I know that my posts have been few and far between of late. This is because my mother is still visiting, and I have very little time to sit at the computer.
There have been only minor developments lately, anyway First, I got another job. (The tutoring company hasn't provided me even one tutoring session yet. I hope their new business takes off soon, for their sake as well as mine, but I had to seek something additional for the time being.) I will be a school crossing guard. Yes, that's right. I will take my place amongst the ranks of little old men and soccer moms making sure the children of my fair city get safely across the street before and after school. It's a little humiliating, but the pay is good and the hours are great.
Darling Wife and I took mother for a visit up to Apple Hill for harvest time this past weekend. DW says she's getting a little tired of going up there every year, but I love apples and I love fall. So I had a nice time, and I'm sure DW won't complain when I bake her an apple cake this week.
There has been no news from the scottie breeder, but I still have high hopes. If she breeds her dog soon, we can still get the little tyke sometime in February. If she doesn't breed soon, I have had some promising leads from another breeder. We'll see.
Our holiday travel plans are beginning to shape up nicely, and we are hoping to go down to Monterey this weekend. I'll let you know how it goes... if I have the time. But I should be back up to writing more regularly in October.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
The Other Valley
My mother has been visiting for a little over a week. She's been here before and seen most of the major tourist attractions, so we have been choosing some of the more engaging B-level sites to explore during this visit. Last week that took us up to Lake Tahoe and Reno. We also toured the home of Leland Stanford, one-time governor of California, president of the Union Pacific Railroad, and founder of Stanford University. All of this was fairly familiar to me and interesting to her.
But over the weekend we embarked upon the unknown. We ventured into the Sonoma valley wine country.
But over the weekend we embarked upon the unknown. We ventured into the Sonoma valley wine country.
Of course, Sonoma is pretty well-known amongst wine drinkers, but it has always been overshadowed by its more famous neighbor, Napa. Darling Wife and I have toured Napa on numerous occasions with just about every houseguest we've had. They all want to go to Napa. And it is a short freeway ride from our house, so of course we indulge them. Certainly Napa is set up for tourism. It has wine snobs, wine trains, wine buses, wine limos, and vineyards that are more like amusement parks than wineries, some of them even charging $20-$30 just to let you through the gates.Sonoma has its fair share of elaborate wineries too, but it is a little less popular, therefore, less crowded and less flashy. It also has much more than just wineries. It has some pretty cool history. The town itself has a plaza/square packed with buildings from the 1800's, including the last and northernmost mission on the Mission Trail, aka El Camino Real.
These missions, constructed by a joint-venture of the Catholic church and the Spanish government over a period of about 150 years, cover eleven of the southwestern states. They have always fascinated me, but I've never actually been to one until now.Then we toured the adjacent Spanish fort and the nearby home of General Mariano Vallejo, who once owned most of northern California and was instrumental in the "Bear Flag Incident" that made California a US state.
Finally, we dropped in to visit Jack London and the ruins of his "Wolf House."
There was definitely a "call of the wild" about the place, and I can understand why the location appealed to London. It was also a little eerie, but perhaps that had to do with the approaching night. We had to leave without sifting through the manuscripts in the museum or seeing the small house where he wrote most of his famous works.
Perhaps we will return to this "other" valley on some future excursion to drink in the beauty of the land and its famed liquid and to commune with the spirits of the dead.Friday, September 07, 2007
We have reached the End
Native Americans believed that California was the end of the world. They believed that the world literally stopped at the California coast. Travelling beyond the land of one's people meant leaving the physical world and entering the spirit realm. Western Europeans and early US citizens had a somewhat similar view. For centuries, they had travelled west, but California was as far as they could go, if you don't count the Hawaiian Islands, which they didn't. It represented the end of exploration and expansion, the final destination, which gave it a larger-than-life status. And even today, California has a mystical quality. Just say the name and visions of palm trees, orange groves, white sandy beaches, lean and tanned bodies, Hollywood glamour, and a wealth of gold dance in one's mind. People imagine that it is paradise. And in truth, much of it is magnificent beyond words. Isolated on the west by the ocean and on the east by the mighty Sierra Nevada mountain range, California is a strange and exotic place.
I never dreamed of living here. I wanted to go to the Pacific Northwest, but after failing to gain admission to my preferred universities, I accepted northern CA as close enough. But once we moved here, I was intoxicated with the place. There is so much to see and do, and everywhere nature's bounty seems to drop freely from the vines and trees. I could easily understand why people told me, "You'll never want to leave."
All of this changed after living here awhile. I came to realize that the bounty is not free. Hardly free. California's great central valley is farmed by means of elaborate irrigation systems and hard-working immigrant labor. Left alone, little if anything would grow here. The valley has what is known as a "mediterranean climate." We get a lot of rain in the winter, almost three solid months of it. And everything floods. Storm drains become overloaded, and fears of New Orleans-like levee breeches dominate the media and people's minds. Then after March, the rain stops like a dammed river, and things begin to die. What was once green and beautiful quickly takes on the golds and browns of dryness and death. The ground becomes rock hard, and the harsh winds rip the moisture from the leaves, hurling them crunchily to the ground, often still emerald in their brittleness.
And the insects! Ants invade our house several times a year. We never know when, where, and in what numbers they will strike. We awake in the morning to find ants in the kitchen cabinets or stumble to the bathroom during the night to find the countertop crawling with tiny black scavengers. Spiders envelope every bush, every home in webs, and these webs catch the dust that the farms and the wind stir up. Everything takes on an air of decay. One cannot even step outside without a coating of Deet or risk getting West Nile Virus.
And all of those wonders, those magnificant landscapes that you hear about, you must drive for hours and hours to reach them, and in between... nothing. Poor farms and empty desert. True, CA is the most populous state, but the people cluster in large cities on the coasts where houses are small and expensive and the seasons never change. In the south, it's always dry and hot, and in the north, neither warm nor cold, but chilly and damp all year round. Or they fashion modest towns in the valley, like the one we live in, where people struggle against nature with sprinklers and immigrant gardeners to create artificial oases where God never intended, ever vigilant against the barrenness and the bugs. And eventually, even those far-flung places of grandness begin to annoy. They are too far to be convenient and too sublime to be lived in. One longs for modest or normal in a land that does not understand the concept.
Yesterday, I did something I have avoided for months. I went out into my garden. Oh, I'd made brief forays into it, but then I'd turned away in disgust. But my mother is coming for a visit, so I had to brave the elements and survey the damage. And what do you think I found? You may recall that I spent much of last year entirely relandscaping our home. I cleared overgrown ivy, observed light patterns, carefully developed a garden plan, installed irrigation hoses, and planted, and planted. There were some deaths in the beginning, but nothing beyond acceptable losses. Even after the heat of July and being away for over a month, we returned to find most of our shrubbery in decent, if not perfect shape. But the months of continued nastiness have eventually taken their toll. Whether from too little or too much watering I do not know, but nearly everything I had planted with care, attention, and much expense last fall, winter, and spring has succumbed. Little remains of my wonderful garden except a few vines (homes for the ubiquitous spiders), dry sticks, and a collapsing privacy fence.
I was very frustrated at first to say the least, but now I am starting to find relief. It is apparent to me that I have travelled outside the land of my people, and this is the end, this California. The wanderlust I have had all of my life is beginning to abate. Contrary to what people said, I do want to leave.
Of course, we'll have to live here for awhile, but I'll just imagine that it is a spirit world where reality does not exist. There is little need or use in expending money or time trying to make a home here. We don't belong here, we mortals. But as in the Native American legends, it is possible to return from the spirit world after a time, and in many ways, it feels good just to realize one's true place. Yes, I will go home. Just not today.
I never dreamed of living here. I wanted to go to the Pacific Northwest, but after failing to gain admission to my preferred universities, I accepted northern CA as close enough. But once we moved here, I was intoxicated with the place. There is so much to see and do, and everywhere nature's bounty seems to drop freely from the vines and trees. I could easily understand why people told me, "You'll never want to leave."
All of this changed after living here awhile. I came to realize that the bounty is not free. Hardly free. California's great central valley is farmed by means of elaborate irrigation systems and hard-working immigrant labor. Left alone, little if anything would grow here. The valley has what is known as a "mediterranean climate." We get a lot of rain in the winter, almost three solid months of it. And everything floods. Storm drains become overloaded, and fears of New Orleans-like levee breeches dominate the media and people's minds. Then after March, the rain stops like a dammed river, and things begin to die. What was once green and beautiful quickly takes on the golds and browns of dryness and death. The ground becomes rock hard, and the harsh winds rip the moisture from the leaves, hurling them crunchily to the ground, often still emerald in their brittleness.
And the insects! Ants invade our house several times a year. We never know when, where, and in what numbers they will strike. We awake in the morning to find ants in the kitchen cabinets or stumble to the bathroom during the night to find the countertop crawling with tiny black scavengers. Spiders envelope every bush, every home in webs, and these webs catch the dust that the farms and the wind stir up. Everything takes on an air of decay. One cannot even step outside without a coating of Deet or risk getting West Nile Virus.
And all of those wonders, those magnificant landscapes that you hear about, you must drive for hours and hours to reach them, and in between... nothing. Poor farms and empty desert. True, CA is the most populous state, but the people cluster in large cities on the coasts where houses are small and expensive and the seasons never change. In the south, it's always dry and hot, and in the north, neither warm nor cold, but chilly and damp all year round. Or they fashion modest towns in the valley, like the one we live in, where people struggle against nature with sprinklers and immigrant gardeners to create artificial oases where God never intended, ever vigilant against the barrenness and the bugs. And eventually, even those far-flung places of grandness begin to annoy. They are too far to be convenient and too sublime to be lived in. One longs for modest or normal in a land that does not understand the concept.
Yesterday, I did something I have avoided for months. I went out into my garden. Oh, I'd made brief forays into it, but then I'd turned away in disgust. But my mother is coming for a visit, so I had to brave the elements and survey the damage. And what do you think I found? You may recall that I spent much of last year entirely relandscaping our home. I cleared overgrown ivy, observed light patterns, carefully developed a garden plan, installed irrigation hoses, and planted, and planted. There were some deaths in the beginning, but nothing beyond acceptable losses. Even after the heat of July and being away for over a month, we returned to find most of our shrubbery in decent, if not perfect shape. But the months of continued nastiness have eventually taken their toll. Whether from too little or too much watering I do not know, but nearly everything I had planted with care, attention, and much expense last fall, winter, and spring has succumbed. Little remains of my wonderful garden except a few vines (homes for the ubiquitous spiders), dry sticks, and a collapsing privacy fence.
I was very frustrated at first to say the least, but now I am starting to find relief. It is apparent to me that I have travelled outside the land of my people, and this is the end, this California. The wanderlust I have had all of my life is beginning to abate. Contrary to what people said, I do want to leave.
Of course, we'll have to live here for awhile, but I'll just imagine that it is a spirit world where reality does not exist. There is little need or use in expending money or time trying to make a home here. We don't belong here, we mortals. But as in the Native American legends, it is possible to return from the spirit world after a time, and in many ways, it feels good just to realize one's true place. Yes, I will go home. Just not today.
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
Great Scot!
I have mentioned before that Darling Wife and I would like to have a dog. Specifically, we have wanted a Scottish Terrier puppy for many years. ...or rather, I have. 
My parents had one when I was a child, and I adored him. I've wanted one of my own for decades, but my life has been too unsettled to make a good home for a dog. Besides, Scotties are expensive and relatively uncommon. Oh, one frequently sees Scottie merchandise. You know, the necktie or scarf with the Scottie print or the christmas tree ornament depicting a tartan-covered scottie peering into an unwrapped gift box. That stuff is everywhere. And West Highland White Terriers, which many people mistakenly believe are white Scotties, are somewhat common, too. But one seldom sees a real, live Scottish Terrier. In addition, pure-bred Scotties are prone to certain genetic diseases, so one has to be careful to buy from a reputable breeder who is knowledgeable about Scotties and breeds for the best health of the puppies. That means a lot of painstaking research into a breeder's background, etc. before buying.
My parents had one when I was a child, and I adored him. I've wanted one of my own for decades, but my life has been too unsettled to make a good home for a dog. Besides, Scotties are expensive and relatively uncommon. Oh, one frequently sees Scottie merchandise. You know, the necktie or scarf with the Scottie print or the christmas tree ornament depicting a tartan-covered scottie peering into an unwrapped gift box. That stuff is everywhere. And West Highland White Terriers, which many people mistakenly believe are white Scotties, are somewhat common, too. But one seldom sees a real, live Scottish Terrier. In addition, pure-bred Scotties are prone to certain genetic diseases, so one has to be careful to buy from a reputable breeder who is knowledgeable about Scotties and breeds for the best health of the puppies. That means a lot of painstaking research into a breeder's background, etc. before buying.I know that there are millions of perfectly good dogs in shelters around the country, so I do not need to be lectured about that. I'm not a dog snob. Some day DW and I would like to adopt a rescue pet. But dogs inherit a considerable part of their temperment from their parents; different breeds generally exhibit personality traits specific to their breed. Certainly, nurture can diminish the effects of nature, but it is never 100% sure. Dogs can and often do revert to type. One cannot completely eradicate hundreds of years of instinctual behavior just by how one treats the animal. Rescue dogs are usually mixed breeds, which makes it difficult to know what one is getting. And even if a rescue dog is pure-bred, they often come with psychological or physical baggage from their previous owner or the shelter. This will be our first dog, and we don't have much space. I don't think we can deal with special needs right now. We want to be pretty sure of the dog's health and probable temperment beforehand, and we want a puppy that will develop habits in keeping with our own.
I think Scottish Terriers are perfect for us. They have short legs, so they are smallish, which is perfect for the size of our home.
It's also much easier to get friends to look after a small dog when one goes out of town, which is important because we have no family nearby, and we go back east for weeks at a time once or twice a year. But despite their small stature, Scotties are fairly stocky, so they are hale and hearty, unlike the yappy, rat dogs that are so popular with the Paris Hilton types today. I can't stand those tiny, nervous things with their trembling, delicate natures. Plus, Scotties are not lap dogs that jump up on visitors and must be carried around in obnoxious little bags. They are independent, dignified animals that are fiercely loyal, playful, and friendly companions to those who respect them, but they are usually reserved with strangers, and they will tolerate no coddling.
With all of this in mind, I have been contacting breeders for the last few years, but I've never found just the right situation.... until now. About two weeks ago, I e-mailed a show breeder in a suburb of Reno, NV, about two hours across the Sierra Nevada mountains from where we live. Everything in our e-mail correspondence was very promising, but DW was still not convinced. Despite all of the internet research and all of the things I have told her, she just wasn't sure about Scotties. She's never known one.
The breeder invited us to visit her facility and meet her and her dogs, which we did this past weekend. It was fabulous. We talked for hours, and the breeder's philosophies and practices satisfied me entirely, and her dogs were wonderful! Darling Wife played with them the entire time, and she smiles from ear to ear anytime you mention them. She doesn't understand how I have been so patient for all these years. She is convinced that our home is missing a Scottie and wants one now.
The breeder is expecting her "bitch" to come into season at any time, and she will, with luck, have puppies in late October or early November. Once they are four weeks old, we can visit them as often as we like, and we will be able to bring one home in late January or early February. We will be travelling and have houseguests through January, so this is perfect timing for us. We are terribly excited!
Friday, August 31, 2007
An Honorable Profession
Well, I got a job.
Yesterday afternoon I received a call from a tutoring agency that I had interviewed with, and they offered me a position as a writing and reading tutor. They are a start-up company, and work won't begin for a few weeks. I am also unlikely to get many hours. But my hourly rate is excellent, and now I have something to look forward to, which makes the days seem a little less endless. I'm still hoping for something more, but it's a good start, a very good start.
Yesterday afternoon I received a call from a tutoring agency that I had interviewed with, and they offered me a position as a writing and reading tutor. They are a start-up company, and work won't begin for a few weeks. I am also unlikely to get many hours. But my hourly rate is excellent, and now I have something to look forward to, which makes the days seem a little less endless. I'm still hoping for something more, but it's a good start, a very good start.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
A day in the life
I awake at 7:00 AM because Darling Wife leaves for work at about a quarter past, and I like to see her before she goes. Besides, I used to be a morning person before late night studies, city life, and a night-owl roommate altered my sleeping habits. I still feel best if I get an early start, so I rise at 7:00, though I have nowhere particular to go.
After spending several minutes uncovering the birdcages and tending to seed trays, I read the local paper cover-to-cover as I eat breakfast. This is something I have longed to do for years. I enjoy staying abreast of national and world events, and I feel closer to my community when I read the local news and advertisements. DW used to read the paper on her bus-ride to work when we lived in Boston, but I walked the few blocks to school and work. I was seldom well-informed. When we moved to CA, I began to take the daily paper, but I hadn't time to read it. It piled up until it was all horribly out of date, then I would purge and start the pile again. I thought it would be wonderful to actually read them now that I have made my escape from the tower. But alas, as with so many things in life, it was better to want it than to have it. I am usually aware of any major news before I read the paper, and small news doesn't change much in a day. Furthermore, reading about something every day makes me lose interest in it. But I read it nevertheless.
I finish breakfast and the paper at around 8:30 AM and move into "the study" to check my e-mail accounts. It is a matter of minutes to delete the spam. I have few if any substantive messages, but if I received one, I answer it immediately. Having finished with e-mail, I read the blogs of a few friends and check the job listings on the university, the city, and the county websites. This used to occupy some time, but no longer. It only takes five or ten minutes to scan for a listing I haven't already seen. On the rare occasion that I find something promising, I shoot off a resume and wonder if I will ever hear anything back. Then I wander onto random websites, anything I can think of, really. I just want to pass some time. I try to remember things I have wanted to look up or places I might like to research. Somehow, this manages to vaporize more time than I ever expect, but I never feel like it was time well spent.
At around 10:30 AM, I make up the bed and clean up last night's dishes from the kitchen counter. I contemplate sweeping the floor or undertaking other tasks but usually decide to hold them over another day. Why not?
11:00 AM is usually when I get around to my daily work out. Sometimes I do yoga, others low-impact aerobics. And some days I ride my bike to the library instead. Despite my desire to be healthier, I am at the point where it is a struggle to convince myself to go through with the workout. It has not yet reached the point of habit or need, and it has been long enough that the newness and excitement has worn off. Usually I go through with it, if only to stave off boredom.
11:30 AM takes me into the shower. (Must remember to use the pumice stone and foot scrub.) Do I need to shave today? Probably. Do I have to? Not really. Most of the time I skip it.
Noon, check e-mail again. Then, aimlessly kill more time on Youtube or some other pointless website. Or make a blog post. Think about lunch. Perhaps I will eat. Or maybe I'll just grab a peach or something in a bit.
At 1:30 PM, I move back into the living room, check on the birds, and continue my project to recopy and reorganize the recipe-card box. Sometimes the mail has come, and I can waste a little time going over it.
DW should come home at around 3:30 or 4:00 PM, so I begin to think about dinner. I wonder whether I should start cooking, but I usually continue with my project until she walks in at about 4:30 PM. We each discuss the day we've had and decide what to have for dinner.
At 5:15 PM, I cook dinner; we eat; and then we lounge at the table reminiscing about something or simply unable to work up the energy to rise.
By 7:30 PM I'm tired of sitting with dirty plates in front of me, so I clear the table. DW wanders into the study and slowly circles work that she needs to complete. Eventually she may land on some bit and do a little while I put in a video (primetime shows are still in reruns) and resume my project.
At 8:30 or 9:00 PM, I turn the lights off over the birdcages and try to get the little ones to quiet down for the night. (It's easier to cover them up later if they have already begun to roost.)
DW goes to bed at 10:00 or 10:30 PM, so I check my e-mail one last time before covering the birdcages and joining her. I read until about 11:30 PM, and then I settle into sleep myself.
Can you imagine spending months or years full of such trivial sh**? I can't. Well, I just heard the sound of the mailman dropping off today's junk mail. It's one of the highlights of my day. Time to go sort and discard.
After spending several minutes uncovering the birdcages and tending to seed trays, I read the local paper cover-to-cover as I eat breakfast. This is something I have longed to do for years. I enjoy staying abreast of national and world events, and I feel closer to my community when I read the local news and advertisements. DW used to read the paper on her bus-ride to work when we lived in Boston, but I walked the few blocks to school and work. I was seldom well-informed. When we moved to CA, I began to take the daily paper, but I hadn't time to read it. It piled up until it was all horribly out of date, then I would purge and start the pile again. I thought it would be wonderful to actually read them now that I have made my escape from the tower. But alas, as with so many things in life, it was better to want it than to have it. I am usually aware of any major news before I read the paper, and small news doesn't change much in a day. Furthermore, reading about something every day makes me lose interest in it. But I read it nevertheless.
I finish breakfast and the paper at around 8:30 AM and move into "the study" to check my e-mail accounts. It is a matter of minutes to delete the spam. I have few if any substantive messages, but if I received one, I answer it immediately. Having finished with e-mail, I read the blogs of a few friends and check the job listings on the university, the city, and the county websites. This used to occupy some time, but no longer. It only takes five or ten minutes to scan for a listing I haven't already seen. On the rare occasion that I find something promising, I shoot off a resume and wonder if I will ever hear anything back. Then I wander onto random websites, anything I can think of, really. I just want to pass some time. I try to remember things I have wanted to look up or places I might like to research. Somehow, this manages to vaporize more time than I ever expect, but I never feel like it was time well spent.
At around 10:30 AM, I make up the bed and clean up last night's dishes from the kitchen counter. I contemplate sweeping the floor or undertaking other tasks but usually decide to hold them over another day. Why not?
11:00 AM is usually when I get around to my daily work out. Sometimes I do yoga, others low-impact aerobics. And some days I ride my bike to the library instead. Despite my desire to be healthier, I am at the point where it is a struggle to convince myself to go through with the workout. It has not yet reached the point of habit or need, and it has been long enough that the newness and excitement has worn off. Usually I go through with it, if only to stave off boredom.
11:30 AM takes me into the shower. (Must remember to use the pumice stone and foot scrub.) Do I need to shave today? Probably. Do I have to? Not really. Most of the time I skip it.
Noon, check e-mail again. Then, aimlessly kill more time on Youtube or some other pointless website. Or make a blog post. Think about lunch. Perhaps I will eat. Or maybe I'll just grab a peach or something in a bit.
At 1:30 PM, I move back into the living room, check on the birds, and continue my project to recopy and reorganize the recipe-card box. Sometimes the mail has come, and I can waste a little time going over it.
DW should come home at around 3:30 or 4:00 PM, so I begin to think about dinner. I wonder whether I should start cooking, but I usually continue with my project until she walks in at about 4:30 PM. We each discuss the day we've had and decide what to have for dinner.
At 5:15 PM, I cook dinner; we eat; and then we lounge at the table reminiscing about something or simply unable to work up the energy to rise.
By 7:30 PM I'm tired of sitting with dirty plates in front of me, so I clear the table. DW wanders into the study and slowly circles work that she needs to complete. Eventually she may land on some bit and do a little while I put in a video (primetime shows are still in reruns) and resume my project.
At 8:30 or 9:00 PM, I turn the lights off over the birdcages and try to get the little ones to quiet down for the night. (It's easier to cover them up later if they have already begun to roost.)
DW goes to bed at 10:00 or 10:30 PM, so I check my e-mail one last time before covering the birdcages and joining her. I read until about 11:30 PM, and then I settle into sleep myself.
Can you imagine spending months or years full of such trivial sh**? I can't. Well, I just heard the sound of the mailman dropping off today's junk mail. It's one of the highlights of my day. Time to go sort and discard.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Let me outta here!
OK, so I'm really starting to get tired of being home alone all day. I don't know how "stay at home moms" or "out of work dads" do it. I guess it's different if one has children at home. And I suppose there are some people who just enjoy being home all the time. But I am not one of them. Never have been. And I knew that this day would come; I just didn't know when. It's actually taken longer than I thought.
It's not that I don't have anything to do. There's plenty to do. I could mow the lawn, try to fix the irrigation system, patch and paint some nail holes in the livingroom wall, etc., etc. And I have shelves full of books I haven't had time to read. I am not a person who cannot imagine enough to keep myself occupied. It's just that after weeks of doing those things, I'm tired of them. I want out of this house. But I can't just go for walks or hang out at the library either because I know there are things at home I should be doing. I'd be happy to ignore those things for the sake of a useful activity, but I can't skive off for no good reason.
So, I need a good reason. :)
Still hoping to get a job soon, I am not in a position to undertake a commitment to anything, like volunteer work, but I'm open to other suggestions if anyone has any.
It's not that I don't have anything to do. There's plenty to do. I could mow the lawn, try to fix the irrigation system, patch and paint some nail holes in the livingroom wall, etc., etc. And I have shelves full of books I haven't had time to read. I am not a person who cannot imagine enough to keep myself occupied. It's just that after weeks of doing those things, I'm tired of them. I want out of this house. But I can't just go for walks or hang out at the library either because I know there are things at home I should be doing. I'd be happy to ignore those things for the sake of a useful activity, but I can't skive off for no good reason.
So, I need a good reason. :)
Still hoping to get a job soon, I am not in a position to undertake a commitment to anything, like volunteer work, but I'm open to other suggestions if anyone has any.
Monday, August 27, 2007
Birds of a Feather
If you've been following my recent posts, you may be expecting something about a church visit yesterday, but I am afraid I must disappoint you. For one thing, it turns out that summer is not a good time to scout churches in a college town. Every one we've visited has had a guest speaker because the pastor has been out of town. In addition, many of the church's normal activities and services have been suspended until school starts back next month. Who knew God was on an academic calendar?
Regardless, we would have gone had not we had an"incident" on Saturday. You see, some months ago, a friend asked me to look after her finches while she was out of town. Darling Wife accompanied me to care for the wee beasties on several occasions and fell in love with their adorable appearance and lively chatter. We've wanted a pet for sometime, but we aren't "cat people." Aquariums are nice, but they are mostly decorative; fish are not exactly interactive pets. And while we would both like a dog, we are not currently in a position to acquire or care for one. We'd never considered fowl. But DW thought about them while we were on our mountain adventure and declared she wanted some when we returned. We researched varieties, lifespans, needs, costs, and obligations and purchased cage, supplies, and four Orange-Cheeked Waxbill finches.
They are the cutest little critters.
Their names are Sal, Ro, Goddy, and Helga. They paired up immediately: Sal with Goddy and Helga with Ro. Sal and Helga didn't get along well, but they stayed clear of each other, so all was peaceful and happy. We observed them awhile and adjusted the perches and food to accomodate their preferences, and they began to look healthier and prettier every day.
Then, Sal and Helga began to bicker. It was occasional at first and seemed to occur when Sal would sing or exhibit signs of courtship behavior. As the weeks passed, Sal became more expressive, and Helga became more agitated. They began to quarrel, flying wildly about the cage, knocking each other down, and scaring the guano out of the other two. Our little flock was divided.
The manager of the local pet store told me this was a mating conflict. He assured me that it was temporary as mating season is almost over, and they will probably be permanently bonded by the time it comes around again. However, we would need to separate the agitators for the next month or so.
We bought a new cage and prepared to segregate the flock. This is not an easy task. They are fast and do not like to be touched. Plus with the exception of Helga, the other three finches look almost exactly alike. We tell them apart by personality and behavior. When they are madly flying around the cage trying to escape a grasping hand, there is no way to determine who is who.
We decided to try to remove Helga and Ro because Sal was the one trying to mate, and we thought it would be best to leave him and Goddy in the cage they know. We also determined to aim for Ro first because we could both keep our eyes on him from the beginning, and if we successfully caught him, we could get Helga afterwards.
After much frantic chasing, I managed to capture one of the tiny birds and put him in the other cage. Bad luck, it was Goddy. This was not surprising as Goddy is the worst flyer of the four and tends to become shocked and still when scared. So now we had to try to nab Sal, which would be difficult; he's the best flyer of the bunch. And sure enough, I ended up with Ro. Goddy was still stunned, so we thought we'd grab him, put him back in the main cage, and then try for Helga.
But it turns out that the space between the bars of the new cage was too wide, and as I attempted to secure Goddy, Ro squeezed through the bars and flew down the hallway. This would never do! We had to exchange the new cage. But first, we must get them all back into the old cage.
A search of the rooms located Ro in the window of our bedroom. Despite our worst fears, he proved easy to catch, and we returned him to a much relieved Helga. But as we were trying to recapture Goddy, he made a bid for freedom as well, this time pushing past my arm and out the cage door. But as I said, he's a poor flyer and didn't make it far. We caught him at the glass door in the living room.
You can imagine how upset DW and I are at this point. Birds are flying everywhere, and our nerves are shot. We exchanged the cage for a finch flight cage that is not as attractive as the last one but is better designed for our feathered friends. We also bought a net. Returning home, we went at it again, and this time we got Helga first. And then by pure accident, we managed to get Ro as well. Success!
Sal is put out that his friends and enemies have been removed. He calls to them across the room and sticks his head out of the bars nearest their cage. He also grows quiet and still if they sing or call back in any way. But beyond that, everything seems to be fine. Helga and Ro are more active in their new cage than they were in the community cage. We think that Sal's actions were an attempt to steal Ro from Helga, and the pair seem more confident without this fluttering threat.
So, what we thought were cheap, low-maintenance, unobtrusive pets have now multiplied into two cages, twice as much work, twice as much money, and chattering birds from both sides of our living room. And our entire Saturday disappeared with nothing accomplished but the restoration of peace within our bird community.
Given all of this, we were simply not up for church yesterday. We hope to be able to explore a new church experience this weekend.
Regardless, we would have gone had not we had an"incident" on Saturday. You see, some months ago, a friend asked me to look after her finches while she was out of town. Darling Wife accompanied me to care for the wee beasties on several occasions and fell in love with their adorable appearance and lively chatter. We've wanted a pet for sometime, but we aren't "cat people." Aquariums are nice, but they are mostly decorative; fish are not exactly interactive pets. And while we would both like a dog, we are not currently in a position to acquire or care for one. We'd never considered fowl. But DW thought about them while we were on our mountain adventure and declared she wanted some when we returned. We researched varieties, lifespans, needs, costs, and obligations and purchased cage, supplies, and four Orange-Cheeked Waxbill finches.
They are the cutest little critters.
Their names are Sal, Ro, Goddy, and Helga. They paired up immediately: Sal with Goddy and Helga with Ro. Sal and Helga didn't get along well, but they stayed clear of each other, so all was peaceful and happy. We observed them awhile and adjusted the perches and food to accomodate their preferences, and they began to look healthier and prettier every day.
Then, Sal and Helga began to bicker. It was occasional at first and seemed to occur when Sal would sing or exhibit signs of courtship behavior. As the weeks passed, Sal became more expressive, and Helga became more agitated. They began to quarrel, flying wildly about the cage, knocking each other down, and scaring the guano out of the other two. Our little flock was divided.
The manager of the local pet store told me this was a mating conflict. He assured me that it was temporary as mating season is almost over, and they will probably be permanently bonded by the time it comes around again. However, we would need to separate the agitators for the next month or so.
We bought a new cage and prepared to segregate the flock. This is not an easy task. They are fast and do not like to be touched. Plus with the exception of Helga, the other three finches look almost exactly alike. We tell them apart by personality and behavior. When they are madly flying around the cage trying to escape a grasping hand, there is no way to determine who is who.
We decided to try to remove Helga and Ro because Sal was the one trying to mate, and we thought it would be best to leave him and Goddy in the cage they know. We also determined to aim for Ro first because we could both keep our eyes on him from the beginning, and if we successfully caught him, we could get Helga afterwards.
After much frantic chasing, I managed to capture one of the tiny birds and put him in the other cage. Bad luck, it was Goddy. This was not surprising as Goddy is the worst flyer of the four and tends to become shocked and still when scared. So now we had to try to nab Sal, which would be difficult; he's the best flyer of the bunch. And sure enough, I ended up with Ro. Goddy was still stunned, so we thought we'd grab him, put him back in the main cage, and then try for Helga.
But it turns out that the space between the bars of the new cage was too wide, and as I attempted to secure Goddy, Ro squeezed through the bars and flew down the hallway. This would never do! We had to exchange the new cage. But first, we must get them all back into the old cage.
A search of the rooms located Ro in the window of our bedroom. Despite our worst fears, he proved easy to catch, and we returned him to a much relieved Helga. But as we were trying to recapture Goddy, he made a bid for freedom as well, this time pushing past my arm and out the cage door. But as I said, he's a poor flyer and didn't make it far. We caught him at the glass door in the living room.
You can imagine how upset DW and I are at this point. Birds are flying everywhere, and our nerves are shot. We exchanged the cage for a finch flight cage that is not as attractive as the last one but is better designed for our feathered friends. We also bought a net. Returning home, we went at it again, and this time we got Helga first. And then by pure accident, we managed to get Ro as well. Success!
Sal is put out that his friends and enemies have been removed. He calls to them across the room and sticks his head out of the bars nearest their cage. He also grows quiet and still if they sing or call back in any way. But beyond that, everything seems to be fine. Helga and Ro are more active in their new cage than they were in the community cage. We think that Sal's actions were an attempt to steal Ro from Helga, and the pair seem more confident without this fluttering threat.
So, what we thought were cheap, low-maintenance, unobtrusive pets have now multiplied into two cages, twice as much work, twice as much money, and chattering birds from both sides of our living room. And our entire Saturday disappeared with nothing accomplished but the restoration of peace within our bird community.
Given all of this, we were simply not up for church yesterday. We hope to be able to explore a new church experience this weekend.
Friday, August 24, 2007
Rolling Stone
The old saying is not really true. I've moved a lot over the past decade, but I've gathered plenty of moss as I've rolled along. Each place I've lived has given me memorable experiences, good friends, and new possessions. I don't regret any of the moves I've made. But I am reaching the point at which I think it would be nice to stay still awhile, perhaps for more than awhile. I long for more than just moss; I'd like a nice garden with trees and flowers.
These thoughts played through my mind as I read of a friend's preparations for moving this week in her blog. It is so nice not to need to pack up my things, empty out the place I've called home for the past year, struggle to re-personalize another space. Heck, I'm not even finished with this one yet.
But there is another thought swirling around in the recess of my brain...
When you live in a college town, 50% of the population consists of student renters, and August 31st/September 1st is "Moving Day." For weeks before and after this date, moving trucks and moving pods appear all over town as people pack up to leave or arrive at their new homes. So many are going to begin new lives, and so many more are coming to begin new lives. There is a spirit of excitement and freshness in the air that is almost palpable as undergraduates and their parents swarm all over town and campus, buying supplies and finding their way around. And somehow, I feel left out.
These thoughts played through my mind as I read of a friend's preparations for moving this week in her blog. It is so nice not to need to pack up my things, empty out the place I've called home for the past year, struggle to re-personalize another space. Heck, I'm not even finished with this one yet.
But there is another thought swirling around in the recess of my brain...
When you live in a college town, 50% of the population consists of student renters, and August 31st/September 1st is "Moving Day." For weeks before and after this date, moving trucks and moving pods appear all over town as people pack up to leave or arrive at their new homes. So many are going to begin new lives, and so many more are coming to begin new lives. There is a spirit of excitement and freshness in the air that is almost palpable as undergraduates and their parents swarm all over town and campus, buying supplies and finding their way around. And somehow, I feel left out.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Shall We Gather at the...er... Electronic Display Device
As an INTJ, I usually find myself measuring an issue by its practical ability to accomplish a goal and its efficiency in doing so, not its abstract potential or popularity. Now of course, defining the goal is not necessarily an easy task; therefore, I often advocate something that other people might deem inefficient or backward-looking, but that is because many people don't think about all consequences. People can often be bamboozled by what seems good in some respects but causes major difficulties in others. And frequently people become engrossed in something because it is popular or fresh, regardless of whether it is a real and complete improvement. So, while I have little patience for those who insist on maintaining a system that does not work for the sake of tradition*, you can surely see that I have no tolerance for change for change's sake. Just because something is new and exciting makes it no better than being old and familiar. The important thing is will it work.
Case in point, this weekend Darling Wife and I attended a Presbyterian church. It was a new and interesting experience for both of us. The church was an old one downtown with an established congregation and a historic building complete with vaulted ceilings, pews, and a fantastic organ. In the rack on the back of each pew, there were "pew Bibles" and handsome hymnals. But these were not used during the service. Instead, a projector screen was pulled down in front of their lovely stained glass window of Jesus knocking at the door, and the lyics to the songs for the service were displayed on it using PowerPoint.
This was not the first time we had witnessed this practice. In fact, it is a common sight these days. Frankly, I do not understand it. I looked over the hymnals; they were not old, worn, or out of date. At some time in the fairly recent past, the church no doubt spent thousands of dollars on them. But now it apparently feels a pressing need to come up to the times and embrace new technology. So, it undoubtedly spent thousands more on a laptop, projector, screen, and PowerPoint program, and they made an announcement during the service that they were looking to hire someone to create the slides for each service in the future.
Why, I ask you? Why make this change? Is there some reason that I am overlooking that makes the projections better or more efficient than the hymnals. Sure, it saves time because people don't have to shuffle through the book during the service to find "Hymn #450", but surely this is a minor improvement that does not justify the effort and expense. Do the PowerPoint slides somehow bring one closer to God? I can't imagine how. (Truth be told, I had not brought my glasses, so I couldn't read the $!&% slide. So, I was not feeling particularly godly at the moment.)
Now, I am not a Luddite. I am not against technology, per se. Indeed, I think that PowerPoint is a wonderful tool, especially when one already has the material one wants to display in a digital format or when one will need to create the material using a digital format. It is often the easiest method, and provides the opportunity for some sophisticated visual effects. But that does not mean that I believe it should be used indiscriminately in every case. In this case, the church already had the material in print form; they didn't have the skills to successfully utilize the digital form; and the digital devices do not adequately integrate into the fabric of their early 20th-century building and decor.
Consequently, I can only conclude that the church, and many others, felt compelled to adopt this method because they feel pressured to seem relevant and contemporary to today's society. And I guess that's a good enough reason.... maybe. Unless, that is, the effort causes them to compromise other, important goals, like caring for the needy or keeping their focus on spiritual, rather than a physical, treasure. Or unless the desire to seem relevant supercedes the need to be relevant, which I find is more and more often the case.
*There are some traditions that I like and enjoy, but my reasons extend beyond "because it's tradition."
Case in point, this weekend Darling Wife and I attended a Presbyterian church. It was a new and interesting experience for both of us. The church was an old one downtown with an established congregation and a historic building complete with vaulted ceilings, pews, and a fantastic organ. In the rack on the back of each pew, there were "pew Bibles" and handsome hymnals. But these were not used during the service. Instead, a projector screen was pulled down in front of their lovely stained glass window of Jesus knocking at the door, and the lyics to the songs for the service were displayed on it using PowerPoint.
This was not the first time we had witnessed this practice. In fact, it is a common sight these days. Frankly, I do not understand it. I looked over the hymnals; they were not old, worn, or out of date. At some time in the fairly recent past, the church no doubt spent thousands of dollars on them. But now it apparently feels a pressing need to come up to the times and embrace new technology. So, it undoubtedly spent thousands more on a laptop, projector, screen, and PowerPoint program, and they made an announcement during the service that they were looking to hire someone to create the slides for each service in the future.
Why, I ask you? Why make this change? Is there some reason that I am overlooking that makes the projections better or more efficient than the hymnals. Sure, it saves time because people don't have to shuffle through the book during the service to find "Hymn #450", but surely this is a minor improvement that does not justify the effort and expense. Do the PowerPoint slides somehow bring one closer to God? I can't imagine how. (Truth be told, I had not brought my glasses, so I couldn't read the $!&% slide. So, I was not feeling particularly godly at the moment.)
Now, I am not a Luddite. I am not against technology, per se. Indeed, I think that PowerPoint is a wonderful tool, especially when one already has the material one wants to display in a digital format or when one will need to create the material using a digital format. It is often the easiest method, and provides the opportunity for some sophisticated visual effects. But that does not mean that I believe it should be used indiscriminately in every case. In this case, the church already had the material in print form; they didn't have the skills to successfully utilize the digital form; and the digital devices do not adequately integrate into the fabric of their early 20th-century building and decor.
Consequently, I can only conclude that the church, and many others, felt compelled to adopt this method because they feel pressured to seem relevant and contemporary to today's society. And I guess that's a good enough reason.... maybe. Unless, that is, the effort causes them to compromise other, important goals, like caring for the needy or keeping their focus on spiritual, rather than a physical, treasure. Or unless the desire to seem relevant supercedes the need to be relevant, which I find is more and more often the case.
*There are some traditions that I like and enjoy, but my reasons extend beyond "because it's tradition."
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