Thursday, November 25, 2010
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Two Rants
I am preparing my Thanksgiving message - be forewarned. I get maudlin, verklempt, sappy, soppy and cloying. I fairly REVEL in it; chalk it up to my being OLD ENOUGH that I have a lot for which I am eye-wateringly grateful.
But first....
Rant #1: I am outraged and appalled at the whole TSA thing. You get a choice of being seen (virtually) nekkid by someone who is "scanning" or being groped by someone else. It' s been in the news a lot lately. Now, I wouldn't even have a problem with the Nekkid Scan so much if it were simply that the images vanished instantly the minute you walked out. I'd even go along with the ability to take a photo IF -- IF -- there was something clearly dangerous that warranted using the image.
But no, I understand there are nekkid scans of people (allegedly either laughable, ugly or "hot") that HAVE made their way out of the airports and onto the innerwebs. Even if there's no way to actually identify the victim...erhm....subject, I draw the line there. The story I read (and no, sadly, I don't have the documention which means this is "hearsay" or by legal definition, "bullshit") said that the TSA had no way to figure out who was stealing the images and posting them on the innerwebs. Shucks.
HOWEVER - that being said, I hope no one tries pulling some kind of a scene during this Thanksgiving holiday travel scene. I've read about the boycott or "opt-out" or what will you and the hippie-rebel-outraged-old-lady part of me shouts "RIGHT ON, BRUTHAH!!" But the old-grandma part of me thinks of all the other old grandmas whose families might be so delayed by something like this that whole family holidays are uprooted, spoiled, cancelled. What's the right thing to do? Damned if I know. Looks like a lose-lose to me. For my part? I b'lieve I may just avoid flying anywhere any more. Fortuately, I guess, my life is such that travel of any part is not urgent, and we sort of like seeing the sights when we go anywhere. Furthermore, if god meant us to fly, she'd have given us wings and big mammary muscles. Shaddup.
Rant #2: Everyone knows that the use of tobacco carries with it the potential for certain health hazards. That has been made abundantly clear - and in case somehow someone missed it, there are dire warnings on cigarette packs. Non-smokers don't see them, probably don't care, and are thus unaffected. SMOKERS do see them, probably care to a greater or lesser degree....and have either made up their mind, as a result, to:
a) quit smoking, by sheer dint of athletic prowess or by emotional or chemical help;
b) cut way back, which does reduce some of the hazards, while still being aware that the hazards are there and they're still potentially going to develop the health problems;
c) know all that and continue to smoke, for whatever reason.
Now - I smoked for years, up to about a pack a day (in the days when I was collecting my Raleigh coupons). Anyone know if there's any value to eleventy-bagillion Raleigh coupons? I HAD to start smoking. I played a character on stage who smoked. And I was a theater person and we were cool and all sat around smoking. I was also a writer, and a big glass ashtray was as necessary as the typewriter it sat next to.
I quit smoking - while I was pregnant, at least, and I never did smoke into my kids' faces (that I know of -- certainly not intentionally). I knew the pleasure of a "cigarette after". When I met Mr Dearling, he mentioned that he didn't care for smoking, that it made him quite ill. I quit smoking in the house or car or anywhere he might be (realizing early on that if I let this one go I deserved to just be walled up and forgotten, even without the wine....five points for recognizing the allusion). I still smoked occasionally, out with other folks or wossname.
Present status? I feel pretty bad for people who are literally hooked on tobacco, people whose lives are interrupted by the need for a smoke, the people who can't take a four-hour flighte because they can't "step out for a cig" (whether or not they're seen nekkid first). I feel sorry for people who lose relationships, alienate friends or risk children by the Great Need. But by the same token, it IS A CHOICE. Even the most hard-bitten, hard-core smokers CAN live through withdrawal; you don't DIE without tobacco. (And yes, you in the back muttering "they can die WITH it" under your breath, that's true - says so right on the pack).
But I still occasionally enjoy a smoke. VERY occasionally, and since the damned things cost as much as a bottle of wine, they should be used the same way. (That doesn't count Chocovine, which I feel inclined to enjoy a lot oftener than a cigarette...OR Absinthe, my new fave, which no one enjoys very often.)
SIDE NOTE: I love Absinthe, it's legal again. I love the taste (anise, which a lot of people don't like) and I love the frou-frou. You have to put it in a tiny glass, and then suspend a slotted silver spoon over it. You then put a sugar cube on the spoon and VERY SLOWLY drip ice water over the sugar which dissolves down into the glass, giving the absinthe a shimmery greenish glow. "The Green Faery". It's dramatic, it's frou-frou, it was the talk of Paris among the intelligentsia and artistes and writers of the 19th century. I'd probably drink it even if I didn't like it, for the drama. Back to my rant.
OK - so smoking. I saw a commercial for the Next Big Deterrent. They're literally going to put pictures on the packs of dead people with their "Y"-shaped autopsy incisions crudely stitched back up (not done by anyone on CSI clearly). Or pictures of a young man in his coffin. Or a young woman with a nasal cannula and dismal eyes. Or the lungs - you know the ones: shrivelled, blackened, rotten-looking.
Now - with a reminder to those who know me (and information for those who don't): I tend toward the irreverent. So how did the information and illustrations of these new picture warnings affect me?
TRADING CARD PACKS!! I hope they're on my brand, because I want them ALL! I want a mint-condition collector set -- and I hope there's a website where they can be traded -- "I'll give you two Rotten Lungs for a mint-condition Dead Guy Inna Coffin! I have three Autopsy Guys, anyone need an extra? Or I'll trade all three for a Dying Girl.....
That's what they look like to me. Just sayin'.
Rant #1: I am outraged and appalled at the whole TSA thing. You get a choice of being seen (virtually) nekkid by someone who is "scanning" or being groped by someone else. It' s been in the news a lot lately. Now, I wouldn't even have a problem with the Nekkid Scan so much if it were simply that the images vanished instantly the minute you walked out. I'd even go along with the ability to take a photo IF -- IF -- there was something clearly dangerous that warranted using the image.
But no, I understand there are nekkid scans of people (allegedly either laughable, ugly or "hot") that HAVE made their way out of the airports and onto the innerwebs. Even if there's no way to actually identify the victim...erhm....subject, I draw the line there. The story I read (and no, sadly, I don't have the documention which means this is "hearsay" or by legal definition, "bullshit") said that the TSA had no way to figure out who was stealing the images and posting them on the innerwebs. Shucks.
HOWEVER - that being said, I hope no one tries pulling some kind of a scene during this Thanksgiving holiday travel scene. I've read about the boycott or "opt-out" or what will you and the hippie-rebel-outraged-old-lady part of me shouts "RIGHT ON, BRUTHAH!!" But the old-grandma part of me thinks of all the other old grandmas whose families might be so delayed by something like this that whole family holidays are uprooted, spoiled, cancelled. What's the right thing to do? Damned if I know. Looks like a lose-lose to me. For my part? I b'lieve I may just avoid flying anywhere any more. Fortuately, I guess, my life is such that travel of any part is not urgent, and we sort of like seeing the sights when we go anywhere. Furthermore, if god meant us to fly, she'd have given us wings and big mammary muscles. Shaddup.
Rant #2: Everyone knows that the use of tobacco carries with it the potential for certain health hazards. That has been made abundantly clear - and in case somehow someone missed it, there are dire warnings on cigarette packs. Non-smokers don't see them, probably don't care, and are thus unaffected. SMOKERS do see them, probably care to a greater or lesser degree....and have either made up their mind, as a result, to:
a) quit smoking, by sheer dint of athletic prowess or by emotional or chemical help;
b) cut way back, which does reduce some of the hazards, while still being aware that the hazards are there and they're still potentially going to develop the health problems;
c) know all that and continue to smoke, for whatever reason.
Now - I smoked for years, up to about a pack a day (in the days when I was collecting my Raleigh coupons). Anyone know if there's any value to eleventy-bagillion Raleigh coupons? I HAD to start smoking. I played a character on stage who smoked. And I was a theater person and we were cool and all sat around smoking. I was also a writer, and a big glass ashtray was as necessary as the typewriter it sat next to.
I quit smoking - while I was pregnant, at least, and I never did smoke into my kids' faces (that I know of -- certainly not intentionally). I knew the pleasure of a "cigarette after". When I met Mr Dearling, he mentioned that he didn't care for smoking, that it made him quite ill. I quit smoking in the house or car or anywhere he might be (realizing early on that if I let this one go I deserved to just be walled up and forgotten, even without the wine....five points for recognizing the allusion). I still smoked occasionally, out with other folks or wossname.
Present status? I feel pretty bad for people who are literally hooked on tobacco, people whose lives are interrupted by the need for a smoke, the people who can't take a four-hour flighte because they can't "step out for a cig" (whether or not they're seen nekkid first). I feel sorry for people who lose relationships, alienate friends or risk children by the Great Need. But by the same token, it IS A CHOICE. Even the most hard-bitten, hard-core smokers CAN live through withdrawal; you don't DIE without tobacco. (And yes, you in the back muttering "they can die WITH it" under your breath, that's true - says so right on the pack).
But I still occasionally enjoy a smoke. VERY occasionally, and since the damned things cost as much as a bottle of wine, they should be used the same way. (That doesn't count Chocovine, which I feel inclined to enjoy a lot oftener than a cigarette...OR Absinthe, my new fave, which no one enjoys very often.)
SIDE NOTE: I love Absinthe, it's legal again. I love the taste (anise, which a lot of people don't like) and I love the frou-frou. You have to put it in a tiny glass, and then suspend a slotted silver spoon over it. You then put a sugar cube on the spoon and VERY SLOWLY drip ice water over the sugar which dissolves down into the glass, giving the absinthe a shimmery greenish glow. "The Green Faery". It's dramatic, it's frou-frou, it was the talk of Paris among the intelligentsia and artistes and writers of the 19th century. I'd probably drink it even if I didn't like it, for the drama. Back to my rant.
OK - so smoking. I saw a commercial for the Next Big Deterrent. They're literally going to put pictures on the packs of dead people with their "Y"-shaped autopsy incisions crudely stitched back up (not done by anyone on CSI clearly). Or pictures of a young man in his coffin. Or a young woman with a nasal cannula and dismal eyes. Or the lungs - you know the ones: shrivelled, blackened, rotten-looking.
Now - with a reminder to those who know me (and information for those who don't): I tend toward the irreverent. So how did the information and illustrations of these new picture warnings affect me?
TRADING CARD PACKS!! I hope they're on my brand, because I want them ALL! I want a mint-condition collector set -- and I hope there's a website where they can be traded -- "I'll give you two Rotten Lungs for a mint-condition Dead Guy Inna Coffin! I have three Autopsy Guys, anyone need an extra? Or I'll trade all three for a Dying Girl.....
That's what they look like to me. Just sayin'.
Friday, November 19, 2010
Count the Words....
All right, I'll accept all brickbats and tsk tsks and "man are you a crappy blogger". Will it redeem me at all if I mention Best Intentions to Improve? (Yes, you in the back, you probably have heard it before; shaddup.)
However. Right about now I AM counting words - yes, I'm doing NaNoWriMo again. I'm about to go off to a favorite writing spot and attempt to break 40k. (Being a Professional Typist for all those years is paying off...a tip o' the hat to Mr. Johnson, who told me in 11th grade that I should learn typing "so that you'll have a saleable skill in case you never marry".) Of course, I married three times, HA HA I showed HIM! But my Chosen Profession of being a classical ballerina crashed when I learned that you had to be 5'4" for any professional company, hence the Secretarial Career.
So for the moment I'm pretty much going to be hunched over my netbook pounding. But I have a new post begun here, and here's a teaser: it's a Rant that will probably offend a whole bunch o' people (if they ever read it, which is unlikely, but I'll feel better).
I'm at that point in my NaNo novel where all of my characters have turned on me. The lovely old priest seems to be some kind of wonky killer or something; the main guy just may be worse than the priest, and next thing I know, the rabbi is going to drop a milchig fork in the drawer with the fleishig silverware.
Oy.
However. Right about now I AM counting words - yes, I'm doing NaNoWriMo again. I'm about to go off to a favorite writing spot and attempt to break 40k. (Being a Professional Typist for all those years is paying off...a tip o' the hat to Mr. Johnson, who told me in 11th grade that I should learn typing "so that you'll have a saleable skill in case you never marry".) Of course, I married three times, HA HA I showed HIM! But my Chosen Profession of being a classical ballerina crashed when I learned that you had to be 5'4" for any professional company, hence the Secretarial Career.
So for the moment I'm pretty much going to be hunched over my netbook pounding. But I have a new post begun here, and here's a teaser: it's a Rant that will probably offend a whole bunch o' people (if they ever read it, which is unlikely, but I'll feel better).
I'm at that point in my NaNo novel where all of my characters have turned on me. The lovely old priest seems to be some kind of wonky killer or something; the main guy just may be worse than the priest, and next thing I know, the rabbi is going to drop a milchig fork in the drawer with the fleishig silverware.
Oy.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Remember --
November 10, 1975
35 years ago today
The Edmund Fitzgerald sank in a sudden squall on Lake Superior, around 17 miles from Whitefish Bay. It sank quickly, no distress signals reported, carrying all 29 aboard to their frigid deaths. When the wreck was found, it was discovered to be as above: broken in two.
The song (everyone knows the song) says that Lake Superior "never gives up her dead" - the fact is, that's a fact. The water is so cold that the usual bacteria who cause disintegration and the creation of gases which cause the corpse to float are absent. Lake Superior keeps her dead.
I mark this date - as a lover of Lake Superior and as a woman whose family (or part of it) made its living on the lake and witnessed her beauty and her fury.
A fact which brings tears to my eyes: every year the light at Split Rock (no longer in regular use) is illuminated on November 10th, to remember and honor the crew of the Edmund Fitzgerald.
One day I will be there to see it.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Here's ANOTHER Fine Library You've Got Me Into....
This one is in Marquette, and it IS a FINE library. There is the ubiquitous free wifi...but in ths beautiful and spacious old building there is a second floor which has (among the many shelves of books) rows of dark wood desks, each with dividers rendering it private from the next. There is ample plug-in-place-ness. And this desk is large enough to accommodate a full-sized laptop and a large bunch of books or other materials.
Mr. Dearling returns to tell me he's found breathtaking reading rooms with fireplaces, wonderful comfortable chairs, &c, where e will happily bide his time while I handle my emails and....ok, I admit it....tend to my little plot on Frontierville in Facebook. It really is so comfortable here, though, that one is tempted to linger over reading other blogs, checking out all the LOLs (Cute Overload, Historic LOLs, Happy Chair is Happy -- not taking time to put links here, but I suspect I'm not the only one who spends that kind of time chuckling over the available offerings).
We had a couple of errands to tend to "in town" - some purchases, &c - and I find myself feeling an emotion that I forgot I had ever experienced before: when I was ending my senior year in high school, I had my First Real Beau, whom I adored. He took me, on a few occasions, home with him - and "home" was a farm near Aberdeen, South Dakota. I was introduced to his large family and to my first real experience on a midwestern farm. There were chickens, a few dairy cows - and he and his father grew crops too, though I disremember what they were. (It comes to me - that might be where my newly-rediscovered addiction to the glory that is fresh, sweet, RAW milk came from...but I digress.)
Anyway, I chipped in with work, rather than just sit around, and I got pretty decent at collecting eggs and even mucking out the henhouse. As a result, on the day that his mother and sister were "going in to town", I was allowed to go along and was even given a few dollars of "egg money".
Well -- I found I really did not WANT to "dress up" and go into town shopping. I managed, and was of course polite to the mother, the sister, and the girl cousin who went with us. But I found myself wishing I could just "go home" and stay around the cows and so on. And....today, I found myself sort of feeling that way again! Mr. Dearling loves coming to this cabin so he can use it as a base camp for his walking tours, &c. I, on the other hand, LOVE just being THERE.
My decisions involve "Do I knit on the sofa, or in the rocking chair in front of the fire?" Or "Is it warm enough to lounge around on the screened-in porch to read?" or...."how about spending ALL DAY in the loft at that perfect little desk where I can write, uninterrupted, except to gaze out the window at the dancing aspens and fluttering brilliant leaves"?
I finished another knitting project last night - it had been in the bottom of a basket for about two years, but I discovered the pattern and was able to sort it out and complete it. It's a yarmulke. But....well, I followed it exactly and used size 1 needles, but - I think I'll have to find a Jewish Sasquatch; it's rather large. Oh well - there are dimensions involved and those are numbers (see previous post).
As for right now - I'm happy to wrap it up and "go home" to the cabin. Mr. Dearling has another outing planned for our last two days here, but I'm staying in. It's not specious though -- I took out a novel I've been working on, began rereading it from the beginning - and had an EPIPHANY! I suddenly realized that there was something could be done MUCH better, and I can hardly wait to settle back in at the desk and start my revision!!
Hope you're all enjoying the same rich and beautiful autumn where you are, as we're seeing here. I'm glad to recall that "peak" should just be about settling in at home so we won't miss it there. I'll post again from home, the promised tale of the Wonderful Person ( patience, friends, patience!) I hear my Lovely Daughter chortling; I'm not known to possess that particular virtue myself.
Back to the absence of innerwebs. (I wonder - would I relish every instant of this as much, if I didn't know the full range of technology IS at my fingertips at home?)
Mr. Dearling returns to tell me he's found breathtaking reading rooms with fireplaces, wonderful comfortable chairs, &c, where e will happily bide his time while I handle my emails and....ok, I admit it....tend to my little plot on Frontierville in Facebook. It really is so comfortable here, though, that one is tempted to linger over reading other blogs, checking out all the LOLs (Cute Overload, Historic LOLs, Happy Chair is Happy -- not taking time to put links here, but I suspect I'm not the only one who spends that kind of time chuckling over the available offerings).
We had a couple of errands to tend to "in town" - some purchases, &c - and I find myself feeling an emotion that I forgot I had ever experienced before: when I was ending my senior year in high school, I had my First Real Beau, whom I adored. He took me, on a few occasions, home with him - and "home" was a farm near Aberdeen, South Dakota. I was introduced to his large family and to my first real experience on a midwestern farm. There were chickens, a few dairy cows - and he and his father grew crops too, though I disremember what they were. (It comes to me - that might be where my newly-rediscovered addiction to the glory that is fresh, sweet, RAW milk came from...but I digress.)
Anyway, I chipped in with work, rather than just sit around, and I got pretty decent at collecting eggs and even mucking out the henhouse. As a result, on the day that his mother and sister were "going in to town", I was allowed to go along and was even given a few dollars of "egg money".
Well -- I found I really did not WANT to "dress up" and go into town shopping. I managed, and was of course polite to the mother, the sister, and the girl cousin who went with us. But I found myself wishing I could just "go home" and stay around the cows and so on. And....today, I found myself sort of feeling that way again! Mr. Dearling loves coming to this cabin so he can use it as a base camp for his walking tours, &c. I, on the other hand, LOVE just being THERE.
My decisions involve "Do I knit on the sofa, or in the rocking chair in front of the fire?" Or "Is it warm enough to lounge around on the screened-in porch to read?" or...."how about spending ALL DAY in the loft at that perfect little desk where I can write, uninterrupted, except to gaze out the window at the dancing aspens and fluttering brilliant leaves"?
I finished another knitting project last night - it had been in the bottom of a basket for about two years, but I discovered the pattern and was able to sort it out and complete it. It's a yarmulke. But....well, I followed it exactly and used size 1 needles, but - I think I'll have to find a Jewish Sasquatch; it's rather large. Oh well - there are dimensions involved and those are numbers (see previous post).
As for right now - I'm happy to wrap it up and "go home" to the cabin. Mr. Dearling has another outing planned for our last two days here, but I'm staying in. It's not specious though -- I took out a novel I've been working on, began rereading it from the beginning - and had an EPIPHANY! I suddenly realized that there was something could be done MUCH better, and I can hardly wait to settle back in at the desk and start my revision!!
Hope you're all enjoying the same rich and beautiful autumn where you are, as we're seeing here. I'm glad to recall that "peak" should just be about settling in at home so we won't miss it there. I'll post again from home, the promised tale of the Wonderful Person ( patience, friends, patience!) I hear my Lovely Daughter chortling; I'm not known to possess that particular virtue myself.
Back to the absence of innerwebs. (I wonder - would I relish every instant of this as much, if I didn't know the full range of technology IS at my fingertips at home?)
Monday, October 4, 2010
Sequence?
OK, here's the deal: I started a blog post several days ago. But I wasn't where I could post all the pictures I wanted, so I didn't. So now it's in "EDIT" where I can eventually go tidy it up, fix the date and post it. Or not, because it'll be out of sequence.
But I think I'm past caring about sequence, so here's the deal: I will be posting about a Most Remarkable Day (with pictures). And it won't matter so much about sequence anyway, as it deals with meeting one of the most interesting, talented women I've had the pleasure to cross the path of. I'll give you a little teaser: when I was introduced to her (by Mr Dearling, at a fun event in a nearby town) I did NOT -- I repeat, I did not - squeal, and while (not) jumping up and down, declare "Are you really THE...(her name will appear here).
In the meantime, a few recent details: first, I am writing from the public library in Munising, Michigan, on the fourth of ten days we're spending in the forest cabin of friends. It's isolated, beautiful, thoroughly modern. It's comfortable beyond belief, and is heated by a (gas) potbelly stove. There are rocking chairs, comfortable sofas and a modern kitchen. This is the third (I think) year we've had this uncommon privilege. There IS no internet (hence the library) and there's no teevee (except one we could watch tapes or DVDs on if we had any, but we don't).
Mr Dearling spends his days out hiking and his evenings reading. I spend my days reading, knitting, writing (fiction), daydreaming and napping. I also spend my evenings in this manner, with the occasional game of Solitaire. In my lexicon, this is the definition of "bliss". So far I have finished two books, completed a muffler and a baby cap, finished about 2/3 of the Mason Dixon "Ball Band Dishcloth" (which I've tried unsuccessfully to figure out COUNTLESS times before) and made real progress on a baby wrap. I'll post pictures and book reviews shortly (but not today). I'm keeping a daily journal, some of which may be either blog material or at least notes for same.
I also brought along some games (Yahtzee, Bananagrams, Milles Bornes) which I mean to share with Mr Dearling, and I also brought my little Tarot deck for some study. And lest ye think I'm frittering - I also have two books along for program preparation for the museum...which is admittedly another form of delight.
So to go back a bit (and so that I can work in SOME pictures, which I feel obligated to include - AM I? Obligated to put in pictures? It hangs me up sometimes) - here's what occurred before we came up here:
I have a new beau. A sweetheart. My version of Raoul the Pool Boy. His name is Natty Bumpo. ("Pathfinder", get it?) His voice actually belongs to a fellow named Simon. He has a British accent.
For some of us (well, ME) finding our way around in this world is challenging. I cannot read maps. I don't do "turn north at the gas station". I'm a "right" or "left" kinda gal. Never, in any travels, have I seen roads that are red, or state lines that are bright blue. Because I am numerically dyslexic, things like "miles" don't mean anything to me. Enter Natty Bumpo.
This is what he looks like at home. Yes, I know - "geez, Dale-Harriet, that's just a plain ol' GPS thingie." YES! And because there are satellites in the arms of seraphim in the heavens, Natty (Simon) Bumpo can tell me how to get where I am going!! I've tested him, having him take me places I know. He works as if by magic (other than the time I was going to Barnes & Noble the back way and he almost had a nervous breakdown because I wouldn't turn around; he's forgiven me).
I am loving this thing, and will head off to Racine to my Writers' Fall Retreat confident that he will direct me STRAIGHT to my destination. I have to admit, there are things in this, the 21st century, that I like. A lot.
The day is passing, and I'm feeling anxious to leave all this civilization and return to the little refuge in the woods. I can report that the weather is crisp, nearly freezing at night, and that the fall colors are "at peak" as we say up here. I do know that I could not be happy living ANYWHERE that didn't have four distinct seasons, one of which was Autumn. The potbelly warms the whole of the cabin, and I love it dearly.
I will therefore leave you with a picture which reminds me of my happy home, as the ONLY thing that could be described as "lacking" in this heavenly place is, of course, my kitties. So - mindful of the grace, the dignity, the elegance which is my precious Evangeline:
Watch this space; we'll be coming back into town for at least one more connection to the Outer World.
But I think I'm past caring about sequence, so here's the deal: I will be posting about a Most Remarkable Day (with pictures). And it won't matter so much about sequence anyway, as it deals with meeting one of the most interesting, talented women I've had the pleasure to cross the path of. I'll give you a little teaser: when I was introduced to her (by Mr Dearling, at a fun event in a nearby town) I did NOT -- I repeat, I did not - squeal, and while (not) jumping up and down, declare "Are you really THE...(her name will appear here).
In the meantime, a few recent details: first, I am writing from the public library in Munising, Michigan, on the fourth of ten days we're spending in the forest cabin of friends. It's isolated, beautiful, thoroughly modern. It's comfortable beyond belief, and is heated by a (gas) potbelly stove. There are rocking chairs, comfortable sofas and a modern kitchen. This is the third (I think) year we've had this uncommon privilege. There IS no internet (hence the library) and there's no teevee (except one we could watch tapes or DVDs on if we had any, but we don't).
Mr Dearling spends his days out hiking and his evenings reading. I spend my days reading, knitting, writing (fiction), daydreaming and napping. I also spend my evenings in this manner, with the occasional game of Solitaire. In my lexicon, this is the definition of "bliss". So far I have finished two books, completed a muffler and a baby cap, finished about 2/3 of the Mason Dixon "Ball Band Dishcloth" (which I've tried unsuccessfully to figure out COUNTLESS times before) and made real progress on a baby wrap. I'll post pictures and book reviews shortly (but not today). I'm keeping a daily journal, some of which may be either blog material or at least notes for same.
I also brought along some games (Yahtzee, Bananagrams, Milles Bornes) which I mean to share with Mr Dearling, and I also brought my little Tarot deck for some study. And lest ye think I'm frittering - I also have two books along for program preparation for the museum...which is admittedly another form of delight.
So to go back a bit (and so that I can work in SOME pictures, which I feel obligated to include - AM I? Obligated to put in pictures? It hangs me up sometimes) - here's what occurred before we came up here:
I have a new beau. A sweetheart. My version of Raoul the Pool Boy. His name is Natty Bumpo. ("Pathfinder", get it?) His voice actually belongs to a fellow named Simon. He has a British accent.
For some of us (well, ME) finding our way around in this world is challenging. I cannot read maps. I don't do "turn north at the gas station". I'm a "right" or "left" kinda gal. Never, in any travels, have I seen roads that are red, or state lines that are bright blue. Because I am numerically dyslexic, things like "miles" don't mean anything to me. Enter Natty Bumpo.
I am loving this thing, and will head off to Racine to my Writers' Fall Retreat confident that he will direct me STRAIGHT to my destination. I have to admit, there are things in this, the 21st century, that I like. A lot.
The day is passing, and I'm feeling anxious to leave all this civilization and return to the little refuge in the woods. I can report that the weather is crisp, nearly freezing at night, and that the fall colors are "at peak" as we say up here. I do know that I could not be happy living ANYWHERE that didn't have four distinct seasons, one of which was Autumn. The potbelly warms the whole of the cabin, and I love it dearly.
I will therefore leave you with a picture which reminds me of my happy home, as the ONLY thing that could be described as "lacking" in this heavenly place is, of course, my kitties. So - mindful of the grace, the dignity, the elegance which is my precious Evangeline:
 |
| Worshipful Daughter of Bast |
Saturday, September 11, 2010
At Last! I have learned l'anglais!
By way of apology for my absence, let me say simply that the anglais, she is very hard to learn. But I have now the confidence to expressing myself and shall therefore relate recent occurrences.
NOTE: While we Jews don't really do resolutions for the new year, it seems a good time to try to get back on track, blogwise. L'Shana Tova! May you all have a good year, a sweet year, a year of prosperity, and be written again in the Book of Life. Have a piece of apple dipped in honey in honor of the occasion. (What?!?! It's a tradition!) Oh, yes, that's a good question, and the answer is: it is now the year 5771. Started a bit before the whole Gregorian thing.
So! Helas! It is true, Ft. Ponchetrain fell to the British. But it was a good battle, fairly fought. Truth was, the first day of battle saw the French take the fort, and the fleur de lys was raised over the gate. But the last day of battle (following history or some such silliness) the British took the day. Reenactors tend to try to avoid being creative with history.
NOTE: In my absence, Blogger made some improvements, which seem to simplify putting in pictures with captions, &c. But I don't have the hang of it, so it may be that all the pictures are at the end; seems like that may be the best way for the moment.
All the citizens - farmers, workmen, women and children were hurried into the fort by the French officers and militia. When it became clear the direction of the wind - the British officers generously allowed the French to make a choice: lay down arms, swearing fealty to the King - or leave to be returned to France. Few chose to bend the knee to the British King, and when all was said and done....we were marched away from the fort, between columns of their soldiers. The children were surrounded by the women and one or two of the farmers and presented brave little faces. For my part, confused and frightened as I was, I clung to my voyageur-husband's belt and stumbled away - not knowing if we would be able to make our way back to the lands of my people at La Lac Superieur..... All in all, very dramatic. Judging from the faces of the observing visitors - we all performed convincingly.
The Grand Encampment was a fine, fine event. One of the highlights for me is always The Parlez:: the French officers gather in a field near the Native Village, where they gather and put off all arms. The guns are placed in a circle; cartridge cases, knives &c are dropped to the ground. Then, with an Interpreter, the Officers proceed to a clearing in the middle of the village (overlooking the lake) and seat themselves on the ground on one side of a scarlet blanket - the Native elders and shaman and warriors are on the other side.
The event being recreated did take place - often, before the major battles. These are not scripted; they are improvised. (The Parlez is not on a schedule - it's really not a "performance" and no mention is made to the public. It's a part of the "come-real" time of the event. The Headman and his elders were so well-spoken, and matched in kind by the Officers.
The chief among the French Officers had his men produce goods which were placed on the blanket: my recollection is of bolts of cloth, blankets, ribbons - a promise of guns and powder was made, and some coffee or tea (a little native boy was sent to fetch the bag...he ran over and took it and ran back to his grandfather, who opened it, sniffed, tasted some on his finger and then nodded his approval to the Headman).
The French declared that they wished only to treat these natives as partners in trade, and affirmed that they were not seeking land for settlement; one of the elders said that the British had asked likewise for a parlez. One of the young men stepped forward and said "They demanded that we go to their camp, where you come to us; they gave us one gun and paltry goods."
Then, the Headman asked what the women thought of the gifts and words of les francais and there was a general nodding and comments of approval. The Headman asked the same of the elders, then said, with rich eloquence, "Our sisters and daughters are your wives. We will fight with you as friends, and as brothers."
I know, it's a bit of acting - but so dramatic, and sitting on the wooded hill overlooking the sparkling lake, it truly is a Come-Real moment. Hands were clasped and the French moved away, back to where they collected their weaponry, and the gifts they'd brought were passed from hand to hand and met with approval. Love it.
And so I am back, enriched (as always) by our time spent in the 18th century. We had occasion to camp again, this time inside the palisades on Madeline Island, - different sort of event altogether, as we were there as educational interpreters at the (stellar) museum, but we visited with good friends and I was able to wade in my beloved Lake Superior (that was a bit of luck, as circumstances were such that I was unable to accompany Mr Dearling to the gathering at Grand Portage).
The intervening time included a wonderful "girlie weekend" wherein my good friend Donna and I travelled to Green Bay for the Tall Ships Festival - that will be described and illustrated very soon, in coming days.
NOTE: While we Jews don't really do resolutions for the new year, it seems a good time to try to get back on track, blogwise. L'Shana Tova! May you all have a good year, a sweet year, a year of prosperity, and be written again in the Book of Life. Have a piece of apple dipped in honey in honor of the occasion. (What?!?! It's a tradition!) Oh, yes, that's a good question, and the answer is: it is now the year 5771. Started a bit before the whole Gregorian thing.
So! Helas! It is true, Ft. Ponchetrain fell to the British. But it was a good battle, fairly fought. Truth was, the first day of battle saw the French take the fort, and the fleur de lys was raised over the gate. But the last day of battle (following history or some such silliness) the British took the day. Reenactors tend to try to avoid being creative with history.
NOTE: In my absence, Blogger made some improvements, which seem to simplify putting in pictures with captions, &c. But I don't have the hang of it, so it may be that all the pictures are at the end; seems like that may be the best way for the moment.
All the citizens - farmers, workmen, women and children were hurried into the fort by the French officers and militia. When it became clear the direction of the wind - the British officers generously allowed the French to make a choice: lay down arms, swearing fealty to the King - or leave to be returned to France. Few chose to bend the knee to the British King, and when all was said and done....we were marched away from the fort, between columns of their soldiers. The children were surrounded by the women and one or two of the farmers and presented brave little faces. For my part, confused and frightened as I was, I clung to my voyageur-husband's belt and stumbled away - not knowing if we would be able to make our way back to the lands of my people at La Lac Superieur..... All in all, very dramatic. Judging from the faces of the observing visitors - we all performed convincingly.
The Grand Encampment was a fine, fine event. One of the highlights for me is always The Parlez:: the French officers gather in a field near the Native Village, where they gather and put off all arms. The guns are placed in a circle; cartridge cases, knives &c are dropped to the ground. Then, with an Interpreter, the Officers proceed to a clearing in the middle of the village (overlooking the lake) and seat themselves on the ground on one side of a scarlet blanket - the Native elders and shaman and warriors are on the other side.
The event being recreated did take place - often, before the major battles. These are not scripted; they are improvised. (The Parlez is not on a schedule - it's really not a "performance" and no mention is made to the public. It's a part of the "come-real" time of the event. The Headman and his elders were so well-spoken, and matched in kind by the Officers.
The chief among the French Officers had his men produce goods which were placed on the blanket: my recollection is of bolts of cloth, blankets, ribbons - a promise of guns and powder was made, and some coffee or tea (a little native boy was sent to fetch the bag...he ran over and took it and ran back to his grandfather, who opened it, sniffed, tasted some on his finger and then nodded his approval to the Headman).
The French declared that they wished only to treat these natives as partners in trade, and affirmed that they were not seeking land for settlement; one of the elders said that the British had asked likewise for a parlez. One of the young men stepped forward and said "They demanded that we go to their camp, where you come to us; they gave us one gun and paltry goods."
Then, the Headman asked what the women thought of the gifts and words of les francais and there was a general nodding and comments of approval. The Headman asked the same of the elders, then said, with rich eloquence, "Our sisters and daughters are your wives. We will fight with you as friends, and as brothers."
I know, it's a bit of acting - but so dramatic, and sitting on the wooded hill overlooking the sparkling lake, it truly is a Come-Real moment. Hands were clasped and the French moved away, back to where they collected their weaponry, and the gifts they'd brought were passed from hand to hand and met with approval. Love it.
And so I am back, enriched (as always) by our time spent in the 18th century. We had occasion to camp again, this time inside the palisades on Madeline Island, - different sort of event altogether, as we were there as educational interpreters at the (stellar) museum, but we visited with good friends and I was able to wade in my beloved Lake Superior (that was a bit of luck, as circumstances were such that I was unable to accompany Mr Dearling to the gathering at Grand Portage).
The intervening time included a wonderful "girlie weekend" wherein my good friend Donna and I travelled to Green Bay for the Tall Ships Festival - that will be described and illustrated very soon, in coming days.
Now - a couple of images from The Grand Encampment:
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| Some of the French Militia (Mr Dearling, blue-and-white striped shirt) |
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| French Marines disarm for Parlez |
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| The Parlez begins... |
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| Rapt Attention! |
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| Return to Camp - Success! |
Dare I say? A good time was had by all! And yes, we did manage to return to Ouis-con-sin and avoid being sent back to France.....I'd have been mad if learning English had all been in vain.
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