The Salt Water Chronicles

It's beginning to look a lot...

2009-12-06T08:11:00.003-05:00

Three days ago I wore shoes without socks to work, and didn't need to wear a coat. This morning greets me a little more seasonally.

Common People

2009-05-20T22:34:00.003-04:00

I dreamt, oddly, of Jarvis Cocker the other night, and am now filled with nostalgia for the days of 90's BritPop.

Moo

2009-05-11T21:15:00.002-04:00

Driving home on Scotland Road tonight, the herds of cows in the adjacent fields were joined by tiny baby calves, all spindly legs and endlessly flicking tails. The farm owners had also put up an easel sign by the road: Drive Slowly and Carefully -- Goslings and Turtles cross here.

I love my evening commute.

Snow

2009-01-20T18:54:00.009-05:00

It won't stop snowing. At least once a week, a storm erupts, dumping more and more of the white stuff on the streets, the cars, the small strips of land between house and sidewalk in this neighborhood. And we're running out of places to put it. Streets are plowed, sidewalks are shoveled, and the piles of snow on every available space that isn't street or sidewalk grow taller and taller.

And then work. Each day brings some new challenge, some new development-- but none of the previous storms have yet melted. I nod, and add the next new thing to the pile. I shovel out a space, only to turn and find it's been plowed in by someone else. What happens when we all run out of room?

I have a new mantra: "I want to live a life of quiet contemplation." Or maybe not so new, just newly articulated. Perhaps if repeated oft enough, it will be attained.

In Memorium

2009-01-14T22:23:00.001-05:00

What floor, please?

2008-08-26T06:57:00.004-04:00

I had a reoccurring dream last night, one I haven't had in a while and had nearly forgotten. In this dream I'm at work, in my 11 story office building, and I've discovered that the building has a secret... if you take the elevator to the 7th floor, where this one specific department is housed, and get off into the elevator lobby, there's a separate special elevator that takes you to a hidden floor at the top of the building. On this floor is a bazaar of sorts... many different booths selling all sorts of exotic foods and crafts, kind of a cross between a bazaar and some sort of fairgrounds, really. The roof is all made of glass, and it's sunny and festive. When you leave the floor, if you take the correct elevator, it's not an elevator at all but an amusement park ride that whizzes you back to the first floor via a roller coaster, first in the dark, but then bursting outside, with spectacular views of the city (what city, I'm not sure, it's certainly not Danvers)... and in the dream I can feel the sort of dizziness that the ride induces. At the point that the ride ends, I usually wake.

Last night the dream was different, though. Because in real life, the 7th floor is no longer the home of that separate, specific department-- now it has been remodeled... and it's where my own department is now housed. So last night, in the dream, I knew that the special elevator and floor existed, but I couldn't figure out how to get to them, because of the remodeling. I kept traveling from floor to floor, sometimes taking the elevator, sometimes taking the stairs, and never being able to figure out how to get to that secret elevator and floor. At some point, the office building turned into a mall and I continued to wander between floors, searching. A co-worker came up to me and inexplicably handed me a carnation, and I already had a magazine encased in plastic in my hand. I carried both items around with me; even in the dream I was not really sure why I had either one. I decided to make one last ditch effort to find the secret floor, and once again got on an elevator... partway through the ride, the elevator stopped, and the doors opened. Without thinking, I walked through the doors, only to find myself on another elevator that had stopped exactly next to mine, between floors. I turned to go back, but the doors to both had already closed. There was a young business man on the second elevator, and I tried to cover my confusion by making a joke about the fact that I wasn't sure why I crossed over from one to the other... he was polite, but not really interested or amused... and I awoke.

Change Changing Places pt 2

2008-04-23T17:33:00.002-04:00

Today we went straight into mid-July.

84 degrees is hot. 84 degrees is especially hot when there aren't any leaves yet on the trees to afford one some shade.

I think it might be Spring in my heart, though... does that count?

Change Changing Places

2007-11-19T11:40:00.000-05:00

Today it stopped being Fall, and started being Winter.

[Edit/Add: No, it did not snow. Not to speak of, anyway, although a few flurries have periodically danced on the air throughout the morning. But most of the leaves have finally fallen, and it's very cold (33 degrees), and everything is grey in a decidedly wintery, not autumnal, sort of way. And I feel as though, even if warmer temperatures return, they somehow won't bring Fall back with them.]

Blog Malaise

2007-11-12T17:51:00.000-05:00

I wish I could blog while I was driving. See, I write the most fabulous, literate blog postings in my head while I'm driving to work, or when I have some other fairly long road trip, like the one I took this weekend to the South Shore to meet my two college roommates for lunch. (One of whom, we figured out, I haven't seen for ELEVEN years. Seriously. Eleven. This is just wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong.) Anyway, by the time I get back to my computer, all thoughts are gone, and I'm reduced to writing lists of recent album purchases. (Band of Horses, Guster, Modest Mouse, Muse, Silverchair, Sufjan Stevens) And wishing I was prolific and disciplined and could write daily postings filled with philosophical musings and interesting life tales that others would want to read. Alas, today, this is all you get. Malaised whining. My apologies.

Letting Go

2007-09-16T11:37:00.002-04:00

I have a recurring dream. There doesn't see to be a common trigger, and the dream takes two forms-- one has my grandmother in it. The other, my dog from childhood, Dusty. Yeah, it's a little strange that my dog & grandmother could be interchangeable, especially given the level of emotion associated with the dream, but...

Dusty was a sweet-tempered mutt, mostly English setter, with a white skunk-stripe running up his black muzzle and forehead, and brown eyebrows gave him a perpetually quizzical expression. He lived to be 14, around which time he started to be unable to keep control of his "functions" overnight, and would have accidents in the kitchen. We would come down in the morning, and he would be absolutely miserable with guilt (even though we of course would never punish him for something he couldn't help). He got worse & worse, and eventually we decided to put him down.

My Gram was my outdoorsy grandmother, my Mom's mom. She used to tell me all about her Scottish grandparents, and how much she would like to have seen where they grew up--- and I like to think my own trip to Scotland a year and a half ago was fulfilling her wish by proxy. Several of my mom's cousins say how much I remind them of her, and if it's true, nothing could make me prouder-- she was an amazing, smart, warm, compassionate, and strong woman. She had what was probably alzheimers later in life, and her mind failed to the point where she didn't even recognize us anymore. Before it got that bad, it was actually worse-- she had moments of clarity where she knew what was happening to her and would beg my mother, terrified, to help her.

Anyway, the dream. In the dream, one or the other (Dusty or Gram) is alive again. Not in that "this is all perfectly normal" dream-acceptance kind of way. In the dream I know that they are supposed to be dead. But alive again they are, healthy & vibrant, and I am filled with joy. I rough-house in the yard with Dusty, playing with the soft fur on his floppy ears like I did as a child. Or, I take walks with my grandmother; she identifies plants & birds for me like when I was in high school.

My joy is short-lived. I become aware with deadly certainty that I have a choice to make. I can let them go now, and they will just quietly cease to exist again, their "real" life being the only one that ever happened. Or I can keep them with me; they'll stay alive this second time, but will have to live... and die... just as they did in the first. Their bodies & minds will fail as they did in real life. Again.

I always make the same choice in the dream. I always choose to let them go, rather than watch them suffer all over again in trade for more time together. But it always breaks my heart. I sob bitterly in the dream as I give them up, and wake up feeling the loss all over again.

My Earthly Pleasures

2007-09-10T18:06:00.000-04:00

Yes, I finally gave myself the treat of that trip to BullMoose on Saturday. (Well, first I lay around the house, after JR and Antoine departed their whirlwind stopover at "Chez K", bemoaning the return of the heat yet stubbornly refusing to put the air conditioner back on. THEN I summoned enough energy to drag myself to Portsmouth.) So, the purchases, in alphabetical order by artist:

Fields, Everything Last Winter
Maximo Park, Our Earthly Pleasures
The Polyphonic Spree, The Fragile Army
Spoon, Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga
Wilco, Sky Blue Sky

The ritual... what? Karen, a ritual, NO! (I hear you Michaela.) Yes... Drive I95 to Portsmouth, the fastest, most direct route. Park in the garage, and walk to the promised land. Promptly become overwhelmed by vastness of selection, unknown artist blasting overhead, and impossibly beautiful record store boys. (And, alas, they ARE boys, but so cute with their vintage look shirts and carefully careless mops of hair.) Wander the bins, settling in, pulling out all the potential candidates. Shuffling the stack, trying to do math in my head, and making choices based on arbitrary factors like cover art, random song titles, and general whim. Now make my way through checkout, and walk back to garage clutching the prizes, pondering the next big question-- which one to listen to first? Which will grace the beginning of the trip home? The trip home, which is undertaken now not by way of the speedy I95, but down route 1A-- meandering along the shore line and marshes. A pretty ride but also an excuse to listen longer.

So it's Spoon that's first in queue, despite having quite possibly the worst album title EVER. Not exactly what I expected. A little edgier, less accessible... which is not a bad thing, just means it won't be the one I latch onto first. Instead it will be the slow burn that could grab me unawares when I least expect it. Pass a scenic overlook and swap out to Fields. Lush and swirling. Harmonies. Orchestration. Sigh with satisfaction. Then swap out again... and oh god, the immediate choke hold. Maximo Park. I couldn't even remember what snippet put it on The List, but the risk was worth it, this is the one. The one I will be listening to non-stop until I wear myself out and sneak back apologetically to the other purchases to begin letting them in too, bit by bit. Poppy and raw all at the same time and really, can anyone write lyrics like the Brits?

Find me an American band that rhymes hypothetical, alphabetical, theoretical, and dialectical in a refrain so catchy you have to sing along.

Go ahead, I dare you.

2 Pieces of Advice

2007-08-13T13:49:00.000-04:00

Read The Book Thief.
Don't read The Book Thief.

There are expectations that naturally come along with a novel about the holocaust. A novel narrated by Death yields further expectations.

None of these expectations include a happy ending.

So why, encircled protectively in my armor of expectations, was I still so singularly devastated by this novel? To the point where I cried for close to a half hour after reading the final page last night, and remain in a sort of fog today, trying to focus on process documentation and project roadmaps while my mind still lingers on Himmelstrasse.

The Book Thief is beautiful. And terrible.

Read it.

But don't say I didn't warn you.

Long Overdue

2007-07-31T17:32:00.000-04:00

It occured to me on my way to work this morning that the last time I went to The Happy Place (otherwise known as BullMoose Records), there was snow on the ground. Yes, snow. Now granted, that winter spree was a particularly good one and therefore had some staying power (Klaxons, Fratellis, Decemberists, Cinematics, Shins and Arcade Fire-- oh yeah, it was ALL good) but still... a new spree is LONG overdue and that must be rectified soon.

Some snippets from The List to consider:

Editors... have the last one, but a little iffy on the new single. still, potential.
Muse... gloriously prog. need to fill in the back catalog.
Spoon... every time i hear the single, i get the inexplicable urge to dig out Basher, the best of Nick Lowe. so maybe i really just want to buy more old Nick Lowe?
Fields? Headlights? Maximo Park?... heard bits and pieces from various sources and i'm just not sure yet. i always like to take at least one risk within a spree, though, so one may make the cut. my notes indicate a chick singer for Headlights, making it the biggest risk. (yes, JR, my aversion to chick singers still runs rampant.)
Peter, Bjorn & John... the darn whistling song. do i really want to do this? probably not, but it's on The List anyways.
Modest Mouse... now that i've given in, one question remains-- start with the current and work my way backwards? or go the other way around? suggestions welcome.
Wilco... the new one. have all the others. this is a definite.
The Polyphonic Spree... so wacky, so delicious. so... polyphonic.
Guster... it goes like this: i hear a song i like. i wonder "who is that"? the dj comes on and says "that was Guster". i think, gotta get me some Guster. and then never do. why is that? i really should support the local boys. at this point, i think i just don't know where to start.
Crowded House... was skeptical when i heard they reunited. then heard the single. i should have known-- it's Neil Finn for god's sake, how can you go wrong?

Tune in later to see what I end up with!

I give up, I give in...

2007-07-12T18:15:00.001-04:00

... to both Interpol and Modest Mouse. I'm not sure why... actually, I do know why, it's that contrary streak that rears its head from time to time... but I've struggled for ages now NOT to like them. Interpol seemed too monochromatic. I need variety. And for a stretch there it seemed like everyone who was actually familiar with the sort of bands I liked would insist that I MUST like Modest Mouse. And there, of course, is where that contrary streak kicks in. MUST like? I think not. I will like what I want to like, thank you very much.

Unfortunately, now I find myself wanting to like Modest Mouse. And trying to convince myself it's not hypocritical to do so. And that I'm not jumping on a bandwagon too late-- we all know I like to stay one step ahead of the masses in these matters. Interpol... well, every song I hear still sounds like a blur of sameness, but somehow it's become comforting instead of monotonous.

So I just close my eyes and jump on...

The more things change...

2007-07-11T09:42:00.000-04:00

A recent conversation about blogging made me think "hey, it's been awhile since any of us have posted to Salt Water Chronicles". Imagine my chagrine when I looked at the blog and realized it had been close to TWO YEARS!

I suppose there are things I could have blogged about in all this time, but when I look back, precious little seems to have really changed. I'm still in the same job. Still love it some days, completely bored by it other days, and completely overwhelmed by it on still others. I still live in the same apartment. I'm still single, and still trying valiantly (with occasional success) to be optimistic that the 13 year relationship I ended several years ago was not the end of my relationship career, and that somewhere out there is the right guy who will appreciate my many charms... really, I do have charms...

It's grey, damp, and relatively cool out again today. The weather forecast for the past 4 days has been promising blistering temps in the 90's, and each day has dawned grey and subdued, and in the 70's. The kind of grey that looks like it will burn off by noon except so far, it hasn't. I can't pretend to be upset about the cooler temperatures, because god knows I hate high heat and humidity. But somehow these past days have felt oppressive nonetheless. Oppressive in their sameness. And in the threat that any moment now the veil will lift and the sun will wilt us all in our tracks.

For some reason, I remembered an odd incident from a couple of years ago on my way to work this morning. I had gone to the mall for something (had to have been Xmas shopping, because I usually try to avoid malls at all costs) and came back to the parking lot to find that someone had parked their car at a crazy angle next to mine, leading me to believe I might not be able to get in via the driver's side, but would have to climb in and over through the passenger door. My initial reaction was a flare of anger and annoyance, and then I realized that the driver of the offending vehicle was still in the driver's seat. On closer inspection, I realized that said driver was a guy about my age, and that he was crying. Sobbing, actually-- the way you only do when you have lost someone, or been given some similarly devastating news. I opened my driver's side door as much as I was able, and did manage (just barely) to squeeze into my driver's seat. And then sat there for several minutes, torn. Should I see if he was OK? (I mean, clearly he wasn't, but should I ask if he needed help?) I wrestled back and forth with myself for a few, and then put my car in gear and drove away. I guess the chances are good that he would not have wanted someone intruding on his obvious grief. But when I thought about the incident this morning, there is still a part of me that wishes I had at least tried to offer some comfort...

For Shame...

2005-11-30T18:28:00.000-05:00

In a very uncharacteristic move, I decided to go Xmas shopping on Sunday. (Usually I'm one of those maniacs running around two days before the holiday, buying gift certificates.) But I made a grave tactical error-- items on my list included a CD and a book, so I decided to go to Portsmouth, and... well... you can probably guess what happened next. Wait until while I hang my head in shame... yes, I left Portsmouth after several hours at Bullmoose Records and River Run Books with 6 CD's and 2 books-- for myself-- and no Xmas presents purchased. In my defense, I did LOOK for the 2 items on my list, they just weren't in stock. I know, I know, no excuse. But it does mean another spree list for the blog, so here goes:

(in alphabetical order)

Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds, Let Love In: When the weather starts to turn cold and grey, Nick just sounds so darn good. Let's face it, a girl can't have too much Nick Cave when staring down a New England winter.

The Cloud Room, The Cloud Room: A band from Michaela's former haunt, Brooklyn. A lot of people seem to like comparing them to Arcade Fire. Probably not a bad comparison. The lead singer has a bit of Bowie to him, I think-- and there's nothing wrong with that.

Doves, Lost souls: Still doing some buying to replace albums lost in the "divorce". Think this oughta do it for the Doves collection.

Elbow, Asleep in the Back: Ditto the explanation for the Doves purchase. Plus, Guy Garvey has the most amazing, ethereal voice-- it gives me chills.

of Montreal, Satanic Panic in the Attic: Yes, the obsession rages on. This one is slightly less disco-rific than the newer one, with a somewhat less "produced" sound, but no less superfantastic. They must tour again soon, and I must be there.

OK Go, Oh No: The video for the single A Million Ways features the band doing a horrible line dance of sorts in their backyard-- it looks like it cost about $50 to make, and is utterly hilarious. It also doesn't hurt that lead singer Damian Kulash is completely swoonworthy. Fun, fun, fun.

OK, alright. I'm heading out Xmas shopping again on Saturday with Mom-- and this time I will NOT buy anything for myself. We're going to Kittery, so that should be safe, right? ...

Geek Novels...

2005-11-24T19:38:00.000-05:00

The Guardian recently published a list of the Top 20 Geek Novels (here):

I'm going to bet that Karen will have read more of these books than I have (only read 7 of the 20). There were quite a few books that I'd never heard of, too. But the winner, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, is probably one of my favorite books of all time, and it made me happy to see at the top of the list. :)

Operation "Bearing Witness"

2005-11-08T20:33:00.000-05:00

You know how, every once and a while, someone comes up with an idea that takes your breath away and? Well, last week, Stephen e-mailed me to suggest that instead of sending out holiday cards this year, we write just the name, military branch, home town, age, and date of death of the 2,000 soldiers who had died in Iraq, on plain cards and mail them to the White House.

After talking about how to take on this project, we decided that instead of creating cards with the names of the 2,000 people who had already died and sending them in one mailing, we would start with the 96 people who had lost their lives in the month of October, and at the end of each month, would gather the names from the New York Times' "Roster of the Dead" to create and mail cards.

Here is what the card and envelope look like (the back flap of the envelope reads "Opeartion Bearing Witness":

And here are tonight's cards:

There is incredible power in names, in writing by hand in the act of bearing witness. We do not hold out hope that receiving the names of the dead will make the war stop. But we do hope that whoever at the White House opens these envelopes will read the names and reflect for a moment on the impact of our country's actions.

Sunday Night with the Geek Squad

2005-11-08T17:06:00.000-05:00

What's geekier than going to a Yes concert? Going to a Jon Anderson SOLO show! Anyone who has known me for any length of time knows my obsession with that "elfin voice" (as my mother says) but fellow Yes fans can be a little creepy in their devotion. (And coming from me, that's saying something!) Going to a solo show has to move one to a whole other level on the scale.

Now, to be perfectly honest, I have to admit to being less than satisfied by the Yes-men of late. Although they are always a great band to see live, there are only so many times you can hear the same version of Roundabout without wishing they'd mix it up a little, and the last really decent album they put out was The Ladder, which was quite awhile ago. And so there was a part of me that thought this show would be more amusing than anything else-- it was mostly the thought of being able to see Jon at such close range (show was at Avalon) that was too tempting to give up. Anyway, I bought two tickets, and bribed the famed "little bro" to come with.

The crowd was as I expected-- little bro and I were just about the youngest ones there by 10-15 years. Various audience members lamented the addition of Trevor Rabin to the line-up in the 80's. (Two things, people: 1. Yes probably wouldn't still be an entity if he hadn't revitalised the group back then, and 2. That was 20 years ago now, GET OVER IT.) Many insisted on shouting out names of classic Yes tunes at inappropriate times. I lamented having to be associated with these particular people.

But, the music? I went prepared to be amused, and maybe even disappointed. The reality... Jon did what I've wanted Yes to do for several years now-- play some new stuff with energy, and find a way to make the old stuff interesting to someone who has heard it many times over. I am in love again.

P.S. Sorry for the horrifying formatting in the previous post, I seem to be having trouble getting the paragraph breaks to publish consistently. See, now it's happening again-- this P.S. is supposed to have a break between it and the last paragraph... Kla, any clues?

Working on the Weekend

2005-11-03T17:01:00.000-05:00

So, with all the craziness at work lately, I had gotten a bit behind on reviews for a couple of staff members-- something I struggle very hard not to do, but it's difficult with 15 people reporting to you. After trying unsuccessfully to block off time to get them completed during work hours last week, I begrudgingly came to terms with the fact that I was going to have to take time out of my weekend to write them.

Then, spent Saturday watching it snow. YES, SNOW. And not just your typical October flurry-- we're talking several hours of steady snow. By mid-afternoon there were over 2 inches on the ground and the streets were even starting to get slick. I'm sorry to say I used this as an excuse to curl up on my sofa with a book instead of my reviews. (Bad, bad manager.) Promised myself I would do them on Sunday come hell or high water (or blizzard) even if it meant I had to actually drive to the office to get myself to focus on them.

Sunday arrives-- epiphany! (And not in the liturgical sense.) I realize that I cannot focus on work in my apartment, there are just too many distractions. (Read: bbc america) But also realize that the solution does not have to include the office-- I just need to find a place to concentrate, and there's no reason it can't be someplace fun. I choose North Conway. Perhaps not the most environmental of choices considering the current gas crisis, but... the pull of several hours in the car with nothing to do but listen to my new CD's wins out. And it is an incredibly beautiful day for a drive-- snow Saturday, warm and sunny on Sunday. Gotta love New England.

Halfway up Route 16, I happen on the ubiquitous "moose crossing" sign. I scoff to the invisible passenger next to me. "Moose crossing, right! I have been to New Hampshire hundreds of times over the years, and I have never ONCE seen a moose-- nor do I ever expect to. Hmph!" Three miles later, cars swerve off the road, drivers leap out, some clutching cameras. Yup, you guessed it-- MOOSE. Not a very big one, I'd estimate it was just a teenager but, nonetheless, there he/she was-- crossing the road, just a stone's throw from my car. Enter Twilight Zone theme here...

And yes, yes, I did actually complete my overdue reviews-- ensconced on the hood of my car in a parking lot overlooking Crawford Notch. Who says work has to be dreary?

3 Reasons

2005-10-28T17:14:00.000-04:00

Three reason to love the album Sunlandic Twins, by Of Montreal:

1. Lines like "You’re my mousy aesthete, you’re my bouyant cherub, it’s true. And I never want to be your little friend, the abject failure."

2. Song titles like Wraith Pinned to the Mist (and other games)

3. Videos like this one for the afore mentioned song: http://www.mtv.com/bands/az/of_montreal/audvid.jhtml

Ah, obsession.

Non-Hostile Takeover

2005-10-26T17:08:00.000-04:00

So, as Michaela is so smitten with posting to her knitting blog that she has horribly neglected The Salt Water Chronicles it has been decided that I must take up the torch. (Yup, had to get one last guilt trip in, Kla!) Of course, this means that gone are the days of highly literate postings about museums and such. Welcome to the days of childish rants about Franz Ferdinand and wild record buying sprees, and perhaps the occasional rapture about the outdoors.

So let's start with the sprees-- the latest took place just before the heavy rains and winds hit this weekend. Most people stock up on canned goods and water when there is threat of a bad storm. I head straight for BullMoose Records. The latest insanity:

Arcade Fire... album:Funeral... Gotta love those Canadians.

Neil Finn... album: One All... I'm on a little Neil Finn kick right now. It started when I went back and listened to Try Whistling This, which I never really listened to when I first bought it numerous years ago for reasons I can only now guess at. I vaguely recall some "bad time" being associated with the album, but since I can't even remember what the "bad time" was now, decided to give it another try. Fell head over heels in love and pretty much listened to it non-stop all the way down to NJ a few weekends back. We'll see how this newer purchase ranks-- hopefully it won't take me 10 yrs to decide to like it as it did with Try Whistling!

Franz Ferdinand... album:You Could Have It So Much Better... The initial excuse for the spree. After the amazing, amazing NYC show which had me exhilarated for days afterwards, how could I not buy the new one? I was so-so on the single when it first came out, but now I think I almost like this album better than the first... except for Matinee, of course.

Frausdots... album:Couture Couture Couture... Europop by Americans. Needs further listening before a decision on its' merits.

The Get Up Kids... album:On a Wire... Really not sure of this one yet. It's not terrible, but might be the most mediocre of the bunch. Oh well, 1 out of 7 ain't bad.

Of Montreal... album:Sunlandic Twins... The best thing since sliced bread and Franz Ferdinand. The Shins took a happy pill, went disco-rific, and added some Alan Parsons Project harmonies-- delicious.

Josh Ritter... album:Golden Age of Radio... overdue purchase of gratitude for a great opening act in front of Keane. After witnessing the TRAGEDIES that passed for opening acts at Franz, I felt obligated to this one.

Off now to see if I can muscle the air-conditioners out of my windows on my own. Yes, they're STILL installed, in spite of the fact that I've had to have the heat on the last few days. But it was only a few weeks ago that I actually used them-- OK, granted, by the end of one particular Saturday I WAS afraid that the air conditioner I left on when I departed in the morning might be competing with the heat that may have come on by the time I arrived home since the temperature dropped SO drastically that day, but...

I Promise Not To Work....

2005-09-17T08:52:00.000-04:00

...this weekend...will not work this weekend...will not work this weekend...

I'm tempting fate by sitting in the Starbucks on Boylston Street across from the Pru by logging in via HotSpot for an hour. Really, I can stop after an hour. Honest. And I won't check my e-mail once. (This particular SB is playing an amazing mix of music this morning -- just heard Violetta's "Ah, fors'è lui…Sempre libera” (lovely) -- but the downside of listening to arias in most non-performance settings is that places play compilation albums. You'll hear your great moments of Puccini, Verdi, maybe Mozart, but all strung together and out of their context. It's like listening to just one movement of a symphony. Imagine playing the third movement of Beethoven 5 without the 4th and you'll get the idea. )

So now I can catch up with whatever horrors have been ocurring in the world for the past two weeks. Or (much more likely), I can read through the 1,000 posts waiting for me in Bloglines. Other than brief 10 minute chunks of NPR in the morning, I have no idea what is happening outside of the payroll/db migration project I've been obsessed with for the past month. I don't think I've ever worked so hard on a project in my life.

The most difficult part of this project, though, has been trying to communicate to other people what they need to do, and then letting them do it. I am a classic "I'll do it myself so I know it will get done" person -- but with a larger, more complicated project that involves multiple departments, business units, and people, that approach doesn't work. So if I've learned anything, it's that I have to figure out how to communicate to other people what they are responsible for and when.

And just so you know, I haven't checked my email yet this morning. And Cio-Cio-San is now singing the best moment in all of "Butterfly." Not so bad for a rainy Saturday morning.

The 8th Sign of the Apocalypse...

2005-08-24T17:00:00.000-04:00

... Karen actually submits a post. I've been to Plum Island almost every day for the past week-- it's tree swallow migration time, a new end of summer/beginning of fall ritual for me to enjoy. Every evening around sunset, thousands-- and I mean thousands-- of tree swallows sweep over the island as they prepare to roost for the night.

So I leave work, drive to the Parker River Wildlife Refuge, and park in the dirt lot at the "North Pool Overlook"-- a favorite roosting place of said swallows. After drowning myself liberally in insect repellant, I ensconce myself on the hood of my car, and spend the next few hours watching the show. To my right, unbelievable sunsets over the river-- even though it's August, the slight evening chill of fall has been in the air, and the sunsets are decidedly fall-like as well. More pink and orange with lots of streaky clouds than the humid hazy reds of high summer. To my left, the moon-rise over the scrub pines. And all around me, swarming, swirling-- swallows, swallows, swallows.

They come in waves, sweeping the fields and then up over the dike and skimming the pond, in a pre-bedtime feeding frenzy. The air is thick with them, and they chatter incessantly as they swirl, oblivious to anything-- or anyone-- in their way. It's like being in a giant snowglobe that someone has just shaken frantically; they sweep so close to me that I could reach out and grab one if only I were quick enough.

And then, in the blink of an eye, as though one single bird has perhaps given the grand cue, they roost.

Silence.

I drive home with the windows down and the radio off, feeling like I'm 13 and there just might be a door to a magical land at the back of my closet...

Greetings from Atlanta

2005-08-21T21:57:00.000-04:00

My brain's in a bit of a jumble since it's Sunday night and I'm not at home suffering from the (somehow comforting) Sunday blahs, but instead am sitting in a large hotel room taking advantage of the high speed internet connection and the A/C. I feel like it won't even be fair to say that I've been to Atlanta since this will be an airport => hotel => office => airport type trip. My thoughts so far about Atlanta have been as follows:

1. Wow, it's hot
2. Look at all those green trees
3. Where's downtown? Oh wait, you mean we just passed it?
4. Why is everyone in this hotel tan?

Profound, huh? People should pay me to make such stunning observations. ;)

In any case, my favorite conversational tidbit of the day was provided by the man sitting behind me in the shuttle bus to the hotel. Five of the eight passengers were discussing various topics including where we all hailed from and how much gas cost in our respective areas (Pensacola won with $2.79 per gallon; I could have claimed to have seen $3.09 on the Palisades, but we had actually paid $2.49 before getting onto the Palisades, so I thought that wouldn't quite be fair). He said to us at some point "That was the first flight I've taken since 1972."

I goggled at him. "How have you managed that?" I asked.

"I don't leave the country," he said.

I didn't know what to do with this information, I honestly didn't. I mean, even if you don't leave the country, it's still a pretty big country -- big enough to need to fly around in. I mean, you could technically drive around the continental US, but it would take such a staggering amount of time all you'd be doing is, well, driving (yes, Karen, I see you smirking and saying "the journey IS the destination"...). The entire topic of not leaving the country -- that I'll save for another day.

In any case, I wish I had asked him where he'd taken his last flight in 1972.

Okay -- time for bed.

I Heart Fup. Store Cat.

2005-08-17T08:58:00.000-04:00

I have never ordered a book from Powell's, but I receive their bi-weekly newsletter, and after forcing myself to look at the headline book (which I do out of some sense of obligation I think), I scroll all the way to the bottom of the e-mail to read about Fup, Store Cat and her adventures. I found this edition's installment particularly poignant. Read it here:

Fup. Store Cat.

Another Cat Photo??

2005-08-07T13:35:00.000-04:00

Another photo?

Poor Mew Mew. He puts up with a lot -- hot weather, a clingy younger brother (who was the star of the last, ill-fated, mobile post), and now multiple photos snapped using my new phone. I'm trying blogger's mobile blogging feature again, even though my last mobile post somehow "disappeared" on some server somewhere, never to be seen again on this blog. (As a database support person who receives posts like "I was entering a Client record into the database and then it just disappeared!!!!" I cannot believe that data disappears. It just "fails to save" or exists in some other unexpected location). I'm wondering if the issue isn't the act of editing the post after saving it. I posted the image and caption via phone, but am now editing the post and adding text...we'll see what happens next. I apologize in advance to those of you who use Bloglines and may end up with a "ghost" posting.

In any case, it's now about 85 and humid in the apartment and I'm stuck here waiting for Fresh Direct to deliver the groceries they promised would arrive between 11am - 1pm. I got a recorded call at 1:11 announcing that there were delays of up to an hour. Having just taught a seminar on customer servce last week, I then announced to no one in particular that Fresh Direct should have set that expectation BEFORE 1pm instead of almost 15 minutes later. Then I realized that the mere fact of having groceries delivered precludes the right to complain (although service is service...so I can complain from that perspective). Next week I'll think we'll go back to Whole Foods.

Sigh. Okay -- time to figure out what to read next. Just finished Witch Child (which I enjoyed but didn't love). Now I'm considering Red House (to continue a sort of New England history theme...).

More later...

The It's-the-Middle-of-the-Week and I-Don't-Have-Much-to-Say Post

2005-07-27T17:00:00.000-04:00

For your entertainment:

You Are a Plain Ole Cup of Joe

But don't think plain - instead think, uncomplicated

You're a low maintenance kind of girl... who can hang with the guys

Down to earth, easy going, and fun! Yup, that's you: the friend everyone invites.

And you're dependable too. Both for a laugh and a sympathetic ear.

What Kind Of Coffee Are You? Take This Quiz :-)

I'm not feelin' it...but it was still a fun momentary diversion. And please don't ask why I felt the need to run out to Starbucks this afternoon and order a mint chocolate mocha frapuccino -- I took one sip and realized why I have avoided them for years. It didn't taste like coffee. It tasted like chemicals. Blech. That experience should keep me away for another few years.

Sirsasana for What Ails You...

2005-07-24T23:00:00.000-04:00

...so I hadn't gone to a yoga class in something like, um, 3 months until this past Thursday. I had started practicing at home a couple of weeks ago -- in part because the thought of having to stay on asthma medication any longer than necessary makes my stomach clench in knots -- and if yoga is about anything, it's about breathing. But the other part of practicing yoga again was something undefinable -- a recognition of lack of life-balance, and a lack of movement. I was sitting on the floor in the bedroom one night when the thought "Instead of sitting against this wall, I bet I could do sirsasana leaning against the wall..." occured, completely out of the ether. And I did, for the first ever on my own. Some part of me must have known that being upside down can help one move towards balance in life...

Weekend Reviews...

2005-07-18T17:08:00.000-04:00

I had quite the weekend, between hanging out at a BBQ, seeing the new "Willy Wonka," and devouring the latest Harry Potter novel. Here are some quick thoughts:

1. I think the New York Times' A.O. Scott got it right when she wrote that "the sumptuous, eerie look and mood of the movie make it possible to ignore this dispiriting and superfluous adherence to convention." (See the entire review here) The "superfluous adherence to convention" is a wholly unnecessary and maddening psychological "back story" about Wonka's relationship with his dad. I'm all about sorting out one's dad issues -- but not in my escape movies, thank you very much.

2. I love Harry Potter. Love, love, love, love, love. I love ripping open the specially-branded Amazon box (I like to pretend that it was delivered via Owl post), the smell of the brand new book, the density and smoothness of the never-touched pages. I love being allowed to dive into the story and pretend -- just for the time that I'm reading it -- that I have no responsibilities or cares other than what happens in the book. I finished reading the latest installment at 11:40pm last night and think I might just have to start reading it again because it was over too fast. As many of the reviews have said, it's the darkest of the books so far, and it's very clear that any innocence Harry retained up until this point has been torn away by the end of this book. This makes for a deeper, richer reading experience -- but at the same time, I find myself nostalgic for the lightness of the earlier books where the worst thing (for the most part) Harry had to worry about was the Dursleys. I don't know what I'll do when the series ends -- there's really nothing else like these books. The writing isn't always stunning, and the 5th book (Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix) could have been edited with an axe, but there is always humor, compassion toward her characters, as well as amazing plots and characterizations that set these books apart.

3. I am now officially done with summer. I do not get along with heat and humidity, and the weather for the upcoming week portends temperatures in the 90's and very high humidity. Summer - done. Now.

More soon...

MIT Blog Survey

2005-07-01T21:57:00.000-04:00

Sometimes my brain hurts. This morning I was reading a discussion of the juxtaposition of an ancient craft (knitting) with modern technology (blogging) on one of my favorite knitting blogs (Yarn Harlot) when I see in the Comments section a link to a blog research survey sponsored by MIT. Normally, I would have ignored it, but curiosity got the best of me. The survey seemed to be trying to suss out who uses what forms of communication (blog, IM, SMS, phone, etc.) and to discuss what topics. I'll be interested to see the results when they're posted.

SO, all my Friends With Blogs, check this out: http://blogsurvey.media.mit.edu/request (they have nifty buttons, too, so now I have to figure out how to post that code into my template. I'm ready, I'm ready....)

Thoughts on the Connecticut Shoreline

2005-06-27T23:00:00.000-04:00

Along the Connecticut shoreline lies a vast tract of salt marsh. Tonight, while riding the train from Boston to New York, the marshes revealed themselves through low-lying fog; the waterways that cut through the reeds and grasses shimmered in the heat and haze.

I love the salt marsh because it is an eerie, subtle, but changeable landscape. The marsh transforms itself with a limited range of colors and plant life: in the summer, the grasses are bright green and lush; in the fall the color fades to brown; in the winter, the grasses die and the waterways freeze to hard, silver paths. There are no bright colors, no shocking contrasts between spring, summer, fall, and winter. The landscape only reveals itself over time. I feel a kinship with it because I've watched it morph from my train window, back and forth, season after season.

North

2005-06-22T21:12:00.000-04:00

So it's 9:10pm and Stephen and I are taking bets on how late it'll be before the sun sets up north here...I'm thinking 10ish. Oooh--through the wonder that is the internet, we've just discovered that sunset here in Thunder Bay (48.35 degrees latitude) will occur at 10:04, and that it will finally get *dark at, um, 10:44pm.

I love North. :)

Little House on the Prairie...

2005-06-15T22:36:00.000-04:00

Just a quick post--after spending 11.5 hours on the road yesterday driving from Buffalo to Champaign, we have arrived on the prairie. Today we spent a most wonderful day playing with Isabel (who is 4), eating lunch outside on the porch, watching Jason mow the lawn, and all sorts of other exciting activities unknown to dwellers in small, urban apartments. (Can I just say that I will be returning home on a quest to find a place we can live that has a dishwasher? And why is it that helping other people do dishes makes one feel good, but doing one's own dishes is an unbearable chore?)

Low Bridge, Everybody Down....

2005-06-12T11:11:00.000-04:00

I have to admit (Karen, stop laughing right now) that I find "journey is the destination travel" travel challenging. It's difficult to shift the gears in my brain from must-get-there/finish-this/do-that mode to being-where-I-am mode. The only time I can really achieve that feeling is when I'm traveling by train between New York and Boston. That trip always feels like suspended time, where I'm off the grid and don't have to pay attention to life's details. I can knit or read or write without guilt.

Yesterday's drive seemed to pass like a dream--a long, hazy, humid vision of green fields and the smell of grass. We cut through upstate New York via Route 79 and 96; there are still portions of 79 that remain unchanged from the time my family would drive from Danvers to Ithaca to visit my Aunt and Uncle and favorite cousins. Parts of central New York feel like a second homeland because I've driven through them in so many different stages of my life--childhood, college, grad school, now.

But what's causing my brain to stutter is that we're continuing on shortly--it feels hard to be here in Buffalo knowing that on Tuesday we set off for Illinois. And I keep thinking forward forward forward--to what Thunder Bay, Ontario, will look like, or how long it will take us to drive from Ottawa back to Jersey City. Then I start to think about how two weeks seems so *long...a long time to be away from work, the house, the cats, the routines that define my life.

I don't remember feeling this way when we were in Berlin last summer, or on any of my trips to London or Amsterdam. But perhaps that's because we traveled to those places, created a home base, and explored from there. This trip is more nomadic. And I've never wanted to be a nomad. To travel, see the world, explore--yes. But to feel at home wherever I am--that's the challenge.

Bullfrogs and Muskrats and Veeries, Oh My!

2005-05-30T21:51:00.000-04:00

I have fallen in love with a swamp. A swamp in New Jersey--a place I never expected to live, much less even like (I apologize in advance to anyone who grew up in NJ--because it's not until you actually live here that you realize it's a beautiful state--except for the shocking sprawl that forms part of the New York City megalopolis. Even that can be beautiful in its own strange, industrial way). In any case, Karen drove down from Massachusetts to visit for the long weekend, so Stephen and I decided to show her our new favorite place, Great Swamp National Wildlife Refuge. (I told her Great Swamp was similar to Plum Island...except that it's 25 miles inland...and, well, isn't quite an island. Unless you consider that much green in the middle of one of the most densely populated areas of the eastern seaboard an island).

Early Sunday morning we drove to Basking Ridge and were rewarded with amazing bird songs and wildlife. We walked the same three boardwalks that Stephen and I had walked two weekends ago, but the ferns had grown a foot and the underbrush thickened. Everything looked more green--primal and muddy and lush. The most exciting sound we heard was the Veery--a bird song that sounds other-worldly and slightly chilling (like a series of descending flutter-tongued notes--very metallic and hollow); we also figured out that the sound S & I had been calling "the Wheel-of-Fortune" bird was really made by a Wood Thrush (phew--that one was driving me crazy). Because of the thick cover at all levels in the swamp, Great Swamp is an amazing place to listen. (I find it hard to see much of the time in any case, so I love being in a place where sound is as vital as sight).

The loudest sounds we heard, though, were made by a whole slew of bullfrogs, creating a joyful noise in a pond:

Photo: Stephen Howe

This muskrat swam in silence through the reeds and grasses in the frog pond (mind you, if I saw a rat on the subway tracks, I would not think it was at all attractive--so why would I think a creature that looks like a fuzzy rat is adorable? Nonetheless...):

Photo: Stephen Howe

After leaving the swamp, we ate our "second breakfast" at the Sirling House Diner and then set off for Richard DeKorte Park (a park created from reclaimed land in the Meadowlands). Every time Stephen and I drive through the Meadowlands I wonder how people access the saltmarsh and waterways, so I was very excited to see the Meadowlands from ground-level. We walked along a thin path that crosses one of the Meadowlands' bodies of water--and despite being dotted with power-lines, we saw a group of 10 swans, a snowy egret (so pretty!), the ubiquitous Canada goose, mallards, and a Gadwell. Despite people's various attempts to tame the land, it maintains a sense of wildness; someday I'd like to canoe around the islands of phragmites.

Photo: Stephen Howe

The gosling below was the laggard of a group of about 5 tiny geese following their parents over a guard rail separating one side of the water from the other. The cuteness factor of these goslings was truly off the charts...

Photo: Stephen Howe

Tomorrow I'll try to post photos from Delaware Water Gap (last weekend's great adventure)...

Store Wars...

2005-05-24T18:59:00.000-04:00

This is one of the funniest Star Wars spoofs I have ever seen...thank you Organic Food People!!

http://www.storewars.org/flash/index.htm

Further Adventures in Nature...

2005-05-16T08:00:00.000-04:00

When Stephen suggested that we go to the Great Swamp National Wildlife Refuge, my first thought was "ugh--why would I want to go to a swamp in New Jersey???" He prevailed, however, and we set off Saturday morning for Morris County.

I was stunned--the swamp and area surrounding it reminded me so much of the salt marsh areas of the North Shore! (Except that the Great Swamp is 25 miles inland, and so far away from either salt or cooling ocean breezes...). We stayed on the managed, boardwalk trails and practiced walking quietly so we wouldn't scare away any creatures...we saw one frog (that looked exactly like a leaf!), many tadpoles, three different kinds of turtles (indluding a bog turtle), two different kinds of snakes (two water snakes and one unidentified brownish snake with an ivory colored chin, about the size of a garter snake), and the following birds:

Yellow warbler
Brown-headed cowbird
Cardinal
Red-winged blackbird (lots)
Phoebe
Turkey vulture
Eastern Blubird

The bluebird was the most exciting sighting because Stephen had just been saying that he'd wanted to see one for years and never had. Next think you know, we sighted one sitting on top of a nest box in an open field. :)

We don't have any photos of birds, but we do have some of the paths and plants:

Path at Great Swamp...photo by Stephen Howe.

Unidentified flowering shrub at Great Swamp...photo by Stephen Howe.

Creative nesting space in a bird blind...photo by Stephen Howe

Creature along a woodland trail at Great Swamp...photo by Stephen Howe.

Adventures in Nature!

2005-05-14T21:59:00.000-04:00

The weekend before last, Stephen and I took an adventure/photo walk along the southern stretch of Liberty State Park, and saw some Brandt Geese, three cormorant drying their wings on a log, and various, sundry gulls, but this was the most unexpected creature we saw:

Going to the Dogs...

2005-05-04T17:08:00.000-04:00

Stephen found a great variant of the "What Kind of Dog Are You" meme on a site promoting the British Film Gone to the Dogs...it's one of the most lively and interesting sites I've seen in an age.

I ended up as a Hungarian Puli, and Stephen ended up as a Curly-Coated Retriver (surprise!).

What kind of dog are you?

Sound

2005-05-04T14:39:00.000-04:00

I had the weirdest memory today--I'm not sure whether it came up because it's getting close to Mother's Day, or whether the sound actually triggered the memory to free itself from my locked-down brain. It was probably both.

In any case, I was brushing crumbs off my work desk and the sound of my ring on the table sounded exactly like the sound of my mum's wedding band as she would brush crumbs off our kitchen table after meals (she would cup them in her other hand and throw them away; I tend to brush them on the floor...alas). It's such a small memory, but I can picture it exactly.

It was like a little gift to remember this.

Testing Dash Blog

2005-05-02T20:05:00.000-04:00

I'm having way too much fun with my new Tiger Dashboard...teseting out "Dash Blog," which I downloaded from Apple's site today...

Reasons to Be Cheerful...

2005-04-30T20:45:00.000-04:00

There are many things I'm excited about right now, and since I seem to have some serious monkey-mind happening, I think I'll just make a list and forget about such niceties as, say, coherent sentences and the like.

1. I wish I knew xml, html, and sql. I'm going to have to do something about it.
2. I have to start Branching Out for the third time--arggg.
3. I am SO EXCITED about driving to Bar Harbor with Karen next weekend for her little brother's wedding.
4. One of the funniest memories I have of her little brother is him banging on the bass notes of their family's piano while Karen and I valiently tried to get through "Asa's Death" for piano 4 hands.
5. I just finished reading Buddha of Suburbia (loved it), Never Let Me Go (loved it), and In the Company of Cheerful Ladies (loved it).
6. I think that since I just finished 3 books I should get to buy more
7. I just downloaded the COOLEST SOFTWARE EVER: Delicious Library. If you're a Mac user and book lover, click here NOW: Delicious Monster
8. I'm getting Tiger next week :)
9. When I started scanning the bar-codes of the books into Delicious Library, I began to feel like the miller's daughter who had to spin straw into gold...I cannot quite explain how many books there are in this apartment. They are e-v-e-r-y-w-h-e-r-e, and double-shelved, to boot.
10. I don't know whether I should be blogging, scanning books, knitting, editing the six children's math books that are due on Wednesday, taking a bubble bath, or getting out of this chair to have a glass of port
11. I've been thinking of moving the saltwaterchronicles content over to my knitting blog...because the knitting blogs I like the best tend to have non-knitting content in them, too.
12. I would like to customize this blog template...which brings me back to item #1 on this list about learning HTML...
13. I just decided I'm going for the port.

More later.

Random "Red Dwarf" Thought

2005-04-15T21:42:00.000-04:00

Just a random thought: it seems that one of the few places you can see "Red Dwarf" on PBS in the States is in South Dakota...all I can think of is the generation of children in Sioux Falls who will grow up with their sense of humor warped the way Karen's and mine were by watching British TV programs on PBS in Boston....

Catching Up

2005-04-15T21:37:00.000-04:00

I'm not sure how I managed to miss "Red Dwarf"--or even what posessed me to add it to my Netflix list (the blurb might have compared it to Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy...). I've watched the first four episodes in the first series so far; the show is bizarre and hilarious--and it most definitely owes a debt to Douglas Adams with witty writing, characters like the existentially depressed toaster, and the Lister-as-god plot line (one of my favorite bits from HHGtG is the book title Well, That About Wraps it Up for God...or something to that extent). I have a two episode at a time limit, though--more than that just starts to hurt my brain (which really isn't all that difficult these days).

Life has been crazed for the past two weeks between travel (in Newburyport with Jennie and Karen then back to Boston for work for a day) and intensive QA mode at work for an upcoming db release...and intensive QA means that all my other work goes on hold...ready to spring up, all at once, the week after the release. I've also managed to get sick/get allergies which is always a fun thing to add to the mix of work/life stress. Don't even ask when the last time I went to a yoga class was.

On the positive side, the chenile baby blanket I'm working on is almost done and will require very little finishing, and I've started making up characters for a story. That's more than I usually can do creatively in the spring time, so that's good. I'd just really really really like some vacation time to re-charge and re-balance. Or maybe there is no such thing as "re-balancing"...maybe there's just figuring out how to let go/move on/deal. Who knows. Okay...more thoughts later...

"Portraits of an Age" Exhibit at Neue Galerie

2005-03-27T22:24:00.000-05:00

Each time I go to the Neue Galerie (5th & 86th St.), I'm struck cold, forbidding grandeur of the space. Formerly a private residence, the space has been transformed into a museum that showcases German and Austrian art of the early twentieth century. There is nothing friendly or gemütlich about the Neue Galerie, from the front desk staff to the grim guards. But they have an amazing collection of Klimts and Schieles, as well as some stunning furniture, silver, and decorative arts. (And they have one of the few A+ restrooms in the city).

Their current exhitibit is a collection of photographs from 1900 to 1938. Greeting you at the top of the narrow, marble stairs is Nähe's portrait of Gustav Mahler from 1904 (taken in the Vienna State Opera); it's one of my favorite images of Mahler. There's one room of photographs from before WWI that look more like 19th-century paintings than photographs; the other rooms show portraits, self-portraits, and "snapshots" from the twenties and thirties. The sudden modernity of these images--so different from the fin-de-siecle portraits--is shocking and familiar (a lot of it looks like classic fashion photography).

The feeling that always strikes me when studying images of people from the Weimar Republic years is of overwhelming, impending doom -- a sense of dancing, painting, building, loving, as fast as you can because time is short. Some of that sense comes from a romaticisation of the period (Isherwood, Cabaret), but I always wonder when I look at these images "did this person survive the War? or this person? or this one?" There is no way, I think, for someone in the early part of the 21st-century to look at these images without seeing what came next, what shattered so many lives. The images are more than art--they are history; they have survived, and they're amazing to see, despite the acres of cold marble and wrought iron railings.

Lookie!!

2005-03-24T18:56:00.000-05:00

I edited my blog template and figured out how to paste the HTML generated by the blog roll wizard in Bloglines--I can really claim to be in IT now. ;)

To Yoga or Not To Yoga

2005-03-24T18:21:00.000-05:00

Every week, I wrestle with the same demons: do I go to yoga class, or do I slink home and watch whatever is on PBS or the Netflix we have lying around the house? (Last week was a relatively stress-free choice because I was in Boston and had the opportunity to take Patricia Walden's class in Cambridge; the week before, only the changing of a light from "Walk" to "Don't Walk" changed my direction and compelled me to go to class).

It's the whole "should" phenomenon: since I feel like I should go to yoga, it somehow becomes an unattractive option. When faced with walking to the studio and going to class, hopping the train to go home to loll on the red chair suddenly seems decadent and exciting. The fact that I would not, in actuality, go home and loll on the red chair, but would instead putter around the house fretting about (but ignoring) the cat box, doing the dishes, picking up and setting down a knitting project, and pretending to read, is of no consequence at all. Going home is the incorrect choice to make...which makes it all the more compelling in my brain somehow.

Maybe the underlying issue here is that I need to (should?) remove the "should" from the equation. I could think instead "it is a privilege to go to yoga" or "it is healthy" or "I always feel great after class"--all of which are true. Thinking of the positive also focuses on the act of going to class rather than the "good/bad" dyad. But it also takes more mental energy, which I seem not to have. But is lack of mental energy an excuse for living a less healthy life? There's no downside to going to class...except moving me out of my comfort zone, which is part of the whole point.

So we'll see. Maybe I'll use the time between now and class to figure out how to get a blog roll to show up in my template...

More soon.

Spring Snow!

2005-03-23T17:27:00.000-05:00

I've been trying to reassure everyone in the office that yes, indeed, it is normal for it to snow in March in New York and that the snow won't stay around for long, but I don't seem to have any takers for this philosophy. We're supposed to get 3-5 inches tonight, so it's a little bit of a tough sell. I just keep thinking that before we know it, it will be 80 degrees outside and I'll have my turn to complain about the heat (ugh).

If I had more presence of mind, these are thing things I *would* be blogging about:

1. Spending last week working in Boston last week
2. Thoughts on a cool poem about prayers being liked shoes you put on in the morning that I head on NPR the other night (ed. Found it! Ruth Forman's "Prayers Like Shoes")
3. Thoughts on just how badly I'd like to travel right now (inspired by the NY Times Travel section and, in particular, the article about a novelist who writes in various borrowed homes.

Maybe it's just enough to make a list sometimes. More soon.

Just a Random Friday Night in Jersey City...

2005-03-11T22:32:00.000-05:00

...so Stephen and I are both sitting at the kitchen table while Alanis Morisette and T.a.T.u. songs blast from Stephen's iTunes (insert a shudder by Michaela). There's laundry in the dryer downstairs and we're half packed for a weekend trip to Philadelphia to check out the annual Flower Show; Stephen's been reading the paper and writing in what we call his "analog blog" (paper journal) while I've been wasting time surfing and rearranging photos in Picassa. The following conversation has just occured:

Michaela: How about playing music without chicks with guitars?
Stephen: says nothing, but immediately starts playing a Silbermond tune (featuring chicks, but no guitars)
Michaela: How about just no chicks?
Stephen: How about chicks with basses? (He starts playing a song by Melissa Auf der maur (the former bassist of the Smashing Pumpkins)
Michaela: Um, no...
Stephen: Reponds by playing Bruce Springstein

I supposed I deserved that.

MOBA : The Collection

2005-03-11T15:16:00.000-05:00

For all of you art afficianados...you won't be able to stop laughing. I particularly enjoyed "Circus of Despair."

MOBA : The Collection

Dr. Who Lives...

2005-03-09T16:31:00.000-05:00

I admit I'm a little behind the curve on this one. But thank you to Kieran, who has just e-mailed me a link to the latest trailers for the BBC's new Dr. Who, rumored to air on March 26th. (No date set for the US, alas. But that just means there's all the more reason to get to London...).

Click here for the trailer....

Call Me Crazy, But...

2005-03-08T22:14:00.000-05:00

I've created a knitting blog. Essentially, this is all an elaborate procrastination technique for avoiding working on The Most Boring Project Ever (aka "Sapphire," a re-make of the poncho I made for my neice-in-law Rebecca...the original met a tragic fate...see the blog for more...).

Here it is: http://kaekiknits.blogspot.com/

More soon...many things to blog about, not enough time.

Program Notes...

2005-02-25T23:25:00.000-05:00

...okay...I'm trying a trick here. I don't seem to get writers block when I write on The Salt Water Chronicles, but as soon as I open up a new Word doc and see that horrible, blank whitness staring at me, all the demons start crashing into my brain and I become convinced that there is no way I can write anything remotely intelligent about music (don't forget that part about how I never COULD write anything remotely good about music and that's why I never wrote my dissertation etc. etc. etc. It's a great tape loop I've got goin' on in this brain, trust me). SO I'm going to inflict my thoughts about Faure, Brahms, and Turina upon the unsuspecting world at large. Okay, here we go (really...honest...)

Ah-hem.

Johannes Brahms (1833-1897), Gabriel Faure (1845-1924), and Joaquin Turina (1882-1949)--composers from three different countries, whose careers shadowed historical events from the creation of the German state to the horrors of WWII and the Franco Regime--created vastly disparate and unique sound worlds.

Although the formal structure of the first movment of Faure's Op. 15 hews to a clear, fairly strict sonata form, he creates intensity from through his rich and complex harmonic language . He frequently employs intense, slithering chromaticsm to create color in his unique sound world. Despite the minor key of the movement, the music contains little Sturm und Drang. Instead, it is filled with moments of space and tranquility created by his specific dynamic markings and textures.

The opening movement of Brahms' Op. 25, on the other hand, fully inhabits the word of storm and stress. Phrases ache with yearning and forward motion; moments of jubilance are subsumed by mystery and darkness. The first movement of Op. 15 also clearly illustrates Brahms' use of continuous development, a hallmark of his style. Brahms almost never presents material the same way twice, but instead will alter the key, or the texture, or the harmonic underpinnning. In this way, he commands our attention and creates a distinct style.

Better known for his guitar and keyboard works, Turina wrote just one Piano Quaret. He creates a third, unique sound world that is strongly influenced by the rhythms and harmonies of Spanish folk music. Like Brahms, he restates themes throughout a piece, but without the intense contrapuntal textures. Instead, Turina creates drama through dotted rhythms, pizzicato,and exploting the extremes of each instrument's register.

Each composers' work reveals different aspects of the Piano Quartet medium. Their approaches to harmony, form, and texture create sound worlds that allow us to escape for a moment from our own.

ARGGG--okay, enough of this torture. Why I turn all formal and my thoughts freeze when I start writing about music...I don't know. I'll look at this again tomorrow. Blah.

Instead of Actual Thoughts...

2005-02-25T15:10:00.000-05:00

...today, you get this:

I HATE Practicing...

2005-02-21T21:10:00.000-05:00

I would just like to state, for the record, how much I hate hate hate hate hate practicing. I have never liked practicing, even for the brief years when I actually made an effort and practiced four hours a day (it was a long time ago, and yes, I'm glad that I did it). There are moments when I love playing, and it sends me into raptures. But those are few and far between. I suppose that's the difference between "practicing" and "playing" anyway.

The fingertips of my left hand have turned black and sting. And I still can't play the damn cross-string work in the recap of the Brahms, which, because I love so much, I want to play perfectly. And as for the Turina, all I can say is starting a phrase out of thin air on the B two octaves above middle C is just not funny. WhatEVER...

Thoughts About Christo & Jeanne-Claude's "Gates"

2005-02-20T19:47:00.000-05:00

(Can you tell I'm catching up on my blogging?? I have at least three thoughts a day that cause me to say "I have to blog about that" but then I am either in the middle of troubleshooting an issue at work, or not near anything to write with and have to remember to post later...so here they all are)

Stephen, Kate, and I spent Saturday afternoon at Central Park experiencing the Gates. The overall vibe in the park was one of wonder and happiness--despite the 30ish degree temperature, it was mobbed (although you won't be able to see that in the photos due to Stephen's aversion to taking photos that include people). I overheard a woman say to her two friends (in a classic outer-borough accent, mind you): "This just doesn't do anything for me." There have been quite a few spoofs of the project, too--check out Boing Boing for a good sampling (the source of all that is wacky on the web...scroll down the posts for 2/20).

Before jumping into the debate "what is art?" that surrounds the project, I'll tell you that I loved the Gates--the experience of walking around them, running under them, jumping up to touch the fabric, standing on their bases, watching other people look and think about them. The structures themselves are not profound, or even necessarily "pretty" in and of themselves--the fabric looks like polyester draperies from the 1970's and the supporting structure is covered in plastic (some gates had started to crack). What's remarkable is how simple, replicated structures can transform both how you move through space and what you think about that space. I've walked down paths in Central Park many times, but never with the same intensity, never thinking "let's go that way because of the curve of trail!" You notice paths (and conversely, what's off the path) differently when the space is demarcated so vividly.

We were lucky, too, to have bright sun and blue sky, which provided a sharp contrast for the saffron cloth. In some light, the cloth looked bright orange, sometimes more yellow, softened by the sun seeping through, and sometimes it seemed to fade to a pale tan. The wind played tricks with it, causing the cloth on one gate to billow while others stayed still.

I've overheard buzz, though, that somehow the Gates are not "Art" with a capital "A". I say "why not?" (along with "who-cares-about-defining-what-art-is-this-argument-makes-me-so-tired" but I brought it up...) The Gates changes the way you see--the way a painting or sculpture or graffiti can challenge you to change the way you see. It alters the way you view a familiar space (even if you haven't been to Central Park, you've seen it in movies and photos) by defamiliarizing and recasting it. It may not inspire awe, the way some works of art do (Serra's sculptures come to mind), but it brings art into the world and encourages people to look and think--which is the whole point, as far as I'm concerned. :)

2005-02-20T19:46:00.000-05:00

More of The Gates...2/19/05
Photo: Stephen Howe

2005-02-20T19:41:00.000-05:00

The Gates, Central Park, 2/19/05
Photo: Stephen Howe

2005-02-20T19:39:00.000-05:00

Gusts of Wind...The Gates, Central Park, 2/19/05
Photo: Stephen Howe

Books in Waiting

2005-02-20T17:21:00.000-05:00

As I've mentioned before, my "Books in Waiting" pile (along with my knitting "works in progress," which I'll save for a different post..) is now officially out of control. Here's a sampling of what's in it, after a visit to the first New York outpost of McNally Robinson Booksellers:

Babyji, Abha Dawesar
The Chinese Bell Murders, Robert Van Gulick
This Earth of Mankind, Pramoedya Ananta Toer
Women of Sand and Myrrh, Hanan al-Shayakh (she also wrote Only in London, which I loved)
The Rice Mother, Rani Manicka

McNally Robinson has done something I consider quite daring in it's organization of fiction: it sorts fiction first by region. That means you can browse South Asian fiction, or Japanese fiction, or the literature of Oceania. (They also have a "literary nomad" section for authors like Salman Rushdie and Vladimir Nabakov). Part of the reason that I read is to delve into worlds unfamiliar to me, and to travel mentally to regions of the world that I haven't seen yet (yes, I hold out hope that I will see all of this world somehow). I think their organization allows people to stumble across authors that they may not know, and might not have found otherwise. The danger is that it might "pigeon-hole" authors in ways antithetical (or irrelevant) to the subjects they write about. I think, though, that they've made an effort to make sure that the books are about the place in which they've been sorted.

More on the books later--the most difficult choice is going to be where to start...

Latest Music Obsession--Joanna Newsom

2005-02-20T16:59:00.000-05:00

...So Stephen and I were sitting in the cafe in Casco Bay Books last weekend, sipping lattes and trying to restrain ourselves from running through the stacks pulling books off the shelves like over-zealous two-year olds (with charge cards, alas) when all of a sudden a new track started playing and I said "What on earth is THAT?" I wavered between thinking Joanna Newsom's voice was the most god-awful affectation (think of an odd cross between Janis Joplin, PJ Harvey, Edie Brickell, and Bob Dylan) and the most brilliant, new, exciting sound I'd ever heard. I decided on the latter. You'll love it, or you'll hate it--there's no middle ground--but it's worth a listen (there are some clips in the link above). It's the only CD I've wanted to listen to over and over and over again in something like ten years.

Kodama!!!!

2005-02-14T11:13:00.000-05:00

I have all good intentions of writing about my weekend in Maine, but it will take reserves of energy that I simply do not have at the moment. Instead, I will share this link to the Wooster Collective with glee...Princess Mononoke is one of my favorite films, ever--the first time I saw it (in the nasty Anjelica Theater) I felt a sense of awe and absolute astonishment at what I was seeing--Kodamas in the trees, chattering, appearing, disappearing, teasing, playing. It just made me happy to see Kodamas painted on walls in Spain!

"Cumbahlind Fahms"

2005-02-06T19:12:00.000-05:00

Guest Post by Stephen, aka The Blog Pirate (formerly known as The Letter Pirate). Excerpted from communication to the Howe Family (yes, a "pre-emptive" family letter).

This weekend we made a quick escape to the Berkshires! We got up at a regular work time on Saturday morning, got dressed and hopped into the car. The weather was perfect for driving--in the 40s mid-day and a bright, clear blue winter sky. We took the New York Thruway up to Albany, exited onto 787 towards Troy (when RPI was a fire hydrant, Union was a pup . . .ed. note: this is a song that Stephen's dad sings whenever we mention Albany or Troy, NY because of its proximity to Union College), and headed east towards Massachusetts on 7. We found our way to Route 2 which carries us over the Berkshires into North Adams. Route 2 is one of those wind-y, mountain roads with lots of curves going up and down hills with steep ravines dropping off to one side. It is the type of road with lots of signs screaming brake warnings to truckers and where choruses of "DON'T HEEL, DON'T HEEL" would echo out if we happened to be on a boat. (ed. note: growing up, Stephen's mom would shout "don't heel!" whenever their boat would tip on the ever-placid Lake Minetonka...much to the chagrin of the rest of the family, who made sure to tease her about this behavior mercilessly. Families...gotta love 'em).

North Adams is your typical worn-out, seen better days, Western Mass (or even Upstate New York) type of town, with one exception: they have a burgeoning arts scene and a very modern art museum (Mass MoCA) built into the sight of a former printing factory on the Hoosac river (repeat to yourself many many times for fun: HOOSAC HOOSAC HOOSAC HOOSAC HOOSAC). We stopped here first had lunch in their little cafe and went off to see some art. The exhibits were good (and different from the last time we were here) but not spectacular. Although there was one structure composed of a Ford Taurus in various states of being rolled over and flung through the air (each car was like a freeze-frame of a car rolling over--no connection to Route 2, mind you). Shooting from the cars were strings of light to look like either explosions or fireworks. We also saw an exhibit on alternative housing called the Interventionists (and despite beingcalled the Interventionists, one could not intervene with the art at all,always blocked by do not touch and do not step signs), and a piece on race called The Black Factory (by a Bates Professor, William Pope.L). Somehow at the end of all this we got snookered into going into the museum bookstore and bought books. Shocking, I know.

After the museum we drove arond the corner to the Porches, our hotel (www.porches.com). Similiar to the museum, the porches is constructed from a set of Victorian row of houses that formerly housed the mill workers. The houses have been thoroughly rennovated and now resembles a set of Adorondack cabins, although much nicer. All of them are painted in burnt wooden colors: gray, wash-out reds, ochres, mustards, and pale greens. There is a heated outdoor pool, sauna, etc. The hotel was rather full, surprising to us for the dead of winter in Massachusetts. That afternoon we walked into town to see the highlights (not much) and found ourselves at one of the few open stores, a cafe called Brew-Ha-Ha. In the evening we walked back to Mass MoCA where we ate at their restaurant, "11".

This morning, we woke up, had breakfast at the hotel (continental breakfast comes with the room and they have a little eating area or you can sit in the lounge--they TV trays that you can set up next to your chair and a fire in the fireplace). There was organic yogurt, chocolate croissants, cereal, fresh grapefruit, fresh bed, hard-boiled eggs, juice and of course coffee. After breakfast we loaded up the car and headed back to Jersey. We stopped to fill the tank at a Cumberland Farms and Michaela had me practice my Boston accent over and over by saying Cumbah-lin Fahms (ed. note: I think we know who instigated repeating the phrase over and over...). This time time we took 7 South until we reached the Mass Pike, took the Mass Pike into New York and picked up the Taconic Parkway right over the border. The Taconic parkway is a nice alternative to the Thruway and cuts through the mountains heading south. From there we picked up 84, back to the Thruway and on into Jersey on the GSP.

Thoughts on Lunch

2005-02-03T12:18:00.000-05:00

For years, the word "lunch" has struck fear in my heart.

It's a meal that too often gets lost in the frenzy of the day--some days I can't pull it together enough to take lunch until 2pm (far too late when breakfast is at 8am)--and most often, I eat sitting in front of my computer, fantasizing about how I would like to eat curled up in a chair while reading a novel. (I maintain, however, that my keyboard is relatively clean, considering...I make sure to disinfect it and go after it with canned air at least once a week ;) )

And it's not just making the time to eat. The big stress is WHAT to eat. There are quite a few options in my work neighborhood (walk outside to get a sandwich from the fantastic French bakery "J'adore", order in from the Chinese run cheap Mexican place, Subway, the prepared food or salad bar from Whole Food)--maybe the problem is that there are too many options and not enough brain-space to think about what I want. So lately I've started *bringing* my lunch to work. (I know this is not nearly as shocking to other people as it is to me--I've been ordering in for years).

Today's offering is smoked Atlantic salmon wrapped around Neufchatel and sprinkled with freshly ground pepper on top of Melba toast...the ground pepper is what really makes it good (and no one said that bringing lunch was supposed to be healthier, right??). Sometimes Stephen makes sandwiches for us with organic salami, which allows me to say "it's okay to eat salami--it's Organic!" But the best part of the whole thing is that I don't have to sit at my desk and figure out what's for lunch. It's the little things...

This Post Exists So Stephen Has Something To Look At In His Thunderbird Aggregator...

2005-01-31T16:16:00.000-05:00

It occured to me today that not only had I better start practicing for The Garden Street Quartet's recital on the 27th, but that I have to start on the program notes, too...eek. So if anyone out there has any fabulous thoughts on Brahms, Op. 25, the Faure c-minor (no, I can't remember the opus number right now, sigh...), or the Turina, Op. 67...feel free to share :) (We're just performing the first movements of the Brahms and Faure, a practice which I generally despise, but which in this case suits me just fine. I cannot stand the second movement of the Faure, and I can't imagine our audience sitting through a program that long, either.)

More later...

p.s. I checked Bloglines and saw that I have a subscriber! (Thanks, Sam!) Maybe that'll keep me posting more often...blogs are pretty damn boring otherwise.

Edit: Faure, Op. 15. Next I'll learn the key commands for the accent that should appear of the "e" in the composer's name...

List of Current Thoughts

2005-01-30T18:03:00.000-05:00

I'm not quite sure where to start after a crazy January, so I'll just plunge in and see what thoughts come up. Here's what I've been thinking about/feeling lately from the sublime to the banal:

1. Upon wandering through Anthropologie on Bolyston Street this past week it occured to me that even though I adore almost every piece of clothing I see in the store (the skirts are too adorable--colors! Rick-rack!), buying any of them at all would require me to overhaul my entire wardrobe and to wear impractical shoes, not to mention the dreaded stockings .

2. I have a book buying problem. I figure this is less of an issue than, say, a drug or alcohol problem--it's cheaper, for one thing, and it doesn't have as negative an impact on those around me. The main issue is that books take up a lot of space. And they're heavy--not that that would stop me from traveling with them. I was unable to leave Boston without buying a book (Alice Hoffman's "The Probable Future," which I chose because of its New England specifc setting).

3. It made me unbelievably happy to run into my favorite English teacher from high school this past weekend.

4. I'd like to find more time to read poetry.

5. I'm never, ever, ever going to carry both my Mac and my IBM in one messenger bag again for fear of separating my shoulder.

6. I wonder if there's a way to find time to blog more consistently. Maybe shorter, more frequent posts....

7. There are a ton of really amazing knitting blogs out there--very inspiring. Here are a few of my current favorites:

Stitch Marker
All Tangled Up
Brainylady
Dogs Steal Yarn

And those four link to many other cool sites...so many sites, so little time...

8. I'm wondering about sending out old-fashioned valentines to people this year...and maybe a chocolate mousee or two...But then I think about how much I hate Valentine's Day--the horror of not getting a carnation in junior high, the stress of "enforced" giving (do you sense a theme here?). Then again, it's fun to give people unexpected gifts (which makes this holiday different from Christmas).

9. Knitting projects: must finish other fingerless glove for Stephen, restart poncho for Rebecca....then there's the chenille blanket for Kate (which she doesn't know about, but she probably hasn't checked in on this blog for a while, so I'm not too worried ;) ) I keep thinking of making something for myself, but it seems so wrong somehow.

10. Lurking deep underneath all of these thoughts are a whole nexus of other thoughts--about how sad I am for Jennie-Rebecca, who just lost her mum; that I'm happy because she's moving back the The Brick Arbor; how I don't want our parents to be ill or die; how losing that generation takes us just that much closer to mortality.

The Veil is Lifted...

2004-12-28T20:35:00.000-05:00

Well, now I know why I used to walk home from school terrified that a gigantic Tyrannosaurus Rex was going to barrel its way down Summer Street and devour me: I clearly had watched too many episodes of "Land of the Lost". I just finished watching the first two episodes of the series (thank you Netflix!) and was transported immediately back to the farthest left cushion on the family room couch where I watched the program growing up. (I never thought I had watched that much TV, but maybe I really did). The sets and production values are totally laughable, the acting bad and earnest, and what drug was the person who invented Sleestak taking?? But despite all that (or maybe because of it...), I still loved the show--with a little pluck and smarts, you can outwit and outrun any T Rex, right? ;)

Looks like a Must Read...

2004-12-14T11:17:00.000-05:00

I don't know how I managed to miss this in bookstores--Stephen Mitchell's translation of the Tao de Ching is my favorite--lucid, flowing, and graceful. Can't wait to dive into Gilgamesh!
Powells.com From the Author - Stephen Mitchell

A Painting a Day

2004-12-10T21:37:00.000-05:00

I came across this site via Boing Boing (if you haven't visited Boing Boing, you're missing one of the most eclectic, fun sites on the web...). I particularly love "Egg 8". And what an amazing commitment! Check it out. A Painting a Day

Preview: Charlie and the Chocolate Factory

2004-12-10T21:32:00.000-05:00

July 15th, 2005. Need I say more?

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - A Yahoo! Movies Exclusive

:)

Test Image

2004-12-06T16:18:00.000-05:00

I'm testing out instructions on how to post images (without having to use the Blogger "Hello" application...). This is my first foray into html IMG tags (okay--full disclosure. It is my first foray into html at all, period...). Okay, so here it goes:

This is one of Stephen's photos from Berlin of the Martin Gropius Bau.

Thoughts on YA Fantasy Literature

2004-12-02T21:00:00.000-05:00

I've been reading Pat O'Shea's The Hounds of the Morrigan, a vast and sprawling fairy-tale-like novel published in 1985, and while I'm enjoying it, I keep feeling that it's missing a level of depth that I crave from this genre of fiction. It may be that in most of the other YA fantasy fiction that I love--Madeline L'Engle's Time Trilogy, Susan Cooper's The Dark is Rising Sequence, and Nancy Bond's A String in the Harp, for example--fantasy is an element of the story, and may even drive the plot of the story, but underneath lies an exploration of human relationships, or the personal growth of the protagonist.

The Hounds--while introducing many funny and interesting characters--is not about Pidge and Brigit's growth as a people (and Brigit is shockingly precocious for a five year old--though not as convincingly as Charles Wallace in L'Engle's Time Trilogy). (And in the interest of full disclosure, it is really bothering me that Morrigan's hounds have all the hallmarks of Irish Wolfhounds--creatures I cannot imagine hunting small children, considering my family's first Wolfhound was responsible for watching me in the yard...). The story itself seems too baldly told, and unwittingly brings to the surface undercurrents of gender issues that seem to lurk in Celtic mythology--any time the main "evil" charachters are female and the "good" character is male, I get a little worried (although, to be fair, I would need to take a much closer look at the legends to know that for certain--is the Morrigan completely and thoroughly a destructive goddess? Or is she more like Kali, or while a destroyer, also has positive qualities?)

By contrast, A String in the Harp explores how children who have recently lost their mother adapt to living far from home; the Time Trilogy (in part) explores how the Murray children cope with a "abandonment" by their father, social awkwardness in school (how to cope with "outsiderness"), and the bonds of familial love. I wonder if O'Shea just meant to write a different kind of good vs. evil book, where the clash between good and evil really is the entire point, and the vessels of that clash are really secondary to the story. In any case, I'm glad I'm reading it because at the very least, it's entertaining, and it's piqued my curiosity about Celtic mythology again, so I think it's time to do some research (and write my own YA fantasy novel...)

Nooooo....Not the End of a Holiday Weekend....

2004-11-28T21:07:00.000-05:00

So the last time I posted, it was Tuesday afternoon and I was having trouble adapting to being away from work. Now it's Sunday night and I can't imagine going back. I've spent the last six days cooking, walking, experiencing art, knitting, buying yarn, plotting holiday presents, eating, watching football, reading, and sleeping until 8:30 or 9:00 every morning. It's been pure bliss...like breaks during college without the homework or the inevitable cold that would descend as soon as I stopped moving and sat still for two minutes.

Now that the holiday season has "officially" started, I've been thinking about how to face it this year (we're staying at home at entertaining Stephen's parents). I haven't figured out how to square the religious aspects of Christmas (because it is a Christian holiday and I no longer consider myself a Christian) with the cultural aspects of Christmas (the unrepentant, unabashed commercialism). I feel equally uncomfortable and trapped with both the religion and the commercialism.

Maybe it's about managing expectations. I love giving people gifts, and try to do so throughout the year--not just at Christmas time. I strongly dislike giving gifts out of obligation or because I am expected to give, however (managing "obligations" has never been a strong suit. The word enough is enough to make me dig in my heels and refuse to act, whether it makes sense or not). What I've been thinking about is how to escape the feeling that the holidays are obligatory and about giving material objects because "it's that time of year"--especially since I know my closest friends do not feel that the holidays are "obligatory" at all (and I love giving them gifts because I can do it joyfully and without expectations).

I think I'll approach this season as a meditation on expectation and obligation and will keep asking myself: to whom am i giving joyfully? to whom am I giving because I'm "supposed" to? And what am I going to do to change that feeling?

Thoughts on Time Off...

2004-11-23T16:52:00.000-05:00

This is going to sound a bit odd, but I'm going to throw it out there anyway. I've taken Tuesday and Wednesday off from work (in addition to the Thursday and Friday holiday) and honestly have no idea what to do with that time. I continually forget that I'm so attached to structure, to lists, to "doing." I know that having time is something precious, something to appreciate--so that makes it even more frustrating that I feel unsettled when given time. It's as if no matter how much or little I have to do, I desire of state of having less to do--but when that state of "less" is achieved, it still does not suffice. So having to grocery shop and do laundry today feels burdensome in much the same way that sitting at my desk at work sometimes does.

Maybe it's just the transition from working life to time-off life, from sitting at a desk thinking about people's database questions, writing, or answering questions on the phone, to thinking about grocery lists, what's for dinner, laundry, knitting, reading, and all the other things that sneak into the cracks during daily life but now can come to the front of my mind. (And don't forget about finding a text for the Christmas card and sending Debbie's birthday present....). I always think that I'm going to lie around and read when I take time off and stay at home, but it never works out that way. It seems to be necessary to go somewhere else--where dishes do not need to be done, or where there are many other people to share the load--in order to really get that space and time in the mind.

It's starting to get dark now--grey and forboding, with a nip in the air after the day's surprising warm dampness. I can see door lights popping on across the street, illuminating the brick fronts of the houses. It's a comforting sight, as light often is in darkness.

Okay--there's the alarm for the laundry....more later!

M.

The Day After

2004-11-03T18:36:00.000-05:00

I realized today that I have only ever lived in "blue" states: Massachusetts, Maine, Minnesota, New York, and New Jersey. Maybe that's colored my entire approach to life.

It was by no means certain that an Irish Catholic girl growing up in a household dominated by a conservative, Regean-loving father, was going to grow up liberal (in fact, I don't think I disagreed with my father about politics until I was about 17--very late in the game). It's hard to say how I moved from "red" to "blue," so I've been thinking about what it means to be "liberal" and what it means to live in the geographic area of the country I live in. I have a suspicion that the northeast is not like other parts of the country--a suspicion that seems to be borne out by looking at the election map. But what does this divisiveness mean for American? And what America do I belong to?

The whole idea that there are multiple Americas is disturbing to me. Or perhaps I mean that the idea that there are multiple Americas, but only one gets to determine national policy, is disturbing to me. We have no balance in this country, and I am afraid. Afraid of women's rights being eroded, or more soldiers dying in Iraq, or more hatred being aimed out the US because of our foreign policy, of people coming to harm because they do not have access to appropriate medical care, or even jobs. Maybe I've been insulated where I live--in a safe, relatively liberal pocket of the country and am out of touch with the country at large. But I bet, too, that if I talked with people in the rest of the country, got to know them, that they would seem like people and not "conservatives." People are complicated--no one can be labeled "red" or "blue."

But I'm still afraid and I don't know what to do. I guess I have four years to figure it out.

Voting Day in Jersey City

2004-11-02T16:24:00.000-05:00

So Stephen and I woke up early and got ourselves out of the house by 7:45am to vote. I've never seen lines so long--although it would have helped if I'd actually remembered what district I was supposed to vote in (note to self: E4...E4....E4). People were generally cheery, and I spied much anti-W paraphenalia (which was heartening, but then NJ is a blue state).

The reality of voting is always so banal. Our district voting location is in the lunchroom of the Jersey City Public Library--it's a gorgeous building, but the lunchroom looks could have been a teacher's lounge at an elementary school. I remember going to Smith School with my parents when I was growing up and waiting while they voted--it seemed like the most extraordinary thing. You got to go into a little booth, pull a curtain, and vote! (And bear in mind that I played "library" and "office" as a small child, too) It was always so strange to see the school gym transformed into a room full of adults instead of dodge-ball flinging kids. Voting is extraordinary--but not in the way that I imagined when I was growing up. It isn't glamorous or exciting, and it feels filled with doubt (does my vote count? Will this really make a difference??) But it is important, and I'm really excited that so many people are turning out to vote.

Now all we need to do is elect the right person...

The New York Times > Magazine > Susanna Clarke's Magic Book

2004-10-30T22:57:00.000-04:00

The New York Times > Magazine > Susanna Clarke's Magic Book

This isn't a review of the book, but it's a great article about Susanna Clarke and how "Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell" came into being (and it gives hope to all of us who write very slowly, considering that her book had a gestation period of approximately 10 years...)

Catching up!

2004-10-30T21:42:00.000-04:00

EEK--it's been six weeks since we've had a post on The Salt Water Chronicles--sorry about that! I don't know where to start (and it doesn't help that I'm distracted by "Monsters, Inc." on TV...)--with travels (past and upcoming), or all the books I've been reading, or the whole new world that's opened up because Stephen bought a color printer so we can now print photos and cards and make calendars and and and...

Maybe I'll start with books because the my main solace for the past couple of months has been reading. Reality is hard these days--intense work, unstable world--and the easiest vacation I can take is hiding for a little while in fictional worlds. I finished "Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell" in early October, and it absolutely lived up to its hype (see Gregory Macguire's review in the NY Times, which makes an unfortunate reference to the book as "Hogwarts for Grown-Ups," which I did not find to be the case--I'd say it's more like Jane Austen mixed with magical realism). I suggested that the bookclub I sort-of joined read the book, but people balked because it's too big to read on the subway...which is true, but I carried it back and forth every day anyway--it's *that good. (Karen, it's in the mail...)

My latest read was Gish Jen's "The Love Wife." I had read her previous collection of short stories called "Who's Irish?" and enjoyed her gentle and funny exploration of ethnicity and "American-ness"--she asks questions about what it means in today's American society to be an immigrant, or of mixed heritage. And even though I was born in New England and am only mixed insofar as one can consider Irish and Scottish heritage "mixed," I think the sense of loss of homeland that immigrants experience, and wondering how to fit in to groups of people who are not "like" you is something that many people understand. In "The Love Wife," Jen takes her exploration to the level of a mixed family and how the arrival of an unexpected distant relative from China reveals the fractures and fragility of a modern family. The most masterful aspect of the novel is the narrative structure--it reads almost like a transcript from a family therapy session (and in a sense, it is a musing on the dissolution of a family). The story discomfited me--I don't like to read about infidelity or the breaking of bonds between people who are close--but the subtle shading of the characters (all except Blondie, who is a bit unfarily treated like a stereotypical suburban Boston working mother concerned with doing good in the world but translates that concern poorly within her own family) kept me reading.

Now as a palatte cleanser I'm winging through Douglas Adams' "The Long Dark Teatime of the Soul." You can't really get more eclectic that that...

Okay--more thoughts soon. Sooner than six weeks from now, I promise.

September 11 et alia

2004-09-14T16:25:00.000-04:00

September 11 is Emily McQuarrie's birthday, so my sense of the day will always be tied to her, and to her birthday in 2001: She lives in Newmarket, NH, and the Friday after her birthday, calls for a candlelight vigil for that evening at 7 pm EST were circulated on the internet. So there I was, driving up from CT to NH, with Anthony still marooned in Denver after the grounding of the airplanes. I was lost in some beautiful little New Hampshire town, and people were standing on porches and sidewalks with candles in the fading light. It was absolutely vital that I get to my friends, despite the long drive. Physical presences became more important for awhile after that--due to the many physical presences lost. That's why I like the Towers of Light so much: they are ghostly, like a phantom limb, a presence that isn't quite a presence. Many people thought they should have been incorporated into the final memorial plan.

On a much brighter note, Karen, your apartment looks amazing! I hope I'll be able to come visit soon.

Celebrate New York

2004-09-11T14:48:00.000-04:00

Stephen and I are spending the day watching all 14 hours of Rick Burns' "New York" documentary in honor of the city. It's an inspiring documentary that gives you a sense of just how many times New York has been laid low and struggled to its feet again--from the Revolutionary War, to the Draft Riots, to the 1970's.

One thing I (re)learned from September 11, 2001, is the pain caused by attachment--in this case, to a building, a place. I loved the towers. Stephen and I would sit on the Brooklyn Promenade at night and look at the always-different pattern of lights in the windows; I oriented myself by them when I wandered around Manhattan. Last night, the Towers of Light installation was re-lit, and it shocked me to see something--anything--in their space again. We might walk to the Jersey City Promenade tonight to see the Towers of Light, but I'm not sure; maybe we'll light incense for the people who died instead.

It Has Arrived!!

2004-09-07T10:17:00.000-04:00

Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (by Susanna Clarke) has arrived on my desk at work!! And of course, all I want to do is read it instead of actually working...if only I could swing a job where reading actually *was my job...

When I figure out how I can insert links in my postings, I'll post reviews of Jonathan Strange...

More later...

Live from New York...

2004-09-01T20:35:00.000-04:00

I keep telling myself that there's only one day left of the Republican National Convention and then the helicopters and sirens will return to their usual levels (which is still more than many people are used to, given the comments I get while I'm on the phone at work on any given day).

So far this week, I've witnessed a police officer and teenaged boy screaming at each other in the dripping humid 23rd Street F Train station, scattered groups of protesters who have wandered away from their groups and gotten lost, police officers trying desperately to control traffic via traffic cones and hand gestures (unsuccessfully, I might add). I've come to the conclusion that New York is simply a force of nature and cannot be controlled. (And I don't believe this is a bad thing).

Oh, and despite sightings by my friends and colleagues, I have not actually witnessed any visible Republicans. ;)

One more day. Just one more day.

2004-08-29T14:47:00.000-04:00

M's assessment of Vegas was my own--only I was 17 and not nearly so mature and eloquent. I couldn't shake the feeling of excess, vice, and squalor, metaphorically typified by the $4.99 megabuffet which included something which at dinner were called egg rolls and the next day at breakfast were called breakfast roll ups or something similar. It's a slick, image-oriented place, slighty seedy even at its most fabulous--and, let's face it: still slightly fabulous in all its seediness. I think everyone should visit once, just to see it. But for me, once was/is enough.

I'm in!

2004-08-26T16:35:00.000-04:00

Thanks to some email weirdness, it took me a while, but I am most definitely on board! Of course, I am nowhere near as eloquent as Michaela, who manages to make Las Vegas sound amazing, even while telling how much she hated it. I am still waiting to see the ceiling picture-- you DID take it for me, didn't you Kla?

On Leaving Las Vegas

2004-08-22T09:13:00.000-04:00

I don't think anything could have prepared me for Las Vegas, where I just spent 3 days for a company conference. It was both grander in scale and brightness and more devestatingly awful than I'd expected. I'd been told that Las Vegas is "Something I Should See"-- a part of the American Experience, but nothing prepared more for the improbability of its existence. Cavernous rooms full of slot machines screaming "Wheel of Fortune," people playing blackjack at 4:45am, casinos plastered with garish, tread-worn carpet saturated with alcohol, the lights of the strip flashing at all hours of day and night. And surrounding this barely controlled mahem is a ring of mountains that look like an alien landscape--striated red and purple peaks, their colors filtered through dust and sunlight.

The landscape itself is stunning. I suspect that in the mountains life is very different than life on the Strip, and wonder whether the people who actually live in Las Vegas ever go to the hotels and casinos. But that begs the question: how is it possible that the city exists in such a a landscape and climate at all? How in the middle of a desert can the Bellagio create a choreographed water fountain show that runs every 15 minutes, and though stunning, uses an obscene amount of water (much of which seemed to evaporate into the dry air)? (Not to mention the hotels and their daily laundry alone). Why does the Strip exist at all?

I felt very much an outsider in Las Vegas. Most of my colleagues enjoyed themselves at the casinos and went out for drinks, but I couldn't bring myself to do it (yep, I couldn't even bring myself to put two quarters in a slot machine). I thought I had inured myself from shock living in New York, where you never know what you'll see next, but Vegas shocked me with the sheer number of people wandering the streets drunk at all hours, people sitting with glazed looks on their faces, eyes lit up by slot machines; the girlie cards inserted into the chain link fences on the pedestrian bridges; the men slapping their hands with flyers advertising exotic "pleasures." Who benefits? Who really is having fun? And should I even bother to care? Part of me wants to think that my trip there was a bad dream--I can just pretend that it was all just a jet-lag induced hallucination. But I know it exists now. I've had my "American Exprience" and am left thinking about life out of balance.

2004-08-17T21:18:00.000-04:00

Nice . . . I've thought for a long time that we needed a blog . . assuming that Ms. Graves is also aboard. I have two already, and they really do work for postings that you want all involved parties to see and respond to.

So: why are you going to Vegas? Remember--VEGAS IS BABYLON!!!

2004-08-17T16:49:00.000-04:00

Michaela with a Polar Bear at the Berlin Zoo (July, 2004)
Photo: Stephen Howe

Welcome to "The Salt Water Chronicles"!

2004-08-17T16:35:00.000-04:00

Why "The Salt Water Chronicles"? Because my mantra is this quote from Isak Dinesen: "The cure for everything is salt water -- sweat, tears, or the sea." When hard work doesn't do the trick, sometimes a good cry will, and failing that, a trip to the ocean. :)