meeting room in the attic; the “Corner stue,” Corner room; and the “Torkerrom,” or drying room. Drying rooms are a very important part of a Norwegian house.
Turns out this was the perfect way for everyone to be together, have a Norwegian experience, and also have lots of fun. We didn’t have to decide what to do and we didn’t have to decide where to eat. It was beautiful and relaxing. A quick summary of activities:
Day One
We hiked to some boulders to do some rock climbing. Canoeing on the lake after lunch.
Day Two
Rock polishing and horseback riding.
Day Three
A drive in the bus with Bjorn (camera returned, yea!) to see fjords and glaciers and an awe-inspiring thousand-year-old stave church, all the while accompanied by the music of Peer Gynt.
Day Four
Archery and midsommar games.
Day Five
Open-air museum in nearby town.
In addition to the owners and their parents, I most vividly remember Ardun, our indefatigable leader who would entertain the children and “groundups” alike, and Anne, the cook who made the most wonderful berry jams. We were able to visit Ann’s house and her amazing weaving studio where in the winter she wove fabric into traditional patterns to be sewn into traditional dress. And we also got to tour her family’s traditional summer farm, where they took the livestock to new pasture up higher on the mountains.
I took a hike one afternoon with Greg and Julie, startled a European moose (Alg), and it was gone in a flash. And I remember the stunning drive back from the glacier, the miles and miles of mossy landscape well above treeline, both haunting and inviting.
Monday, July 14, 2008
The finder
(From just about a year ago...)
I am obsessed with finding things. I want to know where things are. I will search relentlessly for things. I hate not knowing where things are.
I don't think the kids get this. I think they have learned to be afraid of telling me they can't find something. I will ask them over and over again what they were doing when they lost it, ask them to retrace their steps. I will ask them to clean up. I will lead them on an intense search. I don't see how they can be so uninterested, remember so little about what they were doing. They probably can't stand how determined and single minded I become. "I can't find it, but don't tell mom," I imagine them saying.
If the tape is missing from the kitchen drawer, I'll say, "Did anybody use the tape?" More often than not, "no one" will have used it, there are no recollections whatsoever. Utter blankness. And then I, who have never touched the tape, haven't seen it used, have no consciousness (sub or otherwise) about it whatsoever, will go and find it, clearly used, and then come the revelatory nods, the "a ha's" and "oh yeah's" like a miracle has occurred. Wow, what do you know, it has appeared, out of thin air. Oh yes, you are right, I did take it to make a paper hat. I remember—now.
This summer I was struck by just how good I am at finding things when the dad of one of Rees' friends called to ask if his son had left his gecko fleece jacket at our house. He couldn't find it and they were leaving on a trip. No, I hadn't seen the fleece, I didn't think it was at our house, but I would have a look.
I was pretty sure I would have noticed it if it was here. But I wanted to help him, so I thought back to the last time this friend had been over. I thought about the weather and if he would have likely brought a fleece. I remembered a cool day that week and remembered his mom saying he was going over early to another friend's house. I mentioned this other friend to the dad. He thought a minute and then said, "Oh yeah, I see it now, I put it on his backpack when he was going out that day, then he decided not to take it and I put it back in the closet, just where it should be. I didn't think to look there."
I think I should start a finding business. I hadn't touched the fleece, I had no idea where it was, it didn't involve me in any way, but I helped him find it. There has got to be good money in this.
Update 7/14/08: I have started making the effort to notice when the kids do find things. "You're the finder!" I'll proclaim. Cheers all around. And, just to reward myself (because nobody seems to value this skill as much as I do) when I find something, I'll let my zeal spill over not into a "see, I told you..." tirade, but instead: "I'm the finder, Mama's the finder!" It seems to be raising the interest in finding things around here. Finally.
I am obsessed with finding things. I want to know where things are. I will search relentlessly for things. I hate not knowing where things are.
I don't think the kids get this. I think they have learned to be afraid of telling me they can't find something. I will ask them over and over again what they were doing when they lost it, ask them to retrace their steps. I will ask them to clean up. I will lead them on an intense search. I don't see how they can be so uninterested, remember so little about what they were doing. They probably can't stand how determined and single minded I become. "I can't find it, but don't tell mom," I imagine them saying.
If the tape is missing from the kitchen drawer, I'll say, "Did anybody use the tape?" More often than not, "no one" will have used it, there are no recollections whatsoever. Utter blankness. And then I, who have never touched the tape, haven't seen it used, have no consciousness (sub or otherwise) about it whatsoever, will go and find it, clearly used, and then come the revelatory nods, the "a ha's" and "oh yeah's" like a miracle has occurred. Wow, what do you know, it has appeared, out of thin air. Oh yes, you are right, I did take it to make a paper hat. I remember—now.
This summer I was struck by just how good I am at finding things when the dad of one of Rees' friends called to ask if his son had left his gecko fleece jacket at our house. He couldn't find it and they were leaving on a trip. No, I hadn't seen the fleece, I didn't think it was at our house, but I would have a look.
I was pretty sure I would have noticed it if it was here. But I wanted to help him, so I thought back to the last time this friend had been over. I thought about the weather and if he would have likely brought a fleece. I remembered a cool day that week and remembered his mom saying he was going over early to another friend's house. I mentioned this other friend to the dad. He thought a minute and then said, "Oh yeah, I see it now, I put it on his backpack when he was going out that day, then he decided not to take it and I put it back in the closet, just where it should be. I didn't think to look there."
I think I should start a finding business. I hadn't touched the fleece, I had no idea where it was, it didn't involve me in any way, but I helped him find it. There has got to be good money in this.
Update 7/14/08: I have started making the effort to notice when the kids do find things. "You're the finder!" I'll proclaim. Cheers all around. And, just to reward myself (because nobody seems to value this skill as much as I do) when I find something, I'll let my zeal spill over not into a "see, I told you..." tirade, but instead: "I'm the finder, Mama's the finder!" It seems to be raising the interest in finding things around here. Finally.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Wine store
I try not to take the kids on too many errands, a few stops is usually their limit. So I was surprised when Kadin seemed okay with going to the liquor store after the bank. He waltzes right in and picks out a bottle of red called, “Woop, Woop,” a name we had laughed over at home.
Kadin (age 7): “Here’s the Woop, Woop, Mom”
Me: “Oh hey, thanks, sure, let’s get that. But I prefer the Fairvalley Pinotage.”
Kadin: “That’s right over here, Mom, here’s the Fairvalley.”
Whoa. What is this kid doing? I was trying not to turn red. It looked like this was a daily occurrence or something. I know a few months ago he came down here with Greg, and apparently they had had a really fun time with it, Greg involving him in every decision.
Kadin: “Did you want a chianti? There’s a fruity one in the middle row.”
A fruity one in the middle row. Okay, we’ll get that too. Honestly, we only go to buy wine every few months, but this was looking really bad. Or really good, depending on your point of view. When I go into a wine store, I can barely remember what I bought, what I liked, where in the store it came from, etc. etc., but Kadin obviously remembered the whole thing in great detail. I might just take advantage of that skill of his and bring him along more often…. It was one of the best mixed-cases we’ve ever bought. A future sommelier in the family?
Kadin (age 7): “Here’s the Woop, Woop, Mom”
Me: “Oh hey, thanks, sure, let’s get that. But I prefer the Fairvalley Pinotage.”
Kadin: “That’s right over here, Mom, here’s the Fairvalley.”
Whoa. What is this kid doing? I was trying not to turn red. It looked like this was a daily occurrence or something. I know a few months ago he came down here with Greg, and apparently they had had a really fun time with it, Greg involving him in every decision.
Kadin: “Did you want a chianti? There’s a fruity one in the middle row.”
A fruity one in the middle row. Okay, we’ll get that too. Honestly, we only go to buy wine every few months, but this was looking really bad. Or really good, depending on your point of view. When I go into a wine store, I can barely remember what I bought, what I liked, where in the store it came from, etc. etc., but Kadin obviously remembered the whole thing in great detail. I might just take advantage of that skill of his and bring him along more often…. It was one of the best mixed-cases we’ve ever bought. A future sommelier in the family?
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Bear update
(from backlog, this happened just about exactly a year ago…)
I had heard rumors of the bear. After seeing a man in the back yard with a gun and encountering a visiting grandfather who had seen the bear (see original bear post here), I got my turn. We were sitting downstairs watching a movie. You know how sometimes in your peripheral vision you will think you see something big and hairy, the proverbial monster, but when you turn to look it is a robin, or a squirrel? I glimpsed something out the corner of my eye, turned to look, and it WAS a big hairy monster just cruising through the back yard. In no way did it seem predatory or interested in diversion, but it was BIG, strong, and powerful. Awesome. We ran upstairs for a better view and all saw it out the bedroom window. I immediately called the neighbor whose yard he'd gone into, and her husband ran out with a camera, which startled the bear who ran away down the path to the next street over.
I called to report the sighting (which we are told to do, but, I'm learning, might not be in the best interest of the bear). That night I saw ranger trucks with big lights out looking for it. I learned later that it was a 350-pound male and had been tranquilized the next morning and moved to a more remote location because they felt it was getting too used to people.
That was a first for me. I finally saw a bear in the "wild." I am thrilled. There is a surreal feeling to seeing a large, wild creature like that trotting by the kids' swing set and trampoline. The lawn just seemed so wrong.
No personal sightings since but rumors of more bears and a report last week of a mountain lion at 10:30 pm a few blocks away. A few weeks ago, the new family from Scotland took video of the fresh bear scat on the sidewalk just around the corner. Heard some loud sniffing outside the window the other night, but when I went to look, nothing there. Could have been a dog, a raccoon, a fox, or...
I had heard rumors of the bear. After seeing a man in the back yard with a gun and encountering a visiting grandfather who had seen the bear (see original bear post here), I got my turn. We were sitting downstairs watching a movie. You know how sometimes in your peripheral vision you will think you see something big and hairy, the proverbial monster, but when you turn to look it is a robin, or a squirrel? I glimpsed something out the corner of my eye, turned to look, and it WAS a big hairy monster just cruising through the back yard. In no way did it seem predatory or interested in diversion, but it was BIG, strong, and powerful. Awesome. We ran upstairs for a better view and all saw it out the bedroom window. I immediately called the neighbor whose yard he'd gone into, and her husband ran out with a camera, which startled the bear who ran away down the path to the next street over.
I called to report the sighting (which we are told to do, but, I'm learning, might not be in the best interest of the bear). That night I saw ranger trucks with big lights out looking for it. I learned later that it was a 350-pound male and had been tranquilized the next morning and moved to a more remote location because they felt it was getting too used to people.
That was a first for me. I finally saw a bear in the "wild." I am thrilled. There is a surreal feeling to seeing a large, wild creature like that trotting by the kids' swing set and trampoline. The lawn just seemed so wrong.
No personal sightings since but rumors of more bears and a report last week of a mountain lion at 10:30 pm a few blocks away. A few weeks ago, the new family from Scotland took video of the fresh bear scat on the sidewalk just around the corner. Heard some loud sniffing outside the window the other night, but when I went to look, nothing there. Could have been a dog, a raccoon, a fox, or...
Backlog
I haven’t been posting much, but am inspired to update the last couple of years.
Yes, really!
I have many posts that have just never gotten up, most from a year or two ago. It will be a bit scattered time-wise, but every day or two, along with current events, I’m going to try to clear up the backlog. And I’ll try to give you a hint about when it happened.
Yes, really!
I have many posts that have just never gotten up, most from a year or two ago. It will be a bit scattered time-wise, but every day or two, along with current events, I’m going to try to clear up the backlog. And I’ll try to give you a hint about when it happened.
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