All this rain we’ve had reminds me of when I lived on Cape Cod one summer.
It was a different kind of humidity, but vexing all the same. Towels never got a chance to dry out before you had to use them again. Doors and windows swelled stuck.
Here in East Tennessee, little puddles have grown and gained permanency to the point where you could more properly call them ponds. And of course, the mosquitoes have had a field day. The little stinkers are thick this year! Note to self: see about investing in “OFF!”
I don’t know the statistics, but I’d bet the local fair-weather industries like car washes and construction have sadly seen less business this summer.
Prolonged periods of precipitation depress some people. Ever felt like you’d just about sell your soul to see a blue sky?
There’s a short story by Ray Bradbury called “The Long Rain” that has stayed with me for years. The hellish plot involves some astronauts who are stranded on a planet where it never stops raining and there is no shelter. I personally have traveled thousands of miles in an effort to get away from rain and be someplace where I could feel the sun on my skin. Oh, and maybe hear some seagulls calling and waves crashing. But I digress. …
There are upsides, though, to our damp summer (Knoxville’s 10th wettest on record). Grassy lawns that are usually dead, stubbly beige by now are still green. The impatiens we planted back in May are still abloom. And we’ve had a bumper crop of pecans, so the squirrels are happy.
A mild summer and moist soil content should contribute to a more lengthy and intense period of fall foliage this autumn. Which brings us to my favorite time of year: October and “sweater weather” with that cool nip in the air. The smell of wood fires and hot apple cider. You know, after you’ve put your shorts and T-shirts in storage, but before you have to start scraping the frost off the windshield.
Has the summer rain been good or bad? Depends who you talk to. Like Shakespeare wrote, “There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.” We can talk about it, worry about it and prepare for it. But the weather is going to do what it wants regardless. Maybe that’s why we’re so in awe of it – there are so few things left in this world over which we have so little control.
As for me, I’m just going to sit and listen to the raindrops and know that this, too, shall pass.
Playlist:
1. September in the Rain — Frank Sinatra
2. Rain — The Beatles
3. Here Comes That Rainy Day Feeling Again — The Fortunes
4. Baby the Rain Must Fall — Glenn Yarbrough
5. Don’t Rain on My Parade — Barbra Streisand
6. Flood — Jars of Clay
7. The Rain Song — Led Zeppelin
8. Rainy Day Man — James Taylor
9. Kentucky Rain — Elvis Presley
10. Who’ll Stop the Rain? — CCR
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Sunday, September 20, 2009
A Day at the Fair
What a time I had at the Tennessee Valley Fair! It’s such a visceral experience. In this age of “virtual reality” (ironically meaning just the opposite), it’s nice to participate up close and in person, using all your five senses. Some highlights I couldn’t have enjoyed near as much if I’d had to rely on YouTube:
* The serious and determined look of a small child trying to pick out which merry-go-round horse he was going to ride. This was a big decision!
* Livestock exhibitions. For a city gal like me, it’s a thrill to see live animals besides cats or dogs. You can even get close enough to touch some of them. The odors just remind me of the real, backbreaking work involved in caring for these creatures! From the complacent cattle to the achingly adorable bunnies, it’s a labor of love. And oh, I never knew roosters had such a varied and interesting repertoire of crows!
* It was a feast for the eyes as I drank in exhibits by skilled artists and crafters young and old: photography, book-making, quilting, carving, watercolors and so much more.
* The sound of music. With a nice variety of different kinds of live music entertainment, there’s always something going on so you can rest a spell, have a listen, tap your toes, get up and dance or sing along!
* The mouth-watering smell of a dizzying array of food choices: hot dogs, corn dogs, hamburgers, barbecue, Philly cheese steaks, chicken kebabs, tacos, egg rolls, gyros, fries, onion rings. What you need to do is come to the fair hungry, that’s for sure.
* I finally settled on the good ol’ reliable funnel cake. It tasted as comfortingly good as the first one I ever had.
Maybe that’s the real and enduring draw of the fair. It’s a window to our past, a time to stop and say howdy to neighbors and to appreciate the way things used to be. Many East Tennesseans remember the Tennessee Valley Fair from decades ago, and there’s a lot that hasn’t changed since then. It’s still makes a great family outing. And there’s nothing like it for down-home fun. I had a blast!
Playlist:
1. A Most Unusual Day — June Christy
2. State Fair — Los Straitjackets
3. Got To Be There — Michael Jackson
4. Little Red Rooster — Howlin’ Wolf
5. Moving Pictures — The Kinks
6. Sideshow — Blue Magic
7. Let’s Take an Old-Fashioned Walk — Frank Sinatra
8. Deep Fried Twinkies — Terry Hanck
9. Old Folks — Lou Rawls
10. The Good Life — Tony Bennett
* The serious and determined look of a small child trying to pick out which merry-go-round horse he was going to ride. This was a big decision!
* Livestock exhibitions. For a city gal like me, it’s a thrill to see live animals besides cats or dogs. You can even get close enough to touch some of them. The odors just remind me of the real, backbreaking work involved in caring for these creatures! From the complacent cattle to the achingly adorable bunnies, it’s a labor of love. And oh, I never knew roosters had such a varied and interesting repertoire of crows!
* It was a feast for the eyes as I drank in exhibits by skilled artists and crafters young and old: photography, book-making, quilting, carving, watercolors and so much more.
* The sound of music. With a nice variety of different kinds of live music entertainment, there’s always something going on so you can rest a spell, have a listen, tap your toes, get up and dance or sing along!
* The mouth-watering smell of a dizzying array of food choices: hot dogs, corn dogs, hamburgers, barbecue, Philly cheese steaks, chicken kebabs, tacos, egg rolls, gyros, fries, onion rings. What you need to do is come to the fair hungry, that’s for sure.
* I finally settled on the good ol’ reliable funnel cake. It tasted as comfortingly good as the first one I ever had.
Maybe that’s the real and enduring draw of the fair. It’s a window to our past, a time to stop and say howdy to neighbors and to appreciate the way things used to be. Many East Tennesseans remember the Tennessee Valley Fair from decades ago, and there’s a lot that hasn’t changed since then. It’s still makes a great family outing. And there’s nothing like it for down-home fun. I had a blast!
Playlist:
1. A Most Unusual Day — June Christy
2. State Fair — Los Straitjackets
3. Got To Be There — Michael Jackson
4. Little Red Rooster — Howlin’ Wolf
5. Moving Pictures — The Kinks
6. Sideshow — Blue Magic
7. Let’s Take an Old-Fashioned Walk — Frank Sinatra
8. Deep Fried Twinkies — Terry Hanck
9. Old Folks — Lou Rawls
10. The Good Life — Tony Bennett
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Sound and Fury
I’m a patient woman. I usually weigh the consequences before doing anything. Will my plan injure anyone? Will it improve anything?
Regardless, there comes a time when you have to take a stand to maintain your sanity.
Noise pollution is common in my neighborhood. Garbage trucks bang Dumpsters, tractor-trailers squeal to a halt and clank up through their gears to regain speed, and motorcyclists treat my street like a drag strip.
Lawn mowers, weed-eaters, leaf-blowers and chain saws all punctuate the underlying din. And I’m never far away from an intrusive car stereo blaring out some horrible thumping noise.
But these are nothing compared to the mystery alarm.
A nearby alarm had been going off intermittently for what seemed like a year. Sometimes at dusk, sometimes at 3 a.m., sometimes when the weather changed, sometimes when it didn’t. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to it. And since it only lasted 10 minutes or so (just enough to ruin a good night’s sleep), I was never able to get up, get dressed and try to pinpoint its source before it stopped. I tried questioning some area businesses, and people looked at me like I was crazy.
You’re probably saying to yourself, “Just get over it!” But you have to understand – this was no ordinary alarm. It sounded like a feral cat’s tail was being squashed repeatedly in front of amplifiers big enough to blast through Thompson-Boling Arena. This alarm penetrated my ear plugs like a battering ram through drywall. This alarm made you wonder if we weren’t being alerted to foreign invasion. This alarm had a soul, and it was evil.
Last Saturday, I was reading on my back porch when it reared its ugly head again, and after awhile I thought, “This is it. I’m going to get to the bottom of this.”
I frantically grabbed my keys, got in the car and went flying down the road trying to catch it in the act. Making some wrong turns, I got closer and closer to the source of the deafening noise.
Mystery solved: it was a church! Call me feisty, but I didn’t care if it was the Notre Dame cathedral, I was going to try and get someone to stop that alarm before I got a shotgun and did it myself!
I found the church’s Web site and looked up the pastor’s home number. I left a message. Then I reached the associate minister, letting him listen to the alarm through the phone. He agreed it was pretty annoying and vowed to look into it.
I haven't heard it since. Keep your fingers crossed. For now, at least, I’m enjoying the divine sound of silence.
Playlist:
1. Rock n’ Roll Ain’t Noise Pollution — AC/DC
2. Ring the Alarm — Beyoncé
3. Make It Stop — Soulphonic Soundsystem
4. Don’t Bother Me — The Beatles
5. Hush — Deep Purple
6. God Give Me Strength — Elvis Costello
7. On The Road to Find Out — Cat Stevens
8. Quiet Nights of Quiet Stars — Andy Williams
9. You Don’t Have to Cry — Crosby Stills & Nash
10. The Sound of Silence — Simon and Garfunkel
Regardless, there comes a time when you have to take a stand to maintain your sanity.
Noise pollution is common in my neighborhood. Garbage trucks bang Dumpsters, tractor-trailers squeal to a halt and clank up through their gears to regain speed, and motorcyclists treat my street like a drag strip.
Lawn mowers, weed-eaters, leaf-blowers and chain saws all punctuate the underlying din. And I’m never far away from an intrusive car stereo blaring out some horrible thumping noise.
But these are nothing compared to the mystery alarm.
A nearby alarm had been going off intermittently for what seemed like a year. Sometimes at dusk, sometimes at 3 a.m., sometimes when the weather changed, sometimes when it didn’t. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to it. And since it only lasted 10 minutes or so (just enough to ruin a good night’s sleep), I was never able to get up, get dressed and try to pinpoint its source before it stopped. I tried questioning some area businesses, and people looked at me like I was crazy.
You’re probably saying to yourself, “Just get over it!” But you have to understand – this was no ordinary alarm. It sounded like a feral cat’s tail was being squashed repeatedly in front of amplifiers big enough to blast through Thompson-Boling Arena. This alarm penetrated my ear plugs like a battering ram through drywall. This alarm made you wonder if we weren’t being alerted to foreign invasion. This alarm had a soul, and it was evil.
Last Saturday, I was reading on my back porch when it reared its ugly head again, and after awhile I thought, “This is it. I’m going to get to the bottom of this.”
I frantically grabbed my keys, got in the car and went flying down the road trying to catch it in the act. Making some wrong turns, I got closer and closer to the source of the deafening noise.
Mystery solved: it was a church! Call me feisty, but I didn’t care if it was the Notre Dame cathedral, I was going to try and get someone to stop that alarm before I got a shotgun and did it myself!
I found the church’s Web site and looked up the pastor’s home number. I left a message. Then I reached the associate minister, letting him listen to the alarm through the phone. He agreed it was pretty annoying and vowed to look into it.
I haven't heard it since. Keep your fingers crossed. For now, at least, I’m enjoying the divine sound of silence.
Playlist:
1. Rock n’ Roll Ain’t Noise Pollution — AC/DC
2. Ring the Alarm — Beyoncé
3. Make It Stop — Soulphonic Soundsystem
4. Don’t Bother Me — The Beatles
5. Hush — Deep Purple
6. God Give Me Strength — Elvis Costello
7. On The Road to Find Out — Cat Stevens
8. Quiet Nights of Quiet Stars — Andy Williams
9. You Don’t Have to Cry — Crosby Stills & Nash
10. The Sound of Silence — Simon and Garfunkel
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Mad about "Mad Men"
I’m a big fan of the TV drama “Mad Men.” And since I sometimes run across those tacky pop-culture magazines and entertainment blogs, I not only know the latest earth-shatteringly important activities of Kenny Chesney and Paula Abdul, I also know that I’m one of nearly 3 million people who are glued to the set every week to luxuriate in the stylish AMC original series.
What is it about this show that makes middle-class baby-boomers like me go gaga?
* Where the Boys Are: It’s about a fictitious Manhattan ad agency in the early 1960s. It’s got the most gorgeous art direction this mid-century Modern junkie has ever seen. Every detail is spot-on. You’ll think you’ve died and gone to a Heaven full of Eames chairs and George Nelson credenzas.
* Baby, It’s You: If the look of the sets isn’t enough, you can always feast your eyes on the gorgeous cast that populates them. Never mind that the awkwardly-cadenced dialogue wanders a bit aimlessly sometimes. Not since the fins on a 1960 Eldorado has something looked so good while making so little sense.
* This Magic Moment: Watching “Mad Men” reminds us of our childhoods. It’s as if the feel of the era has been washed clean with a kind of sophisticated sentimentality. And yet the mood of the show is very dark. In reality, conversations weren’t so curt and straightforward; putting a good face on everything was the rule of the day. Some hot-button issues are touched on, but never enough to make you forget that the series is essentially “Peyton Place” redux.
* Wonderful World: The series is a love letter to a time when Americans were riding the crest of a wave of innocence that would never return.
All the mistakes we were making hadn’t caught up to us yet.
There’s rampant sexism, the nonstop omnipresence of cigarettes and alcohol – but these only seem to harken back to a time when everything was just much simpler.
Truth is, that era was no better than any other. It’s just that we boomers were there, so it touches a nerve. Tune in to this dreamy hit show on Sunday nights at 10 p.m. on AMC. It’s replete with images both rose-colored and sinister, as our memories often are.
Playlist:
1. Mad Mad Me — Maria Muldaur
2. The Way We Were — Barbra Streisand
3. Lush Life — Nat “King” Cole
4. Pretty In Pink — The Psychedelic Furs
5. Rose-Colored Glasses — John Conlee
6. The Look of Love — Dusty Springfield
7. The Times of Your Life — Paul Anka
8. People Are Strange — The Doors
9. This is the Beginning of the End — Frank Sinatra
10. It’s All Over Now — The Rolling Stones
What is it about this show that makes middle-class baby-boomers like me go gaga?
* Where the Boys Are: It’s about a fictitious Manhattan ad agency in the early 1960s. It’s got the most gorgeous art direction this mid-century Modern junkie has ever seen. Every detail is spot-on. You’ll think you’ve died and gone to a Heaven full of Eames chairs and George Nelson credenzas.
* Baby, It’s You: If the look of the sets isn’t enough, you can always feast your eyes on the gorgeous cast that populates them. Never mind that the awkwardly-cadenced dialogue wanders a bit aimlessly sometimes. Not since the fins on a 1960 Eldorado has something looked so good while making so little sense.
* This Magic Moment: Watching “Mad Men” reminds us of our childhoods. It’s as if the feel of the era has been washed clean with a kind of sophisticated sentimentality. And yet the mood of the show is very dark. In reality, conversations weren’t so curt and straightforward; putting a good face on everything was the rule of the day. Some hot-button issues are touched on, but never enough to make you forget that the series is essentially “Peyton Place” redux.
* Wonderful World: The series is a love letter to a time when Americans were riding the crest of a wave of innocence that would never return.
All the mistakes we were making hadn’t caught up to us yet.
There’s rampant sexism, the nonstop omnipresence of cigarettes and alcohol – but these only seem to harken back to a time when everything was just much simpler.
Truth is, that era was no better than any other. It’s just that we boomers were there, so it touches a nerve. Tune in to this dreamy hit show on Sunday nights at 10 p.m. on AMC. It’s replete with images both rose-colored and sinister, as our memories often are.
Playlist:
1. Mad Mad Me — Maria Muldaur
2. The Way We Were — Barbra Streisand
3. Lush Life — Nat “King” Cole
4. Pretty In Pink — The Psychedelic Furs
5. Rose-Colored Glasses — John Conlee
6. The Look of Love — Dusty Springfield
7. The Times of Your Life — Paul Anka
8. People Are Strange — The Doors
9. This is the Beginning of the End — Frank Sinatra
10. It’s All Over Now — The Rolling Stones
Sunday, August 30, 2009
I've Got a Feeling
We’ve all had days when even the simplest task is like pulling teeth. Your air conditioner breaks down. You run out of milk. You’re late to work. Admittedly, these aren’t earth-shaking events, but they’re just enough to make you feel like everything’s working against you. It’s like a metaphysical burr has stuck itself in your side and won’t let go.
I call that feeling ickiness.
Some days it seems like the whole world has it. People’s tempers flare, everyone seems to be at odds with one another and folks who are normally mild-mannered fly off the handle like a rusty hatchet.
I’m beginning to think that if we get enough of those spiky little burrs in enough sides, there might be some real damage done. Take the woman over here cursing into her cellphone and the man over there ignoring his child’s cries – they’ll surely spill over into another situation and turn it sour.
Issues big or small can bring on ickiness and send my smile packing. It can be health-care reform or the cat shedding all over me. It’s not easy to keep stuff like that from eating at me. And once my attitude gets maladjusted, I’m just a hop, skip and a jump away from inflicting my hissy fit onto someone else.
Blame our short fuses on the stressed-out economy, the phase of the moon, a random solar flare, maybe some monetary-electro-magnetic super-snafu.
For all we know, ickiness may just be a part of the natural order of things, and the cosmic pendulum will swing back over to peachy-keen at any moment or at least lean more towards OK.
If we look at history, we’ll see that the world has gone through untold numbers of rough patches and come through alright. I believe all this ickiness is just a phase and that we’ll all feel much better soon. I have to believe that!
In the meantime, let’s all try and be nice to each other. We’re all in this together.
Playlist:
1. I’m Down — The Beatles
2. Bad Moon Rising — Creedence Clearwater Revival
3. You Can’t Always Get What You Want — The Rolling Stones
4. Your Good Girl’s Gonna Go Bad — Tammy Wynette
5. A Good Run of Bad Luck — Clint Black
6. Don’t Feel Bad — Rascal Flatts
7. New Attitude — Patti LaBelle
8. Smile Again — Manhattan Transfer
9. Get Together — The Youngbloods
10. What a Wonderful World — Louis Armstrong
I call that feeling ickiness.
Some days it seems like the whole world has it. People’s tempers flare, everyone seems to be at odds with one another and folks who are normally mild-mannered fly off the handle like a rusty hatchet.
I’m beginning to think that if we get enough of those spiky little burrs in enough sides, there might be some real damage done. Take the woman over here cursing into her cellphone and the man over there ignoring his child’s cries – they’ll surely spill over into another situation and turn it sour.
Issues big or small can bring on ickiness and send my smile packing. It can be health-care reform or the cat shedding all over me. It’s not easy to keep stuff like that from eating at me. And once my attitude gets maladjusted, I’m just a hop, skip and a jump away from inflicting my hissy fit onto someone else.
Blame our short fuses on the stressed-out economy, the phase of the moon, a random solar flare, maybe some monetary-electro-magnetic super-snafu.
For all we know, ickiness may just be a part of the natural order of things, and the cosmic pendulum will swing back over to peachy-keen at any moment or at least lean more towards OK.
If we look at history, we’ll see that the world has gone through untold numbers of rough patches and come through alright. I believe all this ickiness is just a phase and that we’ll all feel much better soon. I have to believe that!
In the meantime, let’s all try and be nice to each other. We’re all in this together.
Playlist:
1. I’m Down — The Beatles
2. Bad Moon Rising — Creedence Clearwater Revival
3. You Can’t Always Get What You Want — The Rolling Stones
4. Your Good Girl’s Gonna Go Bad — Tammy Wynette
5. A Good Run of Bad Luck — Clint Black
6. Don’t Feel Bad — Rascal Flatts
7. New Attitude — Patti LaBelle
8. Smile Again — Manhattan Transfer
9. Get Together — The Youngbloods
10. What a Wonderful World — Louis Armstrong
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Advertising ADD
The next time you see a product displayed prominently during your favorite TV show, you can blame me. Tired of all that Pepsi, Bud Lite, and KFC showing up in your favorite sitcom? It’s because people like me have AADD (advertising attention deficit disorder).
I’m one of the growing number of TV viewers who think commercials are passé. Out of the tons of TV I watch every week, only a fraction of it is “live.” I’m too busy to waste 15 minutes per hour of TV on commercials!
Nope, I just “tape” the shows for later, with the help of a digital video recorder.
No wonder savvy advertisers use product placement to reach us folks who love to hit the fast-forward button. Live TV is so 2008!
It’s all about being able to get the latest creative content, right when you want it.
Well, that and not having to sit through all those dreadful ads.
If you’re a Comcast subscriber, make sure you take advantage of their DVR package. It will become your best friend and a time-management must-have!
If you’re a subscriber to Netflix, consider Roku as an additional source for on-demand video cravings. It’s a little box that connects your computer’s Netflix account and your TV. Choose from thousands of instant viewing titles online.
Then after you’ve had dinner and walked the dog, you can relax in front of the TV and scroll through your “queue” and watch a show completely commercial-free. Best of all, these instant selections are free with your regular subscription. Now that’s what I call innovation.
One drawback of Roku is that not many titles are current, so if you’re fanatic about a certain series, you won’t be able to access the most recent episodes. Also, the $99 price-tag may be too high for some, but my Roku has already paid for itself in the two months since I’ve had it.
Youtube.com and hulu.com lead the way in free online content. The next step in instant video gratification would be for me to get a gizmo that would turn my big flat-screen TV into a real-time monitor for those Websites.
On second thought, maybe I shouldn’t aim for that option – I’d never leave the house!
Playlist:
1. Channel Z — The B52s
2. Watching the Detectives — Elvis Costello
3. Haven’t Got Time for the Pain — Carly Simon
4. No Time — The Guess Who
5. Salesman — The Monkees
6. Who Will Buy — Oliver!
7. Love for Sale — Talking Heads
8. Save It For Later — Pete Townshend
9. Little Boxes — Pete Seeger
10. Play Me — Neil Diamond
I’m one of the growing number of TV viewers who think commercials are passé. Out of the tons of TV I watch every week, only a fraction of it is “live.” I’m too busy to waste 15 minutes per hour of TV on commercials!
Nope, I just “tape” the shows for later, with the help of a digital video recorder.
No wonder savvy advertisers use product placement to reach us folks who love to hit the fast-forward button. Live TV is so 2008!
It’s all about being able to get the latest creative content, right when you want it.
Well, that and not having to sit through all those dreadful ads.
If you’re a Comcast subscriber, make sure you take advantage of their DVR package. It will become your best friend and a time-management must-have!
If you’re a subscriber to Netflix, consider Roku as an additional source for on-demand video cravings. It’s a little box that connects your computer’s Netflix account and your TV. Choose from thousands of instant viewing titles online.
Then after you’ve had dinner and walked the dog, you can relax in front of the TV and scroll through your “queue” and watch a show completely commercial-free. Best of all, these instant selections are free with your regular subscription. Now that’s what I call innovation.
One drawback of Roku is that not many titles are current, so if you’re fanatic about a certain series, you won’t be able to access the most recent episodes. Also, the $99 price-tag may be too high for some, but my Roku has already paid for itself in the two months since I’ve had it.
Youtube.com and hulu.com lead the way in free online content. The next step in instant video gratification would be for me to get a gizmo that would turn my big flat-screen TV into a real-time monitor for those Websites.
On second thought, maybe I shouldn’t aim for that option – I’d never leave the house!
Playlist:
1. Channel Z — The B52s
2. Watching the Detectives — Elvis Costello
3. Haven’t Got Time for the Pain — Carly Simon
4. No Time — The Guess Who
5. Salesman — The Monkees
6. Who Will Buy — Oliver!
7. Love for Sale — Talking Heads
8. Save It For Later — Pete Townshend
9. Little Boxes — Pete Seeger
10. Play Me — Neil Diamond
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Born to be Mild
I’m as big a nature-lover as the next guy, but not in the sense that I want to actually be in it. I usually appreciate wildlife from the pages of a magazine or on TV from the comfort of my recliner. It may be a once-removed experience, but that way I avoid pesky things like snakebites, hypothermia and that nagging feeling that any minute Jason from “Friday the 13th” is going to slash through my shiny new LL Bean Eddie Bauer Model X3000 tent and stab me to death.
Growing up, the most I remember of the great outdoors was the rare picnic at “The Y” in Townsend, and that memory mostly involves the hamburgers and potato salad, not any direct interaction with any wild animals (except for the kind that yell “Watch this!” as they jump off the cliff into the churning rapids and jagged rocks below).
I admit it. I’m an urban nerd.
I’m more Woody Allen than woodsy, more Bob Fosse than Diane Fossey. More National Lampoon than national forest. But even this city gal needs an occasional respite from the noise and smog. A break from the linear confines of buildings and technology and responsibilities.
So despite my trepidation, last week I ventured out into nature. My best friend and I rented a rustic cabin along the Pigeon River in the mountains of Western North Carolina.
And by rustic, I mean there was no Internet and no cable TV. Imagine not being able to check the Web for instant identification of flora and fauna, for the lyrics to that annoying song in my head, or for answers to my crossword puzzles. Now that’s roughing it!
I’ll tell you what was nice, though: watching the rainbow trout glide by as I floated in the cool, clear waters of the big swimming hole. Also staring into a cozy fire as the rain beat down on the tin roof, and inhaling the rich, wet earthy air after the storm had passed. And maybe best of all: no clocks or cell phones anywhere in sight.
I won’t be hiking the Appalachian Trail any time soon, but I enjoyed the heck out of my relaxing week in the semi-wilderness, and I’d do it again in a New York minute. Next time I might even leave the iPod at home.
Playlist:
1. Wild Thing — The Troggs
2. Stoned Soul Picnic — The Fifth Dimension
3. Real Wild Child — Jerry Lee Lewis
4. Mountain Music — Alabama
5. Nature Boy — Nat “King” Cole
6. Wild Mountain Thyme — Liam Clancy
7. Float On — The Floaters
8. Hot Fun in the Summertime — Sly & The Family Stone
9. Let the River Run — Carly Simon
10. Don’t Worry, Be Happy — Bobby McFerrin
Growing up, the most I remember of the great outdoors was the rare picnic at “The Y” in Townsend, and that memory mostly involves the hamburgers and potato salad, not any direct interaction with any wild animals (except for the kind that yell “Watch this!” as they jump off the cliff into the churning rapids and jagged rocks below).
I admit it. I’m an urban nerd.
I’m more Woody Allen than woodsy, more Bob Fosse than Diane Fossey. More National Lampoon than national forest. But even this city gal needs an occasional respite from the noise and smog. A break from the linear confines of buildings and technology and responsibilities.
So despite my trepidation, last week I ventured out into nature. My best friend and I rented a rustic cabin along the Pigeon River in the mountains of Western North Carolina.
And by rustic, I mean there was no Internet and no cable TV. Imagine not being able to check the Web for instant identification of flora and fauna, for the lyrics to that annoying song in my head, or for answers to my crossword puzzles. Now that’s roughing it!
I’ll tell you what was nice, though: watching the rainbow trout glide by as I floated in the cool, clear waters of the big swimming hole. Also staring into a cozy fire as the rain beat down on the tin roof, and inhaling the rich, wet earthy air after the storm had passed. And maybe best of all: no clocks or cell phones anywhere in sight.
I won’t be hiking the Appalachian Trail any time soon, but I enjoyed the heck out of my relaxing week in the semi-wilderness, and I’d do it again in a New York minute. Next time I might even leave the iPod at home.
Playlist:
1. Wild Thing — The Troggs
2. Stoned Soul Picnic — The Fifth Dimension
3. Real Wild Child — Jerry Lee Lewis
4. Mountain Music — Alabama
5. Nature Boy — Nat “King” Cole
6. Wild Mountain Thyme — Liam Clancy
7. Float On — The Floaters
8. Hot Fun in the Summertime — Sly & The Family Stone
9. Let the River Run — Carly Simon
10. Don’t Worry, Be Happy — Bobby McFerrin
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Old Dog, New Trick
I don’t advocate putting clothing on a dog, unless you’re putting booties on your sled-team’s paws for the Iditarod. Otherwise, it’s pretty much an abomination, in my humble opinion.
I can only imagine poor Fido’s embarrassment when he’s trotted out to show off some horrible polo shirt in the colors of your favorite athletic team. Everyone’s billing and cooing and he’s thinking, “Oh God, someone please save me. This is not helping my image down at the dog park. How humiliating!”
So you can take all your cutesy polka-dot sweaters and pom-pom hats with ear-holes and jumpsuits and hoodies and pajamas for dogs and throw ’em all in the dumper.
At least that’s what I thought until last month.
Turns out there is an instance where putting togs on your dog is not only appropriate, it’s therapeutic.
My dog Annie is 13 years old and gets very nervous when there’s a thunderstorm. At the first drop of the barometric pressure, she begins to follow me very closely from room to room, looking up into my eyes with apprehension, and lying on my feet when I sit down. By the time the lightning and thunder arrive, she’s panting like she just ran a 5K. She wants to stay so close to me, I think she’d wrap herself around me twice if she could. It was only a mild annoyance for me, except for the times it occurred at 4 a.m.
It was getting so bad, my vet prescribed an anti-anxiety drug, but even that wasn’t completely effective.
Then someone told me about a remedy for Annie’s weather-generated canine angst. They said to wear an old T-shirt for a while, and then put it snugly on the dog. I had to cut a slit up the bottom hem of the shirt and tie a knot with the ends so it would be slightly tight around Annie’s middle.
My human smell, coupled with the feeling of gentle pressure all around her, apparently calms Annie and allows her to weather the storm with much less anxiety.
It works like a charm. Wearing my T-shirt, Annie is markedly calmer during storms. That’s good news for this light sleeper, but it doesn’t mean I’m going to start dressing her like a Barbie doll. So if your mutt gets thunder-struck, try the T-shirt trick. Just lay off the sequins.
Playlist:
1. Love Dog — TV on the Radio
2. All Dressed Up — Plain White T’s
3. Don’t Do It — The Band
4. What to Wear — Taylor Swift
5. Dog Problems — The Format
6. Rainy Night in Georgia — Brook Benton
7. This Shirt — Mary Chapin Carpenter
8. T-Shirt — Shontelle
9. Shirt — Bonzo Dog Doo Dah Band
10. Black Dog — Led Zeppelin
I can only imagine poor Fido’s embarrassment when he’s trotted out to show off some horrible polo shirt in the colors of your favorite athletic team. Everyone’s billing and cooing and he’s thinking, “Oh God, someone please save me. This is not helping my image down at the dog park. How humiliating!”
So you can take all your cutesy polka-dot sweaters and pom-pom hats with ear-holes and jumpsuits and hoodies and pajamas for dogs and throw ’em all in the dumper.
At least that’s what I thought until last month.
Turns out there is an instance where putting togs on your dog is not only appropriate, it’s therapeutic.
My dog Annie is 13 years old and gets very nervous when there’s a thunderstorm. At the first drop of the barometric pressure, she begins to follow me very closely from room to room, looking up into my eyes with apprehension, and lying on my feet when I sit down. By the time the lightning and thunder arrive, she’s panting like she just ran a 5K. She wants to stay so close to me, I think she’d wrap herself around me twice if she could. It was only a mild annoyance for me, except for the times it occurred at 4 a.m.
It was getting so bad, my vet prescribed an anti-anxiety drug, but even that wasn’t completely effective.
Then someone told me about a remedy for Annie’s weather-generated canine angst. They said to wear an old T-shirt for a while, and then put it snugly on the dog. I had to cut a slit up the bottom hem of the shirt and tie a knot with the ends so it would be slightly tight around Annie’s middle.
My human smell, coupled with the feeling of gentle pressure all around her, apparently calms Annie and allows her to weather the storm with much less anxiety.
It works like a charm. Wearing my T-shirt, Annie is markedly calmer during storms. That’s good news for this light sleeper, but it doesn’t mean I’m going to start dressing her like a Barbie doll. So if your mutt gets thunder-struck, try the T-shirt trick. Just lay off the sequins.
Playlist:
1. Love Dog — TV on the Radio
2. All Dressed Up — Plain White T’s
3. Don’t Do It — The Band
4. What to Wear — Taylor Swift
5. Dog Problems — The Format
6. Rainy Night in Georgia — Brook Benton
7. This Shirt — Mary Chapin Carpenter
8. T-Shirt — Shontelle
9. Shirt — Bonzo Dog Doo Dah Band
10. Black Dog — Led Zeppelin
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Scraping the Surface
The saga of my back porch renovation continues. Recently I wrote about how it cost me one sprained ankle resulting in a lingering “hitch in my git-along.” The latest chapter concerns removing the old paint from the concrete floor.
I think Hercules must have had an easier time cleaning out the Augean stables.
First I tried scraping with a putty knife. Paint to Emily: “Ha! You think that’ll do anything?! Sucker!”
So I applied a gooey layer of stripper. Two layers, actually, because the Home Depot person said there are two different kinds of stripping paste: an environmentally-friendly formula, and the one that works.
Like a fool, I’d initially chosen to “go green.” It did about as much good as if I’d slathered the floor with some diluted peanut butter, so I went back and bought the nasty stuff. As I was leaving, the sales associate warned me not to breathe in the vapors … something about permanent brain damage.
Anyhoo… sure enough – the stuff smelled like something Erin Brockovich might have sued someone over. I applied it in small squares, trying to hold my breath between each dunk of the brush. Apparently, D.I.Y. stands for “Don’t Inhale Yet!”
I’m not sure exactly when the floor started spinning and turning colors, but after 20 minutes, I woke up and tried scraping again. I was rewarded with something like the surface of the moon, and just about as inhospitable.
Now I know what athletes mean when they say the knees are the first to go. I’m no athlete, but my knees still ache from hours of scraping.
My slow progress was making that 400 square feet feel more like the equivalent 57,600 square inches. (Note to self: buy more ibuprofen.)
“The big picture” was completely discouraging, so I did what any other reasonable person would do, if that person had been beaten down to the physical strength of an old wet, threadbare rag.
I gave up.
To heck with all this stripping and scraping! Maybe some semi-vigorous sandpapering was all it really needed. A little primer, a thick coat of marine-grade paint, and that porch floor will look like new. Yessir, after careful consideration and the loss of only a few hundred brain cells, I think “good enough” will work just fine.
I guess that noxious stripper actually knocked some sense into me.
Playlist:
1. Paint It Black — The Rolling Stones
2. Pavement Cracks — Annie Lennox
3. Rough and Rocky — Emmylou Harris
4. Perfect — Sara Evans
5. Breathe — Faith Hill
6. Harder to Breathe — Maroon 5
7. The Air that I Breathe — The Hollies
8. Broken, Beat and Scarred — Metallica
9. Good Enough - Dodgy
10. Don’t Think Twice, It’s Alright — Bob Dylan
I think Hercules must have had an easier time cleaning out the Augean stables.
First I tried scraping with a putty knife. Paint to Emily: “Ha! You think that’ll do anything?! Sucker!”
So I applied a gooey layer of stripper. Two layers, actually, because the Home Depot person said there are two different kinds of stripping paste: an environmentally-friendly formula, and the one that works.
Like a fool, I’d initially chosen to “go green.” It did about as much good as if I’d slathered the floor with some diluted peanut butter, so I went back and bought the nasty stuff. As I was leaving, the sales associate warned me not to breathe in the vapors … something about permanent brain damage.
Anyhoo… sure enough – the stuff smelled like something Erin Brockovich might have sued someone over. I applied it in small squares, trying to hold my breath between each dunk of the brush. Apparently, D.I.Y. stands for “Don’t Inhale Yet!”
I’m not sure exactly when the floor started spinning and turning colors, but after 20 minutes, I woke up and tried scraping again. I was rewarded with something like the surface of the moon, and just about as inhospitable.
Now I know what athletes mean when they say the knees are the first to go. I’m no athlete, but my knees still ache from hours of scraping.
My slow progress was making that 400 square feet feel more like the equivalent 57,600 square inches. (Note to self: buy more ibuprofen.)
“The big picture” was completely discouraging, so I did what any other reasonable person would do, if that person had been beaten down to the physical strength of an old wet, threadbare rag.
I gave up.
To heck with all this stripping and scraping! Maybe some semi-vigorous sandpapering was all it really needed. A little primer, a thick coat of marine-grade paint, and that porch floor will look like new. Yessir, after careful consideration and the loss of only a few hundred brain cells, I think “good enough” will work just fine.
I guess that noxious stripper actually knocked some sense into me.
Playlist:
1. Paint It Black — The Rolling Stones
2. Pavement Cracks — Annie Lennox
3. Rough and Rocky — Emmylou Harris
4. Perfect — Sara Evans
5. Breathe — Faith Hill
6. Harder to Breathe — Maroon 5
7. The Air that I Breathe — The Hollies
8. Broken, Beat and Scarred — Metallica
9. Good Enough - Dodgy
10. Don’t Think Twice, It’s Alright — Bob Dylan
