Check it.
My friend Sandra showed me this today and I dig it the most. Can't wait till I actually have $20!
Friday, November 30, 2007
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Lice and a song
Today, before the kids arrived, I discovered that one of the kids in my group, and her brother have lice.
Later, when I went to pick half the kids up at once school, I sang an excited kind of theme song called something like "Check the Big Kids' Heads for Lice Day". It had a verse and brief chorus and it rhymed and musically made sense. It was dumb, and repetitive and I couldn't remember it ten minutes later, to sing a reprise for some kids who were late, but it made kids giggle.
This proves that it isn't just my mother's voice that comes out of me anymore, it's also my dad's.
Later, when I went to pick half the kids up at once school, I sang an excited kind of theme song called something like "Check the Big Kids' Heads for Lice Day". It had a verse and brief chorus and it rhymed and musically made sense. It was dumb, and repetitive and I couldn't remember it ten minutes later, to sing a reprise for some kids who were late, but it made kids giggle.
This proves that it isn't just my mother's voice that comes out of me anymore, it's also my dad's.
Monday, November 26, 2007
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Only in Seattle
I was standing in the produce section in the Ballard Market, which is near the front door. This summer I think they hired a new produce display person because the mountains of vegetables and fruits (often paired with wine or cheese or something) have just blown me away. In any case... there's a pair of blonde brothers, struck senseless with desire. Think about how some kids who suddenly have come across an unexpected chocolate mousse cake, covered in whipped cream and carmel. The boys are probably 7 and 9. They stare at a beautiful array in front of the door. Their fathers hands are full of canvas bags about to burst.
Taller Brother: (moans softly)
Shorter Brother and Taller Brother together: Chantrelles!
Shorter Brother: (begging)Dad! Chantrelles!
Taller Brother: (whining) Dad!
Dad: I know. I see them. I'm sure grandma is bringing some chantrelles. C'mon! Let's go!
For the uninitiated. THIS is the chantrelle.
Taller Brother: (moans softly)
Shorter Brother and Taller Brother together: Chantrelles!
Shorter Brother: (begging)Dad! Chantrelles!
Taller Brother: (whining) Dad!
Dad: I know. I see them. I'm sure grandma is bringing some chantrelles. C'mon! Let's go!
For the uninitiated. THIS is the chantrelle.
Friday, November 23, 2007
And yet the retreat pictures continue...
Here is the labyrinth I mentioned. It's right next to the river, so the rushing and burbling is all I could hear. The labyrinth itself is obviously very simple which makes the act of walking it the center of attention. At the same time, it obviously took great care and effort to carry all the river rocks to this place and arrange them, so it also feels like a present.
There are three different buildings that anyone can use at any time of day for whatever practice you like to do. This one is called the sanctuary and around the edges of the room there are mats, cushions, drums... anything someone might want. At home I try to meditate every day, but it doesn't always work out. Here, I sat every day twice a day. It was very encouraging.
Here's the window I stared out of while I sat. I know that little sapling trunk in the middle distance better than any other part of the whole place.
The food at Breitenbush is just fantastic and delicious and nourishing. If you want food to take with you on a hike, all you have to do is tell the kitchen staff the night before and you get a brown bag lunch. I was eager to have some good food for the ride home (you can stay and use the facilities and eat the food until 3 the day you check out. I was leaving early, though to make it home at a decent hour.) so the night before I took off I went to the kitchen (through the wrong door) and asked for a lunch. The guy asked my name, and when I told him and spelled it, he smirked and said "We have a Kendra who lives here. I know how to spell it." (There is a community of people who live across the river and staff the resort.) The next morning when I picked up my meal (right door this time) there was a different guy who asked my name. He smiled a funny sneaky smile when he heard it, too, and said almost the same words. (I get the feeling that she must be something, this other Kendra, from their expressions!) Here's a picture of my lunch bag.
Not sure if the cook was being playful, or if that's how they've been taught to spell my name.
It was delicious.
There are three different buildings that anyone can use at any time of day for whatever practice you like to do. This one is called the sanctuary and around the edges of the room there are mats, cushions, drums... anything someone might want. At home I try to meditate every day, but it doesn't always work out. Here, I sat every day twice a day. It was very encouraging.
Here's the window I stared out of while I sat. I know that little sapling trunk in the middle distance better than any other part of the whole place.
The food at Breitenbush is just fantastic and delicious and nourishing. If you want food to take with you on a hike, all you have to do is tell the kitchen staff the night before and you get a brown bag lunch. I was eager to have some good food for the ride home (you can stay and use the facilities and eat the food until 3 the day you check out. I was leaving early, though to make it home at a decent hour.) so the night before I took off I went to the kitchen (through the wrong door) and asked for a lunch. The guy asked my name, and when I told him and spelled it, he smirked and said "We have a Kendra who lives here. I know how to spell it." (There is a community of people who live across the river and staff the resort.) The next morning when I picked up my meal (right door this time) there was a different guy who asked my name. He smiled a funny sneaky smile when he heard it, too, and said almost the same words. (I get the feeling that she must be something, this other Kendra, from their expressions!) Here's a picture of my lunch bag.
Not sure if the cook was being playful, or if that's how they've been taught to spell my name.
It was delicious.
Retreat pictures continued...
These are some frozen mushrooms. I got up one morning and walked the stone labrynth after breakfast. As I walked back to the lodge, the sun glinted at me from a mudpile. These skinny little mushrooms had frozen overnight, and were sparkling and melting as I watched. They were lit up and most lovely just as the sun touched them, and thus just before they crunched under the heat of the sun and the weight of the mud they inhabited. It was really beautiful, and sudden and I'm afraid these pictures don't really do it justice. The whole time, there was the sound of them breaking and little pebbles and chunks of mud falling.
My Retreat
Here are some pictures from the retreat I took all by myself in November. It was very peaceful, slow, introspective and lovely.
Here's my cabin. I was supposed to share it with roomates, but none presented themselves. The first morning I was there, I wrote a small note to the roomies who would arrive telling them who I was, and how long I'd be there, and that of course they could take the big bed if they wanted it.
Most of the people wandering around Breitenbush have towels around their necks. Between the hottubs and pools and the sauna, noone is ever dry for very long. Here I am heading out for a hike and a soak. The crazy thing is that I walked to the lodge and set down my towel and my water on a picnic table. I knew that noone would touch my things unless they absolutely couldn't avoid it. I went on my little hike up the river and then came back to my belongings just where I needed them. It was very cold already, so I'm wearing my silly hat, too.
This is the inside of the cozy warm cabin. It's heated with radiators that are filled with water that was piped down under the earth to the hot spots and then piped back up. Because this uses almost no energy, I had no guilt about turning up the heat in my cozy cabin and taking really hot long showers.
This is the lodge I described earlier. It's where all the meals are served. In the afternoon, the sun shone on the porch there and I liked to eat at the picnic tables. Then after, I'd find an Adirondack chair and move it near the woodpile, the LAST place to remain sunny before the sun fell behind the mountains, and knit. (In fact, you can see the chair right where I left it.)
Here's my cabin. I was supposed to share it with roomates, but none presented themselves. The first morning I was there, I wrote a small note to the roomies who would arrive telling them who I was, and how long I'd be there, and that of course they could take the big bed if they wanted it.
Most of the people wandering around Breitenbush have towels around their necks. Between the hottubs and pools and the sauna, noone is ever dry for very long. Here I am heading out for a hike and a soak. The crazy thing is that I walked to the lodge and set down my towel and my water on a picnic table. I knew that noone would touch my things unless they absolutely couldn't avoid it. I went on my little hike up the river and then came back to my belongings just where I needed them. It was very cold already, so I'm wearing my silly hat, too.
This is the inside of the cozy warm cabin. It's heated with radiators that are filled with water that was piped down under the earth to the hot spots and then piped back up. Because this uses almost no energy, I had no guilt about turning up the heat in my cozy cabin and taking really hot long showers.
This is the lodge I described earlier. It's where all the meals are served. In the afternoon, the sun shone on the porch there and I liked to eat at the picnic tables. Then after, I'd find an Adirondack chair and move it near the woodpile, the LAST place to remain sunny before the sun fell behind the mountains, and knit. (In fact, you can see the chair right where I left it.)
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
A play unexpectedly about Jesus.
The truth is, I would have gone to see Whistle Down the Wind, even if I HAD been told that it was a play about a girl who thinks the bad guy hiding out in her barn is Jesus.
But after reading the 5th Avenue Theatre's description of the play:
Direct from London, discover what critics have proclaimed "Andrew Lloyd Webber's best show since Phantom of the Opera." Whistle Down the Wind is an uplifting musical about a young Louisiana girl who finds a mysterious stranger and hides him from the townspeople, who are determined to find the escaped felon. The US premiere production partners renowned rock lyricist Jim Steinman (Meatloaf's classic album Bat Out of Hell) and Andrew Lloyd Webber (Cats, Evita and Joseph...) to create a score inspired by the sounds of the American South – blues, gospel, country and rock 'n' roll. Directed and produced by Bill Kenwright, Whistle Down the Wind features award-winning songs including the Boyzone smash hit "No Matter What."
That is not what I imagined.
Now, most Christians may see that "mysterious stranger" and "uplifting" are code for "a story about Jesus". I personally didn't see it coming. In fact, a month ago, I read a description out loud to my seatmate, and tripped. I said "a young girl finds a man hiding in her brain" instead of "barn". In the end, given the nature of projection, my interpretation was completely founded. Nearly every third line includes the name "Jesus". (It's in Louisiana in the 50's... They pray a lot.) There's even snake-handlers. My friend and I assumed that the religious bent wasn't mentioned because of Seattle's aggressively secular attitude, and that the show was marketed differently somewhere else. We believed that the 5th Ave believed we had to be tricked into coming. But I checked, and the show never mentions the whole Christ thing. (Also, the Andrew Lloyd Webber website wanted to know if I was Male or Female and told me that 60% of the visitors to the page are female. Wierd.)
So, basically I watched this play (which was funny and sweet and dramatic) and the fifteen year old inside me watched it, too. The fifteen year old cried, I'm pretty sure, but the tears never quite made it to the surface. She's totally inviting her friends from CYO to come next time. And EVEN though she's always hated Andrew Lloyd Webber, she will totally belt out all the words of every song when her friends play it in the car.
I, on the other hand, laughed at the choreography (Bad) and all the tenor parts (Pretty but weird) and felt uncomfortable with the main character's "loving Jesus" vs "LOVE-ing Jesus" eternal Mary Magdelene problem. (The fifteen year old had her own reasons for feeling uncomfortable about this.)
On the Andrew Lloyd Webber Yuck Front:
Nobody whistles in the whole damn play
"A kiss is a terrible thing to waste." was funny the first time. Then it became a refrain. Likewise "The night that kids ruled the world."
Southern kids with southern accents: adorable. Pacific Northwest kids with "southern" accents: unintelligible and occasionally painful.
However, I am always a sucker for spectacle and stories about "America" and being in a large group of people in the dark, staring. SO, I loved it.
But after reading the 5th Avenue Theatre's description of the play:
Direct from London, discover what critics have proclaimed "Andrew Lloyd Webber's best show since Phantom of the Opera." Whistle Down the Wind is an uplifting musical about a young Louisiana girl who finds a mysterious stranger and hides him from the townspeople, who are determined to find the escaped felon. The US premiere production partners renowned rock lyricist Jim Steinman (Meatloaf's classic album Bat Out of Hell) and Andrew Lloyd Webber (Cats, Evita and Joseph...) to create a score inspired by the sounds of the American South – blues, gospel, country and rock 'n' roll. Directed and produced by Bill Kenwright, Whistle Down the Wind features award-winning songs including the Boyzone smash hit "No Matter What."
That is not what I imagined.
Now, most Christians may see that "mysterious stranger" and "uplifting" are code for "a story about Jesus". I personally didn't see it coming. In fact, a month ago, I read a description out loud to my seatmate, and tripped. I said "a young girl finds a man hiding in her brain" instead of "barn". In the end, given the nature of projection, my interpretation was completely founded. Nearly every third line includes the name "Jesus". (It's in Louisiana in the 50's... They pray a lot.) There's even snake-handlers. My friend and I assumed that the religious bent wasn't mentioned because of Seattle's aggressively secular attitude, and that the show was marketed differently somewhere else. We believed that the 5th Ave believed we had to be tricked into coming. But I checked, and the show never mentions the whole Christ thing. (Also, the Andrew Lloyd Webber website wanted to know if I was Male or Female and told me that 60% of the visitors to the page are female. Wierd.)
So, basically I watched this play (which was funny and sweet and dramatic) and the fifteen year old inside me watched it, too. The fifteen year old cried, I'm pretty sure, but the tears never quite made it to the surface. She's totally inviting her friends from CYO to come next time. And EVEN though she's always hated Andrew Lloyd Webber, she will totally belt out all the words of every song when her friends play it in the car.
I, on the other hand, laughed at the choreography (Bad) and all the tenor parts (Pretty but weird) and felt uncomfortable with the main character's "loving Jesus" vs "LOVE-ing Jesus" eternal Mary Magdelene problem. (The fifteen year old had her own reasons for feeling uncomfortable about this.)
On the Andrew Lloyd Webber Yuck Front:
Nobody whistles in the whole damn play
"A kiss is a terrible thing to waste." was funny the first time. Then it became a refrain. Likewise "The night that kids ruled the world."
Southern kids with southern accents: adorable. Pacific Northwest kids with "southern" accents: unintelligible and occasionally painful.
However, I am always a sucker for spectacle and stories about "America" and being in a large group of people in the dark, staring. SO, I loved it.
Thursday, November 1, 2007
Gasoline and lavender
Today I finally changed my fuel filter. It was awesome. My identity has now stretched to include "Mechanical". (It's a big tent, here folks.) I was excited to have an old car that I could learn to take apart and put back together, and now I am ACTUALLY doing it. AND my car exhaust smells better to prove it.
I was a little worried at first because I've never changed a fuel filter, and whenever I imagine myself doing something new on my car, I imagine that it could probably make me explode. Once I'm done with that powerful visualization, I start reading in one of my four manuals that tell me dryly and in tiny print about a whole collection of models and years of cars, some of which match mine. So far I've used this method to change the wipers on two different cars, replace lightbulbs and sideview mirrors (guess who knocked them off!) and change the oil and filter.
The first thing I found out about the fuel filter was that SOME Subaru's have the filter right on top. Others have it behind a wheel, and are only accessible if you can stand the car up on jacks.
Since I DON'T have jacks, and I haven't made it through the "If I put my car up on jacks I might accidentally forget to unplug some wires and blow myself up" there's no way I was going to change the filter if I had one of THOSE cars. On the other hand, I had already made up my mind (weeks ago) that I would change this goddam filter, so I kept reading. That's right, I kept reading, and hoping that my filter happened to be the kind that sits right on top of the engine instead of walking outside opening the hood and actually looking at MY engine. I read all about it, and then started to look up pictures online so that I could imagine doing the five steps that were in the book. Finally the part of me that gets fed up with all the less evolutionarily sound parts screamed "GO LOOK IN YOUR OWN CAR TO SEE IF YOU CAN FIND THE FILTER!" It was right there on top. Much smaller than the ones in all the pictures. I was nervous, because I had learned that I COULD in fact blow gasoline all over my face at high speed during this process, so I found a website to give me a new perspective.
This guy is really helpful, and all about "mechanical empowerment". Also, unlike the guys at Schuck's I've never seen him make more than one expression, so I have a harder time imagining him patronizing me in any way. I'm going to change my air filter next, I think. Once I take care of the wierd shudder that's started.... ehem.
Anyway, I read all about how I might need a special Fuel line clamp wrench, because some cars have very special bolts holding the filter on. Since I was going to go have to go buy "open wrenches" anyway, I took another look at the filter to see if maybe I'd need a special wrench. Nope. My car is so old that the clamps are held on with phillips head screws. Yup.
So I removed a fuse, I took off the filter and got gas all over my hands. I enjoyed this immensely, and was glad again to be a nonsmoker. After I put the thing down I went to go wash my hands. Soon the kitchen smelled of gasoline and lavender which sounds like the name of a folk duo with a big bearded dude and his tiny barefoot wife. I think the smell woke up Z. Which is a cruel thing to do to someone really.
It's all put back together now, and I even drove her to work today. For some reason the small shudder that generally occurs in the first five minutes of driving now occurs over a longer period... yes, I know. Yikes. I am never afraid of blowing up while DRIVING, just repairing, so I'm perfectly confident gripping the wheel through the moment or two that the car bucks generally for no reason I can figure. So, I'll open a beer and my manual, and look through that website, and if none of that can help me, I'll have to ask my grease monkey friends about it.
I'll be at Breitenbush till Thursday, so till then...
I was a little worried at first because I've never changed a fuel filter, and whenever I imagine myself doing something new on my car, I imagine that it could probably make me explode. Once I'm done with that powerful visualization, I start reading in one of my four manuals that tell me dryly and in tiny print about a whole collection of models and years of cars, some of which match mine. So far I've used this method to change the wipers on two different cars, replace lightbulbs and sideview mirrors (guess who knocked them off!) and change the oil and filter.
The first thing I found out about the fuel filter was that SOME Subaru's have the filter right on top. Others have it behind a wheel, and are only accessible if you can stand the car up on jacks.
Since I DON'T have jacks, and I haven't made it through the "If I put my car up on jacks I might accidentally forget to unplug some wires and blow myself up" there's no way I was going to change the filter if I had one of THOSE cars. On the other hand, I had already made up my mind (weeks ago) that I would change this goddam filter, so I kept reading. That's right, I kept reading, and hoping that my filter happened to be the kind that sits right on top of the engine instead of walking outside opening the hood and actually looking at MY engine. I read all about it, and then started to look up pictures online so that I could imagine doing the five steps that were in the book. Finally the part of me that gets fed up with all the less evolutionarily sound parts screamed "GO LOOK IN YOUR OWN CAR TO SEE IF YOU CAN FIND THE FILTER!" It was right there on top. Much smaller than the ones in all the pictures. I was nervous, because I had learned that I COULD in fact blow gasoline all over my face at high speed during this process, so I found a website to give me a new perspective.
This guy is really helpful, and all about "mechanical empowerment". Also, unlike the guys at Schuck's I've never seen him make more than one expression, so I have a harder time imagining him patronizing me in any way. I'm going to change my air filter next, I think. Once I take care of the wierd shudder that's started.... ehem.
Anyway, I read all about how I might need a special Fuel line clamp wrench, because some cars have very special bolts holding the filter on. Since I was going to go have to go buy "open wrenches" anyway, I took another look at the filter to see if maybe I'd need a special wrench. Nope. My car is so old that the clamps are held on with phillips head screws. Yup.
So I removed a fuse, I took off the filter and got gas all over my hands. I enjoyed this immensely, and was glad again to be a nonsmoker. After I put the thing down I went to go wash my hands. Soon the kitchen smelled of gasoline and lavender which sounds like the name of a folk duo with a big bearded dude and his tiny barefoot wife. I think the smell woke up Z. Which is a cruel thing to do to someone really.
It's all put back together now, and I even drove her to work today. For some reason the small shudder that generally occurs in the first five minutes of driving now occurs over a longer period... yes, I know. Yikes. I am never afraid of blowing up while DRIVING, just repairing, so I'm perfectly confident gripping the wheel through the moment or two that the car bucks generally for no reason I can figure. So, I'll open a beer and my manual, and look through that website, and if none of that can help me, I'll have to ask my grease monkey friends about it.
I'll be at Breitenbush till Thursday, so till then...
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