---L--P+----1----@10--2----+----3----- R
Besides, how often do you see Buck
Rogers, Tolkien, and James Bond all in the
same story?
(Maybe he kept mentioning that it was
only a story so you wouldn't get too ripped
up over all the people who get tortured and
killed in the first volume; clashes badly
with the whimsical tone; in shoot'emups,
only spear carriers and villains are
supposed to suffer.)
Yesterday, I set the VCR to record
Babylon 5, but it didn't take. Don't know
why. @@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@
28 August 1995
Grump. I tried web-crawling today, and
got some knitting done while waiting for
documents to load -- now I know why they
call it crawling!
Foray was inspired by the Flintstones
theme on the breakfast TV (I never thought
I'd be putting up with television that early
in the morning!) I wondered why the
Flintstone cat is featured so prominently in
the opening when the Flintstones don't have
a cat, and thought I'd find some fan club's
home page and read the Frequently Asked
Questions. Rocky and Bullwinkle have a home
page, and Groo has two, but I couldn't find
anything for Flintstones. Only page that
answered to both "Fred Flintstone" and
"Wilma Flintstone" was "The Bruce Spring
stone Story," a very boring account of how a
small group of unknown musicians came to
have a record published by a minor company.
"Fred Flintstone" turned up "The Center for
Paleo Orthodoxy" and I figured that was it,
but it turned out to be a net of
Presbyterian think tanks. Read the whole
page in hope of finding why a search for a
cartoon character fished them out, and clear
down at the bottom, at the end of the list
of fellows, was "Fred Flintstone, futurist."
Though everything else seemed to be
straight, this suggested that the page was a
spoof, so I tried to call up one of their
approved classic documents, but that area of
the page was under construction.
Now's a fine time to think that I should
have searched for "flintstones," not
"flintstone." But surely the page I'm after
would have "Fred" or "Wilma" on it
somewhere.
But not necessarily "fred flintstone."
Writers on a Flintstones home page would
assume that you knew which Fred was meant.
Next time I'll see what an "or" search
does. I clicked "and" this trip.
Dave says that next summer, he wants to
see the relatives in September, when Indiana
isn't so tropical. I hope that can be
arranged.
29 August 1995
The weathercast this morning compared the
hurricanes to the Energizer Bunny -- "they
keep coming and coming and coming." A few
days ago, Dave was looking at the current
weather map from Purdue -- imagine an Albany
resident going to Purdue to get local
weather! -- and I asked him what that dotted
line was. "Hurricanes."
All those hurricanes and not one has
turned into a Noreaster!
Today's paper says that we have 2.74
inches of rain so far in August. I last
mentioned rain in this document on August 6;
we can't have gotten all of it then.
Yesterday I intercepted one of Margie's
visitors -- looked like a daughter -- to
tell her I'd seen their AWOL cat visiting
the back porch for his supper on the
previous day. I asked after Margie & she
said that she was doing as well as can be
expected.
Rascal will be in poor shape if his
mistress doesn't return. He's afraid of
everybody except Margie and Danny, and he
sees Danny as a challenging scratching post.
Dave says it was last Tuesday that she
went in for at least a week.
30 August 1995
Wednesday, and no word from Margie. Wish
I'd thought to ask which hospital she's in.
Good thing I got nosy. When I heard
rattling and banging from the high school
yesterday, I figured they were finally
through replacing the roof and were
gathering up the piles of metal they'd taken
off the old roof. When the same racket
started up while I was reading the morning
paper, I said "there can't be that
much debris," and set off through
Lawrence's back yard, where the track team
has beaten a path from Woodwind to the
school. They are tearing up a patch of
blacktop on the parking lot. The solar
collectors and other debris is in a
different spot, and equipment and loose
slabs of insulation on the roof suggest that
we will be treated to the smell of melting
tar again.
On the way back by way of the road, I was
horrified to see that the crew that
connected the Lawrences to the gas main had
disposed of excess dirt by throwing it
against the oak tree. That was long enough
ago that I had trouble telling how deep to
hoe, but it didn't appear to have rotted the
bark yet -- owing to our unusually dry
weather, no doubt.
Still haven't completed the skort. When
I'd pinned the front waistband and was ready
to top-stitch it, the very last operation
before sewing on the hooks and eyes, I
realized that I'd pleated the front skirt
between the front pockets, not across the
whole front. Filling up the bare waist band
above the pockets was the original idea, but
I tried the shorts on in front of three
different mirrors before saying "not even
for the house and garden" and starting to
rip. Got it disassembled about the time I
figured I'd be all done, and now it's
upstairs with the front waistband pinned and
ready to topstitch.
Since the front pleats were the third set
I'd pleated in just a few days, I did a
lovely job. I look at them and feel tempted
to do some serious skirt-making, if I ever
get caught up.
Solved the four-seam-allowance problem
neatly by making two of the allowances and
the waistband the same width, so that the
waistbands appear to have been made stiff on
purpose.
The easing went blithely too. Knowing
that they would be covered by the skirt, I
let puckers fall where they would.
I think the black stuff I bought at the
thrift shop will ease. I presume that it's
polyester, but it feels soft.
Arachne
If you want fiction nowadays, your
choices are Would-Be Best Seller, Romance/
Pornography, Mystery, and SF. Since I get
plenty of mystery from the two magazines we
subscribe to, using up my "regular" (non-SF)
credit at the bookshop means buying non-
fiction. So I grabbed two books off the
animal shelf. Later, I said to Dave, "I
should have known better than to take a book
with the word 'Secret' in the title."
He said, "You should have known better
than to take a book with a foreword by
Cleveland Amory." I had mis-remembered
Amory as a humor writer.
Apparently Jhan Robbins realized that he
had enough obvious and dubious stuff to make
a leaflet, and set to gathering anecdotes
until he had enough to fill up a book,
sorting the anecdotes only by type of
animal. Ranged from an interview with a
Basque sheepherder to a statement from a
woman whose cat always says
precisely what she wants to hear.
So he dumped it all together and called
it Your Pet's Secret Language: how to
understand and speak it (1975). I was
astounded to discover that the book has a
bibliography, even if it does start with
Watership Down. Then I read the list
of credits, and all was clear. The other
works by the same author are such a
scattershot that it's plain he's one of
those "professional writers" who will
expound on any subject if given a little
time at the library to find a few convincing
details.
Even though I haven't read it, I feel
that I had better luck with a freshman
textbook called A Guide to the Study of
the Anatomy of the Shark, the Necturus, and
the Cat, Samuel Eddy, Clarence P.
Oliver, and John P. Turner, 1939. The
necturus is a typical (and cheap) amphibian
more commonly called a mudpuppy. When Dave
chose Guide for bedtime reading soon
after I brought it home, I told him "Don't
read the section on cats in front of Fred,"
but surely Fred, Freed, and Erk would all
approve of "The cat illustrates the mammal
as the final or highest development of the
vertebrates."
@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@
31 August 1995
Finally finished my skort yesterday --
and hung it away for the winter. Found a
surprise benefit of the split skirt when I
tried it on: the back hikes up when I sit
down, as expected, but the front drops down
over my knees.
Coldset season is nearly over, but
there's a beefsteak-style tomato nearly ripe
on one of the volunteers.
Rain! Strange to close all the windows
because it might rain in, not to keep out
the heat. Was over in a few seconds, but we
might get another shower.
1 September 1995
Headline in today's "Capital Region"
section: "It can't rain enough -- and it
didn't."
The story says that August ended as it
began: with some rain. The official count
is .64 inches -- only a rough guide to what
the shower dropped here, but it looks as
though we got enough to do some good for the
lawn, and for the parts of the garden that
I've been watering. I pulled a plantain,
and it came up easily; the ends of the roots
were dry, but not dusty.
The Coldsets are nearly finished, but
there are still pounds of their undersized
tomatoes on the counter. Yesterday I picked
a volunteer tomato so big that I need both
hands to carry it, and put it on the table
to be sure Dave would notice.
Having spent his night out carrying soda
to fire police at a tree that fell on a pole
(instead of in a restaurant), he came in
wanting a sandwich, and asked whether there
was a tomato of reasonable size in the
house.
He says that, owing to a curve in the
road, the power pole that came down was on
the opposite side from the other poles --
tree, pole, and wires all ended up in the
road, and it was full transmission voltage.
A wire crossing the road usually comes from
a transformer. The sheriff, the fire
department, the power company, and a road
crew all attended.
The morning paper says that this sort of
thing went on all over the county, but it
mentions only the incidents in Albany. The
photographs were taken in Loudonville.
8 September 1995
I don't know why Dave wanted to drive the
Jeep to work this morning, but I'm glad he
did. Evidence suggests that after the
safety-committee meeting last Tuesday, when
I was fumbling around in the dark trying to
turn on the headlights and the instrument
lights, I turned on the light in the cargo
area by mistake. When I pushed in the knob
to turn off the headlights, it turned off
the instrument lights but didn't turn off
the rear dome light. (And why wasn't the
front dome light on?)
Dave hooked up the little charger and it
didn't do anything. Hoping that it was
because the battery was too dead for it to
handle, and not because the charger was
dead, Dave jump-started the Jeep and left it
running. After half an hour or so I turned
it off and found that the charger was now
putting out current, so I expect that I'll
be able to go to the Century tomorrow.
But I changed my mind about leaving the
bike home!
Dave checked the date on the Jeep's
battery, and said it was near the end of its
expected life. This episode didn't do it
any good.
We were promised our first September
shower last night and didn't get it. It's
still cloudy and gray, but I'll bet the rain
doesn't start until the party starts
tomorrow.
Tough for the club. The Century is about
its only source of income, now that they
can't find anybody to knock himself out
selling newsletter ads.
A day or two after the August rain, I did
more garden work in one day than in the
previous three weeks, and now have things
fairly clean. At least there are no plants
that you can't see at all under the weeds!
I was surprised to see that four of the
little spruce trees had survived; once I
knew where they were, I began to water them.
I pulled up the Coldsets. The volunteer
tomatoes are just warming up, and we have a
volunteer New Zealand Spinach. I've pulled
a few Jerusalem Artichokes, and find that
when the tubers are immature, you can peel
them instead of paring them.
Downright chilly today. I haven't shut
the windows, but I did dig out a long-
sleeved shirt.
Dave had ribs last night. I'm going to
insist on going with him some Thursday!
8 September 1995
Dave wins! According to the vet's files,
Freida spells her name Freda. I'd better
learn to spell it that way. It would save
constantly trying to remember whether the i
is before or after the e. On the other
hand, I have to remember to leave it out.
According to their rabies certificates,
Freda is "yellow" and Erica is "red tiger."
Fred didn't get a certificate, but there's a
rabies shot on his bill. Total $207.30, and
only $30 of it was the two pet carriers.
They are cheaply-made boxes intended to be
slid under an airline seat, and they fit
just as tight as an airline seat. Next
time, fat Fred gets the old single-cat
carrier, which is a good bit larger.
Fred and Freda have been gaining weight -
- and then we bought a two-door car to carry
them to the vet in. (Hey, that was the day
after the day I think that I left the dome
light on. Must take more than fifteen hours
to run the Jeep's battery down.)
After wrestling the protesting dog box
into the back seat, I found that the seat
belt wouldn't reach around it, and the front
seat wouldn't slide back far enough to pin
it. Then I had to wrestle it out of the
back seat, and wrestle it through the heat-
lock doors, so I demanded two single-cat
carriers to bring them home in, and didn't
ask many questions.
10 September 1995
Got to the Century and back safely.
Rained hard enough to slow Northway traffic
to 50 mph, and we had a few riders call for
a pickup because they were getting too cold
to think straight. Don't know whether these
were the same fools who were seen putting
their rain jackets back into their cars just
because it wasn't raining when the ride
started.
I don't think we got much rain here.
When discussing it with Dave, I said "Let's
give it the plantain test," pulled up a
weed, and showed him damp roots -- but later
on I tried some that weren't right next to
the blacktop, and they broke off.
I helped man the Safety Education booth.
Because of the weather, none of the people
we were waiting for showed. I knitted a
fist-sized hole in my ball of yarn, and we
sold three or four copies of "Street
Smarts."
My garlic chives are in glorious bloom, a
welcome addition to a September perennial
bed. But they are over knee high; I should
have planted them closer to the back. Must
remember to put markers on them and move
them after they go dormant.
I don't know whether they die down in the
fall; they hardly show when not in bloom.
Once I pulled some garlic chives by mistake
for grass. One of the two clumps seems to
have come up through a clump of cooking
chives. If I do find the bulbs, I think
that I can divide them into several clumps.
12 September 1995
Having the bike already loaded in the
car, I decided to make the cat litter & used
book run yesterday. I had no idea how much
I used the back-seat doors on the Toyota!
Also discovered that though the cargo space
is larger, a lot less of it is left over
when I carry a bike. I used to stash a lot
of stuff on the floor behind the front
seats; in the jeep, the back seat folds into
this space. It's difficult to arrange
groceries etc. around the bike -- especially
in the front part where I have to stretch
over seat backs.
The high ground clearance makes curves
sharper, and dips deeper. Albany County
roads tend to sink away under the right-
wheel track, and a tall vehicle sways more
when one wheel drops.
There was an embarrassment of funnybooks
among the 3/$ comix last trip; this time I
didn't find even one. Only searched two
thirds of one box, though. Picked up three
paperbacks, and one was a mistake. I
checked the book of B.C. cartoons to make
sure we hadn't read it, and I skimmed the
beginning and end of one of the stories in
Smart Dragons and Foolish Elves to
make sure the editor had taste, but I
grabbed The Amazons of Somelon
(1981) by Raymond Kaminski without noting
anything except that I'd didn't remember
having read anything by this author. Had I
read even the blurb, I'd have seen that the
book aspired to soft porn and achieved
diluted porn, of the rip-off-body-parts
school. The author attempted fine writing,
drama, suspense, SF, and high fantasy; most
of these efforts were merely silly, but a
few rose to irrelevance. It did have a
passable plot; at least I knew when I'd
gotten to the end, which you can't count on
in modern writing. The publisher didn't
help the poor boy any. The book was stuffed
with such errors as "wretched" where the
author had probably said "retched", and the
sun "peaked" at least twice when it was far
from maximum brilliance.
@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@
13 September 1995
I was surprised to wake up and find it
raining. It's a wonder that I remembered to
close the vents on the Jeep.
I suppose I'll have to resume mowing the
lawn now, and I hadn't gotten around to
cultivating the garden after the September
Century rain.
Supposed to be wet again tomorrow.
Arachne
The Destiny of the Sword, Book Three
of the Seventh Sword, Dave Duncan
(1988). I had this one pegged as good for
reading in bed because you don't mind
putting it down, but toward the end, when
I'd collected some of the background given
in the previous volumes, it picked up.
Department of You've Come a Long Way Baby:
Sword depicts an oppressive,
authoritarian sexist society --in which boys
and girls alike are expected to apprentice
to a profession and earn rank.
Moreover, when a female swordsman applies
for promotion, they not only don't take her
sword away so she won't hurt herself, and
don't beat up on her mentor for putting her
in harm's way, they offer only token
resistance to conducting the exam.
More You've Come a Long Way: the girl
passes the skill test, then flunks the orals
-- and not even in the eyes of the
chauvinist elder swordsmen does it reflect
badly on all females. They assure her that
learning the "sutras" is tough, and she
should try again!
Near the end of the book, I thought of
writing the color code for the ranks inside
the back cover, but found only six of the
eight. Slaves, zero status, wear black.
Apprentices ("firsts") wear white. Third is
brown, fifth is red, sixth is green, and
Lords of the Seventh wear blue.
One of the remaining two slots is yellow.
That leaves purple, orange, and gray for the
other. None seems probable. Gray for
second and yellow for fourth? That would
make fourth the only rank to match the
resistor code. (Slaves don't count.)
18 September 1995
I read "Harlequin Omnibus 46" a few weeks
ago, and was much surprised to see
"Harlequinn" on three novels by Essie
Summers. I guess Harlequin wasn't always
the disreputable publisher that it is now.
So I read all three, though I'd read
"South Island Stowaway" before. It isn't
vintage Summers, but 1971, 1971, and 1973
were before she started writing in the
modern style, and it was nice to read a
romance that hadn't been sliced at inter
vals to insert copulation scenes.
The book gave me a nasty shock, though.
Summer's characters are all Christians, but
they never proselytize at each other the way
fictional Christians often do; they take it
for granted that families love each other
and pray together. While noticing that, I
realized that one all-too-common form of
"Christian" literature precisely matches
pornography! Both genres assume that they
offer something so wonderful that the author
needn't bother with plausibility,
storytelling, character, effective language,
and the like.
I don't recall anything in either
Testament that says that laziness and lack
of grace are virtues.
@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@
It rained yesterday, while we still had
some of the previous rain left, but I don't
think I'll switch the laundry pump from the
hose back to the septic tank quite yet.
I finished my gray, gray-and-white, and
white three-cornered shawl yesterday. The
three balls of yarn were precisely the same
weight, with a little white borrowed from a
fourth ball to finish the bind-off, but I've
got a gray shawl with a wide speckled stripe
and a narrow white edging. Looks elegant on
the couch; I'm tempted to make another --
I've just figured out another way to work
the long edge.
19 September 1995
Ever since buying the Jeep, I've been
wondering what they call that sort of dark
reddish light chocolate color. Today was a
good drying day, and as I was coming back
from dropping off Margie's mail, I happened
to walk with my shadow pointing at the jeep.
Under bright sunlight hitting square, it's
definitely maroon.
24 September 1995
Played computer games until it was time
for bed, then opened "Split Mittens," a
leaflet manuscript I started a year or two
ago, and now it's 1:25.
I rode with Dave to the Albany County
Fireman's convention in Coeymans' Hollow
today. The passenger seat in 2370 was
not intended for long drives.
Burned eleven gallons of fuel: big truck.
Dave took a bath in diesel oil while
refilling it: egad! His dress uniform is
still in the washing machine, unrinsed.
And I thought I was on my way up to bed.
That stuff might run if I leave it all
night.
29 September 1995
Dave's uniform doesn't seem to have
stained, but I think I'll leave his shoes
out for a few more days before I put them
back into the box. The smell is faint, but
it's still there.
Been a busy week, as you can tell from
the lack of communication. Quite a lot of
it caused by the fire department. The day
after the parade, I drove to Greene County
for a picnic after the Golf Outing. Minja
had an emergency, so I was the only wife to
show up. Good food, though.
They had to order parts to repair the
brakes on my Jeep, so I've been getting lots
of exercise, too.
I carefully had a prior committment when
our Auxilliary had a Tupperware party -- no,
it was "Pampered Chef"; the same idea. When
someone called to say that we should pay
Onesquethaw back for coming to our party, by
car-pooling to their craft fair, I readily
agreed to be at the firehouse at 7:30 the
next Wednesday. Either the Jeep hadn't gone
in yet, or I still thought it was a minor
operation. So the day before yesterday I
packed a shopping bag and the contents of my
purse into the fanny pack, dressed up in my
Reflect-A-Lite bands, which were still on
the coat hook where I left them five or ten
years ago, wore my red coat so we could find
each other at the fair, and walked to the
fire house. Then walked almost as far in
the parking lot while waiting for my ride,
then weeded most of the flowerbed in front.
Had one handful of weeds left when Kay and
Laura showed. My watch was fifteen minutes
fast, they were late, and I was about to
start home.
It wasn't a craft fair, it was "Country
Fare," a Tupperware-style outfit selling
rumpled teddy bears and lamps made of Ball
jars. Thought at first I'd buy a five-
dollar Christmas-tree ornament and get rid
of it in the Auxiliary gift exchange, but I
found a pair of tiebacks for fifteen
(nineteen with tax and handling), and I've
been meaning to get tiebacks for years now.
Got only one pair, though. I think I'll put
them on the front window in the office.
Assuming that I ever get them. Didn't
establish that I don't have to attend
Onesquethaw's next meeting to collect.
At lunch yesterday, Dave said he needed
fifty copies of the by-laws changes, and I'd
just got WEB#44 ready to take to to the
library and make sixty copies, so I
volunteered, and having promised, I had to
go. I decided that I might as well go the
long way around; I've been meaning for weeks
to get some grated cheese at Falvo's and a
spool of thread at Country Cottons Beyond
the Tollgate, and I've just finished writing
"Old Shale Corner: Beginner's Lace," so I
wanted to frisk the magazines at Stonewell
for a copy of Knitters' World. Don't think
I've looked hard enough at Super Value,
since some of the books I bought at the
thrift shop have Super Value stickers on
them, and I haven't seen paperbacks there
either. Last couple of times I was in
there, I was either in a hurry or wearing
cleats.
It was also the last day I could shop at
LeVie's produce stand this summer.
By the time I got the copies, I was so
tired that I couldn't persuade myself to
backtrack to Super Value without sternly
reflecting on the lesson learned when Dave
and I decided we were too tired to walk an
extra mile just for a chance to cook the
powdered eggs that were all the food we had
left.
Arriving home, I steamed an ear of corn
and warmed over the macaroni-cheese-and-
Spam casserole. Then I suited up again --
wearing my yellow windbreaker this time, for
the sake of visibility -- and walked to the
firehouse for the calendar drive's envelope-
stuffing party. Rejected an Auxiliary
meeting and a Thursday Night Poets meeting
in favor of this event.
As I had thought, walking a mile or two
didn't hurt me a bit -- but doing it two
days in a row did. I'm not sore, but my
legs woke up very, very tired today.
We've got a stuffed mailbox, if it hasn't
gone yet. After lunch, I stuffed forty-
eight envelopes with by-laws changes, and
about as many with Writers' Exchange
Bulletin #44.
I had only thirty-seven first-class
stamps, including several revolting "love"
stamps that I'd not yet used up on bills. I
went to the post office on Tuesday, having
taken two letters to the library to
photocopy the enclosure in one for the
other, and looked at the stamp display, but
never thought that WEB was about due. I was
tempted to borrow stamps from the firehouse,
but Dave uses roll stamps and wouldn't
cotton to being paid back in sheet stamps.
And I wouldn't cotton to using up the rest
of a roll, when I want so few.
I probably could make it to the post
office before they close, but I'm not in
enough of a hurry to get up and go now.
Besides, I've still got wash on the line.
Probably time to bring in the blacks and
the shirts.
1 October 1995
I borrowed the Saab for a rush trip to
the post office Saturday -- and forgot to
take the two Canadian letters with me. I
can't remember from one issue to the next
how much it is to Canada, and would be
afraid to assume that there had been no
changes in the previous two months if I
could remember.
Bought some more of the merry-go- round
stamps, as you can see. They're pretty, but
there's no fun to "pretty" stamps when you
don't have the option of using plain old no-
comment stamps.
The parts for the Jeep came in, and they
expect to repair it tomorrow. I'm not sure
where it is; I left it at the Saab place,
but they took it to a Jeep place.
I'd better find out where the Jeep place
is, since future repairs won't be under
warranty. Forgot that the tailgate won't
respond to the key, but suspect that a shot
of control cleaner is all it needs. It's
easier to unlock the tailgate with the
drivers' door switch, so it's likely that
it's stiff from disuse. Power locks are one
luxury-car feature that have my whole-
hearted approval. Push one button and
all the doors lock. I'd be as
gung-ho about power mirrors, were it not
that Dave and I happen to take the same
setting for the right-side mirror, so
neither of us messes it up for the other.
I don't think I've tried to open the
passenger door with the key.
Arachne
At the thrift shop -- which really has
closed for the winter, now, and I never got
around to going back to the village for the
close-out and bazaar after buying stamps
last Saturday -- books are five for a
dollar, and I always find at least three
books that I want, so it's not surprising
that I bought a copy of "Pebble in the Sky"
(Isaac Asimov, 1950) even though I read it
many years ago. May have been recent when I
read it. I was surprised at how little I
remembered, only the tailor stepping over a
Raggedy Ann doll when the beam struck, and
the bit about the gibberish no longer being
gibberish -- which was chapters later than I
thought it was.
The book has at least ten times too many
improbable co-incidences to be taken
seriously, and despite the frequent scenes
of the security chief drawing extravagant
conclusions from random events, there isn't
the least trace of humor -- yet I remained
interested in the tale from beginning to
end. @@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@
When last at the thrift shop, I found a
piece of piqu‚ that matched the one I bought
on the previous trip, and a lovely paisley
on a soft synthetic that I just had to have
though I can't think of a use for it. Was
thinking of a blouse, but there might be
enough for a dress.
Went to put the piqu‚ away, and couldn't
find the previous piece. I suppose it won't
matter until I think of a use for it.
4 October 1995
Still haven't put Dave's parade shoes
away. Maybe I should just stick two bags of
soda in them and go ahead.
Glorious industry! At four in the
afternoon, I find that my list of things to
do today is all on one page of the calendar.
I'm not so sure about tomorrow.
8 October 1995
I kept saying it was loyal...
Friday, the day before yesterday, I went
out to mail a letter and buy some apples.
When I came home, the Toyota was parked in
the driveway. I waited eagerly for Dave to
come home and explain this phenomenon. When
he did come home, the first words out of his
mouth were "What is the Toyota doing in our
driveway?"
We figure Darryl gave up trying to sell
it for us.
I think it funny that Darryl can drive it
and we can't. He has a license plate he can
stick on with a magnet.
Pity we're so far from the family. It's
a perfect car for getting a kid to school.
Reliable, cheap, four-wheel drive -- and too
ugly to vroom with.
We saw an ad telling how much a
new Jeep Cherokee Laredo costs.
Whoosh!
The Jeep and the school tax happened
about the same time, so we are withdrawing
money with unaccustomed caution.
Dave drove the Jeep today, and I drove
the Saab, because he had to carry shells and
other stuff to the shoot. (He won a pizza.)
He came home tonight and said he'd
discovered a strange thing: if you turn the
ignition off before you turn the headlights
off, the headlights won't turn off. I'd
already discovered that one night when
dashing in for milk at the Mobile station.
I told him the manual says "that's not a
bug, it's a feature." He took some
convincing, as had I. It makes a lot more
sense when it's the dome light that stays on
for a few seconds than when it's the
headlights that stay on for a few minutes.
I guess it's good to get trained to make
sure the lights are off before I turn off
the ignition.
And I suppose there are conceivable
situations when you would want the lights to
stay on while you walk away from the car.
10 October 1995
Yesterday was Columbus Day Observed, but
the trashmen came today anyway. Luckily, I
saw Margie's trash, forgot the holiday, and
carried ours out.
We celebrated Columbus Day by burying the
cable we were going to plant during the
spring rains. I'd been hosing the streak
for days, and then we got three days of
rain, so it was fairly easy -- after I
remembered how to poke a cable into a slit.
I found a square bluestone flag among our
spare rocks, big enough to cover the cable
and extend under the faucet to set buckets
on. Also a long, narrow trapezoidal flag to
cover the cable as it passes from the
flowerbed into the grass, and a small,
diamondish-shape flag to mark the middle of
the cable. Perhaps I won't dig up this one!
Also, it crosses the flowerbed instead of
running along it. Dave ran a PVC pipe
through the foundation from the basement, so
he can put his radio anywhere there's a
convector to conceal a hole in the floor.
I moved the garlic chives while they were
still in full bloom, in preparation for this
event, and they promptly fell over. Thought
the brutal division had done them in, but
now the clump that I didn't move looks
exactly the same as the two I made from the
other one. The heavy seed heads are pulling
the stems over. Aside from that, they still
look good; new flowers keep opening among
the seed pods.
There was also a clump of madonna lilies
where I wanted to put the stone slab. The
lily beds being full, I put them in a row at
the edge of the weed garden around the big
oak. They seem to be flourishing; that was
before the three days of rain. I carried
water out today, then brought in the leaky
tub I'd been using to meter water onto the
wisteria and the culinary chives. The
chives seem to have settled in, and the
wisteria is either dead or dormant.
Strange vine. I can't make it bloom, I
can't kill it, and I can't move it. No
matter how much root I dig up, any plant
moved to the weed garden drops dead. Let a
rootless stem touch the ground in the flower
bed and sproing! -- but not even the
smallest of the new vines will transplant.
Ah, well, the occasional attempt slows
the takeover of the lily bed.
13 October 1995
Saw a UPS man in his summer uniform
today. Was tempted to ask whether he'd got
it out of mothballs.
That was in Guilderland. Spent a while
in Book House without finding Split Heirs
or a manual for Eudora, but bought the
second volume in the triplanetary trilogy,
Empire of Shadow. On the way from
Kimline Pet Shop to Paradise Foods, I
stopped at the newsstand that is rumored to
have "everything from Playboy to Scientific
American, and a considerable distance on
both sides." I saw the Scientific American,
but not Playboy -- I think they have a
section behind the cigarettes for that --
and I didn't find Knitter's World. There
was a dearth of knitting 'zines of any sort;
I'm beginning to be afraid that KW has
ceased publication. If so, what shall I do
with "Old Shale Corner"? The one knitting
publication I saw, a Woman's Day's annual,
didn't look like a market, so I didn't buy a
copy.
With the barbershop gone, even the bagel
bakery in Stuyvesant Plaza has gone yuppy;
sun-dried tomato bagels, egad. (They're not
bad with ratatoule.) The Book House is the
only reason to go there now.
Price Chopper didn't have Knitter's
World, and had White castles only in the
little three-serving boxes. But the cat
litter was as expected. I do wish I could
buy it directly from a sawmill; I'm sure it
would be much cheaper.
19 October 1995
Grump. The noise of Margie's lawn mowers
moved me to garden work, so I went out to
haul some more of my pile of pine needles
onto the asparagus bed.
They'd gathered up that "trash" and
disposed of it. It was on our side of the
line, but they mow to the telephone pole.
I suppose I ought to get out and start
re-mowing the lawn before the leaves get any
thicker.
Bummer of a trip to the stationery store
Tuesday. Over the weekend, I got to
thinking it was nearly time to replenish my
supplies of #10 and 9x12 envelopes, and
Dave's last pocket protector has duct tape
on it, so on Monday I phoned in Erica's
prescription, thinking to pick it up on my
way to the area's last stationer Tuesday
morning.
I fiddle-faddled around so long it was
about 11:00 when I sat down in the Jeep,
turned the key, and it responded Rr r r r...
So I dragged out the bike, and started
re-getting ready to leave. Dave came home
to be fed before I'd left. After lunch, he
said I could use the Saab, because he was
coming down with something and didn't mean
to go back to work. I think maybe I'm
catching it, but I forgot to go to bed last
night, which could account for the headache,
and as for the stiff neck, read on.
I had finished changing clothes by then,
so I rode off on the bike. Not being
certain that I wouldn't feel like stopping
at Toll Gate to call for a pickup, I
conserved energy all the way to the vet's.
Bought pills, remounted, headed for
Delmar. Gave Bethlehem Library a pass on
account of wanting to get home by dark; also
passed a sign saying "farmers market today,"
because I had an errand to run and didn't
feel that I had time to explore side
streets. But I did veer up onto the
sidewalk just before the Four Corners, to
take a closer look at "I Love Books."
The shop window dissuaded me from going
in, and I attempted to get back on the road
without dismounting. There was a ramp down
from the curb, and I waited by it for a hole
in the traffic. Perhaps I turned the front
wheel the wrong way for the slope; at any
rate, after that horrible instant when you
know you can't stop what's about to happen,
I went down as stiff as a felled tree. My
helmet made a horrible crack on the
sidewalk, summoning an old gentleman,
perhaps from the Delmar Bootery, so I had to
get up and converse when I wanted to rest on
the sidewalk for a while.
I do pick the awkwardest places for these
events, though this scene definitely beats
that of my previous crash: the puddle of oil
in the left-turn lane of 155 at Western.
Wish I could remember what year that was, so
I'd know whether it was before or after I
developed that not-numb patch on my left
thigh. It was before I started keeping a
computer copy of my diary, so it will be far
from easy to find it even if I mentioned it.
(Was just before a long trip in the Fiero,
so I might have been busy.) Injuries this
time seem to be trivial. My head was sore
where I'd hit the helmet lining & I worried
about concussion, but the bruise healed up
before I got home. My neck was sore on the
opposite side that night, presumably from
the violent stretch, and this morning it was
stiff all around. It seems to have worked
out during the day, though it still hurts to
turn my head to its extreme limits. (I
paused this narration a few paragraphs back
and mowed the leaves off most of the front
lot. While I was doing that, Dave went to
Sears, bought a new battery, and installed
it in the Jeep.)
In the course of assessing my condition,
I told my worried attendant I was headed for
the stationer, and he told me they had
closed. I went there anyway. There was a
sign on the door saying that their copy
machine was now at the frame shop, so I
paused in front of the frame shop enter
taining a foolish notion of asking them
whether they had pocket protectors, then
went into Steiner's Ski and Bike. Mostly
ski right now, but there was some mountain
bike stuff. I took a desultory glance at
the shoes.
I swerved onto a side road instead of
going back under the railroad, because I
vaguely recalled having found a footpath
across the tracks to one of the dead-end
streets off Kenwood, and I don't like going
through Four Corners. The road was wider
and better-kept than I remembered, and I was
surprised by a full-fledged grade crossing
onto Adams street. Perhaps the road I
remember is the part beyond Adams. I took
Adams, and found a farmers market and thrift
shop going on at a church on the other side
of Kenwood. It was the one the sign on
Delaware had been pointing to. I attended,
but found nothing of interest. Judging by
the number of chickens on the grill, they
were expecting a crowd later on.
At Toll Gate, a bike rider went through
the light on 85 just before it turned green
for Kenwood. He was flapping with the
effort of climbing in high gear, so I
conserved energy harder to be sure I
wouldn't get too close. When well away from
the intersection, I set out to reel him in,
but I'd let him get several blocks ahead,
and didn't want to use my overdrive this far
from home, so he was still only
intermittently in sight when we got to
Stonewell, where he went straight and I
turned to go through the village.
Started running out of gas in
Voorheesville; should have bought some baked
goods at the farmer's market. Got home in
good shape, except for seeing two yellow
cats by the road, one in the village and one
near the high school. Neither looked like
Erica, but I felt nervous until I'd counted
our herd.
When I undressed, my Halt was missing. I
presume that it's on the sidewalk in front
of the Delmar Bootery.
I think Erica's pills are still in my
windbreaker in the pannier.
While I was taking a bath after the ride,
a couple named Ives dropped in and bought
the Toyota. The husband came back yesterday
and towed it away. Seemed like an
undignified way to go, but they had no
plates for it yet.
20 October 1995
Went out to plant garlic, and ended up
cultivating the entire garden instead. But
when I do plant it, there are enough late-
fallen needles on this side of the telephone
pole to mulch the elephant garlic.
I'm glad Big Brother doesn't send
inspectors to see whether you've been taking
care of yourself. My neck is still a little
sore under the left ear, and when I was
mowing the lawn, I walked into the stub of a
branch and got a scabby bruise on my scalp.
Then I noticed a dirt spot on Fred, and Fred
noticed my intentions. When I grabbed him,
only his tail was in range. This incensed
him enough that when I started to pick him
up, he accelerated out of there by pushing
one of his five-clawed back feet against my
left hand. Somehow, only one of them got
me, but it got me deep.
He's still got a gray spot on his chin.
22 October 1995
Got Fred later, but the gray spot didn't
come off with plain water. It's going to
have to grow out. The claw mark is half as
long as it was.
In Colonie, I kept saying "this is going
to make a three-page entry in the Banner,"
but I don't think I can remember all the
forthings and backings.
Several years ago, when the chairs we
bought at Sears first started wearing out, I
went back to buy more, but they weren't
selling them any more. The furniture shops
were selling only dining-room sets, and I
never found anything in second-hand stores,
but never thought of Sears again because I'd
been there. And I never go to Colonie
Center for other stuff because I have to
drive through a bigger mall to get there.
The last surviving chair of the old set is
in terrible shape and I was feeling
desperate when I noticed some folding chairs
and dining sets in a Sears circular, and
realized that they were in the furniture
business again.
Yesterday, Saturday, it was too wet to
work outside, the jeep starts reliably now,
& I thought it a fine time to drive to
Colonie Center, maybe also cross the street
to get a saucepan at Lechmere and use my
junk-mail "free membership" to see if
there's anything worth looking at in BJ's
Wholesale club. Ran upstairs to change
pants -- I've forgotten to put the pants I'm
wearing into the wash three times in a row
now, and I don't want to be seen in them.
Picked up my heavy, all-cotton "bull denim"
pants, looked out the window & considered
wearing the gray imitation wool, but the
gray pants are a trifle tight and I wouldn't
be out in the light rain longer than it took
to run to the door of the store.
On the way, I became keenly aware, as the
rain fluctuated, that I can't adjust the
windshield-wipers without looking at the
"multi-function stalk." The Toyota didn't
have as many choices, but I could get at
them.
Found the parking lot surprisingly roomy,
for a Saturday. Couldn't be the rain,
because the roads were crowded. Parked near
Sears, went in, saw the bikes, asked,
hopelessly, for a helmet with a D- ring
buckle (I'm getting tired of wearing my
chinstrap almost not loose.)
Decided that I'd better first visit the
ladies' room; found "employees only" on the
door that used to lead to the washrooms;
asked in the furniture department, and was
sent back downstairs to the bicycles. After
finding the ladies' room, I decided that I
also needed a piece of candy or something.
Got all the way to the food court before
finding anything edible, so I had a
submarine -- this extra walk was a bit of
luck, as it turned out.
So I wended back to Sears, looked at
everything in the furniture department,
showed the picture of the folding chair-
and-table set to a clerk, was directed to
another area where there was, as I'd hoped,
a whole wall of side chairs. On closer
inspection, they turned out to be all the
same chair, in rush seat or solid, dyed or
natural. The plain chair suited, and after
a test sit (seat too high, but if it isn't,
the table will be too high), I bought a
pair. Got them for $78 and change instead
of $49 each; Sears is going out of the side
chair business.
The clerk had some trouble with the order
number, perhaps owing to the close- out
sale, so she counted the slats in the
chair's back, went to the stock room, tore
open a box, and looked. She gave me a
receipt to claim them at the loading door,
and told me to tell the pick-up clerk that I
wanted the torn-up box in the aisle. (I
told him, but it wasn't there any more.)
I went out to pull around to the package
pick-up, and found the right front tire
flatter than a flitter. I went back in,
asked where the phones were, called home --
Dave wasn't in. Went back out -- rain had
eased off to light mist. Much heartened, I
got out the driver's manual, put a bookmark
in "wheel changing," found the jack and lug
wrench, got the spare off its holder. Now
chock the back wheel. My chocks had gone
with the Toyota, and there was nothing
remotely usable in the car. Back to the
phone on the other side of the store.
As I was passing through the tent on my
way to the building, I looked at the display
of toolboxes and said "I can buy chocks
here!" I made an about face, and hiked over
to the Sears Auto Service Center. He said
that chocks were in the main store in the
hardware department, so I hiked back again.
Found only folding steel chocks. Was
discomfitted at first, then realized that I
could probably fit them into that teensy
space under the back seat with the jack and
the lug wrench, so they would be better than
the solid plastic kind. Decided while I was
inside to call Dave again; he was still out,
so I called the pizza parlor, got him, and
told him what the situation was.
When I came back out, the rain had given
up on the buckets and was using fire hoses,
with gusty wind. I waited on the porch as
long as I could stand it, then waded out to
the car. This time, there was a river
running through the tent sale, and the tent
wasn't doing much to keep the merchandise
dry. I sat in the car and read the manual
until convinced that the rain wasn't going
to let up, then chocked the wheel, popped
the hubcap off, and proceeded to the part
where you crack the lugs loose on account of
they are harder to loosen when the wheel is
free to turn, not to mention that you don't
want to exert much force on a car
precariously perched on a jack.
They wouldn't budge. I tried and tried,
but they wouldn't budge. Finally I went to
the Service Center and asked them, but they
don't do road service or towing. The clerk
suggested that I call the AAA. All I have
is an AARP Motor card, and I hadn't the
foggiest what it does, but she lent me a
phone. A few minutes of panic before I
discovered that I'd put my deck of cards
into the wrong pocket of my wallet after
calling Dave.
After some confusion -- I was trying to
tell the ARRP operator I was in Colonie
Center when she wanted to know what state I
was in -- she called Central Service & said
he'd be along in forty-five minutes.
I said I'd meet him at the Service
Center, which is easy to find. I paced back
and forth, went to the door and wrung my
hat, and paced some more. In considerably
less than forty-five minutes, I noticed
flashing lights through the rain and ran
across the parking lots to find the Central
guy already there. He was exceedingly
polite and considerate, even when I thought
I'd left my AARP card by the Service Center
phone (It turned up in an odd pocket of my
purse while I was hunting for a piece of
metal.) He insisted that I stay in the
truck and keep dry (I said, "well, warm!")
while he popped back and forth trying to get
my car going. I opened the door on the
downwind side and wrung my hat out again.
He couldn't get the lugs off either. One
of them had such banged-up corners that he
couldn't loosen it with the tools he had, so
he towed me to the Service Center and said
that AARP would take care of him. He didn't
complain when a bottle of Arizona he'd left
on the seat rolled out after me and smashed
on the floor. A Sears employee swept away
the bits of glass I couldn't pick up, but I
fear that the driver missed the sugar-water
later in that cold, wet shift. After
unhooking the car, he started to drive away,
then called me back to get the hat I'd left
on the dashboard. I did remember to pick up
the left-over bobby pins. (While attempting
to make the lug wrench work, he'd used
pieces of bobby pin as shims.)
Sears wanted $5 plus tax, which I thought
extremely cheap. By then I was wringing my
hands, partly because I was afraid I'd
literally chill out if I stopped moving.
Dripping wet cotton in October is no joke
even when you can get out of the wind. This
was one of the few times that I've been glad
that I'm fat.
I ate a quarter's worth of M&Ms in the
waiting room, and drained a bit. I was
surprised when they called me for the car,
even though I'd joked that they'd move me up
in line because I was blocking the door.
(The tow truck got out, so it can't have
been too much in the way.)
Thence, finally, to the Package Pick Up.
I looked at the trunk, now holding a full-
sized wheel, and decided to make room for
the package after I saw how big it was. I
assumed that I'd be loading it myself and
that it could sit on their porch while I was
rearranging things. A clerk followed me out
and, not wanting to stand there ten or
twenty minutes, he put the box on top of the
tire. As I was backing out, I saw -- or
rather didn't see -- that this
Absolutely Will Not Do. I found another
parking space as quickly as possible, let
down the back seat, and rolled the box of
chairs off the huge tire. (It looks like
something off a truck.)
And thence straight to the wrong exit,
the left-turn exit. Fortunately, going
straight ahead into Northway Mall was an
option, so I found their left-turn exit --
checking the signs twice -- and headed for
155.
And missed it in the early dark and the
slashing rain, with half my mind on not
bumping that toy tire. Became more and more
uneasy, thinking that businesses are never
that far apart on the expensive land between
Wolf Road and 155. Became firmly convinced
that I'd missed the turn when I spotted a
Salvation Army Thrift Store. Had I known
there was one that easy to get to, I'd have
visited it. I'd seen "Central Ave." in the
phone book, but had thought it was
Albanyward of Wolf, not Schenectadyward of
155.
So I got off the road the first chance I
saw, which happened to be the parking lot of
"The Gentlemen's Club." It was more than
plain that this was not a club for
gentlemen. Heaven only knows what the man
that I nearly hit as he was backing his
pickup out the driveway thought I was doing
there. (The defroster was taking care of
the windshield, but I could see to the side
only by rolling down a window.)
Well, I saw, upon trying to leave by the
entrance, that I'd come in by the out door.
I turned around and got back onto the side
road, and managed to get back onto Central
with no further incident, though somewhat
more rambunctiously than was comfortable
with an emergency tire on the right front.
Since I was planning to turn right, I had to
drive in the lane where the potholes are,
all of them hitting the right- front tire.
I watched for 155 with paranoid intensity.
Was thinking "almost there!" all the way
down 155. When I got to the last stoplight,
I reflected that even though the tunnel
hadn't been flooded when I left, leaves are
falling, we'd been getting our whole
summer's ration of rain in one day, and my
luck hadn't been running well. I went
through the village, slowed down even more
than usual for the first track -- and got to
the second grade crossing just seconds
before a train did. Settled in, tried to
adjust the heater to blow some hot air on me
-- and here came the tail. That was the
shortest train I've ever seen at that
crossing.
Got home, opened the passenger door to
get my purse, and the driver's manual fell
into a puddle. I left the purse and dashed
inside to dry the manual. Left it wrapped
in a dish towel under a cutting board all
night, and it doesn't seem to have taken
much harm.
I'd gotten almost all my clothes off --
every stitch was still wringing wet, except
my hat, which had been wrung -- when the
phone rang. Dave said he'd been calling
every ten minutes. Having gotten
considerably less tired with the removal of
my cold clothing, I told him I'd try to have
clothes on and the cats fed by the time he
got here, an hour later than our usual date
for pizza.
I was pleased that I'd worn my older pair
of shoes -- and how tickled I was that I had
a dry pair to change into! It hasn't been
so long since I had nothing but sneaks that
would stand up to walking in the rain, let
alone shoes to change into after I had.
Nearly couldn't find my purse when Dave
picked me up. I'd thrown a sack of cat
litter on it when putting the back seat
down.
This time I wore the gray slacks. Didn't
think to put a sweat shirt on, though, and
was trying to warm up over the neon sign
while we waited for the pizza. It was after
midnight before I threw off one of the
blankets I had piled on the bed, and even
then, I kept my hands under the pillows.
Last time I looked, my shoes were still
wet.
Dave says that he'll take the tire to a
repair place across the street from R&P
tomorrow. I think I'll use the bike to run
out for bread and milk.
I can drag it under shelter to change a
tube -- and a quick release never gets
rounded corners.
Today's paper said it was only an inch of
rain. I think I got more than that on
me, and I was out in only a tiny
fraction of it.
The storm must have veered around the
airport; the rain was patchy.
23 October 1995
I picked a fine day to wash my blue-
denim pants. Everything else on my list of
things to do is dirty work.
My everyday shoes are still too damp to
wear, and the gray pants were handiest when
I took off the denims, then I threw my gray
lace shawl around my chilly shoulders --
every time I see a mirror, I think that I
ought to run up and put my best blouse on.
Dave brought the tire back when he came
home for lunch. There was nothing wrong
with it but that the rim-seal was broken,
which might have happened because it went
flat, not the other way around. Can't think
of anything but somebody letting the air out
on purpose -- but kneeling in the rain long
enough to let it all out, and then
neatly replacing the valve cap?
When trying to remove a lug nut as a
sample, I discovered that I don't need a new
lug wrench --just enough common sense to
step on the old one!
I popped off the other three hub caps,
and we learned that I need three new lug
nuts, not just one. Dave offered to buy
them.
You don't have to bang Cherokee caps to
put them back; just push firmly and they
snap in. The retainer is divided into a
bunch of little flaps, so that spring,
rather than friction, holds the cap on.
My blue pants are much improved in
appearance.
I've worn them nearly every day since
Thanksgiving and they are getting shabby,
but they aren't the least bit frayed at the
bottom of the pocket opening. Appliqu‚ing
an inch of quarter-inch twill tape to the
inside before sewing the seam worked
perfectly.
24 October 1995
Tuesday -- it's good to be back to Trash
Day being the big news.
A few days ago I thought I'd better put
voting on my calendar. I turned to the
appropriate day, typed a note at the
beginning of the list of things to do -- and
then it read "election day, take out the
trash."
Would that we could.
Dave is going to spot me while I put the
remounted tire back on. I have discovered
that I need to carry a brick to set the jack
on. I think the new lug nuts will obviate
the hammer to get the wrench loose.
Also have learned that the hinge in the
wrench isn't just to make it fit into the
teensy space under the seat. When the
handle touches the pavement, you can reverse
the bend and turn the wrench through another
half circle without taking it off the lug.
Dave kept asking me whether I'd hit a
curb. Later I realized that I wouldn't
remember hitting a pothole a trifle larger
than usual, and there are plenty of those
between here and Colonie Center.
Shucks. Danny came out to see what I was
doing to the Jeep, and I didn't think to ask
him how Margie was doing.
25 October 1995
I decided that since my older shoes had
had a good bath, it would be a good time to
give them another coat of dye -- but I
didn't have to let them get
completely dry first. It takes a day for
the dye to dry, so today was the first time
I could polish them.
When Dave came home for lunch today, we
took the emergency tire off and put the
repaired tire on. Nothing to it!
Next time I get a flat, I'll do it on a
nice sunny day.
And I'll have chocks for the wheel and a
concrete brick to put under the jack.
Decided that with the new lugs, I could
leave the mason's hammer at home.
The new lugs are too short; I should go
to a Jeep dealer and get some that are more
comfortable to turn. As I was socking them
down, I thought maybe I couldn't do it if I
was cold and tired and the lugs and wrench
was slippery and wet.
Got the garlic planted yesterday -- a
much more restrained plantation than in
previous years. I have all three varieties
in a single row about two-thirds the length
of the garden.
26 October 1995
Arachne
"The Bookworm" touted an Andre Norton
Story, and it must have worked, because it's
out every time I look for it. The last time
I was at the library, I took Anne
McCaffrey's The Girl Who Heard Dragons
instead.
It's a collection disguised as a novel,
in the modern way. This book goes the
fashion one worse: the cover is carefully
designed to attract only people who will be
bitterly disappointed to discover that only
the title story takes place on Pern. None
of the others even mentions dragons, Pernish
or otherwise. I checked it out because a
sample had me wondering how any era of Pern
could sound so much like the ante-bellum
American South.
Tor was so fearful that you'd catch on
before getting the hardcover home that they
didn't even disguise the story titles as
chapter heads, but had the author on every
left page and the collection title on every
right page. Makes it very difficult to find
a particular story.
And the publishers wonder why collections
don't sell!
The title story reads like fan fiction:
additions to a universe written by fans who
want to write themselves into the story.
Good fan fiction, but it's easy to see why
"The Girl Who Heard Dragons" isn't in a Pern
collection.
The other stories are scattered all over
the lot; SF, fantasy, literary, historical
fantasy, two retold fairy tales...
I'd read the first fairy tale, "A
sleeping Humpty Dumpty Beauty," somewhere
before, but Tor's frantic efforts to
disguise the collection as a novel prevented
them from telling me where. They didn't
even put multiple dates in the copyright
notice, which sounds dangerous to me.
They did include a table of
contents.
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27 October 1995
The guy who just came out of Margie's
house wearing a black OSHA belt got into a
truck labeled "White Home Health Care."
I knew she'd been sent home to die, but
didn't expect her to be this bad this soon.
Maybe he had delivered a bed?
When I returned the collection,
Elvenbane was finally in. By "and
Mercedes Lackey." Norton appears, of late,
to be making her living by renting her name
to promising newcomers. A good deal all
around, if she's careful to pick good
storytellers. I vaguely recall noting
"Mercedes Lackey" as a name I need not
remember, but we shall see.
I've taken the book upstairs for bedtime
reading.
Got some exercise getting the book, but
this time it was a cockpit error. I got
dressed up in my newly-polished shoes, put
the gas can in the jeep, started the engine
-- and moved off with a horrible screech.
Since this was the first time the Jeep had
been moved since the tire change, I
panicked, and didn't move it any farther
than to back out of the bottleneck. Might
not have done that were it not for
the constant traffic of health-care aides.
Re-dressed, cancelled the gas can -- I'd
originally intended
28 October 1995
to fetch the gasoline by bike, but I'd
fiddled around until we urgently needed
bread, milk, and other edibles, and the gas
can has to go on top. The gas wouldn't
contaminate the food, but I cringe at the
thought of putting food and gasoline in that
kind of proximity.
As I rolled out the driveway, I rehearsed
how I would tell Dave about it -- and found
that the best way to describe the noise was
"like brakes squealing."
Dave thinks the parking brake was made to
squeal on purpose; if so, I think it
excellent engineering.
Went to the Auxiliary meeting by silent
Jeep that night. Where I learned the dates
of the next two meetings.
I'm wearing the same red shirt that bled
on my underwear last Saturday, and it's
raining gently. I have no intention of
going anywhere.
Except maybe to the Mobil station.
Arachne
Read Elvenbane yesterday when I
should have been sewing. Good competent job
of storytelling, though nothing like the
high fantasy promised on the jacket. (When
will publishers be held to truth in
advertising?) Not as magical as Norton at
her best, but nowhere near as embarrassing
as Norton at her worst.
Usual orphan-finds-a-place-in-the-world
story, in a fantasy universe that would read
like science fiction had Mercedes been a bit
more careful with the reproduction of her
elves. Beings that live for centuries might
produce offspring that mature at the same
rate as humans -- but there were too many
children on the scene, and Lord Dyran was in
too big a hurry to get an heir.
Rings a few interesting changes on elves,
wizards, and dragons. Many a tale has
powerful elves vanishing or hiding when
humans invade, but in this one, sidhe-like
creatures have invaded an Earth-like planet
and conquered a human race. I don't think
I've heard of shape-changing dragons before,
and Lackey thought about such considerations
as conservation of mass.
31 October 1995
Yesterday Dave brought home a replacement
for the chewed-up tape -- and the tape drive
chewed it up.
So he's got to uninstall the drive and
send it back to Midwest Micro, and we're
doing backups the old-fashioned way. It's a
good thing we bought too many floppies! I
used the last free 3<1/2>" disk trying to
back up Quicken -- QW.EXE wouldn't fit on a
floppy, and I don't think you can divide an
EXE file -- but we have an unopened box of
twenty-five 5¬" DS HD diskettes.
We still have a good copy of the tape,
but can't read it, so I have to make backups
before meddling as well as after.
Took most of the morning to get \ZJOY
copied. Had a backup disk already -- can't
remember whether the extensions of the dated
files were .92 or .93.
They are .95 now.
And I was about to learn how to write
checks by the dive in and splash around
method. Sniff!
Tada! Just remembered that the four
3<1/2>" disks I took to Woods Hole are still
in the three-disk case, and the stuff on
them is obsolete.
The last time I got an indexer's copy, it
had an advertisement for House of White
Birches magazines in it. Knitter's World
was not among them, though something called
Knitter's Digest is. Knitting magazines
seem to be scarce, though crochet is
plentiful.
Oops! Saw the trash truck go by -- I'd
forgotten it was Tuesday. Usually have time
to rush a bag out before he comes back on
this side of the road, but last week I
refrained from taking out the newspapers to
economize on brown paper bags, and yesterday
Dave, in dire need of a new batch of socks,
finally went through the mountain of junk
mail to pick out the handful he wanted --
and I hadn't sorted any of that stuff yet.
I rushed out the bin of "mixed
recyclables" and the incinerator bag, and
then, much to my surprise, finished sorting
the paper in time to carry that out too.
Soon saw why I made it: the driver was alone
on the truck. Usually there are also two
guys who jump off, throw the stuff in, and
jump back on.
The bag of newspaper and the bag of junk
mail went into the same bin on the truck.
I still haven't bought gas for the mower.
Later: this is the second time the junk
mail has included one of those onion-sack
"cleansing puffs" and three envelopes of
liquid bath soap. Are they trying to tell
me something?
Isn't that Banquet ad a jaw dropper?
Skin the chicken to make it low fat -- and
then fry it.
1 November 1995
Grump. Now he tells me that Quicken has
a "backup" button that puts everything you
can't reload from the originals on one
floppy. And he had already done it.
So I guess I'd better dive in and splash
around.
Tried sending a message with Eudora
today, and couldn't hook up to Global One.
Dave opened Joy e-mail to see where I'd gone
wrong -- and it sent the message before he
could ask what the problem was.
Machines like men.
My Global One address is
JBeeson@Globalone.com. The CompuServe
address will be good for a while; doesn't
cost much to keep it now that we aren't
using CIS for internet access.
But I'm checking it with decreasing
frequency.
Instead of a new tape drive, we are
getting a new disk. Disk D will be much
bigger than disk C, so we can put the
programs -- the stuff we can re-install --
on E, put the data on C, and back it up on
D.
I don't like the idea of the backup
always being in the machine -- my idea of a
backup is something safe on a shelf,
preferably in another building or another
state.
I'd better make fresh floppies before
Dave takes the machine apart. The new drive
may arrive as early as next Monday.
I don't even know how many directories I
have. I used to try to manage them so each
one would fit on a floppy.
3 November 1995
In Knitting in Plain English,
Maggie Righetti says "...life would be ever
so much easier if we could start things in
the middle.... But life doesn't allow us
that option. Neither does knitting."
If you know the invisible cast on, it
does! I started my black bathing suit at
the waist and knitted both ways.
5 November 1995
I finally bought gas yesterday, and today
I mowed a few bushels of leaves. Couldn't
keep at it long, because I haven't been
getting much exercise lately.
Arachne
I've been getting a catalog for yuppies
who want to think they are Scottish. I was
intrigued by the way some of the tartans
seemed to be variations of others -- and how
two tartans belonging to the same clan often
didn't resemble each other at all. So I
asked for books on tartans through
interlibrary loan a few days ago, and, to my
surprise, the first one appeared yesterday.
Scottish Clans and Tartans was a
disappointment. It's a sort of biographical
dictionary for families; each entry is a
brief history of an important clan and a
picture of its tartans.
The tartans themselves are mentioned only
twice -- once to point out that the Black
Watch tartan is the same sett as the
Campbell, in darker shades of green and
blue, but there is no evidence that the
Campbells used it before the Black Watch
adopted it in 1739. On the other hand,
three of the six original companies were
Campbell, and tartans were mere decoration
at least as late as 1411 -- they didn't
really catch on until after the English
banned them -- so early writings wouldn't be
likely to mention them.
This was the sort of thing I wanted to
know, but the only other reference to a
clan's tartan was the last sentence in the
Burns entry. There was only one
distinguished Burns, but "those fortunate
enough to have inherited his name need
neither pedigree nor clan history to enhance
it. Certainly the Burns check would gild no
lily." The Burns pattern appears at first
glance to be brown-and-white gingham, but
the sixth and seventh brown stripes have
been run together into one triple-wide,
slightly-lighter brown stripe, with two dark
threads running down the edges of what would
have been the white stripe.
I learned some interesting things from
the introduction. "Tartan" is a French
word, the Gaelic being "bhreacain". The
Highlanders were immigrants from Ireland,
and the Lowlanders despised them as uncouth
"redshanks" -- a word similar to "redneck."
They wore long yellow linen shirts like
their Irish ancestors until the 17th
century, when wool became more plentiful and
the light woolen mantle of many colors grew
in size and importance. The kilt was
invented by an Englishman about 1730. He
moved to Glengarry and adopted Highland
dress. Having been accustomed to being able
to take a wet coat off without also taking
his pants off, he cut the lower part of his
plaid off the upper part.
The improvement caught on, and now,
judging by the outfits in the catalog, the
many-colored mantle has been reduced to an
ornamental sash.
But there's still eight yards of heavy
wool in a kilt. The f‚iladh was only ten
(five yards of double-breadth).
7 November 1995
F‚iladh, the book says, meant simply
"pleated". "Plaid" sounds like "plait,"
which was the same word as "pleat." Could
"plaid" have begun life as a literal
translation of "f‚iladh"? It is the
author's opinion that "kilt" (same word as
"quilt") was a translation. (Gaelic for
kilt translates as "small plaid.")
Took the book back today and picked up
the next one. "The Clans of the Scottish
Highlands" appears to be a reprint of a
collection of colour plates familiarly
called "Costumes of the Clans;" the artist
is R.R. McIan; the title page adds, in type
smaller than the foreword attribution, "text
by James Logan." Seems to be a celebration
of the romance of it all.
When the third book comes in, I think
I'll start over with the references I found
under "weaving."
Picked up a knitting video and McLeod's
The Gladstone Bag (a paperback
Kelling mystery.) McLeod is American. I
was amazed, while leafing through the
clanographical dictionary, at how many
familiar names are Scottish. Frankenlena
never mentioned that the Cunninghams had a
tartan!
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I've been dithering over whether to host
the New Year's Day Ride. Had about decided
"yes." Today I realized that deadline for
the December Bikeabout was two weeks ago --
it may well already be at the printer.
I got started doing the ride because it
was the only way I could get the description
before October 25.
I've half a mind to submit it as an
impromptu.
Karen called today. The trip to Woods
Hole is on again. I told her I'd go if the
workshop leader is willing. They found it
handy last year to have someone who could
run out for groceries without missing a
session. I found it considerably more
social than I'd expected; I'd thought I'd
wave bye-bye at breakfast and not see them
again until evening. We had all three meals
together, which seriously limited
exploration by bicycle.
Arachne:
"An 1845 coffee-table book" sums up
McIan's book. Pretty pictures, but nothing
to trust. Logan freely admits to being
heavily influenced by Sir Walter Scott, and
asserts that "redshank" was somehow derived
from the deerskin moccasins some Highlanders
wore, apparently having failed to notice the
red shanks on McIan's painting of a figure
in a winter storm. He expresses frequent
bewilderment at the persistence of ancient
geneologists in disagreeing with his notion
that the Gaels must be aboriginal.
McIan believed that all museum artifacts
could be freely attached in any combination
to any figure.
One bit of insight: in 1845, the British
attitude toward the noble redshank was like
our attitude toward the noble redskin and,
later, our attitude toward the noble
Confederate.
Took a bit longer to make sure the
Highlanders were down and permanently
harmless than it took to subdue the
Confederates, which resulted in greater
nobility and better stories. Or at least
more of them.
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8 November 1995
Saw Ellenbogen today; he found a cavity.
When the receptionist asked me whether
tomorrow would do, I said "fine."
For a couple of hours, tomorrow got finer
and finer -- the cleaning had stirred up the
cavity, and the pain was getting worse
instead of settling down. Either the tooth
has forgiven the disturbance, or the aspirin
has taken hold.
It's under my Maryland bridge; don't know
whether he has to take the bridge out. Also
don't know how you can loosen glue that has
held since 1989 without any signs of letting
go. I knew that 1989 was a busy year, what
with Hugo and two conventions and the Kodak
Festival, but I'd forgotten that I lost a
tooth that year too. (I distinctly remember
being exhausted all through 1990.)
Not counting a wisdom tooth that was no
use to begin with, I've lost only one tooth
entirely -- a good record for the number of
miles on 'em; new developments in dentistry
keep arriving just in time.
10 November 1995
Unexpected phone call: "we have your
Jeep."
It wasn't a kidnapping, it was a request
for authorization to replace the alternator.
Dave had asked Auto Solutions to fetch it
because it stranded me at the dentist's
office yesterday. Thank goodness that was
after my second appointment. Took
over two hours to walk home, including the
side trip to return my videotape to the
library, with a stop at Stewarts to buy
three pieces of chocolate -- I ate two along
the way. It took about an hour and a
quarter from the grade school.
Though the shoulder of 85-A
looks good, there are very few
places where your legs are the same length.
I should have kept the Toyota.
Took much longer than usual for the
novocain to wear off, perhaps because my
face was cold. Also seemed to be a heavier
dose than he has been using in recent years;
I never got a numb nose before.
I regretted having decided that my red
coat was too stiff to drive in, but I had a
wool-flannel head scarf and a tennis hat, I
was wearing a turtleneck shirt and a cotton
sweater under my silk windbreaker, and I'd
left a pair of wool gloves and a challis
scarf on the passenger seat after some
previous trip. I put the challis scarf
around my neck like a shawl under my jacket.
I was warm enough once I got out of the
village onto the tree-lined state road.
Now I remember that I carry a
poncho in the car. Didn't need it however,
and it would have blown around annoyingly.
12 November 1995
Took my red coat with me when we went to
pick up the Jeep. Dave laughed.
I was gone about half an hour, having
stopped for a loaf of bread along the way.
When I came in I found a pair of "wrought
iron" tiebacks in the doorway -- later,
somebody from Onesquethaw called to make
sure I'd found them.
When paying the bill, Dave commented that
selling the Toyota almost exactly covered
buying the alternator.
He drove the Jeep yesterday and left the
Saab here. I tried to get into the wrong
car when he called to pick me up for our
weekly date.
We had thin-crust pizza. I think that's
the first time we ate the entire pizza.
Sometime since the last entry, I ate the
last slice of the last tomato from the
garden. I blew cylinders of ice out of the
hose when I washed the catbox that day.
Washed it again today, but no ice, even
though there is snow on the ground.
Last night I was editing "How to Knit
Split Mittens for Cycling and Other
Activities" -- I'm a week or two from time
to seek criticism, by the way -- feeling
groggy, and thinking that in a paragraph or
two I'd write up my day in the Banner and go
to bed.
Lights started flickering, so I shut down
hastily and unplugged the computer. I
puttered around for a bit, and about 10:30
Dave's pager went off. Mutual aid: somebody
burned down the grandstand at the Altamont
Fair Grounds. That was where we held the
disaster drill when I had that course in
First Responder, so my first reaction was
"thank goodness nobody was in it!"
A witness said that a couple of
somebodies had been in it -- they were seen
running from the grandstand just before it
went WHOOMPH! The paper said "all
firefighters could do was to watch." They
were quite busy, in fact, protecting the
adjacent apartment complex -- the fire was
so fierce that there was danger of spreading
in spite of the torrential rain. The paper
said only that officials said that the cause
of the fire had not yet been determined --
how I'd hate to be an arson investigator on
a night like that! -- and declined to
speculate.
I sat in the rocking chair listening to
the scanner, and now my socks are almost
ready to start decreasing for the toes.
When I heard Craig turn the auxiliary
back because "there are a thousand trucks
here, and eight feet of mud," I was puzzled
that the chairman hadn't called me, since
I'm on the list, but glad I didn't have to
put on my silk turtleneck and go out into
the storm.
I'll have to wait until the meeting to
get any details. Maybe it was Altamont's
auxiliary -- but why ask our chief where to
put them?
The wind continued ferocious after Dave
came home after 1:00 AM -- good thing he'd
gotten a couple of hours of sleep before the
tones went out -- and the rain changed to
snow before morning.
Arachne
The video I returned was on color
knitting, sensibly filed under 746.4 instead
of with the videos. All I remember of the
citation is that the publisher was
"Victorian" something.
The lessons were so elementary that
horizontal stripes were divided into several
installments, but I did learn something: a
graceful way to purl when controlling the
yarn with the left hand.
I noticed that the instructor seemed
awkward, but put it down to nervousness at
the camera, or to trying to knit unnaturally
slow. When we got to stranded knitting,
which for some reason she called "Jackerd" -
- if you must use French words, you could
accent them on the right s'laahble -- she
said that you must learn to control your
yarn with the other hand too, and gave us a
close-up of basic knitting and purling. Her
method modifies "pick it up with two
fingers" only slightly, and when using the
right hand, she takes both needles into the
left hand at every single stitch.
And she's teaching this!
Perhaps it's intended to slow over-eager
students so they won't get charley horses.
But her purling method does work. She
pointed out that when you control the yarn
with your left hand, you have both hands on
the yarn, because it's anchored to the
right-hand needle. So move the right-hand
needle to bring the yarn forward, instead of
trying to use the hand that's controlling
it.
Maggie Righetti's Knitting in Plain
English (1986) is a book that other
books often refer to. It's an excellent
book in desperate need of an editor. It is
riddled with small errors -- somewhere along
the way, a spelling checker changed every
occurrence of "bobble" to "bauble" -- and
Maggie's history of knitting is a jaw-
dropper. This is the first time anywhere
that I'd heard that "knitting wires" were
the world's first circular needles.
People did knit round on "wires" -- the
early term for metal needles, which weren't
possible until wire-drawing was invented --
but they did it by using long, straight
needles the way we use sock needles.
Sometimes they were long enough to stick
under their arms, or into various gadgets
attached to belts and apron strings, to free
one hand from holding the idle needle. I
remember this very well, because I read Mary
Thomas' reference to very short needles for
knitting the fingers of gloves, and thought
that she meant something much shorter than
sock needles. After attempting to knit with
two-inch needles, I learned that "glove
needles" are sock needles.
Mary Thomas suggested putting a blob of
sealing wax on a needle when you knit back
and forth -- a fore-runner of the knob-end
needle.
And a little more than fifty years later,
the knobbed needle is obsolete.
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13 November 1995
Today's news is that the grandstand
burned down because a leak in the roof
caused an electrical short.
"The WHOOMPH!?" said I. "Flashback,"
Dave replied.
"The people seen running just before the
Whoomp!?" "Not running, just seen, and it
was fifteen minutes before."
"The witness on a dark and stormy night?"
"Floodlights."
They should have pulled the circuit
breaker and left the grounds dark.
Dave didn't get the new drive working
this weekend. He installed it,
disconnecting the CD drive when he
discovered that the package didn't include a
necessary connector, but when he tries to
read it, the CPU says "what drive
D?"
On the other hand, when he took the
"tower" apart to install the new hard drive,
he discovered that the tape drive was jam-
packed with dust, felted where the tape
cassette had been pushed through it
repeatedly. It's a wonder the tape even
went in, let alone got read. I vacuumed it,
and now it works fine.
Can't clean it through the tape door, but
if I hold the door open and pass the crevice
tool across it, it might suck some dust out.
If all else fails, we can take the tower
apart again.
Egad. We've got five drives. Two hard,
one 3.5, one 5.25, and tape.
It was a big deal for the TRS-80 to have
two floppies.
14 November 1995
Another dark and stormy night. The snow
was coming down in snowballs when I left the
supermarket, and I wondered whether the
other cars would let me creep home at 30
mph. When I tried to get out of the parking
lot, rush hour was passing by at 10 mph.
I got up to 25 out in the country.
The sheriff is having a busy night.
15 November 1995
The day before yesterday, I woke up with
a backache and said "This feels like the
kind that hangs on for a week."
I hate it when I'm right.
Seemed to be letting up yesterday, but today
I can't even sit on a dining chair, and wish
I had two canes instead of one. You can't
even blink without using muscles in
the back.
Oddly enough, I walk fairly well when
carrying something.
As soon as the aspirin wears off, I'm
going to take Tylenol with Codiene and go
back to bed.
At that point I noticed that the
concentration it took to sit up was making
me sick to my stomach, so I went to bed
without codiene and read Smart Dragons,
Foolish Elves until Dave came home for
lunch, bringing, the dear boy, a submarine
for two. I took two pills with lunch and
sat in the rocking chair until I'd knitted a
toe onto my sock -- and until I'd gotten my
sit sore from reluctance to fidget -- then I
wrote a check, brought in the mail instead
of leaving the check in the box, and went
back to bed with the Scientific American. I
was about done with that -- and starting to
not track -- when the kittens came in and
complained that their six o'clock feeding
was an hour late. Either my back is getting
better, or I'm getting the hang of rolling
out of bed.
And I feel comfortable typing even though
the lunch pills must be long gone and the
current dose can't have dissolved yet.
I may make it to the Auxiliary meeting
tomorrow after all -- but I wanted to make a
batch of Mrs. Stanley's Spice Cupcakes
today, since I won't be attending the
Christmas meeting.
Karen called. Since we know the way now,
we're going to Wood's Hole on Sunday instead
of Saturday, and we've decided to make up
our minds about the following Saturday on
Friday. I paid for only five nights.
This year, I don't think I need to make
new pants for the trip. May need to mend
some cycling clothes.
16 November 1995
My back is better this morning -- at
least I'm ambulatory -- but the rest of me
is feeling overworked.
Wish I hadn't sat at the table for
breakfast, or had gotten up to fetch in the
task chair. Tried the little footstool with
the dining chair, but it didn't help.
Doesn't seem to be any change in Dave's
backache. He hasn't been skipping work or
helping me dispose of the codiene, but he
walks funny.
Two codiene pills don't make me sleepy
even though I take them with warm water, as
prescribed. They knocked Dave right out, he
says.
But I think that he took them at bedtime,
which would make a difference.
Time to find out when to bring the turkey
up. Carrying heavy things doesn't bother my
back, somehow -- seems easier to walk with
something in my hands -- but re-arranging
the fridge to make room for it might hurt.
Y'know, gang, I'm not sleepy -- but I'm
starting to feel a bit dizzy. Maybe I
should take the next dose with cold water.
Later: There won't be a next dose. For
one thing, I'd taken the pills so that I
could stay up -- more important, as I was
crawling into bed, I remembered that if the
dose had been strong enough to do me any
good, I'd have thrown it back up.
I learned that, I believe, in 1989.
I slept for an hour. When I woke up I
found Fred draped over my elbow, Frieda
snoring on the corner of the bed, and Erica
curled up on the pile of blankets, so I
stayed put another hour or so.
Fred got up when I did; Erk and Freed are
still sacked out.
The symptoms -- hot flashes, dizziness,
intestinal distress -- felt precisely like
watered-down psychogenic shock. I wonder
whether there's any significance to that
information.
Probably only that those are the general
symptoms of Something is Not Right.
17 November 1995
Dave, how can I stay away from the
computer when this is the only comfortable
chair in the house?
Besides, the real problem with typing
Darcy's paper yesterday was that I'd
promised to do it, so when I started to
hurt, I said "It doesn't hurt much" and kept
on typing.
There isn't a lot you can do when you
can't stand and can't sit. I've been
inventing a keyboard that can be used lying
down. Be hard to build one out of standard
parts, because you need a separate keyboard
for each hand, to let the elbows rest on the
mattress.
Stopped feeling guilty about skipping the
Christmas meeting when they started
nominations for next years's officers -- on
the first run-through, I was the only one
who had attended more than enough meetings
to be allowed to vote. Turned out that they
were using an obsolete copy of the rules; we
had changed "five meetings" to "more than
half of the meetings."
The final straw in my decision to have a
prior engagement next month was last month's
vote to raise the grab-bag limit from $5 to
$10. I never did like gift exchanges, and
spending ten dollars on something to throw
away is downright offensive. Especially
since our combined Christmas and
Thanksgiving contribution to the food pantry
is only a hundred dollars.
Later: I spent the entire afternoon on
the sofa, and feel much better. I'm also
wearing my new socks: knitting is one thing
that you can do lying down.
I greatly fear that after they've been
washed, I'll have to rip out the toes and
knit them a bit longer.
18 November 1995
What kind of serious stuff do you get
when you sign up for an Internet mailing
list?
In the beginning, there was the word.
And the Word was CHOCOLATE.
And it was good.
Confections:1.5oz., 240 cal.
Hmm. I got up in the middle of the night to
watch the episode of Babylon Five that was
recorded this afternoon. After the hour-
long show I fiddled around a bit, told Erica
she couldn't go out this late, fed her,
ordered some comic books -- and the clock
says 9:30.
Could be a long night. Having run out of
knitting, I tend to sleep when I lie down to
rest my back, so I've had several naps
today.
Wish I could remember where I put that
scarf I wanted to embroider.
Could start another striped shawl. I've
bags of scrap yarn, all the same size.
19 November 1995
Went to bed not much later than usual,
and slept as well as I ever do. Maybe the
cats are rubbing off. (In more than one
sense, that is.)
I didn't have a nap today, but I did knit
half an antimacassar. Hey, those things
need to be washed fairly often -- especially
if I get into the habit of lying on the sofa
without bending over to take off my shoes --
so I need lots and lots.
Yesterday Dave brought food from the
China Inn, since I didn't think I could sit
in a dining chair very long. So tonight I
hit him up for the missing pizza. (You got
sympathy, milk it.) We got there a split
second after the last table was taken, which
was lucky -- bar stools are much easier to
sit on than chairs right now, and the edge
of the bar is just right to lean on when you
need to take some weight off your back. We
ordered "thin crust, but not so thin" and
got what looked like a regular pizza. I've
seen thicker crusts at Smitty's, though. We
meant not so thin as last time, and I think
that John or Jon also decided that that was
too thin.
I wonder whether they'll develop the
chili pizza this winter.
Dave says that the current cook can't
make chili nearly as well as Gert did. And
I think that the Smiths have already gone to
Florida for the winter, so he can't take
lessons.
Stairs are no longer a problem, and I got
two loads of wash clean and hung in the
cellar. I don't usually get anything else
done on washday anyway.
But I'd have put in a load of blacks if
I'd felt better.
Good thing I'm nearly well. I've got to
unbury the piano and make the dining room
presentable by 2:00 tomorrow.
You know that dining room: the one
containing an office featuring a scattered
computer, two printers, stacks of boxes of
paper, a hamshack, a china closet (what's
that doing in a dining room?), two rollaway
beds, a folded-up gate-leg table, an antique
sewing machine, a rocking chair, and a
piano.
The antique sewing machine isn't entirely
within the dining room. Keeps getting
shoved back when we move the TV stand that
most of the paper is on.
20 November 1995
Arrgh! I should have stuck to the
original plan: make hamburger soup, cook
some of those little "salt" potatoes in it,
and eat at home.
But I'm coming down stairs frontwards,
today, and I carried two heavy boxes of
records into the living room without putting
my back at risk.
21 November 1995
And I brung 'em back, too. Had the
dining room nearly back to normal when Dave
got home. Left the rocker and some stacks
of papers in the living room.
Today I went out for bread and milk and
pretty much let it go at that. Forgot to
buy meat for supper, but I bought a bag of
cranberries.
22 November 1995
Tried to wear my new anklets again, but
they definitely need to have the toes ripped
out and re-knitted. On the other hand, I
found a pair of hand-knitted boot socks in
the cedar chest that had been too thick to
wear with previous shoes, but fit
beautifully in my older Red Wings. I'm a
trifle thicker around the calf than I was
when I made them, so I have to fold over
more cuff than was intended.
It's trying to snow this morning, but at
40 degrees, it isn't accumulating.
Evening: went out in the afternoon to
collect a referral form to take to Keilor
(Kieler? Keeler?) next January. Bought
some cider on the way out and a pound of
hamburger on the way back.
Dealt with supper yesterday by mincing a
couple of slices of dried beef into a can of
spaghetti sauce. Wasn't bad.
24 November 1995
The mail didn't come until about 5:00
today. I saw through her living-room window
that Margie was sitting up, so I rang the
bell to bring it inside, and stayed to visit
for a while. She says that she's stronger
than when she first came home from the
hospital and her front step looked like
Mount Everest. She dressed for dinner
yesterday (and found that slacks felt funny
after all this time), and she is thinking
about riding along when Danny takes Rascal
to the vet for his shots. She hastily added
that she wouldn't go in. She walked to the
door with me when I left.
The December Bikeabout was in the mail.
Next year's president is going to be Jackie
Skolnik. Oh, well, the MHW survived a year
with her at the helm, and I guess the MHCC
can do the same. And I won't be the editor
who puts up with her.
An editor's note says that the New Year's
Day ride might be on. I'd about decided
that it was off. Perhaps I'd better phone
it in for the December ride line after all.
Besides, I generally get the kitchen
scrubbed up pretty good the previous week.
And Dave likes leftover whole-milk cocoa.
I finished my socks today -- again. I
think this one will take. They don't match,
because I didn't like the way I did the
first one. The way I closed the second one
left a ridge, but when I went to look at it
before saying that, I took off the wrong
shoe, so it can't be bothering me much.
I filled out an order for needles and
yarn to make more socks, but when I tried to
print out a check to put in it, Quicken
informed me that the printer is off-line or
out of paper. Since it was neither, I
suspect that one of those ports Dave
installed today is hooked up wrong.
We went to Comp USA this morning, because
Dave needed another part to allow the
computer to recognize all five drives.
Whatever it was he needed, it also adds some
ports, so he can hook his Weatherfax program
up to his radio again. (He was wondering
what to do with all that disk space?) It
also means that we could hook both printers
directly to the computer, instead of using
the T-switch.
Somehow, LPT1 must have been re-assigned
to one of the new ports. This makes me very
sad, because I was grooving on having the
computer back inside its jacket. Makes me
nervous to have all the parts exposed, with
three cats and two careless people and scads
of dust -- though the case does not seem to
have inhibited the dust -- and the fans etc.
are noisier without the enclosure.
I gimped around Comp USA, wishing I had
brought my cane, feeling more and more
confused, and getting a higher opinion of
mail order. I found only one CD with books
on it -- something called "Bookshelf" that's
embarrassed to tell you which books it
contains. Before I spend thirty bucks, I
expect a look at the table of contents.
In the children's department, a man was
sitting in a tiny chair watching a baby try
out a program. There are special keyboards
for children, but I didn't look to see
whether they are designed for children, or
just bright and plasticky.
I did take a close look at some
notebooks, and was unimpressed. Every one
has thousands of dollars of stuff I don't
want, and nothing of what I find essential.
The keyboards get worse every year.
Dave says there's one with a keyboard
that expands to full size when you open the
case. Perhaps they are finally taking a
step in the right direction.
But portable-computer makers are hostile
to the idea of writing books on their
products; they mention it in their ads.
Why call it a notebook if it isn't
suitable for taking notes?
25 November 1995
Dave was so happy when he got a fifteen-
minute job done in two hours -- that's
speedy for installing new equipment.
Today, he disabled the new printer port
and got the printer working again, and I
ordered my needles and yarn. $25 check for a
five-dollar set of needles. But I'd been
meaning to order the safety pins all along -
- ten cents each for small, and 12.5
for large. Ridiculous, but there's nobody
else who sells coil-less safety pins.
He had to re-load Excel before his
documents would print properly, but the
computer is back in its jacket and
everything is working. Global One seems to
have straightened out its new phone lines,
too.
Shucks, I meant to play with Netscape
while I was online. I feel more like lying
on the sofa and reading the two westerns
Dave brought from the library for me. The
dear boy, when his backache is
getting worse. I thought mine was all
through, but now I've got another problem --
and just after I'd put in a load of dish
towels, thinking I could dry them in the
sun. I'm sure looking forward to menopause,
but seem to be getting adolescence instead.
Arachne
27 November 1995
The "westerns" in question were two books
that came in answer to a request for
"Black John of Halfaday Creek or any
book in the series."
Courage of the North, James B.
Hendryx (1954) was not of the Black John
series -- more of a Curwood. High-spirited
college boy gets into trouble when prank
sets fire to the school, is sent to the
frontier to be Made a Man of, deals a
dastardly villain several well-deserved
defeats, ends up marrying a gorgeous girl.
It's a story told oft before, and usually
twice as well. The bits from the villain's
point of view were particularly crude, and
the adventures on the boat were pure idiot
plot -- nobody as experienced as Campbell
would send a cheechako out in a boat with
that much wrong with it, and the two indians
would have refused to escort him.
I tried to find evidence that the book
was written in Hendryx's inexperienced
youth, but no dates are available, except
that it was first published in Great Britain
in 1954; the book doesn't even admit that it
is a re-publication. Since most of the
action takes place in the romantic outback,
internal clues are few. There is a
reference to college boys canoeing in white
flannel, which sounds like the twenties to
me. All the villain's evil traits are laid
to his being a German, but there is no hint
of any reference to the Nazis, which puts it
before the thirties and, probably, after the
first world war.
The Czar of Halfaday Creek (1955),
presents Black John as the lovable and
roguish superhero I remember. Would be
worth tracking down some of the other books,
if I thought there were more in the Upper
Hudson Federation. I don't think I realized
that he was a superhero in 1955; I didn't
know then that absolute power corrupts
absolutely.
Then again, instead of being super-
moral, perhaps he's super-intelligent.
Keeping a moral compass is plainly in one's
best self-interest -- and there's Corporal
Downey of the Royal Mounted Police to keep
the power from being quite absolute.
Cush, the storekeeper, comments on the
Spanish-American war in a way that could
have been a Doonesbury-like reference to the
headlines in the papers that printed the
stories -- but it could as easily have been
intended as convincing detail in historical
fiction.
The jacket painting for Czar shows
Black John in cowboy garb, and with a brown
beard. Both heels are concealed, one by a
rock almost as adventitious as the various
objects that concealed Opus' nose when
Breathed was postponing the revelation of
the penguin's nose job. I presume that the
artist didn't quite dare to give him riding
boots and spurs.
Both books are marked as westerns, by
both the publisher and the library. From
Britain, they certainly take place in the
west. And I suppose the library was looking
at the spirit of the book, not its setting.
Or just took one look at the bucking bronco
emblem on the title page and filed it, like
the librarian who put "Onions in the Stew"
among the cookbooks.
@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@
SEA Notes
4 December 1995
Testing: first observation: this chair is
too low -- or the table is too high.
Arrived yesterday after an uneventful
trip to find no-one around and the dorm
"Eltannin" still locked. The caretaker was
attending the Falmouth Christmas parade --
Karen learned about the parade when she was
cut off by a three-car train while looking
for a grocery store.
We prowled around; the main building was
locked up tighter than a drum, and nobody
appeared to be inside, but we found that the
kitchen door to Bellatrix was unlocked. We
forced our way in by shoving the
refrigerator out of the way, used the
facilities, unlocked the front door, and
unloaded the car. Then we tried to call out
for pizza, but they didn't deliver. We were
afraid to leave, for fear that Bellatrix
would be locked when we got back, so Karen
set off alone, after leaving a note on the
door of Eltannin and another on the
combination-lock door to the main building.
After getting cut off by the train, she gave
up trying to reach a grocery and went to a
convenient for bread, milk, soda, and two
frozen open-face sandwiches called "French-
bread pizzas."
Before we could put the groceries away,
the caretaker returned from the parade and
helped us move our things into our own dorm.
Then before we could thaw the pizza, Bill
finally arrived, by taxi. The caretaker was
upset because she could have met him at the
bus station, but didn't think he'd arrive so
late.
So we put the pizzas into the freezer
compartment -- Eltannin has a full kitchen,
including a microwave -- and went to Captain
Kidd to meet Tim for lunch. Turned out that
Captain Kidd does not serve before five
o'clock; though it felt very late, it wasn't
much past four. We ordered two beers and a
ginger ale and waited. Five o'clock came;
Tim didn't. We ordered and devoured three
chicken sandwiches, which came with an
enormous order of french fries. Asked for
the desert menu: cheesecake or chocolate
cake. We discussed desert for a while;
nobody wanted desert, but we all wanted
cheesecake. We decided to split one slice
three ways. Tim arrived before the waitress
came back, but said that he'd eaten and
didn't want desert. We ordered cheesecake;
he ordered a beer.
Conversation flagged pretty soon and we
all voted for going to bed -- but we revived
when we got away from the wood stove into
the fresh air, which by this time had
changed into a spring night. It had been
nippy when we came.
Tim went home; Bill, Karen and I returned
-- in Karen's car, the only vehicle among us
except for my bike -- to the dorm. I
unpacked everything but my cycling suit, and
found my suitcase still full -- the space
the bike itself occupies isn't the only
thing that crowds a car. I also had my
helmet and gloves lying loose, and the bag
of stuff that I carry in my panniers. That
bag also contained my spare shoes, since
they hadn't fit anywhere else. Ended up
bringing three pairs after all, since I left
my sneakers in the bag of stuff that I carry
on the bike. Should have thrown in a can of
WD-40 too. Didn't even think of frisking
the little basket of stuff that I used to
take to formal rides.
Brought three extra pillowcases and no
house slippers. So I have to put my shoes
on first thing in the morning. Used one of
the extra pillowcases for a laundry bag and
gave the other two to Bill, who had
forgotten to bring a pillowcase. He forgot
to bring a towel, too, but he's on his own
for that.
Evening: Thought I'd made the above entry
yesterday, but it was during the work
session of this morning's class.
Long day. The group has been
unexpectedly small, just Karen and Tim and
the teacher, Bill, so they've forgotten that
I'm not part of it. So after Karen read the
beginning of her study of the pond and Tim
read the introduction to his history of the
mistake in the Norwegian Hvaletallen -- that
isn't spelled right, but I left my copy of
Tim's pages in the dorm. Gee I miss having
the computer always near and always turned
on! These computers take a lot longer to
fire up, too, because they have to be so
careful about viruses when dozens of people
use them.
So after all these important books were
read, I got to read the introduction to "How
to Knit Split Mittens for Cycling and Other
Activities." They were most encouraging,
though, and had some useful suggestions. I
think, though, that I'll not only reject
"Knitting is Easier Done than Said" as a
title, but delete it from where they found
it.
But not until the final draft; it is such
a clever darling.
I do think the book is valuable, but how
I'm going to find the people that it's
valuable to is beyond me. Not suitable for
either knitting or cycling publishers.
Yesterday, I went to bed absurdly early.
This morning, I lay awake for a while,
reflecting on the absurdity of adjusting the
"daylight saving" time to make us sleep past
dawn on a day when everyone is having to
drive home in the dark. The phone rang.
Since I sleep in the lower bunk, I told
Karen I'd get it. Bill and I answered each
other for a while before realizing that we
were talking to each other and his daughter
was on the line. It had taken him about as
long to reach the phone in the kitchen as it
took me to disentangle myself from the
covers and reach the phone in the upstairs
hall. On returning to the room, I suggested
that Bill had set the kid to get us all down
to breakfast at the same time.
Shucks. I meant to buy juice sometime
today -- and never thought of it when I
commented that the Food Buoy was open as we
walked past it after supper. I woke up
thirsty, but I can't down much of the tap
water, there is nothing in the kitchen to
make it taste better, and the milk is whole
milk, so I couldn't drink much of that.
Perhaps I should cruise by Bellatrix to see
whether the back door is still unlocked;
there was some tea in their kitchen. Not
much chance; the caretakers are leaving for
a week's vacation at 4:00 a.m. tomorrow, and
we told her Bellatrix wasn't locked.
On the other hand, maybe the key to
Eltannin will fit.
We spent the morning in the library and
the adjacent computer room -- until after
12:00 noon, and I always have to have lunch
by eleven. I sneaked dried apricots out of
my attache case to keep going.
The attache case was a failed experiment.
I'd thought to put the essentials from my
purse into it, but there aren't enough
pockets of the right kind to keep the sort
of stuff one carries in a purse organized,
so I put the wallet and some other stuff in
the case to leave the purse flat enough to
go in with the rest. This made the case so
crowded and disorganized that it was
inconvenient to the point of embarassing to
get anything out of it.
We had lunch at Swope, and stopped in
Woods Hole to do some errands. I mailed my
three Canadian letters at the post office,
then took a quick lap around the gift shop
and crossed into the book shop just behind
Karen. I meant to stay in the book shop
until Bill got back from the bank, and was
eyeing some SF books with the intention of
filling in for the reading matter I forgot
to bring with me, when I had to make a
sudden dash for the ferry building, where
the only public restroom is. Had to make a
similar dash down the hall during this
entry, which gives me pause about the plan
of exploring the area by bicycle. On the
other hand, I again resorted to apricots to
survive until a belated meal -- the folks
I'm with eat only three meals a day, and I'm
in the habit of eating four. Perhaps it's
just as well that there are only two
apricots left.
Got back to the car to find Karen trying
to cross the street, and Bill turned up
after she succeeded and before I could ask
where she'd been. More seminar in the
afternoon. I intended to add a section to
my account of the mitten liners -- a back-
and-forth task that seems easy until you try
to explain how to do it -- but only edited
and printed out a section of the
introduction. Learned a great deal about
Epsom printers in the process. Thought for
a minute there that I'd be able to hand feed
a sheet of letterhead later on, but they
seem to have hidden the necessary
attachment, to keep the students from losing
it.
Learned today that Sea Education
Association is a sort of finishing school
for rich kids.
Then we adjourned upstairs to a sort of
living room or lobby to hear Bill read his
book proposal and tell him what was wrong
with it. I think that he has been shopping
it to the wrong publishers, but could not
think who was the right publisher, so I
didn't mention it. Since we were all cozy
and relaxed, I took out my sock, but before
long found that it was time to tie in the
heel thread and I hadn't brought it with me.
Spoiled some of the atmosphere for me when I
had to put it away.
Ian, the tern man, came when we'd about
finished demolishing Bill, and we had a long
pleasant talk; he got into his long-term
study of terns accidentally, getting grants
for two or three years at a time, and
learned a great many surprising things.
Such as that terns live for up to a quarter
century, and can't raise young until they
are five or so, because it takes a long time
to master the art of diving for fish.
Then we took Ian to the Captain Kidd -- I
had chili and french fries this time; I
didn't think it as good as the chili I'd had
in the cafeteria in Swopes Hall at noon. We
sat around the table until it was time for
Ian to keep his appointment at a sleep
clinic that hopes to find the cause of his
apnea, then came back here, stirred up the
caretakers -- that's how we learned of the
upcoming vacation -- and tried to learn how
to use the VCR to see the two tapes Karen
had brought. Turns out that they can't work
it either; a cable or the connector is bad.
Karen decided to stay in the library and
work for a while; upon returning to the dorm
I decided to grab my box of disks -- I'd
extracted my purse from the attache before
going to supper, so the disks had not been
with me -- and come back here to finish this
entry. Now I'm the only person in the
building, so I think I'd better go home and
go to bed.
And I think I'll put the box of disks in
my purse and leave my bundles of papers in
the dorm.
5 November 1995
Only the fifth? Well, it's Tuesday and
Sunday was the third, must be.
There was a wreath on the dorm when we
returned. Surprised me, since the
caretakers are gone. Bill thought it was
because Eltanin is the only occupied dorm,
but I looked at Deneb and saw that it wasn't
the only wreath, just the only one that was
lit up.
Started quietly enough; after breakfast,
they went to the library to write and I
retired to the computer room to revise
How to Knit Split Mittens and Other
Gloves for Cycling and Other Activities
(boy, do I need a snappy title!). I've
decided that it is definitely a book, and
that instead of making the Theory section
the main part of the book, with the
instructions relegated to a role comparable
to Zimmerman's "pithy" summaries, I'll
relegate Glove Theory to an appendix. This
means that the warm-ups originally between
the theory and the step-by-step must also
become an appendix.
Perhaps I should call it "Appendices,
with introduction."
Then we had a discussion session that
lasted past eleven, and then past twelve.
I'm going to put some crackers in a sandwich
bag tomorrow. I declined to read, partly
because I hadn't made any readable changes,
and partly because I'd absent-mindedly left
my hardcopy in the dorm. Might up and read
them the "How to stash a mitten in a hurry"
appendix tomorrow.
After writing this entry, I think I'll
grit my teeth and make the necessary re-
arrangements. The "move" on the cheat-
sheet is really klutzy, but easier than
reading a four-inch-thick book to find a
more graceful way -- when there might not
be a more graceful way.
I've also decided to make these entries
uninhibited, since it is already obvious
that they can't be used in the Banner
without extensive cuts and condensations.
After Tim left, the rest of us repaired
to the dorm to change into warm clothing --
I knew I'd be glad I brought my Capilene
tights! I don't think I've worn them since
the previous trip to Woods Hole.
Bill ate some crackers and peanut butter,
and I had a slice of toast with jam, and ate
a few walnuts. A very wise move! Lunch was
so late that we decided not to have supper.
Karen, being used to erratic hours, did not
eat until we got to the Squire; should there
be another occasion, I think I'll nag her.
But then, she knows her own body, and might
need to keep in training for the erratic
meals she gets at the lab.
The plan was to run over to Chatham to
look at some erosion, where a barrier beach
and several houses have vanished, and new
heaps of sand have appeared. The
governments, of course, have made it much
harder to deal with by imposing erratic
rules.
We had intended to stop on the way to
eat, but decided to go straight to the beach
in order to catch high tide. We didn't; it
was running out strongly, and the current
dropped off remarkably before we'd hiked
back, so it must have been near low tide.
We were still glad that we'd gone to the
beach first, since it was windier and colder
and the light was beginning to fail when we
had finished lunch. I had "1/2 rack
babyback ribs" with fries and coleslaw.
I've had more fries in two days than in the
whole rest of the year -- perhaps I'm
imitating the rainfall pattern. Bill and
Karen were more moderate; Bill had a bowl of
soup, and Karen had Cape Cod Pate. She had
most of her pate wrapped, but I cleaned
every bone of the ribs, except the one I
gave Bill.
We kept wanting to see just a little more
of the beach, and ended up walking clear to
the point, very difficult on a freshly-piled
beach that sloped as steep as a sand dune.
Legally, it is a sand dune. It's
difficult to walk on soft sand while wearing
shoes.
We were warned to bring a change of shoes
in case we got wet feet. Halfway there, I
realized that I hadn't thought to bring a
change of socks. Luckily, we didn't get wet
feet, though I came perilously close when
sticking a finger in the surf to check the
temperature of the water. The others bent,
straightened, and stepped back, but it still
takes a long time for me to bend down and up
again. We never did walk out from behind
the sand bar -- that had been our lure for
the last few yards of the trek, but very
little surf was hitting the inner beach that
day, though there was enough at the corner
or point to show how the sand is brought in
through the inlet -- if it's pointed out to
you and you extrapolate.
We decided after lunch to go to Bill's
parent's home to see the bay that inspired
his first three books, and hit a bookstore
or two on the way out. It was nearly dark
when we got there, but we saw the inspiring
view of the beach and the marsh -- well, to
my aging eyes the marsh depended
considerably on description, but I did
notice, before being told, that it was
tidal. Then we went down to the beach where
I literally got turned around. Apparently
we circumnavigated the lot; I was much
confused to go down one path, come up
another, and still be on the same side of
the house. Rather difficult walking, since
by then it was hard to see where I was
putting my feet.
The lane -- which appears to be shared
with several other homes; at least it had
several branches, some of them with name
signs -- didn't seem half as long on the way
out as it had on the way in. Bill said that
he had been stuck in there several times.
It's rare for snow on the Cape to stick, so
they aren't prepared to handle it when it
happens. With all that walking, and the
darkness, we felt that it was about nine
o'clock, so it was startling to see all the
stores still open and rush hour still in
progress. We hit another book store on the
way home -- Bill was taking the opportunity
to sign some books -- and then went to the
supermarket next door to buy milk, cookies,
crackers, coffee, and orange juice. Bill
considered buying a half gallon of juice
instead of a quart, but we were at the
check-out by then, so he didn't. Then when
we got home he said "I feel like drinking
all of that by myself." I told him that all
I wanted was enough to denature the water,
which I have trouble facing in the morning
when I need to take in eight hours' worth
before going out into the world. The air is
very dry in the dorms, so I lose a lot of
water at night.
We sat around a bit, eating white-fudge
Oreos and Triskets, and I had a mug of milk,
then Karen went to the library and a few
minutes later I came here. I thought Bill
was going to stay in the dorm, since he
could write undisturbed with both of us
gone, but I heard the library door just then
and looked up to see him coming in. Since
he wasn't wearing a coat and there were
books and papers at the table where he sat
down, I presume he has been there for a
while.
Looks like I've got to load up
MITSPLIT.MAN and tackle the klutzy move;
I've brought my diary up to the present.
Oh, Karen said not to leave out the "mail
girl." We passed a mailbox on the way to
the Squire, where we ate, and Karen and Bill
checked it and it said "no pickup"; I
noticed that it meant no pickup on Sundays,
and today was Tuesday, but didn't realize
that they hadn't, and didn't realize that
Karen was desperate to mail a letter, so I
didn't say anything. When we were on the
way back to the car after "lupper," a female
mailman was unloading the box and Karen
dashed over and gave her the letter.
I should also mention that one of the
reasons that we mushed down the beach until
I felt like an Alaskan sled dog was that
dozens and dozens of seals were basking on
one of the new islands and swimming down the
current toward the inlet. The seal that we
came closest to seemed to be observing back.
Oh, yeah, time to do something equivalent
to deleting half my book and undeleting it
elsewhere. When it comes to moving, Word
Perfect makes Word for Windows look good.
That sentence was interrupted by a "timed
backup." I didn't ask for any automatic
saves. Luckily, I haven't done anything I
might want to undo -- and I took the
precaution of removing the original disk and
putting in the older copy before I started
to work.
It's 8:30. Though I was very sleepy on
the ride home, I think I can work until nine
or ten tonight.
Lessee -- the only way to switch files
that I know of is to press exit, then abort
after it closes the current file.
Flagged at only 8:45, after deciding to
discard the work I'd done in that fifteen
minutes. Have decided on chapters, in the
order introduction, theory, warming-up
exercises, pithy instructions -- though I
won't dare to call anything I write "pithy"
-- followed by the original appendices. May
make some of them into chapters -- just one,
probably: Hints and Kinks.
Wish I knew somebody who might want to
publish this mess.
6 November 1995
Morning spent discussing Tim's discovery
of the Norwegian's Big Mistake, and Karen's
wait for the Winter Solstice at Recharge
Pond -- both were opening chapters. Then off
to lunch, and now we're supposed to be
working on the next chapter; after a bit
we're to take a walk and then discuss what
we have done.
So I'd better do it. Bringing the bike
and a suitcase of warm clothes may turn out
to have been pointless.
Evening: I still haven't done any work;
revised the pattern for a warm-up mitten
instead of tackling the unfinished mitten-
with-a-spot. It has to be made in back-
and-forth rounds, which is much easier done
than said.
We discussed what Tim and Karen had done,
then after some more conversation Tim went
home and Karen, Bill, and I drove to Nobska
point to take a walk on two beaches -- one
on Little Harbor and one on the Atlantic.
(I'm getting these names off a map, and
"Atlantic" is a deduction.) As we were
walking around Nobska Pond on the way to the
Atlantic, I started to wonder whether that
was the dog we'd met on the beach when Bill
made a gesture which I somehow divined meant
"freeze." I stood with my mouth open in mid
word for some time -- it wasn't a dog, it
was a fox. He trotted toward us, sometimes
veering off the trail to investigate this
bush and that. I tried hard not to move,
thinking that when he noticed us, he'd
vanish. When he was -- surely not more than
three car lengths away -- he paused and
looked at us, then calmly changed lanes to a
driveway that ran parallel to the path for
several yards. He trotted past, changed
lanes again, paused at the next curve to
look back at us, and continued on about his
business.
We found a fox-width path leading from
the trail to the stone retaining wall around
the pond; the top of the wall is flat and
just the right width to make a comfortable
highway for a fox. We suspected that
Reynard was responsible for a scattering of
downy gray feathers and a small black dog-
turd we'd seen in the yard of the summer
house across the street.
We crossed to the outer beach by a route
we'd not have taken had we not been with
someone who knew all the locals, and, on
meeting the fellow with the pail a second
time, felt sufficiently acquainted that he
introduced us to his dog, Henry. I think
Henry was an Airedale; he certainly looked
like a Henry.
Instead of backtracking the crab hunter
along the beach, we climbed up to the road
and walked past Nobska Lighthouse; though
the light is now unmanned, the Coast Guard
is still using the buildings for something
or the other. One looked like a milkhouse
to me; Bill said it had been a buttery. For
a while, we pretty much kept up with a home-
coming Coast-Guard boat, which had much
farther to go to round the point, but about
the time we passed the lighthouse, it
vanished, presumably into the harbor on the
other side of the next point. When the road
descended, we returned to the beach to walk
back to the beach houses where we'd left the
car. They had been opened for the winter,
so we felt free to use their parking lot.
(The doors to the changing rooms had been
removed to keep them from blowing away in
the winter winds.) While we were walking
along the beach, the ferry we'd seen
departing for Nantucket returned to Woods
Hole.
Then we went into Falmouth for supper,
stopping first at The Market Bookshop.
Lovely place, but I couldn't find a copy of
Split Heirs. I think I'll have to
special-order it. I hadn't thought to look
at the other places, but I did check W in
each SF section, so I'd have noticed it.
[Unless the Woods Hole bookstore had it.]
"Food for Thought" was closed, and The
Coffee Obsession didn't sell anything but
coffee, so we ended up at a Chinese place.
I was foolish enough to order a pupu
platter, forgetting that everything on it
would be fried. Except the ribs and the
terriyaki. We brought most of it home, but
I ate quite a lot of the white rice! Also
Bill and Karen gave me samples of their
more-sensible dishes. We brought a good
serving of each of those home too. We're
going to have to eat in the dorm some night
to use up all the doggie bags.
Despite the darkness, we came back by the
scenic route (Sippewisset-Quisset Road). We
didn't start looking for Ransom Road until
we were already past it, but we wanted to
stop at the Food Buoy in Woods Hole anyway -
- there is only a serving or two of Cheerios
left. Appointed to go into the store, I
took it upon myself to buy a half-gallon
each of skim milk and orange juice in
addition to the box of corn flakes. Forgot
that my shopping list was in my pocket, but
I looked just now and there is nothing on it
but "Christmas Cards." I've decided to skip
the paper handkerchiefs, since I've got
through more than half the week using paper
towels.
Thence home, and I'm supposed to
be finishing the chapter on knitting my
back-and-forth-in-rounds mitten.
Having not yet discovered WP's "undo"
button, I undid my fifteen-minute move by
putting the new copy in the front of the box
and using the older one the next time I
loaded.
7 November 1995
I got to the ferry building in time to
avoid embarrassment, but had to hand-wash my
underpants that night. Not wanting to
advertise that, I laid them out inside the
pillowcase that I'm using for a dirty-
clothes bag. Despite the dry air, it wasn't
until this morning that I found them dry,
even though I turned them, and the case,
over each time I discarded dirty clothes.
Must not be much air movement on the floor
under the bunk.
The upper bunk is across the room from
the lower bunk, so that the space under it
serves as a closet.
I stayed behind to wash the dishes while
the others went to the main building. Dave
would be astonished that I'm the only one
who's been washing his dishes immediately
after using them.
Bill came back to use the phone while I
was dressing. On the way out of the dorm, I
heard him imply that the Solstice this year
is going to be rough on the people in
Chatham -- there's a perigean spring tide
due on the twenty-first. I presume he meant
the twenty-first of December.
Tim has his laptop, and Karen still uses
the ligneous word processor, so they work in
the library. I hung my coat over a chair in
the library and retired to the computer room
without a word or gesture exchanged. It
reminded me of the fellow who termed weight-
trainers "unfriendly" because they don't
bother each other while they are working.
While the virus-check was running I
dashed to the ladies room, with its eternal
puzzle. There's a shower in there, the
cubicle doubles as a changing room, the pegs
are piled with towels, and the bottles on
the sink include "frequent use" shampoo.
Who gets wet that often at this time of the
year? The bottles might be left from one
season to the next, but I think the towels
move. [Karen asked. The staff run etc. at
lunch hour.]
Come fifteen of ten last night -- I'd
added numbers to the sections of the warm-up
mitten instructions and changed the title to
"Knitting a Warm-Up Mitten in 37 Easy
Steps."
They are easy. Some of the
steps are a single row, so that's really not
a lot of instruction. And now I'm going to
load Mitsplit.sea, and I'm going to advance
the complicated spot-mitten instructions, I
really am.
I suppose that the slowth of this brand-
new Gateway2000 4sx-33 wouldn't be so
excruciating if I were familiar enough with
the program to know whether it was taking
its own sweet time or waiting for me to hit
"enter".
2:15 We've finished discussing Tim's book
and Karen's, and I'm supposed to be writing
until 3:00, but I think I'll go put on my
suit and take a spin around the block before
it gets dark.
Just returned from the ladies room. I
didn't take notes, but the towels not only
look pretty much the way they did last time,
one pile seems to be a bit mashed down from
having coats hung over it.
This morning I revised the introduction
to accord with the new idea of dividing the
book into chapters -- and got one whole
sentence added!
But not to the convoluted yellow-spot
mitten. I started telling how to knit the
outer mitten.
We had lunch at Swopes again. I took the
special, manicotti with marinated
vegetables. I think there's a reason I
never liked cucumbers; I'm not at all happy
about having eaten them. I'm also missing
my after-dinner nap. Time to go get some
exercise, or lie down -- not good writing
time.
14 December 1995
The excursion started well: I went
through the hedge to the neighbor's
driveway, which emerges on the main road in
contact with Russell Road. Followed Russell
to Sippewisset, took a side trip around
Gunning Point. Then I decided to continue
to where Sippewisset intersected the dotted
line marking a bike route and follow it to
the Shining Sea Recreationway, follow that
to Oyster Pond Road, and follow Oyster Pond
back to Sippewisset. If it got ghastly on
the bike route, I could cut over to the
beach road and follow it to the
Recreationway. It got ghastly; I tried to
cut over on Jones Road, but they don't mark
the names of the roads at all the
intersections, so I explored Falmouth for
about twenty minutes and ended up back on
the main road not far from where I'd tried
to cut over. Also not too far from the
Shining Sea, fortunately. I got back to the
dorm twenty-two minutes later than planned,
but still before dark -- though I'd plugged
in my taillight before I got there.
I planned to change clothes and go write,
but Bill returned before I left, and I
waited around the dorm until time to make
our second trip to the chinese restaurant,
to meet Tim and his wife, Marjean.
Tim said he'd tried hopsac stitch, and
loved it. He was going to make a silk
scarf. I didn't ask where he got silk yarn.
We took Bill to the bus station early the
next morning, then left as soon as we got
everything fitted back into the car.
We caught Dave by surprise, and my car
wasn't waiting at Karen's, much to my
relief. This meant she had to drive me
home, so I could unload my junk directly
into the house. We should have planned it
that way.
Dave had taken the car to A.J., but he
had removed only part of the dent that I
made when closing a door with my, ah, hip.
@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@
29 November 1995
Finally washed the blacks today. About
half the load was red turtlenecks. Also a
bunch of wool socks and two antimyfredas.
Yesterday I sent a letter to the tour-
committee chairman asking that the New
Year's Day Ride be added to the December
tape.
30 November 1995
Just stuck two sheets of "Comic Strip
Classics" onto the 45th issue of the
Writers' Exchange Bulletin, which makes me
very nostalgic for plain, ordinary stamps.
Will we ever see them again?
I thought Popeye made the best design --
"USA 32" was part of the picture.
Test-rode the bike and some of the
clothes I mean to take to Woods Hole. Boy
am I out of shape!
I suspect that part of the huffing and
puffing was due to the cold symptoms I get
when riding in the cold -- perhaps the
disease got its name by mimicking the
effects of cold weather.
Rode wearing my everyday shoes, to see
whether I need to take riding shoes along.
They work, but it was difficult to get my
left foot back into the toe clip after a
stop sign. I was pleased to find that my
polypropolene undershirt and spun-silk
turtleneck still fit. My Alpaca tights no
longer show that they were meant to be worn
over another pair of tights.
Did I mention, in the forthing and
backing the day I had a flat tire, that one
inconvenience was that people kept asking
for my license number and I didn't know it?
I later realized that it's on the
registration card the state requires me to
carry in my wallet.
Donny one-upped my trips across the
parking lot. He wrote that he had a flat,
walked a mile to the nearest phone, called
to have a new tire brought out and mounted,
they asked him what size tire....
I hope the weather was better. There
were standing waves around the drain in the
parking lot -- but I didn't have to walk
far.
Which reminds me of the horizontal rain
on the Monday of my previous trip to Woods
Hole. I don't remember wet shoes, though,
just being in a dreadful hurry to get out of
those cotton jeans.
I checked that I can wear my Capilene
tights under my polyester pants.
1 December 1995
My order from Patternworks came today,
with a check instead of the yarn, which has
been discontinued. Inox needles are labeled
in three languages; I was surprised to find
the French slogan easier to read than the
German, since I never studied French. They
have different slogans for each language;
German is "INOX wenn's ums Stricken geht
(Inox if it about knitting goes)," which I
think means "Inox when it concerns
knitting." French is "[He] who says knitting
thinks Inox." English is "Inox for smoother
knitting."
Below size zero (2mm), Inox makes
knitting possible, not smoother. In the US,
anyway; there might be lace needles that
aren't imported here.
12 December 1995
Ah, great to get my automatic dater back.
Even if I did forget how to work it.
While my backache got better, Dave's got
worse; he saw Casey yesterday and has to
have blood taken today -- most of it routine
stuff that Casey is taking care of while he
has his attention. He says that Casey has
seen a lot of backaches with intestinal
upset, and thinks there may be something in
the Voorheesville water.
Maybe I'd better drink Seltzer.
14 December 1995
I've been boiling water. Probably a
waste of effort, but it can't hurt anything.
I think I got better in Woods Hole and
relapsed upon return. Anyhow, my hip hurts,
sometimes all the way to the ankle. Not
debilitating like before. Dave is running a
fever and is at Casey's now.
If we aren't having a Noreaster, this
will do. This extends clear off the weather
map, changing to rain near the west end of
Lake Erie, so I think it too wide to be a
Noreaster. Steps won't stay swept long
enough to bring in the mail, and there are
about eight inches on the Jeep. There isn't
much wind, but some must have blown off,
because it's thicker everywhere else.
I followed Dave's tracks out to the
mailbox, but it wasn't here yet, so I'll
have to put my waffle-stompers on and try
again.
At S.E.A. I was always writing in my
diary instead of working on my book; since
getting back, I've been working on the book
instead of bringing the Banner up to date.
The notes run seven Banner pages long;
I'm sure you'll be relieved to hear that
I've decided to suppress them.
During the week, my leaflet on how to
make mittens for a bicycle rider somehow
transmuted into a definitive book on the
principles of glove-making. Heaven only
knows who besides Patternworks (who aren't a
publisher) would be interested in selling
it.
When we were taking our walk one evening,
we went to the beach on Nobska Point, hiked
across the point to walk on the beach a
little more, and walked the road past Nobska
Lighthouse to return to the car. Having
become accustomed to harbors and small bays
called "ponds" I was startled to learn that
Nobska Pond drains a brisk stream of fresh
water onto the beach.
As we were walking on a path near the
pond, I was about to comment on a dog I saw
at the next bend of the path when Bill
gestured for me to freeze. Since neither of
us speaks sign, there must have been some
ESP going; I did it. Took a while to get
around to shutting my mouth: I was afraid
that moving would frighten the fox.
The fox, however, seemed quite
unconcerned. He went about his business,
ignoring us but for an occasional glance,
until he was a stone's throw away. Then he
trotted to a convenient driveway and passed
us at a slightly brisker pace -- like a
vehicle in the passing lane, not the least
trace of fright. Where the driveway
diverged from the path, he changed lanes
again and trotted out of sight, pausing at
the corner to glance back.
If our necks were built like that, we
wouldn't need rear-view mirrors.
Later Bill and Karen discussed whether it
was a red fox, a silver fox, or a hybrid. I
was completely snowed just to see a bushy
tail that wasn't attached to a pile of road
kill.
Dave came home from Casey's and said that
his blood tests came out clean.
20 December 1995
We're having another snow. Predicted a
coastal, and again it looked like a
bicoastal, but it came a day late and a foot
short. On the other hand, we're getting
wind with it; for the first time this
winter, we're getting drifts.
I signed up for a knitter's mailing list.
Something like an APA -- people send e-mail
to the server and the server sends it to
everyone on the list. Until today, there's
been messages nearly every time I click
Eudora's Check Mail button, sometimes
twenty. Much surprised that nobody posted
during the night, and more surprised to
still find none at noon. Beginning to think
some joker has "unsubscribed" me.
Still merely fiddling with the book, but
the shape is growing clearer. Wish I could
think of a title as good as Hansen's "Fox
and Geese and Fences" -- that's two of the
stranded patterns on her mittens.
Loft and plummet: looked up "yarn" in the
yellow pages, found a bold-faced ad -- it
was an 800 number for a mail-order house in
Massachusetts. There are a few promising
names in places I'm not likely to reach, two
of them in Cohoes. I used to ride to
Cohoes, but I used the recreationway to get
through Albany, and Spring is Albany's
snowplow.
When Albany does plow non-motorized ways,
it plows them under.
21 December 1995
"Design your own Hand Covers"?
Dave retrieved half a screen of knitlist
while he was waiting for me to cook supper,
so I tried again just before bedtime but all
the lines at Global1 were busy. While he
was waiting for breakfast -- and grumbling
because we still haven't got the
morning paper -- he retrieved fifty. After
he noted that the first couple of screenfuls
had been sent between 5:17 and 5:54, and
said it must have been a problem with the
server, I opened the "trash" mailbox, where
most of yesterday's reside, and found that
the six messages there were sent between
5:03 and 5:12. So he happened to log in
just when they were clearing out the
backlog.
Afternoon: Still lots of posts to read.
One describes hopsac stitch and calls it
"linen stitch." It's also been called
"tweed" and "fabric" -- how many names does
it have?
I don't think that it matters that Doug
hasn't got here yet; the way it's blowing,
the drive would fill right up again. Dave
drove the Jeep today. He pushed Margie's
"Caregiver" out of the drift across the end
of the driveway when he came home for lunch.
He says that she promptly turned around,
went out while the tracks were open, and
walked back. The last time I went to the
end of the drive, the drift was half a
carlength inside, instead of continuing the
snowplowbank as it usually does. Haven't
set foot outside today.
I'm glad I killed the shopping trip.
Hope the weather is better tomorrow, as we
are on our last bags of cat chow and cat
litter.
24 December 1995
Feels very late, though it's a quarter to
six. We got back from Smitty's not long
ago; we split a small sausage and mushroom
pizza and a pepper-parmesan tossed salad.
Dave is in bed reading funnybooks; I'm
(theoretically) cleaning up for tomorrow.
The MHW Ride Line is still the tape for
the second half of November, so I don't
suppose anyone will show up for my New
Year's party. Dave will be pleased if all
the cocoa is left over.
Someone on the Knitlist described a
knitting method that sounded like mine as
"The hedge-witch school of knitting design."
I love the cozy, peasantish sound of it.
Did get out for cat litter (Friday, I
think), but the pelleted pine sawdust seems
to have been a fluke, and there was very
little Cedarific, so I also bought a bag of
Luv My Kitty "recycled wood" cat litter even
though I detest cutsy-poo, misspelled words,
and imitation environmentalism. The cats
don't seem to mind it.
Shook my present, but all I can determine
is that it seems to be in a smaller box, a
good bit shorter than the outer box, a
little bit narrower, and hardly any deeper.
Never did find anything for Dave, so I
wrapped a teeny box of Whitman's Samplers.
He's enjoying his new antennas, though.
We bought a pair of mag mounts, but I
haven't a radio, so mine is mounted on the
old Hallicrafter, connected to the hand-held
scanner. He says that I may need to buy
another magmount for the Jeep. He's still
working on a power supply for my handheld
transceiver; the last battery is practically
dead, and they don't make that kind any
more. He emptied the case of a dead
battery, and it has wires sticking out
waiting for us to use it as a connector on a
voltage regulator.
No word from Craft Gallery; on inspecting
my supply of Persian, I think I should have
ordered a black hank too. (I sent for hanks
of red and white, and sample skeins of six
or eight other colors.) Haven't sent to
Patternworks yet. I want so little yarn
that the S&H will be a substantial part of
the order. As it was on the Craft Gallery
order. (Which is what makes me regret the
black Persian; I have plenty for immediate
needs.)
Turned the heel of my stocking today,
which is a Christmas present in itself. I'm
much better at stranding fine, fine yarn
back and forth than I was when I started,
but I HATE the heel-and-toe thread I used.
It's all plain knitting to the toe, now.
Little progress on the book, but
describing the left-hand mitten liner
doesn't seem as overwhelming as it did. I
thought at first that I had to think it all
out row by row as I'm doing for the right
mitten, but from the thumb up, at least, the
description will do equally well for left
and right.
Knitting is easier done than said.
I learned today that Eudora's spelling
checker flags the word "e-mail." Guess
you're supposed to do it, not talk about it.
What can he have left to buy me
when he made a special trip to the computer
store to get me Eudora?
25 December 1995
It was a pair of sheepskin slippers. I'm
still wearing them.
We spent a quiet Christmas. When Dave
went upstairs for a nap, Frieda fell asleep
on my lap, which forced me to knit two
inches on my stocking.
The cats were considerably put out that
we had boneless ham for Christmas dinner.
No scraps, and they had waited patiently on
the windowsill all through the meal.
When I was at Price Chopper, they had
smoked pork necks. Don't have any
refrigerator taste like those I found a few
years ago, either. They do appear to have
ribs. (Maybe that's a cervical rib.) I
forgot to put the beans on to soak Saturday
night, so we couldn't have soup on Sunday.
Yes, I know, but I don't like it
"quick soaked." Especially when I've got
both pork necks and Great Northerns. So I
put them to soak Sunday and made soup today
to serve tomorrow. Smelled so good I was
tempted to change the menu.
27 December 1995
Putting a five-quart kettle into the
fridge alongside Christmas leftovers wasn't
easy! We enjoyed the soup, though.
Things were very calm at Super Value When
I went out for bread yesterday morning. It
felt like shopping in the middle of the
night. There were stock boys all over the
place, somehow managing to work hard
serenely. Found a sack of Cedarific,
slightly cheaper than at Price Chopper
Western Ave., and grabbed it. I don't like
it -- it tracks, and I suspect that added
cedar scent isn't good for the cats -- but
it's easy to get rid of.
And I always know when the cats have been
on the table.
I may go out again today, if Dave comes
home for lunch without a nine-volt battery.
He brought it, and I put it in the smoke
alarm.
Now what's for supper? He had both
leftover ham and leftover bean soup for
lunch, so I'll have to do something with the
chicken thighs.
I learned today that the registered
version of Eudora will run without Trumpet
Winsock loaded; saves a bit of trouble when
composing or reading messages off line.
29 December 1995
When I told Dave that, he thought at
first that I meant that Eudora would dial.
The shareware version wants Trumpet running
whether it's online or not.
Mopped the kitchen floor yesterday. It
took all day because of all the junk in the
back entry. Now there's a bunch of junk in
the garage.
And the Jeep. One big thing was a sack
of plastic peanuts I've been meaning to dump
at "Mailboxes Etc."
Missed the poets meeting yesterday --
literally. Y'all do know that the design of
the Cherokee sacrificed the ability to go
fast on imperfect roads for the ability to
go slowly on no road at all. When I arrived
at the library, I met Barbara, who had
waited to lead people who hadn't got the
message to Mildred's apartment. But she
tore down the narrow, unlit, child-lined
road to the village about five miles an hour
faster than I'd have driven the Toyota in
broad daylight, and we hadn't been on
Krumkill long before I lost her altogether.
She'd said Beverwyck is a big ol' thing and
you can't miss it, but there are a
lot of big ol' things on Blessing
Road, and I did miss it. When I didn't find
it on the way back either, I reflected that
everyone would be inside by now and I didn't
know the apartment number, so I continued on
home.
Hope Mildred doesn't think I was avoiding
her.
Finished a sock, though. (Dave was using
the computer.)