Dinoscool3's mom

My son is Dinoscool3 on an internet message board for people who fly frequently and love travel. Introduced to it by his father in 2010 when we were living in Bangladesh, at first he spend his time reading trip reports posted from around the world. It wasn't until the Continental/United Airlines merger that he became a frequent poster. Needless to say, he was one of the youngest people on the board.

One beneficial aspect of membership in this community is access to posts concerning low-cost travel. We took advantage of a price war on flights into Istanbul and booked Thanksgiving weekend, 2011, along with many who also jumped on a good fare. That led to our introduction to another delightful custom: the "Do", a gathering of members of the community, often involving food, drink and behind the scenes tours arranged by local experts. The "Istanbul Do" was a lovely, quickly arranged dinner with animated discussion of our travels and deals along the way. Each participant trying to one-up each other.

We always enjoy these gatherings and have been to several over the last few years. Our travels this weekend were timed to include the "Monterey Do". We shared several meals and a couple of tours.

Participants in the gatherings are often individual travelers or couples, rarely families. I do have a laugh every time I'm introduced, not as a member of the community, but as his mom.

Return to Point Lobos

On Sunday, we had a couple of hours left in our visit to Monterey. Paul suggested that we drive out to Point Lobos. He had been there the day before and thought we would like it. As serendipity would have it, Point Lobos State Natural Reserve celebrated the 150th anniversary of California State Parks that day with free admission for supporters and lots of family activities. We arrived as it was beginning to clear out.

I don't remember if I had visited this place at the age of nine on that trip with my Grandmother P. I have to imagine so.

It was windy. The sun was low. The surf was pounding. You could hear the birds and sea otters crying. My son and his friends went on ahead, climbing the rock peaks and making their way down to the water. My husband and I attempted a selfie.

This was a time to imprint the memory in our souls.

As we were leaving in the car, we talked about this perfect ending to our trip. My son's friend, a marine stationed in Monterey, planned his return to Point Lobos to show his girlfriend.

Rainfall shower heads

It's been 48 hours since I had a shower, the last one was in Monterey, California, at a fancy golf and spa resort. We had a lovely suite with a walk-in shower that featured a rainfall shower head.

Here at home, we redid our bathroom to include an open design with a rainfall shower head. I love the warmth caressing me. I love the drops massaging me. I love the warm tiles under my too-often cold feet.  It's a good thing that only three people live in this house. You would never be able to get into the bathroom.

The resort had their water pressure settings adjusted to be mindful of the current drought. The experience was not the same.

No pictures of either event were recorded.

It is good to be home

We took the red-eye flight back from California over night and got back to Oneonta midday. None of us could resist taking a nap but I did get out for a walk before sunset. It was clear and cool. I was wearing a fleece vest over my sweatshirt. Gloves kept my fingers warm.
I came back on Main Street, crossing here at the light. The sun was blazing on the hill.

Lost my cable needle while traveling

I'm glad that I keep a crochet hook handy.

The other painting

The second painting I have from the visit in August, 1964, shows more of my hand. My Grandma P. had let me loose. The subject may have been her choice. She loved to copy Robert Wood's New England paintings.

So I after googling him, I find that he had a blue bonnet period in Texas, a cyprus period in California and a Catskills period in New York. So maybe the Pacific Sunset from the first painting I did with her was from a Robert Wood book rather than a postcard?

The second painting is very reminiscent of the area I live in now. How did she know?

The technique is primitive with demonstrating lack of patience of the artist for details. The label is in pencil, in my handwriting.

I have also included a picture of the label from the canvas: Greens, 400 S. Woodward, Birmingham. Grandma P. pointed her big baby blue Buick down Woodward Avenue. In twenty minutes she was at the finest art store in the area where she bought her paints and canvases.

I couldn't resist looking to see if they were still in business. I found an article in Crain's Detroit Business from this past summer. "Retail, condos planned for Greens Art Supply site in Birmingham". I can imagine the real estate was too valuable to hold on to. The article went on to say that Greens is consolidating into its downtown Rochester store.

Pacific Sunset

We're getting ready for a quick trip to California which will include two nights in Monterey. I have been there before.

After consultation with my father, let me share a timeline. In 1962, MoM saw an ad in the local paper for a teaching job and went back to work full time. My brother was 9 (soon 10), I was 8 and my sister 4. Hypothesis: The extra income allowed our family to travel. In the summer of 1963, our family including MoM's mother, Grandma P., went across the country in a Chevrolet station wagon pulling a trailer. We first went to L.A. and saw Disneyland and then up the coast headed for family visits in the San Francisco area where my grandfather on my father's side was born. Along the way we stopped in Monterey. Hypothesis: Grandma P. and I have looked out on a sunset at Cyprus Point. The next August I visited Grandma P. Hypothesis: MoM, driven crazy by my sister and me fighting all the time, sent me packing. She was distraught over having to go back to work but felt trapped at home with the kids.

I was named after my Grandma P. She sewed and knitted. She liked to travel and chatted easily with people she met. When widowed in her fifties, she learned to drive and took up painting. She painted china and went on to oil paint landscapes. Sitting in the comfort of her own home, she copied postcards from places she loved and artists she admired.

So in August, 1964, at the age of nine, she taught me to oil paint. I can't be sure, but I suppose that she picked up a postcard while we were in Monterey the summer before. Although my name is on the lower corner, this picture is without doubt in the style of Grandma P. I have included the label from the back of the canvas. It is in her recognizable penmanship, each line running into the margin.

I loved my Grandma P. She was the sort to relieve her daughter from the care of one of her unruly children. She was the sort to make that child feel special and talented and creative. I went home with a painting of a memory and memory of a painting.

Discretion, valor and all that sort of thing

This was another case of where I was and where I wanted to be.

Remember my telling you about Oneonta Creek, the railroad track and the sluiceway? I had a nice walk around the park including finding the gate opening that leads to the trailhead. I was walking back and passed a fellow headed in the opposite direction. A little while later I turned around to see that he was on the opposite bank of the sluiceway.

How did he do it?

I walked back to have another look. He must have crossed this embankment. I really don't know what to call it. It isn't a dam because there are openings that allow the sluiceway to pass through. I suppose it might help divert the creek during floods. The paths on the opposite bank do indicate that people do cross it to get to the other side.

I was never that good at the balance beam in gym class. This was wider. I practiced on the side. I just couldn't do it. I was alone and although the fall wouldn't kill me, it might be awhile until someone found me. I took the long way around.

When I mentioned my walk to my husband, he said that he and my son had been across it. I was astonished, but I shouldn't have been we are a family of pedestrians. It was the shortest way to the commercial activity on the south side.

I have just asked my son. Yes, he has been across it. Yes, even when he was alone. I asked if he thought I made the right decision and he agreed. I shouldn't try it alone. I asked him if he would take me some day. He agreed.

So the generations have switched. I reflect on a time when my son was frustrated in not being able to get to the next level of the play structure. I helped him up until he could do it himself.

Where I want to be

I went in search of a shorter way to get to the trailhead down by the river. The problem is that between here and there are railroad tracks, a "sluiceway", a nice park and an interstate highway. I'd seen pedestrians near the trailhead signs while sitting in my car at the light for the ramps to the interstate. But you can't park a car there. I needed to figure this out.

It looked hopeful at first as I found a green space next to Oneonta Creek. It lead to the tracks. I decided to cross them. I was careful, looked twice, etc. There was a railroad worker taking a break in his truck under the overpass which I cross several times a week to shop on the south side. He didn't seem to be bothered by my crossing the tracks.

It soon became obvious that there was no nice pathway, to the left was the creek, to the right was a quarter mile until a bridge that crosses to the park. I have often gone that way - it leads to the baseball field where the Oneonta Outlaws play.

A sensible person would have retreated. I persevered. Quite frankly, I didn't want to pass under the eyes of the railroad worker again. So I started bushwhacking my way. It was rough, but I had long pants and sleeves. My walking sticks helped part the vines and bramble. I could have used some gloves, my hands were quite cut up.

One good thing about walking in this area at the intersection of the overpass and the highway is that cell reception is very good. The soundtrack didn't seem appropriate. I became frustrated with the announcer who seemed to go on and on about uncredited zither players in the Tales of Hoffmann waltz recordings.

I didn't make it to the trailhead, but I have a strategy. Next time I'll walk by the street or drive and leave my car at the soccer fields.

Where I am and where I want to be

My free morning

I am usually the first up in the house. This morning I could smell breakfast going downstairs when I got up. My husband had told me that he had to be at work early. As I woke my son, he let me know that the debate team was meeting at lunch. And since it's Friday, my husband covers the reference desk through lunch.

So that means that I have almost six hours to myself. I can take a three hour hike and still clean up the kitchen and do a couple loads of laundry. And make pizza dough for dinner.

Or I could write for an hour, not clean the kitchen and still have a hike.

Or I can continue my binge watching of The Gilmore Girls on Netflix and knit.

What to do? Walk up in the hills or in the river bottom?

Still looking for the first snow

On Wednesday, I took the first screenshot. It was the first time this fall that the possibilities of snow appeared. It's there on Sunday. I mentioned it to my husband and described the temperature graph as a toboggan ride down.

Now, on Friday, it's gone. The temperatures are not that much different, certainly warmer on Monday.

Look at the lows for the week out, where the red graph curve hits bottom. Early Monday morning is now the only time when a frost is predicted.

Our nice fall will continue for another week.

Thyme

My herbs have moved to my kitchen window sill for the winter. I am working on recipes.

I have figured out parsley, basil and now sage. But I'm still working on thyme. 

This is how I cook.  I saw a recipe for a sweet onion mousse.  I had some leftover undercooked rice. I bought a bag of sweet onions. I soaked the rice in milk and egg while sautéing the onions with a little chopped thyme. There was one small lonely jalapeño left on the porch pot, so I chopped it, too. Added it to the milky rice, not the sauté. I don't know why.

Mixed everything together and put it into a sprayed baking dish. Topped it with a few thyme twigs. Baked at 325 degrees for over an hour until a knife came out clean.

Next time I won't add so many eggs. It was like a baked omelet, but good. I couldn't taste the pepper, but the thyme came through nicely. I think I have a better idea of what to use it for now. 

Didn't take a picture when it came out. This is what it looked like when I heated some for breakfast.

After writing this up, I realize that MoM cooked this way, throwing things together that she had left over. But I don't remember her using fresh herbs.

Too smart for their own good

When sending encouraging messages, make sure you check all the facts.

Last night, I walked late. It was only 7:00 p.m. In the summer, that time would be lovely. Now it is dark with wet leaves underneath foot. With my safety in mind, I don't push my pace. I don't want to slip or trip.

To the end of the sidewalk on the East Street hill from my house is about one mile. It's a good workout, I push on the way up and can coast on the way down. I can't take a shortcut.

This must have been the fourth time I've done the walk. I was awarded the 4th best time for the course.

This wasn't good news

The company had declined to increase the level of coverage for me. I appealed. It was denied. I still have my current policy.

How can they discriminate like that? It's just genetics. I can't help it if I'm too short.

Creativity

Elizabeth Gilbert was featured on a recent TED Radio Hour. I first listened to it on a beautiful fall afternoon as I was out Nordic walking on the Greenway. I was streaming it and soon lost the signal.

I have now downloaded the podcast and listened several times. You can listen here.

The whole show is great, but I particularly relate to Ms. Gilbert's approach as I am working through my life and writing this blog. "I show up for my part of the job."

I'm writing every day. Somedays it is good work, most days it isn't.  I will just accept that fear is along for the ride. My fear won't be given the chance to overrule what I want to do.

And that goes for walking and eating oatmeal and knitting. I show up every day, well almost every day.

My sweet Italian neighbors celebrated Columbus Day

I love my neighbors. They fly their Italian flag once a year. They were both born in Italy, and came over as children to joint the large community of Italians in our town. They raised their family on our street. He is a veteran and retired from the railroad. She worked years at the Friendly's restaurant down the street.
When I went to ask them to pose with the flag, she was making a lunch of salami, roasted peppers and provolone sandwiches.

Sunday morning coming off the hill behind the school

The hike was good. At first I was alarmed to see the frost in the low lying meadow of the park. I feared for my pots still outside. They must be fine. I didn't notice any frost as I left the house. The climb up was pretty with the sun coming up low through the trees, now mostly leafless.

I was lost in thought about some family memories: MoM, MoM's mother and MoM's grandmother. As often happens, I didn't take the trail I had planned on following. I ended up on the one, marked by red blazes, called "Blood, Sweat & Tears". There is a place where you can cut off and go down to the school. I try to avoid this area during the school day. But this morning it was a perfect way to come down.

There is a memorial garden with a waterfall, lily pond and gazebo. Mozart's Requeum came up on the iTunes Radio.

I paused to reflect and write before the feeling and memory vaporized.

A Phillip Glass composition set a quick pace for me as I went around the back of the school to return to the park. When I heard Bernstein directing Barbour's Adagio for Strings, I chose not to take the direct route, but the one over the old stone bridge. This time I was facing the sun. It almost blinded me. It was quite the soundtrack for a walk home with MoM, MoM's mother and MoM's grandmother. Three women who all suffered from dementia as they aged.

Will I be the next? Will genetics win, or will walks like this help keep demensia at bay.

Mulch that grows on trees

To update you on my earlier post concerning digging holes in my front yard, I have now prepared the bed for winter.

I laid out newspaper, weighed down by some of the rocks. I hosed it down and racked over the fallen leaves. I sprayed it down again in hopes that they wouldn't all blow away.

You can see my daisies peeking out. They seem to be growing well. We haven't had a frost yet. I hope that they are well established.

My grandmothers wouldn't recognize this knitting

My cardigan is long enough to bind off the underarms and continue the fronts and back separately rather than in the round. After a chat with my local knit shop owner, I was lead to investigate a technique where the sleeves when knit up to the underarms would be merged with the rest of the sweater so that the raglan yoke could be completed as one piece, on circular needles using the same method that I used to knit the body.

I decided I wanted to knit the sleeves in the round, starting with the cuffs. It would start much like you knit the cuff of a sock or mitten. I feel very blessed to have inherited needles from both of my grandmothers. It is quite a collection of sizes and lengths for both straight and double-pointed needles. I do love using them. I did cast on the stitches for one sleeve.

I was also continuing an internet search on yoke techniques when I came across a post were someone was knitting two cuffs in the round on one circular needle.

It boggles the mind. I had to try it.

I ripped out the cast-ons. After using a too small cable, I transferred the sweater body onto a fairly long strand of yarn so that I could use my longest cable.

So I'm giving it a try. I don't know if I can do both sleeves to the full width. We'll see.

I feel my grandmothers peeking over my shoulder. "Now how do you do that?"

His first picture and my lifelong friends

From eighteen years ago, this picture set in motion a flurry of activity. One quest was to find someone who might understand what I was going through. That search led me to a wonderful online group of women who were all due the same month. I was a bit of a late comer, since we were at the end of the first trimester when I joined.

The technology for this picture was new. The listserv that allowed us to communicate was clunky. 

Technology and friendship grew along with our children whom we still call April Babies,  some born in March and some in May. And a very special one born in December.

We have shared laughter and tears. We have shared our lives.

I can't imagine my life without my April Moms. I love you all.

Mental Fog

It isn't oatmeal, so it doesn't count against my five point list for life right now. I will admit to buying the generic "Nutty Nuggets" instead of the name brand. My evening snack is often a small bowl.

I love this ad from the May 1920 National Geographic Magazine. I may be slow on the uptake. It took me a while to figure out that it is a picture of the box on the lower left. I had to get a magnifying glass to read the very fine print. They were thoughtful to include instructions for opening and storing the cereal: 

CUT HERE 

-----------------------------------

Run a sharp knife along the dotted line and square edges to make it gap. See that the gap is closed after the required amount of food is poured out. Don't cut top off.

I am now musing about how many boxes of cereal I have opened in my life and the innocence of a time when boxed cereal was so new a convenience food that we needed to be told how to do it.

I needed a cup of coffee

I'm not going to post the picture of my flannel nightgown with the cascade of brown dust down the front after the coffee tin slipped from my hands this morning.

I guess it's time to sweep the kitchen floor. Who knows? Maybe I'll even mop it.

Live-blogging my day of applying for jobs

8:45: I don't want to do this. Downstairs to warmup my coffee cup.

9:04: Updating resume. What is my new cell number?

9:25: Vita, teaching and research statements updated, pdf's generated and uploaded to mathjobs.com. Created new cover letter template.

9:39: Checked email and received one from an earlier application shouting at me:
"PLEASE DO NOT RESPOND TO THIS EMAIL MESSAGE. IT IS AUTOMATICALLY GENERATED." I guess I'll renew that application.

9:52: Checked email again and it says the application is missing documents. But they are there. I'll look later.
Short distraction: Norwegian Cruise Line sends me "Treat Yourself To Some R&R."
      I wish.

10:01: 15 or so tabs of jobs open on my browser. What do they want me to submit?

Hit Pause: I think I'll go take my shower.

Notes on returning: I remembered to take my after breakfast pills. Used the last of the shampoo and toothpaste, tossed them out. I dressed in a skirt, maybe it'll make me feel more professional.

10:24: Returned thinking about adding to the letter something about "rededicating myself" since my son will be out of the house. I'll post a question to the April Moms.

10:38: Cruising the mathjobs.org site for jobs that will be easy to apply for. Will I be going to the joint meetings in January? Oops, the ad talks about meeting in San Diego. That was last year. I know about copying and pasting last year's info. Been doing it for several years now.

11:05: I have to update my research statement to include possible undergraduate topics.

11:15: Off to fix lunch for my son.

3:45: Yes, four hours later.

• I made lunch for my son. 
• Took him back to school. 
• Put gas into the car. 
• Bought groceries. 
• Came home to my husband who was home for lunch. Talked about my cover letter. The April Moms came up with a couple of good ideas.
• Took him back to work.
• Gassed up the other car.
• My neighbor was taking down her plants. I got her yellow begonia and three pots of geraniums.
• Repotted and pre-winter-porch-gardened for 1.5 hours.

Now I'm too tired to finish my cover letter.

4:12: Check the application submitted this morning. Status is now "received". Double checked and submitted another application at the same site.

4:30: Found two more jobs on the site. Guess I'll do the online applications.

4:59: Completed one application. The other will not allow an uploaded resume which means all my education and experience must be typed in. Needless to say, I don't want to do that now.

5:28: Found a third job. Application submitted.

I'm done. Off to cook dinner.

My heart is still in Detroit

My son likes to rescue discarded items from his school's library. Among his recent acquisitions are sleeves of old National Geographic Society magazines. Once again, his genetics are coming through.

I pulled out the May 1920 issue. It was filled with ads for luxury goods. I was particularly drawn to those related to automobiles.

I hope you might enjoy this sampling. The ads are text-heavy, so you may want to view it on a larger screen.

Once again, you need java to view the slide show. To go to the album directly, click NGS 1920 cars.

Regret really isn't the right word

"Contrite" may be a better word.
"Chagrinned"? That works, too.

My husband and I visited a lawyer to get our wills drawn up last Thursday.

We know that we should have done it long ago.

He also will draw up health proxies and we've got to follow up to make sure we have durable powers of attorney.

I am left with three positive thoughts about the process.

First, we haven't had a need for one. I'm grateful for the time we have had together.

Second, the documents are symmetrical. We agree on it all. There is nothing that is "his" or "hers". There are no extra considerations. I don't think I'll worry about putting my name on the deed for the New Mexico property which he purchased before he met me.

And third, my marriage will be "until death do us part". I'm truly going to spend the rest of my life with this wonderful man.

This week I am of sound mind.

My husband's mug

He had to recall for me that he has his own mug from the Ideal Home Exhibition. You'll have to ask him for his recollections of that trip.

The Ideal Home Exhibition

In 1984, a year before we would be married, my husband and I had overlapping trips to London. Little did we know then what travels we had in front of us.

He arrived first and he spent time scoping out things for us to do together. One was the Ideal Home Exhibition, a home and garden show. This mug is one of my most cherished possessions. It's fading and I don't put it in the dishwasher any more. I know someday only I will be able to tell what it says. The handle may break off and I'll root plant cuttings in it. I will look at it and remember that delightful time.

Some wiki-research has given me more information about the Ideal Home Exhibition. It was started by the Daily Mail and run for 100 years as a showcase the latest inventions and design ideas for the ideal home. I don't know why I was so sad to hear that it was sold to Media 10 who promptly changed its name to the Ideal Home Show.

It was and always will be an exhibition.

Walking sticks

First it was the hiking boots and now walking sticks. I bought an ultralight pair that will fold down for travel. Using the "Nordic" method where you place the tip at the same time and lateral position of the opposite toe, you are supposed to get benefit from an increased heart rate and upper body workout. I get a good stride on flat terrain. The sticks give stability climbing.

Plus they make for dramatic pictures. Photo credit to my friend, Annie. Notice the Bennington Battlefield Monument captured perfectly.

The aging fleet

I find it ironic that I am now driving the same kind of car that I drove when I first got my license: big, old, family hand-me-downs. The good side is that we haven't had a car payment for fifteen years.

We have an aging fleet with lots of miles, but little rust since most of their miles were in Texas. I'm not sure that the repair shop that I frequent likes to see me coming because they'll make money or hates it since it often is hard to diagnose what is wrong.

Reading those last two sentences causes me to muse that the description could also apply to me. I been around the world a few times. I have few gray hairs. Often it is hard to diagnose what ails me.

Sauce

I made a tomato sauce in my pressure cooker yesterday, starting with sautéed onions and garlic in olive oil, adding canned crushed tomatoes, paste and water. I cut up the fresh tomatoes and carrots that were hanging around.

I'm always worried that I have enough liquid so I put in the rest of the open bottle of red wine, reserving some for the cook.

I threw in roughly cut celery and parsley from my neighbor's garden.
Then I harvested many things from the garden and pots on the porch and window sill: basil, sage, oregano, thyme. I also clipped two jalapeños. I asked my son if I should add them. He nodded affirmative. I quartered them lengthwise, taking out most of the seeds.

I didn't time it, but it probably went 20-30 minutes under pressure. After I could take the lid off, I put it through the food processor and rough strained it in my colander. That's the part I hate to do. What a mess! I rinsed things, but final cleanup is waiting for me this morning.

It was served with hot Italian sausages and whole wheat pasta. It was good.

That's the way I like to cook, not measuring anything really. I tasted it, but made no adjustments. It was as it ended up. I really only taste to see if it's hot spicy so that I can warn my husband. My son adds crushed red pepper to just about everything.

What's funny is that when it was done, I really didn't want any. Eventually, I had a small bowl.