Team Cornholio!

From Drop Box

Meet your champion of the first annual Cornhole 4 Cash Tournament at Blechschmidt Meadowlands!

The coed teams were drawn at random for the double elimination tournament to crown the the first Cornhole Champions. I drew an Ace and met my teammate, Anthony, and immediately apologized as last year (at the Cornhole Amateur Invitational) I was a liability on my teammate, Chris. Even though I have the advantage of being close to the Meadowlands and have practiced on the home court, I have never really mastered the game - not that it really needs mastering. What it really needs is consistency - an element from my technique that, until now, has been sorely lacking in my cornhole, bean-bag tossing career.

Team Cornholio received a bye in the first round so Anthony and I were able to scout the other teams as the tournament kicked off on side-by-side courts. The weather was perfect for the event with temperatures in the mid-seventies, with clouds giving way to sunshine, and winds out of the west-northwest. As the temperature heated to near-80 degrees, the palpable fervor of the tournament elevated past "friendly" and moved into the arena of intensely competitive. Favorites were chosen and lines were drawn as smack talk could be heard on the courts.

One by one, teams were eliminated as Team Cornholio remained undefeated in the Winners Bracket. Relieved again with a bye in the semi-finals, we watched the Fluffy Bunnies battle it out with the Cornhole Ninjas. Team names notwithstanding, the Fluffy Bunnies were serious contenders with Cliff and Cassie. Although a newcomer to the professional cornhole circuit, Cassie was a serious contender and would have been a dangerous opponent. We cheered for the Cornhole Ninjas even though they represented the home team and crowd favorites because we felt they had a weakness: One of the Ninjas was also a newcomer, one we felt we could out-toss.

The Ninjas prevailed in a two-out-of-three matchup over the Fluffy Bunnies who took third and a cash prize. It came down to the final round - a best three out of five games.

Out of nowhere, I found my "zone." I was on fire and couldn't be stopped. I felt it in every heartbeat, in every toss. I found a rhythm, a pattern, a style and technique that I've crossed paths with before but could never hold onto. I was outside my own body as I watched Team Cornholio take the Jack Daniels court for the first game.

We prevailed as I drove our team to the finish line, now relentless in my quest for a win. We would be in the money no matter how it turned out, but I wanted that trophy!

For the second game, we had to either switch sides or switch courts and it was our choice. The Jack Daniels boards made up the home court and I was having great success. We decided to stay there and go for win number two.

But the Cornhole Ninjas smacked us hard with a win in the second game. Beero - host, chef, Cornhole Commissioner, and hometown favorite - had been carrying his team until this point but his teammate, Sheri, was finally finding her game and was presenting us with an unexpected challenge. We were nervous as we prepared for game three: The Ninjas were vying for a comeback out of the Losers Bracket and we now had to switch to the CWU court which presented Team Cornholio with challenges in earlier rounds.

Team Cornholio took game three just as the stadium lights came on in the Meadowlands. The crowd, now mostly populated with defeated cornholers, were making side bets. Who would win? Team Cornholio with only one loss and a one game lead? Or, the hometown hero?

After a break for last minute coaching and encouragement, game four began. The score was two to one in favor of Team Cornholio who needed only one more game to win the whole enchilada. The Cornhole Ninjas needed the win to tie it up and force us into the fifth game. The stadium lights were now a factor, shining into the athletes eyes and casting long shadows across the CWU court. Bugs took flight, dogs and children became antsy, the crowd was anxious, and yet the athletes were able to tune it all out in the quest for cornhole glory.

I don't even remember the final score. I just remember the cheering as the crowd swelled to congratulate us after our third win, breaking my cornhole trance. The Ninjas were gracious in their defeat and it was a sad day for the home team - particularly as Beero was responsible for putting on the entire event.

I plan to display my trophy proudly and hope I will have the opportunity to defend my title in 2013. I would like to thank my coach and sponsor, Hubby, and Beero and Punky for putting on such a fine event. My appreciation to my teammate, Anthony, for his fine cornholing skills and tips on cornhole technique. And, finally, I offer my congratulations to all the cornhole teams who did their darnedest.

Team Cornholio. The winningest.

Jaws

French Fried Dreams

I used to live across from a burger joint (the burger joint, if you've from Vancouver) and it was heaven or hell depending on which way the wind was blowing, and it's always blowing near the Columbia River. Actually, I like burgers and fries so it didn't bother me, french fried dreams, although it stirred up cravings for anything non-vegetable. Since then, my dreams are less passionate and I think I might be losing weight.

I miss that smell like smells of food that bring you back to another place and time, another dimension if you're really into it. Like bacon and maple syrup, oh my goodness, or steaks on the grill. The smell of a burger joint isn't quite as sexy as that. It's a greasier smell, a layer that gets trapped in your clothes, like smoke. Still, there's comfort in it. Like Grandma's house: smells a little funky but love is funky too.

The burger joint is gone, razed, evaporated into dust. The lot's been empty for months. Seems lonely. Doesn't smell like anything.

I used to work across the street from a restaurant that roasted its own coffee. Roasting coffee doesn't smell as good as brewing coffee but it was the smell of family, neighbors really - of people doing what they love to do. (Good thing they didn't love recycling manure for fertilizer.)

I still work and live in the same places. It's the burger joint and the coffee roaster that moved.

Olfactory memories.

Cinetopia

I don't need to do that again. Cinetopia is a movie theater where you can pay up to $18.50 (per person) to watch a movie. For this, I can eat and drink while I watch a movie and snuggle with my honey on a couch as if I was in my own living room.

Wait. I can do all that for practically nothing in my own living room. So what's the point?

The food was pretty good and at a good price in both locations that we tried. One had a good special on wine the night we went but the other location offered no specials on drinks even during happy hour. (Not very happy, is it?)

Last night we saw The Bourne Legacy (good movie) in a Living Room Theater (not so great). We sat in a divided love seat, which is to say two easy chairs connected by a retractable center armrest, with foot rests. The Living Room we were in was a row of five such love seats in the back of a regular theater which, on a Monday night, was otherwise empty.

Table service was available in the Living Room. A waiter would come and go with orders, each time having to navigate the foot rests which, naturally, took up the space in the Living Room's one aisle. This became more interesting once the theater lights were lowered. Of course, after everyone had their fill of food and drink, nearly every one of the other eight people watching the movie with us had to use the restroom. There was a steady stream of traffic between us and the movie screen throughout the movie.

I've been to Cinetopia twice and used a Groupon both times. I'm glad I didn't pay full price and I don't really need to go back. Been there, done that, not sure it was worth it even at a discount.

At least when I watch a moving in my living room, I can pause it when I have to go to the bathroom.

Laundry Day

From Drop Box

Beach Towel

From Drop Box

Lillypads

We couldn't stay away. Back on the boat, this time in Portage Bay, Seattle. Last night, we spent the night on the dock in Bellevue. It was so hot that we ran the A/C all night. I'm just glad we had it! Much cooler today, much more pleasant.

Of Course Not!

I was only on vacation for two weeks but that was just enough time for me to forget a few things. I forgot one of my log on routines and I forgot where I keep one of my files, for example.

I didn't forget how to use the coffee machine, though.

Mouse

[Fiction] Blonde and Bouncy

"What took you so long?"

"He wanted to play bocce! Can't you believe it?"

"Quick! Get in the van!"

"He was at the bar by himself most of the time," the big blonde continued as he sped from the curb, "a perfect mark. Looked like a loner, you know? Every once in a while someone would try to start a conversation with him but then they'd wander off, bored."

"What did you get? He must have something - he's a member of the Golf & Tennis Club for chrissakes!"

"Get? I didn't get anything, you jerk! These things take time, finesse. Ever hear of finesse, you unsophisticated jackass?"

"Jackass?" His hands gripped the wheel as he drove faster. Each bump in the road was registered as a rolling gallop in the used minivan. "I'm just trying to provide for you, baby."

"Then why don't you fix the shocks in this piece of junk?"

He took a deep breath. "Baby, it's the brakes not the shocks, okay? How many times to I have to tell you? And, if you could just get the fish on the hook we could get enough to take care of a few things, alright? We gotta work together here."

The light turned red but that didn't seem to matter. He drove faster, his rage at a boiling point.

"Slow down! You're gonna kill somebody!"

"The only one I'm gonna kill is you, f'ya don't be quiet."

The only sound that immediately followed was the engine revving as if it was going to burst from the low-end family van itself.

"Sweetie, slow down," the squarish woman tried to soothe. "I'll go back to the club and I'll make nice-nice and get enough to fix the shocks."

He had just taken a can of soda from the cooler on the floor between them and, at this remark, glared at her - so long that she was afraid he had forgotten he was behind the wheel and racing nearly out of control. "It's the brakes," he said with an icy calm.

He rounded the corner, nearly knocking down a pedestrian. It was all the big blonde could do to hold on.
"It's got nothing to do with your fucking brakes!" she yelled half as much to make her point as to have something at all to yell as the van leaned precariously in the turn.

As the wheels made solid contact with the pavement once more, he hurled the soda at her, barely missing her head. It sailed out the passenger window and hit the curb, bouncing straight up.



(Inspired by [Fiction]Blonde and [Fiction] Bounce.)

Boating Hangover

Boating hangover

These are before and after photos ... cleaning up after arriving back on land. This photo: The side with the junk on it is my side. The other side is where I slept last night....

L

From Work

Which of the following is a buzz kill?
     a) Top down
     b) Radio on
     c) 75 degrees
     d) Going to work

Back To Work

Work is not nearly as interesting as not working. I mean, I could tell you about the tax returns I'm working on  but, see? I've already caught you dozing - which, as a matter of fact, I'd like to be doing right now, come to think of it.

But, I digress.

In order to keep posting lively and interesting around-the-water-cooler conversation starters such as this and more recent posts, I have challenged myself to take photos of my work space and to post them here.

Let's just see how interesting work can be.

(No compromising information or images will be taken, recorded, or posted - in case you were concerned about that kind of thing.)

Home Again

We made it back to fresh water yesterday which meant back to work today for us mere mortals. By the time we got the boat put away and cleaned up it was late so when we got home we dropped our bags wherever we were and ate Chinese take out it front of the Discovery Channel.

The boat's clean but the house is a wreck. In fact, there's a trail of laundry, clean clothes, non-refrigerated food (the refrigerated stuff is the only thing we put away last night), and various other items that leads from the back door all the way to my side of the bed. Don't ask me how it got there - I slept there last night but somehow more materialized after I got up this morning. Maybe the stuff is multiplying which would be bad news because that would just mean more cleaning up!

When I travel a lot, I have a little game I play with myself: I try to guess which city I'm in before I open my eyes. This morning, I had had to peek a little before I got it right. I didn't realize I was in my own bed!

But things improved quickly as my first appointment for the day was the same spa where Dorothy and her friends went to upon arriving in Oz. A little buff and polish and I felt nearly new again. Boating is hard work, I tell you! It is impossible not to break all ten (if not all twenty) nails and come back with more than a few unexplained bruises and minor scrapes. Oh well, at least the swaying has stopped.

It's hot here - hotter than it was in Puget Sound. It was pleasant enough, though, for me to drop the top this morning and wear a light jacket. (No jacket was required later in the day!) I went to the opera this evening (Turandot) and the top was up to protect hairdos and run the A/C but it was down on the way home. (It was about 78 degrees around 11 pm.)

My side of the bed is still piled with stuff that needs to be put away but that can wait. I'll just sleep on hubby's side of the bed. (He's already in Portland.)

Tomorrow, I think I'll be able to guess where I am before I wake up. I think.

Stroll

One last stroll into town before heading back thru the locks.

Midwest Bureau

To protect the identity of the Midwest Bureau Chief, we are using this photo from our archives. We met with the MBC and the ever elusive M (which apparently stands for "mulling") in an undisclosed location in the Winslow area. They were guided by a secret agent over sea and land to the rendezvous point where we opened various electronic gadgets to view pieces of each others lives. Very enlightening.



To avoid being detected the MBC, M and the secret agent sailed away into the sunset last night and we will sail away later today.



Be safe in your travels, my friends, and continue to love life. We will miss you.

Winslow

Winslow

It turns out our traveling companions only suffered from pilot error. (You can't start the engine unless it's in neutral.) The day's Moment Of High Anxiety was over and they left for home.

We had crepes for breakfast in town and then cruised a short while to Winslow in Eagle Harbor on Bainbridge Island (just west of Seattle). It's nice here - restaurants and a very good grocery store within walking distance.

I got some pictures which I'm trying to upload now but it's taking a while so I may just post one for now, if I'm lucky. I'm sucking up a lot of bandwidth trying to upload several to Picasa. I may just ditch that in favor of just getting one posted.

We expect contact with the Midwest Bureau today.

Otherwise, no news to report which, in itself, is good news.

Didn't do much but hang around Kingston yesterday.Went to the farmers market and I bought two balls of home-spun yarn and, later, some vintage buttons. Should be some good ingredients for a future project.

We made a giant crab salad for lunch and then wandered up to the local pub in the evening to shoot a little pool and watch the Seahawks preseason game. We tried to stay up to watch the meteor shower but pooped out around 11. We saw a few shooting stars and that was enough for us. (Seen one shooting star, seen 'em all.)

Our traveling companions are just getting ready to go but can't get their engine started. It's always something! The guys are fiddling and tinkering and, hopefully, they'll find it's something simple.

Flotsam

Kingston

Yesterday, we ended up cruising further north than our original destination. We are in Kingston which is northwest of Elliott Bay (Seattle) and just southwest of Whidbey Island. There's a webcam here but it is of the parking lot for the ferry terminal here. I'll let you know if I plan on waving at it.

It was a long cruise. Even though we can cruise comfortably at 28 knots, we've been practicing cruising at slower speeds to see if we have the patience to own a slower boat. We're also towing our tender and 28 knots vastly exceeds the hull speed of the dinghy. Overall, it took about 3.5 - 4 hours.

We ended up docking next to some fishermen who hauled in more crab than they wanted so they offered us two. They were live and these guys also offered to clean them for us. How perfect is that? We hustled up a pot and boiled them up right away and then picked out all the meat. We had already eaten dinner so we saved it for today. (Crab Caesar, anyone?)

Today is the farmers market on shore and they have live music in the park tonight so we plan on sticking around another night in Kingston. Our traveling companions (hubby's brother and his fiancee - another Lynn) will need to go back through the locks tomorrow. I don't know if we'll go through with them or stay out here another couple of days. We're making it up as we go.

The Midwest Bureau has made contact and we plan to rendezvous on Tuesday so we'll be back to Meydenbauer Bay, Lake Washington, by then.

The fishermen went back out early this morning so maybe we'll have more crab but don't count on any of it making it back home.

Glass museum, Tacoma

T

From Drop Box

Tacoma

I have my sway on. In fact, can't turn the sway off. It's worst in the shower when I close my eyes but that's par for the course. It'll wear off after I get on land for a few days.

Yesterday, we cruised from Gig Harbor to Tacoma which was a relatively short cruise. The marina happens to be within walking distance from a Starbucks so that's where I am, getting a little WiFi to go along with my coffee, and hoping I'm not swaying so much on my bar stool as to attract attention (or fall off). The sway is countered by wave action so all I have to do is hike back to the boat for a reprieve.

Not much else to report. It's sunny. I'm drinking coffee. I'm swaying.

Still having trouble with one of the engines but we should be able to get home okay on one. We'll have to get that checked out when we get home. Sometimes, getting through the locks can be a little dicey - even on two engines - but we've been through on one engine before and I have a very capable Captain so I think we'll be okay.

The plan is to motor back to the Seattle area and spending the night somewhere in Elliott Bay. Bell Harbor is a marina right downtown but there's a Seahawks preseason game into town this weekend so we might not find space there. There's also Elliott Bay Marina, which features beautiful views and excellent restaurants, and Shilshole Marina, which is within walking distance to nice restaurants and is right outside the locks. Eagle Harbor is just across the way and inexpensive (also within walking distance of restaurants) so we have plenty of choices.

We're thinking we'll lock through tomorrow and spend a night on fresh water before putting everything away. Our traveling companions have to be back to work on Monday but we don't have to be back until Wednesday. Either we'll stay outside the locks for a couple more days or we'll spend a few nights on the hook in the lake. It's kind of a loose plan at this point.

A shout out to the Grump for capturing a picture of the Double Jack on the Gig Harbor webcam. I heard a rumor that the Midwest Bureau is on assignment somewhere nearby - or will be sometime soon. Travel safely!

In case you missed it

http://76003dot1414.blogspot.com/2012/08/we-think.html

http://www.webcamsmania.com/webcam/gigharbor

This is the site for the Gig Harbor webcam. We should pass through there tomorrow - probably around noon. We'll be on the Double Jack (blue hulled Formula with white bimini top) and will be traveling with Sunlover (a smaller Searay with a black hull and black bimini).

I'll tweet when we're leaving the dock.

We cruised from Blake Island State Park to Arabella's Landing in Gig Harbor yesterday. The weather had cooled considerably and we were forced to wear jeans and sweatshirts. Had a problem with the port drive just as we were trying to dock which is naturally when these types of things happen.

We met some people on the dock who tipped us off to a bakery that makes great cinnamon rolls which is something that I'll check out momentarily. We just tested the port engine at the dock and it seems to be functioning properly. We'll be here another night so if we decide the engine needs service we should be able to find it here.

Already, the weather is shaping up to be a nice day.

Time to get some rolls.

My new prescription sunglasses

The bottom of Lake Washington is now the home to my prescription sunglasses. Bad timing, as we plan to be on the boat another week or so. I can see pretty well without them but I'm going to want to pick up a pair somewhere just for the eye protection.

They had been falling of my head all day but I was mindful to take them off every time I jumped in the lake to cool off, which was often. After the airshow, we moved over to Andrews Bay to drop a hook for the night. I was standing on the side of our boat with my glasses on top of my head, untying a line to move a dinghy so that another boat could raft alongside. I was bent over, my hands occupied, when my glasses plopped into the drink.

I hesitated and that was my mistake. I should have gone right after them but my mind took a moment to consider whether they might float (they didn't) and whether there was too much boat traffic for it to be safe (maybe). That moment's hesitation was all it took for my sunglasses to sink beyond reach even if I had jumped in and so they decended.

Oh well. It was probably time for a new pair anyway.

Since I Can

The air conditioning is running which means the generator is running. So I fired up the laptop and the hotspot on the phone, and we're off and running.

I updated the video so it should work now but I see it's not oriented correctly. Now I know which way to shoot it so it will play back right side up. (On the To Do List for today.)

We are anchored just outside of Andrews Bay waiting for friends to join us for today's airshow. Yesterday, we had four boats rafted with us and we'll have at least that many again today. We always arrive first because we have the biggest anchor and the most chain to lay out.

Two nights ago, out here on the water, I met a woman who is a concrete finisher with a nickname of "The Four Foot Assassin." Don't know how she got it but that'll make it's way into the Now & Then pages for sure.

Besides the hydroplane races (which we never get close enough to actually see), Seafair is mostly an excuse to party on Lake Washington. Women are compelled to bare their breasts in exchange for a few pennies' worth of plastic beads made in China and men are driven to heave water balloons at one another between boats.

Two of the boats that were rafted with us yesterday provided us with both: Women in pasties and 450 water balloons. Generally speaking, it's good natured fun with an x-rated component.

It's all fun until someone gets poked in the eye, that is.

Last night, we had a friendly water balloon exchange with another boat which turned not-so-friendly when they launched a tomato. Conceptually funny, it could have proved dangerous and was very not cool. As it lobbed towards us, it looked like a red water balloon headed pretty much straight for me. I was sitting on the swim step and figured I might have to dodge to avoid it but, other than that, figured the worst that would happen is I would get wet.

The tomato landed hard on the trunk a few feet from me and we assumed it was a dud - a water balloon that didn't explode on impact. But, it didn't take long to figure out what really happened and to find the bulk of the fruit floating in the water. Not cool, we had a small mess to clean up but there wasn't any damage.

However, a few feet in one direction and I could have had a face full of tomato sauce and a pretty good concussion. If the tomato landed a few feet in another direction it would have landed in the interior of the boat and been considerably messier. (It was actually launched by catapult.)

The boat's name was "Her Idea." I'm betting it wasn't.

I don't know if that video posted correctly. I'll try to get more today. It's going to be a hot one today. Fortunately, we have air conditioning. Unfortunately, it's already running at 9 am.

Vacation

We're planning some time on the boat. The plan is two weeks but it's hard to say how that will really play out. We are expecting the arrival of a new granddaughter in September but the baby may have other ideas. Our "daughter-in-law" started contractions Wednesday and went to the hospital. They kept her overnight but discharged her Thursday with instructions to start maternity leave and take it easy. She's already dilated to 2.5 cm but contractions have slowed and this is a condition that could last for weeks.

So, we'll start our trek on the lake which is practically in our back yard. If she goes into labor, we won't be far away. The Blue Angels are in town for the weekend and the lake is a great spot to watch their air shows. This weekend is also the great Seattle bacchanalia also known as Seafair. In addition to the airshow, we'll have front row seats to the mayhem that surrounds the hydroplane races on Lake Washington.

On Monday, theoretically, we'll travel through the locks and head south. Most boaters head north this time of year but the South Sound generally provides smoother waters and less boat traffic. Besides, we've never cruised the South Sound before so we'd like to try it. Coincidentally, it would also be easier for us to get home quickly from the South Sound.

I don't know how much I'll write while I'm on the water although it would seem the perfect time. We'll be traveling with two other couples so the romantic notion that I can conjure up magical prose whilst sailing the seas is likely just that - a romantic notion. But, we'll see. It's harder to post when I'm mobile, not having an iPad and all. I'll try to post pictures, if nothing else.

Bon voyage.

A Very Grimm Tale

(Caution: Explicit Language)

“Yo, bitch!” He had to lean over his friends to yell through the passenger side window. “Gimme my fuckin’ money!” He hadn’t seen her for days although it had happened before. But now it was getting worse.

She couldn’t hear anything over the music radiating from his car: rhythmic, unintelligible words, the beats so heavy she could feel them thumping in her chest. The car was longer than she thought possible even though it was only a two-door. It was a bright cherry red with long tail fins painted with orange and yellow flames on either side of the trunk. The chrome dazzled in the sunlight as the back end of the car bounced in approximate time to the thumping rhythms.

She thought she heard the word, “bitch,” but wasn’t sure who had said it. She tried to focus on the driver and wondered, not for the first time, how he even operated the car. His sycophants were with him – his regular entourage. Two shared the front bench seat with him and there were four more in the back. As many as there were, they didn't appear crowded in the pristine white interior.

The music shut off abruptly and the car stopped bouncing. She watched, lazily, as the entire car hydraulically lowered itself to the street. The driver got out, walked around the back of the car, and stood directly in front of where she was slumped on the sidewalk in front of the boarded up doorway of yet another out-of-business storefront. They were face to face.

“What are you looking at, you old witch?” he shouted to a homeless woman that appeared to take an interest in what was going on. He started toward the old woman, who quickly turned away and disappeared around the corner.

His voice was softer now but no less harsh. “Bitch, what did you do with my money?”

She smiled dreamily and said, “Snow.” She let out a weak laugh. “White, white, snow.” The laugh became a smirk of satisfaction.

“Fuckin’ high ‘ho,” he said to himself. It was a shame really. She was the most beautiful girl he had. She had fair skin, the fairest he’d ever seen. Her ebony hair had been done up in a white ribbon but now the ribbon lazed around her neck with no purpose. She was still in her working clothes – a dress with a blue bodice and capped sleeves, and short white skirt under which she wore petticoats and not much else. She wore white stockings that came up over her knees but left enough of a gap below her hem through which he could catch glimpses of her smooth white thighs. Her shoes were black patent leather and the ensemble, in total, gave her the look of a young school-age girl.

She was young, of course, but no stranger to the streets. Like most of his girls, she was a runaway with no one who cared enough to come looking for her. Discarded by her family as worthless, or a refugee from a bad situation, he didn’t know and didn't much care. When he found her she was scared and lonely and he was the one to take her in. He was the one to provide her with food and shelter. Didn't she know he had saved her?

He knew he had feelings for her but he also knew she would never want him, that she was waiting for someone else. He softened and tried to lift her to her feet even though he knew it wasn't going to happen unless she participated. “C’mon, now. It’s off to work we go,” he encouraged but she would have none of it.

“Fuck you,” she managed with stale breath.

“Fuck you, bitch!” His earlier demeanor returned in full force. He picked up an apple that was beside her, incongruous in the filthy doorway, and hurled it at her head. It hit here squarely and he hoped it wouldn’t leave a mark. He still needed her to go back to work.

She was too stoned to flinch. She picked up the apple and took a defiant bite. Suddenly, her eyes went wide as she immediately started to choke.

He thought about helping her – he loved her so much – but he just stood there and watched. His entourage was silent as they stared from the car, unmoved and unmoving.

Her eyes begged for help as her face turned red, then blue. She pounded on her chest as the remaining discarded apple rolled to the gutter. They stared into each other’s eyes as they both recognized what was going to happen next.

She leaned against the door’s splintered wood as her struggles ceased. Her face regained its normal color - fair as ever with rosy cheeks and succulent ruby red lips. She was beautiful, even in in death. Maybe even more so. He wanted to kiss her but instead gazed upon her as if she were only in peaceful slumber.

"All I had to do was squeeze her," he thought to himself. He considered trying to dump her body somewhere - he had the help - but he changed his mind. "Fuck it," he said as he turned back to his little friends. "Why get rid of something this beautiful? Why not let everyone see her?"

He got back into his car and pulled away from the curb. “Let’s see someone else save her now,” he said  without ever looking back.

(Thank you to Vancouver Community Library for help with research for this story.)

From Drop Box

Northwest coastal waters slightly caffeinated, study finds

A Bedtime Story

"OMG, Cindy, that looks painful. How did you get those blisters?"

"I went dancing half the night," she sighed. "It was magical - I may have met my true prince!"

"Shut up! What does he look like?”

“Seriously? You sound like my evil stepsisters right now.”

“Whatever! How come you only have blisters on one foot?”

“I was only wearing one shoe.”

Cindy’s friend gave her an exasperated look and motioned for her to continue.

“I threw it at some asshole. He whistled at me from his car and asked if I wanted a ride.”

“Shut up!”

“Yeah, like it was happening all day. I tell you, if you want to feel like a rock star just go to Vancouver.”

“When were you in Canada?”

“Not that Vancouver, the other one. By Portland, you know?”

“Wha...?”

“I don’t know what came over me. It was like someone cast a spell on me, you know? One minute I’m invisible, the next I’m Paris Hilton or whatever. I mean, that NEVER happens at home. In Bellevue, I’m practically invisible, you know?”

“But you’re beautiful! What are you talking about?”

“Compared to what? No one sees me if I’m even in the same county as my stepsisters. They have long, perfect hair - all shiny and blowing away from their faces from some perpetual, invisible wind machine or something. I mean, I can’t make my hair do anything. If I straighten it, it’s frizzy. If I curl it, it falls flat. The boobs my stepmother paid for didn’t hurt any either.

“Everywhere they go, boys are bumping into things trying to get an eyeful. I’m the one that has to help them into their size-freaking-two jeans, you know. It’s not fair. And, it’s not just when I’m with them. It’s like I’m just invisible.”

“Not to me.”

“Whatever, you’re my friend. That doesn’t count.”

Cindy’s friend rolled her eyes.

“It’s gets old, you know? Sometimes, I just go up to my special place in the attic and just cry myself to sleep. Pathetic, right? Well, I had this dream about a week ago. There was a woman all dressed in white and she was sort of sparkly and floating. She kinda looked like my mom but it wasn’t, if that makes any sense. Somehow, she's the one that gave me  the idea to go to Vancouver. So the next morning, I got up and snuck out of the house and took the train.”

“Get out!”

“It was weird. The second I got off the train it was like I was on another planet. People kept looking at me. At first, I thought maybe I had something hanging out of my nose or I’d left my zipper undone. I kept checking my pants and looking for my reflection everywhere. I couldn’t figure it out. I bought a cheap pair of sunglasses the first chance I got but that seemed to make it worse. I got even more attention but I started to like it. I started walking like maybe I was somebody really famous but I was in Vancouver and slumming it because I was trying to be incognito, right? Like, ‘I’m famous but I hope you don’t recognize me.’”

“I can’t decide if you sound like a retard right now or if that was totally awesome.”

“Totally awesome. Well, at first it was. Then the looks became whistles and guys were shouting things out their cars. I mean, does that ever work? Like, ‘Oooh, baby, the way you just shouted at me makes me want to do you’? Does anybody ever hook up that way or are guys all just stupid?”

“Duh...”

“Finally, this dude rolled up in some fancy car. What’s the car with the horse on the front?”

“Um, Porche?” Cindy’s friend offered.

“I don’t know but it looked expensive. I don’t know why you’d have a car like that in orange. Yellow, maybe, or red but not orange. Anyway, he slows way down and sort of pulls over and rolls down his window and he was, like, totally gorgeous. I totally forgot my rock star act because I thought maybe he was a rock star. As if.

“So he says, ‘C’mon, baby, you know you want to get in my pumpkin shell’ and then I don’t know what happened. Like, that was the stupidest thing to say EVER and it totally erased everything.” Cindy made a motion like she was erasing a whiteboard.

“So then, what?”

“So then I threw my shoe at him.”

“OMG! He must have been pissed!”

“I don’t know. I heard glass breaking and I took off running. I ducked into a place just to get away from him but there was a crowd in there and I thought it might be a good place to hide.”

“Did he follow you?”

“I never saw him again. Or, my shoe for that matter.”

“So then what happened?” Cindy’s friend was breathless.

“I thought, ‘Screw it!’ and got out on the dance floor and danced until my feet bled. Well, one of them anyway. It was incredible.”

“Where does Mr. Wonderful come in?”

“I’m not exactly sure. There were a bunch of us out there all dancing together. He was just one of the guys and he looked at me like he appreciated me. There’s a difference, you know, between being appreciated and being ogled. I don’t know how to explain it but I think I like being appreciated better.

“And, then it was midnight and the band took a break and everything got quiet. Like just for a second, it was totally silent and it was like we just saw each other for the first time but like we’ve known each other forever at the same time.”

“Did you kiss him?”

“No,” Cindy sighed, “I didn’t kiss him.”

“What’s wrong with you? Why the hell not?”

“I was afraid it would break whatever spell I was in. Anyway, I never saw him again either.”

“You didn’t get his phone number? What’s his name?”

“No, and I don’t know. All I know is he sells shoes.”

“You’re crazy!”

“Maybe. But I’m thinking I’ll go back to Vancouver and look for a new pair of shoes.”

Water

I just finished the book Unquenchable: America's Water Crisis and What To Do About It by Robert Glennon. I think the author does a better job at presenting the problem of how to allocate our water resources than its various solutions but it was the problem more than the solutions that I was interested in (as research for Now & Then: The Water Princess, coming soon). Nevertheless, it does provide much food for thought such as harvesting runoff, planting less water needy landscaping, capturing and reusing household waste water, cutting down shower times, installing instant hot water heaters, and - in the extreme - composting human waste. That’s just household use. Consider use at the municipal level and how we allocate water to parks, highway medians, the environment, households, developments, manufacturing, and agriculture.

Take, for example, coffee -  a topic near and dear to my heart. It takes a good deal more than a cup of water for me to make a cup of coffee. I know this because I put the drain plug in my kitchen sink once before I prepared my morning coffee. By the time I was finished, including clean up,  I must have had at least a gallon of water in the sink which I scooped in a pitcher and used to water a flowerbed outside.

The thing is, I do this everyday and on weekends I treat myself to a second cup. Except for the experiment mentioned above, this extra water goes down the drain which must get captured and cleaned by my local water district which then redistributes it back to me just so  that I can flush it down the toilet. (The issue of flushing potable water down the toilet is a topic in itself that warrants its own discussion.) It would be better if I could capture all the water from my “cup” of coffee and use that to flush my toilet instead, not that I necessarily want to link coffee with flushing my toilet even though that seems to be the case anyway.

If my coffee maker had indeed died the other day, I would be faced with having to replace it and I would have to consider more water efficient methods of obtaining my morning brew. Instant coffee would use only the cup of water needed to make the liquid gold plus the amount required to clean the cup but that would still be a good deal less if you don’t count the amount of water required to manufacture the crystallized substance in the first place and I have no idea how much that is. A french press would probably takes less water to clean the carafe than many pieces of an over priced extraction device (aka espresso maker).

Of course, I could give up coffee. Or, hot showers. Or, flushing my toilet. But I’m not going to and neither are you, are you? Or, are you? Are we?

It’s worth thinking about.

I was sitting in traffic when a semi-truck passed me. He was hauling a giant white tank on a flatbed truck. On the back of the tank, it read "FRONT." I concluded he must have been driving backwards.

Sweet Dreams

Hubby and I were college students and we had a dorm room together. (So, now you know this is a dream, right? I really lived in an all-girls dorm and I didn't meet my husband until several years later).

The room itself was crowded with desks on opposite walls with a bed between them. Running head-to-foot was another bed that filled the floor space between the first bed and the door to the hallway, with dressers on either side.

I remember waking up and my first thoughts being about getting to the bathroom (which could have been on another floor) and getting the water to start my coffee. It was then I realized I didn’t have a coffee maker, but a french press and that I didn’t have a hot plate for my kettle.

Fortunately, hubby had a car and he offered to drive me to F&F to get one. On the way, we passed an apartment building and I remember thinking it must be nice to live in an apartment instead of having to live in the dorms. The building was was on a corner lot and was only two stories tall. It reminded me vaguely of Athens, Georgia. The building was set back from the street and had a small yard that surrounded it. There was a sidewalk and large shade trees on all sides.

I could see the kitchen inside was a massive room and featured a 18 burner stove which was really three six-burner gas stoves installed side by side. The kitchen appeared to take up a fourth of the square footage of the first floor. There was no furniture in the kitchen but it was large enough to put in long cafeteria style tables. I remember wondering if the arrangement was so that residents could share the kitchen, each cooking individual meals according to individual schedules, or if there was a cook who worked there and served them all.

As we took the corner, I could see the living quarters. It was a vast, two-story room divided into carrels, each with a bed and a desk. The carrels were all open to the center of the room which was a common space. Above each carrel was a loft that housed two drawers that each contained single beds. The beds could be pulled out for guests and had built-in recliners at the head of the bed so that guests could be propped up while reading in bed. It was communal apartment living. All the tenants appeared to be male and it reminded me more of a large cabin you might find in a large camp than an apartment building.

As we traveled on, we got to a more commercial area of town. I remember being grateful that hubby had a car because it allowed me to get off campus and see other parts of town I didn’t otherwise get to see. We approached an intersection and most of the buildings there were constructed of cinder blocks painted white. The street signs were lighted white signs with the street names written in blue script.

We took a street which was at an angle just beyond a 45 degree right turn, and started up a steep hill that quickly became residential. The rise became steeper and steeper until we were nearly vertical. The car hubby was driving was an inexpensive small boxy model of some sort and I was sure we would never make it up the hill. The conditions were dry but the dirt road was packed to a near shine from all the cars that had slipped down the hill before us. Still, hubby was confident and undeterred. He drove just off the right side of the road where he felt he could get better traction on the sparse grass that struggled to grown there.

Sure enough, we made it to the top of the slope where the street leveled out and then came to an end in the front yard of an old, red house. There were large evergreen trees surrounding the house which made everything seem dark and damp. We walked across the small yard to a raised wooden plank-style sidewalk that led to a covered breezeway which in turn lead to the front porch. The wooden planks were sturdy but the walkways were not. They seemed to shift and sink into the earth with every footstep making an unstable pathway.

I made it to the breezeway and hubby was right behind me. As I approached the open front door, I could just see through the dusty single-pane windows into the the front hallway. There, on the dusty and worn wooden floor I saw a large white dog on a long silver chain.

“Dog!” I shouted and we both leapt from the breezeway to the yard and ran back to the car along randomly placed paving stones. Before we reached the edge of the driveway, I dropped a tan mitten and I remember wondering if it was worth stopping for. I stopped and turned around to find a big, fluffy white cat sitting on a paving stone looking up at me with blue eyes rimmed in blue. Alongside was a medium sized white/tan dog with short curly hair (a labradoodle?) who wasn’t as scary as the dog I thought I saw inside the house.

And, that's it. That’s where the dream ends. Too bad there wasn't a better ending.

Behold, It Lives!

It's noon and I have coffee. We are all saved.

Coffee Maker Death

This could be the end.

Got home with the laundry and I appear to be missing a sock. Either it’s around here somewhere or one has made a successful escape.


I found it later in a pair of hubby's underwear. Last time time that happened I took a picture because I thought a sock dangling out of a pair of shorts was kind of kinky and the image was like laundry porn. (The image turned out to be funnier in my head once I saw it on my phone.) This time the sock fairly flew out of his undershorts and acted a little nervous and guilty around its mate. I decided not to tell it I already deleted the previous photo from my phone. 


Maybe that’ll keep the socks in line.

Surprise

I was sitting at my “desk” in the dining room and as I glanced over one of my monitors, I could see a man with a screwdriver removing the screen outside my open bedroom window. I wasn’t afraid but I was definitely curious about what was going to happen after he got the screen off.

He closed the window and washed it. Either it's window washing day or I'm being stalked by someone with OCD.

Tax Implications of the Zombie Apocalypse

On the other hand, vampires are, like zombies, undead, but unlike zombies, they retain their faculties of intelligence and dexterity. For this reason, Chodorow suggests that if Congress were to exempt zombies from income taxes for administrative reasons, that it should not make the exemption too broad as to exclude vampires from the tax as well.

Read more: here.

Batman Faces Dark Night With IRS If He Takes H&R Bock's Tax Advice

This Forbes article is funny - and it's worth following the links embedded therein.

The Artist

We saw this film last night. Words cannot convey ….

(Well worth seeing.)

Magic Phone

My husband was retrieving an e-mail on his phone, one that was sent with an attachment. He clicked on the attachment and read aloud the message provided by his phone: “Fetching attachment.”

I said, “Thank you.”

Pink Mop

Both of the yacht clubs at which I am a member have “awards” for boating blunders. These would be mishaps or boating faux pas that do not result in bodily injury or property damage. One is a flag to be flown on your vessel, called the “Boo Boo Burgee.” The other club awards a pink mop. I don’t know why it’s pink - or why it’s a mop for that matter. (Someone told me once but I forget.)

I have never been awarded either of these distinctive honors, however if there is a driving equivalent (the Purple Hubcap of Shame, perhaps?) I hereby nominate myself.

On Monday, I prepared to go to work on a beautiful sunny day. I rolled out of the garage and put the car in park and prepared myself by putting up my hair, donning hat and glasses, tuning in the radio, and putting the top down. The top was halfway down when I heard a clunk and in that instant I remembered I had put my purse on the roof of my car while I was still in the garage.

I put the top back up and found my purse tumbling from the back windshield and onto the trunk lid. Thankfully, the contents hadn’t spilled and, better still, I wasn’t on the freeway when I discovered the error. A rookie mistake - one that I’m glad I didn’t suffer for. Or, that anyone saw for that matter so who’s to say it ever happened at all?

After all, I’m not going to tell anybody.

New Math

f ≠ m
d = 28
when d-7 then fa and m^a where a = annoyance factor
fa < m^a
m should stop talking
proof.

One of These Things Just Doesn't Belong Here

Vacation

I've been on vacation. The first part of the week I didn't do much. Just a lot of hanging around and reading. (The current book is Unquenchable: America's Water Crisis and What To Do About It.)

The second half of the week, I spent on the boat floating around Lake Washington.

Nice.

Bug Man

Orkin came back in another attempt to rid my house of ants. This time, the Bug Man brought the Red Box of Death. It was marked "Ants & Roaches." No hosed canister was present; we were beyond Ghost Buster remedies. He had no equipment other than a plastic box - the kind that might contain highly valuable stuff like living organs or nuclear secrets.

Or, poison filled syringes.

Yes, from the specially marked box he withdrew a syringe labeled with blue writing and filled with a clear liquid or goo. A few squirts and he was gone with this message: Just leave them alone. Ignore them and they will go away.

They would be much easier to ignore if I didn't have to live with them in the meantime. It's difficult to ignore them when they're on my counter tops and impossible to ignore when they're actually on me! How much must I endure? The ants swarmed to the goo. How am I supposed to ignore that? But I did. I turned my back on them and gave them the cold shoulder. I even left the room. 

Ignore-ants may truly be bliss for this morning the ants were few. One crawled across my husband's arm but after a short burst of cursing, we went back to torturing the ants with the silent treatment.

Now, it's but a game of patie-ants.

One Ringhy Dinghy

I've seen things pulled from watery depths and I've seen the decay and grime that results from long periods spent underwater so it should have been no surprise when we pulled our dinghy out of the water, after two years in the lake, to find the bottom of the boat had become vastly different than the part above water.

Oh, but it was. What surprised me the most was how badly it stunk. It reeked and it was a greasy shade of dark brown, pockmarked  by patches of a spongelike organism. Nasty is the best way to describe it.

We tried to clean it with Dinghy Cleaner. We tried Simple Green. We Googled for help and we tried bleach. We got advice to use a pressure washer (which might have worked if we had a pressure washer). We considered throwing it away.


And, then we tried the Mr. Clean Magic Eraser. I use this thing all the time and it really is magic. It's great on bathtubs. It does wonders for the drip pans on an electric stove (in a rental house that's been abused). It'll take the shine right off your linoleum, whether or not that's your intention. So, we tried it on the dinghy. Why not? We had absolutely nothing to lose.


It worked. In fact, it worked beautifully. We ended up going through nine erasers but the bottom is nearly clean of all the lake gunk. A few more and it'll look like new. I should have taken pictures to demonstrate the before, during, and after. It was that remarkable.


In fact, I'm remarking on it right now.


Lessons learned? 
1) Don't leave your dinghy in the lake.
2) Rethink skinny dipping.

What Could Be Better?

Top down.
Radio on.
Latte.
Playing hooky.

The only thing that would make it better would be a little reverb in the car while I'm singing with the radio. (I always sound better with a little reverb....)

Burger King Bacon Sundae

Good news, my people! You shall have bacon. HURRAY! And ice cream. HURRAY! Together. Oh.

http://www.npr.org/blogs/waitwait/2012/06/18/155295339/sandwich-monday-the-burger-king-bacon-sundae

Prophecy?

This is AccuWeather's prediction for our Fourth of July. Wanna bet?

Prophecy

Happy Father's Day!

From Flora

I don't know what made me do it but I went for a walk a couple days ago. Fresh air, sunshine, and flowers.

I went home and immediately ate bacon to counter the effects.

From Flora

Ants

I found ants in my kitchen yesterday morning. I only saw three and they were the teeny, tiny kind. Still, I cleaned my kitchen thoroughly before heading off to work.

When I got home, there were no ants in the kitchen. Instead, I found them in the living room all around a light switch - said discovery being made right after I turned the lights on. Ew!

I ran to Lowe's and bought some bug spray and came home only to find I couldn't operate the spray bottle, some child safety feature rendering the product unusable. I managed a squirt or two in the general vicinity and hoped for the best. I wasn't going back to Lowe's last night.

No ants this morning but there was a foamy streak on the wall where I sprayed last night. My guess is that won't qualify as an "inconspicuous place for testing" the product. I left the smear there. I'll clean it up later and hope there wasn't permanent damage.

I hope there aren't ants tonight when I get home.

The last time we had ants in the house, they were of the carpenter variety and, as I recall, they infested the house after a wet spell forced them to find a drier place to nest - aka our attic. That's the story of how we came to buy an extension ladder.

We just had an incredibly wet spell so who knows? The frustrating thing is we pay Orkin $50 per month just so this won't happen. I guess it's time to give them a call and see what they have to say. I believe their number is on their last freaking invoice....

Bugs.

You Can't See Me Anyway

I got up early today to take Hubby to the airport. I didn't bother putting on makeup or all my jewelry. Just some moisturizer and a curl of the eyelashes is good enough for me.

And, wouldn't you know it, this morning was glorious. The sun was shining and the water on the lake was like glass. Hooky anyone? was all I could think. Summer is wasted on a Monday.

We took his car because it's more comfortable and I was a sport and said I'd fill the tank. (The local gas station drops the price of premium on Mondays.) However, I was absolutely going to go back home before heading to the office to get the convertible. No reason to waste a perfectly good Top Down Day on a sedan. (Sorry, sun roof doesn't cut it.)

He said, "And, you'll even have enough time to finish getting ready for work."

Screw makeup. I went home and made a latte for my commuter mug.

Sleep Tight

"It's ironic that fixing these life-saving devices could kill you," my husband said as we changed all the smoke detectors in our house. When I say "we," I mean "he." (I just held the ladder.)

Did you know smoke detectors have a ten-year life? We didn't until they expired and kindly let us know by rousing us from a deep sleep at 2 a.m. That sound is scary as hell at 2 a.m. This was in May so we figured it was our punishment for not changing the batteries in April. The alarms went off again that same morning at 4 a.m. These alarms weren't messing around.

We changed all the batteries latter that day. Only one can be changed with a stepladder. The rest require an extension ladder. But we were very careful and cautious and got the job done.

The very next morning, the alarms sounded again at 4 a.m.! Why is it that when an alarm really wants to alarm you, it must do so in the middle of the night? What's wrong with a gentle reminder at four in the afternoon? I suppose it has to do with getting one's attention but, still, there should be an app for this.

With research we determined (again, I mean "he") that the entire smoke detector units needed to be replaced because they were now ten years old. We also learned they will "chirp" (in our case, "scream") until the units are replaced (or dismantled). With replacements now in hand, we ("he") climbed the ladder once more to dangerous heights.

Safe and sound back on the ground once more, we have our fingers crossed for a good night's sleep.

Next time you're changing the batteries in your smoke detector, look for an expiration date in the smoke detector itself. It could save you from a rude awakening in the middle of the night.

Work-Averse Brother Decides that Even One Hour a Week Is Too Much

RAY:  Hey, you guys.  My brother has always said, “Don’t be afraid of work.”

TOM:  Right.  Make work afraid of YOU!

RAY:  And he’s done such a good job at it, that work has avoided him all his life.

Maybe these guys are fans of 76003.1414. Makes sense to me.

The Car Talk guys are retiring: Time to get even lazier.

As I Was Saying

Hello, rain gods? Feel free to take the rest of the month off.

Enough already! This isn't our usual June rain | Local News | The Seattle Times

Rain, Rain, Go Away

I had the strangest feeling that I should be putting up my Christmas decorations.

It's been raining a lot here lately, in the last few days anyway. I know, I know - it's Seattle but, come on, it's June! I'd like to whine about it some more but the sun's out. Go figure. It's like a cruel joke. The rain comes down in torrents and then the sun comes out like nothing ever happened.

The torment. It's like a rumor that days are still getting longer but we can't really tell.

Still Here

Nothing will stagnate a blog more than not updating it. So, here I am blowing off the dust a little.

I've been busier than I generally like to be this time of year but driving back and forth between Seattle and Portland takes up a lot of my time. And then there's work that I'm trying to squeeze in. You know, making a living. And, lest we forget, goofing off. Practically no time for that although we are managing to do more boating this year. Sounds relaxing, and it is, but there's a certain amount of work to that as well. It's a bit like having three houses and trying to manage your time between all three.

My refuge right now, my moments of tranquility, include knitting and reading. The drive between Seattle and Portland is about two and a half hours by car and about three hours by bus or train. Knitting is a productive yet tranquil activity that allows me to be sociable at the same time. I started an afghan but switched to knitting little pink things for a granddaughter that will be born in September. I'm just finishing a little pink cap and will be starting on a little pink sweater.

I look forward to knitting, even if I'm not traveling. I like to knit during that time between work and starting dinner. I find it relaxing as well as rewarding. I like creating things.

I just finished Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, a good story and funnier than I remember, and just started The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, which is even funnier. Of course, I had read both before but a long time ago. I'm really enjoying Mark Twain's sense of humor, voice, and style. Always good to go back to the classics from time to time.

I've updated the public document a little with additional story notes and ideas for the next Now & Then adventure. The drive between Seattle and Portland provides ample time for generating ideas. In my knitting bag, I carry a spiral bound notebook with more ideas that I haven't transcribed yet. Hell, I'm goofing off now - I might as well keep going and get it done while I'm thinking of it.

Well, it's time for me to jump in the shower, get dressed, and make my mid-morning latte. After that, I'll probably get some things done at work and then maybe update my Now & Then file before hitting the road.

Today's a travel day which means not much work but I get to knit.

I'll try to stop by here more often.

Home Run!

My laundry room is just off the kitchen. When I have a dirty dish towel, I  throw it across the room and let it land on the laundry room floor where it will get my attention some time in the future. Most of the time, it will land somewhere in the middle of the floor where I will kick it to a pile with other similarly discarded kitchen towels on my next pass through to the garage. Every once in a while, it'll land in a basket of clean laundry whereupon I find it necessary to walk the extra twenty steps to segregate the two, lest I end up folding and reusing the dirty towel. Once, I managed to throw a strike - straight through the open door of my front loading washer. Yesterday, I threw my first "home run!"

I broke the zipper on my sweater bag. For those who might not know, a sweater bag is something you might put small or delicate items in before putting the whole zippered bag into the laundry. It's usually constructed of a mesh material so that the items inside are washed clean while protected from rougher items swirling around with them such as jeans, zippers, buttons, grommets or hooks.

I had just come home with a new sweater bag and as I was unloading my groceries, I threw my new purchase from the kitchen to the laundry room. I didn't bother to unwrap it - I figured I could do that later. There were two sweater bags in a flat plastic package made stiff with a cardboard insert so that it sailed like a square Frisbee across the room. The package hit flat on the laundry room floor, spinning and sliding, the plastic packaging and the linoleum floor meeting to promote the package's slippery momentum straight to my washing machine.

And then, it kept going, spinning, spinning out of sight, under the washing machine to the black hole that exists behind it. Just like that, it was gone. Who knows what's back there? Am I willing to look and discover what else lives there?

I expect what lives there are the monsters of Maurice Sendak. I hope not for there would be no hope for my sweater bag. At best, there might be stray socks. But, still, is it worth it?

The One About Water

Speaking of Now & Then sequels, there's always one kicking around in the back of my mind. (What I should really do is finish one before moving on to the next but that's no fun.) This is what is currently floating around in my skull. Let me know what you think.

What if?

What it would be like if we lost the internet for even one day? Maybe just a few hours? What would happen? It's mind-boggling to contemplate (and makes great fodder for a plot in an upcoming Now & Then sequel.)

Yesterday, I went to work only to find out there was nothing to do because we had lost our internet connection. Our business exists in an internet cloud and without WiFi there was was no commuting to work. It bothered my boss far more than it bothered me, I can tell you. I still had my phone and used the time to read The Seattle Times. For her it was lost income, the only blessing being that tax season was over.

Later in the day, I drove to our other abode in Vancouver WA and proceeded to knock out our WiFi connection there. It was after five o'clock so there was no real lost productivity but without the internet, it was difficult to "look up" the solution. After making a hard wire connection, logging into the router and testing various wireless devices, we gave up and called Comcast. Clickety-click, the problem was solved in a matter of seconds with the admonition to never touch the WPS button on the router ever again. We didn't lose much in the way of productivity but the consideration was whether I'd be able to work at all today. (I can. I just choose not to.)

After the internet drama ended, we walked to dinner. As we were finishing our meals, we heard the waitress explain to diners at the next table that the restaurant's POS system wasn't working so she was unable to provide a check for their meal or accept payment until the problem was fixed. Overhearing, we poured another glass of wine and wondered if it wasn't possible to just figure out the check on paper - like in the olden days (or currently still in use at your local diner). Apparently, not. It's like counting change. No one knows how to do it anymore.

All this, in just one day.

Just think about it. You couldn't check out a book at the local library or pay your bus fare. Food stamps aren't even stamps anymore. It's called EBT now for Electronic Benefit Transfer. You couldn't buy gas or food regardless of method of payment. ATMs wouldn't work, planes couldn't land, drones would misfire, ballots would be miscounted (oh, wait). Many of us would be without communication of any kind.

You could still do laundry. Laundromats still take coins. Those are the round metal things in your pocket.

I'm just saying. What if?

I'll Let You Fold The Folding Chair

If you know that line, you know Pierre and his cavalier attitude not to mention the other books and characters contained in the Nutshell Library. Published in 1962, the books contained therein were “Alligators All Around,” “Chicken Soup With Rice,” “One Was Johnny” and, of course, “Pierre.” I still cherish those books. The entire library was small enough to fit into my mother's purse where she would cart them around just in case she needed to entertain her small children in a restaurant or other situation which called for quiet children. Not that we didn't read them at bedtime as well. Often. In fact, often enough that lines from the stories were often recalled (and still are) in daily conversation such as "'I don't care,' said Pierre" or "Sipping once, sipping twice, sipping chicken soup with rice."

When I had kids, I had those books in my purse. My kids loved them too and my oldest was thrilled when I gave him his own set after the birth of his son.

I still have those little, tiny books my mom read to me. Such joy! I can't wait to share them with my grandson! (He's still pretty much into picture books but it won't be long now.)

Through Pierre, and others, Maurice Sendak will live on forever.

(Maurice Sendak passed away on May 8, 2012.)

Child Labor

Speaking of OSHA, April 26th was Take Your Kid to Work Day. I often work from home so that wouldn't be much fun for my kids. Plus, my kids have moved out and I don't really want them back.

I figured out it was TYKTWD when I glanced out the window of a 737 while sitting on the tarmac at PDX, waiting for the rest of the passengers to board, and saw a small child in a bright orange vest that hung below his knees carrying two bright orange sticks. Before I knew it there was another one, struggling to load bags on the conveyor belt below the belly of the plane on which I was sitting. At the next terminal, there was yet another one - this one was taller - just generally standing around.

My exact words were, "I'm guessing OSHA doesn't know about this."

By the time we pushed back, other passengers were looking out the window as the first pipsqueak was flopping the orange sticks this way and that - the sticks being longer than his arms - while his father lagged behind snapping photos of his eight-year-old walking along the side of a jet airplane. I have no idea if the pilot could even see the little fellow but there were no mishaps with the children or other airplanes, for that matter.

I was relieved when we were far enough away that the children were no longer in danger of being run over (by us, anyway) and we began our taxi to the runway. By the time the engines revved for takeoff and we were pressed into our seats with the force of the airplane's thrust, it was too late to think about whether there were kids in the control tower.

To be honest, I don't really want to know.

They're Watching

Why is it that the most aggressive drivers on the road have kids in the car with them? Does this mean that parents are too stressed out?

I was driving with my grandson sleeping in his car seat at a leisurely grandparent-like pace (aka the speed limit), when a mini van sped up my behind me and hung on my bumper until I pulled over to let it pass. The driver was chatting on her cell phone and had baby shoes dangling from her rear view mirror. As she sped by me, I read the sticker in the back window, "Baby On Board."

I thought to myself, "I hope the hell not!"

She is not the only one. I frequently see minivans on the freeway exceeding speed limits, tailgating, and changing lanes erratically. Either the kids are making the drivers so crazy as to get to their destinations as soon as physically possible or - well, there can be no explanation, can there? Otherwise, imagine what these drivers are teaching these children by way of modeling behavior?

Two-year-olds will absorb everything you say and do. I'm afraid it's the same with teenagers and children of all ages in between. If you drive like an asshole, you're likely rearing asshole drivers. Not to mention, dangerous ones, in all likelihood.

But that's just my opinion.

Be Real

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No Snow Here, Just Meteors (Duck!)

Explosion, fireball reported in Nevada, California likely to be meteor

Read more: http://www.nydailynews.com/news/national/explosion-fireball-reported-nevada-california-meteor-article-1.1065769#ixzz1ssvjxTFE

Better Stay Home

I think we should have assigned due dates for filing tax returns based on dates of birth, or social security numbers, or lottery. I suppose that would create chaos for the IRS as well as lawmakers who find it necessary to make up arcane changes to the tax law to randomly take effect in the present, past, or future depending on a dart throw as near as I can tell.

Oh, I suppose there would be job losses as the same 138 million returns, representing 50% of all Internal Revenue collections, prepared regularly over the course of a year could be handled by fewer accountants and staff than if prepared in just a few weeks. Not to mention all the government employees required to process them, to the extent any human sees them at all.

But think of the lives it would save. 

A study found that deadly auto accidents increase on Tax Day.
Read more.

On the other hand, maybe we should all just stay home and forget about it. Okay, forget I said that because I don't want to get in any kind of trouble here. But I can't be expected to advise you to take your life into your hands, now can I?

Well, if you haven't already taken care of your taxes by now, you risk your life. So, good luck out there. I'll be under the covers.

Ten Reasons You Shouldn't Wait Until The Last Second to Meet With Your Accountant Before The Tax Filing Deadline

I don't really have time to dispense with the last nine so let me just cut to the chase and tell you the Number One Reason For Not Waiting Until The Last Second To Meet With Your Accountant Before The Tax Filing Deadline.

Because we are all nuts - sleep deprived, stressed out, on the sheer edge of utter panic, hitting the wall, fed up with questions, queries, and interruptions, working so fast that you've got to be worried about accuracy, worried about accuracy so much we no longer blink, not eating, not sleeping, and finding it hard to put sentences together.

At this point in time, "8" is a joke worthy of a laugh. ("6" is pretty good but not as funny as "8.") We are moving so fast the computer can't keep up - and this is no exaggeration - we are moving so fast the computer needs to reboot to get a grip. I kid you not.

So, if you feel pretty confident that you have an easy return and that there aren't already 100 people in line in front of you and that a zombie accountant is really a good thing, then go ahead. Wait until the last minute.

On the other hand, if you want to see a head explode....

The Times They Are A-Changin'*

I saw a Dodge Caravan with spinners today and wondered is that this generation's equivalent to the VW bus with a mattress in the back and shag carpets on the walls?

Groovy.

*Lyrics by Bob Dylan