Saturday, 3. December 2005, 17:04:05
Our house got measured for new windows yesterday. Phil came out from S____ Aluminum to do the measuring. I had about forty minutes notice, which was fine. I told The Princess, and my son they had about thirty minutes to get their rooms presentable. The Princess was a flurry of activity that ended with, “He can't move my bed or step on it and since it's right under the window I don't know how he's going to do it.” I told her I would relay the commands and that it was his problem to figure out and not ours. Thankfully she was satisfied with my response, and promptly left for destinations unknown. My son upon hearing the news simply shrugged his shoulders.
Phil showed up right on time and set to the task of measuring the windows. I led him from window to window and he dutifully measured and wrote down the numbers on one of those cool aluminum pads that fold over themselves completely protecting the paper from the elements. When we got to The Princesses room I relayed the commands and he simply nodded and extended the tape measure from his position at the head of her bed. No problem for Phil. He obviously had some experience working in the rooms of Princesses. We continued through the house and got to My sons room. It is littered with piles of “things” that are no doubt organized by a methodology unknown to myself. I make it a point not to go in either of their rooms anymore. I like not knowing what I don't know. Phil was measuring windows and my son walks in and says, “Hey how are you doing?” He is a very friendly person and so this was a genuine greeting.
Phil looks over at him and responds with equal enthusiasm, “Just great, thanks, and you?”
My son with replies, “Terrific, hey I want the windows in this room to have remote controls on them so I can open and close them from my bed.”
Phil looks at him deadpan and without a moments hesitation responds, “No problem, all our windows come standard with remote controls.”
My son responds, “Perfect, thanks,” and with that I take Phil down to our dark loathsome basement to measure the windows there.
Phil left soon after that and now we wait for approximately five weeks. We were told it will be sometime in mid January when they will show up and replace the windows. In an instant we will go from state of the art for 1950 to state of the art for 2005. I have been told and believe that the energy savings we will get from these highly insulated windows will be significant. I believe this to be true even though I know deep in my heart the Gas company will never ever lower my bill, even for, nay especially for something so trivial as replacing windows. Somehow, they will find a way to keep my bill inching ever higher to rival my monthly mortgage payment.
Too, it will be nice to be able to easily open a window in the house. The windows we have now are so old that they open only with great reluctance and once opened stubbornly refuse to ever go back to the same closed spot they once were in. The thought of windows that are energy efficient, and that open and close easily makes me positively giddy with delight. Imagine, I say to myself a warm spring day and the house is getting stuffy. No problem, we will open a window or two, and leave that air conditioner for those sweltering summer days when open windows only make things worse.
I trust the fantasy will not be any less than the reality that lies in our near future.
Monday, 21. November 2005, 16:10:17
“How do you feel about bittersweet chocolate waffles for dinner tonight.”
I think to myself that being married to a chef is a very good thing as I reply, “That sounds good, what do you have with that, whipped cream or ice cream?” Only someone that loves the pastry arts could suggest something like this. I would like to say it is a common occurrence in our home, but it's not. I will say though that it's not uncommon.
“Ice cream and hot chocolate syrup would be perfect, but we'd have to go buy some ice cream,” she replied. She was in the bathroom cleaning it because two girls from our church were going to come over and “learn” how to make chocolate peanut butter cups. Our conversation was punctuated by spraying of some bathroom cleaner. I glance up at the clock and see she has twenty minutes to go before the ETA of the girls.
If I'm luck I may get one or two of the peanut butter cups. They are insanely good. Much better than the waxy things you buy in the orange wrapper. Then again maybe not. The girls coming over have been planning this for some time now. They are likely to be counting every cup that comes out of the molds.
The chef walk through the living room where I am watching the Giants spank the Eagles with the bathroom rug. As she passes through she says, “Let's call Cameron on the computer tonight.” I agree that would be fun. Cameron is our grandson and we all like talking with our video cams on the computer. She opens the front door to shake out the rug.
This gives me a view into our front yard. It is carpeted with leaves, so many leaves that you can't see the grass. All of our neighbors on either side of us and both sides of the street have raked their yards already. Some of them twice. Not I. It occurs to me that I may be thought of as the poor of the street. When ever I go outside though I look up at the Scholar and the Warrior, my twin oaks in my yard and still see leaves on them. I think to myself there is a natural cycle at work here and I am not one to force it or rush it. The scholar and the warrior will let go of their leaves when the time is right. At this time I will dutifully rake them up. I ponder this and think cycles are a wonderful thing and how foolish my neighbors are to try and force the cycle at the expense for a perceived beauty of their yard. My yard looks beautiful carpeted with leaves, much better than theirs I think. I am enjoying the cycle of autumn to its fullest, while they seek to quickly sweep it away.
The chef is now in the kitchen scrubbing away. The ETA is two minutes away and I know the girls are close. They have called from BJ's the local warehouse market, a mere five minutes ago. BJ's is only about three miles away so they should be walking up to the front door any minute. When the phone rang and the chef gave them directions she hung up and said to me, “Oh darn, I was hoping that would be them saying we're sorry we can't make it today.” The chef is tired. She has worked all week, including yesterday and today, her day off is turning out to be packed with church and making chocolates for the girls.
The chef has a much busier life than I do. I reflect that her appreciation for cycles is very similar to our neighbors. If the leaves were not my department, but hers, no doubt she would have raked them at least twice already. Still, the thought of bittersweet chocolate waffles for dinner tonight makes me happy that she operates in such a fashion. Perhaps I should offer to go for the ice cream.
Friday, 11. November 2005, 21:57:11
essay
I remember watching Steve Skogen run cross country. It was a two and a half mile course. He would come across the finish line at about twelve minutes. Number two would come across several minutes later. That boy could run like the wind. He was a natural runner. Now I'm sure he practiced, and hard too. But I could train every day all day long and never match his performance.
It's easy to look at some people and admire them for a particular character trait or attribute. My grandfather made friends wherever he went. Everybody knew him and loved him. It was a gift. Now admittedly that is an overly biased view from an adoring grandson, but it is reality as I saw it. Too I have known people in my life who were the picture of compassion, and honesty, and generosity, and intelligence. They have served as examples to me of what I can become if I put forth the effort in that direction. Still I would make the observation that there is a further distinction that needs to be made in this regard. You may not agree with me and that is fine. The distinction is this; did they come by this trait naturally or was it acquired?
No, I am much more interested in those traits in your life that were not natural gifts to you, those things that you have had to struggle with, and if there is a dragon you have slain in your life somewhere, well, you have my deepest adoration. Dragons are fearsome creatures. They can be amazingly frighteningly powerful. Slaying them is not easy, near impossible methinks. Just when you think you have disposed them they come back to life.
I think the true measure of a man is not in those “natural” gifts we were born with. Certainly nothing as fleeting as our looks or any physical attribute, and not perhaps even those traits of character which we were graced with and have worked to enhance. No I begin to measure value within and in others, by what we have done with ourselves from scratch. Compassion that was born of past injustices and suffering has a depth and intimacy that cannot be faked. When a person with this developed trait approaches you and offers solace you cant help but be touched. They have learned compassion.
Such measuring is of course difficult and subjective at best. Still I look at this all and think if we could lay a ruler and measure the distance each of us has moved in bettering ourselves in all the area's of our life we would have a much better measure of the person we are looking at. If such a thing were possible we may see a man who by all appearances is not in the same class as ourselves or others we may hold in high esteem. Yet this very person may have traveled a much greater distance than us and perhaps even have slain the dragon in their life. How easy it would be to pass them by, to discount them as one of the masses.
No, measuring value in others is no easy thing. It has little to nothing to do with outward appearances. It is all about what lies within. It requires a sensitivity to be able to detect it, and appreciate it. It makes me wonder if I have ever met a dragon slayer. Who of all the people I have had the fortune to have known has traveled the greatest distance. If I knew this, or could better measure it, what could I learn from them?
In all this too, I pretend no great or significant ability. I have only just begun to arrive at the stage where I can make such observations. I still work and struggle with creating this measure of value. My faults are still all to readily visible to everyone around and easily mask what lies within.
Wednesday, 9. November 2005, 03:15:23
I don't pretend to any great wisdom. I know it may seem different if you have read more than a few of these pages, but I think it's true. Lately too I begin to come to a realization that the more I learn the less I know, which is to say as the circle of my knowledge expands so too does the circle of my ignorance. I am and will continue to be conscious that what I don't know is much greater than what I do. Any situation I come into I have an assumption somewhere conscious or not that you may have knowledge that I do not, and that knowledge may make a difference. Because of this you will rarely hear me offer advice to you. How could I? Until I have filled in all the pixels on the picture there is always the chance that I am wrong. Giving wrong advice, even with the best of intentions is still not a good thing. The most I will generally do is offer an opinion, if you ask it of me. I admit this is not the best approach in our relationships with others.
It is an interesting thing to me too wisdom comes with age. If you want to get a nice perspective on things talk to someone who's been around the block a few times. They have the scars. They have learned lessons that you have yet to encounter. I readily acknowledge here that this is a generalization. All old people are not sage's. Still, with enough experience, and with paying proper attention, comes wisdom.
The second part of this is that it is hard to recognize wisdom, especially if you don't have any, or enough. Too easily it sounds like foolishness and is therefore easily discounted. Or you may here those sage words of advice and discount them. “Oh goodness that sounds dreadful,” you think to yourself, “There must be another way.” Off you go trying something different, easier, better.
The third piece is that, and this is my opinion only, many of us have this need to just, “work things out ourselves.” There may be, and most assuredly are, those around us who have gone before and tread the same path. They could offer some sage advice that would simplify our process. We don't ask them though. If they, with the best of intentions offer us their advice trying only to save us some pain, it will in all likely hood fall on deaf ears. That's the best case. More likely we will resent them for offering, for “meddling.”
It's hard to blame them really. You see, wisdom comes at such a high price. That's why it's so valuable to us. It cost us so dearly. It's also why we try and share it with others, we are trying to save them from paying so dearly themselves. If we are observant though, we will at some point realize that each of us needs to walk our own path. We do not want or need a guide to help us every step of the way. We are doomed it seems, each of us to pay that dear price to acquire whatever measure of wisdom we come to in our lives.
The exception of course is when we come to the intersections on our path. When we are faced with taking the high road, or the low road. Many times, not always, there is someone there. They usually are someone we know, but many times not. If we are “wise” we will strike up a conversation with them, perhaps ask them if they know anything about each of the paths that lie ahead. It is only when we are at these forks in the road that we are vulnerable to listening to them. On the path is to be on our own.
This seems all wrong to me. It seems we should be able to help each other and learn from each other, sparing ourselves all unnecessary pain and moving from grace to grace until we reach that ideal level of perfection. But then, what do I know?
Thursday, 6. October 2005, 21:05:58
One wasn't enough, he had to plant three. Three fir tree's. Right against the fence that sets the boundary between his yard and mine. Right in a row. A bare three feet apart. I hate fir trees. Who in their right mind would plant fir trees as landscaping? They aren't landscaping, they are forest product to be harvested. They belong in national parks. They are used to make lumber for houses. In earlier times they were used to build ships. Who in their right mind would plant one as landscaping? I just went out and looked at them again. Now I'm certainly no expert in such things, but they look to me like Balsam Firs, known in the scientific community as Abies balsamea. It is also known as, Canadian balsam or eastern fir. It is a needled Evergreen that reaches a height, between 40-75 feet (did you catch that? 75 feet!). It spreads 20-25 feet (much more than the mere 3 he has allowed) and has a narrow pyramidal shape. The balsam fir is known by homeowners primarily as a Christmas tree. It is more rarely used in the garden as an ornamental. The needles are 1-inch long, blunt, rounded and a lustrous dark green. It forms a dense, narrow pyramid. Makes an excellent screen and is a good choice for cooler climates, but in warmer areas it will tend to drop needles and under perform. Yeah, I'm hoping they under perform. I'm fighting an irrational urge to help them under perform.
I'm not quite sure why I hate fir trees. I know it goes back to my childhood. The house I grew up in was haunted, and was nestled in the midst of towering Douglas Fir's. There were ten or twelve of them and that was after several were cut down. Nothing could grow underneath them so much of our yard was covered in fir needles. It was a dark shadowy yard. Now, I know the fact that I do not have overly many pleasant memories of that house colors my dislike for fir trees. I look at fir trees, to this day, and consciously or unconsciously remember the haunted house nestled underneath all those fir trees and with them the unhappy memories and they are guilty by association. Any good qualities, any redeeming qualities are lost on me, quickly discounted. A 75 foot tree is not ornamental. A 75 foot tree set next to two others a mere three feet apart between two houses a mere 25 feet apart is not providing an, “Excellent Screen.” They will take over the space. They will dominate if we let them.
I know what you're thinking. “Ridge Walker this is all sounding irrational Don't let all trees be guilty by having the misfortune to belong to the same family as those from your childhood. Take a deep breath and relax. They are after all just trees. Besides they may die of their own accord.” Perhaps you are right. Perhaps not. Perhaps I got the species wrong too. Perhaps they are of a variety that is already at full maturity. Perhaps they will stay as they are now, obediently living their lives as excellent barriers between his yard and mine. I do hope so. For their sake I hope so.
Seriously though, I can overlook these three abominations if I try hard. I'll just never go into my back yard ever again. I'll never talk to this neighbor again so I don't have to be reminded how he had the complete lack of common sense as to plant not one, but three of these loathsome things in his yard, as close to mine as he could get them. I can hope that the black oak that towers over them sucks up all the sunlight so these these evil spawn lack the necessary portion to flourish, or even survive. I could even plant three sugar maples on my side of the fence to block my view of his things. I like sugar maples. They are beautiful in the fall and provide wonderful exercise when you get to rake up their pretty leaves.
Saturday, 1. October 2005, 13:48:41
It's probably just the way I am. Mum's is here this week and she saw the last page of my calligraphy that I did. As I have mentioned I do a half page a day now, six lines. She picked it up and remarked something like, “Oh that's beautiful, in fact it's perfect.” Of course it could also be a proud mother doting over the creations of her son, something that started when I was in kindergarten and continues to this day. I look at my work though and see the flaws. I look at that same page and see each imperfection. They stand out and scream at me. In the first line alone I count twelve such imperfections out of the twenty seven characters that rest on that line. She may not in fact see these twelve imperfections. I do though and I work on them every day.
Every day I pick up my pen and practice with the vision in my head of creating flawless script. Every day I manage some amount of characters that approach that high standard. Over time the number increases, at least it should. It happens slowly and that's OK too. I am a patient man. Not by nature though, it is one of the lessons life has taught me, something I picked up along the way.
I still can't tell you why I do this, practicing calligraphy. I enjoy the time practicing, even as it grates on my like fingernails across a chalkboard. I find that I have to take my time to form each letter. This necessary slow pace is like a kind of meditation. My mind has to sit quietly and watch as I focus all my energy and concentration on the task at hand. This has the effect of calming and centering me, even if it starts against my will. It pleases me too to be able to write nicely, even if I still do see all the flaws. Having said all that, it really is a trivial thing to have done. A senseless act of beauty if you will.
Tuesday, 27. September 2005, 15:51:56
The music was too loud so I left. At lower to mid volume levels music provides a nice soundtrack to life. If you're going to have music in a public place, a restaurant a cafe, a mall or whatever this is the volume level you want to strive for. At this level you can hear it, but not enough so that it comes to the fore front. At these levels you easily carry on a conversation with a friend, or sit and think, or write in your journal if you're into that sort of thing. This was louder than that. This was at the level you would have to raise your voice ever so slightly to talk to your friend. It was at the level you wouldn't quite be able to concentrate because Sly and the Family Stone would be talking to you, interrupting your train of thought. The only time you would want the volume this loud or louder would be if the music was the focus of the experience, like say an outdoor concert. This was not a concert hall it was Starbucks so the volume level, in my opinion was too loud.
I tried mentally blocking the music out. That didn't work. I put on my noise canceling earphones. It helped but Sly was still talking to me. I plugged them into my iPod and put on some Miles Davis. It was very nice, I like Miles Davis but now he was talking to me instead of Sly. There are some types of activity where music not only not gets in the way, but actually enhances the experience. Churning through email is one of those for me. So too is working on a spreadsheet, or a requirements document. Music entertains the part of my brain that has idle cycles not being used for those activities and it all just works. I crank through the work without getting overly bored or distracted. There are other types of activities though where I need those cycles. Writing is one of them. If I am not in some level of silence writing becomes impossible for me. White noise works equally well here too. You know, like a fountain, or a general conversation by a large number of people where you can hear the noise but not make anything distinct out. No voices, no melody, no harmony, just noise. The noise can be rather loud too and it doesn't matter, because it's all white.
I think I know why this happens too. The barista comes in starts working at that big espresso machine. It's noisy. The milk is steaming, they are banging out the used grounds from the last cup they just finished while listening to the cashier yell out the next order. The noise level around that machine is easily twenty decibels higher than out at the soft chairs where I am wont to sit. So the barista, wanting to enjoy the music too, cranks the volume up so they can here it, hence my problem.
Today it was too much so I came home. My son was up, this was unusual as he usually sleeps in late or is up before dawn if he is working. He had his music on through his PC. He recently installed Dolby 5.1 surround sound speakers and they were blasting. For those of you who don't know, Dolby 5.1 means you have five speakers, two in front, two in back, one in front center, and one sub woofer. With that many speakers at the volume he was cranking at the whole house was reverberating.
So, I'm writing this while sitting in the driveway. It is a beautiful fall day, picture perfect down to the fall breeze. My WiFi makes this work and yeah I'm glad I spent the money for the WAP now. Now I can write.
I know what you're thinking. I could have asked the barista if they could have turned the volume down a smidgen. I certainly could have asked my son to turn the volume down. Perhaps you're right, but for me it was missing the point this morning. I just wanted to sit and write. I didn't want to create a fuss or bend the world to my will. I just wanted to be in my environment and put a few words on paper.
Monday, 26. September 2005, 15:08:34
“Really,” she said, “Let's just forget about it.” Her words were followed up with a smile that was soft and forgiving, completely genuine. It warmed me to the center but still I couldn't quite let go, and I hated myself for it. I saw the faintest bit of what, play across her face? Tension? Something akin to being peeved about having to talk about something she would rather not? I knew it was a signal that I should let the whole matter drop. I also knew that if I persisted things were very likely to get unpleasant. As I have mentioned though I have this need to get everything out on the table. I can no more help this than I could having done that insane act in the first place. It's just the way I am.
“Kate,” I began, and with that single word, the way I said her name, she knew I wasn't going to let it go. She sat back in her chair and studied me. Her lips were pressed together but still with a hint of a smile, a sad smile. She knew what was coming.
She interrupted me, “Michael, please don't do this.” I knew she was close to the edge. If I continued to push she would get angry. This certainly was no place for an argument, and she had just told me that all was forgiven. I knew she was sincere so why was I doing this? I hated myself for pushing. I had the feeling I was destroying all the happiness we had shared and mortgaging our future happiness, but I had to know.
I had to know that she knew why and would still forgive me. “Can I ask you one question,” I inquired. “Just one question and I promise I will let it go.” She was shaking her head back and forth. The smile was gone. It was replaced with impatience and the fading glow of happiness that would not soon return. She didn't voice any answer. I knew what she was saying though. She was saying, 'Go ahead Michael, I can't stop you. I hope this is going to be worth the price you're going to pay.'
I took another sip of my café crème. It was still warm and it reminded me that there are some things that are constant in my life regardless of my actions. I savored the taste while I considered if this really was the best thing to do. Perhaps we really didn't need to discuss this. Perhaps her offering of forgiveness was best accepted and this act should stay in the past. What good would further discussing this do anyway? I may find out my answer but was I willing to pay the price, and once I knew would it make any difference?
Silence continued as I pondered this, and as it did I saw her start to relax. She took a sip of her café crème. She had never ordered it but the waitress had brought it just the same. We were frequent enough visitors to this little café that we were now served without even having to order. She reached her foot out and rubbed it across mine. I looked up at her and saw her smiling again. I bit my lip not wanting to drag her through this and fighting my need to know.
“Michael,” she said. Her voice was soft and inviting but had a firmness to it. “Let it go.” I knew what she was saying. I knew that continuing now would come at a price, one that was going up by the minute. I knew she wanted this in the past. The moment for discussing this rationally, if it had ever existed had passed. I let it go.
I relaxed. She saw and smiled at me and leaned forward and kissed me lightly on the cheek. All had indeed been forgiven. Part of me was screaming how wrong this was, how I had to be sure she knew what I was thinking, why I had done this thing. I looked into her eyes and in that moment realized she really didn't care. All I saw was her love for me. A tear came to my eye. I couldn't ever remember feeling this kind of love from another person before. I had hurt her deliberately and she had forgiven me. I was touched to the core. “Kate,” I said, “I'm so very sorry.” My voice was shaking even as I was trying to keep it steady.
She leaned close to me and I could feel her warm breath on my face. Her finger was cool to the touch on my face as she wiped my tear away. “I know Michael.”
Sunday, 25. September 2005, 20:32:55
I had entertained fantasies about doing this single thing for so long that to actually have done it seemed on some level rather anticlimactic. On one level. Mostly I knew it had been a stupid thing to do and I knew it would hurt her. The thing is I knew that before I had actually followed through with that insane urge, so why had I done it? I shook my head in dismay and disgust. If time could be rolled back and I could take the deed back would I? Probably yes, but the motivation was still there and that's what I was pondering.
The sun shown brightly through the window as I contemplated these things. It was not quite in my eyes but rather than bother me I liked the way it made me feel, all warm on a cool autumn afternoon. I knew Winter would soon be here and in a week or so I would need to start wearing my jacket. The waiter stopped by and set my café crème on the table and smiled ever so slightly as she did so. I nodded in return and mumbled a soft thanks that she saw but did not hear. I stared at it, enjoying the anticipation of the warmth it would bring. Coffee was one in a long list of things I was fond of, addicted to.
That brought my mind back to that thing I had done. I shook my head again, trying to understand myself. I thought of apologizing, I thought of running away. They were more fantasies. The truth was I was going to live with this thing until the veil of time enshrouded it sometime in the future. Until then it would remain the open sore it was.
I picked up the café crème and brought it to my lips, first savoring the aroma before taking that first tentative sip. It was every bit as good as I knew it would be. I must have been completely caught up in that first sip because I didn't even see her come in and sit down. I just looked over and she was there. I was startled and it must have shown on my face.
She smiled and laughed and then spoke to me in that deep full voice of hers that I could listen to for ever. “Hey, I'm sorry,” she said, “I didn't mean to surprise you.”
I thought to myself that she could surprise me any time, however she wanted and it would be welcome. I just liked being with her. Then why had I done what I did I thought to myself? She ignored the darkness that threatened to engulf me. It was as if she didn't notice it or refused to acknowledge its existence. I silently thanked her for that. It was another reason why I liked being with her. We talked for some time about nothing enjoying each others company. After a good five minutes or so I realized she wasn't going to bring this thing up. It was like it didn't exist, never happened.
This amazed me, and truth be told, it was more than I could take. I am a bit at opposite ends of the pole on this kind of thing. I tend to be rather private on most things, but if I have done something to offend I have this need to set it on the table and just talk the whole thing out. I could tell we were at odds on this and I couldn't help what happened next. It was just who I was. To brace myself though I first took another sip of my café crème. It was warm and delicious.
“Look,” I began. She stopped talking and looked at me with her head askance, a slightly amused smile playing across her face. “About last weekend.”
“Oh that,” she said. I studied her face as she spoke. There was no hint of any emotion other than what I saw. She was completely sincere. “Please don't worry about it at all. Let's let it stay in the past. Talking about it will only make things worse.” She reached out and touched my hand, “You're forgiven.” I bit my lip, not quite sure what to do next.
Saturday, 24. September 2005, 17:21:05
me
My last post in my Opera blog was from early in the springtime of this year. I'm not sure why I drifted away but now as the trees are beginning to turn and the weather is finally cooling off I am returning. I still have another blog I keep for my writing, but I like the feel of the Opera community. I guess I always have.
I was alone again last night. The kids were off with friends, and the Chef was off teaching people how to make Candy in NYC. I felt a bottle of wine calling but knew that would put me in a bad space if I emptied it by myself so I resisted. The TV was on for company and I wasted the evening surfing the internet for idle bits of trivia. If I could have found a friend I would have gone drinking 
Alas. Evenings alone, definitely no fun.
Today though is a perfect fall weekend in NYC.
Monday, 14. February 2005, 00:40:41
The Dragon lies still
His sulfurous breath has stopped
Finally I have won!
Saturday, 5. February 2005, 03:55:51
Dancing oh so close
One swings narrowly misses
The counter is swift
Thursday, 13. January 2005, 18:02:35
Gray fog envelopes
Cold silent and smothering
I am all alone
Thursday, 13. January 2005, 03:16:36
Blackness gathers round
Demons lurk in the shadows
I am not afraid
Tuesday, 11. January 2005, 02:29:20
Wanting something more
Long winters night never ends
Spring sleeps too soundly
Wednesday, 24. November 2004, 17:12:30
I find myself not posting here quite as much since I started a blog at typepad. I liked the layout and format better for what I wanted to post there which tends to more serious essays. I confess a certain allure for the opera journal though, it has a real community spirit that I like. I check it at least daily and over time start to get to recognize some of the names.
Here in NYC it is raining and blowing. I'm glad I don't have to travel any where for the holiday. I'm working at home today and as the afternoon progresses that will at some point change to a state of non-work. Nice transition.
No real plans for us as we have no extended family within a thousand miles. I look forward to writing some and maybe getting creative in the kitchen after the big meal has passed.
http://ridgewalker.typepad.com
Friday, 12. November 2004, 15:08:34
Ok, I'm kind of jazzed today
I'm going into the city this afternoon for a job interview. Now, nothing may come of it. I look at job interviews a bit like first dates. You may have had a good time but you're not sure if she did, and will she answer your phone call tomorrow and so on. Still, the phone interview I had on Wednesday went really well. We seemed to hit it off on the phone. At the very least it will be a great way to end the week, and OMG were I to get an offer this is a huge salary increase etc.
Speaking of which I was going to rake leaves this weekend and all this rain is going to make them weigh a ton. How bad do I want to do this? We'll see.
Monday, 8. November 2004, 02:17:53
I came down with a cold. Felt it come on during the night
I know I caught it from spending the week up in Boston in a room with nine other people, two of which were sick. Ah well. As a result though I pretty much just hung around the house and dozed, didn't even watch much tv. I'd stay home tomorrow but the guys from Israel are in town and the only way I can not be there is if I am dead.
Anyhow, I'm just about done with the window. I will sand it all down and never ever ever even think about stripping a window again. Oh yeah, Halo 2 and Everquest 2 come out this week, how cool is that?
Sunday, 31. October 2004, 13:19:43
I attacked the windows a 3rd time with stripping compound and this time got them just about down to bare wood. I'm going to let it dry a bit and sand it smooth. Declare victory and retreat if you will. I know I know, it's an old house and the paint is probably lead based and the sanding is a real no no. I'll wear a mask or something. The thought of doing those chemicals a fourth time brings me to tears.
I'll probably go on a bike ride today too. It's a wonderful fall day here inthe NYC area. My nephew is very motivating in this regard. He is training for a triathalon and tells me his progress every week.
Other than that, don't know. I'll probably just hang around, maybe write a bit, maybe get creative and make a nice dinner in the afternoon.
Saturday, 16. October 2004, 14:05:52
This is mildly amusing if you take the time to check the entry of my last post. I picked up the chemicals again to take another run at stripping the front window of all its paint. When I finished with the first round the window looked like it belonged in some room of an abandoned building in the inner city where it had been exposed to the weather for years.
I had some lunch, and went and sprayed the nice citrus smelling chemicals on. There was only enough left to coven perhaps half the window. Fine, I'm in no hurry right? I'm of course wearing rubber gloves and have the bright idea that if I spread it all around it can soak in better. About half way through doing this my daughter notices, from across the room that the chemicals have eaten their way through the gloves. Ok, I guess it's strong stuff. Being the man I am though I finish spreading it and then toss the gloves away and wash my hands real good.
We go to the gym and an hour or so later upon return I go and strip it off. I pretty much get down to bare wood for much of the area I covered.
So I'm startig to feel pretty good about this now. One more coat and I think I can wash it down, sand it a bit and turn it back to my wife to do her thing with painting. Lest this sound overly positive I want to restate no way will I ever strip paint off a window again.
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