After an amusing visit to the grocery store where the next person in line happened to be a totally punked out guy with a Mohawk (buying a single bag of shredded cheese), Elle wanted to know why. "Why a Mohawk, Mama? Why was his hair like that?"
"Why do you wear pigtails, Elle? Or one ponytail, or sometimes no ponytail?"
She so got the connection between his appearance and the music that she came home and blasted our American Idiot CD. She ripped out her pigtails, leaving her hair looking like a lion's mane, and a wild dance party ensued.
This one is directly responsible for the gray hairs I'm sprouting. So far they're still passing for highlights...
Part of this weekend was spent cleaning up a crime scene. Elle broke into her sister's room and absconded with nail polish Sarabelle received for her birthday. The theft was detected when I passed by the guest bathroom. My first thought, formed after an especially audible gasp, was, "Somebody killed Barbie." An entire bottle of fuscia nail polish had been spilled and surreptitiously wiped, or smeared, all over the bathroom floor. All over the deeply pitted, stone-like ceramic tile of the house we rent. Her attempt to dispose of the evidence left bright pink blobs on cabinetry, bathrobes hung on the back of the door, even inside the toilet bowl where she shoved the saturated toilet paper she used.
Twelve ounces of acetone, two hours, and one green plastic potscrubbing pad later, she did it again. This time dripping another horrendous shade of pink and then blue on her bedroom carpet. Did I mention we rent this house? The house we probably only have one more month left in. The house that survived Hurricane Charley. I have yet to figure out that removal technique. Maybe I'll leave a well-placed area rug behind.
Contrast that behavior with Sarabelle's: She apologized profusely because though she doesn't even wear nail polish, she still felt responsible for having accepted it as a gift and keeping it in our house. I was hardly kidding when I posted this.
Sunday I was a big mean prison matron who never let her charge out of her sight. Out of arms length. I hear some people use the benign term 'tomato staking,' but I'm not buying it. If I could have found a ball and chain, she would have been wearing it.
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
Saturday, September 24, 2005
"I miss homeschooling" and other random thoughts
It's been a manic week. I've been bouncing back and forth between wanting to quit work (I hate feeling inept. Learning new things is always a challenge, but I'm experiencing enormous frustration as I'm the only one who can't figure out the complicated floor-duty "up person" arrangement, or remember which property belongs to whom and who is buying it and how many square feet it is and how much it costs and where the damn file is...) and gaining enthusiasm for the job (with two listings and one contract under my belt, the boss threw me and my partner ten off-island lots to market and share a commission on -- CRUMBS!)
Then I noticed that the librarian at my favorite haven is retiring and I realized that this was the perfect job for me: Spending my time in an elegant building, with a jewel of a garden, among the thoughts and words of the great minds, continuing to homeschool, contributing to the community, keeping Elle eligible for attendance at her school... Serendipity! I drafted a beautiful presentation in my head that night before going in to announce my interest in the position. Then I spoke with Miss B. She asked if I had an MLS. I hesitated for one long, dreadful moment then began to giggle. I spluttered that, no, I did not have a Master of Library Science degree, but in my present circumstances, MLS means Multiple Listing Service. She later came into the children's reading room, out of earshot of her employee, to explain that the MLS was not a requirement, just something the board would like to see, but the real tough part of the job is the hours. In season, November through May, it's a seven-day-a-week job, because although the library is only open weekdays to the public, there are weekend art shows and weddings scheduled. Out of season, the Monday, Wednesday, Friday operation requires that you squeeze in your vacation on weekends only. There is no regular vacation time, and no other benefits. She confessed that as honored as she is to have run this library for the past four or five years, she is leaving because she would like to have a life again, and she doesn't have any children at home either... So, that was that. I'm big on vacations. Even if they're only sprawling across my couch on weekends with a good book.
---
Gracie, who enjoyed an excellent preschool and Kindergarten at a small Catholic school back in Hollywood, and who adored her teachers, has decided that she loves her new school and teachers even more than her first thoroughly positive institutional educational experience. And, get this, she even told me recently that it's, "Kind of like homeschooling." With the first through fifth graders sharing two connected rooms, children are grouped by ability and share the resources in both areas. The morning routine, Pledge of Allegiance, and announcements are done in the separate Kindergarten classroom, so she gets to visit briefly with her sister after an early morning romp on the playground. The entire school, all 38 or so students plus their teachers, eat snack and lunch outside in the yard under a pavilion. So just like at our homeschool group meetings, and real life, Gracie is mixing it up with children of all ages. That's probably what she was referring to, but I'm going to believe it's because she's having as much fun as she did at home with me. Harrumph.
She is such a motherly child, even more than your typical ten year old girl -- she's been Elle's little mama from the day Elle arrived home -- that she relishes being the oldest girl in the school and cares very much for the smaller kids. Of course the teachers are thrilled to have her. The charter has the ability to add grades each year starting with sixth and continuing up to eighth, but no one is expecting that to happen next year. Too bad.
Academically they're a bit behind where we were in math and grammar, and just like homeschooling, Gracie hasn't cracked her science book yet, but her spelling and writing continue to improve. There's a lot more playground time, art, and music than most public schools have time for, almost more than I'm comfortable with, my first impression of it a few years ago when I checked into it, "too summer campy," but it seems to be a good fit for the time being. Definitely a confidence booster. She's been occupying her time on the long drives to and from school by working crosswords in the morning and completing her homework in the afternoon. She also insisted I buy her a recorder, not a requirement since the school provides them for the students' music lessons, but because she is so enthusiastic that she wants to practice at home too. I am typing to the tune of "Hot Cross Buns." For now, she's happy and so am I.
Next year is a major concern, though. The problem is not Sarabelle entering high school, but Gracie entering middle school. The middle school is crummy, and as we all know, it's a pathetic waste of time. The basics have (hopefully) been taught in elementary school and advanced material is (again, hopefully) covered in high school. Middle school is babysitting and a breeding ground for bad behavior. Jorge advised me to push through until we finalize the purchase of our new house and we get to the end of the season when I can retire from my obligations to help Broker Buddy, which also coincides with the end of the school year and our residency visas' expiration, and then we'll reevaluate.
---
The orange house apparently closed yesterday, as we did not receive any troubling phone calls from our agent at the law firm, so we're nearly there; one down, one to go. We can still make the new house deal happen without the additional sale of our four-acre piece, but it will be a lot easier to do if it sells first. That's what I'm working on now.
---
My two reluctant sleepers, roommates, have come up with a wonderful bedtime routine which sends them both quickly off to sleep and best of all, keeps them in their own beds all night long. Elle found a very bright night light she uses next to her bed and Gracie has a small CD player at the foot of her bed that she plays classical music to fall asleep by. Handel is the current selection.
---
Here are a few links I've been looking at this past week:
72 Hours. Smart.
Life Line Screening, an affordable, mobile service that benefits those of us without insurance or regular doctors.
---
Last week I noted the ten books that have shaped my life. Other major media that made a lasting impression include Disney's 1960 version of Swiss Family Robinson (oh, how I longed for a treehouse with a giant clamshell sink) and Gilligan's Island. That's where my deep desire to live on a wild tropical isle comes from. I don't remember identifying with any particular character, but as I look back, the similarities between Bush Senior and Mr. Howell may have swayed my vote. Rest in peace, Little Buddy.
---
With the new hyperactive hurricane season, it's possible that we may still have a Greek year without homeschooling.
Then I noticed that the librarian at my favorite haven is retiring and I realized that this was the perfect job for me: Spending my time in an elegant building, with a jewel of a garden, among the thoughts and words of the great minds, continuing to homeschool, contributing to the community, keeping Elle eligible for attendance at her school... Serendipity! I drafted a beautiful presentation in my head that night before going in to announce my interest in the position. Then I spoke with Miss B. She asked if I had an MLS. I hesitated for one long, dreadful moment then began to giggle. I spluttered that, no, I did not have a Master of Library Science degree, but in my present circumstances, MLS means Multiple Listing Service. She later came into the children's reading room, out of earshot of her employee, to explain that the MLS was not a requirement, just something the board would like to see, but the real tough part of the job is the hours. In season, November through May, it's a seven-day-a-week job, because although the library is only open weekdays to the public, there are weekend art shows and weddings scheduled. Out of season, the Monday, Wednesday, Friday operation requires that you squeeze in your vacation on weekends only. There is no regular vacation time, and no other benefits. She confessed that as honored as she is to have run this library for the past four or five years, she is leaving because she would like to have a life again, and she doesn't have any children at home either... So, that was that. I'm big on vacations. Even if they're only sprawling across my couch on weekends with a good book.
---
Gracie, who enjoyed an excellent preschool and Kindergarten at a small Catholic school back in Hollywood, and who adored her teachers, has decided that she loves her new school and teachers even more than her first thoroughly positive institutional educational experience. And, get this, she even told me recently that it's, "Kind of like homeschooling." With the first through fifth graders sharing two connected rooms, children are grouped by ability and share the resources in both areas. The morning routine, Pledge of Allegiance, and announcements are done in the separate Kindergarten classroom, so she gets to visit briefly with her sister after an early morning romp on the playground. The entire school, all 38 or so students plus their teachers, eat snack and lunch outside in the yard under a pavilion. So just like at our homeschool group meetings, and real life, Gracie is mixing it up with children of all ages. That's probably what she was referring to, but I'm going to believe it's because she's having as much fun as she did at home with me. Harrumph.
She is such a motherly child, even more than your typical ten year old girl -- she's been Elle's little mama from the day Elle arrived home -- that she relishes being the oldest girl in the school and cares very much for the smaller kids. Of course the teachers are thrilled to have her. The charter has the ability to add grades each year starting with sixth and continuing up to eighth, but no one is expecting that to happen next year. Too bad.
Academically they're a bit behind where we were in math and grammar, and just like homeschooling, Gracie hasn't cracked her science book yet, but her spelling and writing continue to improve. There's a lot more playground time, art, and music than most public schools have time for, almost more than I'm comfortable with, my first impression of it a few years ago when I checked into it, "too summer campy," but it seems to be a good fit for the time being. Definitely a confidence booster. She's been occupying her time on the long drives to and from school by working crosswords in the morning and completing her homework in the afternoon. She also insisted I buy her a recorder, not a requirement since the school provides them for the students' music lessons, but because she is so enthusiastic that she wants to practice at home too. I am typing to the tune of "Hot Cross Buns." For now, she's happy and so am I.
Next year is a major concern, though. The problem is not Sarabelle entering high school, but Gracie entering middle school. The middle school is crummy, and as we all know, it's a pathetic waste of time. The basics have (hopefully) been taught in elementary school and advanced material is (again, hopefully) covered in high school. Middle school is babysitting and a breeding ground for bad behavior. Jorge advised me to push through until we finalize the purchase of our new house and we get to the end of the season when I can retire from my obligations to help Broker Buddy, which also coincides with the end of the school year and our residency visas' expiration, and then we'll reevaluate.
---
The orange house apparently closed yesterday, as we did not receive any troubling phone calls from our agent at the law firm, so we're nearly there; one down, one to go. We can still make the new house deal happen without the additional sale of our four-acre piece, but it will be a lot easier to do if it sells first. That's what I'm working on now.
---
My two reluctant sleepers, roommates, have come up with a wonderful bedtime routine which sends them both quickly off to sleep and best of all, keeps them in their own beds all night long. Elle found a very bright night light she uses next to her bed and Gracie has a small CD player at the foot of her bed that she plays classical music to fall asleep by. Handel is the current selection.
---
Here are a few links I've been looking at this past week:
72 Hours. Smart.
Life Line Screening, an affordable, mobile service that benefits those of us without insurance or regular doctors.
---
Last week I noted the ten books that have shaped my life. Other major media that made a lasting impression include Disney's 1960 version of Swiss Family Robinson (oh, how I longed for a treehouse with a giant clamshell sink) and Gilligan's Island. That's where my deep desire to live on a wild tropical isle comes from. I don't remember identifying with any particular character, but as I look back, the similarities between Bush Senior and Mr. Howell may have swayed my vote. Rest in peace, Little Buddy.
---
With the new hyperactive hurricane season, it's possible that we may still have a Greek year without homeschooling.
Monday, September 19, 2005
What's this?!
A spare moment? Wondering what has become of us lately? Ah, well, I'll tell you anyway...
First, and most disturbingly, I have become a morning person. Hay should be made while the rest of the family sleeps, none of this while the sun shines nonsense. Waking up automatically at 5:30 AM is a terribly annoying habit. One I must break.
The buyer for our orange house has cold feet and is trying to break the contract, forfeiting his deposit, and causing our house of cards to come tumbling down. The closing is scheduled for Friday. We can only wait and see and hope that this knot in our gut loosens.
The job is, well, it's a job. I don't have an assistant, I am a co-assistant, one with less seniority, which is fine because my partner is great to work with. And very patient. Everybody who hears that I am now working for Broker Buddy, hesitantly reveals that he has an awesome temper, and asks if I was aware of that fact (except for Hummer Chick who snidely wondered if the cheese was greener in my new office.) I had been warned about his legendary Type A, obsessive, perfectionist streak. It was he that cautioned me about his awful tendency to vent. He assured me that he gets over it quickly and bears no grudges. His brother, another agent in the office, asked why I wasn't issued a hard hat when I took the position, and my co-assistant admitted to being reduced to tears on several occasions. But he does have the proverbial heart of gold. How will this passive/aggressive personality react when eventually screamed at? Will it be a spectacularly psychotic instant flip-out, or a grin-and-bear-it-until-the-next-time-he-asks-me-to-make-a-copy-then-unleash-on-him attack, or maybe a spineless jellyfish sobbing heap on the floor response, or the laugh out loud walk-out? I'm taking bets.
Gracie loves school. And a funny thing has happened: she can suddenly spell. Was it the pressure to impress her darling teacher? Perhaps. I'm okay with it. Really.
Sarabelle began Cotillion last night. We are a little suspicious of the hostess's qualifications. Her background is dance instructor, so that's second nature. It's the manners part she may have trouble with. Peeking in the front door to determine whether or not we were too early, she yanked the door out of our hands and then slammed it in our faces to "keep the air in." Sarabelle and I giggled. "Remember, honey," I told her, "this is the middle class's desperate attempt to be perceived upper middle." (Thank you, Mr. Fussell.) "I know, Mom. I'm just here to wear white gloves and learn the Cha-cha." Atta-girl.
Pondering this: If the French Quarter and the Garden District -- the parts of Nawlins nearest and dearest to the hearts of Americans, or at least the most recognized and visited -- and the CDB escaped major damage, on which parts exactly are we spending all this reconstruction money? On low-income housing? Won't those places still be below sea level? I hope those aren't my tax dollars at work. Too busy to notice, but did Bush's approval rating increase after his kiss-and-make-up rebuilding promises?
So much to say, and so little time. Trying to catch up on my correspondence, so if I owe you a note, it's coming. It may take a while, though.
First, and most disturbingly, I have become a morning person. Hay should be made while the rest of the family sleeps, none of this while the sun shines nonsense. Waking up automatically at 5:30 AM is a terribly annoying habit. One I must break.
The buyer for our orange house has cold feet and is trying to break the contract, forfeiting his deposit, and causing our house of cards to come tumbling down. The closing is scheduled for Friday. We can only wait and see and hope that this knot in our gut loosens.
The job is, well, it's a job. I don't have an assistant, I am a co-assistant, one with less seniority, which is fine because my partner is great to work with. And very patient. Everybody who hears that I am now working for Broker Buddy, hesitantly reveals that he has an awesome temper, and asks if I was aware of that fact (except for Hummer Chick who snidely wondered if the cheese was greener in my new office.) I had been warned about his legendary Type A, obsessive, perfectionist streak. It was he that cautioned me about his awful tendency to vent. He assured me that he gets over it quickly and bears no grudges. His brother, another agent in the office, asked why I wasn't issued a hard hat when I took the position, and my co-assistant admitted to being reduced to tears on several occasions. But he does have the proverbial heart of gold. How will this passive/aggressive personality react when eventually screamed at? Will it be a spectacularly psychotic instant flip-out, or a grin-and-bear-it-until-the-next-time-he-asks-me-to-make-a-copy-then-unleash-on-him attack, or maybe a spineless jellyfish sobbing heap on the floor response, or the laugh out loud walk-out? I'm taking bets.
Gracie loves school. And a funny thing has happened: she can suddenly spell. Was it the pressure to impress her darling teacher? Perhaps. I'm okay with it. Really.
Sarabelle began Cotillion last night. We are a little suspicious of the hostess's qualifications. Her background is dance instructor, so that's second nature. It's the manners part she may have trouble with. Peeking in the front door to determine whether or not we were too early, she yanked the door out of our hands and then slammed it in our faces to "keep the air in." Sarabelle and I giggled. "Remember, honey," I told her, "this is the middle class's desperate attempt to be perceived upper middle." (Thank you, Mr. Fussell.) "I know, Mom. I'm just here to wear white gloves and learn the Cha-cha." Atta-girl.
Pondering this: If the French Quarter and the Garden District -- the parts of Nawlins nearest and dearest to the hearts of Americans, or at least the most recognized and visited -- and the CDB escaped major damage, on which parts exactly are we spending all this reconstruction money? On low-income housing? Won't those places still be below sea level? I hope those aren't my tax dollars at work. Too busy to notice, but did Bush's approval rating increase after his kiss-and-make-up rebuilding promises?
So much to say, and so little time. Trying to catch up on my correspondence, so if I owe you a note, it's coming. It may take a while, though.
Friday, September 09, 2005
10
Hmmmm, a list of the ten books that have shaped my life? I accept your challenge, Mm-v! Here then, in roughly chronological order, are the ten books that, for better or worse, made me the woman I am today:
1) Racketty Packetty House – an ancient, delicate book given to me by an elderly friend of my mother that made me forever fervently hope I would one day be quick enough to catch a doll leaping back into her place as I entered the room. This slim volume was singularly responsible for my fascination with miniatures.
2) Just So Stories – one of many favorite books, along with a never-ending supply of Dell Crossword Puzzles empty but for Expert, Challenger, and Crazy Crosswords completed in pen, given to me by Grammy and Gramper, my paternal grandparents, that sparked a love of language. I discovered words weren’t just fun to read, they were fun to speak, they felt good in your mouth, you could taste them: “I am going to the great grey-green, greasy Limpopo River, all set about with fever-trees, to find out what the Crocodile has for dinner.” It also inspired my sense of adventure and wanderlust, and may have exacerbated a fear of man-eating reptiles, as well.
3) The Bungalow Mystery – or whichever Nancy Drew mystery it was that initially hooked me. One especially thrilling summer I arrived at my aunt’s house in Boston to find a stack of seven or eight books already passed down through the ranks of my cousins, ready for reading. Nancy Drew started me on an obsessive, lifelong reading jag and a desire to be a titian-haired, teenaged sleuth racing around town in a convertible.
4) Never Talk to Strangers – A book whose influence probably saved my life when a friend and I were nearly abducted as children. He wasn’t a camel with bony knees, but I knew what to do nonetheless. One I was determined to find and share with my own children, with the additional instructions to scream real loud.
5) Gardner’s Photographic Sketchbook of the Civil War – A family heirloom, one of the few original volumes, was often spread across our living room carpet when I was little. Opening the heavy, damp, creaky leather cover of a book nearly half my size, reverently turning the giant stiff pages, and being mesmerized by images of battlefields, camps, death, and destruction made a huge, morbid impression on me as a child.
6) The Exorcist – I never actually read William Peter Blatty’s novel, but since we’re talking about books that shaped our lives, I will include this one as the first time I realized there were books that contained material deemed inappropriate for children. The librarian inquired whether my mother would approve of my reading material, and I politely replied that I was allowed to check out whatever I wanted. This was true until that day. My mother marched me right back to the book deposit box after we got home and she discovered my latest selection. I learned the significance of the plain brown wrapper. This attraction to supernatural subjects remained largely unsatisfied until I discovered Stephen King.
7) The Bastard – John Jakes’s first in the Kent Family Chronicles. I began this series after most had already been published and read by my parents, so I was able to read practically straight through from beginning to end. Let’s see, there were The Rebels, The Seekers, The Furies, The Titans, The Warriors, The Lawless, and The Americans. When I finished that series, I gleefully started right in on North and South, Love and War, and Heaven and Hell. Historical fiction, at the time the only adult reading available in our home besides a collection of Reader's Digest Condensed Books, whetted my appetite for historical non-fiction.
8) The Betsy – My first Harold Robbin’s novel, the first of many, from Gramper’s shelves. He didn’t recommend these, but he never objected to me borrowing them either. Where my real education began.
9) War and Peace – A book I was determined to read on a solitary, month-long stay at our farm in Belize, not because I wanted to, but because I should. I discovered it was possible to enjoy a challenging book and realized you can be an educated person without a diploma.
10) The Well Trained Mind – Raising kids seemed to me common sense, but when I decided, pretty much on a whim, to homeschool my children, I needed a guide. Weeks of research led me to this book, which started me on the climb to Parnassus, both for the girls and myself.
1) Racketty Packetty House – an ancient, delicate book given to me by an elderly friend of my mother that made me forever fervently hope I would one day be quick enough to catch a doll leaping back into her place as I entered the room. This slim volume was singularly responsible for my fascination with miniatures.
2) Just So Stories – one of many favorite books, along with a never-ending supply of Dell Crossword Puzzles empty but for Expert, Challenger, and Crazy Crosswords completed in pen, given to me by Grammy and Gramper, my paternal grandparents, that sparked a love of language. I discovered words weren’t just fun to read, they were fun to speak, they felt good in your mouth, you could taste them: “I am going to the great grey-green, greasy Limpopo River, all set about with fever-trees, to find out what the Crocodile has for dinner.” It also inspired my sense of adventure and wanderlust, and may have exacerbated a fear of man-eating reptiles, as well.
3) The Bungalow Mystery – or whichever Nancy Drew mystery it was that initially hooked me. One especially thrilling summer I arrived at my aunt’s house in Boston to find a stack of seven or eight books already passed down through the ranks of my cousins, ready for reading. Nancy Drew started me on an obsessive, lifelong reading jag and a desire to be a titian-haired, teenaged sleuth racing around town in a convertible.
4) Never Talk to Strangers – A book whose influence probably saved my life when a friend and I were nearly abducted as children. He wasn’t a camel with bony knees, but I knew what to do nonetheless. One I was determined to find and share with my own children, with the additional instructions to scream real loud.
5) Gardner’s Photographic Sketchbook of the Civil War – A family heirloom, one of the few original volumes, was often spread across our living room carpet when I was little. Opening the heavy, damp, creaky leather cover of a book nearly half my size, reverently turning the giant stiff pages, and being mesmerized by images of battlefields, camps, death, and destruction made a huge, morbid impression on me as a child.
6) The Exorcist – I never actually read William Peter Blatty’s novel, but since we’re talking about books that shaped our lives, I will include this one as the first time I realized there were books that contained material deemed inappropriate for children. The librarian inquired whether my mother would approve of my reading material, and I politely replied that I was allowed to check out whatever I wanted. This was true until that day. My mother marched me right back to the book deposit box after we got home and she discovered my latest selection. I learned the significance of the plain brown wrapper. This attraction to supernatural subjects remained largely unsatisfied until I discovered Stephen King.
7) The Bastard – John Jakes’s first in the Kent Family Chronicles. I began this series after most had already been published and read by my parents, so I was able to read practically straight through from beginning to end. Let’s see, there were The Rebels, The Seekers, The Furies, The Titans, The Warriors, The Lawless, and The Americans. When I finished that series, I gleefully started right in on North and South, Love and War, and Heaven and Hell. Historical fiction, at the time the only adult reading available in our home besides a collection of Reader's Digest Condensed Books, whetted my appetite for historical non-fiction.
8) The Betsy – My first Harold Robbin’s novel, the first of many, from Gramper’s shelves. He didn’t recommend these, but he never objected to me borrowing them either. Where my real education began.
9) War and Peace – A book I was determined to read on a solitary, month-long stay at our farm in Belize, not because I wanted to, but because I should. I discovered it was possible to enjoy a challenging book and realized you can be an educated person without a diploma.
10) The Well Trained Mind – Raising kids seemed to me common sense, but when I decided, pretty much on a whim, to homeschool my children, I needed a guide. Weeks of research led me to this book, which started me on the climb to Parnassus, both for the girls and myself.
How about you? Care to give it a try?
Thursday, September 08, 2005
International Literacy Day
Becky at Farm School has put together an awesome pair of posts in honor of International Literacy Day. Part 1 details books on reading and has loads of book lists to peruse. Part 2 is a huge list of notable quotes on books and reading.
Three cheers for Becky!
Three cheers for Becky!
Sunday, September 04, 2005
A break
Having decided not to freak myself out anymore than I already am -- because I am totally, as Dy describes, a P.A.F. -- by reading another dystopic novel, I plunged into Shopgirl and The Pleasure of My Company: A Novel, both by Steve Martin. Fortunately for me, I picked these up this past Friday while hanging out at the library, and plunged into them this weekend. Two delightful little distractions with characters that I just fell in love with. Steve is a brilliantly, pin-pointedly observant writer.
Now on to Master and Commander, the other book I picked up Friday, the beginning of Patrick O'Brian's long series, long recommended by Dy and Stephanie, a book I am surprised to find myself already on page 89. Good read so far, the only problem is that I've seen the movie so the images of Russell Crowe and Paul Bettany are firmly lodged in my mind's eye. Not that that's such a bad thing...
And since I can't stay away from the subject for too long, here are a couple more P.A.F. links for you:
I heard this interview on NPR and then went over to check out the Tumbleweed Tiny House Company website. Beautiful stuff.
CropKing is the supplier for EPCOT's The Land hydroponic systems. Grow a lot in a small area and conserve water and nutrients too.
Cheers.
Now on to Master and Commander, the other book I picked up Friday, the beginning of Patrick O'Brian's long series, long recommended by Dy and Stephanie, a book I am surprised to find myself already on page 89. Good read so far, the only problem is that I've seen the movie so the images of Russell Crowe and Paul Bettany are firmly lodged in my mind's eye. Not that that's such a bad thing...
And since I can't stay away from the subject for too long, here are a couple more P.A.F. links for you:
I heard this interview on NPR and then went over to check out the Tumbleweed Tiny House Company website. Beautiful stuff.
CropKing is the supplier for EPCOT's The Land hydroponic systems. Grow a lot in a small area and conserve water and nutrients too.
Cheers.
Saturday, September 03, 2005
Self-reliance
Any other paranoid Doomsday types out there thinking about self-sufficiency in light of our obvious dependence on others for food and fuel?
Here are some of the books on my shelves -- in no particular order because that's how my shelves are arranged these days -- that I'm taking another look at:
SURVIVAL GUIDES
The Edible Landscape
Seed to Seed
Making the Best of Basics: Family Preparedness Handbook
Homesteading: How to Find New Independence on the Land
The Foxfire Book
Foxfire 2
Foxfire 3
Foxfire 5
Foxfire 8
American Red Cross First Aid Textbook
Month-by-Month Gardening in Florida
Collection and Cultivation of Medicinal Plants of Florida
Wild Plants for Survival in South Florida
Getting the Most from Your Garden
Folk Remedies of the Low Country
Camping and Woodcraft
Knots Ties and Splices (Irving)
Tracks and Tracking
Science of Trapping
Florida Gardeners' Guide
All-New Encyclopedia of Organic Gardening
Fruits of Warm Climates
Five Acres and Independence: A Handbook for Small Farm Management
TECHNICAL GUIDES
Audels Electric Dictionary
Civil Engineer's Reference Book
Chapman Piloting
Elementary Surveying
Also, here are a couple websites I keep bookmarked:
Heirloom Seeds
Murray McMurray Hatchery
A classical education is food for the soul. It took this wake-up call [post Hurricanes Katrina - Wilma] to remind me that the first education I want my children to have is how to provide food for their table.
Here are some of the books on my shelves -- in no particular order because that's how my shelves are arranged these days -- that I'm taking another look at:
SURVIVAL GUIDES
The Edible Landscape
Seed to Seed
Making the Best of Basics: Family Preparedness Handbook
Homesteading: How to Find New Independence on the Land
The Foxfire Book
Foxfire 2
Foxfire 3
Foxfire 5
Foxfire 8
American Red Cross First Aid Textbook
Month-by-Month Gardening in Florida
Collection and Cultivation of Medicinal Plants of Florida
Wild Plants for Survival in South Florida
Getting the Most from Your Garden
Folk Remedies of the Low Country
Camping and Woodcraft
Knots Ties and Splices (Irving)
Tracks and Tracking
Science of Trapping
Florida Gardeners' Guide
All-New Encyclopedia of Organic Gardening
Fruits of Warm Climates
Five Acres and Independence: A Handbook for Small Farm Management
TECHNICAL GUIDES
Audels Electric Dictionary
Civil Engineer's Reference Book
Chapman Piloting
Elementary Surveying
Also, here are a couple websites I keep bookmarked:
Heirloom Seeds
Murray McMurray Hatchery
A classical education is food for the soul. It took this wake-up call [post Hurricanes Katrina - Wilma] to remind me that the first education I want my children to have is how to provide food for their table.
Friday, September 02, 2005
Perspective
No pool cage? No sympathy.
No FEMA assistance? You don't need it. Clean up the trees in your yard and quit whining.
No roof? Tough break, but you can rebuild. Material possessions can be replaced. Hey, you're alive.
No food, water, or shelter? No news from family? No survivors? No way out? God help you, because it doesn't look like anyone else will.
-----
The relief effort in the wake of Hurricane Katrina is deplorable. Don't tell me there was no emergency plan in place. How can you not foresee the potential for disaster in a city that has for centuries been at the mercy of high water and levees? And if it was impossible to deal with, why allow anyone to live in such dangerous circumstances? They won't even let me ride in my own car without a seatbelt. Don't tell me it's because Katrina wasn't expected to strike there, either. Charley was headed for Tampa and took an unexpected right turn into Charlotte Harbor. The State of Florida had declared a state of emergency before the storm hit, putting the National Guard on alert and mobilizing power and other emergency crews to move in the minute the winds calmed. Same with Frances, Ivan and Jean. Was this done in Louisiana, Mississippi, or Alabama with the good chance of a category five making landfall? When coastal areas were ordered to evacuate, wasn't transportation provided? Hurricanes are not new to this area. Does our governor have better connections?
Have any doubt our government would competently respond in the aftermath of a large scale attack?
And not to pin all the blame on the government, what about the people sitting in filth at the convention center with reports of rapes and beatings taking place? Are they that dependent on assistance that they can't motivate themselves to navigate the ten blocks or so to the Superdome where evacuations are successfully being carried out? Well, when rescue teams are not being shot at, that is. The storm victims may be in shock, but at some point the survival mechanism should be kicking in. For the people along the coast, they must have heard at least once in their life, like maybe when any number of past storms threatened, that storm surges are the biggest killers in a hurricane. When a surge can be as high as three stories and you live in a one story house, you don't stick around. Hit the road, Jack. Head for the hills. Surely everybody heard about the tsunami last year?
Is everybody living in a fantasy world where bad things don't happen? Where knights in shining armor will always come to your rescue? What has happened to common sense and independence? Hello? Is this thing on?
After Andrew, when panic and violence threatened, didn't emergency planners and our government learn about immediate response? "Where the hell is the cavalry on this one?"
Also after Andrew, Charley, and Ivan, strangely similar rumors surfaced: Nighttime convoys of refrigerator trucks were covertly removing corpses. It was a conspiracy to cover up the true number of victims. Why? Nobody had a very good explanation. Maybe to protect the tourism industry? Maybe to not scare potential residents away? I think that ridiculous story can now be put to rest.
No FEMA assistance? You don't need it. Clean up the trees in your yard and quit whining.
No roof? Tough break, but you can rebuild. Material possessions can be replaced. Hey, you're alive.
No food, water, or shelter? No news from family? No survivors? No way out? God help you, because it doesn't look like anyone else will.
-----
The relief effort in the wake of Hurricane Katrina is deplorable. Don't tell me there was no emergency plan in place. How can you not foresee the potential for disaster in a city that has for centuries been at the mercy of high water and levees? And if it was impossible to deal with, why allow anyone to live in such dangerous circumstances? They won't even let me ride in my own car without a seatbelt. Don't tell me it's because Katrina wasn't expected to strike there, either. Charley was headed for Tampa and took an unexpected right turn into Charlotte Harbor. The State of Florida had declared a state of emergency before the storm hit, putting the National Guard on alert and mobilizing power and other emergency crews to move in the minute the winds calmed. Same with Frances, Ivan and Jean. Was this done in Louisiana, Mississippi, or Alabama with the good chance of a category five making landfall? When coastal areas were ordered to evacuate, wasn't transportation provided? Hurricanes are not new to this area. Does our governor have better connections?
Have any doubt our government would competently respond in the aftermath of a large scale attack?
And not to pin all the blame on the government, what about the people sitting in filth at the convention center with reports of rapes and beatings taking place? Are they that dependent on assistance that they can't motivate themselves to navigate the ten blocks or so to the Superdome where evacuations are successfully being carried out? Well, when rescue teams are not being shot at, that is. The storm victims may be in shock, but at some point the survival mechanism should be kicking in. For the people along the coast, they must have heard at least once in their life, like maybe when any number of past storms threatened, that storm surges are the biggest killers in a hurricane. When a surge can be as high as three stories and you live in a one story house, you don't stick around. Hit the road, Jack. Head for the hills. Surely everybody heard about the tsunami last year?
Is everybody living in a fantasy world where bad things don't happen? Where knights in shining armor will always come to your rescue? What has happened to common sense and independence? Hello? Is this thing on?
After Andrew, when panic and violence threatened, didn't emergency planners and our government learn about immediate response? "Where the hell is the cavalry on this one?"
Also after Andrew, Charley, and Ivan, strangely similar rumors surfaced: Nighttime convoys of refrigerator trucks were covertly removing corpses. It was a conspiracy to cover up the true number of victims. Why? Nobody had a very good explanation. Maybe to protect the tourism industry? Maybe to not scare potential residents away? I think that ridiculous story can now be put to rest.
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