tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-291349752024-03-19T06:07:19.579-07:00OccasionalPieceLetterpresshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13983311236791267553noreply@blogger.comBlogger753125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29134975.post-60725179304605993892016-04-17T21:43:00.003-07:002016-04-17T21:43:47.100-07:00At the End of the Limb<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8qKePbueg_k/VxRcoCHOk5I/AAAAAAAASO0/J40PP4OFnk8BJ_gn8OjM0WHc0ncl4LsLwCLcB/s1600/LIO_Out%2Bon%2Ba%2BLimb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="248" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8qKePbueg_k/VxRcoCHOk5I/AAAAAAAASO0/J40PP4OFnk8BJ_gn8OjM0WHc0ncl4LsLwCLcB/s640/LIO_Out%2Bon%2Ba%2BLimb.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
While this illustration might more often relate to starting an adventure without thinking about where it takes you, or how it ends -- something akin to painting yourself into a corner -- it also relates to aging. Getting old, being old. For who thinks of arthrities when we are nine years old and eating cotton candy at the church fair? Lately I'm glimpsing the place where the cartoon character Lio finds himself: near the end with someone else holding the end of the pen, with that invisible hand writing where I'll go from here.<br />
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I have felt for some time like I just can't get my sea legs in my life and I'm missing that feeling of being on top of things, in control of the fates -- although the way everything is hyper-analyzed to death these days, the argument could be made that I never have been in control of anything that happened. But I <i>felt</i> in control. Or maybe that's the older me looking back at the younger me. Surely couldn't have been the nights I was up with a child who had an earache and I desperately wanted sleep but couldn't lay them down, even after dosing them up with pain meds. Or it couldn't have been when I was in the Divorce Tilt-A-Whirl, as I let go of the center and careened around the track in nauseating spirals. The rational, older me knows that the feeling like I was in control was an illusion, but the side of me that wants to feel better about things just knows at some point I was master of my ship.<br />
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I mentioned to my 87-year-old mother that I was old and almost before I finished the statement, she retorted that "You're not old!" But the problem is, if I'm not old, what am I? I don't feel 40. Or 17. Or even 55. And the government would give me money if I asked them for it, proving that I must be old enough. Her genial insistence that I wasn't old left me frustrated with nowhere to be, unable to find my place, to figure out my tasks and why aches are a part of my day, and forgetting a part of the mental landscape. I can't figure it out, can't seem to get a rhythm going.<br />
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My father is ninety and when I think about feeling this disoriented for another three decades, I feel worse than ever. Some time ago the fiction I tell myself was that I was sailing on through life, feeling pretty good about things, then it was cancer, then surgeries, the body failing me in too many ways, but nothing so serious that would warrant sympathies on Facebook or a headline in the news. Just garden-variety, life-and-energy-sapping, getting old sorts of ways. The fact that I am surrounded by friends and loved ones enduring sad news, deaths, cancer, divorce, infidelity and illness doesn't help much.<br />
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For now I see the endings sometimes almost before the beginnings, and
internalize the struggles before the fight has even been defined. At my age, every step onto that sawed off trunk now carries with it the ink pen of the ending. It could be the beginning of another delightful experience, or an abstruse journey of near falls, scrapes and injury along with a requisite sprinkling of good cheer.<br />
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Or...not. Letterpresshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13983311236791267553noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29134975.post-67028048728567133802016-01-06T08:06:00.002-08:002016-01-06T08:06:58.060-08:00Birthday Cheer<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GK-_87aZROY/Vo04nvcLRqI/AAAAAAAASNo/Wg9MjIPUeU0/s1600/Earthquake%2BMap.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GK-_87aZROY/Vo04nvcLRqI/AAAAAAAASNo/Wg9MjIPUeU0/s1600/Earthquake%2BMap.png" /></a></div>
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There was an earthquake of 4.5 a few miles from us, shaking us awake.</div>
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Google wished me Happy Birthday.</div>
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Dave found me a great dance scene mash-up to one of my favorite songs. We had fun trying to identify the people, and are probably the only ones who got the bit from the movie <i>Rabbi Jacob</i>. We were also happy to see <i>Napoleon Dynamite</i> represented not once, but twice.<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-h-FZQjKw9Gc/Vo068vxpWKI/AAAAAAAASN8/NHo6_nOB3cE/s1600/1961%2BEaster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="419" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-h-FZQjKw9Gc/Vo068vxpWKI/AAAAAAAASN8/NHo6_nOB3cE/s640/1961%2BEaster.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
I was this old when my grandmother (my father's mother) was my age and I thought she was ancient.<br />
(I'm the shortest girl.)<br />
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Happy to have made it another year! </div>
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Letterpresshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13983311236791267553noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29134975.post-16084157428171746882015-10-25T11:05:00.003-07:002015-10-25T11:05:50.840-07:00General Lost Freshness<div id="poem_container">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ffvV21dSjXc/Vi0ZaSoVFeI/AAAAAAAASM0/yiaTEiWNxDQ/s1600/00120015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="424" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ffvV21dSjXc/Vi0ZaSoVFeI/AAAAAAAASM0/yiaTEiWNxDQ/s640/00120015.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>(Picture taken in 1979)</i></td></tr>
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Years of 1978</div>
<span id="header"><i>Youth is an army ... on a considerably reluctant march into the <br />
enemy's country, the country of the general lost freshness.</i> <br />
—HENRY <span class="caps">JAMES </span></span><br />
<span id="poem">In that mysterious country, time ran backward—<br />
or we ran forward and everything lay in our slipstream. <br />
The only swamps were rice paddies far south. <br />
The year heavy-footed it across fallow fields <br />
toward peacocks that screamed all night. <br />
Your great-grandfather had gone to the plains <br />
from some hellhole in Europe, life savings <br />
stitched to his pocket when he boarded the cars west. <br />
Falling asleep east of Chicago, he woke penniless. <br />
What we lost, we lost by increments—<br />
not beauty, perhaps, just being young. <br />
What might almost have been innocence. </span></div>
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<span id="byline">William Logan</span>
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<i><span id="book_title">Tin House</span></i>, <span id="issue">Volume 17, Number 1 Fall 2015</span><br />
<span id="issue"><a href="http://poems.com/poem.php?date=16734"><i>from Poetry Daily </i></a></span><br />
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Letterpresshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13983311236791267553noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29134975.post-4826464009312079982015-08-30T09:20:00.000-07:002015-08-30T09:20:24.434-07:00Lost Summer<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The morning after this summer's surgery to <a href="https://occasionalpiece.wordpress.com/2015/08/04/disruption-in-the-quilting-force/">rearrange my clockworks</a>, a tray was brought for breakfast with an enormous domed lid, which when lifted, revealed a solitary 2" pancake and a container of syrup. It was actually perfect, even though it looks rather pitiful on the plate.<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8pV2eQ9VSww/VeMoBn6oKWI/AAAAAAAASLs/8iVO41Q4J4s/s1600/sandwich%2Bpost%2Bop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8pV2eQ9VSww/VeMoBn6oKWI/AAAAAAAASLs/8iVO41Q4J4s/s320/sandwich%2Bpost%2Bop.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Contrast that with this sandwich two days later on cranberry walnut bread, topped with a ripe tomato from our garden, two lean slices of ham. This was perfect, and I had it every day for lunch for a week.<br />
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The stay in the hospital was confusing, painful after the spinal block wore off, and incredibly noisy, thanks to the woman in the next bed who always had 17 of her closet relatives visiting her at any one time. Okay, maybe it was only five, but in a room really built to hold one bed comfortably, it was a squeeze. I was in Surgery Limbo/Bonzo Brain Land, a haze that persisted for weeks even after arriving home. <br />
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For the first week home, I coughed (pain pain pain) when I talked for more than five minutes. I couldn't pull up the blanket in the middle of the night. I ate applesauce at 3 a.m. in the bathroom so I could take my meds in the middle of the night. I slept more than I was awake, or at least it felt that way. I watched more TV than I normally do. I missed my quilting. I felt isolated, amazed/surprised at "friends" who never sent notes, or even called, to see how I was doing. I was intensely grateful for those who called nearly every day for quick conversations, just to gauge by my voice how I was doing. My husband kept everything going, including too many doctor appointments when I developed some complications.<br />
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This week is the fifth week post-op, and I have reclaimed much of my life. I can get in and out of bed, clothes, the car, and most chairs although I still avoid our squishy sofa. I can put a meal on the table, but am infinitely glad when my saintly husband does the dishes. I can do most of the laundry after the basket is brought down to the laundry toom, but when the bending over gets to be too much, he takes over. I can now read a book, a concentrated task unimaginable even two weeks ago. I have driven the car -- twice -- and am down to one short nap a day. My husband takes me out once a day just so the storms of tears and boredom don't overwhelm our calm existence.<br />
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But it's a lost summer, to me. The run-up was emotionally draining (worry worry worry). We're incredibly glad they didn't find any cancer, although I still have another scan for the spots in the lung, the little bits of anomaly which led to this whole experience. I knew it was to be a major surgery, but was probably unprepared for how large a space this would carve in my life. <br />
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While I'm still not seeing complete popsicles in my way (still a few more weeks of recovery), a lot of the obstacles have been dealt with. After a lost summer, I'm hoping that fall will bring a re-engagement with my life.</div>
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<br />Letterpresshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13983311236791267553noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29134975.post-87858899728631622332015-07-06T19:39:00.000-07:002015-07-06T19:39:38.003-07:00More Summer VisitorsMatthew and his family stopped by, and we loved having them visit. We were able to squeeze in a visit to Chad and his family, where Chad and Kristen hosted us at a pool party at their home, Peter and Megan came up from their home, and Dave got a nice Father's Day gift from Peter and Chad: a tune-up on his bike. Here are the photos:<br />
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(I tried to get Brooke to give me her mermaid, but she took it home.) </div>
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Come again, everyone!!</div>
Letterpresshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13983311236791267553noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29134975.post-62593202460461647732015-06-13T06:47:00.000-07:002015-06-13T06:47:14.445-07:00Visitors from Arizona<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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We had some visitors this past weekend, from their new home in Arizona. They stayed overnight en route to a little family vacation in Southern California.</div>
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Maddy enjoyed picking flowers from our yard.</div>
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Just before they hopped in the car, they all paused for a photo.</div>
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Have fun in Disneyland!</div>
Letterpresshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13983311236791267553noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29134975.post-1087346943188742332015-05-19T11:39:00.000-07:002015-05-19T11:39:18.061-07:00Last Call for the Wrong MailboxOn my last day of teaching, I received this email:<br />
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<i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I have received mail with your name on it and our record shows you don’t have a mailbox here at CHC. You are able to pick up your mail from me; I’m available Monday through <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_1615683712" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ">Friday</span></span> from <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_1615683713" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ">8am to 4pm</span></span> in LADM 167 Facilities Use Office. If you are unable to pick up your mail and would like it mailed to you, please pervert a mail address.</span></i></div>
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I received this after I'd given my final, met with each student and gave them back their final research paper (worth 25% of their grade and even at that hefty percentage only one student failed completely), when I was sitting in my car trying to decide how to feel about the end of this semester.</div>
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Unfortunately, I couldn't "pervert" her a mail address right then because the office was closed, but called this morning and we straightened things out (seems they given my mailbox to another person, ignoring the fact of the original assignment and the label with my name on it, or that an actual person already HAD that mailbox).</div>
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Before that, I stood at the top of what is known at the Aztec Stairs, a long flight of stairs that leads to the Admin Building, where I teach. The VP of Students, who I have met several times, was coming up the stairs; I waited to say good-bye and we chatted. Even though I had introduced myself to him yet again as recently as two weeks ago, I realized he had no idea who I was, nor did he ask once. I decided not to make excuses for him this time.</div>
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Before that, when I was addressing my class, I thanked them for their work and in our chit-chatting, asked if there was anything that they could point to as a take-away from this class. They fell silent. I know they were trying to think of something, but they were in Finals Week, they were tired, it was the last day, blah blah blah, but still. Silence.</div>
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And before all that, I'd written to my sister that morning, in response to an article she sent me an <a href="http://chronicle.com/blogs/conversation/2015/05/12/an-adjuncts-farewell/">article from the Chronicle of Higher Education</a>, where an adjunct professor detailed the reasons why he was leaving off teaching in a classroom (he's still doing online teaching). I'm thinking about not coming back myself, and although this decision feels a bit squishy at this point, I enumerated the reasons to her for leaving, acknowledging first that the incredibly low rate of pay can be a factor:</div>
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"But for me, it was also the complete "invisibility" to Admin, to my chair (although he's always very nice when I do see him), and the constant reminder of my non-person status given the number of "staff" luncheons, raffles, potlucks given each year at my institution, for which I have been asked to bring food, contribute to prizes, etc. A token event was held at the beginning of the year on a Wednesday night at 6:30 for free pizza for the Adjuncts at a local place, a complete turn-off since most adjuncts commute in and leave as soon as they finish on campus. I think I would have preferred the Chronicle writer's gift of a duffle bag from his chair, instead.<br /><br />"In addition to the pay and the invisibility, it is the students. Adjuncts typically teach the lower and lower-than-low division classes as the faculty retain the better classes for themselves (I don't blame them in the least). And since we get those students right out of high school who typically are working at a 10th grade level, it becomes extremely challenging to maintain morale when the expectations are for "entertainment" like they received in high school. I joked to my colleague last week that if the pretend percentages are that the students bring 100% and I bring 100%, I felt this semester as if I were bringing 150% to their 50%, yet they probably aren't aware of that ratio.</div>
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"I have had one amazing upper-division English class in my ten years here. The students were engaged, interesting, generally well-prepared and our class discussions were interesting, thoughtful and fruitful. I think after teaching that class, I realized what I had been asked to do generally, denigrates my ability and my contribution to the teaching profession. I've had other bad classes, and that's no reason to throw in the towel, I realize. But after that great class, something shifted in me and I just didn't want to go through the hoops anymore. And the fact that only once in ten years have I had a good class is telling. <br /><br />"I also firmly believe that until full-time faculty won't put up with the hiring of adjuncts and make their voices heard on this issue, nothing will change. And I don't foresee that happening. Ever."</div>
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Since I'm not published (you can call that one of my failures if you want) or in a full-time position (add that to the failure list, although I have tried), I can't expect any more of Higher Ed, right? It's easy to delegate adjuncts to a position of the great unwashed of the Big U, greedily grabbing those courses thrown to us by kind and well-meaning Admins. We are not invited to faculty meetings, asked for our opinions. When they announced the "Part-Timer of the Year," no mention was made of why they were chosen. Just a name, an invisible person, delivered in a deluge of end-of-year emails.</div>
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Perhaps this "perverted" mailbox was a sign, in a weird sort of way. Perhaps, after too many strange conversations, too many unprepared students, as well as all the other inconsequential stings and cuts, the message from on high was that it is probably time to go invisible for good.</div>
Letterpresshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13983311236791267553noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29134975.post-66737364932054876932015-04-24T13:41:00.000-07:002015-04-24T13:41:22.576-07:00I Could Also Watch These Guys Dance All Day<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/OPf0YbXqDm0" width="560"></iframe>Letterpresshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13983311236791267553noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29134975.post-17891475159018867472015-02-06T03:00:00.000-08:002015-02-06T03:00:10.194-08:00Intrinsic Value<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1B2h2PkjCdE/VBoNT2IFbiI/AAAAAAAARx4/A3apd6h4JnE/s1600/clock_small.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1B2h2PkjCdE/VBoNT2IFbiI/AAAAAAAARx4/A3apd6h4JnE/s1600/clock_small.png" height="153" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">from <a href="http://99u.com/articles/31923/how-death-motivates-us-all">*here*</a></td></tr>
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Not too long ago I was confronted with a new challenge, a good challenge, one that would make me grow and stretch and punch out in new directions--that kind of goal. But I didn't want it. It was time-consuming. No, time-destroying. Many of the easy habits of our empty-nest life would be overrun by this challenge, such as losing the time we've carved out for our early-morning walks.<br />
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">Someone might look at my life and say, "Well. You do have the time." But this is where I confront the slippery core of my dilemma: how do I value my time? As an adjunct professor, I receive very low pay. In fact, most of my students make more than I do when I factor in the time spent in grading and prepping. I also receive no money for things I do in the rest of my life either--no income streams anywhere. So how then, does a person value their life? Value their time? Decide how to "spend" time, that one thing that no one can get more of than another? Do some tasks carry more "weight" than others, for example, preparing a meal versus cleaning it up? Cleaning out the garage, vs. cutting out a new quilt? Maintaining friendships vs. time on the internet?</span><br />
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">Enough of these stupid questions, as I always advise students that a good declarative sentence is worth a paragraph of queries. But I have no easy declarative sentence to end with. Maybe I think </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">a task might be valued by what intrinsic value it carries. And this "assigning a value" is something I have spent a lifetime trying to understand, especially when there is no outside determinant of what it is worth (i.e., a monetary valuation). </span><br />
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">When I was four years old, my clock was as big as the sky, reaching in all directions, limited only by naps and my bedtime. When I was a teenager, the timepiece was a bit smaller, perhaps room-sized, filled with time to do things like figure out how to cut my hair like the models in Seventeen magazine. Motherhood shrunk that clock again, as did grad school. Too little time for too many outside tasks.</span><br />
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">But now I feel like my timepiece is one of those Dali clocks, limpid and wobbly, not keeping time the way it should. Sometimes my clock size is appropriate, crisp and ticking, lots getting done. But other days it languidly drapes itself over the sofa, a bag of chips in one hand while balancing the computer on its lap and says something to the effect of "good luck in getting anything done at all." And when I shake it, trying to get some minutes out of its uncooperative self, I realize my clock is too small to get my hands on, shrunk not only from outside time demands but also from the shrinking horizon of my older life, my ability to power through.</span><br />
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">So I am careful with those requests. Too many phone calls? Ignore the ring. Too many IMs? Leave the mobile in the purse downstairs where I can't hear it. No, I won't conduct a cooking class for teens at the local youth conference. No, I won't be cleaning out the garage, either. I am choosing what I do in a place in my life where soon I'll be carrying around my ever-shrinking clock in a pill bottle, retrieving it with tweezers to see how minutes are left.</span>Letterpresshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13983311236791267553noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29134975.post-6368728146939926632015-02-03T13:12:00.001-08:002015-02-03T13:53:29.901-08:00I Could Watch These Kids Dance All Day Long<div style="text-align: center;">
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This video was "shot in a single take by a camera on a drone flying above the Los Angeles River bed." Be sure to watch the credits until the end.</div>
Letterpresshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13983311236791267553noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29134975.post-29636457825999089592015-01-11T16:15:00.000-08:002015-01-11T16:16:15.911-08:00See Saw, Teachery Style<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This about sums up my last few weeks. Only I can't say I was as radiantly happy as this young woman was on the down stroke, nor was I as exuberant on the up stroke, knowing that the see-sawing over whether or not I'd be teaching this next semester would continue. Tomorrow schools starts. Today I found out that (as my Dean put it) "Your Class Is A Go" in the subject header of the first email, with nothing else in it. The second email was a touch more verbose, with the advice to "get your stuff prepared." He is the man who hired me lo, these many years ago, and since I know him pretty well I laughed when I read the email. It's nice to get off the see-saw.</div>
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But I'm pretty much in denial that my lovely (unpaid) sabbatical is over. I have a list of projects as long as my arm in the quilty arena, plus there's those housekeeping chores that need to be done as I have company coming for the next two weeks. Things are popping, but I have to turn some attention to my class now. I did prep up for the first day and have my copies, the stuff up on the web, but who knows if I'll have any AV equipment in a class which is in the South 40? I've already decided I'm wearing tennis shoes the first day, since there will be a lot of hiking around campus.<br />
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All of this happened because of budget numbers, those figures that we in middle-education (past K-12, but not as high as a 4-year school) live and die by. Just before Christmas the numbers were in the tank; now, post New Year's, we can float my half-filled class (having only 12 students in my class has got to be a record). I chose online ebooks, as I knew the books wouldn't be here in time and the style manual from the class that was cancelled just before Christmas can be transferred over to this class. <br />
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I'm just so relieved to know what I'll be doing.Letterpresshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13983311236791267553noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29134975.post-67010873109291135842015-01-04T08:25:00.002-08:002015-01-11T16:16:05.504-08:00Happy New Year 2015<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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We typically celebrate New Year's Eve at East Coast Time, that is, when it is 9:00 p.m. here in California. This year, a little after 8:00 p.m., I suggested we celebrate it "Halifax" time, four hours earlier. If this keeps up, by the time we hit that old nursing home, we may toast each other with our glasses of Metimucil at noon, muttering that somewhere in the world (Australia maybe?) it's time to celebrate the advent of the new year. </div>
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Celebrating in the future in a rest home, er--Assisted Living Center, is a definite possibility, given what I feel like as I approach a birthday that brings me, as everyone knows, one year closer to death...and the inevitable Assisted Living Center (ALC). If I were forty years old this idea would seem morbidly uncomfortable, but this year I'm thinking that I'd just better get used to the idea because there are some upsides (I'll find them yet, as I'm a Pollyana if there ever was one) to this sort of arrangement of having your social life at the big table in the dining room with many other infirmed, but not necessarily feeble-minded, and may well prove as attractive the idea of not having to cook the three squares every day. </div>
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My husband's parents wondered why they waited so long to move to their ALC, and after she died (another inevitable component of this stage of life) he found his second wife there. I'm not saying that I'm going to kick off after I turn my birthday and leave my husband hunting down a suitable widow to move in with, but all I'm saying is that the view (and the array of choices) from this decade is substantially different than the view from 30, or 40. Surprisingly different.</div>
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Perhaps that's why this cartoon caught my eye. Certainly Dan Piraro (above), a man of my vintage, doesn't look like he has one foot in the grave. If you looked around my studio with various creative projects scattered every which way, you know I plan to be around for a while. I'm guess I'm just trying to be practical about how the ensuing decades might unfold, like I have some say in the matter. At my age, it's the calamaties, the unforseen health problems, the fall, the traveling blood clot that will derail the best laid plans for the future. So it's a happy sappy birthday to me, as I'm working to adjust my expectations to more closely match my long-range realities, whatever they are. And trying not to rush Halifax-New-Year's style into what lies beyond.</div>
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<br />Letterpresshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13983311236791267553noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29134975.post-80359290959631307512014-11-21T14:10:00.000-08:002014-11-21T14:10:04.138-08:00Two Happy Bookends<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This started off my Thursday in a good way with my <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_wGcAMYlxgA">husband's video</a> on the front of his university's web page. He'd participated in speaking about his research and what he does with the campaign <i>Living the Promise</i>. Of course, I love the video and played it numerous times during the day. </div>
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(And at 1:27, you can see the blackout curtain that I sewed for him the first year he was a professor. And yes, that Prop 65 sign about needles and pins is from my local JoAnn's store!)</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-n7aCJgGDjVE/VG-3i3Yo9OI/AAAAAAAAR8s/pqHmPwiUTO4/s1600/Colorwheel%2BBlossom%2BDrying%2Bon%2BBed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-n7aCJgGDjVE/VG-3i3Yo9OI/AAAAAAAAR8s/pqHmPwiUTO4/s1600/Colorwheel%2BBlossom%2BDrying%2Bon%2BBed.jpg" height="640" width="640" /></a></div>
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I worked all day sewing on this quilt. Really I've worked all week on quilting this quilt. More information can be found on my quilting blog, <a href="http://occasionalpiece.wordpress.com/2014/11/19/colorwheel-blossom-in-progress/">OPQuilt.com</a>.</div>
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And then this was the ending to my day: acceptance of all three quilts of my quilts into <i>Road to California</i>, a nationally ranked and juried quilt show, held locally. I'd been rejected the last few years I'd entered and despaired of ever seeing my quilts hung again in a show. To get in all three? It leaves me shaking my head in amazement and jumping up and down on my bed in pure happiness.Letterpresshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13983311236791267553noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29134975.post-86272446452726623342014-11-16T07:54:00.003-08:002014-11-16T07:57:41.174-08:00Phone Calls<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Recently, with the aging process going full steam in my life, I feel like I'm getting in on some of the good "old" jokes that I never understood before. Like the phone call cartoon, my quirks and peculiarities seem to be increasing, and if I can just keep my sense of humor about it all, I may just make it through. But perhaps I should apologize in advance to my children? Letterpresshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13983311236791267553noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29134975.post-17472521720431123982014-11-09T07:13:00.000-08:002014-11-09T07:13:53.126-08:00I Won't Let You Down<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="360" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/u1ZB_rGFyeU?rel=0" width="640"></iframe>Letterpresshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13983311236791267553noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29134975.post-82865892990771179752014-10-17T20:52:00.000-07:002014-10-17T20:52:05.756-07:00Before and After--Year of Planting (2014)Here are a few photos, shown side-by-side, of the Before and After. I hope to do this again, maybe every year for a few years in order to show the growth of the plants and the filling in of the landscaping. I asked our landscaper how big these all would get. His laconic reply: "Multiply by eight." Okey-dokey.<br />
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Click to enlarge the photos. The red numbers on the <i>before</i> photos relate to the location where I took the pictures on the plan from <a href="http://occasionalpiece.blogspot.com/2014/08/the-big-before.html">*this post.*</a><br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-64Iq0UYcJ90/VEHjetkVQrI/AAAAAAAAR7w/-xNZ6tYZwk8/s1600/yard%2Bredofinal5_hill.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-64Iq0UYcJ90/VEHjetkVQrI/AAAAAAAAR7w/-xNZ6tYZwk8/s1600/yard%2Bredofinal5_hill.jpg" height="236" width="640" /></a></div>
The front hill -- the "juniper hill" -- as we used to call it. (The trees in the <i>after</i> photo have not been erased: it's just an early-morning shot and the exposure was off.)<br />
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Front walkway.</div>
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Front rock wall and front door.</div>
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Standing at the outer perimeter of the upper yard and looking towards the backyard. These photos are not an exact fit, but I wanted to show how the juniper hedge completely blocked off the side yard.</div>
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In the "before," I lifted the camera up above the juniper hedge and took the photo. </div>
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View from side corner towards the driveway.</div>
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Not an exact match, but the side fence is about eighteen inches off the corner of the house, in front of the big tree.</div>
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This last one is a bit difficult to envision. We took out all the cement "pavers" just under the number 36 in the left photo. If you stood just to the right of that red number, feet on the brick patio and looked toward the fence, you would have the view of the "after" photo. </div>
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Confusing? You'll just have to come and visit. </div>
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The other night my husband and I carried our dinner plates and glasses out to the small table and two chairs we have in front of the fountain, and enjoyed our dinner outside, overlooking the city's landscape and enjoying the new space.</div>
<br />Letterpresshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13983311236791267553noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29134975.post-16413569731964253122014-10-03T10:51:00.001-07:002014-10-03T10:51:44.041-07:00Landscaping is All Finished -- 2014<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
On Tuesday, Bruno came to finish the construction of my raised
vegetable garden bed. And I had a phone call with the cranky guy I'm
allergic to, wherein he cussed me out, yelled "I'm off your job!" and
hung up on me. Long day. That evening we got the two young men across
the street, who are wrestling buddies, to help us move stones here and
there, and finally we were both happy with how the path and layout
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Wednesday morning, with no cranky guy in sight, nine men plus the owner showed up to "put this job to bed." Here they are filling the garden bed with their special grow soil and are finishing up the stone.<br />
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Power shovel because our house is built on "cut," where they cut into an existing hill to create space for our house, and the whole thing is mostly decomposed granite. He parked his shovel here while they took lunch at about 10:45 a.m. and one of them said "cookies?" So I went inside and made a batch of snickerdoodles and took it out to them, along with jugs of ice water. I clear out upstairs so they can relax, and it sounded like a party on my back patio, with lots of laughing and joshing (in Spanish) going on. Most speak English, though.</div>
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The plants were laid out and top dressing (the darker brown soil) was brought in.</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OAJanMoK8Vo/VC7ZHNEf_kI/AAAAAAAAR3U/LLSZ3Umqqyk/s1600/yard%2Bredo4_planting%2Bhill.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OAJanMoK8Vo/VC7ZHNEf_kI/AAAAAAAAR3U/LLSZ3Umqqyk/s1600/yard%2Bredo4_planting%2Bhill.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
Planting the hill. We have over 70 plants on the hill. Cranky guy showed up to place them, so I ducked into the house. He's skilled and talented but we are allergic to each other (prone as I am to be allergic to cranky guys who criticize the plans, are constantly wanting to make changes yet are resistant to mine, who call me "Sweetie" and who cuss a lot). I think we have the entire truck fleet here, but the owner assures me we don't.<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vFpqPxC6h0k/VC7ZHRTjjJI/AAAAAAAAR3Y/EczG7icPhgo/s1600/yard%2Bredo5_more%2Bplanting.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vFpqPxC6h0k/VC7ZHRTjjJI/AAAAAAAAR3Y/EczG7icPhgo/s1600/yard%2Bredo5_more%2Bplanting.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uyL-fdDzHTw/VC7ZH6uh9xI/AAAAAAAAR3s/ddidPwX7IcY/s1600/yard%2Bredo7_stone%2Bshards.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uyL-fdDzHTw/VC7ZH6uh9xI/AAAAAAAAR3s/ddidPwX7IcY/s1600/yard%2Bredo7_stone%2Bshards.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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Leftover bits of rock, chipped off from the slabs of flagstone. <br />
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The fountain is up and running!! We have an "autofill" set-up where I never have to add water -- they ran a pipe that has an automatic shut-off valve. Bruno put lots of rock all around, but then had to uncover it a little because they had not run the drip lines yet.<br />
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Now they begin to run the drip lines. A PVC pipe is buried under the ground, emerging at midline of the drip system, so it can feed to both sides evenly. They lay the drip tubing out around the plants (guess there is no moving them now), then poke the pipe with a sharp nail and push in an emitter wherever there is a plant. The emitters drip about 2 gallons per hour. They put several on the trees and even run the tubing twice around those that need the most water.<br />
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<img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SKaICQ50B2o/VC7ZFSuz9lI/AAAAAAAAR24/0ckBMjaFJgc/s1600/yard%2Bredo10_drip%2Birrigation%2Bhill.jpg" height="480" width="640" /> This is where the day ended. The next morning only three men arrived first, and went to town making sure the back lawn area where the sod was going had adequate coverage with the sprinkler nozzles. A few more plants arrived: two peonies (bred for our climate) and two lilacs (the tag says: blooms are better after a cold winter. Looks like I'll be packing the roots with ice or something). I went off to run errands and when I came back, then sod had been laid in the back yard, covering the empty spot where we'd taken out the olive tree, and which had sat empty for about a year.</div>
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More drip irrigation work, a few plant changes, then a break for lunch (no cookies today -- only ice water).<br />
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The truck with the mulch arrived and everyone sprang into action. Three more men were on this truckfull of springy "woodland mulch." The one guy on the truck pitchforked it into trash cans, which others carried up the driveway and dumped in piles around the plants. They started in the back and moved toward the front. I asked Jesse how they got the mulch on the hill, and here he is demonstrating the "toss" method.<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--psCW1G3ets/VC7ZNHpmzkI/AAAAAAAAR54/r_JQqWqgiMM/s1600/yard%2Bredo12_mulching.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--psCW1G3ets/VC7ZNHpmzkI/AAAAAAAAR54/r_JQqWqgiMM/s1600/yard%2Bredo12_mulching.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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The mulch covers the drip lines.<br />
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Here are the two men who made it all happen: Bruno (l) and Jesse (r). Actually Jesse's real name is Jesus, and he often wore baseball caps that had slogans like "Come to Jesus," and "Jesus is the center of the universe." He has a great sense of humor, as well as two daughters who are going to Cal State San Bernardino. Bruno's daughter is studying to become a doctor. Both of them work for Paradise Garden Center full time, but keep extra jobs going on the weekends to keep their children in college. I took this at the end of the day, and everyone seemed really pleased with how the yard turned out. <br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-U9VCQTatCaY/VC7ZL_r8aLI/AAAAAAAAR4g/VNi59C4OT5A/s1600/yard%2Bredofinal1_front%2Bpath.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-U9VCQTatCaY/VC7ZL_r8aLI/AAAAAAAAR4g/VNi59C4OT5A/s1600/yard%2Bredofinal1_front%2Bpath.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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Backyard path from brick patio to gate.</div>
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I took the following photos this morning, as everything looks so fresh and clean.</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-s8XcAMjmIBM/VC7ZMpJtv8I/AAAAAAAAR4w/DFeqWlWE8KI/s1600/yard%2Bredofinal3_front%2Bwall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-s8XcAMjmIBM/VC7ZMpJtv8I/AAAAAAAAR4w/DFeqWlWE8KI/s1600/yard%2Bredofinal3_front%2Bwall.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GbUXrgMdNE4/VC7ZNm7K3HI/AAAAAAAAR48/y_870pKlTwE/s1600/yard%2Bredofinal5_hill.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GbUXrgMdNE4/VC7ZNm7K3HI/AAAAAAAAR48/y_870pKlTwE/s1600/yard%2Bredofinal5_hill.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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One of the plants on the hill is Cape Plumbago, which is a bush with clusters of icy-blue flowers. They are very popular around here.<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-asugYFFSLGo/VC7ZOU7rI-I/AAAAAAAAR5I/eezJiVmenD0/s1600/yard%2Bredofinal7_front%2Bwalkway.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-asugYFFSLGo/VC7ZOU7rI-I/AAAAAAAAR5I/eezJiVmenD0/s1600/yard%2Bredofinal7_front%2Bwalkway.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ntvIIsiH5_0/VC7ZPHEO8lI/AAAAAAAAR5Q/o-5h0-TR85s/s1600/yard%2Bredofinal9_%2Bview%2Btoward%2Bfront%2Bside%2Byard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ntvIIsiH5_0/VC7ZPHEO8lI/AAAAAAAAR5Q/o-5h0-TR85s/s1600/yard%2Bredofinal9_%2Bview%2Btoward%2Bfront%2Bside%2Byard.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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Eventually a hedge will grow up and shield this side yard from the front. The hedge will run from the corner of the house and back around the raised garden bed, with a break at the walkway.<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gUbkYECPb9A/VC7ZJOdDZII/AAAAAAAAR34/uQZKB-7YTTM/s1600/yard%2Bredofinal11_raised%2Bgarden%2Bbed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gUbkYECPb9A/VC7ZJOdDZII/AAAAAAAAR34/uQZKB-7YTTM/s1600/yard%2Bredofinal11_raised%2Bgarden%2Bbed.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
We have two crown jewels in our yard now. The one above, and the one below:<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VNZi_1fJAlM/VC7ZJagwgII/AAAAAAAAR38/VeiHxAz3ET4/s1600/yard%2Bredofinal12_fountain.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VNZi_1fJAlM/VC7ZJagwgII/AAAAAAAAR38/VeiHxAz3ET4/s1600/yard%2Bredofinal12_fountain.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-w2bdEn80vWw/VC7ZJs6qkdI/AAAAAAAAR4A/Uzz3eNJw57E/s1600/yard%2Bredofinal13_side%2Bof%2Bhouse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-w2bdEn80vWw/VC7ZJs6qkdI/AAAAAAAAR4A/Uzz3eNJw57E/s1600/yard%2Bredofinal13_side%2Bof%2Bhouse.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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Ah, yes. See you plants in three years.</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PLi9z9VqhSw/VC7ZJ22zrzI/AAAAAAAAR4I/M2pilftI93Y/s1600/yard%2Bredofinal14_side%2Bof%2Bhouse2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PLi9z9VqhSw/VC7ZJ22zrzI/AAAAAAAAR4I/M2pilftI93Y/s1600/yard%2Bredofinal14_side%2Bof%2Bhouse2.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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View to the backyard.</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZBkf2N3sjxU/VC7ZK9SqUGI/AAAAAAAAR4U/xMjwR_RIUhI/s1600/yard%2Bredofinal17_view%2Btowards%2Bhouse%2Bback.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZBkf2N3sjxU/VC7ZK9SqUGI/AAAAAAAAR4U/xMjwR_RIUhI/s1600/yard%2Bredofinal17_view%2Btowards%2Bhouse%2Bback.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fPYbweSYyLM/VC7ZLCQtE-I/AAAAAAAAR4Y/yrbNZ7M9rB0/s1600/yard%2Bredofinal18_back%2Bside%2Byard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fPYbweSYyLM/VC7ZLCQtE-I/AAAAAAAAR4Y/yrbNZ7M9rB0/s1600/yard%2Bredofinal18_back%2Bside%2Byard.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PfDW_6enbk8/VC7ZMA3Wa6I/AAAAAAAAR4k/sYY171SDTg4/s1600/yard%2Bredofinal20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PfDW_6enbk8/VC7ZMA3Wa6I/AAAAAAAAR4k/sYY171SDTg4/s1600/yard%2Bredofinal20.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div>
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In my next post, I'll do some side-by-side comparisons of the before and the after. But for now, we are really enjoying the "after." </div>
<br />Letterpresshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13983311236791267553noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29134975.post-7754701155392003652014-09-29T03:30:00.000-07:002014-09-28T22:40:57.396-07:00Progress: Two Steps Forward, One Step BackYard update consists of two steps forward, one step back. Here's the photos for this morning's update.<br />
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Fences, plus gates, on both sides of our property are installed today. I showed the beginnings of it all in the last post, but here are some photos showing the finished product:<br />
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Dave and I call this the grandchildren's gate, as they like to hike up and around our property, and we needed a way for them to get through. It's very cute.<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jcqvnV3apB8/VCjtd7C3o_I/AAAAAAAAR10/VnIWSOhpE1A/s1600/Yard%2BRe-do%2BUpdate%2B9-29_6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jcqvnV3apB8/VCjtd7C3o_I/AAAAAAAAR10/VnIWSOhpE1A/s1600/Yard%2BRe-do%2BUpdate%2B9-29_6.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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<img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nyR1WccaVzc/VCjteLnD8iI/AAAAAAAAR14/pMyXgxuUqEk/s1600/Yard%2BRe-do%2BUpdate%2B9-29_7.jpg" height="480" width="640" />Two pallets of flagstone were delivered and laid out. Of course, being a quilter who works with spatial relationships ALL DAY LONG, many parts of this flagstone "puzzle" are driving me nuts. I tried to "help" but was shooed away by the cranky foreman (see previous post). I'll hopefully get the changes made this morning, with Dave's help (he agrees with me). </div>
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Look! My U-shaped "grow boxes," or "raised garden beds." It only took the owner's intervention to get them made to my specifications. </div>
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Some of the boards were cut the wrong size. Hopefully they'll finish it up today, along with the laying of the flagstone in sand. To qualify for the city's rebate, we have to have "water permeable hardscape" if we use any at all. So, no concrete in between the stones.</div>
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They brought out the larger basin for our water feature and set it in the ground and then worked the flagstone around it. Then the owner found out which basin they had used, sighed exasperatedly (when I showed him--upon his request), and made them put the correct basin in. Here's the problem with the flagstone: now it is too far away from the basin. (see above). Luckily, I have complete faith in this company and have heard many times about how good they are, so I know it will work out.<br />
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I know the owner wants to bring in the plants either today or tomorrow, get the irrigation done
and the mulch laid. Then somewhere the sod in the backyard has to
happen. I try to stay in the house as much as possible, and out of the
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We need green! I have gotten used to how the dirt looks, but I do miss our greenery. Stay tuned.Letterpresshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13983311236791267553noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29134975.post-2599236504927203062014-09-24T11:24:00.002-07:002014-09-24T11:24:42.948-07:00Progress Report on the Landscaping Re-do<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nsng3tHYtnY/VCL_ILZs8FI/AAAAAAAAR0Q/XctFWlqkVMc/s1600/Camelias%2BDown.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nsng3tHYtnY/VCL_ILZs8FI/AAAAAAAAR0Q/XctFWlqkVMc/s1600/Camelias%2BDown.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div>
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Goodbye, camellias.</div>
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After working steadily on the yard for one day, cutting and ripping out bushes and sod, the next day begins again with the tractor carrying debris to the waiting dumptrucks below. They have to keep the types of refuse separate: clean green from the other stuff.<br />
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As they find the irrigation fixtures, the unscrew them and bring them to a neat pile on my front porch. They also yanked the hose bib. This company is first class and I hear them tut-tutting over the way things had been done before by previous installers. For example, the hose bib should have been sunk in cement, rather than merely affixed to a piece of rebar.</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yRTv4ezRmjQ/VCL7_kOkzGI/AAAAAAAARzE/3sXLfgPrI3Y/s1600/Yard%2BRe-do2_4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yRTv4ezRmjQ/VCL7_kOkzGI/AAAAAAAARzE/3sXLfgPrI3Y/s1600/Yard%2BRe-do2_4.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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We can now see dirt under all those junipers. They began cutting at the driveway side, buzz-sawing off the bushes from their roots. Jesse (the crew chief) told me that he could hear scurrying as the critters that lived in the bush -- I'm guessing mice -- ran for cover. They saw them run into my neighbor's bushes. I suppose they'll be back at some point, just hopefully not for a while.</div>
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Our across-the-street neighbors are known for their sports-events parties (Super Bowl, etc.). Tally of the empties that we found in our bushes: 3 wine bottles, 1 water bottle, multiple beer cans, one slip-on tennis shoe, 2 tennis balls and one miniature volleyball.</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SrvRJZ40a38/VCL_e5SyIiI/AAAAAAAAR0c/9QMb8r0Jjgw/s1600/Juniper%2BHeartwood.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SrvRJZ40a38/VCL_e5SyIiI/AAAAAAAAR0c/9QMb8r0Jjgw/s1600/Juniper%2BHeartwood.jpg" height="640" width="640" /></a> </div>
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Juniper heartwood.</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fuilobHsH7U/VCL_fOLNAnI/AAAAAAAAR0k/CD7HVkIuX3Y/s1600/Siri%2BWatering%2BTimer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fuilobHsH7U/VCL_fOLNAnI/AAAAAAAAR0k/CD7HVkIuX3Y/s1600/Siri%2BWatering%2BTimer.jpg" height="640" width="360" /> </a></div>
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Because most of the sprinkling system is under construction, we have to set the hoses on the trees on a slow drip to water them, so I use Siri to set the timer for long hours. I think her messages are funny.</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-m1SpOP3KAlE/VCL8CmtjGgI/AAAAAAAARzs/6v19DxB-r8s/s1600/Yard%2BRe-do2_9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-m1SpOP3KAlE/VCL8CmtjGgI/AAAAAAAARzs/6v19DxB-r8s/s1600/Yard%2BRe-do2_9.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a> </div>
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The hill, denuded. They affixed the scooper to the front of the tractor, wrapped a chain around the root and used the backhoe to rip the giant roots out of the hill. We figure those junipers had been planted about thirty-five years ago.<br />
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Cleaned, cleared. Then I had a few "discussions" with the guy who was our contracting chief about where things should go. He wanted things here and there and over yonder and way over yonder, but Dave and I had worked on these plans and thought a lot about things and had already done all the "what if" talking. Sample conversation:<br />
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Him: "You know I've won lots of awards, so I have a pretty good idea about how these things should look."<br />
Me: "No doubt, and we appreciate your expertise. The sun actually shines brighter over here when you turn onto our street. But the water feature is staying where it is."</blockquote>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-r0wyuF-tlWI/VCMDaf1Q5DI/AAAAAAAAR08/nptPxJu9ZaY/s1600/Landscape%2BPlans%2C%2Bre-do.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-r0wyuF-tlWI/VCMDaf1Q5DI/AAAAAAAAR08/nptPxJu9ZaY/s1600/Landscape%2BPlans%2C%2Bre-do.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div>
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So we walked our yard on Sunday with a tape measure, paper and afterwards, I went in and re-drew our plans, and emailed them to him. He was not a happy camper. I went into the nursery yesterday morning, working with another person on
the plants for the hill, when this chief kept interrupting, being
basically rude. He's a rough-edged sort of guy, and I do like him (and admire his talents) and usually I can dish
back what he dishes out, but yesterday? Not a good day. The owner heard the ongoing interchange, stepped in and as he said "put a fire extinguisher on it." And then the owner came out this morning and with a can of paint, "drew" on the yard where our raised garden boxes would go.</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-J-0RMhuAzhs/VCL78N16JiI/AAAAAAAARyQ/qN4jWdx91fk/s1600/Yard%2BRe-do2_11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-J-0RMhuAzhs/VCL78N16JiI/AAAAAAAARyQ/qN4jWdx91fk/s1600/Yard%2BRe-do2_11.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HtXQYbcfk6c/VCL79SlMUlI/AAAAAAAARyY/1t9lrIfKsXk/s1600/Yard%2BRe-do2_13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iaiUwoeqFyM/VCL7_Oz9axI/AAAAAAAARy4/CK1X5oSB02E/s1600/Yard%2BRe-do2_14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iaiUwoeqFyM/VCL7_Oz9axI/AAAAAAAARy4/CK1X5oSB02E/s1600/Yard%2BRe-do2_14.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a> Future location of the water feature. </div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HtXQYbcfk6c/VCL79SlMUlI/AAAAAAAARyY/1t9lrIfKsXk/s1600/Yard%2BRe-do2_13.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HtXQYbcfk6c/VCL79SlMUlI/AAAAAAAARyY/1t9lrIfKsXk/s1600/Yard%2BRe-do2_13.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
And just to keep things hopping, two guys are here installing a "fence return" which is a fence from the property line returning back to the house. When we did the fences before, we did not put in a fence return on this side as we had massive juniper bushes. So now it was time. This side will have a four-foot gate, slightly off-center.<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gW7PsRa-rsY/VCL7-TsBASI/AAAAAAAARyw/NaqqUJIyOFY/s1600/Yard%2BRe-do2_16.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gW7PsRa-rsY/VCL7-TsBASI/AAAAAAAARyw/NaqqUJIyOFY/s1600/Yard%2BRe-do2_16.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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The opposite side of our yard, which is up on a six-foot retaining wall, is also getting a "return." We originally thought we didn't need one but it has turned into the local access point for the neighborhood dogs, their own personal doggie freeway to do their business in our yard. (We're tired of them.) I am having the fence guys include a wee gate, as my grandchildren like to tramp around up here, and need a passageway.<br />
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I leave you with a photo of three new sprinkler valves, a shut-off valve (under the green round cover) and our new hose bib. We consider this (and the rest of the yard) our Happy 25th Anniversary present to each other. Some women get jewelry. But I get water features, a raised vegetable garden and three new sprinkler valves. You can't have everything in this life, but I think I have a corner on the market.</div>
<br />Letterpresshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13983311236791267553noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29134975.post-24771217491610083542014-09-17T15:34:00.002-07:002014-09-17T15:34:52.734-07:00The Yard is Going. . . Going. . . <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gCjwko5b6AY/VBoIuyzpCYI/AAAAAAAARxI/S0kaTu2BEFU/s1600/Marked%2BTree.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gCjwko5b6AY/VBoIuyzpCYI/AAAAAAAARxI/S0kaTu2BEFU/s1600/Marked%2BTree.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div>
We got the call yesterday that the demolition would begin. We woke up early and marked the trees that were to stay,
using fabric strips: I wrote "Keep Me!" and "Do NOT Demolition!" on the strips. <br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Wl6ib1iZCUU/VBoIpmKfF-I/AAAAAAAARwo/Mc_LtXAUMkk/s1600/Cutting%2Bsod_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Wl6ib1iZCUU/VBoIpmKfF-I/AAAAAAAARwo/Mc_LtXAUMkk/s1600/Cutting%2Bsod_1.jpg" height="640" width="480" /> </a></div>
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By 9:00 a.m. this morning, we had four trucks, five workers and a nifty little red sod-cutting machine. </div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NUR8A5GXZvo/VBoIq6KbSNI/AAAAAAAARxA/q3ND-1i5nss/s1600/Cutting%2Bsod_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NUR8A5GXZvo/VBoIq6KbSNI/AAAAAAAARxA/q3ND-1i5nss/s1600/Cutting%2Bsod_2.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
First they wet my crunchy grass (crunchy because of the awful heat and the two applications of chemical to kill the lawn), then in a careful path, went around it with their machine. A guy with a pitchfork loosened the sod behind the machine. Then they packed up the machine and the guy with the hat (Bruno) and the guy with the sunglasses (Christian) took it off to the next job.<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SuNHw7o8xW8/VBoIretcZyI/AAAAAAAARww/Rpe-E-ke4g8/s1600/Cutting%2Bsod_3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SuNHw7o8xW8/VBoIretcZyI/AAAAAAAARww/Rpe-E-ke4g8/s1600/Cutting%2Bsod_3.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
Apparently mine is one of eleven jobs they are juggling. The turf is cut and loosened. Then I was gone for a few hours running errands, so now we fast forward.<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nStPzvvUzg0/VBoIsmPeynI/AAAAAAAARw8/tcqVa3lNSl8/s1600/Front%2BLawn%2Bno%2Bmore.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nStPzvvUzg0/VBoIsmPeynI/AAAAAAAARw8/tcqVa3lNSl8/s1600/Front%2BLawn%2Bno%2Bmore.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
No more crunchy sod, and quite a few of the junipers on our hill have been hacked down to size. As I drove up, the air smelled like pine. Good-bye you nasty junipers!<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0vzm_50RRO4/VBoIubAfNvI/AAAAAAAARxE/vhMBVqS04ww/s1600/Juniper%2BMess.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0vzm_50RRO4/VBoIubAfNvI/AAAAAAAARxE/vhMBVqS04ww/s1600/Juniper%2BMess.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Bm9XUS5svD4/VBoIvlg445I/AAAAAAAARxM/-fs_3gMuVag/s1600/Tractor_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Bm9XUS5svD4/VBoIvlg445I/AAAAAAAARxM/-fs_3gMuVag/s1600/Tractor_1.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Pz3WOoHGXrU/VBoIphAhVKI/AAAAAAAARwk/P6FDEzfQ1wk/s1600/Cement%2Bpatio%2Bgoing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Pz3WOoHGXrU/VBoIphAhVKI/AAAAAAAARwk/P6FDEzfQ1wk/s1600/Cement%2Bpatio%2Bgoing.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div>
Good-bye cement patio! In another life, I toted those slabs over from our neighbor who was redoing his driveway. We set them in the dirt and drizzled sand mixed with cement in between. They've done their duty for about twenty years. I cautioned them that may find a shoebox with a small hamster buried in here. Of course, it may have been somewhere else that we buried a small rodent.<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RevpMlV6BfY/VBoIxLhNfpI/AAAAAAAARxc/5y7Od_aZt3Q/s1600/Cement%2Bpatio%2Bgoing_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RevpMlV6BfY/VBoIxLhNfpI/AAAAAAAARxc/5y7Od_aZt3Q/s1600/Cement%2Bpatio%2Bgoing_1.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
They are lifting the cement into the tractor, and he carries it down the hill to the dump truck. In spite of marking the trees, two
Heavenly Nandina on the side were yanked by accident. (Sigh.)<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PBeKTnUq7-A/VBoIwA7xcnI/AAAAAAAARxU/dAnDtMnqkx8/s1600/View%2Bfrom%2Bthe%2B%2Bdriveway.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PBeKTnUq7-A/VBoIwA7xcnI/AAAAAAAARxU/dAnDtMnqkx8/s1600/View%2Bfrom%2Bthe%2B%2Bdriveway.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
View from the driveway. Things are going. . . going. . . but not all the way gone. It took 33 years to grow some of these things and they can be demolitioned in a day. Or two. Letterpresshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13983311236791267553noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29134975.post-24815399472954950892014-09-14T07:07:00.001-07:002014-09-14T07:07:31.756-07:00The Wild Frontier of the Internet<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4ySSZ6b1rwI/VBWYnXYe-1I/AAAAAAAARvs/_8xaLe5aDrI/s1600/Airport%2BExtreme.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4ySSZ6b1rwI/VBWYnXYe-1I/AAAAAAAARvs/_8xaLe5aDrI/s1600/Airport%2BExtreme.png" height="320" width="206" /></a></div>
We are now back in internet business with our Apple Airport Extreme Router. For nearly three weeks most of our wireless internet was non-functional, read: no signal on iPads or laptops. We'd had two visits from our cable company, multiple moderate-cursing sessions about the dropped off signal until finally, through an internet search on the desktop machine (which isn't wifi, but also wasn't functioning all that great), we diagnosed it as a router going bad. <br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pZh6oJ-R5L0/VBWaSbnskdI/AAAAAAAARv4/WRwKYVRWJlc/s1600/outlaw%2Bcowboy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pZh6oJ-R5L0/VBWaSbnskdI/AAAAAAAARv4/WRwKYVRWJlc/s1600/outlaw%2Bcowboy.jpg" /></a></div>
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Kind of like these guys.</div>
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We picked up a new router at a local box store, and Dave spent Saturday afternoon installing it and getting us up and running.By last night things were much smoother, we could get signal on all our other screens, and we even now have a Guest Wifi (get ready to change your passwords, kids). So we sat down to watch <i>Transcendence,</i> a movie starring Johnny Depp and an earnest gang of renegades fighting the takeover of a Depp-like machine throughout the known universe, aka, the internet/web/connected world.<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WCkIQoJAvhs/VBWbzPL3nKI/AAAAAAAARwE/Mo_0Vd2KXY4/s1600/James%2BGang.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WCkIQoJAvhs/VBWbzPL3nKI/AAAAAAAARwE/Mo_0Vd2KXY4/s1600/James%2BGang.jpg" height="243" width="320" /></a></div>
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Kind of like these guys.</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UwI9kqgIWzU/VBWei4Oc4LI/AAAAAAAARwQ/1nqt3Sbydrk/s1600/Opte%2BMap%2Bof%2BInternet.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UwI9kqgIWzU/VBWei4Oc4LI/AAAAAAAARwQ/1nqt3Sbydrk/s1600/Opte%2BMap%2Bof%2BInternet.png" height="640" width="640" /></a></div>
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<i>This is the famous <a href="http://www.opte.org/maps/">OPTE Map</a> of the Internet, from 2005, showing only about 30% of the data they had available at the time. I've used it before when I taught about the web in my English classes, and it was also used in the movie last night.</i></div>
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It was an interesting juxtaposition, considering what we'd
just been through. Yes, runaway machines can certainly be a concern,
but at this stage of life, I missed sitting in bed, reading blogs on my
laptop at night. I missed being able to look at social media and read our scriptures together on
my iPad after dinner. And what this taught me was how seamlessly we'd
blended our machines into our lives, making use of them in keeping us
connected to the larger outside world.<br />
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I was happy to be back in the saddle again, riding my internet range.Letterpresshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13983311236791267553noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29134975.post-20739703089112450732014-09-10T21:35:00.000-07:002014-09-10T21:35:49.420-07:00Progress Photos -- September 10, 2014<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WZM0rKtIKbQ/VBEdy0EZF8I/AAAAAAAARu4/OyxdJ9NxNMI/s1600/spray.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WZM0rKtIKbQ/VBEdy0EZF8I/AAAAAAAARu4/OyxdJ9NxNMI/s1600/spray.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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Update on our Front/Side Yard Project: We've killed the front lawn pretty dead. Here's the before (not that the lawn was that great even then, but hey).</div>
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Here it is after one week. And with no water, too. </div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OBk83fPF9M8/VBEdxzrEwlI/AAAAAAAARus/AErEKF3orm8/s1600/Utlities%2BMarkings.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OBk83fPF9M8/VBEdxzrEwlI/AAAAAAAARus/AErEKF3orm8/s1600/Utlities%2BMarkings.jpg" height="640" width="480" /> </a></div>
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One afternoon I came out and there were little flags and strips of paint denoting all the utilities. I had been upstairs quilting, and thought how busy everyone in the world had been while I was enjoying myself even though I, too, was working hard. </div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Jmg8vfINyHk/VBEdvx0jRHI/AAAAAAAARuI/Rknnuql2Nxo/s1600/Killing%2BMore%2BLawn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Jmg8vfINyHk/VBEdvx0jRHI/AAAAAAAARuI/Rknnuql2Nxo/s1600/Killing%2BMore%2BLawn.jpg" height="640" width="480" /> </a></div>
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Then yesterday, Bruno, the spray guy, came out and squirted more RoundUp to really kill the grass. We'd had an amazing storm a couple of days before that and he said "Good. Then the grass that shot up will get it again." Greg, the guy I talk to at the landscape company said maybe next week they'd start tearing out the junipers in front. Can't wait. We also got two bids on the 27 feet of fence we need to enclose the side yards. We put in new fences, sharing the costs with three different neighbors in March of 2010. Today we felt like this small amount of fence cost as much as the whole yard four years ago. We ARE getting older.</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-j-_1QXcSo6w/VBEdyZXCnxI/AAAAAAAARu8/or65u4I5LpI/s1600/rain%2Bstorm%2Bover%2BSBDO.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-j-_1QXcSo6w/VBEdyZXCnxI/AAAAAAAARu8/or65u4I5LpI/s1600/rain%2Bstorm%2Bover%2BSBDO.png" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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Okay, so about that storm. It was the leading edge of the remnants of a hurricane from Baja California and above is a shot as it moved over our neighboring city to the north. As you can see, some parts got soaked and other parts got nothing.</div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="360" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/JoUg-sM4uBw" width="640"></iframe>
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And here's a picture DURING the deluge, when we figured it dropped numerous inches in about an hour. This is showing the water streaming off our neighbor's yard into our back yard, up onto the cement slab at our back garage door. It went there, then through the garage. What a mess. (The hoses are coiled up there in the corner because we moved them from the front and side yards so they would not get Rounded Up.)</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vr1-GATFgiw/VBEdv2laAsI/AAAAAAAARuU/GkpqERI3k7o/s1600/Storm%2BDamage_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vr1-GATFgiw/VBEdv2laAsI/AAAAAAAARuU/GkpqERI3k7o/s1600/Storm%2BDamage_1.jpg" height="640" width="640" /></a>The following photos (and the above) are some of the damage we saw as we took our morning walk, just in our neighborhood.</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gDKhzs-UYEY/VBEdwT6K47I/AAAAAAAARvM/kbyD1cZh8Pg/s1600/Storm%2BDamage_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gDKhzs-UYEY/VBEdwT6K47I/AAAAAAAARvM/kbyD1cZh8Pg/s1600/Storm%2BDamage_2.jpg" height="640" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QYfkIRvSIjU/VBEdwkcP8rI/AAAAAAAARvc/BhQkz7gf_3k/s1600/Storm%2BDamage_3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QYfkIRvSIjU/VBEdwkcP8rI/AAAAAAAARvc/BhQkz7gf_3k/s1600/Storm%2BDamage_3.jpg" height="640" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FMsz2jHX-kY/VBEdwxsMCoI/AAAAAAAARuk/USK_FPJqLNE/s1600/Storm%2BDamage_4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FMsz2jHX-kY/VBEdwxsMCoI/AAAAAAAARuk/USK_FPJqLNE/s1600/Storm%2BDamage_4.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a>The photos above and below are from the neighborhood park where we sometimes drive to walk. The deluge carved out the shoulder of the road (above) and broke up the concrete on the drainage basin (below).<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--_q-WcESDRA/VBEdxZ2_MhI/AAAAAAAARvI/H4uA40RF-EA/s1600/Storm%2BDamage_5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--_q-WcESDRA/VBEdxZ2_MhI/AAAAAAAARvI/H4uA40RF-EA/s1600/Storm%2BDamage_5.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div>
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The next morning, we saw more trees down that we hadn't seen the day before. This one was broken off right at the surface of the grass. As for our yard, just that flooding through the garage and one tiny branch off a tree at the back of the yard. We feel pretty lucky.</div>
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<br />Letterpresshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13983311236791267553noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29134975.post-25578434001644511392014-09-04T03:00:00.000-07:002014-09-04T03:00:07.521-07:00St. Paul's SuiteI seem to turn on the radio whenever I'm in the car and recently heard Gustav Holst's St. Paul's Suite as I drove up the long sloping freeways to our neighboring town.<br />
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The piece, written in gratitude for his new office at St. Paul's Girls School, or so the announcer said, has several parts and the section that really caught my ear was the one where a traditional tune (which reminds me of "what can you do with a drunken sailor") is overlaid by Greensleeves. Which led me to think about the commentary I read about a not-so-favorite quilter who claimed she'd invented a technique where she overlaid her quilting pattern over something else, and that the two designs, without any relationship to each other, coexist on her quilt. I've seen a couple of those quilts and I would typify it more like an argument these two designs were having.<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KuwpfDWTveg/U_0eYcRs-3I/AAAAAAAARsw/XcO1kolWXmk/s1600/pat-sloan-infinate-variety-red-white-quilt-exhibit41.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KuwpfDWTveg/U_0eYcRs-3I/AAAAAAAARsw/XcO1kolWXmk/s1600/pat-sloan-infinate-variety-red-white-quilt-exhibit41.jpg" height="640" width="480" /> </a></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">(from <a href="http://www.allpeoplequilt.com/blogs/apqstaff/2011/07/19/pat-sloan-on-the-city-quilter-gallery/">*here*</a>) </span></i></div>
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That made me think of my current argument with the world: about how everything old is new again, but I seem to be the only witness to this in the quilting world. <br />
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This quilter claims she has a new and original idea about overlaying two distinct patterns, but here Holst was doing it musically decades before she was every born. Another quilter proclaimed that her book contained New! and Fresh! block designs for quilts, but the block she chose was one I'd seen in a book published in 1970, some forty years ago. Another duo talked about their take on combining two blocks in one quilt, but Joen Woelfrom pioneered that idea some twenty years ago.<br />
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Maybe it's because I traffic in the "modern" gang--young women who, having missed out on Home Ec and Sewing are now learning to sew by quilting, by trying to reinvent the wheel and claiming for their own. Some of us oldtimers laugh at the young'uns trying to enforce copyright on traditional quilt patterns. Several of us were drawn into a working group (called a "bee") and have named ourselves the Mid-Century Modern Quilters, the mid-century a nod to the fact that we are all over 50 years old.<br />
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I listened to an NPR show the other where an established artist (read: older) talked about his younger years and how he thought his ideas were new and interesting and really lit the art world on fire. He chuckled, paused, then said, "I suppose all young artists think that." I suppose so. Letterpresshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13983311236791267553noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29134975.post-52800407220618021442014-09-02T03:00:00.000-07:002014-09-02T03:00:02.261-07:00Life Maps<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>I found this unpublished post while cleaning out my blog, written in my second semester of teaching. While some things are dated (I am on sabbatical this semester), the ideas are still current.</i><br />
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<img alt="" border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uJNFIRsWXtw/SQz5aetIh-I/AAAAAAAAFC4/a7DESahsY6Q/s320/IMG_1475.jpg" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263856297803548642" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 240px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /><span style="font-style: italic;">Her study abroad semester in high school changed her life forever.</span></div>
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I teach an interesting group of students who bring a lot of energy and discipline to their studies. Recently I asked them to create a visual display of their life or goals, essentially a map of some kind to accompany an evaluation of said life (2 page paper).<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_uJNFIRsWXtw/SQz5aPuDgLI/AAAAAAAAFCo/SSu0988ShMc/s1600-h/IMG_1469.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_uJNFIRsWXtw/SQz5aPuDgLI/AAAAAAAAFCo/SSu0988ShMc/s320/IMG_1469.jpg" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263856293780881586" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 240px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Has decided that she wants to be a Chef.</span></div>
I snapped pictures of the maps so I'd have a record for the grading later on, plus a photo of them holding their map so I could match up map to student. What I saw today (in conglomerate) was an interesting cross-section of maps, students and the faces of the other students in the background.<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uJNFIRsWXtw/SQz5aaSYDZI/AAAAAAAAFCw/Lr_hE7JpH7I/s1600-h/IMG_1473.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uJNFIRsWXtw/SQz5aaSYDZI/AAAAAAAAFCw/Lr_hE7JpH7I/s320/IMG_1473.jpg" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263856296617577874" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 240px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">The only person I've ever known to get out the military just by asking.</span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uJNFIRsWXtw/SQz5Z3KBUGI/AAAAAAAAFCg/WGSW-mkjP-8/s1600-h/IMG_1462.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uJNFIRsWXtw/SQz5Z3KBUGI/AAAAAAAAFCg/WGSW-mkjP-8/s320/IMG_1462.jpg" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263856287187292258" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 240px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">We love to have her read in class; her British accent gives authority to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">whatever's</span> written.</span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_uJNFIRsWXtw/SQz5RtagmwI/AAAAAAAAFCQ/dl9QbCTAEX8/s1600-h/IMG_1497.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_uJNFIRsWXtw/SQz5RtagmwI/AAAAAAAAFCQ/dl9QbCTAEX8/s320/IMG_1497.jpg" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263856147133143810" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 240px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Built his map in a spiral, as he's alternately spiraled out of, then back into, control of his life.</span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uJNFIRsWXtw/SQz5RTewsUI/AAAAAAAAFCI/vNqepKVZjFk/s1600-h/IMG_1495.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uJNFIRsWXtw/SQz5RTewsUI/AAAAAAAAFCI/vNqepKVZjFk/s320/IMG_1495.jpg" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263856140171653442" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 320px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 240px;" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Escaped with his family from Afghanistan, and is gearing up to be a physicist.</span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uJNFIRsWXtw/SQz5RAP1PiI/AAAAAAAAFCA/f-YFSqtQzdo/s1600-h/IMG_1489.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uJNFIRsWXtw/SQz5RAP1PiI/AAAAAAAAFCA/f-YFSqtQzdo/s320/IMG_1489.jpg" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263856135008763426" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 240px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Took us on a treasure hunt of her life, having lived in one neighborhood the whole time.</span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_uJNFIRsWXtw/SQz5Qx0XM8I/AAAAAAAAFB4/OxMrvlAaQcQ/s1600-h/IMG_1487.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_uJNFIRsWXtw/SQz5Qx0XM8I/AAAAAAAAFB4/OxMrvlAaQcQ/s320/IMG_1487.jpg" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263856131135452098" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 240px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Born in an Eastern European country, her story from her childhood captivated the class.</span></div>
<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_uJNFIRsWXtw/SQz5R5Sw4JI/AAAAAAAAFCY/4yiy6jNSH8g/s1600-h/IMG_1558.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_uJNFIRsWXtw/SQz5R5Sw4JI/AAAAAAAAFCY/4yiy6jNSH8g/s320/IMG_1558.jpg" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263856150321881234" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 240px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a>This is my sample, and because I'm older, I narrowed it down to the Voyage of Education--the islands representing different facets of the 32 year quest for an advanced degree; A=community college, B=undergraduate at a four-year college, C=graduate degree.<br />
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I sometimes wonder about my life now, how I don't seem to have much energy for new things, and feel captive to the grading and lesson prep. I try to get ahead, so as to have some time to create, read, and relax, but the responsibilities of this life I have seem to expand to fill the available time.<br />
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If I had to build a map of my life--the entire life--I would be doing it in hindsight. The single quality that captivated me about my students was their hope for the future. It was a nearly tangible quality that dangled in front of me, but out of reach. Their hopes are so specific: med school, become a chef, get a new car, have a baby, get married, have an interesting career. It's been interesting to compare their youthful visions with my oh-so-nonspecific hopes for the future: stay healthy, avoid injury, get enough sleep. I sound like I belong in an Old Folks Home, which is dismaying, because even my parents (some 30 years older than I am) seem to have more energy and drive and are no where near that Sit-in-Place place.<br />
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I feel like I'm using up my life. I always said that when I got the children raised <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">there'd</span> be no holding me back. . . but from what? Even then I couldn't be specific. I had certain dreams that I seem to have laid aside for safekeeping, but even Frost knew that way led on to way and there's no return to those mislaid dreams.<br />
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And now, when I have the delightful option of All This Time, I find there's not much I want to do. Or I find that there's too much I want to do. Or the other reality is that just contemplating what it is I want to do leaves me so tired, I don't even want to start.<br />
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And quite frankly, I'm jealous of these students, their faces reflecting this tangible future.Letterpresshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13983311236791267553noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29134975.post-6161020042529018412014-08-29T03:30:00.000-07:002014-08-29T03:30:01.668-07:00Comments Can Be Entertaining<br />
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I read the Guardian Newspaper occasionally, and recently there was a news article about the spat two passengers had over a reclining seat. Of course, they were Americans, and so the plane diverted and left the two brawlers at a random airport before continuing the flight. The complete article is <a href="http://www.theguardian.com/business/2014/aug/26/plane-diverted-as-passengers-fight-over-seat-reclining">*here* and is where I found the picture of the plane, above.</a><br />
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I found the comments on this British Newspaper to be very entertaining. I took some snapshots of some of the better ones. Be aware--there may be some colorful language.<br />
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<br />Letterpresshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13983311236791267553noreply@blogger.com1