Lemonade

14 Tuesday May 2013

Posted by in Children, Deep Thoughts

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The young entreprenuer

The young entreprenuer

The news is always depressing, but it seems like it’s been even worse lately. On CNN yesterday, there were five stories above the fold about children who had been hurt, bodies found… horrible things. It makes me want to turn my eyes away from humanity.

Yesterday, a viral video of David Foster Wallace talking about the implacability of adult life crossed into my digital awareness. It is a good video, and it has some good insights about our choices, and the patterns of thought we fall into. But you can hear in it the overarching despair of someone struggling to see the good – even the made-up good – in humanity. It is hard to listen to this without remembering that David Foster Wallace died at his own hand, struggling to the end with a depression as implacable as a ninja assassin. He fought that suicide so long and so hard, and you can hear the fight in his words.

I watched that yesterday. Then I sat back and said to myself, “This is not my reality.” None of this incredibly depressing stuff is. Now, the bad parts of reality have gotten awfully close. The marathon bombings scattered pain to my right and to my left. There’s a guy who used to go to my son’s grade school who is fighting to keep one of his two legs. I’ve shared the story of my friend who ran towards the bombs. (In a surreal moment, she texted the other day asking if I wanted to go to the movies since she got some free tickets for being a first responder. Sadly, I couldn’t.)

But 98% of my life – perhaps more – is full of neat people who are nice, kind and friendly. That part of my reality crystallized for me the other day. Grey had a tough day at school, and I was working from home, so when I got a call saying that he had a tummy ache… well, I picked him up to let him have a quiet afternoon. The quiet bit lasted an hour or two, but then around 4:30 on a beautiful spring day, he decided he wanted to make a lemonade stand. He had done this last year, with varying degrees of success, but came back to the idea. He set up the table, made the signs, priced his offering (reasonably, as opposed to last year).

And they came. The mom in the van who said, “We have set up lemonade stands too, but we live on a cul-de-sac so they don’t usually go very well.” The older woman with lots of makeup and a nice car who talked to him with the yearning of a grandma who doesn’t see her grandkids often, and overpaid. The dad with his two boys in the car, on their way to go fishing. The neighbors, who see our sons as extensions of their own children. The young, tattooed couple walking by who were enthusiastically accosted, and who walked uphill two blocks to make a little kid’s day.

The kid netted $15 and grossed $10

The kid netted $15 and grossed $10

This random suburban sampling of humanity was kind and friendly. Almost all gave what was in their pocket, even if it was rather more than the price of a cup. Moreover, they gave encouragement, a smile and their support. No one stops at a lemonade stand because they are thirsty and pining for a cup of lemonade (although in point of fact, the best lemonade I’ve ever had was at a lemonade stand in Seattle). But lemonade stands do well because people are kind, and interested in each other, and generous. That is just as much “reality” – likely more so – than anything CNN is covering today.

It is one of my more pleasant chores to go through the pictures on my camera to upload them. I usually notify that vast cadre of people (all four of them!) that may be interested in such things here. To that effect, hey guys! I got the April pictures up! And it’s only May!

Not their target demographic

04 Saturday May 2013

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There comes a point in your thirties where you start answering survey questions, and you realize that you are (more or less) telling marketers to ignore your feedback. When you have to pick the “34 – 45″ option instead of the “25 – 33″ option… your preferences and ideas have just become a whole lot less interesting.

One of the great moments in one of the great video games of all time

I was having dinner with a friend who helps create computer games the other day. This is a guy who actually has some decision making ability about which video games get made. I was telling him what computer games I loved, and what I desperately wished his company would make. And over the lobster mac and cheese at Lucky’s he looked at me and said, “Yeah, those were great games. But you’re just not our target demographic. To be successful, a game has to be a hit with 15 – 25 year old males. We can’t afford to make games they don’t like.” So not only am I not a video game designer’s target demographic, I never was one. If they made a game (I’m thinking of YOU “Black and White”) that I loved… well it was practically by accident. Later versions of games I loved almost always emphasized my less favorite parts of the game and entirely scrapped the cheerful world building I loved.

That got me thinking about how often I am not the target demographic. The truth is that in most media, I’m not the target demographic. I don’t like violence. Right there, I’ve made myself not the target demographic for 80% of movies. I don’t like meanness. That rules out all the remainder but a handful of Pixar films. Although there are definitely movies I could like, I’m not the target demographic. The movies I would enjoy are rarely being made. And if they are, I’ve already tuned out and don’t watch them.

They don’t want to impress me

Or when you’re standing on the street, and a guy drives by who is *so selling his image*. He’s in a low-riding car with a custom exhaust and a sound system that can deafen you at 20 feet. He’s got tinted windows (rolled down) and is slouching in a seat, not wearing a seatbelt and looking at the world with a jaded eye. My thirty-four year old Protestant-white self clucks and tongue and thinks, “Who are you impressing? You’re not impressing me!” Then I remember: I’m not his target demographic.

I used to work in the same building as Cambridge College

I’m not the target demographic for most bus ads (I already have a degree, thanks.) I’m not the target demographic of our local Red Sox radio station, which seems to find it impossible to avoid misogyny with even ONE of its talk show hosts. I’m not the target demographic for the salons that dot my town offering increasingly esoteric forms of hair removal and supplementation. I’m not who they’re talking to, or who they’re trying to reach.

It can almost be depressing sometimes. So few things – or people – are really designed to please and entice me. How can you be important if no one is even trying to sell you something?

When I get it that mood (usually after a trip to Gamestop trying to find something I want to play – where I am also NOT THE TARGET DEMOGRAPHIC) I remind myself of the delightful flip side.

They’re not MY target demographic, either.

These handsome guys are MY target demographic!

That guy in the car? He doesn’t impress me, but I don’t feel the need to impress him either. No platform shoes or tight dresses for me, thanks! That judgmental person I run into who has something bad to say about everyone? They’re not my target demographic. Those beauty magazines that tell me that I need an expensive and time consuming regime in order to be acceptable? I’m not their target demographic either. My husband loves me the way I am. I look better than I “have” to in order to be promotable at work. My church family will not look down on me if I wear last season’s styles. My neighbors will invite me over after bedtime to hang out even if I have a mis-allocation of hair, according to the latest trends.

So although it can be sad that so little is made to suit me, I am more than compensated by my liberation from having to impress those elements of society that are most oppressive!

Who is your target demographic? And which group do you wish would pander just a little more to what you want?

Put a lid on it

29 Monday Apr 2013

Posted by in Daily living, Projects

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Before

When we bought our house, six years ago, the home inspector told us that the roof wasn’t in danger of imminent demise, but it would need replacing in the next three to five years. This was, by far, the best house we’d seen and I was already in love with it, so I made a note that we’d probably need to get a home equity loan (we were putting a goodly amount down) in order to fix it. This was October of 2007.

Then, the whole, “home equity loan” concept took a serious hit. Uh oh. And New England got hit by a bunch of roof-tearing-up extreme weather, with Sandy and Nemo and Irene. I breathed a tremendous sigh of relief as our roof made it through the winter with no internal rainstorms. We also had two separate spots in the roof with colonies of bats. Great for mosquitoes, but not so great for the attic.

In February, we started making calls and comparing quotes. Our house has a difficult roof – many levels, four stories up, lots of different planes.

I was very glad they were tied on.

I was very glad they were tied on.

We finally settled on Nuza Roofing. They did a lot of work. They removed all the shingles, replaced any rotting wood (including the entire porch roof), put ice & water shield on the entire roof, reshingled, replaced all the fascia (the out-facing boards), put on all new gutters in a different format, repointed the chimney, and put like 28 soffet vents in the roof. Whoof. It took almost two weeks. Every single nail they put in place was hand hammered. They did an amazing job.

New gutters

So now I don’t have to worry about my roof for like, another forty years! Yay! Of course, they did discover that we need to replace rotting trim on most of our windows (a project we actually undertook once already, to little effect). So it’s not like I don’t have to worry, I just don’t have to worry about the roof.\

So to summarize: new roof. Very expensive, but well done. I have roofer recommendations if anyone wants them!

Running towards danger

21 Sunday Apr 2013

Posted by in Deep Thoughts, Wider world

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During Monday’s Marathon bombings, my friend Caitlin Rivet was working as a volunteer EMT at the Boston Marathon. I’ve known Caitlin since she was about 12. I taught her and her churchmates in Sunday School, youth group and confirmation. We’ve been close ever since, even as she moved into adulthood.

At church this morning, Caitlin was there. Her face has a strip of abrasions from shattered glass from the explosion, and she shies away from talking about her Monday. It’s too close, and too hard to put in words. But she wrote this narrative about her day, and gave me permission to share it.

When the marathon was just a fun sports event.

When the marathon was just a fun sports event.

4.15.13 – A Reflection

The Boston Marathon is one of the world’s premier sporting events. This year it was marred by two bombs that were detonated close to the finish line. During a time when most marathoners are finishing, the first bomb was set off in
front of a sports store along the spectator sidewalk. While hundreds of people were cheering on family and friends to the finish, they experienced a horrible act of terror. The first bomb went off feet from the finish line and only about 12 seconds later, the second went off less than one block away.

This is my reflection and memories of my day there.

It was a cool morning starting in the dark at 5am, my first major marathon volunteering experience about to begin. Despite having worked until 11pm the night before, I was a giddy person excited to see what the day would entail. With my clothes on that I had laid out the day before, I set off to the train station. Surprisingly, I could see my breath and I was happy to have my hot chocolate. As I waited for the commuter rail to pull in, I began to think how this marathon might be run compared to the Bay State Marathon, which had been my only experience in major sporting events. I was eager to get my directions, I was volunteering as medical staff, as an EMT. So as the train rolled into North Station, I followed my plan to the green line, ending at Arlington Station. From there I found my way to the Back Bay Event Center and my group meeting area. I was assigned to transport bus #5. I was the only EMT on my bus and surprised, it being my first time and all, but nonetheless, off I went. I gathered my volunteer jacket (score!) and supplies for the day, boarded the bus and so it began.

As the morning went on a few runners were unable to complete the race and we picked them up, making the trip to the finish line to drop them off. On our second run into the finish line, I realized I needed additional supplies. So after all the runners had made their way off the bus, I headed down the street to re-stock. On my way, things took a complete u-turn.

I was walking by the stands packed with friends and family cheering on their runners, when the first explosion occurred. It was a loud pop, suddenly my ears were ringing and I was off balance. As I re-gained my balance, saw the smoke and debris flying through the air, I knew instantaneously this was not normal. What I didn’t know was that it was a bomb not an accidental explosion of some sort. I later found that I had been scraped in the face by some of the glass flying- nothing major. As I began to run to the sidewalk, the second explosion occurred less than a block away. I stopped, saw it was similar and proceeded to the injured people.

From flying glass - she's not included in the count of injured.

From flying glass – she’s not included in the count of injured.

As I looked around, people were running with me towards the smokey, debris- filled sidewalk to assist those injured. What we found was beyond imagination. Blood stained the sidewalk, ran down the curb and sprayed against store windows. Glass flew through the air from windows blown out. In an attempt to gain access to the injured, everyone began to rip the staging apart; through metal scaffolding, marathon tape, the nation’s flags, wooden fencing: all with haste to reach those in critical condition. Suddenly, those of us who began the day volunteering to help with hypothermia and dehydration found ourselves making tourniquets of belts, tablecloths, clothes from the stores and marathon tape. Using clothes to cover wounds and many other makeshift items we found solutions. We entered a scene of horror, trepidation, mangled bodies and cries for help. Moving as quickly as possible for fear of additional attacks, we evacuated the injured over our shoulders, carried them by the extremities that were still intact and eventually stretchers and wheelchairs. As the police cleared the scene, the remnants of a nightmare were visible: an event of great personal achievement turned into a mission of many.

I found a few moments to txt people close to me and post on facebook that I was ok since cell towers were shut down.

This was such a relief to hear

This was such a relief to hear

The medical tents quickly filled, the grassy areas used for the less critical and ambulances began lining up to take patients to every available hospital. Police and volunteers began to stop runners, asking if they were medical staff and worked in Boston area hospitals; those who answered yes were quickly transported to begin the hard work extending the need to use their previously exhausted bodies.

We continued clearing the area, treating and transporting people until 7:30pm, only a total of 4 ½ hours after the explosion. Around 170 people were treated and transported, in the biggest MCI (mass casualty incident) Boston and
most medical staff had ever seen.

Around 8pm, it began to wind down. I gathered my belongings once I had been cleared to leave and took a look at the medical tent, the scene was one of peace and serenity. There was plenty of proof of the day’s events, but instead of chaos, screams and debris, it was filled with used supplies, sweat poured out from everyone’s best efforts and hope.

A great sense of accomplishment preceded a large feeling of the unknown. What’s next? Is there anything else I can do? Has everyone gotten what he or she needed? Did I miss someone? Did everything we do work? Do I go home now? Can I get home?- the MBTA had been shut down. What do I do when I go home? I’m exhausted – will I sleep? As much of the unknown crowded my mind, a sense of disbelief and numbness settled in. I proceeded to the nearest open station guided by troopers since most of Boston was still shut down. I took the train home, calling my Aunt on the way home and stopping for a burger – my first meal since breakfast.

I sat on the train and couldn’t think about what happened, how does one process an event of such magnitude? I am very good at compartmentalizing and focusing on the job, will that carry over to today? I texted a few friends who had been trying to get my status, knowing I lived in the area but not that I was actually at the marathon. As I responded to them, I was in awe of how many people had heard and thought of me- some people I hadn’t heard from in a while. Then a thought crept in: what will I tell people when they ask? Do I give details? Can my friends and family handle the details of my experience? What does my Mom know/think- she’s in Spain? Should I give a summary, if you will? Will I be ok talking about it? How will I be at work now? And what the heck will I say to my Dad? In conclusion: I needed space to see how this will play out.

The next day I woke up feeling well rested, then my memory was jogged and I remembered what had happened. Should this effect my day? Let’s see how it goes. I got more info, though I felt no need to look at the pictures since I had plenty in my head. I heard the number of official fatalities and injured. Amazingly much to the tribute of a city’s teamwork, the fatalities were extremely low for an attack of this caliber and most survivors will have the opportunity to overcome their injuries and flourish in spite of the attackers intentions.

I did go to work the next day; things went fairly well. Besides being a bit jumpy and nervous at doors shutting, sirens blaring, basically any loud noise, I was able to do my job and finish my shift. When I brought patients to the hospital, my friends offered their support and checked to see how I was. Staff that had never really interacted with me, suddenly knew me and were interested in my well-being. I was shocked at the span of knowledge that I was there. Wednesday, work went well, somber and numb still, but well. Thursday I had a non-violence interventions training, I attended with a few friends and the class was better than expected. Somewhere in the first portion of the training, we were instructed to shut our eyes and picture our happy place- I did not do this, then out of nowhere, the instructor
screamed. I was overwhelmed and had to leave the class to gather myself. This was really my first time not able to keep it in control. I realized that things were starting to become less numb. My boss asked me to take the evening off, though I did not want to and call the crisis team. I did and got a counselor, basically my thinking was – dude, this is normal, it’s going to take a little while to re-adjust and comprehend. I got a few good tips and went to work Friday. Friday the hospital chaplain approached me also, and the rest of the shift went well.

What I have realized is, the effects are probably going to take a while to subside. I am sleeping through the night, I wake up sweaty in the morning, but it’s a complete night sleep. I get startled easily by noises such as car doors, things being dropped and the lock on the hospital stretchers. When I know they are coming, I can brace myself. I keep cough drops in my pocket because the crisis counselor suggested that when I get trapped in a moment, sucking on a strong flavor stimulates the senses and brings you back to the present. Very true, whoever figured that out is genius!

I cry occasionally without warning. I am not totally in my usual easygoing personality, but it peeks through sometimes.

The only thing that has truly saddened me is that while thinking of those I needed to notify immediately that I was ok, I thought of my grandparents. My grandparents passed this fall. I feel it speaks to our strong connection and the love that still exists. I know that they would have been so proud and enjoyed my story.

Time will go on, people will ask, things will scare me: flashbacks or whatever you want to call them; will occur, but overall, I am comforted by the fact that I did everything in my power to improve the circumstances for many. I will most likely never have the opportunity to make such a large difference/ impact in my lifetime. I am grateful that I was there. Although I struggle at this time, it is nothing compared to others and my struggle is warranted by the actions I took.

It has been a truly profound experience and when I have trouble, I picture the tent at 8pm; quiet, serene and peaceful: the perfect ending to a tragedy and the best display of humanity in its essence.

Lockdown

19 Friday Apr 2013

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How scared should I be?

How scared should I be?

My plan for today was to wear all Boston gear, for a Boston pride day. Red Sox shirt, Patriot’s sweatshirt, Red Sox jacket (probably not needed – it’s a nice day!). While I was getting dressed, I pulled up my work email just to make sure that I wasn’t going to be client-facing. Red Sox t-shirts are not generally considered business attire, but it seemed like a small way of expressing the indomitable spirit of the region.

Then I saw a note from our CEO asking us to stay home, “in light of the recent news”. I told my husband to check his work email, and texted some friends who have similar Boston commutes. All of us were instructed to stay home.

I waited until the kids were out the door (Vacation camp/YMCA are still on) and then turned on the radio.

Right now, the towns that both my husband and I work in are shut down, with no traffic on the streets. One of those “towns” happens to be the City of Boston, the other the City of Cambridge. I have friends, coworkers, people I talk to all the time… who are in the hard core lockdown zones – both the orange and the red.

That's a lot of people with locked doors

That’s a lot of people with locked doors

My town is a considerable way north, but those cities in red… those are also quiet Boston suburbs. Safe places.

It’s hard to know what to do, what to say. Should I go pick up my kids? Is it ok to go out for lunch? It’s such a lovely day – is it ok to play in a park? In a yard? Or are our lives really on hold until the suspect is caught? Just how freaked out is the right amount for someone three towns away to be? And I’m hearing sirens… should that change my threat rating? (And how is there a vehicle with sirens still in this town?!)

Answer unknown. I will update you folks, but until then, I am fine. We are fine. We will persevere.

Update: I did go out to lunch, to Five Guys. It was packed. Nearly everyone there was wearing some sort of Boston-themed gear: Red Sox shirts, BU sweaters, Patriot’s hats. No one there was even talking about the situation. #BostonStrong

Boston Marathon: the helpers

15 Monday Apr 2013

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It was a nice day here in the Boston suburbs. It wasn’t quite as lovely as a certain memorable day in September, but it was warm and clear after a cold and cloudy winter. Today is a Massachusetts holiday – celebrated only in a small area around the Hub. We call it Patriot’s Day, and it starts before dawn with battle reenactments in Concord and Lexington. It moves from that to the earliest baseball game in Major League Baseball, with the first pitch thrown at about 11 am. The game is supposed to let out just in time for the spectators to watch the racers from the Boston Marathon cross the finish line. It’s a day of revelry in Boston.

I didn’t have today off, sadly. My husband took the boys to a museum far away from the Boston crowds, since both school and daycare were closed. I had started work a little early (and worked a little late) so I could go volunteer to play taps for a WWII Navy vet. As the sun was at the zenith, with forsythia and narcissus early harbingers of spring to the Wildwood Cemetery, I traded off with a bagpiper as we laid a brave lady to rest. I watched her family’s face as the strains of Amazing Grace wound away and the piper turned his back, and I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to being a bit weepy myself.

After the last note was sounded, I was home in time to catch the 9th inning of the game. It was a great game today, with a walk off wall-ball double in the bottom of the 9th. I was deep into functional specifications when a one-liner came across Twitter, “US media report two explosions near finish line of Boston Marathon”. It was right after the tweet of a friend whose ultrasound was not showing good news, and right before a notification that Deadliest Catch starts tomorrow.

In this inured age, such early reports often tend to be not that big a deal after all. A firecracker. A backfire. A prank on social media. But this one, with a sick feeling, grew across the feeds. There were pictures. Videos of scenes that were definitely not backfires. Images that had not been approved for general viewing of a national tv audience. I was heartsick. And then I remembered. One of my Sunday School kids (not a kid anymore, of course) was there, working as an EMT. She posted this picture this morning:

Back when it was exciting instead of ominous

Back when it was exciting instead of ominous

I posted hoping to hear back from her. It was a very long hour before she found time to respond to anyone that she was ok, but very very busy.

On a bright, sunny, sorrowful day a lot of folks have reached back to the wise words of Mr. Rogers, advising us to look for the helpers. Before I knew she was ok, I thought that if my friend – who babysits my kids, to whom I taught confirmation and Sunday School classes – was there, it was to the advantage of the world. I know her, and she is one of the helpers. I have yet to hear her story of the day, but I have no doubt she was – is still, probably – helping the hurt, treating the injured, calming the scared and lost, comforting the afflicted.

I have other friends there too – a law enforcement official who won’t be coming home tonight because he’ll be working on finding any unexploded ordinance, on catching the bad guys, on keeping us safe. There’s the fellow mom whose hospital was in a lock down, and who spent tonight a long way away from her kids, taking care of the very sick in a fearsome atmosphere. When you look at the race grounds for those helpers, you will find my friends standing there.

I am so very proud, and so very grateful, for those who help on a dark Patriot’s Day. Thank you, my friends.

Great Spas of the World

13 Saturday Apr 2013

Posted by in Culture, Memories

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One of my favorite kinds of pampering is to get a massage. It was regular massage which finally put an end to my chronic back pain – I get monthly myofascial and deep tissue massage at Skin to Soul in Stoneham (which I would strongly recommend to anyone local!) Wheen I go on vacation, I really enjoy checking out unique (and reputable) spa locations.

Last week this time I was sitting in a Scandinavian Spa overlooking the St. Lawrence river in Montreal, and thinking about some of the other, really cool experiences I’ve had. I decided to pretend I was a World Traveler and offer to you a guide to some of the most interesting and best experiences I’ve encountered!

We took a nice nap on those bean bag thingies

We took a nice nap on those bean bag thingies

Montreal Quebec: Scandinave Baths – Les Bains
The concept of the Scandinavian spa seems masochistic. First, you get really, really hot in a sauna. Then you go jump in an icy lake. Maybe you have to break a hole in the ice to get in. Then you repeat the experience. I’ve never done this before – I kept getting lost at the “icy lake” part. But a visit to the baths on a frigid and windy April day in Quebec seemed like just the thing. I signed my husband and I up for an afternoon massage and carefully read the preparation instructions (bring your own swimsuit!).

The spa (and there are several spread across Canada, in case you’re interested) took that original Scandinavian theme and expanded on it. First, there was the fluffy white bathrobe and high tech locker locks. (Magnetic waterproof bracelets!) Then there were the signs abjuring all to complete silence, or at least muffled whispering. The spa itself was filled with the sound of crashing water from the hot-water-fall. There were three hot spots, two cold spots, and lounges full of medium-temperatures, comfy chairs and dim lighting. There was also a very expensive juice bar, in case you got hungry or thirsty for something other than water.

The three hot spots were a full-swimming-pool-sized hot tub with aforementioned hot-water-fall. You have never seen such an expanse of 120 degree water before! For the non-immersed, there was a Eucalyptus steam sauna, where every ten minutes or so the walls vented fragrant steam. It was HOT. Finally, there was a standard dry sauna. The goal was to stay in the hot rooms until you were entirely too hot. Then – on to the cold! There was a very small pool – even smaller than a hot tub but deeper. And there was an enclosed, motion-activated shower. You popped into one or the other – for just a moment – to cool off your skin. (You were encouraged to get out before your overheated core temperature was affected at all.) Then, you moved to the resting area where there was lounging and a juice bar and comfy chairs to drowse until you got a bit chilly (aka your core body temperature got back to normal) and/or your heartbeat returned to normal, then you did it again.

We started off with one cycle, then got a massage, and then I did two more cycles. That all took like four hours. Four hours of quiet. Of just sitting and not doing anything. Four hours of not really focusing your eyes because it was steamy and not really having to stay awake if you found staying awake hard. I took a nap snuggled up on one of the chairs with my husband.

It was great.

This completely private hot tub looks out over a beautiful forested hill

This completely private hot tub looks out over a beautiful forested hill

It brought to mind another hot-tub/massage experience, though. This one as culturally different as possible. The Scandinavian Baths were all high tech and high price. I joked to Adam that we were soaking above our class, and in truth I felt surrounded by the monied elite (which was probably exactly the image the spa wants to cultivate). One of my very favorite places to visit is Wellspring. Based in the foothills of Mt. Rainier – just a hop and skip down the road from the National Park Entrance – is an organically grown haven. It started with a woman and a dream. Sunny learned massage. She built a massage cottage, and a hot tub. It burned down. She built it again. And another. And other cabins for people to sit in with each other and nature. Trails grew out of her hideaway. Labrynths were made. Her latest great moment is the discovery and appreciation of a natural grotto, which Sunny has carefully cultivated with a near-druidic eye to be a place of celebration.

The grotto is even more beautiful than this picture shows

The grotto is even more beautiful than this picture shows

Surrounded by peace and joy, and then there are the hot tubs and the massages! When I go home, I sign my husband and I up for a pair of massages. The best of the hot tubs overlooks a superb Northwest forest hillside, with a rippling brook in front and a mix of deciduous and evergreen trees up to the sky. It is perfectly private there, and the hot tub is quiet. We take turns soaking and looking and being while the other person is getting their massage (and their catch up session with Sunny!) It is entirely wholesome and relaxing and joyful – and full of the spirit of the Northwest.

My sister and husband honeymooned there. I’d love to pass a night there, but it seems a little silly when my parents live 12 miles away. Maybe some day!

This captures it pretty well, actually.

The last, and most culturally distinct, of the great Spas I Have Known, were the Turkish Baths at Cagaloglu (pronounced Ja-la-lu). These held on to a cultural tradition going back to early Roman times of communal bath-houses where the purposes was to get clean. It was a three hundred year old bath house, made in marble with ancient steam pipes heating vast slabs (slightly too short for modern women).

I wrote about it in great detail, but I often find my my leaning back to the silver ewers and taps, the hot marble, the provocatively protected skylights and the old Anatolian women scrubbing my back.

So to summarize: I recommend you visit them all. Tell them I said “hi” and I’ll be back as soon as I can!

Also, just for my husband, I give you this. My eldest son declares this his favorite movie, above even Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory and Star Wars. We don’t waste weekends around here!

Seven weeks of constraint

04 Thursday Apr 2013

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Just over seven weeks ago, I wrote about how I was going to try this crazy diet, and work out for Lent. You know, to see how it went.

I tried the Four Hour Body diet, in combination with actually going to the gym multiple times. I was actually very compliant with the terms of the diet. I didn’t cheat. Visions of losing like 2, maybe 3 pounds a week floated through my head! For weeks not so much as a stick of artificially flavored gum passed my lips. (It probably would have helped if I’d actually read the book FIRST, instead of relying on blog posts and my husband’s interpretation, as I was actually more rigorous than required.) Annnnnnd. Nada. My weight stayed stubbornly right where it was, which is really frustrating after three weeks of egg & bean breakfasts.

So I took another look. And I decided that the key was that a high protein diet helped you restrict calories. In thinking I could eat as many calories as I desired as long as they were proteinaceous, I was mistaken. Instead, in order to assist in living with a 1500 or 1600 calorie diet without perishing of hunger, I needed to eat a lot of protein. I’d gotten my cause and effect mixed up. I found that at the end of the day, a 50/50 split between carbs grams and protein grams was effective, if the total calories were roughly 1500. That doesn’t allow you to eat much bread, or dairy, and stay full. But you can eat that few calories and not feel hungry if those calories are eggs, beans, lean meats and vegetables.

When I made that change, the diet DID start working. Last time I weighed in, I had lost 8 pounds – or about a third of my desired weight loss. YAY! I’m not sure it really shows (my wardrobe is not designed to reveal small fluctuations in weight) but it was progress!

Mmmm poutine

I had also burned through my available stock of willpower. I am not (NOT!) dieting on my vacation in Montreal, although I hope I’m not being so horrendous that I’ll have gained much back. Then again, I did have poutine for lunch, so… yeah. And I’m planning on caribou steaks for dinner! When in Canada, eh?

New times in old Montreal

03 Wednesday Apr 2013

Posted by in Adventures, Culture, joy

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Through October, November and December as my life sped up to warp speed, I consoled myself with my previously spotted annual pattern recognition of busy times and less busy times. “Just make it to January” I encouraged myself, doing the laundry at 11 pm on a Saturday night. “Once you get to January, you’re good!”

Bad picture, bad show, happy kid.

Bad picture, bad show, happy kid.

January came. I was really busy. “You’re just catching up on all the stuff that got put off in December.” I don’t even remember February. And March felt like a desperate sprinting finish to a marathon, with Easter and vacation a firm deadline that made it impossible to have any task slip at work or at home. I had birthday parties, Vinterfest parties, dinner parties, Burns Night parties, Pie parties. We took the kids to Scooby Doo Live: the Musical. I traveled to Atlanta (family), New York (work), Minnesota (work) and Tampa (work).* I rearranged the dining room. I played three hard pieces on trumpet for Easter. I signed the kids up for: swimming lessons (2), basketball (1) and science class (1). I did the taxes, rethought my pie crust recipe, wrote my best blog post ever (by volume), and managed a rocky production go-live (for work) from the hallway of the YMCA while Grey learned to dribble. It’s just been BUSY.

But on Sunday, after the high of the hallelujas and the truly awesome final high C I hit on the postlude, my beloved husband and I threw stuff in suitcases, packed approximately 93 digital devices (we used to pack 93 books, but now we have digital devices with the books on them!), and started driving North.

Long time readers have likely picked up my vacation patterns, and notice a discrepancy. We usually take zero time off this time of year, until camping heats up in May. Then we take a romantic, exciting vacation in August while the kids are at Camp Gramp. So why am I taking an exciting, romantic vacation in April this year? It just so happens that Camp Gramp and Gencon line up this year. I’m quite certain that my husband loves me more than Gencon, but I also know that it would make him sad to miss it. So when I realized my folks were also coming out for my mom’s spring break, well…. I snuck in our romantic vacation this week. (Of course, it would be longer if the coming weekend was not Helgacon – another, smaller convention – but at least that gives me some time with my own family.)

Not that a romantic vacation with the two of us is without games...

Not that a romantic vacation with the two of us is without games…

We weighed three options for our vacations: trip to Europe, beach vacation in Caribbean, less expensive vacation somewhere we could drive to. After reviewing all options, and recalling that we are (financially) putting a nice new car on top of our house (in the form of a new roof) this year, we opted for a taste of Europe in Canada.

So here we are in Montreal! We got this really amazing loft hotel thingy, with a full kitchen, comfy chairs and couches, a full size table (for gaming!), and a really excellent spa tub. We walked the city length and breadth on Monday before the weather turned bitter. Our peregrinations brought us to Chez Geeks where we stocked up on some games to see us through (see above picture – those are all new!). Then we had chocolate crepes for lunch. Any lunch served flambee is a good lunch, in my humble opinion. Books, bathtub, pizza. Relaxing.

At the Chinese tea house

At the Chinese tea house

Yesterday we went to the Montreal Museum of Archaeology and History, which might be one of my least favorite museums ever.** We also went to the Notre Dame Cathedral, which was lovely. There was a fantastic paper shop, and then we sat in an ornately decorated Chinese tea shop and had tea served to us while we both wrote on our beautiful papers. For dinner, we went to an Alsatian restaurant and I got escargot and duck confit. Mmmmmmmmm……

Today is lightly scheduled. One nice part of a close-to-home vacation is that the opportunity cost of hanging out in your glorious hotel loft is much smaller. So the only key thing on the docket is a trip to the Scandinavian baths. I’m wondering how many vacations I can have unique spa experiences in. I doubt this will top the Turkish baths, but I figure I have to give it a shot, right? Also, probably fondue for lunch. Or maybe crepes. Or crepes and fondue.

When we return, I have this fond hope that maybe, MAYBE, it will actually be that quieter time. You know, where I can blog more than once a week and hang out with my beloved sons? Yeah, we’ll see about that!

*Two of those three trips were around major storms where the question of whether we would make it back or have to tough it out a few extra days was a real one. I was very happy to make it back both times!

**I emerged from it – no easy feat, given it’s labyrinthine structure and lack of guidance – cognizant that I was absolutely no more informed regarding: Quebec separatism, the linguistic ebb and flow of the province, the fur trade, the Iroquois wars, the building of the great underwater wall in the St. Lawrence, impact of the War of 1812, why Montreal has a huge statue that I like to call the “Lord Nelson fanboy plinth”, Canadian relations with the US, construction of the transcontinental railroad, the use of First Nations Tribes in building skyscrapers, how the St. Lawrence waterway was opened for commerce, or any other topic that might be vaguely interesting. The mandatory (you could not get to the museum without going through it) introductory frenetic video actually said something “Oops! Iroquois!” at one point and showed a big wall going up. GAH! However, it was very well marked which elements of the 150 year old foundation were original and which were changes. I kept thinking to myself, “This is only 30 years older than my house….”

Bonsoir from Montreal

02 Tuesday Apr 2013

Posted by in Children, Culture, Faith

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9:45 pm. Dinner included escargot and duck confit. The waitress had trouble coming up with the right English words to describe the menu. Yes… I and my beloved and cherished husband are in Montreal for a week celebrating the fact that my parents are taking care of my children for a week. Bliss!!!

But although I could tell you about Montreal so far, I’ll save that for another day. Like maybe tomorrow. Instead, I’ve been using my lounging-around-in-leather-armchairs time to catch up on a few (hundred) pictures! I promise that I’ll include more verbiage, er, sometime this week. But for now, here are all the times in the last month I’ve bothered pulling out my nice camera, heavily influenced by wanting to play with the 35mm lens I got for Christmas!

So first, here are a bunch of pictures and videos, mostly of my boys playing games and with minis. (Mostly because the boys were sitting stillish, and I wanted to try out the focal ranges with the minis.) It also includes PIEMAS!

Check out the geeky goodness here!

Then, we have Easter. The first set is a neighborhood egg hunt. The next set is the actual celebration of Easter in our church. (Well, to be precise, the leading up to the celebration of Easter. Once the service got started I was awfully busy with the trumpeting.)

Cultural and religious celebrations of Easter abound!

I hope that tides you over until I can get you something more substantive!

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