The Winter Solstice is here ! Things aren't as bad in Vermont as they can be in other parts of the world, where the sun barely makes an appearance during the short winter months and people go nuts without daylight. Still, it gets pretty cold and wintry and it is nice to know that you are headed (theoretically) for Spring.
Last night some friends of ours threw their first (annual) Solstice Party, which was a lot of fun. Part of the festivities included a nighttime snow shoe hike. Since they live across the street from our neighborhood ski resort, we started off straight up one of the runs to the top of the hill. About five minutes in I wished that I hadn't started the second beer a half an hour before, and another five minutes after that I began to regret having layered up for the Arctic cold (I should point out that the windchill was forecast to be 5 degrees F or -15 celsius). Rather than suffering hypothermia, the opposite was starting to be true and I was dying of the heat. Despite all of this, I managed to drag my ass up the remainder of the hike, briefly enjoy the pristine hilltop view, and then slither back down the hill.
As a demonstration of how bad this made me feel, I wasn't able to drink another beer for at least 30 minutes.
So, a lesson learned. Don't overdress, since it's just as bad as wearing too little. I guess I could have stopped to de-layer, but once you've got your groove on (and your teeth are gritted), there's just no stopping.
Nevertheless, a great thing to do on the solstice, and hopefully a winter tradition.
Thursday, December 22, 2005
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
You'd better not poot
Last month we finally bit the bullet and moved my son out of his crib and into his 'big boy' bed. I'd been resisting this move a little, since I was quite happy with the status quo and feared the consequences of having a lively 2 1/2 year old bouncing around his room at all hours of the day and night.
The first weeks were a little 'challenging', shall we say. He didn't really enjoy the process and would stand wailing at the safety gate erected in his doorway, until finally becoming too tired and falling asleep, often on the floor. On one occasion he awoke at 3am and turned on his lights, playing loudly. It didn't take us long to figure out that unscrewing the lightbulb in the fixture would be a good idea.
Anyhoo, the upshot of all of this is that he's now awake earlier and opens his door first thing. Now that he's over the 'screaming to come get me' phase, it's actually fairly fun to lie in bed and listen to his little monologue.
These days, he is performing an enthusiastic rendition of 'Santa Claus is coming to town'. He does know a good number of the words, and those he doesn't are more than made up for by both sheer volume and repeating the previous line, or substituting 'You'd better not poot, you'd better not cry' (I am spelling 'poot' per his pronunciation).
He has yet to scale the gate and break free from the bonds of parental oppression, but the day cannot be far away. I have already caught his sister passing him step stools over the gate to construct a rickety tower. You have to be impressed at their organization, improvisation and ingenuity, though.
I just hope that after Christmas is done we can get him to switch to another tune, or we'll be hearing 'Santa Claus....' until Easter.
The first weeks were a little 'challenging', shall we say. He didn't really enjoy the process and would stand wailing at the safety gate erected in his doorway, until finally becoming too tired and falling asleep, often on the floor. On one occasion he awoke at 3am and turned on his lights, playing loudly. It didn't take us long to figure out that unscrewing the lightbulb in the fixture would be a good idea.
Anyhoo, the upshot of all of this is that he's now awake earlier and opens his door first thing. Now that he's over the 'screaming to come get me' phase, it's actually fairly fun to lie in bed and listen to his little monologue.
These days, he is performing an enthusiastic rendition of 'Santa Claus is coming to town'. He does know a good number of the words, and those he doesn't are more than made up for by both sheer volume and repeating the previous line, or substituting 'You'd better not poot, you'd better not cry' (I am spelling 'poot' per his pronunciation).
He has yet to scale the gate and break free from the bonds of parental oppression, but the day cannot be far away. I have already caught his sister passing him step stools over the gate to construct a rickety tower. You have to be impressed at their organization, improvisation and ingenuity, though.
I just hope that after Christmas is done we can get him to switch to another tune, or we'll be hearing 'Santa Claus....' until Easter.
Monday, December 19, 2005
It can't be this easy...
I am feeling no stress. Not even the tiniest little bit.
Which makes me worried. Normally around this time of year, I'm feeling harried and hurried preparing for Christmas. Not that I personally have a LOT to do, you understand, just that I have a tendency to be a bit of a procrastinator.
I think two major factors could be involved in this unusual pre holiday serenity. Firstly, I only have one person to shop for - my wife. She in turn buys gifts for the other 300 people on her list. ("Oh, but you HAVE to buy a gift for that nice man that dropped off our refrigerator two years ago - he was sooo helpful"). Secondly, we moved to Vermont. I don't mean to indicate some kind of Bermuda Triangle calming effect, but since we are a bit farther from a large variety of shops, you tend to either plan ahead or shop online (which mostly also requires planning ahead).
All of the other sundry Christmassy things appear to have fallen in line, and I can't thing of anything I should be worried about. Not a thing. Did I MISS something ? It just can't be this easy.
Incidentally, gift shopping for my super spouse was completed before the month of December even began. Now THAT'S organization !
Which makes me worried. Normally around this time of year, I'm feeling harried and hurried preparing for Christmas. Not that I personally have a LOT to do, you understand, just that I have a tendency to be a bit of a procrastinator.
I think two major factors could be involved in this unusual pre holiday serenity. Firstly, I only have one person to shop for - my wife. She in turn buys gifts for the other 300 people on her list. ("Oh, but you HAVE to buy a gift for that nice man that dropped off our refrigerator two years ago - he was sooo helpful"). Secondly, we moved to Vermont. I don't mean to indicate some kind of Bermuda Triangle calming effect, but since we are a bit farther from a large variety of shops, you tend to either plan ahead or shop online (which mostly also requires planning ahead).
All of the other sundry Christmassy things appear to have fallen in line, and I can't thing of anything I should be worried about. Not a thing. Did I MISS something ? It just can't be this easy.
Incidentally, gift shopping for my super spouse was completed before the month of December even began. Now THAT'S organization !
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
Ah, Luxury
It's nice once in a while to really splash out and do something decadent. It's even nicer if it involves a babysitter and two nights away without the kids. Woohoo !
I took my lovely wife to Boston for a two day break, and BOY did we have fun. We shopped (too much), we dined (too much), we drank (waay too much) and we even got cultural at the Museum of Fine Art's Ansel Adams exhibit. I'd highly recommend the latter if you're in or near Boston. I've been a fan of his work for a while, but this exhibit has some very rare pieces that will surprise and educate you to the truly varied work of this genius artist.
I'm too relaxed to think of anything more creative. I'm sure normal life will resume again very soon.
I took my lovely wife to Boston for a two day break, and BOY did we have fun. We shopped (too much), we dined (too much), we drank (waay too much) and we even got cultural at the Museum of Fine Art's Ansel Adams exhibit. I'd highly recommend the latter if you're in or near Boston. I've been a fan of his work for a while, but this exhibit has some very rare pieces that will surprise and educate you to the truly varied work of this genius artist.
I'm too relaxed to think of anything more creative. I'm sure normal life will resume again very soon.
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
Small town, small life ?
I wonder sometimes what it must be like to live and die in the same place, never moving, never exploring a wider world.
There are generally two types of locals in this town that would fit this description.
The first is of the 'glass half full' mentality, fully of the mind that there isn't anything much worth exploring outside of the immediate area and that this is simply the most wonderful place that God ever made. Ever cheerful, helpful and friendly this individual is known and respected by almost everyone. The reassurance and sense of self that comes from knowing every facet of your surroundings must be wonderful.
The other is rather less appealing. The 'miserable bugger' seems unable to leave what he deems as a shithole of a town, and so drags out every day life with all of the enthusiasm of a child on the way to a dentist's appointment. He'll waste no opportunity to gripe and tell you about how the place has gone downhill, point out all of its shortcomings and generally spread his dark cloud in your direction. He seems to lack the courage to do anything else and so remains locked in the same daily cycle of life, doomed to live out his days in small town hell.
I think we're pretty lucky that most local residents who can claim to be 'true locals' fall into the first category - maybe that's what makes this place so special for those of us who come late to living here.
Since I left 'home' pretty early in life, I'll never know what it's like to have the same constant of place. Maybe that's a good thing.
There are generally two types of locals in this town that would fit this description.
The first is of the 'glass half full' mentality, fully of the mind that there isn't anything much worth exploring outside of the immediate area and that this is simply the most wonderful place that God ever made. Ever cheerful, helpful and friendly this individual is known and respected by almost everyone. The reassurance and sense of self that comes from knowing every facet of your surroundings must be wonderful.
The other is rather less appealing. The 'miserable bugger' seems unable to leave what he deems as a shithole of a town, and so drags out every day life with all of the enthusiasm of a child on the way to a dentist's appointment. He'll waste no opportunity to gripe and tell you about how the place has gone downhill, point out all of its shortcomings and generally spread his dark cloud in your direction. He seems to lack the courage to do anything else and so remains locked in the same daily cycle of life, doomed to live out his days in small town hell.
I think we're pretty lucky that most local residents who can claim to be 'true locals' fall into the first category - maybe that's what makes this place so special for those of us who come late to living here.
Since I left 'home' pretty early in life, I'll never know what it's like to have the same constant of place. Maybe that's a good thing.
Friday, December 02, 2005
It's got to be real...
Tomorrow, my little family will set out on our annual hunting expedition. We'll go armed with warm clothing, sharp implements and keen eyes for picking out the perfect specimen.
I like to do things the old fashioned way.
Sure you get buy them at the supermarket, the gas station or many vendors who dot the streets at this time of year. Somehow, going out and wrestling the thing with your own bare hands just adds to the experience. A little snow on the ground only adds to the festive feel.
Nope, Deer season is over. Now it's Christmas Tree season.
Living here in Vermont, there's no shortage of tree farms that cater to the 'cut it yourself' crowd. Searching row upon row of potential candidates adds to the excitement of finding that pine with the perfect symmetry, right height and correct degree of bushiness. There follows some crawling around on the ground, pruning of lower limbs and general huffing and puffing as the bow saw is put to use toppling the lucky winner.
At this point one realizes that it's a half mile uphill back to the car, dragging an 80 pound conifer. It's all good exercise, right ?
Still, nothing beats the aroma of a real pine tree at Christmas. We've never had a fake one, and I just cannot imagine they're the same. Not only is the smell different, but where's the fun in dragging a dusty old box out of the attic every year ?
Give me the thrill of the hunt anytime.
I like to do things the old fashioned way.
Sure you get buy them at the supermarket, the gas station or many vendors who dot the streets at this time of year. Somehow, going out and wrestling the thing with your own bare hands just adds to the experience. A little snow on the ground only adds to the festive feel.
Nope, Deer season is over. Now it's Christmas Tree season.
Living here in Vermont, there's no shortage of tree farms that cater to the 'cut it yourself' crowd. Searching row upon row of potential candidates adds to the excitement of finding that pine with the perfect symmetry, right height and correct degree of bushiness. There follows some crawling around on the ground, pruning of lower limbs and general huffing and puffing as the bow saw is put to use toppling the lucky winner.
At this point one realizes that it's a half mile uphill back to the car, dragging an 80 pound conifer. It's all good exercise, right ?
Still, nothing beats the aroma of a real pine tree at Christmas. We've never had a fake one, and I just cannot imagine they're the same. Not only is the smell different, but where's the fun in dragging a dusty old box out of the attic every year ?
Give me the thrill of the hunt anytime.
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
Oh Lord, another one
You just can't slow down old Father Time. His brother, The Grim Reaper, needs the business.
Yes follks, it's my birthday again. Happens every year. I'm not really morbid about the whole thing - it's more a sense of resignation that there's not a darn thing I can do about it.
I'm enjoying my thirties, and I'll be sad to see them go. No doubt I'll probably enjoy my forties, too, but I'm rather attached to this decade of life and would love to keep it indefinitely.
Possibly the biggest redeeming factor about the advance of years is the increasing enjoymnet and wonder that I experience as a parent.
I do enjoy the odd present here and there. I most certainly enjoy a Birthday dinner. The best gift I've had all day is the hug and 'Happy Birthday Daddy' I received from my daughter first thing this morning.
Right now my two children are pretending to be hockey players (ice hockey) and are 'skating' around the kitchen. My daughter has butterfly wings and a ballerina skirt. Priceless.
Yes follks, it's my birthday again. Happens every year. I'm not really morbid about the whole thing - it's more a sense of resignation that there's not a darn thing I can do about it.
I'm enjoying my thirties, and I'll be sad to see them go. No doubt I'll probably enjoy my forties, too, but I'm rather attached to this decade of life and would love to keep it indefinitely.
Possibly the biggest redeeming factor about the advance of years is the increasing enjoymnet and wonder that I experience as a parent.
I do enjoy the odd present here and there. I most certainly enjoy a Birthday dinner. The best gift I've had all day is the hug and 'Happy Birthday Daddy' I received from my daughter first thing this morning.
Right now my two children are pretending to be hockey players (ice hockey) and are 'skating' around the kitchen. My daughter has butterfly wings and a ballerina skirt. Priceless.
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
Fifty words for snow
Apparently, so everyone will tell you, Eskimos have fifty words for snow.
Researching this I have come to discover that this isn't strictly accurate, and is in fact just an arbitrary number that someone came up with since it sounded impressive. The reality isn't that interesting, and another nice idea goes down the drain.
I am not one of these people that await the arrival of the first flakes with giddy anticipation. I am not an avid skier, snowboarder, nordic skier or snowmobiler. I'll snowshoe from time to time, but only because I like to hike and it's easier that way.
In all its gleaming sunlit virgin glory, snow can be a wonderful sight. Unfortunately, it often doesn't take that form and can be an enormous pain in the rear.
Today's minor snowfall (the Weather Service keeps changing the forecast from 5-7 inches this morning, to less than one inch at 6pm, and now 1-2 inches) is one such weather event. It's slushy. It's wet. It's annoying to clean off of things. So, in my mind it shouldn't occupy the same word. This is more like 'frozen accumulating precipitation'. Catchy, huh ?
So, we need more than one word in the English language to describe snow. If any of the people who decide these things are reading, I'd like you to consider this and make the appropriate changes. Let me know when you're done.
Thank you.
Researching this I have come to discover that this isn't strictly accurate, and is in fact just an arbitrary number that someone came up with since it sounded impressive. The reality isn't that interesting, and another nice idea goes down the drain.
I am not one of these people that await the arrival of the first flakes with giddy anticipation. I am not an avid skier, snowboarder, nordic skier or snowmobiler. I'll snowshoe from time to time, but only because I like to hike and it's easier that way.
In all its gleaming sunlit virgin glory, snow can be a wonderful sight. Unfortunately, it often doesn't take that form and can be an enormous pain in the rear.
Today's minor snowfall (the Weather Service keeps changing the forecast from 5-7 inches this morning, to less than one inch at 6pm, and now 1-2 inches) is one such weather event. It's slushy. It's wet. It's annoying to clean off of things. So, in my mind it shouldn't occupy the same word. This is more like 'frozen accumulating precipitation'. Catchy, huh ?
So, we need more than one word in the English language to describe snow. If any of the people who decide these things are reading, I'd like you to consider this and make the appropriate changes. Let me know when you're done.
Thank you.
Saturday, November 19, 2005
Giving Thanks
This is one of my favorite times of year. Not just because my birthday is right around the corner, but because of the Thanksgiving Holiday.
Unlike most other overhyped, oversold, or plain overwhelming holidays, Thanksgiving has somehow escaped the overcommercialism of Christmas and Easter. It's a holiday that everyone gets to celebrate - regardless of race, colour, religion, sexual orientation and income. The simple thing about Thanksgiving is that it's really just about that - gathering together and being thankful. For your family, friends and what you have. You don't have to thank God - whichever or whatever deity you worship - it's more about just being reflective and stopping to take a minute.
I also enjoy the general lack of stress prior to the actual day. There's no tree, lights, presents, cards, religious services or TV specials. Other than making sure you have the requisite Turkey, trimmings and plenty of booze - it's all pretty low key.
Being a relative newcomer to the US (going on 13 years now), I immediately took to Thanksgiving. We didn't have it in England, and here was a time of year when you could get together, have a great meal and get a day off work without stressing about it for a month. It's also nice to throw political correctness to the wind and be able to wish all and sundry a 'Happy Thanksgiving !' without concern of offending someone's religious sensibilities.
This year will be a bit different. My wife and children will be at her parents' in Connecticut. I'm on call for the Ambulance that day, so I'll be here at home. The rest of my crew will be coming over for dinner, and we'll all sup ginger ale and hope we don't get called. It'll be nice, though. A different kind of family, but one I'm just as thankful for.
So, to any reader - no matter where you are in the World - take a moment next Thursday and join the millions of Americans in being just a little more thankful for the gifts that we have, and remember the millions who aren't as fortunate.
Unlike most other overhyped, oversold, or plain overwhelming holidays, Thanksgiving has somehow escaped the overcommercialism of Christmas and Easter. It's a holiday that everyone gets to celebrate - regardless of race, colour, religion, sexual orientation and income. The simple thing about Thanksgiving is that it's really just about that - gathering together and being thankful. For your family, friends and what you have. You don't have to thank God - whichever or whatever deity you worship - it's more about just being reflective and stopping to take a minute.
I also enjoy the general lack of stress prior to the actual day. There's no tree, lights, presents, cards, religious services or TV specials. Other than making sure you have the requisite Turkey, trimmings and plenty of booze - it's all pretty low key.
Being a relative newcomer to the US (going on 13 years now), I immediately took to Thanksgiving. We didn't have it in England, and here was a time of year when you could get together, have a great meal and get a day off work without stressing about it for a month. It's also nice to throw political correctness to the wind and be able to wish all and sundry a 'Happy Thanksgiving !' without concern of offending someone's religious sensibilities.
This year will be a bit different. My wife and children will be at her parents' in Connecticut. I'm on call for the Ambulance that day, so I'll be here at home. The rest of my crew will be coming over for dinner, and we'll all sup ginger ale and hope we don't get called. It'll be nice, though. A different kind of family, but one I'm just as thankful for.
So, to any reader - no matter where you are in the World - take a moment next Thursday and join the millions of Americans in being just a little more thankful for the gifts that we have, and remember the millions who aren't as fortunate.
Friday, November 18, 2005
Another FIRE
I wonder if undertakers feel guilty when another stiff comes rolling in. On the one hand, it means business. On the other, someone had to die. Still, it wasn't the undertaker who was responsible for them dying, just cleaning things up.
The same is true of fireman, I guess. I mean, we don't make the fires (Ok, some firefighters have been arrested for arson, but not as a rule) we just go put them out.
Our first real chimney fire of the year. If there was ever a better demonstration of why you should clean your chimney, this was it. I'm amazed the smoke could even make it to the top, there was so much creosote and soot caked in the flue. He was lucky, though - he didn't lose the house and has only a bit of a cracked chimney and some smoke damage. Could have been a lot worse.
Still, It's nice to be needed.
The same is true of fireman, I guess. I mean, we don't make the fires (Ok, some firefighters have been arrested for arson, but not as a rule) we just go put them out.
Our first real chimney fire of the year. If there was ever a better demonstration of why you should clean your chimney, this was it. I'm amazed the smoke could even make it to the top, there was so much creosote and soot caked in the flue. He was lucky, though - he didn't lose the house and has only a bit of a cracked chimney and some smoke damage. Could have been a lot worse.
Still, It's nice to be needed.
Thursday, November 17, 2005
Oh, BUGGER !
Many moons ago, back in my oh so distant carefree youth, I buggered up my knee. Whatever I did caused my knee to swell up to melon like proportions and made walking quite a challenge. Being on a hiking trip in France at the time, and without healthcare, the only solution was to rest it as much as possible and soldier on. Eventually, the swelling went away and the knee returned to normal (well, mostly normal).
Fast forward a number of years (I won't write down how many, since that alone makes me feel old), and somehow the old injury is back. I'm pretty sure that this time it objected to me crawling around on the new porch roof with a nailgun, or stepping up and down a 2 foot step every time I got up on to the porch (memo to self: build steps).
Either way, I've gone and done it in again. This time, I think I may have to actually go and see a medical professional. It must be a male thing, but I hate admitting that I actually have something WRONG with my body, and see a visit to the doctor as admitting defeat. Couple this with the general apathy of most doctors to any type of sporting activity ('Well, if it hurts, you should stop doing that activity') and I guess I haven't really seen the point. Truth is, though, I WANT to be able to take a run without shooting knee pain, and I most definitely don't want to get 'melon knee' again anytime soon - it really cramps your style.
So, off to the doc I shall go.
Fast forward a number of years (I won't write down how many, since that alone makes me feel old), and somehow the old injury is back. I'm pretty sure that this time it objected to me crawling around on the new porch roof with a nailgun, or stepping up and down a 2 foot step every time I got up on to the porch (memo to self: build steps).
Either way, I've gone and done it in again. This time, I think I may have to actually go and see a medical professional. It must be a male thing, but I hate admitting that I actually have something WRONG with my body, and see a visit to the doctor as admitting defeat. Couple this with the general apathy of most doctors to any type of sporting activity ('Well, if it hurts, you should stop doing that activity') and I guess I haven't really seen the point. Truth is, though, I WANT to be able to take a run without shooting knee pain, and I most definitely don't want to get 'melon knee' again anytime soon - it really cramps your style.
So, off to the doc I shall go.
Saturday, November 12, 2005
Nothing like a good fire...
Yesterday was something of an interesting day. As a fireman, I wouldn't say exactly that you WISH for a fire, but you're never unhappy when you get to go and put one out - no matter how small it is.
We got a tone around 10:30 or so, for a reported fire at a sugar house in town. For those who don't understand all of the complexities of maple sugar production, the sugar house is where all of the sap is stored, boiled, condensed and turned from tree sap into yummy pancake topping. This process occurs once a year at the END of winter. How does an unmanned, unheated, remote shack with no electricity catch fire ? Gooood question.
Within 10 minutes, we were at the scene which from the outset looked to be mostly a mopup job. Small structures like this one are typically down on the ground within minutes of the inception of the fire - there's so little structure to burn that it doesn't take long. Our job at this point is to cool down hot spots, rake over all of the debris and hunt for any leftover fire.
The challenge with this one was the access - a very steep, very rutted, very muddy track for about 200 yards. Hauling 2 1/2 inch line up such a track can be a challenge - even dry it weighs quite a bit. Once it's to the fire, the line is 'charged' and we go to work. If you've never operated a nozzle on the end of a 2 1/2 inch line, let me tell you - it's hard work. None of your garden hose pressure here. We're talking 150 psi, 500 gpm water monster in your hands. The job of the man on the nozzle is really just to direct the flow - not so much to hold the line. That is the job of the backup man (or preferrably two backup men). Their job is to wrestle the beast and try to keep everyone on the ground, not flying away from the back pressure (or nozzle reaction). This is hard on muddy, sloping wet ground.
Nonetheless, within a half hour the site was cool, we were much dirtier and we could go home. Which is of course, where the crappy bit starts. Now you get to drain and pack hundreds of feet of hose that has been in a mud puddle. Cart it back to the station. Hose it down, connect it back up and repack it on the truck. I'm not sure which is the dirtier job - the black fire ash, or the hose cleanup.
Either way, once all is said and done I can go home feeling I've done something useful today. Plus my bunker gear smells like fire once again.
We got a tone around 10:30 or so, for a reported fire at a sugar house in town. For those who don't understand all of the complexities of maple sugar production, the sugar house is where all of the sap is stored, boiled, condensed and turned from tree sap into yummy pancake topping. This process occurs once a year at the END of winter. How does an unmanned, unheated, remote shack with no electricity catch fire ? Gooood question.
Within 10 minutes, we were at the scene which from the outset looked to be mostly a mopup job. Small structures like this one are typically down on the ground within minutes of the inception of the fire - there's so little structure to burn that it doesn't take long. Our job at this point is to cool down hot spots, rake over all of the debris and hunt for any leftover fire.
The challenge with this one was the access - a very steep, very rutted, very muddy track for about 200 yards. Hauling 2 1/2 inch line up such a track can be a challenge - even dry it weighs quite a bit. Once it's to the fire, the line is 'charged' and we go to work. If you've never operated a nozzle on the end of a 2 1/2 inch line, let me tell you - it's hard work. None of your garden hose pressure here. We're talking 150 psi, 500 gpm water monster in your hands. The job of the man on the nozzle is really just to direct the flow - not so much to hold the line. That is the job of the backup man (or preferrably two backup men). Their job is to wrestle the beast and try to keep everyone on the ground, not flying away from the back pressure (or nozzle reaction). This is hard on muddy, sloping wet ground.
Nonetheless, within a half hour the site was cool, we were much dirtier and we could go home. Which is of course, where the crappy bit starts. Now you get to drain and pack hundreds of feet of hose that has been in a mud puddle. Cart it back to the station. Hose it down, connect it back up and repack it on the truck. I'm not sure which is the dirtier job - the black fire ash, or the hose cleanup.
Either way, once all is said and done I can go home feeling I've done something useful today. Plus my bunker gear smells like fire once again.
Thursday, November 10, 2005
Deadbeat
The Tavern was a small, cozy respite from the dreay November rain falling in sheets outside.
The open fire made the atmosphere warm and inviting.
The food was delicious and beautifully prepared.
The check was presented, the credit card declined. Declined ?
At such a moment (and I'm sure that at some point or another this must happen to everyone) you feel like a complete deadbeat, someone trying to sneak a bad credit card to pay your bill.
You run through the mental checklist of 'did I pay the bill' or 'did the card get cancelled' or 'did I go over my limit' ? Yes, no and no.
Rummaging through my wallet, I find the replacement. 'Here, try this one' I say, trying to sound like someone who is confident that he's not down to his last penny and desparately trying to find a card with some room left on it (been there, though). The waitress smiles, trying to give me that 'Oh, it's OK - this happens ALL the time' look, while all the while I know she's thinking 'poor bastard, he must be broke'.
The second card is accepted and no kitchen chores have to be performed before we are allowed to leave the restaurant.
I come to discover later that my credit card provider had thoughtfully sent me out an 'upgraded' card and thoughtfully cancelled the old one before I received it. It's nice to be so special.
The open fire made the atmosphere warm and inviting.
The food was delicious and beautifully prepared.
The check was presented, the credit card declined. Declined ?
At such a moment (and I'm sure that at some point or another this must happen to everyone) you feel like a complete deadbeat, someone trying to sneak a bad credit card to pay your bill.
You run through the mental checklist of 'did I pay the bill' or 'did the card get cancelled' or 'did I go over my limit' ? Yes, no and no.
Rummaging through my wallet, I find the replacement. 'Here, try this one' I say, trying to sound like someone who is confident that he's not down to his last penny and desparately trying to find a card with some room left on it (been there, though). The waitress smiles, trying to give me that 'Oh, it's OK - this happens ALL the time' look, while all the while I know she's thinking 'poor bastard, he must be broke'.
The second card is accepted and no kitchen chores have to be performed before we are allowed to leave the restaurant.
I come to discover later that my credit card provider had thoughtfully sent me out an 'upgraded' card and thoughtfully cancelled the old one before I received it. It's nice to be so special.
Saturday, November 05, 2005
I'm so complex
For those of you who own a Tivo, I need make no more explanantion since you are aware of the wonders of this gadget.
Any who don't should consider themselves technological neophytes beyond help, but I'll tell you just so that you understand. Tivo is sort of a cross between a VCR, a computer and Mr. Spock. It revolutionizes the process of watching TV. In addition to the interesting features of being able to pause and rewind live TV, the best part is that you can record shows by simply selecting the one you like from the guide and BOOM - every episode will be saved by the gorgeous Tivo for your viewing pleasure. What you then end up with is a library of stuff on your magic black box that you want to watch, and you can do so when the time is good for you (say, after the kids are in bed or on a Sunday afternoon instead of Thursday night at 9PM).
There is one feature that has let me down, though. Maybe it's MY fault. Maybe my viewing habits are just so extremely diverse as to define logic. Even an FBI profiler would be stumped, I suppose.
See, Tivo is supposed to look at what YOU choose to record and then by searching long and hard through its millions of upcoming shows, pick something else you might like and record it just in case you're interested. This is called 'TiVo Suggestions'.
At first, TiVo picked all kinds of stuff. Alas, all of it crap. Gradually, it must have felt shunned since I never watched any of its little video gems. Now, I think it has just given up. Poor little thing.
There must be something wrong with me.
Any who don't should consider themselves technological neophytes beyond help, but I'll tell you just so that you understand. Tivo is sort of a cross between a VCR, a computer and Mr. Spock. It revolutionizes the process of watching TV. In addition to the interesting features of being able to pause and rewind live TV, the best part is that you can record shows by simply selecting the one you like from the guide and BOOM - every episode will be saved by the gorgeous Tivo for your viewing pleasure. What you then end up with is a library of stuff on your magic black box that you want to watch, and you can do so when the time is good for you (say, after the kids are in bed or on a Sunday afternoon instead of Thursday night at 9PM).
There is one feature that has let me down, though. Maybe it's MY fault. Maybe my viewing habits are just so extremely diverse as to define logic. Even an FBI profiler would be stumped, I suppose.
See, Tivo is supposed to look at what YOU choose to record and then by searching long and hard through its millions of upcoming shows, pick something else you might like and record it just in case you're interested. This is called 'TiVo Suggestions'.
At first, TiVo picked all kinds of stuff. Alas, all of it crap. Gradually, it must have felt shunned since I never watched any of its little video gems. Now, I think it has just given up. Poor little thing.
There must be something wrong with me.
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
I've come out
So, it finally happened. It's not that I was keeping it a secret, exactly. Just that I wasn't advertising it. I haven't felt that I'm living a lie or anything. It's all so innocent.
It all started as something personal - just to see if I could do it, whether I had it in me and if I could stick to it.
I didn't tell my wife just because when it all began there wasn't anything to tell, and I wanted to have something to show for it.
Anyway, thanks to my slightly nosey father, the truth came out. Now everybody in my family knows that I have a blog. Thanks, Dad.
Still, my 'modus operandi' all along was to write with the knowledge that my lovely wife would someday read every sordid word. With this in mind, I avoid all manner of potentially inflammatory topics and keep my sex life intact (thanks, honey).
Personally, I think that my family doesn't find it that interesting anyway. Hopefully they've all buggered off and left me in peace (not referring to you, honey).
It all started as something personal - just to see if I could do it, whether I had it in me and if I could stick to it.
I didn't tell my wife just because when it all began there wasn't anything to tell, and I wanted to have something to show for it.
Anyway, thanks to my slightly nosey father, the truth came out. Now everybody in my family knows that I have a blog. Thanks, Dad.
Still, my 'modus operandi' all along was to write with the knowledge that my lovely wife would someday read every sordid word. With this in mind, I avoid all manner of potentially inflammatory topics and keep my sex life intact (thanks, honey).
Personally, I think that my family doesn't find it that interesting anyway. Hopefully they've all buggered off and left me in peace (not referring to you, honey).
Monday, October 31, 2005
Narrowband
I'm experiencing something that all 21st century, up to the minute, technologically advanced beings dread.
Dial up.
Well, not exactly dial up, but 'always on' dial up speed BROADBAND.
Maybe I should explain.
Some weeks back, my cable modem was exhibiting some annoying tendencies - such as dropping off completely for no apparent reason, staying off and then coming on again. Randomly. After much grinding of teeth, cursing at tech support and general annoyance I decided to finally switch to the 'other' broadband provider in town. (It starts with a V and ends in 'erizon').
All was well in broadband land for a while. Whizzy speeds were once more available and life was good.
Until last week. Technically, my DSL still WORKS. Just very, very slowly. More slowly than dialup, actually. Most annoyingly, it took over an hour on the phone with the tech weenies at V who make you do the whole 'Did you reboot your PC/Modem/Firewall/House' thing ad nauseum.
After finally persuading him of the reality of my situation and exhausting all possible reasons why 'this might be MY fault', they have grudgingly dispatched a technician (and by 'technician' I mean someone marginally trained in what a PC looks like who will come to my house and not fix it).
I'll keep you informed.
Dial up.
Well, not exactly dial up, but 'always on' dial up speed BROADBAND.
Maybe I should explain.
Some weeks back, my cable modem was exhibiting some annoying tendencies - such as dropping off completely for no apparent reason, staying off and then coming on again. Randomly. After much grinding of teeth, cursing at tech support and general annoyance I decided to finally switch to the 'other' broadband provider in town. (It starts with a V and ends in 'erizon').
All was well in broadband land for a while. Whizzy speeds were once more available and life was good.
Until last week. Technically, my DSL still WORKS. Just very, very slowly. More slowly than dialup, actually. Most annoyingly, it took over an hour on the phone with the tech weenies at V who make you do the whole 'Did you reboot your PC/Modem/Firewall/House' thing ad nauseum.
After finally persuading him of the reality of my situation and exhausting all possible reasons why 'this might be MY fault', they have grudgingly dispatched a technician (and by 'technician' I mean someone marginally trained in what a PC looks like who will come to my house and not fix it).
I'll keep you informed.
Thursday, October 27, 2005
Stop, Drop and Roll
This week was more Fire Prevention Week (it's a long week). Even though our department isn't full time, we still take on the job of providing fire safety education to the schoolkids in town. Tuesday we were at the elementary school, teaching kids from Kindergarten (5) to 5th Grade (10) about the hazards in their home, and what to do if there is a fire.
We got to use a neat little thing called the Hazard House. This is basically a little dolls house with kitchen, living room, bedroom and so on. It has been wired with little 'smoke pots' that you fill with smoke oil, and then at the push of a button you can fill parts of it with smoke. Other hazards, like bad or overloaded wiring, gasoline stored in the basement, space heaters too close to curtains are all depicted and the kids can help you find and fix all of the various problems in the house. Then when they go home, they can 'educate' Mom and Dad to do the same.
We also talk a lot about what to do if there is a fire, having a family escape plan and meeting place and most importantly - having SMOKE DETECTORS. Every kid from the school took home a free smoke detector that day. Let's hope they all get put up on the ceiling and not just stuck in a box.
Anyway, it's a good thing to go out into the community and do something that can help to save lives, educates people a little, and is just plain fun.
If you have kids, I urge you to discuss with them what they should do when there is a fire - how to get out, and what to do if they cannot get out. Visit the fire station and meet a fireman. Kids die in fires because they hide under the bed or in a closet. The more they know, the better the chances of survival are. Yours, theirs, and also the firefighter's. If everyone gets out, we have to spend less time searching a building.
'nuf said.
Saturday, October 22, 2005
The Fourth Season
Winter.
I'm not sure what happened to Fall, but it seems that Winter has brutally killed it and stuffed it under the rug. Tonight - a SNOW advisory. It probably won't amount to much, but that first time the words sneak into the weather forecast you realize that you can't kid yourself anymore. It's a reality. Only 6 months until Spring !
My folks took off back to England after a lovely 4 week stay. It's nice to have Mum & Dad around for a while. Sort of odd, too. Kind of like moving home again, but in your own house. I must say, though, that I enjoyed the taste of my childhood in the form of Mum's Steak & Kidney pie. Mmm.
I'm also a glutton for punishment, and have joined the Ambulance department here in town. I must enjoy getting woken up at odd hours. My first night on call we had a run at around midnight. Got home at 2:45 or so. Back in bed by 4 after a cuppa and some calming TV.
I'm not sure what happened to Fall, but it seems that Winter has brutally killed it and stuffed it under the rug. Tonight - a SNOW advisory. It probably won't amount to much, but that first time the words sneak into the weather forecast you realize that you can't kid yourself anymore. It's a reality. Only 6 months until Spring !
My folks took off back to England after a lovely 4 week stay. It's nice to have Mum & Dad around for a while. Sort of odd, too. Kind of like moving home again, but in your own house. I must say, though, that I enjoyed the taste of my childhood in the form of Mum's Steak & Kidney pie. Mmm.
I'm also a glutton for punishment, and have joined the Ambulance department here in town. I must enjoy getting woken up at odd hours. My first night on call we had a run at around midnight. Got home at 2:45 or so. Back in bed by 4 after a cuppa and some calming TV.
Thursday, October 13, 2005
Frenzy
It's funny. You never realized that your home was either (a) so messy or (b) so tatty around the edges - until you throw a party.
We're now two days out, and my wife is beginning the female party ritual of micro cleaning every thing in sight, preparing enough food to last a hibernating pack of bears until 2007 and generally stressing about anything possible.
I, on the other hand, am Mr. Super Productive Handyman Person. All of those jobs that you think 'Oh, that'll take too long, I'll do that next week/month/year' are getting tackled, and many are EVEN getting finished. It's also obligingly been pouring/drizzling/rainy/misty for the last 5 days, so I've been halted on my main project (the porch - haven't you been paying attention ?).
My project frenzy is mostly because our house has been 'under construction' for going on 3 years, and for many of our guests this will be their first glimpse inside our little palace. It's fine that I can live with all of these half completed or 'just liveable enough' areas, but I wouldn't want our friends thinking 'Ooh, is that ALL that they've done' ?
Most of the work was below the surface, really. No, really, really. Come into the basement and I'll prove it.
We're now two days out, and my wife is beginning the female party ritual of micro cleaning every thing in sight, preparing enough food to last a hibernating pack of bears until 2007 and generally stressing about anything possible.
I, on the other hand, am Mr. Super Productive Handyman Person. All of those jobs that you think 'Oh, that'll take too long, I'll do that next week/month/year' are getting tackled, and many are EVEN getting finished. It's also obligingly been pouring/drizzling/rainy/misty for the last 5 days, so I've been halted on my main project (the porch - haven't you been paying attention ?).
My project frenzy is mostly because our house has been 'under construction' for going on 3 years, and for many of our guests this will be their first glimpse inside our little palace. It's fine that I can live with all of these half completed or 'just liveable enough' areas, but I wouldn't want our friends thinking 'Ooh, is that ALL that they've done' ?
Most of the work was below the surface, really. No, really, really. Come into the basement and I'll prove it.
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
Fire Prevention Week
This week (October 9-15) is Fire Prevention Week in the US. As a Firefighter, part of my job is public education. Here's my public safety announcement.- If you don't have them, BUY SMOKE DETECTORS. They DO save lives.
- If you do have smoke detectors, change the batteries twice a year. Right now. Go on, do it.
- Use candles with care. According to the NFPA, candles started more than 18,000 fires in 2002 and claimed over 130 lives. They only romantic until you burn your house down. Click the link above for more info.
Sleepy epic
I generally take the opinion of movie critics with more than a generous pinch of salt, since I feel that they're jaded by watching too many bad films and have standards that may be higher than mine. If anything I tend to seek out the audience's take on a flick (usefully provided by many movie sites).
There are times, though, when the critics are 100% absolutely, positively right.
'Alexander' is one such cinematic cow pat.
Despite the impressive cast and directorial credentials, lashings of special effects and a semi true story of adventure it was an impossibly long, tediously dull experience. I actually walked away after about an hour and a half, had a drink and a nibble, browsed the web, read a few blogs and came back hoping for it to be over. It wasn't. I suffered as long as I could before realizing that it just wasn't worth staying awake for, turned it off and went to bed.
I don't see my job as that of telling people what to listen to or watch, but heed these words - DO NOT WATCH THIS FILM. RUN AWAY. Watch 'Antiques Roadshow' instead.
There are times, though, when the critics are 100% absolutely, positively right.
'Alexander' is one such cinematic cow pat.
Despite the impressive cast and directorial credentials, lashings of special effects and a semi true story of adventure it was an impossibly long, tediously dull experience. I actually walked away after about an hour and a half, had a drink and a nibble, browsed the web, read a few blogs and came back hoping for it to be over. It wasn't. I suffered as long as I could before realizing that it just wasn't worth staying awake for, turned it off and went to bed.
I don't see my job as that of telling people what to listen to or watch, but heed these words - DO NOT WATCH THIS FILM. RUN AWAY. Watch 'Antiques Roadshow' instead.
Sunday, October 09, 2005
Use the power wisely, oh parent.
Alda's recent post on arcane Icelandic naming conventions brought to mind a concept - no a THEORY if you will - that bubbled into my brain when we had our first child (my wife and I, not Alda and I).
There's a lot of weight in a name, and especially so when it's your responsibility to PICK one that your child will be saddled with for the rest of their life. Not only can the silly name you might be tempted to bestow upon them be just plain embarrassing, I would suggest that it can actually DEFINE who they become.
What I'm saying here is that if you call you son 'Nigel', then he's going to grow up to be a complete NIGEL. If you don't know anyone called Nigel, then take it from me that anyone I've ever known with that name has always been something of a dimwit. Mandy is another such name. Think of all the 'Mandy's' that you know. Would YOU want to be one ? Somehow, carrying the name around makes you take on personality traits of those people. 'Brittney' - Ditzy. 'Kevin' - a bit slow and dull. 'Paul' - quiet, a bit eccentric and nondescript. 'Michael' - bit of an arrogant streak.
If you think about it long enough with all the people you know, you'll see that I'm right. There ARE exceptions, I know, but in general it works pretty well.
Apologies to anyone of a certain naming persuasion offended by this post. You could always change your name to something better. Like Robert, for instance :-)
There's a lot of weight in a name, and especially so when it's your responsibility to PICK one that your child will be saddled with for the rest of their life. Not only can the silly name you might be tempted to bestow upon them be just plain embarrassing, I would suggest that it can actually DEFINE who they become.
What I'm saying here is that if you call you son 'Nigel', then he's going to grow up to be a complete NIGEL. If you don't know anyone called Nigel, then take it from me that anyone I've ever known with that name has always been something of a dimwit. Mandy is another such name. Think of all the 'Mandy's' that you know. Would YOU want to be one ? Somehow, carrying the name around makes you take on personality traits of those people. 'Brittney' - Ditzy. 'Kevin' - a bit slow and dull. 'Paul' - quiet, a bit eccentric and nondescript. 'Michael' - bit of an arrogant streak.
If you think about it long enough with all the people you know, you'll see that I'm right. There ARE exceptions, I know, but in general it works pretty well.
Apologies to anyone of a certain naming persuasion offended by this post. You could always change your name to something better. Like Robert, for instance :-)
Friday, October 07, 2005
Ah, Fall.
I must have a short memory, or at least my mind is good at blanking things out. It happens every year that by the end of Summer, I'm just ready for an end to all things hot and can't WAIT for the cooler days of Fall and Winter.
Of course, during mid March when we've endured almost 6 months of horrible freezing, snowy, melty, crappy weather I just can't WAIT for the balmy warm days of Summer.
I can't imagine living somewhere where seasons occur only on the calendar, and not particularly in the weather outside. Always sunny and 70 degrees must get tiring sometime, right ? Right ?
Anyway, Fall here in New England is shaping up to be it's usual dazzling display of woodland colors. Judging by the number of tour buses and tourists in town this weekend, we're about at our peak for both leaves and 'leaf peepers'. Best to stay at home and enjoy looking at the foliage from inside until the onslaught is over.
Now, where did I put that snow shovel ?
Of course, during mid March when we've endured almost 6 months of horrible freezing, snowy, melty, crappy weather I just can't WAIT for the balmy warm days of Summer.
I can't imagine living somewhere where seasons occur only on the calendar, and not particularly in the weather outside. Always sunny and 70 degrees must get tiring sometime, right ? Right ?
Anyway, Fall here in New England is shaping up to be it's usual dazzling display of woodland colors. Judging by the number of tour buses and tourists in town this weekend, we're about at our peak for both leaves and 'leaf peepers'. Best to stay at home and enjoy looking at the foliage from inside until the onslaught is over.
Now, where did I put that snow shovel ?
Tuesday, October 04, 2005
And the secret is...
Apparently, a winning chili recipe contains beans. Mine, on the other hand contained 50 pounds of beef but not a single bean.
The perceptive among you will probably note that I did NOT win the Chili Cookoff. I did come in a solid joint 3rd, though (out of 4, but who's counting).
Being my first year and all, it's something of a learning experience and these are some of the lessons that I can offer to any would be Chili Cooker Offer:
- Drink more beer while making the Chili. Have some friends over. It takes a loooooong time.
- Use beans. The philistine public just can't handle a meaty chili (unless you're in Texas in which case I believe they will rope you to a wild horse if you don't have 100% beef).
- Make more than you think people could possibly eat. Then double it. Running out of product seriously hampers votes.
- Pick the SHADY side of the tent.
- Cook it at someone else's house. 3 days of chili smell really doesn't make you hungry.
Other than that, everyone had a good time. Music by The Half Moon Jug Band was excellent, especially their banner number 'Dead Skunk in the middle of the road'.
No, really it was.
The perceptive among you will probably note that I did NOT win the Chili Cookoff. I did come in a solid joint 3rd, though (out of 4, but who's counting).
Being my first year and all, it's something of a learning experience and these are some of the lessons that I can offer to any would be Chili Cooker Offer:
- Drink more beer while making the Chili. Have some friends over. It takes a loooooong time.
- Use beans. The philistine public just can't handle a meaty chili (unless you're in Texas in which case I believe they will rope you to a wild horse if you don't have 100% beef).
- Make more than you think people could possibly eat. Then double it. Running out of product seriously hampers votes.
- Pick the SHADY side of the tent.
- Cook it at someone else's house. 3 days of chili smell really doesn't make you hungry.
Other than that, everyone had a good time. Music by The Half Moon Jug Band was excellent, especially their banner number 'Dead Skunk in the middle of the road'.
No, really it was.
Friday, September 30, 2005
Chili
Being a big tourist destination, there are times when our town is just chock-a-block with events, and this weekend is one such occasion. In the big run up to peak foliage season when all of the 'leaf peepers' in out and about, every organization, club, charity, store and church is out to part these lovely people from their money.
For the last two years, I've attended the 'Chili Cookoff'. For those who aren't American (still quite a few at last count, despite Bush's efforts to convert everyone) a 'cookoff' is simply a competition where people enter foodstuffs and the offerings are judged. In this case, by the paying public.
This year, I've boldly thrown my hat into the ring and I have prepared my best effort Chili as an entry for the Fire Department (which, though you might think it should be, is NOT that hot). So, for the last 2 days I have been cooking up tons of beef and spices in a pot on the stove that would do Macbeth's witches proud (no eye of newt in the recipe, though). I'm getting a bit sick of the smell of Chili, to be honest. However, it does taste pretty good.
Results will be forthcoming. Fingers crossed !
For the last two years, I've attended the 'Chili Cookoff'. For those who aren't American (still quite a few at last count, despite Bush's efforts to convert everyone) a 'cookoff' is simply a competition where people enter foodstuffs and the offerings are judged. In this case, by the paying public.
This year, I've boldly thrown my hat into the ring and I have prepared my best effort Chili as an entry for the Fire Department (which, though you might think it should be, is NOT that hot). So, for the last 2 days I have been cooking up tons of beef and spices in a pot on the stove that would do Macbeth's witches proud (no eye of newt in the recipe, though). I'm getting a bit sick of the smell of Chili, to be honest. However, it does taste pretty good.
Results will be forthcoming. Fingers crossed !
Monday, September 26, 2005
No time, no time
Not that anybody is hanging on my every word, and not that I receive concerned emails when I haven't posted for 10 days, but I have been absent for a bit. Sorry about that.
I feel the weather window closing (quickly), and I'm working like a one-winged goose. Predictably, the porch is not moving as fast as I'd like and predictably the weather doesn't help. We're already getting frosts at night. My nicely applied finish went all crappy when the dew condensed on it before it had dried, so I was reduced to staying up until all hours heating the underside of the porch with a propane heater just to get it to dry. Thankfully, I did not set the house on fire (very embarassing) and the finish did dry.
In other, much more important, news - my parents are here from England ! Mum and Dad haven't been over in almost 18 months, so it's very good to see them. Our kids have grown so much since their last visit (number one son wasn't even walking when they left and now he's talking in sentences). Lovely to have them here, and be surrounded by English voices, foibles and endless cups of tea.
Today I went to have my fingerprints taken for my citizenship application. The FBI already has a set on file, so I'm not sure why they need more. I obliged anyway. Contrast today's visit with my original immigration process 12+ years ago in New York City. Back then, I was one of at least 500 people queueing by 6:30am. Today I was the ONLY person at the INS (now DHS) facility in St. Albans, Vermont - a mere stone's throw from the Canadian border. A much more pleasant experience.
I pity the poor security guard, though. He must get a rush of people from time to time, since the waiting room has a couple of dozen chairs. At this time on a rainy Monday, I was the only Alien in residence. You'd think, though, that this small corner of Vermont must be at great risk. After being requested to remove my keychain penknife from the building, presenting photo ID and an appointment letter and going through a metal detector I was able to take a seat. The guard continued to watch me warily, just in case I was planning some kind of high-jinks with my belt buckle.
After a lengthy 30 second wait, I was fingerprinted (digitally now - none of that messy ink) by a very cheery young lady, asked to fill out a 'customer satisfaction survey' and was on my way in a jiffy. Amazing.
I feel the weather window closing (quickly), and I'm working like a one-winged goose. Predictably, the porch is not moving as fast as I'd like and predictably the weather doesn't help. We're already getting frosts at night. My nicely applied finish went all crappy when the dew condensed on it before it had dried, so I was reduced to staying up until all hours heating the underside of the porch with a propane heater just to get it to dry. Thankfully, I did not set the house on fire (very embarassing) and the finish did dry.
In other, much more important, news - my parents are here from England ! Mum and Dad haven't been over in almost 18 months, so it's very good to see them. Our kids have grown so much since their last visit (number one son wasn't even walking when they left and now he's talking in sentences). Lovely to have them here, and be surrounded by English voices, foibles and endless cups of tea.
Today I went to have my fingerprints taken for my citizenship application. The FBI already has a set on file, so I'm not sure why they need more. I obliged anyway. Contrast today's visit with my original immigration process 12+ years ago in New York City. Back then, I was one of at least 500 people queueing by 6:30am. Today I was the ONLY person at the INS (now DHS) facility in St. Albans, Vermont - a mere stone's throw from the Canadian border. A much more pleasant experience.
I pity the poor security guard, though. He must get a rush of people from time to time, since the waiting room has a couple of dozen chairs. At this time on a rainy Monday, I was the only Alien in residence. You'd think, though, that this small corner of Vermont must be at great risk. After being requested to remove my keychain penknife from the building, presenting photo ID and an appointment letter and going through a metal detector I was able to take a seat. The guard continued to watch me warily, just in case I was planning some kind of high-jinks with my belt buckle.
After a lengthy 30 second wait, I was fingerprinted (digitally now - none of that messy ink) by a very cheery young lady, asked to fill out a 'customer satisfaction survey' and was on my way in a jiffy. Amazing.
Thursday, September 15, 2005
Must be getting old
Boy - time flies when you're having fun. I can't believe my last post was a week ago.
Still, I have been VERY busy with my ongoing porch project. The new tongue and groove Douglas Fir floor is now mostly installed, and will look very spiffy when it's all finished with a clear coat.
After finishing up yesterday, I heeded the advice of the weathermen and covered the whole floor with plastic. Good thing too, because for once they were actually right !
Waking at 1:30am to the sound of a monsoon cascading from the rooves of houses next door (people in Vermont don't have gutters because they'd get ripped off by the snow), I lay awake in bed running through the mental list of 'things that might be getting ruined by the water'.
It must be blissful to either be a homeowner that never has such worries, or a cosy apartment dweller who knows that it's someone else's problem. For me though, with a house somewhat of a work in progress, it's a nightmare. No being lulled back to sleep by the patter of raindrops drumming on the roof for me. After an hour of trying to get back to sleep, I cave in and get out of bed. I must be getting old since I never had any problem nodding off.
Now I'll be one of those elderly thirty somethings who drifts off in front of the TV at 8:30 and wakes up at 4:30.
Still, I have been VERY busy with my ongoing porch project. The new tongue and groove Douglas Fir floor is now mostly installed, and will look very spiffy when it's all finished with a clear coat.
After finishing up yesterday, I heeded the advice of the weathermen and covered the whole floor with plastic. Good thing too, because for once they were actually right !
Waking at 1:30am to the sound of a monsoon cascading from the rooves of houses next door (people in Vermont don't have gutters because they'd get ripped off by the snow), I lay awake in bed running through the mental list of 'things that might be getting ruined by the water'.
It must be blissful to either be a homeowner that never has such worries, or a cosy apartment dweller who knows that it's someone else's problem. For me though, with a house somewhat of a work in progress, it's a nightmare. No being lulled back to sleep by the patter of raindrops drumming on the roof for me. After an hour of trying to get back to sleep, I cave in and get out of bed. I must be getting old since I never had any problem nodding off.
Now I'll be one of those elderly thirty somethings who drifts off in front of the TV at 8:30 and wakes up at 4:30.
Thursday, September 08, 2005
Flies
I hate flies.
I'm sure that they have some valid role to play in the ecosystem, but quite frankly they are not welcome in my house.
Not that I'm infested with them at this point (although, we did have Cluster Flies in the attic a few years ago), just that even a single fly can really PISS ME OFF.
I'll confess I'm no entomologist, but I swear that they have an innate intelligence and the ability to determine what would annoy humans the most. Sitting on the couch, a fly can combine the annoying 'round the head' flight path with periods of 'sitting on the TV screen' (are they watching it ?). To demonstrate their complete mastery of the 'head game', the minute you reach boiling point and jump up, magazine in hand - they disappear. Seated once again, they're at it in no time.
My kids (really my wife, but they presented it to me with great fanfare) recently bought me an old fashioned fly swatter. You'd think that given today's modern technologies and sprays these things would be obsolete, but let me tell you this - it ROCKS ! Think of it as the stealth weapon in your fly killing arsenal. Whereas flies can sense the approach of a folded magazine, cupped hand or other swatter - they're oblivious to this thing. THWACK ! Dead Fly. THWACK ! 2-0. THWACK ! Die, damn fly.
It's a satisfying thing, killing such a tiny but annoying bug. I feel all manly, like I'm safeguarding my family from peril. Probably what a caveman felt like after taking down a rabid mastodon.
I'm sure that they have some valid role to play in the ecosystem, but quite frankly they are not welcome in my house.
Not that I'm infested with them at this point (although, we did have Cluster Flies in the attic a few years ago), just that even a single fly can really PISS ME OFF.
I'll confess I'm no entomologist, but I swear that they have an innate intelligence and the ability to determine what would annoy humans the most. Sitting on the couch, a fly can combine the annoying 'round the head' flight path with periods of 'sitting on the TV screen' (are they watching it ?). To demonstrate their complete mastery of the 'head game', the minute you reach boiling point and jump up, magazine in hand - they disappear. Seated once again, they're at it in no time.
My kids (really my wife, but they presented it to me with great fanfare) recently bought me an old fashioned fly swatter. You'd think that given today's modern technologies and sprays these things would be obsolete, but let me tell you this - it ROCKS ! Think of it as the stealth weapon in your fly killing arsenal. Whereas flies can sense the approach of a folded magazine, cupped hand or other swatter - they're oblivious to this thing. THWACK ! Dead Fly. THWACK ! 2-0. THWACK ! Die, damn fly.
It's a satisfying thing, killing such a tiny but annoying bug. I feel all manly, like I'm safeguarding my family from peril. Probably what a caveman felt like after taking down a rabid mastodon.
Tuesday, September 06, 2005
Thoughts on stripping
Oddly enough, one of my more favorite pastimes is stripping paint.
After many years of experience with this, and having tried every method known to man, I still prefer the 'old fashioned' way. I like to use a heat gun and an array of scrapers, peeling the paint off layer by layer.
Despite the toxic fumes, lead dust and red hot paint chips falling down my socks, I find this somehow mind numbingly cathartic. With the hair dryer like noise of the heat gun and the focus paid to making sure you don't gouge the wood, it's sort of like being in a sensory deprivation chamber. There's also the satisfaction of being able to see just what you have accomplished at the end of the day (although in the case of my front door, it doesn't seem to be much).
As I scrape, peeling away the gooey layers, I like to consider the person that put the paint ON in the first place. In the case of my house, the layers of paint go back over a century, possibly longer. I learned recently that during World War II the house was white with red trim and blue shutters - very patriotic. I'm now scraping off the red layer, buried under successive coats of white, and it's not the earliest. It's a connection with the history of the house, and to the people that built this town. Let's hope that the paint I put back in its place will last as long.
After many years of experience with this, and having tried every method known to man, I still prefer the 'old fashioned' way. I like to use a heat gun and an array of scrapers, peeling the paint off layer by layer.
Despite the toxic fumes, lead dust and red hot paint chips falling down my socks, I find this somehow mind numbingly cathartic. With the hair dryer like noise of the heat gun and the focus paid to making sure you don't gouge the wood, it's sort of like being in a sensory deprivation chamber. There's also the satisfaction of being able to see just what you have accomplished at the end of the day (although in the case of my front door, it doesn't seem to be much).
As I scrape, peeling away the gooey layers, I like to consider the person that put the paint ON in the first place. In the case of my house, the layers of paint go back over a century, possibly longer. I learned recently that during World War II the house was white with red trim and blue shutters - very patriotic. I'm now scraping off the red layer, buried under successive coats of white, and it's not the earliest. It's a connection with the history of the house, and to the people that built this town. Let's hope that the paint I put back in its place will last as long.
Friday, September 02, 2005
Beside myself
I'm becoming angrier and increasingly sickened by the pathetic response to the disaster in the Gulf states. It just boggles my mind that we live in a civilized, developed country and our leaders will sit by and allow this kind of misery.
I just don't understand it. We can mobilize hundreds of thousands of troops in the gulf and unleash all kinds of 'shock and awe' to kill people, but when it comes to rescuing our own in a major American city, the wheels fall off the bus.
Every fiber of my body wants to go there and help. Being a first responder and seeing people without help in that situation makes my blood boil.
Let's pray that things change soon.
I just don't understand it. We can mobilize hundreds of thousands of troops in the gulf and unleash all kinds of 'shock and awe' to kill people, but when it comes to rescuing our own in a major American city, the wheels fall off the bus.
Every fiber of my body wants to go there and help. Being a first responder and seeing people without help in that situation makes my blood boil.
Let's pray that things change soon.
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
You know you live in a small town when..
The front page of the sports section is taken up with a one third page spread of very grey haired people playing croquet. (Headline - 'The Croquet Crew').
I should clip the main picture - a couple of elderly gentlemen, giving each other the high five over what must have been an exceptional play. I find such showboating in sports just deplorable. What's next ? Tossing their mallets in the air ?
It frequently amazes me that there are enough people to buy a copy to make a paper worthwhile, but they do. How else would you know when to attend the next Baked Bean Supper, or Senior's Bingo Night ?
I should clip the main picture - a couple of elderly gentlemen, giving each other the high five over what must have been an exceptional play. I find such showboating in sports just deplorable. What's next ? Tossing their mallets in the air ?
It frequently amazes me that there are enough people to buy a copy to make a paper worthwhile, but they do. How else would you know when to attend the next Baked Bean Supper, or Senior's Bingo Night ?
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
Paint a mile
You never really consider how big something is until you have to paint it.
After spending much time and effort trying to save my porch, I came to the realization that it was just a pile of sawdust and rot held together by caulk and paint. Within a day, it was relocated into the dumpster (a Skip for those English readers).
Now I'm faced with the depressing task of rebuilding the thing, and all before the winter - which in these parts is only a short 2 months from now.
First on the agenda is a new floor. Being someone who likes to do things right the first time, I'm going with the same material that was used originally. A bit pricey, true, but worth it. It's recommended that you put two coats of base and one finish coat on all sides of the boards, and I have 1300 feet of them. So, by my shaky math that is 7200 feet of painting, or 1.36 miles.
This could take a while.
After spending much time and effort trying to save my porch, I came to the realization that it was just a pile of sawdust and rot held together by caulk and paint. Within a day, it was relocated into the dumpster (a Skip for those English readers).
Now I'm faced with the depressing task of rebuilding the thing, and all before the winter - which in these parts is only a short 2 months from now.
First on the agenda is a new floor. Being someone who likes to do things right the first time, I'm going with the same material that was used originally. A bit pricey, true, but worth it. It's recommended that you put two coats of base and one finish coat on all sides of the boards, and I have 1300 feet of them. So, by my shaky math that is 7200 feet of painting, or 1.36 miles.
This could take a while.
Monday, August 29, 2005
Lady Katrina
When I lived in England, I never really appreciated the scale of weather. This probably had something to do with the fact that it’s an island, and it rains all the time so you get used to the same sort of stuff (it really doesn’t, by the way, but all Americans think it does - just like London is still foggy).
Here in the US, since weather systems can simultaneously affect both ends of the country, you really have to marvel at the power of it all.
I feel badly for the folks down in the Gulf states, since they’re on the real ‘sharp’ end of bad weather. It’s also raining here, thousands of miles away and all from the SAME storm (I live in the small red circle in the top right). Incredible.
Thursday, August 25, 2005
You can call him Al
I have an elderly neighbor - I think he's somewhere in his 80's, though exactly where in the decade I couldn't say. He is something of a spectator.
For the purposes of this post, we'll call him 'Al' *.
Al's wife, whom we shall call 'Dorothy' most definitely wears the trousers in their relationship. The most common phrase to pass Al's lips would be 'Yes, Dear' - usually in response to some command issued with megaphone like volume from their back door. Al is usually hiding in his barn pretending to 'work' on something or other.
The first year of renovations, most of the work was done on the back of the house. Al and Dorothy's elevated deck is at a convenient height and doubles as an observation platform for our entire back garden. I'd be out there banging and sweating away, and Al would pull up a deck chair, orient it for the best possible view and sit happily as if watching his favorite TV show.
Things have come a long way since then, and work has moved to a less convenient location (for Al anyway). I've also come to the conclusion that just about any distraction for Al will be better than being driven to it by his wife, and I'm happy to provide one.
I'll often be beavering away when, out of the corner of my eye, I'll detect a slight movement and Al will have silently arrived to check out my progress. It can be a bit disconcerting when you're up a ladder, or turn around without expecting it.
By general agreement, though, Al has gone from spectator to 'Consulting Engineer'. He keeps up morale with light hearted chit chat, dispenses the latest village gossip and provides historical facts about the residents of my house during the civil war (OK, maybe that's a tiny exaggeration). In any case, he's a part of the team.
Eventually, Dorothy will realize that Al's 'missing' and will come to track him down ('I hope he's not being a bother') and Al will trudge obediently back to his house ('Coming Dear'), until the next time he manages to slip away.
* This is in fact his real name, and his wife really is called Dorothy. Don't tell them I told you...
For the purposes of this post, we'll call him 'Al' *.
Al's wife, whom we shall call 'Dorothy' most definitely wears the trousers in their relationship. The most common phrase to pass Al's lips would be 'Yes, Dear' - usually in response to some command issued with megaphone like volume from their back door. Al is usually hiding in his barn pretending to 'work' on something or other.
The first year of renovations, most of the work was done on the back of the house. Al and Dorothy's elevated deck is at a convenient height and doubles as an observation platform for our entire back garden. I'd be out there banging and sweating away, and Al would pull up a deck chair, orient it for the best possible view and sit happily as if watching his favorite TV show.
Things have come a long way since then, and work has moved to a less convenient location (for Al anyway). I've also come to the conclusion that just about any distraction for Al will be better than being driven to it by his wife, and I'm happy to provide one.
I'll often be beavering away when, out of the corner of my eye, I'll detect a slight movement and Al will have silently arrived to check out my progress. It can be a bit disconcerting when you're up a ladder, or turn around without expecting it.
By general agreement, though, Al has gone from spectator to 'Consulting Engineer'. He keeps up morale with light hearted chit chat, dispenses the latest village gossip and provides historical facts about the residents of my house during the civil war (OK, maybe that's a tiny exaggeration). In any case, he's a part of the team.
Eventually, Dorothy will realize that Al's 'missing' and will come to track him down ('I hope he's not being a bother') and Al will trudge obediently back to his house ('Coming Dear'), until the next time he manages to slip away.
* This is in fact his real name, and his wife really is called Dorothy. Don't tell them I told you...
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
Sunflower
It still amazes me how something this large and beautiful grows from something so small. My daughter and I planted these back in the spring, and now they're taller than me.
If you've ever taken the time to really look at a sunflower - the inside part - it's just such a work of art.
Amazing.
I don't know why they stare....
They say a picture's worth a thousand words .I've been a little occupied lately on a small home improvement project. It's one of those things where you start off thinking it'll just be a few bits of trim here and there, and end up ripping off half the porch.
The sidewalk runs right in front of this picture, and every passer by has some cheery 'Oooh, looks like you've got your hands full' type comment. You think ? I was just going to slap some paint on it and call it a day.
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
T-I-R-E-D
I keep wondering when, exactly, I'll feel like people do in TV commercials. You know - boundless energy and 'joie de vivre' exhibited by people in car ads and the like.
I know I'm not getting any younger, but given enough sleep, diet and regular exercise I keep hoping to wake up one morning and spring out of bed, full of beans for the day ahead. Currently, it seems that I'm only marginally less tired when leaving my slumber than I was when I conked out on the sofa at the end of the previous day's toil.
Is there a vitamin supplement that I'm missing ? Not enough fiber in the diet ? Some magic mattress ? Any suggestions considered (even yoga).
One day - when the kids have flown the nest and the endless list of jobs around the house is reduced from 'Dead Sea Scrolls' length to something that'll fit on a single sheet of paper - I'll be relaxed, rested and full of energy.
For the next 16 years, I'll just have to be knackered.
I know I'm not getting any younger, but given enough sleep, diet and regular exercise I keep hoping to wake up one morning and spring out of bed, full of beans for the day ahead. Currently, it seems that I'm only marginally less tired when leaving my slumber than I was when I conked out on the sofa at the end of the previous day's toil.
Is there a vitamin supplement that I'm missing ? Not enough fiber in the diet ? Some magic mattress ? Any suggestions considered (even yoga).
One day - when the kids have flown the nest and the endless list of jobs around the house is reduced from 'Dead Sea Scrolls' length to something that'll fit on a single sheet of paper - I'll be relaxed, rested and full of energy.
For the next 16 years, I'll just have to be knackered.
Thursday, August 04, 2005
It's too bad I'm not Irish
Other than the ability to consume large amounts of Guinness with little ill effect, the quality I most wish I possessed from Irish ancestry would be that of digging.
I'm not being racist or anything, far from it, in fact. Much of America (and England for that matter) was built on the backs of hard working Irish laborers who could have probably dug the Chunnel if someone had put them up to it.
I have moved on to the next rung of the interminable project list, to 'The Porch'. It has been on the list for several seasons. I mean *list* as in Tower of Pisa list. The winters in Vermont can be hard on old buildings, and the last few have all but squashed one side of our aging porch. It has sagged badly. It's been one of those things that I have really wanted to get on with, but I've never quite had the time. Now it's getting urgent. Winter will be here in a jiffy , and it won't be able to take the snow.
So, out with the 5 ton jacks, the bracing and the demolition tools and forward I go into unexplored territory under the porch. I'm not easily scared by a little bit of rot or a complete lack of foundations. Anything can be fixed with enough tools.
Surprisingly expediently, I now have 5 new foundation piers sunk 4 feet into the ground, and the whole porch above is floating, seemingly unsupported, on a collection of jacks and beams.
No small bit of digging, that. Hence I wish I had a little more Irish in me, so my back wouldn't ache quite so much today. Still, each pint of Guinness makes me a little more Irish, right ?
I'm not being racist or anything, far from it, in fact. Much of America (and England for that matter) was built on the backs of hard working Irish laborers who could have probably dug the Chunnel if someone had put them up to it.
I have moved on to the next rung of the interminable project list, to 'The Porch'. It has been on the list for several seasons. I mean *list* as in Tower of Pisa list. The winters in Vermont can be hard on old buildings, and the last few have all but squashed one side of our aging porch. It has sagged badly. It's been one of those things that I have really wanted to get on with, but I've never quite had the time. Now it's getting urgent. Winter will be here in a jiffy , and it won't be able to take the snow.
So, out with the 5 ton jacks, the bracing and the demolition tools and forward I go into unexplored territory under the porch. I'm not easily scared by a little bit of rot or a complete lack of foundations. Anything can be fixed with enough tools.
Surprisingly expediently, I now have 5 new foundation piers sunk 4 feet into the ground, and the whole porch above is floating, seemingly unsupported, on a collection of jacks and beams.
No small bit of digging, that. Hence I wish I had a little more Irish in me, so my back wouldn't ache quite so much today. Still, each pint of Guinness makes me a little more Irish, right ?
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
Thunder, lightning.
Once a month the Smalltown Fire Department meets and carries out some kind of training drill, so that our skills are kept fresh and honed like a razor.
So it is that I find myself sitting on top of a fire truck, on top of a hill, packing wet hose, in a thunderstorm. I'm not generally one of those people who runs for cover and hides in the basement when faced with millions of volts of electricity and loud noises - but I'll admit that it was a tad disconcerting.
Nonetheless, I made it safe and well to the bar and polished off a couple of Guinnesses in celebration.
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In other news, number one daughter has made the transition to a diaperless night. This, as any parent knows is a period fraught with worry over midnight bed wettings, but more than this it marks a happy move forward to a time when diapers are a thing of the past. Oh, happy day !
So it is that I find myself sitting on top of a fire truck, on top of a hill, packing wet hose, in a thunderstorm. I'm not generally one of those people who runs for cover and hides in the basement when faced with millions of volts of electricity and loud noises - but I'll admit that it was a tad disconcerting.
Nonetheless, I made it safe and well to the bar and polished off a couple of Guinnesses in celebration.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
In other news, number one daughter has made the transition to a diaperless night. This, as any parent knows is a period fraught with worry over midnight bed wettings, but more than this it marks a happy move forward to a time when diapers are a thing of the past. Oh, happy day !
Tuesday, July 26, 2005
Just call me dusty
I saw. I cut. I sand. I nail. I screw. I saw some more. Repeat. You get the idea.
I live in a whirlwind of sawdust, toolbelt bulging and power tools whining. I AM Home Improvement Man. Grrrr.
Oddly, it seems that although I am busy as a beaver and more handy than Andy from dusk 'til dawn, I still feel unproductive. Either I'm a perfectionist (quite possible), really shit at this stuff (don't think so, but then I'm bragging) or everything just takes a really long time. Five days of working, working, working.
I thought I'd have tons of time. I made long lists of things, just like Greavsie, and was prepared for a reveal to rival Changing Rooms or Extreme Makeover Home Edition when the missus returns.
It'll be more likely that she'll smile sweetly and mumble something along the lines of 'that's really nice dear', while thinking 'that's ALL you did in 5 days ?'.
Better get back to work. I hope my neighbors don't mind the nailgun at this time of night.
I live in a whirlwind of sawdust, toolbelt bulging and power tools whining. I AM Home Improvement Man. Grrrr.
Oddly, it seems that although I am busy as a beaver and more handy than Andy from dusk 'til dawn, I still feel unproductive. Either I'm a perfectionist (quite possible), really shit at this stuff (don't think so, but then I'm bragging) or everything just takes a really long time. Five days of working, working, working.
I thought I'd have tons of time. I made long lists of things, just like Greavsie, and was prepared for a reveal to rival Changing Rooms or Extreme Makeover Home Edition when the missus returns.
It'll be more likely that she'll smile sweetly and mumble something along the lines of 'that's really nice dear', while thinking 'that's ALL you did in 5 days ?'.
Better get back to work. I hope my neighbors don't mind the nailgun at this time of night.
Monday, July 25, 2005
Ah, the sweet smell of Freedom
I am alone.
Not completely alone in the cosmic sense, but enough for some good long silence.
The wife and kids have gone South to her Dad's for a week ! I get to stay in the house by myself ! Don't get me wrong - I love her and the little buggers, but as all parents will attest, a week at home by yourself is better than a week in the Caribbean with a horny supermodel (OK, maybe not but it's close).
The DOWNSIDE is that I have a list as long as your arm of 'projects' that should show some progress by weeks end. Still, I can't complain. This is my chance to rebel ! I can leave my dirty laundry on the floor, not pick up my wet towels, leave the toilet seat up (though it may have to go down for #2's), have TWO beers with dinner (which, of course ,will be microwaved and unhealthy), stay up late, get up late, blog all night (ok, not that one) and watch anything I want on TV.
I'll be working my butt off and will be worn out every evening which cuts down on the carousing somewhat, but I'll do my best. Wish me luck !
Not completely alone in the cosmic sense, but enough for some good long silence.
The wife and kids have gone South to her Dad's for a week ! I get to stay in the house by myself ! Don't get me wrong - I love her and the little buggers, but as all parents will attest, a week at home by yourself is better than a week in the Caribbean with a horny supermodel (OK, maybe not but it's close).
The DOWNSIDE is that I have a list as long as your arm of 'projects' that should show some progress by weeks end. Still, I can't complain. This is my chance to rebel ! I can leave my dirty laundry on the floor, not pick up my wet towels, leave the toilet seat up (though it may have to go down for #2's), have TWO beers with dinner (which, of course ,will be microwaved and unhealthy), stay up late, get up late, blog all night (ok, not that one) and watch anything I want on TV.
I'll be working my butt off and will be worn out every evening which cuts down on the carousing somewhat, but I'll do my best. Wish me luck !
Thursday, July 21, 2005
Flagging
One of the things you'll notice about living in the US, is that people are much more attached to their flags. I can't remember anyone I knew growing up in England that flew the Union Jack. You'd see it on bunting, and boxer shorts and even carried by some streaker at a Test Match, but not often on an actual pole.
I personally think this is an oversight, and I can think of no better time to show your colors than right NOW. With no disrespect to my 'host' nation, I removed the 'Stars and Stripes', folded them neatly and raised the good old Union Jack on my modest little porch flagpole.
After 9/11, stores sold out of American flags, and flying ours seemed like such a statement. When you think about it, many have died defending our right to raise our colors and declare our freedom each and every day. Shouldn't we use it ?
I'd like to start a movement to Fly The Flag. Maybe JonnyB can write a song for this cause, too. While we're at it, let's sing the National Anthem, too.
I personally think this is an oversight, and I can think of no better time to show your colors than right NOW. With no disrespect to my 'host' nation, I removed the 'Stars and Stripes', folded them neatly and raised the good old Union Jack on my modest little porch flagpole.
After 9/11, stores sold out of American flags, and flying ours seemed like such a statement. When you think about it, many have died defending our right to raise our colors and declare our freedom each and every day. Shouldn't we use it ?
I'd like to start a movement to Fly The Flag. Maybe JonnyB can write a song for this cause, too. While we're at it, let's sing the National Anthem, too.
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
Wet T-Shirt (followup post)
See ? You mock the weather forecast, and it comes true. Maybe that's what Native Americans did with Rain Dancing. It was all a big mocking thing. Then, just to show you who's boss, it rains.
Now I have a wet T-Shirt. There was a 60% chance of that.
Now I have a wet T-Shirt. There was a 60% chance of that.
The Whether here is just awful
What IS it with the weather ? More particularly, weather forecasters.
I choose to read my weather from the U.S Government's own web site which is, I like to tell myself, the thinking man's weather site. No ads for allergy medication, timeshares or mortgage refinancing. No pop ups for Pest Control, or Dell Computer. Not too much in the way of reliable weather forecasting, either.
For the last 5 days or so, we've had a 60% chance of 'severe thunderstorms' featuring 'heavy rain, hail and damaging winds'. It has rained barely more than a drop. I'd like to know the psuedo scientific means behind the '60%'. Do they think it's slightly better than 50/50, so 60 is about right. Are there dice involved ? A magic 8 ball ?
I think it's worse when it's shitty hot with no end in sight. At this point, you want the weather people to just MAKE it get cooler. Don't they have some giant satellite thingy that can do that ? What do we spend all of our tax dollars on, anyway ?
But still, you'd think with their orbiting weather platforms, doppler radar, computer simulations, global weather models etc. etc. that they could predict, with somewhat more than 60% certainty that it will rain TODAY. Not tomorrow, or next week, just today. That's all I ask. Don't give me false hope.
Meanwhile, we suffer in misery and I await the approach of a particularly hazardous storm from the east. I'm riding the odds, though.
I left my car windows open.
I choose to read my weather from the U.S Government's own web site which is, I like to tell myself, the thinking man's weather site. No ads for allergy medication, timeshares or mortgage refinancing. No pop ups for Pest Control, or Dell Computer. Not too much in the way of reliable weather forecasting, either.
For the last 5 days or so, we've had a 60% chance of 'severe thunderstorms' featuring 'heavy rain, hail and damaging winds'. It has rained barely more than a drop. I'd like to know the psuedo scientific means behind the '60%'. Do they think it's slightly better than 50/50, so 60 is about right. Are there dice involved ? A magic 8 ball ?
I think it's worse when it's shitty hot with no end in sight. At this point, you want the weather people to just MAKE it get cooler. Don't they have some giant satellite thingy that can do that ? What do we spend all of our tax dollars on, anyway ?
But still, you'd think with their orbiting weather platforms, doppler radar, computer simulations, global weather models etc. etc. that they could predict, with somewhat more than 60% certainty that it will rain TODAY. Not tomorrow, or next week, just today. That's all I ask. Don't give me false hope.
Meanwhile, we suffer in misery and I await the approach of a particularly hazardous storm from the east. I'm riding the odds, though.
I left my car windows open.
Saturday, July 16, 2005
Feeling Exposed
It's not normally what you expect in the locker room at the sports center.
The back pack was ticking.
I don't mean a tiny, barely audible little tick, I mean a big loud 'LISTEN TO ME' tick.
It certainly got my attention.
Now, I don't live in a Town that you'd consider a target for anything, except maybe the occasional random nutter amped up on Budweiser, so rationally I told myself that it couldn't be a danger.
But still, we live in a different world now. We have a new 'normal'. I asked the front desk person to check it out. He listened, too, and agreed that it was a bit suspicious but thought that he knew whose backpack it was. We pondered what could possibly be the source of such a noise, and gave the bag a good hard stare. Neither one of us wanted to open it.
He went off to find the possible culprit, leaving me alone with the ticking bag.
Somehow, standing NAKED next to a potential explosive device is even worse than being fully clothed. More exposed, so to speak. Quite irrational, really. What's a pair of trousers and a t-shirt going to do anyway ? Deflect the blast ?
Eventually, the sheepish owner returned, and retrieved his WALKMAN (remember tape players anyone ?) that was clicking (or ticking) because it got stuck or had two buttons pressed down in his bag or something. Idiot. BUY AN IPOD !
So, that was my little bit of excitement yesterday. We live in a world where just about anywhere is an imaginable target, and it doesn't seem to matter anymore that you live far from the madding crowd.
The back pack was ticking.
I don't mean a tiny, barely audible little tick, I mean a big loud 'LISTEN TO ME' tick.
It certainly got my attention.
Now, I don't live in a Town that you'd consider a target for anything, except maybe the occasional random nutter amped up on Budweiser, so rationally I told myself that it couldn't be a danger.
But still, we live in a different world now. We have a new 'normal'. I asked the front desk person to check it out. He listened, too, and agreed that it was a bit suspicious but thought that he knew whose backpack it was. We pondered what could possibly be the source of such a noise, and gave the bag a good hard stare. Neither one of us wanted to open it.
He went off to find the possible culprit, leaving me alone with the ticking bag.
Somehow, standing NAKED next to a potential explosive device is even worse than being fully clothed. More exposed, so to speak. Quite irrational, really. What's a pair of trousers and a t-shirt going to do anyway ? Deflect the blast ?
Eventually, the sheepish owner returned, and retrieved his WALKMAN (remember tape players anyone ?) that was clicking (or ticking) because it got stuck or had two buttons pressed down in his bag or something. Idiot. BUY AN IPOD !
So, that was my little bit of excitement yesterday. We live in a world where just about anywhere is an imaginable target, and it doesn't seem to matter anymore that you live far from the madding crowd.
Friday, July 08, 2005
Gone, but not forgotten
Being an Englishman abroad, one becomes disconnected from the everyday of life 'back home'. What has been nice about Blogland has been the ability to take a peek into the lives of those who, had my life taken a different road, would have been me. I have been able to see and hear about the little things that normally have slipped through the cracks of my memories. In some ways, it's allowed me to identify more with a place I haven't called home in over a decade.
Yesterday's horrific events made me very angry, but also very proud of England. Her unshakable resolve and stoic attitude to adversity, and the compassion of Her people.
I lived about 40 miles outside of New York City on 9/11. Far enough away that I went there only when I had to, but close enough that we could see the smoke down the Long Island Sound. The sense of fear, though, was palpable for days after the attacks. It took a while to feel like you weren't walking around in a fog.
In this case, I'm very far away and can see and hear only what is on TV. My family lives far from London, in Suffolk. I feel it somehow more deeply - while it is equally as tragic and incomparably horrifc - because it was an attack on what I hold deep down in my heart to be 'home'.
God Bless all who perished yesterday, their families and loved ones. God Bless all the people who have the courage to stand up against the dark tide of Evil. God Bless Great Britain.
Yesterday's horrific events made me very angry, but also very proud of England. Her unshakable resolve and stoic attitude to adversity, and the compassion of Her people.
I lived about 40 miles outside of New York City on 9/11. Far enough away that I went there only when I had to, but close enough that we could see the smoke down the Long Island Sound. The sense of fear, though, was palpable for days after the attacks. It took a while to feel like you weren't walking around in a fog.
In this case, I'm very far away and can see and hear only what is on TV. My family lives far from London, in Suffolk. I feel it somehow more deeply - while it is equally as tragic and incomparably horrifc - because it was an attack on what I hold deep down in my heart to be 'home'.
God Bless all who perished yesterday, their families and loved ones. God Bless all the people who have the courage to stand up against the dark tide of Evil. God Bless Great Britain.
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
Well done, London.
Jolly well done to Lord Coe, Becks and Blair for bringing home the bacon. Makes me proud that the Olympics will be coming to Old London Town. There's a big tent that didn't get much use during the millenium that might be of some use.
Of course, I'd like to think that Chirac being a smug bugger about French food and French contributions to Europe had something to do with France getting passed over. There's nothing better than getting one over on our cousins across the channel.
I'm going to suggest - put it out there, if you will - that someone consider bidding to host the Tour De France. I mean, the French have had it for a bloody long time and now it's someone else's turn. How about Poland ? Sweden ? Bulgaria ? Plenty of nations in Europe with lots of old buildings, good wine and bicycles. In the spirit of goodwill, maybe it's time for the Tour D'Iraq ?
Of course, I'd like to think that Chirac being a smug bugger about French food and French contributions to Europe had something to do with France getting passed over. There's nothing better than getting one over on our cousins across the channel.
I'm going to suggest - put it out there, if you will - that someone consider bidding to host the Tour De France. I mean, the French have had it for a bloody long time and now it's someone else's turn. How about Poland ? Sweden ? Bulgaria ? Plenty of nations in Europe with lots of old buildings, good wine and bicycles. In the spirit of goodwill, maybe it's time for the Tour D'Iraq ?
Tuesday, July 05, 2005
Independence
For those non-US readers, yesterday was Independence Day here in the US. As I'm sure you all know, it's when they celebrate kicking us (the British) out all those years ago. Kind of like how we celebrate the burning of Catholics on Guy Fawkes' Day. Lots of barbecues, fireworks and red white and blue.
I must confess though, that it's a little bit better than Bonfire Night because it happens in JULY and not in NOVEMBER. Shorts and t-shirts are the suggested party wear, as opposed to several jumpers and a hat.
Another common tradition is the 4th of July race. Our town has a 7.2 miler, and I'm pleased to say that despite a chronic lack of training, I managed to complete it in a semi-decent time. Yeah me ! Starting the day out that way assuages some of the guilt felt later when downing several burgers and quantities of beer. My daughter (4) completed her first kid's fun run today. She got a medal, a flag AND a ribbon. Way to go !
I sometimes wonder what the world would be like now if the UK was still the pre-eminent super power and not the US. Sometimes it boggles my mind that our Empire ever grew so big. How on earth did we do it ? For those interested in the last remnants of this straggly collection of colonies, check out Simon Winchester's book 'Outposts'. It details some of the last Crown Colonies that can still be called that in this day and age. Who knew ? Rule Britannia !
I must confess though, that it's a little bit better than Bonfire Night because it happens in JULY and not in NOVEMBER. Shorts and t-shirts are the suggested party wear, as opposed to several jumpers and a hat.
Another common tradition is the 4th of July race. Our town has a 7.2 miler, and I'm pleased to say that despite a chronic lack of training, I managed to complete it in a semi-decent time. Yeah me ! Starting the day out that way assuages some of the guilt felt later when downing several burgers and quantities of beer. My daughter (4) completed her first kid's fun run today. She got a medal, a flag AND a ribbon. Way to go !
I sometimes wonder what the world would be like now if the UK was still the pre-eminent super power and not the US. Sometimes it boggles my mind that our Empire ever grew so big. How on earth did we do it ? For those interested in the last remnants of this straggly collection of colonies, check out Simon Winchester's book 'Outposts'. It details some of the last Crown Colonies that can still be called that in this day and age. Who knew ? Rule Britannia !
Monday, June 27, 2005
Living dangerously
Don't ever think too hard about who has been there before you. It does you no good.
I walked out of the shower, towelling off, and sat down to check my email in my birthday suit. As I sat in the hotel chair, the thought struck me - how many OTHER people have done the same thing ? For that matter, what manner of OTHER things have those people done in this room ?
Of course, in a world populated by playboy bunnies and swimsuit models, this thought could have some appeal. In the context of my hotel room, my mind flashed back to some of the less desirable patrons that I'd seen at check-in. I could envision the room fluorescing under Grissom's magic blue light,
I'm not generally someone who gives a lot of thought to things like this. I don't paper my toilet seat to avoid contracting some nasty disease. I go way longer than the 5 second rule permits, and *gasp* I don't wash my hand every time I touch a door knob. For some reason, the slight stickness of the fabric on the chair gave me pause for concern this time.
I stood up.
Quickly.
I walked out of the shower, towelling off, and sat down to check my email in my birthday suit. As I sat in the hotel chair, the thought struck me - how many OTHER people have done the same thing ? For that matter, what manner of OTHER things have those people done in this room ?
Of course, in a world populated by playboy bunnies and swimsuit models, this thought could have some appeal. In the context of my hotel room, my mind flashed back to some of the less desirable patrons that I'd seen at check-in. I could envision the room fluorescing under Grissom's magic blue light,
I'm not generally someone who gives a lot of thought to things like this. I don't paper my toilet seat to avoid contracting some nasty disease. I go way longer than the 5 second rule permits, and *gasp* I don't wash my hand every time I touch a door knob. For some reason, the slight stickness of the fabric on the chair gave me pause for concern this time.
I stood up.
Quickly.
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
Ah, kids.
I love my kids. I do.
Being a Dad can be so conflicting sometimes. On the one hand, you want to savour every last little nanosecond of your childs fascinating development from birth to adulthood. On the other hand, you just want them to GROW UP.
I get a trifle put out when people tell me that 'Oh, just you wait - it doesn't get any easier when they get older'. You've got to be f@$#ing kidding me. Don't get me wrong - I understand that preteens and teenagers can be a bit testy, but compared to a 2 and 4 year old ?
I'm clinging to the belief that there will come a time (soon, please Lord) that my kids can communicate without screaming, stay out of each others stuff, sleep later than we do, perform all of their own toilet duties, eat without throwing the food or screaming, listen to reasoned argument and so many more.
Don't you ever wish that kids came with a 'pause' button ?
Being a Dad can be so conflicting sometimes. On the one hand, you want to savour every last little nanosecond of your childs fascinating development from birth to adulthood. On the other hand, you just want them to GROW UP.
I get a trifle put out when people tell me that 'Oh, just you wait - it doesn't get any easier when they get older'. You've got to be f@$#ing kidding me. Don't get me wrong - I understand that preteens and teenagers can be a bit testy, but compared to a 2 and 4 year old ?
I'm clinging to the belief that there will come a time (soon, please Lord) that my kids can communicate without screaming, stay out of each others stuff, sleep later than we do, perform all of their own toilet duties, eat without throwing the food or screaming, listen to reasoned argument and so many more.
Don't you ever wish that kids came with a 'pause' button ?
Friday, June 17, 2005
Cork boat
Audio books are great. I occasionally have to drive for 3-4 hours to go down to my 'head office', and while it's a fairly nice drive it can get a bit tedious.
A good cup of coffee, a chocolatey snack and a good audio book on the iPod can make it feel like I'm putting my feet up and relaxing (don't worry, full concentration on the road at all times). What did I ever do before my beloved little iPod ? Greatest gadget ever invented in my opinion (except maybe for the TiVo).
Anyway, I just finished 'Cork Boat' by John Pollack. In brief, it's a true story of a guy who fulfills his childhood dream of constructing and sailing a boat entirely from wine corks. It takes him until he is 36, mind you.
It often boggles my mind when I read of stories like this - that someone has such an intensity of purpose in life that they'll go through all kinds of adversity to accomplish something that, to the rest of us workaday slobs, seems completely crazy.
Thusfar in my life, I can't think of anything that has possessed me with such passion and required an enormous personal struggle to achieve (with the minor exception of my ongoing home renovation, but that doesn't really count).
It begs the question - what will I look back on in the closing days of my life as my 'greatest achievement' ? Maybe that should be everyone's every day goal - to DO something that you'll be proud of as you shuffle off this mortal coil. I'm not suggesting a need to cure cancer, conquer a new planet or discover a new chemical element but something that you can look on with pride and say 'yep, I did that'.
Suggestions, anybody ?
A good cup of coffee, a chocolatey snack and a good audio book on the iPod can make it feel like I'm putting my feet up and relaxing (don't worry, full concentration on the road at all times). What did I ever do before my beloved little iPod ? Greatest gadget ever invented in my opinion (except maybe for the TiVo).
Anyway, I just finished 'Cork Boat' by John Pollack. In brief, it's a true story of a guy who fulfills his childhood dream of constructing and sailing a boat entirely from wine corks. It takes him until he is 36, mind you.
It often boggles my mind when I read of stories like this - that someone has such an intensity of purpose in life that they'll go through all kinds of adversity to accomplish something that, to the rest of us workaday slobs, seems completely crazy.
Thusfar in my life, I can't think of anything that has possessed me with such passion and required an enormous personal struggle to achieve (with the minor exception of my ongoing home renovation, but that doesn't really count).
It begs the question - what will I look back on in the closing days of my life as my 'greatest achievement' ? Maybe that should be everyone's every day goal - to DO something that you'll be proud of as you shuffle off this mortal coil. I'm not suggesting a need to cure cancer, conquer a new planet or discover a new chemical element but something that you can look on with pride and say 'yep, I did that'.
Suggestions, anybody ?
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
Chim-chiminy
Yeah !
The Chimney Man is here. I've waited nigh on a year for his services. Announced by the clang of scaffold poles he arrived without warning at 7:30 this morning.
My chimney is a problem. It's probably the original, and it's in rough shape. In fact, if you stand in the garden *just so* and look up at the right angle, you can see daylight through it. Bits have routinely been falling off, and for the last two winters orange icicles have draped the side of my roof from water full of clay from the dissolving bricks.
So it is with great joy that I welcome Chimney Man.
Unlike England where everyone can lay a good course of bricks (except me), it's a skill here that isn't widely possessed. Probably has something to do with all of our houses being made out of wood. He's the one guy locally who knows one end of a hod from the other.
Still, now he's here. Now if it would just stop raining long enough for him to work.
The Chimney Man is here. I've waited nigh on a year for his services. Announced by the clang of scaffold poles he arrived without warning at 7:30 this morning.
My chimney is a problem. It's probably the original, and it's in rough shape. In fact, if you stand in the garden *just so* and look up at the right angle, you can see daylight through it. Bits have routinely been falling off, and for the last two winters orange icicles have draped the side of my roof from water full of clay from the dissolving bricks.
So it is with great joy that I welcome Chimney Man.
Unlike England where everyone can lay a good course of bricks (except me), it's a skill here that isn't widely possessed. Probably has something to do with all of our houses being made out of wood. He's the one guy locally who knows one end of a hod from the other.
Still, now he's here. Now if it would just stop raining long enough for him to work.
Monday, June 13, 2005
Help me, I'm drowning
Whoever doesn't think that our climate is changing, please stand up.
Actually, better that the millions of people who read this don't do that all at once or it might throw the earth of its axis and cause some REAL trouble.
Our weather is just not right. We moved here to the small country place because the big suburban place was getting too crowded and too oppressive. Summer there was often a marathon slog of mind numbingly hot days where you sweat standing still and the night was as hot as the day (how DO people in Atlanta survive).
The trade off was that we got a hard winter here and spent six months of the year digging foot upon foot of snow off of the sidewalk and wearing half of the clothes in your closet in one go just to stay warm.
Now it's JUST NOT FAIR that we also have to deal with the same heat and sticky weather that we used to have before we moved. Maybe it's the 'little black cloud' syndrome - it's following us.
Yesterday I completed my NWCG Wildland Firefighter course. Briefly, this is the basic qualification that allows me to go fight those big western wildfires (or any wildland fire for that matter). For anyone who isn't familiar with wildfires, it's where lots of trees, brush and grass catch fire. They can often get very big, and require thousands of people to put out. Not with water mind you. With DIGGING.
So, we're out there in the woods yesterday. Temperature - 85 degrees, Relative Humidity - 95-100%. Imagine now that you're wearing long pants (fireproof), t-shirt, long sleeve shirt (fireproof), helmet (plastic) and backpack (heavy) and are carrying some kind of amped up garden tool with which to whack at the soil.
Now go at it for a couple of hours digging what amounts to a long wide scratch in the dirt - up hill and down dale (or steep dropoff). I can't remember the last time I worked so hard. I can't even find an adjective to describe how hard this is. Maybe just think about the last time you dug over the garden with a fork and add in all the other elements mentioned above and multiply by 10.
You'd think that breathing air at 100% humidity would be like breathing underwater, and it ain't far off.
So much fun !
Of course, out West it's never much more than 25% humidity, but still. On Western crews you dig line for 12-16 hours a day and go day after day. I thought I was in good shape (I run). I now have a whole new appreciation for Wildland Firefighting, and realize that I have a long way to go.
So, if you live out West - the next time you see a firefighter in snazzy green pants and a yellow shirt, give them a hug. On second thoughts, they'll probably stink and be covered in soot, dirt and shit so maybe just a warm thankyou instead.
Actually, better that the millions of people who read this don't do that all at once or it might throw the earth of its axis and cause some REAL trouble.
Our weather is just not right. We moved here to the small country place because the big suburban place was getting too crowded and too oppressive. Summer there was often a marathon slog of mind numbingly hot days where you sweat standing still and the night was as hot as the day (how DO people in Atlanta survive).
The trade off was that we got a hard winter here and spent six months of the year digging foot upon foot of snow off of the sidewalk and wearing half of the clothes in your closet in one go just to stay warm.
Now it's JUST NOT FAIR that we also have to deal with the same heat and sticky weather that we used to have before we moved. Maybe it's the 'little black cloud' syndrome - it's following us.
Yesterday I completed my NWCG Wildland Firefighter course. Briefly, this is the basic qualification that allows me to go fight those big western wildfires (or any wildland fire for that matter). For anyone who isn't familiar with wildfires, it's where lots of trees, brush and grass catch fire. They can often get very big, and require thousands of people to put out. Not with water mind you. With DIGGING.
So, we're out there in the woods yesterday. Temperature - 85 degrees, Relative Humidity - 95-100%. Imagine now that you're wearing long pants (fireproof), t-shirt, long sleeve shirt (fireproof), helmet (plastic) and backpack (heavy) and are carrying some kind of amped up garden tool with which to whack at the soil.
Now go at it for a couple of hours digging what amounts to a long wide scratch in the dirt - up hill and down dale (or steep dropoff). I can't remember the last time I worked so hard. I can't even find an adjective to describe how hard this is. Maybe just think about the last time you dug over the garden with a fork and add in all the other elements mentioned above and multiply by 10.
You'd think that breathing air at 100% humidity would be like breathing underwater, and it ain't far off.
So much fun !
Of course, out West it's never much more than 25% humidity, but still. On Western crews you dig line for 12-16 hours a day and go day after day. I thought I was in good shape (I run). I now have a whole new appreciation for Wildland Firefighting, and realize that I have a long way to go.
So, if you live out West - the next time you see a firefighter in snazzy green pants and a yellow shirt, give them a hug. On second thoughts, they'll probably stink and be covered in soot, dirt and shit so maybe just a warm thankyou instead.
Friday, June 10, 2005
I'm gonna be rich
I read the other day about this wonderful new product called Spray On Mud, for those too lazy to go and find a puddle to drive through.
Vermont has an entire season named after the goopy stuff*, so we're in no short supply. I'm thinking of marketing it as 'slap on mud' and selling it mail order in buckets to those not fortunate enough to live somewhere with access to the real stuff.
I'd imagine if you live in, say, New York, then plastering your Range Rover with some authentic Green Mountain mud could add some real caché.
Maybe I should think about opening a franchise so that people can drive through and get their ride all messy. A car 'splosh' maybe ? With girls in bikinis it could be just like mud wrestling.
Remember where you heard it first.
*Mud Season: the messy bit after the snow melts but before the spring comes. Vermont's so called 'fifth season'.
Vermont has an entire season named after the goopy stuff*, so we're in no short supply. I'm thinking of marketing it as 'slap on mud' and selling it mail order in buckets to those not fortunate enough to live somewhere with access to the real stuff.
I'd imagine if you live in, say, New York, then plastering your Range Rover with some authentic Green Mountain mud could add some real caché.
Maybe I should think about opening a franchise so that people can drive through and get their ride all messy. A car 'splosh' maybe ? With girls in bikinis it could be just like mud wrestling.
Remember where you heard it first.
*Mud Season: the messy bit after the snow melts but before the spring comes. Vermont's so called 'fifth season'.
Wednesday, June 08, 2005
I love our babysitter
We have a new sitter. For anyone who isn't a parent, it's hard to understand how important it is to have a good babysitter. I can't speak for everyone, but for my wife and I, getting out sans kids is not just nice, it's critical. I think investing in your relationship, maintaining it and each other is just as important as anything else you can do for your child.
Our new sitter kicks butt. The kids love her. They listen to her. She even cleans up the mess of toys at the end of the day and gets them to bed on time.
Life is good.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
On a sad and odd note, I went to a town meeting last night. A man stood up to make an impassioned comment regarding a road construction project here in town, sat back down in his seat and promptly had a heart attack. A few of us rushed to his aid, giving CPR, calling for the ambulance etc. I don't know if he made it. Let's hope. You think that you'll never need CPR, never see someone have a heart attack. You just might. I cannot imagine for a second how I'd feel if it was someone I knew and loved.
Life can be hard.
Our new sitter kicks butt. The kids love her. They listen to her. She even cleans up the mess of toys at the end of the day and gets them to bed on time.
Life is good.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
On a sad and odd note, I went to a town meeting last night. A man stood up to make an impassioned comment regarding a road construction project here in town, sat back down in his seat and promptly had a heart attack. A few of us rushed to his aid, giving CPR, calling for the ambulance etc. I don't know if he made it. Let's hope. You think that you'll never need CPR, never see someone have a heart attack. You just might. I cannot imagine for a second how I'd feel if it was someone I knew and loved.
Life can be hard.
Tuesday, June 07, 2005
Taking the plunge
After 13 years living as an Englishman abroad, I've finally decided to take the plunge and apply for citizenship.
Honestly, it's not based on a particular 'Pride in the USA' thing, but more on a pragmatic desire to be a fully involved citizen. Not being able to vote is a bit of a pisser, moreso for local matters than for national elections (though, for the record I would NOT have voted for Bush). I pay taxes, and I'd like to be able to participate in my community by voting for people to hold positions that have a real bearing on my life here in Smalltown. It boggles my mind that a law abiding, tax paying, legal permanent resident can't vote. It would seem to go against the whole 'Taxation without representation' thing that got this country started in the first place.
The real motivating factor behind all of this sudden desire for American Citizenship is the ability to apply for a Federal (government) Firefighting job. I'll be working for Uncle Sam.
I'm taking a course right now that will give me the qualification necessary to join Wildland Fire crews anywhere in the country, but only if I am ALSO a US Citizen. So after all this time not being able to find a good reason, here it is. Of course, it'll be a while before the missus gives me the required permission to abandon my family for weeks at a time to go play with big fire in the woods, but I can start off small and dream big.
If I had to give up my British passport to do this, It would be a VERY hard decision. Not that I think I'll ever move home (after 13 years, I still call England 'home'), but somehow not having that passport would make me feel less English - and that is very important to me.
I'm hoping that the process will not be too hard - better than getting a Green Card, that is. I'll let you know my progress. In the meantime, I'm off to study up on my English Language and 'Civics' for the test.
Honestly, it's not based on a particular 'Pride in the USA' thing, but more on a pragmatic desire to be a fully involved citizen. Not being able to vote is a bit of a pisser, moreso for local matters than for national elections (though, for the record I would NOT have voted for Bush). I pay taxes, and I'd like to be able to participate in my community by voting for people to hold positions that have a real bearing on my life here in Smalltown. It boggles my mind that a law abiding, tax paying, legal permanent resident can't vote. It would seem to go against the whole 'Taxation without representation' thing that got this country started in the first place.
The real motivating factor behind all of this sudden desire for American Citizenship is the ability to apply for a Federal (government) Firefighting job. I'll be working for Uncle Sam.
I'm taking a course right now that will give me the qualification necessary to join Wildland Fire crews anywhere in the country, but only if I am ALSO a US Citizen. So after all this time not being able to find a good reason, here it is. Of course, it'll be a while before the missus gives me the required permission to abandon my family for weeks at a time to go play with big fire in the woods, but I can start off small and dream big.
If I had to give up my British passport to do this, It would be a VERY hard decision. Not that I think I'll ever move home (after 13 years, I still call England 'home'), but somehow not having that passport would make me feel less English - and that is very important to me.
I'm hoping that the process will not be too hard - better than getting a Green Card, that is. I'll let you know my progress. In the meantime, I'm off to study up on my English Language and 'Civics' for the test.
Friday, June 03, 2005
Little man
My little boy turns 2 today. His accomplishments thus far in his short little life include:
-Being able to say the word 'Fuck' with impunity wherever he is (this includes church, shopping) since he can't pronounce the 'TR' sound. Even funnier when he shouts 'Daddy ! Big Fuck !'
-Removing all of his pajamas in bed and lying naked, playing with his bits (that's my boy !)
-Learning to say 'Hi Pretty Lady' to unknown women while out with Daddy (though, to be honest, they're not all that pretty sometimes)
-Learning to whack his sister back when she bonks him on the head with a toy.
-Removing a light bulb from a table lamp (look Daddy, light !), and putting one of the lights (when turned ON) from the Christmas Tree in his mouth.
-Having been twice to the Emergency Room.
-Playing the harmonica (or at least making noise with it and filling the thing full of spit - 'Daddy turn ?', er, no thanks).
Cupcakes and balloons for the lad today. No beer just yet - he'll have to be at least 3 before THAT happens (what do you think I am, an irresponsible parent ?).
-Being able to say the word 'Fuck' with impunity wherever he is (this includes church, shopping) since he can't pronounce the 'TR' sound. Even funnier when he shouts 'Daddy ! Big Fuck !'
-Removing all of his pajamas in bed and lying naked, playing with his bits (that's my boy !)
-Learning to say 'Hi Pretty Lady' to unknown women while out with Daddy (though, to be honest, they're not all that pretty sometimes)
-Learning to whack his sister back when she bonks him on the head with a toy.
-Removing a light bulb from a table lamp (look Daddy, light !), and putting one of the lights (when turned ON) from the Christmas Tree in his mouth.
-Having been twice to the Emergency Room.
-Playing the harmonica (or at least making noise with it and filling the thing full of spit - 'Daddy turn ?', er, no thanks).
Cupcakes and balloons for the lad today. No beer just yet - he'll have to be at least 3 before THAT happens (what do you think I am, an irresponsible parent ?).
Thursday, June 02, 2005
Wet thighs
Inspiration strikes you in the most uncommon ways sometimes. Sitting poised at my keyboard, ready to launch into a witty and compelling missive, I spill my Latte into my lap.
Now, it being summer (or what we call summer around here) I am wearing shorts. My legs are now covered in warm milky coffee. My ass is sticking to the chair, and I smell like Colombia's finest espresso roast.
What bothers me most about this episode is not having to clean up the floor, or my chair or even my shorts (the missus, God bless her, takes care of things in the laundry department). It's the remorseful feeling I have for losing my coffee.
My morning Latte is a ritual each day. I take a trip to the Smalltown Coffee Shop, gossip with the owner and patrons, a short trip home and then settle in for a day of hard, hard work. Losing my Latte throws me completely off balance. I don't know if I can carry on.
Now, it being summer (or what we call summer around here) I am wearing shorts. My legs are now covered in warm milky coffee. My ass is sticking to the chair, and I smell like Colombia's finest espresso roast.
What bothers me most about this episode is not having to clean up the floor, or my chair or even my shorts (the missus, God bless her, takes care of things in the laundry department). It's the remorseful feeling I have for losing my coffee.
My morning Latte is a ritual each day. I take a trip to the Smalltown Coffee Shop, gossip with the owner and patrons, a short trip home and then settle in for a day of hard, hard work. Losing my Latte throws me completely off balance. I don't know if I can carry on.
Wednesday, June 01, 2005
The other man's is always greener.
What is it with Grass? Such a seemingly prolific organism that can be so simple, and yet such a pain in the bum.
Last year I was fortunate enough to start with something of a 'clean slate' in the garden department. Renovations to our house had left the back garden looking like the Somme, and after some work with heavy equipment and many truckloads of new topsoil we had an empty, brown space.
Eschewing seeding in favor of an 'insta-lawn', I press ganged my Mother (here on Holiday) in to helping me lay several hundred square feet of perfect green (sod is a funny word, isn’t it ?). For the first time in my life, I owned a lawn that was flat, uniformly green and had no dead spots, brown spots, lumpy spots or squirrel holes.
This year, now that 'Summer' is finally here (it comes late in the Frozen North) I'm back to mowing and caring for my green. Only now, it had bald spots.
Why is it that everywhere you DON'T want grass to grow - it will? Prolifically. Yet here I give it all my nurturing, time and attention and it fails me. Maybe I should just ignore it, though I'd worry about losing the kids in the tall grass and all those snakes and things.
Somehow, shoveling snow was easier.
Last year I was fortunate enough to start with something of a 'clean slate' in the garden department. Renovations to our house had left the back garden looking like the Somme, and after some work with heavy equipment and many truckloads of new topsoil we had an empty, brown space.
Eschewing seeding in favor of an 'insta-lawn', I press ganged my Mother (here on Holiday) in to helping me lay several hundred square feet of perfect green (sod is a funny word, isn’t it ?). For the first time in my life, I owned a lawn that was flat, uniformly green and had no dead spots, brown spots, lumpy spots or squirrel holes.
This year, now that 'Summer' is finally here (it comes late in the Frozen North) I'm back to mowing and caring for my green. Only now, it had bald spots.
Why is it that everywhere you DON'T want grass to grow - it will? Prolifically. Yet here I give it all my nurturing, time and attention and it fails me. Maybe I should just ignore it, though I'd worry about losing the kids in the tall grass and all those snakes and things.
Somehow, shoveling snow was easier.
Friday, May 27, 2005
Perverse Pleasure
I know I shouldn't have - everyone says you shouldn't do it. I couldn't resist. I even got perverse pleasure from thinking about doing it.
It's been bugging me for days now, nagging at me to do something, but I have resisted.
The thing is big, hard and busting out. Today it's finally ready and I can't hold back any more. I take a while to get a good grip, just so, with my fingers and massage it until FINALLY it just explodes. BOY - does that feel SO good !
In your mid thirties, you just shouldn't have to do this kind of thing anymore. It’s not right. Somehow, I thought I'd left it all behind in my teenage years - the embarrassment, the funny looks.
But, it doesn’t last forever.
As I write, it is beginning to go down. Rather red, but that too will subside. Then it’ll just be a memory.
Damn pimple.
It's been bugging me for days now, nagging at me to do something, but I have resisted.
The thing is big, hard and busting out. Today it's finally ready and I can't hold back any more. I take a while to get a good grip, just so, with my fingers and massage it until FINALLY it just explodes. BOY - does that feel SO good !
In your mid thirties, you just shouldn't have to do this kind of thing anymore. It’s not right. Somehow, I thought I'd left it all behind in my teenage years - the embarrassment, the funny looks.
But, it doesn’t last forever.
As I write, it is beginning to go down. Rather red, but that too will subside. Then it’ll just be a memory.
Damn pimple.
Thursday, May 26, 2005
What is the world coming to ?
Many people may have missed the revelation earlier in the week that some states were giving free Viagra to sex offenders. This defies all logic. You lock someone away (at taxpayers expense) for some awful sex crime and then provide them with drugs to chemically assist them in getting an erection. I'd have thought that if they couldn't get it up, you'd kind of acheived your desired punishment. Then again, I'm not a psychologist or anything.
All of this comes a little closer to home this week, when the rumor mill begins to churn that a registered sex offender is moving to our little town (pop. 3000). Not just any old sex offender, but a CHILD sex offender. There has been a palpable change around here. We now lock our doors more during the day, schools and daycare facilities are on alert and every coffee shop conversation revolves around this guy. Somehow it doesn't seem fair - he's able to create victims without even stepping out of his door. Living in a climate of fear seems like an assault on our freedom.
I don't know what the solution is, but much like Nuclear waste, nobody wants the problem on THEIR doorstep.
All of this comes a little closer to home this week, when the rumor mill begins to churn that a registered sex offender is moving to our little town (pop. 3000). Not just any old sex offender, but a CHILD sex offender. There has been a palpable change around here. We now lock our doors more during the day, schools and daycare facilities are on alert and every coffee shop conversation revolves around this guy. Somehow it doesn't seem fair - he's able to create victims without even stepping out of his door. Living in a climate of fear seems like an assault on our freedom.
I don't know what the solution is, but much like Nuclear waste, nobody wants the problem on THEIR doorstep.
Wednesday, May 25, 2005
Hurry, Scurry
It's hard to explain to those who haven't experienced the same sensation, but it takes some getting used to, I'll tell you. One minute you're sleepily enjoying the first sips of coffee and tucking into a bowl of granola, than BAM.
So it is that my beeper goes off at breakfast.
Here's something most people don't know, because the thought never crosses their mind - When you burn your toast and your fancy fire alarm goes off, summoning help from the fire department, THEY OFTEN HAVE TO WAKE US UP.
I'm not complaining about this, mind you, (well, Ok a tiny bit) just trying to educate the general public that your local FD probably is NOT a bunch of guys sitting around a room on bad used furniture watching reruns of 'Rescue 911'. A good portion of this country is staffed by Call or Volunteer departments, not by (badly paid) career personnel. We have to jump out of bed, drop what we're doing, find the car keys, navigate traffic (boy those red lights sure help), get to the station, get on our gear, get in the truck and drive to your house.
So, imagine you're in some giant spy plane with x-ray specs high up over my town when someone sets off their alarm, or (more rarely) actually lights their house on fire. It'd be kind of funny to see lots of little people suddenly jumping about, running around and dashing through town to get to the station - all for YOU.
I can still feel the adrenaline in my veins 30 minutes later. Or maybe its the caffeine.
So, next time you pick up the phone or burn the toast give a thought to the poor schlepps that are scurrying to your aid.
So it is that my beeper goes off at breakfast.
Here's something most people don't know, because the thought never crosses their mind - When you burn your toast and your fancy fire alarm goes off, summoning help from the fire department, THEY OFTEN HAVE TO WAKE US UP.
I'm not complaining about this, mind you, (well, Ok a tiny bit) just trying to educate the general public that your local FD probably is NOT a bunch of guys sitting around a room on bad used furniture watching reruns of 'Rescue 911'. A good portion of this country is staffed by Call or Volunteer departments, not by (badly paid) career personnel. We have to jump out of bed, drop what we're doing, find the car keys, navigate traffic (boy those red lights sure help), get to the station, get on our gear, get in the truck and drive to your house.
So, imagine you're in some giant spy plane with x-ray specs high up over my town when someone sets off their alarm, or (more rarely) actually lights their house on fire. It'd be kind of funny to see lots of little people suddenly jumping about, running around and dashing through town to get to the station - all for YOU.
I can still feel the adrenaline in my veins 30 minutes later. Or maybe its the caffeine.
So, next time you pick up the phone or burn the toast give a thought to the poor schlepps that are scurrying to your aid.
Monday, May 23, 2005
Discipline
Working from home takes focus and discipline.
So it is that I find myself watching cable TV at 3 O'Clock in the afternoon. I will take a work break shortly, promise.
So it is that I find myself watching cable TV at 3 O'Clock in the afternoon. I will take a work break shortly, promise.
Hot Stuff, baby !
This was a controlled drill to practice advancing on a burning propane installation, using water as a shield. Kind of hot, but also very cool.
Finally, the end of the beginning
For the last 9 months I have been sitting through the Firefighter 1 course. This is a 160 hour qualification designed to give Firefighters an entry level qualification that is accepted nationally (mostly). It's a real bugger. It may not seem like it, but that's a lot of time, especially when you've been out of the studying mode for a while (Depressingly it has now been 18 years since I last attended a place of higher learning). We have homework assignments, tests, reading and all of that jazz. Once in a while we even get to play with hoses, ladders and stuff. Not much fire, though.
I'm sure that most people would assume that Firefighters get trained to put out fire by, well, putting out fire. Not so ! In today's environmentally friendly world, it's increasingly hard to get State and Local Government to allow you to burn anything (that is, of course, unless your a homeowner in which case you can burn pretty any old hazardous crap you want). In 9 months, we have one day of 'live fire' training at the State Academy. Luckily, we also have a few real fires back in our own department to cut our teeth on.
I'm just glad it's over and I can get my Thursdays back. Thank God for TiVo, or else I'd have missed an entire season of CSI.
I'm sure that most people would assume that Firefighters get trained to put out fire by, well, putting out fire. Not so ! In today's environmentally friendly world, it's increasingly hard to get State and Local Government to allow you to burn anything (that is, of course, unless your a homeowner in which case you can burn pretty any old hazardous crap you want). In 9 months, we have one day of 'live fire' training at the State Academy. Luckily, we also have a few real fires back in our own department to cut our teeth on.
I'm just glad it's over and I can get my Thursdays back. Thank God for TiVo, or else I'd have missed an entire season of CSI.
Sunday, April 10, 2005
About the author
Some things you may want to know about me. If not now, for later reference, when composing flames or complaints.
-I live in a small town in Vermont. We have zero traffic lights, but two Fire Stations.
-I'm blessed with a top notch wife, a daughter (4) and a son (2). Hereinafter referred to as number one daughter and number one son.
-I do not own a dog. Or a gun.
-I am English, though to hear me talk you wouldn't think it. It's not my fault that my accent got lost. What am I supposed to do ? Elecution lessons ? 'The Rain In Spain Falls Mainly On The Plain' ?
-I am an on call Firefighter. That means I have a job, but when things catch fire I drop everything, speed through town (carefully) and play at being a Firefighter for a while. It's great fun and you get to wear all the cool fireman stuff and ride around in fire trucks (or engines for those British readers).
-Winter is very cold here. No, I mean cold. Forget your pansy ass cold, this is real cold. Most thermometers sold in English shops don't go that low. Nothing growing up on a damp island prepared me for living in such fridgid locales.
-Summer is very nice here. Though short.
-I drive a Land Rover. It's a cool car, and I get to put red flashing lights on it (see above). How neat is that ?
-I am tall. That means I bang my head a lot, which hurts.
-I own a TiVo (R). This thing changed my life. If you don't have one, buy one. NOW.
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-I live in a small town in Vermont. We have zero traffic lights, but two Fire Stations.
-I'm blessed with a top notch wife, a daughter (4) and a son (2). Hereinafter referred to as number one daughter and number one son.
-I do not own a dog. Or a gun.
-I am English, though to hear me talk you wouldn't think it. It's not my fault that my accent got lost. What am I supposed to do ? Elecution lessons ? 'The Rain In Spain Falls Mainly On The Plain' ?
-I am an on call Firefighter. That means I have a job, but when things catch fire I drop everything, speed through town (carefully) and play at being a Firefighter for a while. It's great fun and you get to wear all the cool fireman stuff and ride around in fire trucks (or engines for those British readers).
-Winter is very cold here. No, I mean cold. Forget your pansy ass cold, this is real cold. Most thermometers sold in English shops don't go that low. Nothing growing up on a damp island prepared me for living in such fridgid locales.
-Summer is very nice here. Though short.
-I drive a Land Rover. It's a cool car, and I get to put red flashing lights on it (see above). How neat is that ?
-I am tall. That means I bang my head a lot, which hurts.
-I own a TiVo (R). This thing changed my life. If you don't have one, buy one. NOW.
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Push button publishing
I have read enough blogs to figure that I might just want to spill my mind, too. Time to 'give back' so to speak (though you can be the judge of how much giving is involved in my attempts).
I never realized that the hardest part to all of this would be choosing a name for ones blog. Who knew that so many possibilities would already have been dreamed up ? Frightening, really, that there could be so many people out there who think just the same.
Finally arrived at this name for no good reason, other than it sounds funny when my two year old says it.
Onward.
I never realized that the hardest part to all of this would be choosing a name for ones blog. Who knew that so many possibilities would already have been dreamed up ? Frightening, really, that there could be so many people out there who think just the same.
Finally arrived at this name for no good reason, other than it sounds funny when my two year old says it.
Onward.
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