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 !
Friday, September 30, 2005
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.
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