tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-91876116840216216062024-03-12T21:26:31.673-07:00marc and katie's lifeKatiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13293952728716234914noreply@blogger.comBlogger233125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9187611684021621606.post-24950291550630714552011-06-30T14:39:00.000-07:002011-06-30T16:49:03.391-07:00Westward Ho!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cnEJOnpzNbs/Tgzrp3IfROI/AAAAAAAABpE/rn0mpPE4YiA/s1600/w_crossingshalloww.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="312" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cnEJOnpzNbs/Tgzrp3IfROI/AAAAAAAABpE/rn0mpPE4YiA/s400/w_crossingshalloww.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
We're packin' up our every possession and headin' West! Our ten-day road trip will include Niagara Falls, Mackinac Island, the world's largest ceramic figurine, the Spam Museum, parts of Canada, Mt. Rushmore, an old west town inhabited entirely by robots, Carhenge (think Stonehenge with cars), and a zillion other quirky sights in between. Farewell Cape Ann, we're headin' out to see America!Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13293952728716234914noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9187611684021621606.post-25286802097740596212011-06-25T18:58:00.000-07:002011-06-25T19:01:49.667-07:00Doing Without<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wHZAN0Y0p7E/TgaONVHpx0I/AAAAAAAABpA/fAeQX2F_s9Q/s1600/DSCF4218.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wHZAN0Y0p7E/TgaONVHpx0I/AAAAAAAABpA/fAeQX2F_s9Q/s400/DSCF4218.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Thanks to Marc, we never ran out of firewood. That pile was always stocked. But we <i>did</i> do without a lot of <i>stuff</i> in this experimental year, which is ending at the end of this month. We've really enjoyed doing without some things (*), and some others we'll be happy to have again (§), and still others come with both pros and cons, and we'll be happy to have them, or not, in the future. <br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><b>Stuff we did without:</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="text-align: center;">TV *</div><div style="text-align: center;">Driveway (road access to house) *</div><div style="text-align: center;">Any non-homemade decorations *</div><div style="text-align: center;">Blender §</div><div style="text-align: center;">Mixer §</div><div style="text-align: center;">Couch §</div><div style="text-align: center;">Mixing Bowls §</div><div style="text-align: center;">Radio/Speakers §</div><div style="text-align: center;">Piano §</div><div style="text-align: center;">Cell Phone</div><div style="text-align: center;">Doorbell (or knocker, or any way for visitors to show they're here)</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;">Dishwasher</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;">Microwave</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;">Car</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><br />
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<span id="goog_1094275052"></span><span id="goog_1094275053"></span>Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13293952728716234914noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9187611684021621606.post-10347295878405937292011-06-18T07:59:00.000-07:002011-06-18T07:59:16.258-07:00Cape Cod Surprises<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Before now, I'd never been to Cape Cod. But I'd read a few novels set there, and the Cape Cod of my imagination was dreamy and mystical and quiet. I couldn't wait to take a camping trip with Daniel and Michelle and see it for myself! Turns out, Cape Cod was full of surprises. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4Cd7N3yC5OU/TfyzSD_V1JI/AAAAAAAABoo/zQ3f_It_KbM/s1600/DSCF4437.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4Cd7N3yC5OU/TfyzSD_V1JI/AAAAAAAABoo/zQ3f_It_KbM/s400/DSCF4437.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">In my imagination, all of Cape Cod was windswept sand dunes. But it's actually very wooded. It felt very New Englandy, which surprised me. And the woods, it turns out, are <b>chock-full of ticks</b>. Beastly things! Nasty creatures! Horrible, loathsome bloodsuckers! We had <b>eleven</b> ticks between us all, and seven just between Marc and me! I googled "Cape Cod lyme disease", hoping to find something that said, "incidents of lyme disease on Cape Cod are extremely rare," but instead came up with this: </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Lyme disease on Cape Cod has reached near epidemic proportions, with Nantucket being called the Lyme capitol of the world." </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times; font-size: small;">oh goody! </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ud6lr9-5f3A/Tfyy9pWVHFI/AAAAAAAABog/C6BTSENLWR8/s1600/DSCF4409.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ud6lr9-5f3A/Tfyy9pWVHFI/AAAAAAAABog/C6BTSENLWR8/s400/DSCF4409.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1NrlDC9ZRKg/TfyzJbIIcwI/AAAAAAAABok/NNNFT4Kr5Fk/s1600/DSCF4424.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1NrlDC9ZRKg/TfyzJbIIcwI/AAAAAAAABok/NNNFT4Kr5Fk/s320/DSCF4424.JPG" width="240" /></a>Another surprise:<b> giant horseshoe crabs</b>!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>I had also imagined sleepy, dry hot summery days on Cape Cod. But instead, we got a<b> monster thunderstorm with hail the size of dimes </b>pounding down on our heads! Here Marc and Daniel are rushing to save our tent from the pool of water that surrounded it in a matter of minutes:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WTsghkUSPNM/TfyzhsVghGI/AAAAAAAABow/ibNeZam2BxQ/s1600/DSCF4444.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WTsghkUSPNM/TfyzhsVghGI/AAAAAAAABow/ibNeZam2BxQ/s400/DSCF4444.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Another surprise is that there's an amazing Portuguese bakery out on the tip of the cape, that makes the most amazing malasadas! <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TJ-Yt0VhzMc/TfyzaBAC6pI/AAAAAAAABos/CZ52U0NiVHU/s1600/DSCF4439.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TJ-Yt0VhzMc/TfyzaBAC6pI/AAAAAAAABos/CZ52U0NiVHU/s400/DSCF4439.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Maybe my favorite surprise, though, was the one we offered to other beach patrons. Harnessing our European sensibilities, we decided that it was fully permissible to be semi-nude on the beach. Shirt or<b> </b>shorts, take your pick.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kfmO759Pios/Tfyzpscvo4I/AAAAAAAABo0/E_RUD_Sl-8A/s1600/DSCF4457.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kfmO759Pios/Tfyzpscvo4I/AAAAAAAABo0/E_RUD_Sl-8A/s400/DSCF4457.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13293952728716234914noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9187611684021621606.post-58715966357085809772011-06-13T12:26:00.000-07:002011-06-13T12:28:41.390-07:00The Shakers: it's not too late to join!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JSJZCAKNp-I/TfZaIlqnfoI/AAAAAAAABoE/p7PCaYrFcZk/s1600/DSCF4390.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JSJZCAKNp-I/TfZaIlqnfoI/AAAAAAAABoE/p7PCaYrFcZk/s400/DSCF4390.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I've always liked the Shakers. What's <b>not</b> to like about a people whose intention was nothing less than to build Heaven on earth? Plus, they ate apple pie almost every day. And made really excellent chairs. And worshipped by dancing. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Dp4bV9lMA-Y/TfZaM8JPJcI/AAAAAAAABoI/HC3GDVqWcwc/s1600/DSCF4391.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Dp4bV9lMA-Y/TfZaM8JPJcI/AAAAAAAABoI/HC3GDVqWcwc/s320/DSCF4391.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>They believed in simplicity above all, and were the most successful communal society America's ever seen. <br />
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They pooled their possessions and built perfect little towns, where they worked hard everyday to sustain themselves. They considered good work a form of worship. They sang a lot. They ate beans and cream for dinner and said it was the most delicious thing in the world. <br />
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The didn't believe in nuclear families. Instead, they organized into large, communal groups. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-my6JNurGvYY/TfZgLT5C_bI/AAAAAAAABoc/wojuZcOfSNk/s1600/6a00d834525a3469e200e552a4225d8834-500wi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-my6JNurGvYY/TfZgLT5C_bI/AAAAAAAABoc/wojuZcOfSNk/s320/6a00d834525a3469e200e552a4225d8834-500wi.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> They believed in gender equality waaay before anyone else did -- we're talking equal rights in the 1780's! At their peak, there were thousands of Shakers, in Shaker towns all across the eastern US. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">A few of their towns are open to the public. <a href="http://www.shakers.org/">There's one in Canterbury</a>, New Hampshire. Meredith and her friend Lexie were visiting from Utah, so we took 'em along. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-n2ojXMWJb7o/TfZaQ98Nf0I/AAAAAAAABoM/g2j9CFHQN9E/s1600/DSCF4392.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-n2ojXMWJb7o/TfZaQ98Nf0I/AAAAAAAABoM/g2j9CFHQN9E/s400/DSCF4392.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
The place is gorgeous and peaceful...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CfAt3ZlFWYw/TfZaT0mxb2I/AAAAAAAABoQ/bzhVQgNnwrY/s1600/DSCF4393.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CfAt3ZlFWYw/TfZaT0mxb2I/AAAAAAAABoQ/bzhVQgNnwrY/s400/DSCF4393.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
...and empty. Because, well here's the problem: Shakers believe in celibacy. So, without a steady influx of new converts, they're destined to die out. They believe in keeping men and women separate. When we visited their meeting house, there was a door for the men, and a door for the women on the other end of the building. We sat on opposite sides of the room. Quirky. Lovable. But inevitably unsustainable. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CPMpqAGMqVI/TfZaVnJ2zUI/AAAAAAAABoU/upUx6N-6vjI/s1600/DSCF4394.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CPMpqAGMqVI/TfZaVnJ2zUI/AAAAAAAABoU/upUx6N-6vjI/s400/DSCF4394.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
There are<b> </b>now <b>three Shakers left in the world</b>. They live in Maine. And they're happy to accept new recruits! Actually I really wonder why they haven't had an influx of new members lately. It seems like it's just the thing for these insecure times. Simple, old-school, dependable living. The lifestyle seems charming. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DkzU47enjF4/TfZaXXAURZI/AAAAAAAABoY/d0IhQ6s_S4g/s1600/DSCF4395.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DkzU47enjF4/TfZaXXAURZI/AAAAAAAABoY/d0IhQ6s_S4g/s400/DSCF4395.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
I was completely enticed by the Shakers' simplicity, their connection to the seasons, their industrious hard work, their worship-through-music-and-dance, and their true sense of equality. Marc and I would <b>totally</b> join --it would be a next great adventure!-- if not for he whole <i>becoming mere brother and sister </i>thing. ...and the<i> religion</i> thing. ...aaaand the <i>beans and cream</i> thing. But other than that, we're<b> so</b> in!Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13293952728716234914noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9187611684021621606.post-85110487016693001812011-06-04T08:38:00.000-07:002011-06-04T08:38:24.463-07:00Spring Roundup<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Photo-tour of ways we tried to distract ourselves from the fact that Spring was just a cold wet mess this year in New England: </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6Si3Istpyak/TepMbDzsovI/AAAAAAAABnQ/w650m_WKrAA/s1600/DSCF4165.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6Si3Istpyak/TepMbDzsovI/AAAAAAAABnQ/w650m_WKrAA/s400/DSCF4165.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Big Apple Circus came to Boston...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-afADj6SCuvc/TepMjfIaQpI/AAAAAAAABnU/mtk5Du5BrJ4/s1600/DSCF4170.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-afADj6SCuvc/TepMjfIaQpI/AAAAAAAABnU/mtk5Du5BrJ4/s400/DSCF4170.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">...and we got to go with the kidlets, who were sometimes in awe and sometimes <i>very</i> bored. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rA-L1cokBAM/TepMtE8qv7I/AAAAAAAABnY/HCdTGCRPa2Y/s1600/DSCF4178.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rA-L1cokBAM/TepMtE8qv7I/AAAAAAAABnY/HCdTGCRPa2Y/s400/DSCF4178.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Figure drawing night at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston -- what a sight! <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-AmnQw7ML_oQ/TepM1oX0MPI/AAAAAAAABnc/DFITVqqX7ws/s1600/DSCF4183.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-AmnQw7ML_oQ/TepM1oX0MPI/AAAAAAAABnc/DFITVqqX7ws/s400/DSCF4183.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">3-wheeled car, love at first sight. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Yx14CN5k_Gk/TepM_0HgkJI/AAAAAAAABng/qx4GVT7sK8I/s1600/DSCF4184.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Yx14CN5k_Gk/TepM_0HgkJI/AAAAAAAABng/qx4GVT7sK8I/s400/DSCF4184.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Newport, Rhode Island: a little bit of coastal England...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Zpzuk3JPhZg/TepNIbyhIWI/AAAAAAAABnk/k4gGAJUV5Wo/s1600/DSCF4196.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Zpzuk3JPhZg/TepNIbyhIWI/AAAAAAAABnk/k4gGAJUV5Wo/s400/DSCF4196.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">...and a tiny bit of China. Plus a zillion gigantic mansions. What a place! </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wsB6lbEgQvw/TepNZMI-yuI/AAAAAAAABns/wAMo1iACTOo/s1600/DSCF4215.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wsB6lbEgQvw/TepNZMI-yuI/AAAAAAAABns/wAMo1iACTOo/s400/DSCF4215.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Intense egg dyeing. Masterpieces were created. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8NEZKSh3sik/TepNhq1blNI/AAAAAAAABnw/yZhARDbVBsg/s1600/DSCF4226.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8NEZKSh3sik/TepNhq1blNI/AAAAAAAABnw/yZhARDbVBsg/s400/DSCF4226.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Easter feast at our house. In America! With family! </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9N-SzIomQCU/TepQtVysK5I/AAAAAAAABn4/JVFLZRwZrmg/s1600/DSCF4194.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9N-SzIomQCU/TepQtVysK5I/AAAAAAAABn4/JVFLZRwZrmg/s400/DSCF4194.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The season's first surfers offer hope. Summer is <i>going to come</i>. right? .....right? </td></tr>
</tbody></table>Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13293952728716234914noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9187611684021621606.post-50789698225110771392011-05-23T07:41:00.000-07:002011-05-23T07:41:01.129-07:00Living Deliberately<blockquote>"I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived."</blockquote><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://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9j-HC41SkT8/TdkrPBJRwzI/AAAAAAAABnI/e7IDCDh1Sn8/s1600/DSCF4352.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9j-HC41SkT8/TdkrPBJRwzI/AAAAAAAABnI/e7IDCDh1Sn8/s400/DSCF4352.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the pile of rocks left by pilgrims who visit thoreau's cabin site. </td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
Thoreau and Marc are two peas in a pod. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1bWXc-WdFBo/Tdkp-pYInWI/AAAAAAAABms/MVmcoL7_E38/s1600/DSCF4307.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1bWXc-WdFBo/Tdkp-pYInWI/AAAAAAAABms/MVmcoL7_E38/s400/DSCF4307.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
So many times I have been delighted to be attached to Marc, because he makes me cool by association. He's always doing the thing I don't dare to do. Little things, like swimming in our yard even though it's 59 degrees outside. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-n5ofmqW9gGU/Tdkp2vzvZ0I/AAAAAAAABmo/c-_-WMOr-nw/s1600/DSCF4294.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-n5ofmqW9gGU/Tdkp2vzvZ0I/AAAAAAAABmo/c-_-WMOr-nw/s400/DSCF4294.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
And joining the local Shakespeare Troupe. And composing beautiful music. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nWHeg4hLFNs/TdkpuCQXnSI/AAAAAAAABmk/YZljmEtbUPk/s1600/DSCF4285.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nWHeg4hLFNs/TdkpuCQXnSI/AAAAAAAABmk/YZljmEtbUPk/s400/DSCF4285.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And setting up our nephew with the event of his five-year-old lifetime by befriending the guys working construction nearby. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZjB9o4C3XUM/TdkqG-_I8SI/AAAAAAAABmw/_xQkIzRggt4/s1600/DSCF4318.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZjB9o4C3XUM/TdkqG-_I8SI/AAAAAAAABmw/_xQkIzRggt4/s400/DSCF4318.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We took a trip to Concord a week or so ago. <i>sigh!</i> New England is so beautiful! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6JEQdjt1Bbw/Tdkq0oXRE9I/AAAAAAAABnA/8objuCM07co/s1600/DSCF4350.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6JEQdjt1Bbw/Tdkq0oXRE9I/AAAAAAAABnA/8objuCM07co/s400/DSCF4350.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
We paid our respects at the graves of Thoreau, Emerson, and Louisa May Alcott. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mpFiU1Nmbac/TdkqWZSQXSI/AAAAAAAABm4/Cgv52GPV0EA/s1600/DSCF4336.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mpFiU1Nmbac/TdkqWZSQXSI/AAAAAAAABm4/Cgv52GPV0EA/s400/DSCF4336.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
And crossed the bridge where they fired the "shot heard round the world". The best part, though, was this pithy inscription on the grave of the British soldiers who died there:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4E-5krFJ_1w/TdkqlBin7RI/AAAAAAAABm8/5lX6m_QB54Q/s1600/DSCF4346.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4E-5krFJ_1w/TdkqlBin7RI/AAAAAAAABm8/5lX6m_QB54Q/s400/DSCF4346.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
We hiked around Walden Pond...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nfaKXNoXQF8/Tdkq9mscBuI/AAAAAAAABnE/CMJnG8iDpZ8/s1600/DSCF4351.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nfaKXNoXQF8/Tdkq9mscBuI/AAAAAAAABnE/CMJnG8iDpZ8/s400/DSCF4351.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
and took a brisk swim in the pond. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-VxeLsEH-dRY/TdkrbI4pPpI/AAAAAAAABnM/ufedCWCXBPs/s1600/DSCF4361.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-VxeLsEH-dRY/TdkrbI4pPpI/AAAAAAAABnM/ufedCWCXBPs/s400/DSCF4361.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
I think Marc's willingness to <i>do</i> is the number one reason we make a good team in life. It's my job to dream the big dreams, and convince us that it's possible. Then, at the crucial moment when, if I were on my own, I would be too afraid to really take the leap, Marc grabs my hand and takes the leap for both of us. Thanks to him, when we come to die, we will have lived. <br />
<br />
.Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13293952728716234914noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9187611684021621606.post-76211776070391702682011-05-04T06:03:00.000-07:002011-05-04T06:03:10.058-07:00Ocean Trash<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">On Earth Day we had ourselves a little coastal cleanup. There's nothing like cleaning up other people's litter to make you depressed about humanity. Just along our local coastline we collected this heap of junk: </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><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://4.bp.blogspot.com/-93dVwMp-_Ss/Tbc0LKis0nI/AAAAAAAABmE/Y6A1f2e1ROQ/s1600/DSCF4237.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-93dVwMp-_Ss/Tbc0LKis0nI/AAAAAAAABmE/Y6A1f2e1ROQ/s400/DSCF4237.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(the pile is higher than it seems in the photo)</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I know that most people weren't lucky enough to be raised on <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4je30k7N22I">Don't Waste Utah</a> ads (that guy came to my elementary school. Rock star status). But littering really gets my knickers in a twist. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>True story:</b> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Early one morning last winter, just as dawn was breaking, Marc was standing out on the rock and saw, up the coast, a hunched old man in a tattered sweater slowly working his way down toward the water. He had a bulging garbage bag in his hand. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"He's not gonna..." Marc thought. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I mean, no way, right? This is an elderly gentleman who lives on<i> this </i>coast in the winter, which means he's gotta have a serious love of harsh mother nature. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The guy hobbled on down to the rocks above the water, and then just stared out onto the icy sea. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Yeah, he's just soakin' it all in, like I am," Marc thought. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And then the dude hurled his bag of trash right out onto the water, and watched it slowly float away. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">What the hell? </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Kids get it. Grown-ups don't. Is this how it's always going to be? </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_x4E6Y_J8LJc/TVLRBakbDRI/AAAAAAAABg4/xAN5B9vT3fo/s1600/35689.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="202" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_x4E6Y_J8LJc/TVLRBakbDRI/AAAAAAAABg4/xAN5B9vT3fo/s400/35689.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We've belonged to the <a href="http://www.oceanconservancy.org/">Ocean Conservancy</a> for a long time. They do good things. But also, kids around the world do good things for the ocean and then send their findings to the Ocean Conservancy. </div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Nothing beats a good bar graph, except a good bar graph in kids' handwriting. </div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_x4E6Y_J8LJc/TVLRAajCugI/AAAAAAAABg0/CIAcuMiROBY/s1600/35688.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_x4E6Y_J8LJc/TVLRAajCugI/AAAAAAAABg0/CIAcuMiROBY/s400/35688.jpg" width="360" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Based on what we've seen, our stats around here pretty much match what these kids saw. Plastic <i>everywhere</i>. It's amazing, the plastic garbage we produce. We go big. We don't just litter our coastlines with the stuff. We <i>create land-masses</i>. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The Great Pacific Garbage Patch is a floating glob of plastic garbage<b> twice </b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>the size </b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>of Texas.</b> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--yeTYj_k36s/Tbc7_wO4YtI/AAAAAAAABmI/E4v0PBYAEPc/s1600/plastic1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="230" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--yeTYj_k36s/Tbc7_wO4YtI/AAAAAAAABmI/E4v0PBYAEPc/s400/plastic1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">In some places the floating garbage is 90 feet deep. And in other places, garbage outweighs plankton by 6 to 1. That is a monster island of our own disgusting waste. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8fAavI6LAPo/TbdBxAuHpRI/AAAAAAAABmM/KR159DS52zA/s1600/Sea-Plastic-LN-PG5oct05a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8fAavI6LAPo/TbdBxAuHpRI/AAAAAAAABmM/KR159DS52zA/s320/Sea-Plastic-LN-PG5oct05a.jpg" width="320" /></a>Animals eat it.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">In 2006, a UN survey concluded that <b>every square mile of ocean has 46,000 pieces of plastic</b> floating in it. No wonder we get a new batch of trash here with every high tide. It's bleak. It's bad. It's sad. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Even though what I do won't make even tiniest difference, I'm gonna keep picking it up. And mark my words: when I'm a billionaire, I'm taking a thousand cargo ships out there, and <i>I'm cleaning up that crap</i>! Then maybe the Don't Waste Utah guy would take me for a ride in his awesome car. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div>Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13293952728716234914noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9187611684021621606.post-7201686115737327862011-04-28T16:58:00.000-07:002011-04-28T17:12:13.600-07:00My Winter of Hibernation: Restoring Antique Chairs<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/-Ktwf0t2R3N8/TaswPlFyD_I/AAAAAAAABkw/UfkOU2QQ_v8/s1600/DSCF3480.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ktwf0t2R3N8/TaswPlFyD_I/AAAAAAAABkw/UfkOU2QQ_v8/s400/DSCF3480.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">Sunset in the Windows</span></span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Our landlady had a whole bunch of antique chairs in sad shape. I agreed to bring them back to life in exchange for part of the rent! I knew how to refinish the wood since my dad forced me to help him refinish chairs when I was younger (hated it then, love it now. typical). But during the winter I also learned some sweet new seat-weaving skills. </div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I'll just go ahead and admit that this makes me a whole new brand of geek. </div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Whatever I don't care. Because seat-weaving is really, really satisfying! Here's the basic process for each caned chair that needed a complete makeover: </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qtzyitcc3nw/TasyAUmOHNI/AAAAAAAABlU/pUNCKwyYzIw/s1600/Chair+Collage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qtzyitcc3nw/TasyAUmOHNI/AAAAAAAABlU/pUNCKwyYzIw/s400/Chair+Collage.jpg" width="400" /></a><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>I did a few of them, most of which were in a<b> sad state</b> at the beginning. (Marc did all the paint-stripping for me, because he is the nicest man.) You can see on the bottom left that I ran out of caning pegs and started using chopsticks. Making do. <br />
<br />
The cool thing was that most people who saw these chairs in their original state (myself included), thought,<i> wow, these need to go to the dump. there is no saving these chairs</i>. They were so sickly. And so wobbly they seemed about to fall apart. But they are beautiful now, ready for another solid two hundred years. <br />
<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://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OMKF7XAFC4M/Tbn2ieq9lQI/AAAAAAAABmQ/e9Ob-GtJLW4/s1600/DSCF3675.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OMKF7XAFC4M/Tbn2ieq9lQI/AAAAAAAABmQ/e9Ob-GtJLW4/s400/DSCF3675.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Two Cane Chairs - Right, finished; Left, in Progress</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Other chairs, that have a groove around the seat instead of holes, require sheet cane, which you buy pre-woven and then install. It's way faster than hand-caning, but really annoying!<br />
<br />
<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://4.bp.blogspot.com/-d29EaSDwHpo/Tbn6XXtnzeI/AAAAAAAABmY/4L-06ZoTwVU/s1600/DSCF4181.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-d29EaSDwHpo/Tbn6XXtnzeI/AAAAAAAABmY/4L-06ZoTwVU/s400/DSCF4181.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sheet Cane Installation in Progress</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
With some other chairs the wood was fine and I just wove new seats. This one was an old shaker rocker that had the wrong kind of seat:<br />
<br />
<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://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Mw5-k6RJJFg/TasxfvzhxMI/AAAAAAAABk4/wMijLuAYpFg/s1600/blue+rocker+before.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Mw5-k6RJJFg/TasxfvzhxMI/AAAAAAAABk4/wMijLuAYpFg/s400/blue+rocker+before.jpg" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blue Rocker Before - With Dilapidated Old Cane Seat</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<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://2.bp.blogspot.com/-d2GVkFeWDcU/TasxjQc6x7I/AAAAAAAABk8/s5DSDMFuiaM/s1600/blue+rocker+after.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-d2GVkFeWDcU/TasxjQc6x7I/AAAAAAAABk8/s5DSDMFuiaM/s400/blue+rocker+after.jpg" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blue Rocker After - With Shaker Tape</td></tr>
</tbody></table>And here's two antique fiber rush rockers... the one on the right is <b>really</b> old:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><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://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Kan90PwC1aQ/Tasx2M0Ap-I/AAAAAAAABlM/B7x4z4bSB6g/s1600/rockers.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Kan90PwC1aQ/Tasx2M0Ap-I/AAAAAAAABlM/B7x4z4bSB6g/s400/rockers.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fiber Rush Rockers Before</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6OWOTvabKQw/TasxqzUqUUI/AAAAAAAABlE/upVW3I4T9Zg/s1600/rocker2+weaving.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6OWOTvabKQw/TasxqzUqUUI/AAAAAAAABlE/upVW3I4T9Zg/s320/rocker2+weaving.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fiber Rush Weaving</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Fiber rush makes a really sturdy, pretty seat, but my hands were always covered in blisters after a few hours of weaving!<br />
<br />
After weaving, you can stain the rush to match the chair. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><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://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rAN806J-65s/Tbn4WYolRCI/AAAAAAAABmU/ivdum3-6Bsc/s1600/DSCF3628.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rAN806J-65s/Tbn4WYolRCI/AAAAAAAABmU/ivdum3-6Bsc/s400/DSCF3628.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fiber Rush Rockers After</td></tr>
</tbody></table>After a winter of this, I am completely converted. Learn new hobbies <i>and </i>pay the rent? I'll take it! <br />
<br />
I plan to scour second-hand shops from now until I die, in search of dilapidated old chairs to bring back to life. So if you ever see any, grab 'em for me! <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13293952728716234914noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9187611684021621606.post-31976442673793916342011-04-25T09:21:00.000-07:002011-04-25T09:45:36.494-07:00My Winter of Hibernation: Knitting<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Last winter I busted out the knitting needles for the first time since we moved to England, and kind of went berzerk. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qdZ4NCRZTN8/TasxBPNX0NI/AAAAAAAABk0/Xf9925PFyAk/s1600/Tangled-Yoke-Fire-264x300.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qdZ4NCRZTN8/TasxBPNX0NI/AAAAAAAABk0/Xf9925PFyAk/s1600/Tangled-Yoke-Fire-264x300.jpg" /></a></div>I had about twenty projects I wanted to undertake, but yarn (especially good yarn) is expe-hen-sive! Something had to be done. <br />
<br />
So I learned how to "recycle" yarn by unraveling sweaters. Once you learn what to look for in the way sweaters are constructed, you can really cash-in. I went to the Goodwill Outlet (praise it forever and ever amen), and perused their mountains of sweaters. I came away with a bunch of 3XXX sweaters made of really nice yarn, many of which were still brand new with tags attached! Then the unraveling began. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sdEd0u-RPh0/Tasz6EX5QzI/AAAAAAAABlc/qPpGWE2v434/s1600/DSCF3079.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sdEd0u-RPh0/Tasz6EX5QzI/AAAAAAAABlc/qPpGWE2v434/s400/DSCF3079.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
With this sweater alone, I got at least $50 worth of yarn for $1.50. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GJsNmoULzgg/Tas0DLqwtQI/AAAAAAAABlg/CW74cWYdBNY/s1600/DSCF3081.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GJsNmoULzgg/Tas0DLqwtQI/AAAAAAAABlg/CW74cWYdBNY/s320/DSCF3081.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Plus, it came with the satisfaction of unraveling a sweater, which was irresistible even to Marc. We spent a couple days sitting by the fire unraveling stuff. It's like popping bubble wrap, but better. <br />
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Now, after a winter of knitting, I still have TONS of yarn left. <br />
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In addition to all the projects I have sitting around unfinished, here are some I did finish: <br />
<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://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HAvGPj6_1oQ/Tas0rI9vhCI/AAAAAAAABlo/h7e3bahQzqc/s1600/DSCF3213.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HAvGPj6_1oQ/Tas0rI9vhCI/AAAAAAAABlo/h7e3bahQzqc/s400/DSCF3213.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kangaroo (with front pocket) and Bunny bean bag dolls for Logan and Eva</td></tr>
</tbody></table><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/-UG5XeHsxq0Q/Tas1j70tyyI/AAAAAAAABl0/GaAnBDU1RPg/s1600/CIMG1095_1285415357.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UG5XeHsxq0Q/Tas1j70tyyI/AAAAAAAABl0/GaAnBDU1RPg/s400/CIMG1095_1285415357.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Juggling Balls </td></tr>
</tbody></table><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://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uONSv58_8bQ/Tas07lm42nI/AAAAAAAABlw/s8tjIOgV0fI/s1600/DSCF3218.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uONSv58_8bQ/Tas07lm42nI/AAAAAAAABlw/s8tjIOgV0fI/s400/DSCF3218.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tea Kettle Cozy and Mug Cozy</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I should add that Marc will knit, too, when coerced. And for Christmas we did some teamwork on a knitted shopping bag for his earth-friendly brother Peter. It's made out of plastic grocery bags. After cutting the plastic into slits and then weaving it into a "yarn," it knits up into super strong stuff. We forgot to take a picture of ours but it basically looked like this:<br />
<div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bjALGKukRkI/Tas1-MBscnI/AAAAAAAABl4/GW4sniZAj34/s1600/knit+plastic+bag-thumb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bjALGKukRkI/Tas1-MBscnI/AAAAAAAABl4/GW4sniZAj34/s320/knit+plastic+bag-thumb.jpg" width="251" /></a></div>We were working on the project on the train and got so many curious looks and people asking, "Sorry to interrupt, but what <i>on earth</i> are you doing?" <br />
<br />
The process was much slower than we expected, so at the end we declared we'd never do it again. But lately I've seen some pretty amazing stuff online knitted out of plastic bags, including umbrellas and clothes, and I'm tempted to take it up again.<br />
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I also made my first piece of "real" clothing for little Eva. This cardigan took forever, too, but it was really satisfying and inspired me to launch full-force into knitting clothing. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CPHrGWq5IuU/TaszXsTnYcI/AAAAAAAABlY/6_IeDTmfc9o/s1600/172372_169437649771121_100001146612877_361355_1308260_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CPHrGWq5IuU/TaszXsTnYcI/AAAAAAAABlY/6_IeDTmfc9o/s400/172372_169437649771121_100001146612877_361355_1308260_o.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br />
All these hands-on projects were really satisfying to a part of my brain that's probably been dormant for a while. I don't feel like a full-blown knitting geek yet (right? ..... right?), and I'm sure I'll never be an expert because I'm too impatient, but if you need an old sweater unraveled and turned into a hat, I'm your man.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div></div>Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13293952728716234914noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9187611684021621606.post-83945025505525278622011-04-20T12:21:00.000-07:002011-04-20T12:21:40.716-07:00My Winter of Hibernation: Reading by the Fire<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">After I submitted my dissertation, I went deep into winter hibernation. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SRqcIxDMNj4/Tas0TL-2HWI/AAAAAAAABlk/ISSW9HI6Grk/s1600/DSCF3193.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SRqcIxDMNj4/Tas0TL-2HWI/AAAAAAAABlk/ISSW9HI6Grk/s400/DSCF3193.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It was another aspect of our experimental lifestyle this year. I wanted to shut myself away from the world, and take stock. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Besides my frigid walks along the coast and in the woods, I left the house exactly <b>two times in two months</b>. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Bhttte6WyPY/TaswAL6mvGI/AAAAAAAABks/gOf9DAavTZg/s1600/DSCF3449.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Bhttte6WyPY/TaswAL6mvGI/AAAAAAAABks/gOf9DAavTZg/s400/DSCF3449.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Since our house opens out onto the big, wide, ocean, I never felt a trace of cabin fever. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The winter felt like a big, deep breath taken in between deep dives into life. I reveled in my transition time, and clung to my solitude, and thought everyday how lucky I was that I had the time and the means to take big, long rest. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><blockquote style="text-align: center;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394;">"O ye that have your eyeballs vexed and tired, </span></div></blockquote><blockquote style="text-align: center;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394;">Feast them upon the wideness of the sea!" </span></div></blockquote><blockquote style="text-align: center;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394;">- keats</span></div></blockquote><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I basically spent my winter doing three decidedly un-academic things. Reading by the fire was one of them (posts on the other two later). </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-hZyb5KCKGOU/TXKFdDT_cqI/AAAAAAAABiI/55G11MOjz3Q/s1600/Samuel+S.+Carr+%25281837-1908%2529+Reading+By+the+Fire.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="297" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-hZyb5KCKGOU/TXKFdDT_cqI/AAAAAAAABiI/55G11MOjz3Q/s400/Samuel+S.+Carr+%25281837-1908%2529+Reading+By+the+Fire.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It was on my List of Things to Do Before I Die: <b>spend a winter reading by the fire</b>. No TV, no movies, no Facebook, minimal communication with the outside world... just me and winter and books and a fire. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So we made it happen. Marc spent the greater part of the autumn scavenging firewood, sawing it all old-fashioned like, and chopping it into perfect logs. Man, did he stock us up a lotta wood. Even now, emerging out the other side of winter, we've hardly made a dent in our stash. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Our evenings were pretty much just like this painting: big old fire, big old house, hardwood floors, slightly uncomfortable antique furniture. Piles and piles of books from the Goodwill Outlet Store (praise it forever and ever amen). No restrictive black dress, though. More like sweats. Purple sweats. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Just me and the winter and the fireplace and the books. I had romantic notions, clearly. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So what did I learn from my winter reading by the fire? That reading by the fire, like anything, can be overdone. ha! Why did I not suspect this before? </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Books and I are taking a break for a while. </div>Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13293952728716234914noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9187611684021621606.post-6589667125134191322011-04-12T11:08:00.000-07:002011-04-12T11:11:56.080-07:0010 Reasons to Cheer<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<b>1. </b>The thermometer finally moved up above 60 degrees. When it's that warm, it means you can take your morning cup of tea right out onto the rock. You might feel compelled to dance jigs barefoot in your pajamas, tea cup in hand.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jZYC2nDixXE/TaSC8kIGDwI/AAAAAAAABj0/diXyjZXPPDg/s1600/DSCF4070.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jZYC2nDixXE/TaSC8kIGDwI/AAAAAAAABj0/diXyjZXPPDg/s400/DSCF4070.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>2. </b>Relatives from Utah came to Cape Ann to visit our little coastal heaven. They made exclamations of joy. They scoured the coast for sea glass. They offered up a stunningly generous graduation gift. They agreed to go out with Marc in the canoe. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VTuLZRROZFo/TaSDF_GeE4I/AAAAAAAABj4/BSgzaHKgvIc/s1600/DSCF4093.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VTuLZRROZFo/TaSDF_GeE4I/AAAAAAAABj4/BSgzaHKgvIc/s400/DSCF4093.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<b>3.</b> This moment right here: <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UIpzAWuAygY/TaSDPX0Be2I/AAAAAAAABj8/LXIjEvJSJOY/s1600/DSCF4094.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UIpzAWuAygY/TaSDPX0Be2I/AAAAAAAABj8/LXIjEvJSJOY/s400/DSCF4094.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<b>4.</b> And here:<br />
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<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://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YPcHS7989uY/TaSDY7PvoNI/AAAAAAAABkA/m5qnjjD_boM/s1600/DSCF4097.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YPcHS7989uY/TaSDY7PvoNI/AAAAAAAABkA/m5qnjjD_boM/s400/DSCF4097.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">no cell phones were harmed in the filming of this canoe disaster. <br />
Plus, the kids were both game to go out paddling right afterwards! </td></tr>
</tbody></table> <b>5. </b>Then there's this charming brother-sister scene...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UdIPtANgPWg/TaSDiVPLbAI/AAAAAAAABkE/bbHAirUMqcM/s1600/DSCF4100.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UdIPtANgPWg/TaSDiVPLbAI/AAAAAAAABkE/bbHAirUMqcM/s400/DSCF4100.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div> <b>6</b>. ...Which is especially poignant for me, since that very evening I got to witness the triumphs of my own brother, who shared my childhood. We are growing up. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UH97EyQ_fBk/TaSD7Ho1JMI/AAAAAAAABkQ/YGIH7saDidc/s1600/DSCF4107.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UH97EyQ_fBk/TaSD7Ho1JMI/AAAAAAAABkQ/YGIH7saDidc/s400/DSCF4107.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>7.</b> His own doctoral showdown happened only a week after mine. But his was more fun (for the rest of us): a full-blown big band concert of his own compositions at the New England Conservatory in Boston. </div><br />
<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://4.bp.blogspot.com/-A0V8ThxjQEU/TaSEEUJXY3I/AAAAAAAABkU/wgrkbsM0ge0/s1600/DSCF4127.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-A0V8ThxjQEU/TaSEEUJXY3I/AAAAAAAABkU/wgrkbsM0ge0/s400/DSCF4127.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Daniel Henderson Big Band (Daniel is crossed-eyed on the left)</td></tr>
</tbody></table><b>8. </b> His performance, his music, and even his more-than-expert band, was a delightful expression of Danielness. I'll steal a line from his concert notes. Daniel was describing Stravinsky, but I think it describes his own music perfectly: "a blend of charm, humor, and derangement." It was obvious the band was having a fantastic time, as was the audience! <br />
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<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/-pY0b5E7BhGg/TaSEMYjN1zI/AAAAAAAABkY/Kb54-jKHy0U/s1600/DSCF4117.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pY0b5E7BhGg/TaSEMYjN1zI/AAAAAAAABkY/Kb54-jKHy0U/s400/DSCF4117.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">He sings, too!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>9. </b> Not to be overshadowed by a doctoral jazz concert, is our ownership of a particularly excellent toy. With our <a href="http://www.stomprocket.com/stomprocketultra.html">Stomp Rocket</a> (thanks Meikles!), we devised a Dodge-the-Rocket game that entertains both children and adults. Someone will almost certainly lose an eye. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZgdemLpE9fU/TaSEcGcUpvI/AAAAAAAABkg/wlP3KAMA6uY/s1600/DSCF4156.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZgdemLpE9fU/TaSEcGcUpvI/AAAAAAAABkg/wlP3KAMA6uY/s400/DSCF4156.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vvfvhI4mGAs/TaSPOtYaeFI/AAAAAAAABkk/LpGA7OAnC6A/s1600/tire+swing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vvfvhI4mGAs/TaSPOtYaeFI/AAAAAAAABkk/LpGA7OAnC6A/s400/tire+swing.jpg" width="300" /></a><b>10. </b> Last weekend, the sun came out, we ventured outdoors once again, and visitors big and small ran along our coast, pulled our croquet cart frantically around the lawn, swung in the tire swing giggling, and cooked hot dogs over a bonfire on the edge of the water while the bright pink and purple sun set over the ocean. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Spring is here, and I feel us coming alive again. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-haHRu_50yeM/TaSEUL6gu0I/AAAAAAAABkc/U1cJh-yCxYg/s1600/DSCF4142.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-haHRu_50yeM/TaSEUL6gu0I/AAAAAAAABkc/U1cJh-yCxYg/s400/DSCF4142.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div>Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13293952728716234914noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9187611684021621606.post-18179083881787869182011-04-04T12:03:00.000-07:002011-04-05T04:13:43.265-07:00Viva Highlights<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7upSmtj9GIk/TZoAIYUSWbI/AAAAAAAABiw/E0X5vX286sY/s1600/DSCF3821.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7upSmtj9GIk/TZoAIYUSWbI/AAAAAAAABiw/E0X5vX286sY/s400/DSCF3821.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>Here's a somewhat scattered collection of photos from that existential week back in England. At first, we felt like we were in the <b>strangest twilight zone on the planet</b>, as strangers in a familiar land. We were freaked out. <br />
<br />
<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://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GGAaE6WCBLs/TZn_yzcsVwI/AAAAAAAABio/Pp2CoDLfb7U/s1600/DSCF3770.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GGAaE6WCBLs/TZn_yzcsVwI/AAAAAAAABio/Pp2CoDLfb7U/s400/DSCF3770.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gloucester Cathedral - familiar to Harry Potter fans?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Then, when that feeling wore off, we felt so at home that it truly felt like we'd never left, and when we finally arrived in Kenilworth near the end of the week, I was quite prepared to open the door to our flat, dump our bags, and pick up right where we'd left off. <b>It was like America never happened</b>. So that was weird, too. <br />
<br />
<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://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AzFqPUSCFe8/TZoAZvU_KjI/AAAAAAAABi4/cXEs3ldRboI/s1600/DSCF3863.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AzFqPUSCFe8/TZoAZvU_KjI/AAAAAAAABi4/cXEs3ldRboI/s400/DSCF3863.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Knaresborough</td></tr>
</tbody></table>We spent the week cruising around England visiting the last few sites that were on our list but we'd never gotten around to seeing. It was a salutary tour, and it succeeded in giving us a real sense of closure.<br />
<br />
<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/-d0JdTVffSs0/TZoAQFWIm_I/AAAAAAAABi0/QFla7EucvNQ/s1600/DSCF3838.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-d0JdTVffSs0/TZoAQFWIm_I/AAAAAAAABi0/QFla7EucvNQ/s400/DSCF3838.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mother Shipton's Hanging Well<br />
famous since the Middle Ages, this magic dripping well turns things to stone. For real. </td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">My viva was on the final day of our trip, so everything was sort of leading up to that pivotal moment. I wondered if that would turn out to be a bad plan, and that I'd just <b>simmer in nervousness</b> the whole time. But it was good. I felt serene. Probably because we were wandering around places like this:</div><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/-2O5y-NG11ng/TZn_6g_BHdI/AAAAAAAABis/DbLq969jySU/s1600/DSCF3809.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2O5y-NG11ng/TZn_6g_BHdI/AAAAAAAABis/DbLq969jySU/s400/DSCF3809.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chatsworth House Garden (it's the house in <i>Pride and Prejudice</i> and <i>The Duchess</i>)</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">One of the places on our list was Whitby Abbey, a ruined abbey perched dramatically on cliffs overlooking the sea. It's quite far up north, but we made the pilgrimage, and <b>oh man</b> am I glad we did. Because as fate would have it, there was a peculiar convention going on that very day.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><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://1.bp.blogspot.com/-w4RzJko4lPw/TZoAjnJGznI/AAAAAAAABi8/wzrsgCE7zNg/s1600/DSCF3951.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-w4RzJko4lPw/TZoAjnJGznI/AAAAAAAABi8/wzrsgCE7zNg/s400/DSCF3951.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Whitby Abbey</td></tr>
</tbody></table>It was the annual <b>World Goth Convention</b>. They convene at Whitby every year because the abbey is the setting of Bram Stoker's <i>Dracula</i>. And there are no words to describe the spectacle that was the unofficial Goth-photo shoot in the cemetery near the abbey. <br />
<br />
<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://4.bp.blogspot.com/-scfRDaBi_xs/TZoAtiJz42I/AAAAAAAABjA/fN-pwFPz6Kc/s1600/DSCF3987.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-scfRDaBi_xs/TZoAtiJz42I/AAAAAAAABjA/fN-pwFPz6Kc/s400/DSCF3987.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Whitby from the cemetery near the abbey</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The spectacle began with a trickle and grew up around us, as we were innocently wandering the cemetery. First there were two or three people in odd gothic victorian clothes, and I was trying to sneakily take pictures of them. Then came more, and more, and then photographers came out of nowhere. More and more hordes of both Goths and photographers flooded in to the church yard, and suddenly we found ourselves <b>smack in the center of the most amazing impromptu costume party I've ever seen. </b><br />
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<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/-Qj7y0qg4U6k/TZoA1cgHLZI/AAAAAAAABjE/YXWywVxUFuQ/s1600/DSCF4005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Qj7y0qg4U6k/TZoA1cgHLZI/AAAAAAAABjE/YXWywVxUFuQ/s400/DSCF4005.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">um.....what's...happening? more and more people arrive</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">My favorite part was that people in elaborate outfits would <b>just set up shop somewhere and start posing</b>... for nobody. It was fantastic. But then photographers would somehow materialize out of nowhere and snap photo after photo as the crowd grew and grew. I wish I'd joined in the fray and taken more pictures. But I was too busy continuously retrieving my jaw from the ground and staring all around me in awe. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Here's a typical scene: </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7Yi0gUYV6WU/TZoBCTQkLdI/AAAAAAAABjI/sFdnlTscLxg/s1600/DSCF3992.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7Yi0gUYV6WU/TZoBCTQkLdI/AAAAAAAABjI/sFdnlTscLxg/s400/DSCF3992.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>This woman got up on the tomb, and started posing dramatically. I think she was trying to look like she was flying. Suddenly a photographer or two noticed her, and the crowd grew and grew as she shifted from pose to pose. I must have caught her between poses in this shot, because usually her arms were outstretched, or reaching threateningly toward the cameras. <br />
<br />
I also love that the above photo has an orb in the left corner. Because during this amazing event, I overheard one awesomely costumed couple passionately discussing the capturing of ghost orbs on camera. yesssss.<br />
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<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-d9Oytx00pO0/TZoLTjxi7NI/AAAAAAAABjc/YLyJrY60t5w/s1600/DSCF3998.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-d9Oytx00pO0/TZoLTjxi7NI/AAAAAAAABjc/YLyJrY60t5w/s320/DSCF3998.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>Just. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Look. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I have no words. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
But, I would like to take this opportunity to say that on this particular day I happened to wear almost all white/khaki. So that was great.<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
I am kicking myself that I didn't get more, better pictures. But you can use your imagination. When we left, the event was still going strong, and it was hard to tear ourselves away. The whole church yard was crawling with <b>incredibly costumed</b> Goths of all ages, from kids to seniors. I'll be forever delighted to have witnessed it. <br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><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://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Ap2avstdeLY/TZoLdvxqfEI/AAAAAAAABjg/7dRJOcHZnP0/s1600/DSCF4008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Ap2avstdeLY/TZoLdvxqfEI/AAAAAAAABjg/7dRJOcHZnP0/s400/DSCF4008.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">tearing ourselves away, as the crowds of Goths kept streaming in</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The next morning was my viva. To ensure I didn't get too comfortable on the way there, we were <b>this close </b>to being in a car accident, and then<b> barely</b> escaped running over a big old bird. So my heart was pumping. Marc was snapping photos as we approached the very moment. Here's one from the elevator up to the meeting room, where I was making sure my fly wasn't open and my shirt wasn't tucked into my underwear -- and that I had, indeed, remembered to wear pants. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><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://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dCibPSuXUNQ/TZoBKKCJPQI/AAAAAAAABjM/BZsvukPlYIo/s1600/DSCF4012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dCibPSuXUNQ/TZoBKKCJPQI/AAAAAAAABjM/BZsvukPlYIo/s400/DSCF4012.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I think he captured my "nervited" state </td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And afterwards, one more walk on our beloved footpaths around the castle. With some celebratory leaping here and there...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XKy-HIn7zWM/TZoBR9uMrWI/AAAAAAAABjQ/fJBf5Bcthjg/s1600/DSCF4042.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XKy-HIn7zWM/TZoBR9uMrWI/AAAAAAAABjQ/fJBf5Bcthjg/s400/DSCF4042.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Bidding farewell to our dear Kenilworth was sad and surreal, and complicated by the fact that we felt like we'd never left, and that America didn't really exist. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-okU3XNSSqW0/TZoBbqH6H3I/AAAAAAAABjU/Va6CnemT6bE/s1600/DSCF4019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-okU3XNSSqW0/TZoBbqH6H3I/AAAAAAAABjU/Va6CnemT6bE/s400/DSCF4019.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">A sign at the airport on our way home seemed to capture something about the past four years. It was a rich and wonderful time for us, being stretched in so many new directions. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ny9NYdNAucc/TZoBkbRsNRI/AAAAAAAABjY/OGQNw8awwWA/s1600/DSCF4063.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ny9NYdNAucc/TZoBkbRsNRI/AAAAAAAABjY/OGQNw8awwWA/s400/DSCF4063.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>A chapter has closed, a new one has somehow already begun, and my stunned disbelief persists.Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13293952728716234914noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9187611684021621606.post-1571610860775645402011-03-30T11:10:00.000-07:002011-03-30T12:10:45.408-07:00Yeah. It Feels Like That.<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/fI8jGtvGmIQ?rel=0" title="YouTube video player" width="480"></iframe><br />
<br />
<br />
Hotel Receptionist as I checked out to head to the airport in England: "Our computers are down so I'll need to send your receipt on to your home address. Let me just write it down..." (<i>grabs a pen and starts writing "Miss"</i>) "Now, it's Miss..."<br />
<br />
Me: "ummm..."<br />
<br />
Receptionist: "Or it is Mrs....or Ms, rather?"<br />
<br />
Me: "uhhhh....ha, actually, it's Dr, as of yesterday."<br />
<br />
Receptionist: "Oh!" (<i>shocked blinking</i>) "...Now is that <i>you, </i>or your husband?"<br />
<br />
Me: "It's me."<br />
<br />
Receptionist: "Oh!" (<i>frantically scribbles out "Miss" and writes "Dr")</i> "Well done. Dr. Nelson, then?"<br />
<br />
Me: "I guess, but you could just address it to Katie Nelson."<br />
<br />
Receptionist: "But I thought you said you were the one who was the doctor."<br />
<br />
Me: "Yeah..."<br />
<br />
Receptionist: "I'm sorry, I'm a bit confused... <i>You're</i> Dr. Nelson, am I right?"<br />
<br />
Me: "I am, but you could just... you know what, nevermind, I don't think I need a receipt."<br />
<br />
Receptionist: (<i>looking relieved</i>) "Alright, I'm sure you can just check your bank statement can't you." (<i>crumpling up the page of Miss-es and Dr-s</i>). "And congratulations! "<br />
<br />
Me: "Thanks, very much!" <br />
<br />
<br />
Another long flight, after an existential week in England, and we're back in America where mail is <b>not </b>addressed by title, and I will hopefully never go through that again. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7tA2gydp0eA/TZNyhkTORmI/AAAAAAAABik/zYZD5VCaByc/s1600/DSCF4016.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7tA2gydp0eA/TZNyhkTORmI/AAAAAAAABik/zYZD5VCaByc/s400/DSCF4016.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
But <b>the viva itself</b>, I could definitely stand to do again. It was positive, pleasant, surreal, and wonderful. To be sitting there, with these <b>great minds</b> talking for hours about <b>my</b> book! And they said it was good. They said it was really good. <br />
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">vita est bona</span></i>.<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"> life is good. </span></i>Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13293952728716234914noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9187611684021621606.post-3832416958844605082011-03-28T00:30:00.000-07:002011-03-28T00:30:25.057-07:00Confer Title Here<div class="MsoNormal">Hi guys, Marc here. Pardon the lengthiness of this post. I'm making up for how seldom I write on this blog. AND, today marks the end of something really really <b>big</b>.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">If everything goes as planned I’ll be getting remarried today.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Katie Nelson was good, nigh perfect. There was nothing wrong with that wife. I just wanted someone with a little more, how should I put it, doctorality to her. So the new wife will have all the attributes of the old, but with one significant bonus: she’ll be a doctor of philosophy.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Yes, with my new wife I want a new title. Goodbye Mrs. Nelson, hello <b>Dr. Katie</b><span style="font-weight: normal;">. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">But there’s one catch. It’s all about the <b>intentions</b>: the woman for me can’t have worked for the title just for the sake of having the title. In fact, few of the most common motivations<span style="font-weight: normal;"> for earning a PhD would impress me. Which is why I’ve chosen THIS PhD candidate:</span><br />
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><br />
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-23PE0-nxJCw/TY-6LiC-iYI/AAAAAAAABig/ef9Uc39Zy5Y/s1600/DSCF3860.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-23PE0-nxJCw/TY-6LiC-iYI/AAAAAAAABig/ef9Uc39Zy5Y/s320/DSCF3860.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #073763;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Knaresborough, England. Yesterday</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: left;">Katie didn’t do it for the <b>job prospects</b><span style="font-weight: normal;">. Her idea of a great job is teaching basic history courses like world history and ancient history, engaging with students at the introductory level, and shunning the politics and research of the tenure track. That and selling kick-ass sodas. All this she could have done with her Master’s. <o:p></o:p></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">She didn’t do it for the <b>money</b><span style="font-weight: normal;">. No, on the contrary. While the vast majority of PhD candidates in her class are applying for post docs, research grants, or tenure-track professorships, Katie decided to write a novel. One geared toward teenagers. Because she wanted to. And because I told her it would be a waste of talent if she didn’t!</span><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">She didn’t do it for the <b>recognition</b><span style="font-weight: normal;">. Not for any initiation into the academic elite, the less than 1% of Americans who complete a doctoral program. In fact, I don’t know anyone more <i>critical</i> of academics than Katie. Now, this might seem hypocritical. A PhD candidate who criticizes academics? Until you realize what kind of academic Katie is: one who writes in plain English; one who loves to inspire students to think and hear them—not herself—speak; one who would write a novel for teenagers after submitting her diss; one who would call her dissertation her diss; one who would want to move to Utah given her choice of anywhere in the world; one who would appreciate a part-time job teaching introductory history courses because she genuinely loves to inspire college students and one who is good at it; one who thinks that “publish or perish” is a bitch.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The more I think about it, the less I think I know why she did it. But some things are clear.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Katie obviously likes rigorous <b>intellectual</b><span style="font-weight: normal;"> stimulation. She eats it up and uses it in her everyday. It’s one of the most admirable things about her I think. One of her greatest goals in life is to rid her thinking of all bias and keep a clear and open mind. Earning a PhD has helped her in that goal. All the reading she has done in the last three years would do that for anyone. Not to mention writing a 300 page book! <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It’s clear that part of her reason for completing a PhD is the opportunity it gave us to <b>travel</b><span style="font-weight: normal;">. Living in Europe for three years doesn’t come easy and post-grad work is a great way to get that visa in your passport. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">She wouldn’t have gone far without that ardent <b>love of history itself</b><span style="font-weight: normal;"> that you can’t help noticing about her. Who can tell the story of Edward the Second’s demise with such relish? Who else would site the Bayeux tapestry as the highlight of her trip to Northern France, or the Book of Kells as the highlight of her trip to Dublin? Who else do you know that would reconsider the fight to stop global warming because of her insight that change has always been inevitable? No one I know loves history like Katie does. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Most importantly, she did it, I think, to prove it to <b>herself</b><span style="font-weight: normal;"> that she could. If she comes out of that room today with a smile, she knows that she held herself up to the light, nakedly and honestly, gave it her best, never sacrificed anything, and came away knowing, </span><b>for herself</b><span style="font-weight: normal;">, that she is excellent. Emerson says it all:<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: black;">“None of us will ever accomplish anything excellent or commanding except when he listens to the whisper which is heard by him alone.” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><span lang="EN-US" style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt;">So. She did it. She reached the pinnacle of studenthood. She finished an eleven year journey with flying colors (colours?). She made me and everyone she knows proud to call her a friend. No matter what happens in that room. Not because she earned a new title. Because of her reasons for doing it. </span>Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13293952728716234914noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9187611684021621606.post-32667737704594050362011-03-23T09:46:00.000-07:002011-03-23T09:47:00.347-07:00Top Ten Things I Will Not Do At My VivaOur flight leaves tonight for England, and on <b>March 28, 10:30 am GDT</b>, I will defend my dissertation before a panel of world experts. My fate will hang in the balance. It will all be in my hands. <b>I must do everything right</b>. I have therefore drawn up a list of<br />
<b><br />
</b><br />
<b>Top Ten Things I Will Not Do at My Viva: </b><br />
<br />
10. Realize suddenly that I forgot to wear pants.<br />
<br />
9. Phrase all my answers in the form of a question.<br />
<br />
8. Declare apathetically that history is useless. <br />
<br />
7. When asked to explain my methodological approach, say, "I drew almost exclusively from Wikipedia."<br />
<br />
6. Mock British dental hygiene.<br />
<br />
5. Suddenly wail, "Okay, okay! I never read any of those books! <i>It's all a lie</i>!" <br />
<br />
4. Admit that I didn't know who Marco Polo was until the day before I gave a lecture on him.<br />
<br />
3. When asked to describe my research approach, say, "It was easy. I just watched a lot of costume dramas." <br />
<br />
2. Ask if I can Phone a Friend.<br />
<br />
1. If they offer me a doctorate, say, "A <i>doctorate</i>?! I was just here for the food!" <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><i>not freaking out. not freaking out. not freaking out... </i></span>Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13293952728716234914noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9187611684021621606.post-83676735661598218962011-03-18T11:21:00.000-07:002011-03-18T11:28:45.858-07:00Shakespeare Will Follow You Anywhere<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Marc's job at the hardware store plopped him right in the center of local society. You should see when we walk around downtown -- every other passing stranger greets him by name. <br />
<br />
It's like we've lived here all our lives. And everybody <i>loves</i> Marc! <br />
<br />
<a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-9YQO4Bob_d0/TXJq4-DZdII/AAAAAAAABhw/Ui8icDgQ8BA/s1600/171122_185996694754944_118027721551842_495140_8079182_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-9YQO4Bob_d0/TXJq4-DZdII/AAAAAAAABhw/Ui8icDgQ8BA/s320/171122_185996694754944_118027721551842_495140_8079182_o.jpg" width="206" /></a>Anyway, one of the guys who frequents the hardware store is also the director of the Cape Ann Shakespeare Troupe. And he cast Marc as Sebastien in <i>The Tempest</i> during a conversation in the plumbing aisle. <br />
<br />
And so it was that Marc got back on the stage after a ten-year hiatus. And since we spent our years in England watching every production by the Royal Shakespeare Company in Stratford-upon-Avon, it connected the dots nicely. Shakespeare has been a theme in our lives for a long time. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Sebastien is the sinister, sarcastic bad guy who decides to murder his brother. His equally sarcastic and evil cohort, Antonio, talks him into it. </div><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="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-fBkRjWDXAx0/TXJq6JY5h7I/AAAAAAAABh0/NloESngj8HY/s1600/173015_189086804445933_118027721551842_513117_5565208_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-fBkRjWDXAx0/TXJq6JY5h7I/AAAAAAAABh0/NloESngj8HY/s400/173015_189086804445933_118027721551842_513117_5565208_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">a shot from rehearsal</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
He did an <b>awesome job</b>. I wish you could have seen it, seriously. He had the crowd laughing and gasping, and got lots of compliments from strangers in the audience after the show. Two middle-aged ladies were even overheard talking about how he was "easy on the eyes". (Another replied, "Yes. he. is." Ha!) <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-q41JXRfEHVE/TYJTJum7xeI/AAAAAAAABiU/W0RJbIBk6aQ/s1600/dancers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-q41JXRfEHVE/TYJTJum7xeI/AAAAAAAABiU/W0RJbIBk6aQ/s320/dancers.jpg" width="234" /></a></div><br />
Besides the sexy Sebastien, the play's highlights included live music, written for the play by a composer at the New England Conservatory (Daniel's school, by the way), and dancers playing Ariel, the nymph. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I wish you had come, if not to see the play, then to have eaten this chocolate cake that Michelle brought him, topped with ganache and a mound of chocolate candy. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-FV25xObH7Mw/TXJsbCrW_OI/AAAAAAAABh8/awBjyzKNBA4/s1600/Library+-+8059.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-FV25xObH7Mw/TXJsbCrW_OI/AAAAAAAABh8/awBjyzKNBA4/s400/Library+-+8059.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As it was, the two of us managed to eat the whole thing ourselves. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><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="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-U0jzcAcC3AY/TXJsQv7efMI/AAAAAAAABh4/Kp1SilY0Q3I/s1600/Library+-+8058.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-U0jzcAcC3AY/TXJsQv7efMI/AAAAAAAABh4/Kp1SilY0Q3I/s400/Library+-+8058.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">after the play -- Daniel is feeling particularly Shakespearean</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: left;">Everybody asks him if more plays are in his future. And apparently the answer is yes. They've already roped him into doing <i><a href="http://www.rockportmusic.org/outside-presentations/cape-ann-troupe.html">A Shakespeare Celebration</a></i> for Shakespeare's upcoming birthday. It's a show that blends Shakespeare with music, and he's opted to play his guitar, not deliver lines. (Because there are fewer rehearsals that way, and when you live in a beach house and the sun has finally begun to to shine...you don't wanna miss it, you know?)</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-nM8dJ2tQ7XQ/TYOeTqbxTgI/AAAAAAAABiY/c7Z53hEiYAI/s1600/shalin_liu_performing_arts_center.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-nM8dJ2tQ7XQ/TYOeTqbxTgI/AAAAAAAABiY/c7Z53hEiYAI/s400/shalin_liu_performing_arts_center.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">Check out the venue! It's Rockport's Shalin Liu Performance Center downtown, right on the water. Annnnnnd they're serving birthday cake and punch after the show. So...<i><b>why</b></i> haven't you bought that plane ticket yet? </div>Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13293952728716234914noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9187611684021621606.post-14003183732825322222011-03-15T12:58:00.000-07:002011-03-15T12:59:31.369-07:00Heaven Comes in Bins<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">There is a wondrous place in Boston. It's not The Old North Church or Faneuil Hall ... and it ain't no Fenway Park or Harvard University, neither. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It's way better. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It's the </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Goodwill Outlet Store</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-pqj-FR5CCdk/TXvfB-GmTFI/AAAAAAAABiM/oLPcg2onmZ0/s1600/Gwlogo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-pqj-FR5CCdk/TXvfB-GmTFI/AAAAAAAABiM/oLPcg2onmZ0/s320/Gwlogo.JPG" width="262" /></span></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">This is no ordinary Goodwill store. It's the place where Goodwill items go to die. Or, to get moved out the door as fast a humanly possible. And man, it is a </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">sight to behold</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">. The human drama! The maneuvering and finagling! The incredible mountains of </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">stuff</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Here's why, since my brother Daniel introduced us to this Promised Land last Fall, we feel a profound desire to go there every time we're in Boston: </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Books. </span></b><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">33 cents each</span></b></i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">.</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> I'm talking giant bins and bins and bins </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">full </span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">of books. For 33 cents! Sometimes there will be a whole bin full of brand new hardbacks. Sometimes you'll find a complete Dickens collection. Sometimes you'll find every book on knitting published since 1976. Sometimes it's 50 copies of the Da Vinci Code. Sometimes you get to dig through paperback copies of all the classics. Sometimes, as in my mom's case, your favorite childhood book--the one you've been searching for in vain for the past ten years--is sitting there on the top of the pile, waiting for you. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-HdggLh2d43A/TX9-lzD5e9I/AAAAAAAABiQ/s1ZA0lRlK68/s1600/stack-of-books-q67-303x500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-HdggLh2d43A/TX9-lzD5e9I/AAAAAAAABiQ/s1ZA0lRlK68/s320/stack-of-books-q67-303x500.jpg" width="193" /></span></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">For me, walking into that place is roughly equivalent to what I always imagined it must feel like to walk into that </span><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">one</span></b></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> room in </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Charlie and Chocolate Factory</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">. ...The one where candy is growing everywhere, and he drinks chocolate from a tea cup and then</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> eats the cup</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">. It's like that. Except with books.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Books to the ceiling, books to the sky,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">My piles of books are a mile high.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">How I love them! </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">How I need them! </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I'll have a long beard by the time I read them. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">-arnold lobel</span></div><br />
<br />
<h3 id="toc4" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 1.1em; font-weight: bold; line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 5px;"><span style="display: block; text-align: center;"><br />
</span></h3>Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13293952728716234914noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9187611684021621606.post-26971197489609491242011-03-12T12:46:00.000-08:002011-03-12T12:46:41.112-08:00Waiting for Spring<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-_fYdbc3gPME/TXJ4bRUdRoI/AAAAAAAABiE/dMI36IX-luo/s1600/DSCF3638.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-_fYdbc3gPME/TXJ4bRUdRoI/AAAAAAAABiE/dMI36IX-luo/s640/DSCF3638.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13293952728716234914noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9187611684021621606.post-1614130032607918252011-03-05T09:32:00.000-08:002011-03-05T09:33:38.430-08:00Groceries by Canoe<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>At breakfast</i>: </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> Katie: we're almost out of milk. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> Marc: mmm. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>After breakfast:</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i></i> Marc: I'll be outside if you need me. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> Katie: okay. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>One hour later</i>: </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-w-3SIHXtNJw/TXJxkWg4n1I/AAAAAAAABiA/yfXiFVvtKMU/s1600/getting+milk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-w-3SIHXtNJw/TXJxkWg4n1I/AAAAAAAABiA/yfXiFVvtKMU/s640/getting+milk.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13293952728716234914noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9187611684021621606.post-56732706791893149202011-02-23T17:42:00.000-08:002011-02-23T17:49:54.126-08:00Living on the Edge<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Here's one of the reasons all the other houses out here on the edge of the Atlantic are shut up for the winter. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The little road that leads from our house out to the main road was a solid sheet of ice the other morning. I'm talking like three inches of <b>slippery</b> ice, coating the road from top to bottom. It was like someone took a Zamboni to it. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jHeL_1ukRkM/TWWqWIgabVI/AAAAAAAABhQ/wmN-Aw5HkkY/s1600/DSCF3595.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jHeL_1ukRkM/TWWqWIgabVI/AAAAAAAABhQ/wmN-Aw5HkkY/s640/DSCF3595.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><br />
One of the reasons we are generally not bothered by stuff like this is that we don't get around with a car. When we need to get somewhere, we walk or ride bikes; when we need groceries, we have them delivered. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2CYBbNJlRd0/TWWq3JGadwI/AAAAAAAABhg/KrqmcSzhAxY/s1600/DSCF3607.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2CYBbNJlRd0/TWWq3JGadwI/AAAAAAAABhg/KrqmcSzhAxY/s400/DSCF3607.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
But on this morning, neither of those worked. At about 8:30 our delivery driver called to say he was stuck at the top of our road, waiting for a tow truck to winch him back out to the main road. (That road was completely clear; ours was an ice rink. Typical.) The driver said that if we wanted our groceries we could walk up there and get them, because no car was going to survive a trip down our road that day. So we threw on some boots and headed out, but with our first step onto the road both of us were flat on our faces. <br />
<br />
I felt like a 95-year-old, shuffling along by the centimeter trying to keep my body upright. We laughed and laughed our way up the hill, stepping a few inches and then sliding back down a few more. We tried to get some traction by walking along the edge of the road, where there was knee-deep icy snow, but usually we couldn't walk there because it was actually snow-covered bushes.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8FbWNwqyUIM/TWW0iZzneOI/AAAAAAAABho/MCQNNS9Zexo/s1600/DSCF3606.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8FbWNwqyUIM/TWW0iZzneOI/AAAAAAAABho/MCQNNS9Zexo/s640/DSCF3606.JPG" width="481" /></a></div><br />
When we finally made it to the stranded grocery delivery truck and gathered our stash, there was way too much to carry, even after we'd crammed Marc's Alps backpack full of goods. But that's where the ice came in handy: we just laid our gallons of milk and boxes of cereal on the ice, and off they slid down the hill to home!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VLgA1zLW4u8/TWWspZMi9gI/AAAAAAAABhk/slToDjRE1rQ/s1600/DSCF3600.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VLgA1zLW4u8/TWWspZMi9gI/AAAAAAAABhk/slToDjRE1rQ/s400/DSCF3600.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Then Marc had to go to work. There was <i>no</i> getting the bike up that hill, so he ventured back up on foot again, this time with his bike on his shoulder. Never been more impressed.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-s-93BxWDORs/TWWqm3ECORI/AAAAAAAABhY/awVsqkFq8Ss/s1600/DSCF3602.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-s-93BxWDORs/TWWqm3ECORI/AAAAAAAABhY/awVsqkFq8Ss/s400/DSCF3602.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
I followed him, with the camera, because <i>someone</i> had to be there to document his potentially epic slip and fall if it should happen. And maybe call an ambulance. Sadly/happily, it didn't happen. Here he's approaching the top of the road, where the delivery truck was still waiting for his rescue winch. When Marc got to the main road, it was all cleared and salted and off he cruised to work. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qXWmZ5R9vAY/TWWquyhfbII/AAAAAAAABhc/QDsONOC_Ox0/s1600/DSCF3606.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qXWmZ5R9vAY/TWWquyhfbII/AAAAAAAABhc/QDsONOC_Ox0/s400/DSCF3606.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
I was left to wonder about the chicken-and-egg situation out on the edge of the water. Does no one live out here in the winter because the road (and everything else) turns to a sheet of ice? Or does the town opt not to plow and salt our road because they think no one is crazy enough to live out here in the middle of winter?Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13293952728716234914noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9187611684021621606.post-69180250735630832552011-02-18T10:53:00.000-08:002011-02-19T04:19:48.344-08:00A Little Winter Never Hurt Anybody<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pTav18iTqLg/TV5zxVUeOnI/AAAAAAAABhE/vEoflV6fZsg/s1600/DSCF3530.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pTav18iTqLg/TV5zxVUeOnI/AAAAAAAABhE/vEoflV6fZsg/s400/DSCF3530.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I finally remembered to grab the camera in time to get a shot of Marc heading out the door on his morning commute. People around here think he's crazy; I think he's inspiring. Maybe it's a fine line. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">When we dreamed up this lifestyle, where we would live out on the edge of the water miles outside of town, and where he would commute to town on bicycle throughout the depths of winter, we knew it was going to be extreme. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Extremely <i>awesome</i>! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Of course, I'm the one that gets to stay bundled up at home all day. But Marc has been pretty pumped about this aspect of our experimental lifestyle, too. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Read the aticle he wrote for the Cape Ann Beacon (local newspaper) and see if he doesn't inspire you too! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hP8m48TuQ18/TV6160xdGbI/AAAAAAAABhI/CRDuwqVfTiA/s1600/Crisitunity+article.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="346" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hP8m48TuQ18/TV6160xdGbI/AAAAAAAABhI/CRDuwqVfTiA/s400/Crisitunity+article.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">click to enlarge ... also, enjoy the misspelling of his name at the end. </td></tr>
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</div>Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13293952728716234914noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9187611684021621606.post-51986586233679451642011-02-09T09:24:00.000-08:002011-02-20T12:01:04.244-08:00Benjamin Franklin: Still AwesomeWhen my youngest brother Sam was only about two or three, he was <b>obsessed with Benjamin Franklin</b>. He got a green plastic bowler hat on St. Patrick's Day and immediately called it a "Ben Franklin Hat" (because in his mind, Ben Franklin wore hats like that...?). For about a year, little Sam was rarely seen without his distinguished Hat. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_x4E6Y_J8LJc/TVLKcmXKDGI/AAAAAAAABgw/L_n1rRiMYKc/s1600/benjamin-franklin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_x4E6Y_J8LJc/TVLKcmXKDGI/AAAAAAAABgw/L_n1rRiMYKc/s320/benjamin-franklin.jpg" width="251" /></a></div><br />
I thought the hat thing was cute but didn't get the Ben Franklin obsession really. I mean, yeah I guess he was clever to put a key on a kite, and sure, he signed a bunch of important documents, but didn't everyone? :)<br />
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Last year I started thinking he <i>might</i> be cool, just because the actor Tom Wilkinson made him seem so interesting in the <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0472027/">John Adams miniseries</a>. I was convinced to give the guy a chance, and a couple days ago I picked up his <a href="http://books.google.com/books?id=6e6jmGcQ8JwC&printsec=frontcover&source=gbs_ge_summary_r&cad=0#v=onepage&q&f=false">autobiography</a> (it's in the public domain, so read away).<br />
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So it's only now that I've discovered that my little brother was <b>way</b> ahead of me on this one: the dude was brilliant and inspiring. Completely deserving of hero-worship. Where can I get a green plastic hat?Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13293952728716234914noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9187611684021621606.post-65315343042863683632011-02-01T13:16:00.000-08:002011-02-01T13:16:48.499-08:00To the Future<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_x4E6Y_J8LJc/TUh2gRsbtqI/AAAAAAAABgU/7yOwO5HTBq8/s1600/DSCF3326.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_x4E6Y_J8LJc/TUh2gRsbtqI/AAAAAAAABgU/7yOwO5HTBq8/s400/DSCF3326.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Snowy day. Quiet day. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_x4E6Y_J8LJc/TUh2xOK0YuI/AAAAAAAABgc/S5hsBbpA714/s1600/DSCF3483.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_x4E6Y_J8LJc/TUh2xOK0YuI/AAAAAAAABgc/S5hsBbpA714/s400/DSCF3483.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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I only want to be wrapped up in winter and huddled inside with music and thoughts. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_x4E6Y_J8LJc/TUh3PXVdnlI/AAAAAAAABgo/Ps_Tiz0zc3g/s1600/DSCF3528.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_x4E6Y_J8LJc/TUh3PXVdnlI/AAAAAAAABgo/Ps_Tiz0zc3g/s400/DSCF3528.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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What are we going to choose next? <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_x4E6Y_J8LJc/TUh24iENHiI/AAAAAAAABgg/lq2C1bojQJY/s1600/DSCF3514.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_x4E6Y_J8LJc/TUh24iENHiI/AAAAAAAABgg/lq2C1bojQJY/s400/DSCF3514.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Oh the wintry ocean. Oh the paths ahead. The trajectory of my lucky fate. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_x4E6Y_J8LJc/TUh2XxZ_gzI/AAAAAAAABgQ/hLC795Kh2j4/s1600/DSCF3264.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_x4E6Y_J8LJc/TUh2XxZ_gzI/AAAAAAAABgQ/hLC795Kh2j4/s400/DSCF3264.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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Oh the choices I've made, the choices I've yet to make.Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13293952728716234914noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9187611684021621606.post-86419224891779360912011-01-28T13:46:00.000-08:002011-01-31T13:56:40.224-08:00The Worm from HeavenCrows are really smart. I've known this for a good while, mostly because Marc has the capacity to talk passionately about birds in the genus <i>corvus </i>for a long, long time. They're his favorite animal. <br />
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There are resident crows out here on the coast, and since our house is nestled inside a circular grove of locust trees they've been hanging around here a lot. Especially since they've discovered our compost pile. It's handy-- we chuck our compost right out the kitchen window. To the crows that window is like a drive-through service, I think. They love to come load up.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_x4E6Y_J8LJc/TUM08VwErEI/AAAAAAAABf4/6IcK8kph6fk/s1600/550px-American_Crow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_x4E6Y_J8LJc/TUM08VwErEI/AAAAAAAABf4/6IcK8kph6fk/s320/550px-American_Crow.jpg" width="283" /></a></div>They especially love our egg shells. I dunno, someone said they like to eat the nutrient-rich inner lining or something? All I know is they love those things. <br />
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And here's why I am telling you all this. Because I think those clever crows are forming some kind of relationship with us and our egg shell-spouting window. <br />
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On two different occasions, I've stepped outside to find an egg shell placed ever-so neatly on the stone path right in front of the door (not at all near the kitchen window). The first time I saw it, I thought, <i>that's weird. I wonder if they know that we're the source of those shells, and that we come and go from this door?</i> The second time it happened, I really started to think something was up. <br />
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<i>Then, </i>Marc and I were sitting out on the grass by the water one afternoon, when suddenly from out of the Heavens fell a big, fat, juicy worm. It landed right in front of us. What the heck? We looked up, and there in the trees above us was a crow, watching us carefully. <br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_x4E6Y_J8LJc/TUM09TATiUI/AAAAAAAABf8/FGyf3-V4Sa8/s1600/American+Crow+-+Santee+Lakes+-+10-21-2007+-+001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="228" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_x4E6Y_J8LJc/TUM09TATiUI/AAAAAAAABf8/FGyf3-V4Sa8/s320/American+Crow+-+Santee+Lakes+-+10-21-2007+-+001.JPG" width="320" /></a>Was this crow was trying to establish some sort of system of reciprocity? If so, we totally ruined his plan. In such a scenario we <i>should</i> have scooped that worm up and eaten it right there, and said thank-you. But instead I just fretted about the worm. Can they fall from such great heights and survive? Had he just escaped from the jaws of death? Should I quickly bury him back in the dirt? Was the crow secretly screaming at me to <i>lay off his worm</i>? <br />
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It was only later that I wondered if the crow was <i>offering</i> us his own juicy lunch. How rude we were, if he was!<br />
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These are smart birds. And that could be really cool, or really scary. Are they sending us messages of friendship and gratitude? Or are we about to live out "The Birds" in real life? <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_x4E6Y_J8LJc/TUM3bK4yikI/AAAAAAAABgI/MZWMx65cs3E/s1600/hitchthebirds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="211" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_x4E6Y_J8LJc/TUM3bK4yikI/AAAAAAAABgI/MZWMx65cs3E/s400/hitchthebirds.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13293952728716234914noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9187611684021621606.post-90278267517461040512011-01-20T08:14:00.000-08:002011-01-20T08:14:45.563-08:00Two new things we've learned this winter:<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_x4E6Y_J8LJc/TThL-ALEcWI/AAAAAAAABfQ/Hvh8enTrkQ4/s1600/BestOf_2_NormanVaughan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><img border="0" height="135" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_x4E6Y_J8LJc/TThL-ALEcWI/AAAAAAAABfQ/Hvh8enTrkQ4/s200/BestOf_2_NormanVaughan.jpg" width="200" /></span></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">1- this area is prime dog sled racing country. who knew? </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">2- Norman Vaughan, a local hero, is fast becoming one of our favorite people to walk this earth. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">He was born nearby in 1905, and when he was twelve he hooked up his mutt, Rex, to his flexible flyer sled and taught him to mush. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Because who needs fancy equipment? Then his friend joined in and brought along his dog Fido. With the addition of a St. Bernard from the pound, they had a dog sled team that they rode all around the backwoods of Cape Ann. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">That alone is reason to love this guy. But then he went on to do amazing things for the rest of his life! He died in 2005 at the age of 100. </span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_x4E6Y_J8LJc/TThL_0g6NgI/AAAAAAAABfU/iMEOe6E6VPU/s1600/12079_500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><img border="0" height="135" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_x4E6Y_J8LJc/TThL_0g6NgI/AAAAAAAABfU/iMEOe6E6VPU/s200/12079_500.jpg" width="200" /></span></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Last December, when I learned there was going to be a national dog sled race nearby, I instantly knew I had Marc's Christmas present-- a trip to the races! The main race of the two-day event was a "Norman Vaughan Memorial" race, to honor the native son dog sled racing hero. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">We read a bit about the guy before the races last weekend, and on the sunny winter day of the races I was completely awestruck by the event, and by the inspiring figure of Norman Vaughan. </span><br />
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<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://4.bp.blogspot.com/_x4E6Y_J8LJc/TThMJmFUcjI/AAAAAAAABfY/ysSpV8FC3ts/s1600/January+2011+-+070.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><img border="0" height="298" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_x4E6Y_J8LJc/TThMJmFUcjI/AAAAAAAABfY/ysSpV8FC3ts/s400/January+2011+-+070.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">at the starting line</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Norman Vaughan had the epitome of a can-do spirit. Wanna do some dog sledding? Hook your dog to your sled -- that's all you need! Think it would be amazing to trek to the interior of the Antarctic? Go, then! Think something's impossible? There's only one way to find out! </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_x4E6Y_J8LJc/TThMUQMEP8I/AAAAAAAABfg/cEIyiF09r1M/s1600/January+2011+-+079.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_x4E6Y_J8LJc/TThMUQMEP8I/AAAAAAAABfg/cEIyiF09r1M/s400/January+2011+-+079.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">a team prepping for the race</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Norman Vaughan left Harvard in 1928 to join the famous Byrd expedition to Antarctica (they were first to set foot on the antarctic interior), and went on to build a life around dog sledding adventure. He delivered medicine to isolated villages in Newfoundland, rescued fighter pilots lost in Greenland during WWII, and competed in the Iditarod </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">thirteen times</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> -- all after the age of 72! </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_x4E6Y_J8LJc/TThMQZxT0AI/AAAAAAAABfc/ipuWoMCZPrI/s1600/January+2011+-+074.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_x4E6Y_J8LJc/TThMQZxT0AI/AAAAAAAABfc/ipuWoMCZPrI/s400/January+2011+-+074.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
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<div style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">To honor Norman for his contributions as chief dog driver during that first expedition, Admiral Byrd named an Antarctic peak after him. In December 1994, three days shy of his 89th birthday, he climbed his namesake, Mount Vaughan, at 10,302 feet. </span></div><div style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_x4E6Y_J8LJc/TThMgMimtsI/AAAAAAAABfs/QZ-jt1xqzAc/s1600/January+2011+-+097.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_x4E6Y_J8LJc/TThMgMimtsI/AAAAAAAABfs/QZ-jt1xqzAc/s400/January+2011+-+097.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The dog races were surreal. I've never seen a winter activity so inspiring. I tend to moan about winter and feel like I'm just waiting impatiently for Spring to come again, but something like this makes winter majestic, and beautiful, and too short! </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_x4E6Y_J8LJc/TThMk5v25tI/AAAAAAAABfw/ld7gQvZpaLc/s1600/January+2011+-+108.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><img border="0" height="298" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_x4E6Y_J8LJc/TThMk5v25tI/AAAAAAAABfw/ld7gQvZpaLc/s400/January+2011+-+108.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And here's what I'm inspired to really do. This guy competed in the Memorial Open race, up against 12-dog sled teams in an 11-mile race. I can't believe it's for real! </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_x4E6Y_J8LJc/TThMpA5lsnI/AAAAAAAABf0/TNDidJAcBsk/s1600/January+2011+-+129.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><img border="0" height="298" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_x4E6Y_J8LJc/TThMpA5lsnI/AAAAAAAABf0/TNDidJAcBsk/s400/January+2011+-+129.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">approaching the finish line -- coolest sport ever? </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">We have (twenty-year-old hand-me-down) cross-country skis... all we need is a harness and a dog or two... Winter is looking more and more appealing. </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_x4E6Y_J8LJc/TThMdwmsjKI/AAAAAAAABfo/md7ZN5nN46Q/s1600/January+2011+-+089.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><img border="0" height="149" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_x4E6Y_J8LJc/TThMdwmsjKI/AAAAAAAABfo/md7ZN5nN46Q/s200/January+2011+-+089.jpg" width="200" /></span></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Stomping through knee-deep snow we were both reminded so vividly of our </span><a href="http://marcandkatieslife.blogspot.com/2009/02/norway.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">trip to Norway</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">, where we both first experienced a real feeling of magical winter wonderland. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">What a world this is! What inspiring things to see and do! Norman Vaughan's lifelong message has struck a deep, reverberating chord: </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b>"Live out your dreams. Take every opportunity to face your challenges with enthusiasm, and then live adventurously. Dream big, and dare to fail." </b></span><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b>***</b></span></div>Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13293952728716234914noreply@blogger.com3