Rise and fall of Fall 2009

I think one of the hardest things to capture is the perfect fall day. I mean, some are no-brainers -- there are some days when the sky is the right blue and the leaves have peaked and you just happen to have a camera. But those days are pretty few and far between. Believe me.

I carry my camera around with me religiously and I am always looking for that perfect picture. This year it didn't seem to come. When the foliage was at its best, the sun never came out. And when it did, perfection wasn't speaking to me.

I did spend a day in Portsmouth when the sky was just right, but by then the foliage had progressed to mostly yellows. Oh well, it was beautiful and I took a bunch.

Following is the rise and "fall" of fall 2009!

OHMYGOD I have been playing with these pictures all day, I swear. To heck with it, I am just posting this. I used to go to flickr and drag the photos into the blog, but they have downgraded my account because I don't pay and now I can only drag the photos in a SMALL size. So I then downloaded the photos via blogger but they all came in as one and if I try to delete one, it deletes them all.

Nightmare, I tell you. Anyway, I was going to comment on the pictures, but I can't. Or at least near them. The first and last photo (I wanted it to be last, not first and for some reason it is now in twice and if I try to get rid of it ALL the photos go) was going to be a tag line such as ... and this is how it ends ... and I sometimes feel like this sunflower -- beaten down and discouraged that summer and fall are both over and it's all gray and dismal from here on in. I haven't chopped these down (the sunflowers in the garden) yet, because they really are so forlorn and yet ... so strong. Those stems are amazing. They could weather a winter if they wanted to. Except for the part where they're well, you know, dead!!!!!

Later, tomorrow, soon, yep, I'll get to it.

I promise.

I don't know what is going on, but I am like a giant magnet walking about with things pinging towards me and clinging for all their life. And I think, oh, good idea, I can do that, oh, I'll do that too ... and I am getting buried!

My desk is ridiculous. Everything is at that stage where it has gone so far it is overwhelming. So I've been putting off cleaning my desk since ... ummm, August? Ditto with the pile of clothes in my room that represents the between seasons limbo -- there are still shorts and t-shirts, because I am a diehard optimist and I am STILL holding out for that Indian Summer. Anytime please. I need to get rid of that pile to make room for ski pants, fleece and sweaters.

My pantry crossed over from being disorganized to detrimental to cooking about a month ago, but again, that is a P R O J E C T and I am not ready to deal. Yesterday I stood there for ten minutes searching for cumin. I used to have all of my spices alphabetically organized on a shelf. But that shelf now has about 10 spices on it. Where did all the spices go? No, seriously, where did they go? I haven't used them all up! They are in hiding.

Or on a shelf where I can't spot them. Same with all of my superfoods. I smartened up a few weeks ago and combined my daily supplements in the cupboard above my blender so I wouldn't have to go search for them every morning. But the umpteen boxes of tea that I took out of that cupboard are now in a basket on the pantry floor. Seriously. WHAT IS MY PROBLEM?

Also, while searching for maple syrup in the jungle of a pantry, I discovered other superfoods I should be incorporating into our diets as well -- especially those with lots of Vitamin C. Oh, and where did all the maple syrup go? I had TONS of it. I was lucky to find the one small bottle. Did someone steal it? No, seriously.

And then there is my office. It's out of control. I mentioned my desk, or the big hulking thing that holds my computer and countless other items like an opened Larabar, old batteries, a Fast & Furious DVD that I don't want but was sent anyway by Columbia House and apparently want to get mad about daily, four books, a pile of empty CD cases, a jar of coconut oil, a bottle of coconut handcream (I do use that constantly) an empty plastic baggy, a water glass, a stapler, two calenders, a notebook with notes scribbled in it for a future blog, and then underneath all that -- who knows.

Then on the ottoman to my right are four stacks of books and magazines, a container of string that I believe HALLIE put there that she was making bracelets with and now a lampshade. Then an empty chair, only because someone sat in it last night and put the lampshade on the ottoman! Then on the floor, in what I am now referring to as my bag store, are all the bags I use. My hiking backpack, my backpack I take to the beach or dock (hmmmm, time to put that away?) and then two sort of handbags that I switch between where I throw in my camera, a snack, water bottle and shopping bags, etc. when I head out for the day. My pocketbook is on the table next to it, which also contains three books, a bra (yes, I was looking for it, now that you mention it) and the camera case. Which begs the question, where is the camera? Undoubtedly in one of the bags in the bag store. I just counted, there are 7 bags.

Am I slob? Well, it would seem so, but not really. It just accumulates, and then, well, what the hell am I going to do with them all? Two of them are those big canvas ones that I take to soccer games, with a blanket and other warm clothes because you never know what it's going to be like. And two sizes because sometimes I go to the games alone, and other times Charlie and Peter go. I could bring them back to the basement, where I got them, but there are still a bunch of soccer games left. Is it worth climbing the stairs each time? I think not.

As for the umpteen backpacks, they really have no home. I used to hide them around the side of my desk in the corner, but that is now home to a stack of pictures that I need to deal with (later) and a big bowl full of rocks.

I love rocks.

I hate all this stuff, as much as I love it. If I rid myself of the detritus of my office; I would undoubtedly purchase it all within weeks. I love bags, I adore books and magazines and truly, the lampshade needs to go because I bought a new one, but do I throw it out? I don't know. I tried to convince the kids to use it as a halloween costume ... but no. Charlie jumps out of bed this morning, with about 10 minutes before we need to leave, and asks me to help him with a great ghost costume.

I think not. But I mentioned the lampshade ... no go. And no go goes the lampshade.

::::::::::::::sigh:::::::::::::::::::::::

I suppose I should get out of the messy office and go into the messy kitchen and clean that up. That is pretty much where my loyalty lies as far as my cleaning budget. I clean that (%#)*$()@&%)@(*$#P* kitchen twice a day. Once in the morning to clean up whatever mess was left from the night before, and then after I cook. The second time I don't mind, because I am cleaning up after myself. But cleaning up after others -- others who can certainly clean up after themselves, just sucks. And really, the only solution I've found to that problem is to just leave! The ONLY time I don't have to deal with the kitchen is if I am not here. And somehow they manage to figure it out. But if I am here, the best they can do is throw a dish or two into the dishwasher. Crumbs on the counter, pans on the stove, etc. are all invisible to their untrained eye.

How did this turn into a bitching session? Because I hate to clean when I don't want to clean. So I'll get to it later. Tomorrow. Soon. Yep, I'll get to it.

Taxi!

NH Electric Coop is not zapping my funny bone right now

So, for the past month-plus we've had a power line laying across the front lawn, from the pole to the house, so we can get power. The reason for this is because they have to dig a hole, lay in a conduit and then run the power line through that. Clearly it is not something they are anxious to deal with, so they have just left us with a live wire across our yard.

Absolutely, utterly ridiculous.

Charlie is home this morning because he doesn't have school and I was taking pure advantage of this and laying in bed with the sun beating down on me and just chilling. Charlie was outside driving around in his go-cart and the dogs started barking. I figured it was because of Charlie, so I kept yelling at them to stop. But they didn't. So I got up and looked out the window and saw the power truck parked out by the pole on the road. Oh, so are they going to deal with that today? Nice of them to let me know.

I heard them knocking on the door, and what did I do? I went directly to the shower. The way I saw it, if I was losing power, I was going to be clean! I knew they were knocking to let me know, and I knew they were knocking because they knew I was inside because I am sure they heard me yelling at the dogs.

And you know what? I don't care.

Charlie came up and said that he had talked to them and when they found out I was showering, they said they would come back in half an hour. Yes, they do need to turn off the power, and they also want to know if they can take up boards on the front porch (to make it easier for them to get the line to the house.) Charlie called Peter who said no, they would have to dig a hole.

Now, at first I thought this was a tad unreasonable. But it's been over a half-an-hour and I've had nothing but time to think. Charlie said they are going to ask me and Peter said that I need to tell them no. Okay. And here is how it is going to go, as I have been rehearsing it in my mind over and over to be sure to get it right.

"Gentlemen! So nice to see you, it's been a while. I understand that you want to pull up some boards on the porch to make your job easier, and you know, I think that makes a lot of sense. But here's the thing. You left us believing that the power issue we've been experiencing since last summer was our problem, and therefore we endured the daily power surges. So while it might seem unreasonable that you have to get dirty and get under that porch to get the job done, I am going to keep reminding myself that I had to pay $450 to get my dryer fixed, a dryer that was undoubtedly ruined by a power surge -- now now, I understand I can't prove that it was done by this, but I think we all know that is the case.

In addition, for three weeks I had no dryer, and had to haul heavy baskets of wet clothes to the laundromat to dry them. Oh, and we also had to endure countless nights of being awakened when the power went off to the sounds of the fire alarms beeping.

I suppose I could go on, like remember the day there were six of you standing around in my yard for seven hours trying to fix the problem that you knew existed and then you left us with the old line hooked up just so "you" could prove that it truly was the problem? And of course, once again we had to listen to the fire alarms beep at 2:00 in the morning.

This, gentlemen, is what you call karma. Or, a tit for a tat. I have no sympathy for you, and if you like, I will get you a shovel. But unless you intend to hire a carpenter to rip up and then replace the boards on the porch, your only option is to dig a hole. And climb in it. It might not bring back all the sleep I lost, or the money I spent on broken appliances or how many times I had to re-connect my computer to the Internet because the power went off over and over and over and over. But it will be fun to watch. Any further questions or are you ready to fix this problem once and for all?"

What do you think? Too long? And even funnier, they have now been gone for an hour, and Charlie and I are getting ready to leave. Maybe I'll just print this out and tape it to the pole.

With love.

Raw World here we come ... again!

I am absolutely CrAVINg raw foods -- it's so weird! Normally this time of year I want to make casseroles and soups and other comfort foods to combat the cold weather and inevitable approach into winter.

But I just want it raw. This morning, before a rather fast five-plus mile walk around the lake, I didn't have time to make a smoothie, but fortunately I had made a raw pudding last night. I had several spoonfuls of that and was READY TO GO! The pudding is a new recipe for me; I have a tried and true raw chocolate mousse that I love, with an avocado base, but this one is sprouted almonds, honey, chia seeds, one banana and cacoa and cocoa powders. I thought how does that make a pudding? I had to try it. Well, it is crazy filling and very satisfying. And also seems to be acting as a catalyst to get me back into the kitchen and preparing raw foods.

I pulled up a recipe of "Almost Nutless Alfredo Sauce" and the picture literally had me drooling. You?

I have made a version of this before, and it is truly delicious. Especially if you pop it into the dehydrator before eating. But this one calls for irish moss, which I bought when I was in Arizona last spring and haven't found a use for it. So that clinches it -- I also need to soak buckwheats so that I can make some raw bagels. I have a stack of recipes here I want to try out and I just retrieved my stack of raw cookbooks.

I am not sure why the raw urge has been dormant for so long, but it's time to return in that crazy, over the top passionate way I tend to do things! The other day in the woods while a friend and I were leaning against trees enjoying our lunches, she asked me if the tuna I had wrapped up in a cabbage leaf was the raw version I make. And I said no, it wasn't -- but I then began to dream about it -- it is LEAP years better than real tuna -- the flavor is to die for and the consistency is better because it is made from Jicama, not, well, fish! I think that planted the seed, and then my mother said that she had finished the cacao macaroons I had brought her a while back; and that she used them when she needed extra energy. I too, do the same thing, and had popped a few before the hike with the real tuna lunch. It just stays with you for so long -- and gives you so much energy and such a feeling of vitality.

Why not embrace it?

Exactly.

I've made this once and it didn't come out perfectly. I am thinking I need to try, try again. Does that not look to DIE FOR?

Off to uncook.

Goodbye Public School memories ... forever

Just finished up with Charlie's conferences and I am sooooooooo looking forward to a few days without having to drive! Yahoo.

It was a pleasure to meet with his teachers as they all had positive things to say (you hear that public school? Yes, they had POSITIVE things to say about Charlie Schiess! Put that in your pipe and smoke it why don't you!) And while you're at it, run your fingers through the flame and ...

But I digress.

The one repetitive commentary we heard time and again was "he is an extremely bright young man." Why, yes he is! I knew that! I did! But we still have a lot more work to do to remove the programming he received the past two years where it was instilled in him that he was not worthy of the air in the room to breathe.

If you do nothing for your children but remove them from the public school system, you will have done more than you can imagine! It seems harsh and it would seem that I might just be a little over the top, but I truly believe that I have a pretty good grasp on the detrimental effects of a culture steeped in negativity -- a focus on what has been done wrong versus cultivating strong work ethics within the minds of children -- and I had three guinea pigs that I offered up to the great experiment that is our failed public school systems.

Three different learners -- all who suffered. Of course there are schools where there are good teachers. But even a good teacher will eventually get beaten down by the stupidity, negativity and overall general apathy that they deal with on a daily basis. Who wouldn't?

The last time I met with teachers on behalf of Charlie, they sat at a conference table and told me how horrible my son was. Only two of them had some positive feedback; but one was the art teacher and the other the home economics teacher -- both classes where it was more hands-on. Did the other teachers realize that perhaps Charlie's learning style might not fit into their cookie-cutter approach? Well, they didn't care! They didn't have time to care. They dealt with the situation at face-value and boy, did they let us know how horrible the kid was.

So now, thousands upon thousands (upon thousands) of dollars later; I met with all of Charlie's teachers and they all had positive things to say. ALL of them. Here is a pure case of "you get what you pay for!" And how! Despite his rotten middle school experience and a seemingly all-school attempt to thwart him from getting into a school -- he did and he is thriving!

Open minds and hearts -- that's really all it takes. Then the rest just follows.

So now I have to let it all go. Forever. The past is the past and while it would be fun to bash those people into the ground (and truly, it would, I won't lie) I can take repeated deep breaths and know that my gut is always right.

Always.

Since everything happens for a reason, I keep trying to figure out exactly what the lesson has been in all of this. I didn't need to learn that the public school system was broken ... maybe it was just about having faith in myself and Charlie. Or keeping that in perspective: That while others might believe the opinion of others, there is never any reason that that opinion should become fact. Ever.

And to trust the sequence of events -- not try to control it. Charlie ended up at the school that he was supposed to, even if it didn't feel like it at the time. Both the ski coach and the theatre director want him next term; the former because he is anxious to have an Eastern skier on his team and the latter because he is thrilled to have someone with such a beautiful singing voice on his cast.

These are good "problems" to have, and while it is going to be very challenging for Charlie to take on both while at the same time upping his academic contributions to meet his potential, I have no doubt of his capability.

How exciting it is to be tapping into his endless source of talents and skills instead of constantly showcasing his shortcomings.

Life is, indeed, very good.

Happy Birthday Charlie! May your 14th year be the beginning of a very successful academic career.

Mind blown across the planet

OHMYGOD.

Like a stupid head I joined the Columbia DVD club a hundred years ago. Actually, I joined it three years ago when we bought a new blu-ray DVD player and there were very few places to rent them at the time.

So, like a super stupid head, I joined thinking I'd go in; get my freebies; buy my commitment's worth and get out, quick and dirty.

Yeah. Because I am super duper stupid head, I am stuck in this hell of a nightmare of a company that has it figured out beyond my wildest dreams.

The only way to cancel is to send a letter. But how do you prove that you sent a letter? Because, you see, they say they never get them. (I guess my next step is a certified letter; but come on, does it have to be this hard?)

So, despite my letters begging them to cancel, I am still a full-fledged member of the Columbia House DVD Club. Kill me now.

Last summer I missed the four-day window they give you to respond to their "director's selection" and therefore received the damn thing in the mail. For the minor cost of $25 I received a DVD that I not only didn't want, but could absolutely NOT do anything about. According to the directions (heaven forbid you ever try to speak to a human being, not going to happen) all you have to do if you don't want a selection, is to write "REFUSED" on it, and put it back in your mailbox. Then, they will accept it, but they won't refund your money. You see, there are NO REFUNDS!!!

Brilliant, huh?

So one of my more important jobs in life is making sure that I respond to the "Director's Selection" in a timely manner so I won't get any &()_#()@&%()#_$*()#P DVD's that I don't want in the mail. Makes my blood boil.

This particular method has been working just fine, when all of a sudden they have figured out how to get around me. They have rendered the "No Thanks, I do not want this selection or any other *()$#_*%()#_*$()#* of your goddamn *(%)_*#($)_*)#($ movies at this time" useless. Now, when I hit that link, it sends me to another box where I am supposed to sign in. Then, when I do so, it takes me directly to supposedly my account page, where it tells me that I don't owe anything. There is no way to navigate around this -- it always takes me back to the sign-in page. Bottom line? It won't let me say no.

So I decided to try to call them. This sends you to voice mail hell, and then they came up with a devious idea: Tell the person, after they have given their account number, to tell you what the 7-digit "directors selection number" is, which is located in the upper right hand corner of your card.

You see, I don't get a card. Oh, they know this. They have it all figured out. It is mind-boggling INSANE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Everything I do with the club is done online. They can "bill me" online, they can tell me, online, that they are sending me a selection that I don't want online, but I can't cancel online, tell them I don't want it online and since I don't get anything in the mail, I can't cancel in any other way.

Would this drive anyone else bonkers? Is it just me? Am I losing it? Am I typing like a mad woman about a diabolical company for no good reason?

Perhaps. ::::::deep breaths:::::::::

I just tried again. And here's the deal: They sent me on the 22nd a notice that I would receive my selection if I did not respond by the 25th. Their office isn't open after 6:00 p.m. and they do not take calls during weekends. AMAZING?

Is this not illegal????

I will have to do nothing tomorrow but prioritize making this call. And then who knows what will happen? There is no guarantee that I will get any help. I have received no response to my umpteen emails to their "customer service center." HAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

Better Business Bureau?

Cancel my credit card?

Hire a lawyer????

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH.

Feeling gaseous

For the past few weeks, the price of gas has been significantly cheaper in the town of Tilton, which is about half an hour away from my baseline view of gas prices. The gas station about two miles from my house was at one point 15 cents more than the gas cost in Tilton. How weird is that? I also noticed that the majority of gas stations in and around Tilton were all within about five cents of each other, whereas the gas stations in my own immediate area were on the penny (and much higher.)

So, I wondered, do they price gas according to the socio-economic landscape of a community? That was my best guess for a few weeks, as I continued to monitor it and saw very little change in the great price divide.

Then I started to notice the divide grow smaller. Hmmm, I wondered, why is this? The price difference was so vast that I was filling up our fleet of cars exclusively in the "cheap" zone. Then one day I wasn't going to make it to Tilton on the amount of gas left in the car by dear daughter Maddie, so I had to buy it ::::gasp:::: at the pricey pump. Except that it really wasn't that much of a difference. Maybe five cents. Hmmmm. Hmmmmmm.

This morning the price of gas flipped! It was $2.47 in Tilton, and my local pump was offering it up for $2.43. Now seriously, what the hell? How exactly IS gas priced? Two weeks ago it was $2.26 in Tilton and $2.57 locally. Talk about fickle.

First off, the price of gas is rising because consumer demand has fallen. Isn't that the opposite of how it is supposed to work? Is the whole supply/demand foundation of economics not applied to the price of gasoline? It would seem not. According to "most energy experts," (which in my opinion falls into the same category as "9 out of 10 dentists") they see no fundamental reason for rising prices and doubt that prices will spike to the record $4.11 that they did last summer. (Which last summer? I don't remember prices being that high in the closest summer I can recall of a few months ago?????) Hey, they are the experts ... (further investigation reveals that the experts are referring to 2008 gas prices. Further investigation BEYOND the article I was reading, I must add, snarkily.)

Now we are going to get all newsy:

The U.S. consumes about 20 million barrels of oil products per day, half of which is used for motor gasoline. So, 10 million barrels roll out (I couldn't resist) into the world purely for the use of getting us from here to there. Each barrel of oil contains 42 gallons which yields 19 to 20 gallons of gasoline. (??????) Good heavens. How much do I want to know? Well, let us continue with this branch of discussion. So that means that there is something like 178 million gallons of gasoline consumed daily. Not hard to imagine if you've ever sat in traffic in California or Chicago with cars as far as the eye can see four to five lanes deep.

Typically in the summer there is more demand for gas because people go on vacation. This makes sense, and the price of gas goes up. Again, mean, but it makes sense! But ... prices do not ALWAYS go up in the summer. Prices beyond the summer can continue to rise due to certain circumstances, such as Hurricane Katrina, which pushed prices up to $3.07 a gallon in September, 2005.

Prices rose to the record high of $4.00 in the summer of 2008, which encouraged people to drive less, which in turn drove down demand, and subsequently, prices. (So the supply/demand theory was in play in the summer of 2008.) But then ... things changed.

Prices increase when the world crude oil market tightens and lowers inventories, which is what is happening now. And to understand that, we need to know where the money goes. Are you ready?

When you pump $30 (if you are lucky, all you non-SUV drivers) into your tank, that money is broken up and goes to many places. (So stop thinking the gas station owner is getting rich!) There is a supply chain and several groups who are responsible for setting prices. The media (blast them again!) can lead you to believe that it is the price of crude oil that sets pump costs, but it's not that simple. Here is an approximation of where each dollar you spend on gas goes:

Taxes: 11 cents

Distribution and Marketing: 6 cents

Refining: 10 cents

Crude oil Suppliers: 73 cents.

And of course the gas station, though that is sort of all over the map (which explains the fluctuations in prices that you see from town to town.) And while it feels natural to blame the gas station owner's, they typically only add on a few cents per gallon, and while there is no set standard for them in terms of what they can charge, many states have mark-up laws which prohibit stations from charging more than a certain percentage over invoice from the wholesaler. These laws are designed to protect small privately owned stations from being driven out of business by large chains that can afford to cut prices at select locations.

Other reasons for cost fluctuations include distance from refineries; world events; war; weather and prices also vary between states because of different tax impositions. And a new reason emerged in 2007 when Washington legislated to incorporate more ethanol into transportation fuels.

And let's not forget OPEC -- the Organization of the Petroleum Exporting Companies, which is a consortium of 13 countries: Algeria; Angola; Ecuador; Indonesia; Iran; Iraq; Kuwait; Libya; Nigeria; Qatar; Saudi Arabia; the United Arab Emirates and Venezuela. Together they are responsible for 40 percent of the world's oil production and hold the majority of the world's oil reserves. When OPEC wants to raise the price of crude oil, it simply reduces production, which then causes gasoline prices to jump because of the short supply (but then again because of the threat of possible future reductions). When oil production dips, gas companies get nervous. So the mere threat of oil reductions can raise gas prices.

Beyond OPEC there are several other countries that contribute to the world's crude oil supplies, including the U.S., Mexico, Canada, Equatorial Guinea, Russia and China. OPEC tracks the oil production of these nations and then adjusts it own production to maintain its desired barrel price.

Is this getting boring? LOL.

What it comes down to is that there are NUMEROUS forces that affect the price of gas at the pump, but this week there is no strange weather and no new war, so I guess we have to train our gaze at OPEC. Prices were perhaps getting too low?

But it's still more complicated than that. The U.S. is the third largest producer of crude oil, and yet we are still heavily dependent upon foreign oil. And then there's that oil in the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge. To drill or not to drill, that is yet another question.

So while I don't feel I've answered my own question of why the price of gas is all over the map; in a way I understand that it's not a question easily answered. It might make more sense to just accept it. Like the two-year-old question of "Mommy, why is the sky blue?"

To which you respond, "it just is."

Not lost in transition

Whenever a season changes there is always a transition to make. It is no longer possible to wear shorts hiking into the woods because it is cold. But my brain has trouble accepting this; and I hike in shorts a few times with goose bump legs before I then go too far the other way and wear a fleece pair of long pants. Then I am hot and I have to try to remember, what exactly is it that I wear to hike in the fall?

Why is it so hard? Why don't I have a pile of clothes marked Summer Fall Winter Spring? Yeah, why not? Because then that would mean acceptance, and I never accept the change of seasons with any grace. I am a pit bull with bad manners who is watching a band of thieves charge across the yard. I growl and bare my fangs and the hair across my body stands up and I have an evil glint in my eye.

And then I get over it, discover that it's this particular pair of mid-weight pants I wear coupled with the fleece jacket and gloves, and I move on. So to speak. But it takes a few weeks, if not longer!

And once I let myself get over it, I am usually delighted to remember that it is now vest wearing weather and I ditch the flip-flops and pull out my clogs -- those that have a few inches on them so that I am now a new, taller person out there in the world. As I begin to dig deeper in my closet, I unearth other items of clothing I have completely forgotten I own. If I was a glass half full type of person (and I am, I just like to write grouchy!) I would view each change of seasons as a way to re-experience my wardrobe; and of course fill in the gaps where a pair of jeans has more holes in them than is fashionable (which in this day and age is quite negligible, because it's hard to find jeans on the rack without holes!) or a favorite shirt has to be replaced by a new one because well, you can only pull off the "oops, not sure how this shirt got on my back," look only so often.

So with the temperature transitions and the "what to wear," transitions, also come the lifestyle changes. With the end of summer comes a new schedule; no more sleeping late or lounging at the dock. Now we have to be somewhere at certain times, and well, that is really a drag and takes some getting used to! It takes a few weeks to adjust to new schedules and get a feel for them, and reclaim old experiences like being alone in the house for extended periods of time!

Today, Hallie left for Chicago. She has been here, off and on, since August, with more on than off the past few weeks. I have enjoyed having her here; and have spent much of the day wondering where she is. Usually in the morning she comes down the stairs in search of the smoothie I have left for her in the kitchen. Then she goes into the living room, snuggles up under a blanket, and sits in there for hours with her laptop and books. She has been studying for a big test she is taking next weekend, so I've tried to give her the space for that. But she hiked with me a number of times, was always willing to do whatever I suggested, and so was, in truth, a built in play date for me!

And now, she is gone. She has been gone for a long time; she never returned home to live after her freshman year of college. And when she returned this summer, we had to transition into having a full-time third child in the midst. When I considered things like dinner; I had to think of five people, instead of four. And of course, there was the car issue. Four drivers, three cars. Never a very solvable math problem! And so, just like the seasons, we now have to readjust to a new family dynamic of four, not five. We now have enough cars, but we also now have an empty bedroom. (Which you left very clean Hallie, thank you!)

I have felt very rushed and hurried the past few months. I haven't felt tucked under a blanket of equilibrium -- a sense of floating and staring up at the sky and shutting out the whole wide world. I haven't felt as though I have had enough sleep, or enough time to read, or to do anything I like to do, really. Part of that is external, and most of it is internal. There is a rush inside of me to get things done (in fact, I keep glancing at the clock wondering when I have to pick up Charlie, due to the fact that this time last year I would have been on call as middle school ends just now. Funny how our internal clocks are tuned into the old as well!) But the new situation means I have no idea when Charlie will be picked up, there is no consistency. The new fall schedule is no schedule of pattern!

Oooookay!

I also can't get adjusted to the cold. It will come, I know this, but the transition of being in a house with all the doors and windows open and spending as much time outdoors as possible, to being inside a heated dwelling with no fresh air is tough. I love to be outdoors. And I love to curl up by the fire and read, and you can't do that in the dead of summer! So it's all good.

And I am sure in a day or two I will stop feeling as though the house is empty, but will instead embrace the fact that the lack of stagnation in life is what keeps us living.

Women changing the world

I was doing a marathon catch-up of my recorded shows (nothing worse than being told you are running out of space and your next show to be recorded won't fit!) and on Oprah the topic was about women in those "bad places," who had risen above.

Really risen.

One story was about a woman named Terarai in Liberia who as a young girl wanted to go to school. That is all she wanted, and every day she did her brother's homework because her desire to learn was so strong. Eventually the school teacher realized that she was an avid learner and convinced her parents to let her attend class. But then, at the age of 11, she was married. This is how it is done. Women have no time or place to get educated; they have their roles as caregivers and baby makers.

When she was 18 and already had three kids; a woman from Heiffer International came to visit her village and collected the women in a circle and spoke to them. She told them that they should record their dreams on paper. This was the first time that Terarai had even contemplated the thought that you COULD have dreams. Considering that her life was one of being told what to do and her own inclinations and wants were never factored in; I suppose that makes sense. She was also beaten by her husband. Daily.

She wrote down her dreams on a piece of paper and buried them under a rock in a meadow. And then she got busy trying to make those dreams come true. She wanted to go to college; she wanted to receive her Masters and she wanted her PhD. She achieved the first two and this year she will realize the last. It is an inspiring story beyond words, really. A woman who has come sooooooo far. Makes me feel so insignificant. So pampered and damn lucky.

The stories continued and I was completely hit with the knowledge that we CAN help. Through microloans, these women are able to often create jobs that eventually end up supporting their families. The premise is fairly simple: For the most part, the men of these families can't work for whatever reason and so they beat their wives and let their children starve because they are helpless. Let's see -- they are given all the opportunity as children due to their penis status. And these women are told from the get-go they are NOTHING. But it has been found that when a woman in a country like the Congo is provided with a small bit of money and opportunity, she can spin it into gold.

These are rape victims, burnt and beaten and whom have lost children to tragic circumstances. And yet ... and yet ... they prevail. They are such a testament to the human spirit. They all made me feel so inspired.

Then they showed a shot of the women who sit in long, long lines hoping to get a sponsor. Because without one, they are still in the same position they always were. A sponsor is someone like you and me who spends $27 a month and basically buys a life for a woman in the Congo and other countries. A woman who has never had any opportunity before.

The Sponsorship Program links women in the US with women in Afghanistan, Bosnia and Herzegovina, the Democratic Republic of the Congo, Iraq, Kosovo, Nigeria, Rwanda and Sudan, who have survived war and conflict. Individual sponsorships are a direct, personal, hands-on way for women in the US and elsewhere to help marginalized women in post-conflict countries. The sponsor provides $27 in monthly financial support that provides direct financial aid, training and other services to women participants. In addition, the sponsor and the woman exchange letters. For a woman who may have lost everything or who feels isolated from the world, letters of support and encouragement help renew her hope for a better future.

There is a woman who lives locally who created a program called the WomensTrust, and she provides microlending to a village in Ghana. I just spent some time researching that -- trying to decide where help is most needed. My gut tells me that I need to begin with sponsoring a woman in the Congo. Women for Women International on The Oprah Winfrey Show.

For a little over $300 a year I can change the lives of so many people. (One woman is able to provide for her family and then send her children to school and so on.) One act can completely alter the path for many.

For the cost of a couple pairs of shoes;

or three dinners out;

or a plane ticket.

I'm in.

Can anyone get a little NEWS around here?

When we arrived at the airport this afternoon, nearly an hour later than we were supposed to due to "aircraft delays," I texted my daughters to let them know they could find us in the baggage area.

Little did I know how silly that was. They were still in Concord, roughly half an hour away. How could that be? At first they thought they were stuck in traffic caused by the holiday and the fact that the fall foliage is in high bloom; they even commented that since we were so ridiculous as to travel on a holiday weekend, we had to deal with the consequences of such poor planning.

Then after they got off the highway and took a back route on the assumption that the high volume of traffic was jammed up at the toll booth, upon getting back on the highway they found themselves once again in the midst of a parking lot. It took them inching along a bit longer to discover that where the highway split (and the way they wanted to go as well as probably MOST of the people stuck on the highway) was closed. There were several cop cars blocking and one of those signs saying the highway was closed. Because they didn't go by it, they had no idea that the road was closed due to an accident (though they guessed.)

Close to an hour after we had landed and close to two since they had embarked on their 45 minute drive; they finally arrived to pick us up. There was another person waiting for a ride too; he had just run the Chicago marathon and he was waiting curbside, with his metal hanging proudly from his neck; for his parents to pick him up. When his parents drove in, they said they had been in traffic for three hours.

I also had noticed that there were cars absolutely FLYING by me to get to the other end of the terminal (departures).

So, we headed home and once we got on the highway, we noticed that there was a small stream of traffic flowing on the other side. Since they hadn't actually been on that highway, they had no idea where the jam began; but we came across it fairly soon. A tractor trailer truck was laying across the road and there was another car all smashed up sitting on a wrecker. They were letting people go through one lane, but only those who were entering the highway from a higher point than where it was closed after the toll booth.

Then we watched in awe as we drove five, ten, fifteen, twenty, close to thirty miles with nearly stopped traffic on the other side. I've never seen anything like it. The highway that we would have exited on to to head home was also backed up; the kids said that it had started a few miles back before they even merged onto the most grievously affected stretch. When we went by the rest area, I've never seen anything like it. And that is really saying something considering I commuted on that stretch for many, many years and had seen quite a bit!

There was a non-moving line of cars exiting the rest area and there was not a parking place to be found within the parking lot; and there were people parking on the side of the road before the entrance and walking in. It looked like Woodstock, I swear. It was really something.

I say this, because this is New Hampshire and we don't live and breathe traffic like many parts of the country (and cities) do. It's really a rarity to get caught in traffic of any substance, and to see something like this was truly seeing something.

I waited up until 11:00 so I could see the news. I had seen the local news station van at the crash scene, and assumed they would fill in the blanks.

I was so wrong. I was so disgusted that I had to write about it myself; just to send out into the ether a somewhat comprehensible and fact-driven account of what had taken place. An event that affected hundreds, if not thousands (I truly have never seen that many cars backed up on a highway in my life) of people today who deserve a little recognition for their pain.

For crying out loud, is that so hard?

Channel 9 reported that there was an accident. It was so non-newsworthy that they lumped it in with two other crashes that had taken place in the state over the weekend. They called it a deadly weekend on the road. It seems that the driver of a Suburban crossed over the median and ran head-on into a tractor trailer truck. End of that story; we then were launched into a tale of how federal requirements state that if there is less than a ten foot median between the highways, there needs to be some kind of barrier.

They then reported that exactly one year ago there was a fatal crash in that very spot, when a car had crossed over the median and crashed into a mini van, killing a mother and child. That is awful, but I was most curious as to how long that traffic had held up like that. When had the lanes opened and released the dam of cars that had been trapped?

They then flashed to some Dept. of Transportation bigwig who said that there have been a number of crashes there, true, but it was a straight piece of road and didn't really indicate a need for a barrier. But it is only nine feet wide, *(which is not true, it is more like 20 feet) and well ... federal regulations and all ... whatever. My question is, what about the NEWS STORY?

Did these moronic reporters not drive around and see what was taking place? Did they not go to the rest area and interview people; ask them how long they had been stuck in traffic? Did they miss their flight? Because if we couldn't get picked up, there sure as hell had to be people who missed their planes. Is that NOT a story? Because forgive me, but if a snowflake hits the air, they rush to this very same rest area and ask people how big, bad and scary the driving is.

As a former reporter, I was salivating at the thought of hearing people's stories. Not that they missed their flight or they were gravely inconvenienced; but you can't jam up that many people without there being SOMETHING to talk about! Were there any babies born in cars during that time? Did those people who pulled off the highway to wait for it to open have to wait one, two, three, four, maybe even five hours for it to re-open? How come there was absolutely NO INFORMATION for those on the highways. They have those black flashing signs, I assume that something like a "minor inconvenience" such as a major highway being closed for multiple hours on a holiday weekend would be a good enough reason to put the thing to decent use!

I don't want to hear why people no longer get their news the traditional way anymore; that newspapers and and newscasts are losing their following. Why? Because they suck, that's why! I was being lazy; I didn't feel like being on my computer (where I could have found the news in a heartbeat) I wanted to lay on my couch and be informed. And I was sorely disappointed.

Why did no one tell this stupid reporter that this story had more than one angle? Why is this person a reporter at all?

Who.

What.

Where.

When.

Why.

I got bupkus I tell ya. BUPKUS!

This I found on the internet (ahhh, the lovely world of news on demand!)

The person driving the vehicle marked the Blazer Transportation Group never braked and was driving about 100 miles an hour- I was driving next to the tractor trailer truck that was hit. My 2 daughters, a friend and I narrowly missed being hit. We were hit with debris from the car and trailer.

We witnessed the SUV cross the median slip at top speed and cross infront off our car and smash directly into the truck. The SUV burst into smoke and flames for a minute and spun across the highway as the tractor trailer ended up on its side.

We pulled over once we got out of the way and what we saw was horrible. This could have been far worse. There was quite a bit of traffice. Thank god for 3 lanes that allowed drivers in the surrounding area like myself to manouver.

We never saw the driver of the van but - who ever it was seemed to be directly aiming at the traffic in a manner almost as if wanting to make a direct hit at high speed.

This scene is haunting and if anyone else witnessed this please add your comments!

We are praying for the family of the individual that died and the tractor trailer driver.

The tractor trailer driver tried very hard to avoid the collision. Thank
God he is ok!!!
- anonymous, Dover,MA

• not only was the highway backed up but route 3 thru hooksett and allenstown into pembroke was backed up as well and also route 3A we went to the store which is 5 mins from my home and it took all most 45 mins just to get there and back
  
  
  
  

  Oct. 12, 2009 7:44pm EDT | from nepatriot485

  
  

Bone tired

Tonight I get the meaning of "bone tired."

I have been on a bit of a hiking/walking spree. Last week I hiked nearly every day and I am not talking short ones. Sunday morning I woke up bright and early and went on a five-plus walk around a lake.

Monday I went with a friend on a jaunt where we parked a car in one spot and then drove to another and walked back to the first car. That I thought was the big one for the week.

I was wrong. Another friend was dying to get into the woods and I was hesitant because yesterday I felt a little, well, crippled, but I said I'd do a short one.

Short? Three hours and at least 8 miles, possibly nine miles later, I hobbled out of the woods and screamed NO MORE!

Well no, not really. I just said that I wasn't hiking tomorrow!

And I sit here and can feel my bones feel ... tired. It's not a bad feeling, and overall I feel pretty good. There's not much to complain about when you spend the better part of your day on a trail with colored leaves and blue sky and dogs running about and finally, FINALLY a destination made ... a pond in the middle of nowhere! Yes!

I feel a sense of urgency to be out in the woods as much as possible because the inevitable is right there ... so close you can smell it. What is it? The end of the beauty of fall. The leaves will all fall leaving bare and stark trees standing there naked and foolish and the path will soon be covered in ice and snow. And when I say you can smell it, I truly mean it. You can smell the leaves decomposing. It's not a bad smell, just one of those lingering reminders that nothing lasts.

Especially not a season in N.H.

I am leaving for Chicago on Thursday and am a bit panicked at the thought of returning on Monday to fall erased! Hopefully the leaves will stick around for another week at least so I can let my bones perk up for another marathon series of hike 'til you drop!

Moments

Walking on a trail and gazing up to see the blue sky peeking through the red, yellow and orange leaves. Takes your breath away.

Going up hill on a trail and feeling many muscles in your body groaning. Panting a bit, not out of breath but definitely exerting. Looking up and seeing a clearing ahead. The top. No more climbing. Yes!

Climbing into bed and feeling like you have died and gone to heaven. Snuggling underneath the blankets and reaching a foot out and touching the warmth of someone else's. Knowing that if you wanted to, you could get the fire going if you pushed a little harder. And going to sleep with that knowledge deep in your heart.

Seeing the sun sandwiched between clouds, and a crazy rain shower come out of nowhere. And wondering is it possible to document such an event ... or is it all about just watching it happen? Having that feeling in the pit of your stomach that you might miss a rainbow (like as in photographing it) or you might miss a rainbow if you go look for the camera. Touch decisions. The ability to stop in your tracks and just watch makes you realize you might have learned a thing or two over the years. And then, as the rain stops and the sun throws out blazes of rays and it takes your breath away, you think ... I should have ...

Should have what?

Sometimes I walk into my living room and I am struck by the colors. Not just the guest appearances of the trees outside the windows; but the way the dark brown couch looks so inviting or the vase full of acorns is so quirky or that the light cast by the light on the trunk in the corner is ... just right. Sometimes the light in all the rooms of my house overwhelm me. It is as though every molecule of furniture and dust fits. It is all the way it is supposed to be. Even after I rearrange the furniture. All part of the plan.

We sat at the dining room table tonight; our traditional farewell dinner to Peter's parents. First the boat is taken out, then his parents leave. Truly, summer is over. We had chicken pot pie, a dish I haven't made in months and months, and Hallie made apple turnovers. I realized that all of my children were there. What a gift that is that we have this time as a complete family, despite the fact that Hallie has been gone for so long.

I do listen.

I do understand.

I do get that our life is all the moments and minutes and hours and days and weeks and months strung together. I do get that it is better to savor the moment then look forward to the end of the week -- for whatever reason. I get it, I embrace it and every now and then it hits me that I am truly living in the moment.

And I thank myself for that ability. Because I know how hard it is.

And tomorrow morning Charlie is going to have an apple turnover for breakfast.

Amen.

Ripples, ripples everywhere!

"Become simple and live simply, not only within yourself, but also in your everyday dealings. Don't make ripples all around you, don't try to be interesting, keep your distance, be honest, fight the desire to be thought fascinating by the outside world."

This is an excerpt from An Interrupted Life by Etty Hillesum, and it is one of those passages that needs to be read and re-read before it suddenly becomes clear that most of us probably do make ripples, try to be interesting and of course want to be thought fascinating by the outside world.

And why do I read such books? Why do I absorb (or attempt to anyway) these profound statements? Well, it's simple. I do it to undo the person I become when I am undone by others.

For example:

This morning Charlie had a hard time waking up and he was grumpy. He claimed that he had showered the night before, but it sure didn't look like it. And if not, he had been pretty badly in need of a shower yesterday; so what did that mean if he hadn't? He was super dirty? I became irritated. When I came downstairs, with only minutes to spare before we had to get into the car, he clearly hadn't made any attempts at breakfast. Now let me be clear. I have gone out of my way to be the super breakfast mom: I will make anything; I have even tried to duplicate the sausage, egg and cheese sandwiches that he likes to get at the corner store.

But he tells me everything I make is bad. Jerk.

I asked him, in my irritated-knowing that he hadn't really taken a shower but had lied to me tone-what had he had for breakfast?

He said a banana. I looked at the banana tree. There were still three bananas hanging from it. The same three I planned to freeze and had checked upon the day before to see if I needed more bananas at the store, which I had purchased and were still sitting on the counter in their plastic wrap. Liar. He hadn't eaten a banana. I called him on it. Yes I did, he said. Where's the peel? I asked.

Fine. He admits he didn't eat a banana. As he is trying to search his brain for another lie, I tell him he HAS to eat something. I am beyond irritated now. I am sick of this dance. The lies, the avoidance, the same old CRAP of a morning with a teenager. As his mother it feels as though it is my job to strap him down and jam food into his mouth. Why?

Because he is a jerk when he hasn't eaten. The moment food floods through his bloodstream he perks up and becomes another person. Food is his insulin, if you will, and for whatever reason he fights it. Claims he isn't hungry. DRIVES ME INSANE.

I quickly buttered a corn muffin THAT HE MADE last night and threw it into the microwave to heat it up. In the car, with both of us seething at the other, I told him to eat it. He said no. I said that made no sense. Last night he ate five, this morning none? Because you only eat corn muffins with soup, he replied.

Halfway down the hill I was consumed with fury. I hit the brakes and turned to him: I'm not taking you to school; this is a PARTNERSHIP where you do your part and I do mine. I drive you two hours a day, and I will BE DAMNED if you don't reciprocate by eating some food in the morning so you can be human.

He managed to fiddle around with the muffin to make it appear as though he was eating it, only to appease me. (Because when I got home and picked up the "napkin" to throw away, the muffin minus a small bite was gone. AAAAAAAAAAAAARGH.)

I made huge efforts to be nice, despite the fact I didn't feel nice at all. I was mad. I counted to 100 before I asked him (nicely) to check the mirror so that he could see that perhaps he'd missed something when he washed his face. He ignored me. I commented that it was a beautiful day and I was sorry that I had forgotten my camera because the steaming field with the grazing cows, the colored trees behind that and the full moon in the blue sky was beyond beautiful.

He said nothing.

I went over it in my head a dozen times that my mood affects his mood and then I kept returning to the fact that every once in a while it's just too much work NOT to be in a bad mood, and why can't I have that luxury from time to time? Which would start the pattern of being mad all over again! Ridiculous.

So after I dropped him off and told him to have a wonderful day, I drove home and tried to only enjoy the beauty of my surroundings. It truly is beautiful, but so sad that I have to try so hard sometimes! Which is why I pick up books that say things like:

"Become simple and live simply, not only within yourself, but also in your everyday dealings. Don't make ripples all around you, don't try to be interesting, keep your distance, be honest, fight the desire to be thought fascinating by the outside world."

I will take a passage such as this and just ingest it slowly. I will take deep breaths and try to restore the peace within.

I hate Mondays.

I mean, Mondays are wonderful, a perfect time to launch back into the schedule of life. How wonderful.

Bye Bye Summer

I absolutely HATE and despise taking the boat out. We always run into the same dilemma every year. I want to keep it in and Peter wants to take it out because he believes that we won't use it. The way I look at it, just because we haven't been out on it since Labor Day doesn't mean that we won't in the near future. I mean, there is a possibility that we will have an opportunity, when all the planets align and someone doesn't have a game and it actually doesn't rain or snow to go out on it. But I can't argue that since we will be gone next weekend, that the likelihood that we will use it before the snow does fly isn't that great. Damn. In addition, the lake is very low and it was hard to get it off the lift.

Here Maddie and Peter wait as Charlie takes the cover off. I am struck by how it is an absolutely FABULOUS and gorgeous day, and there is no one around. It is as warm as a cool summer day and beyond beautiful.

But as you can see, there are no people in the chairs -- and the reason there are so many is because over the summer there was never a place to sit! Ahh, the end of summer. Sucks.

As I waited for them to uncover the boat and then subsequently get it off the lift and take it to the public dock so we could all board, I managed to catch a few sweet shots of this person tooling about in his woody. The rocks visible in the picture are normally underwater.

Everyone has put their stuff away for the winter, but there are still a handful of boats in the marina. We New Hampshireites really need to be optimists: We have to believe that summer will continue even when we know better. Otherwise we would start screaming and never stop.

Of course, there are days like today that stop you in your tracks because of their sheer beauty. The color! Not just the trees, but the color of the lake and the sky and the clouds. Magnificent. This is a final shot of the year leaving the cottage.

Charlie is "El Capitan," (according to him!) and it is now tradition that he takes the boat out. Maddie doesn't usually come along, but it was such a nice day she decided to bring her camera along and snap some pictures. No one is really sure why she is wearing a winter jacket; totally not necessary.

This cloud kept capturing my eye. I took dozens.

Then we started camera-offs!

Then the cloud transformed into this. Does anyone else see a playful white dog rearing up on his hind feet?

Here is an unintended (ahem, intended and obviously professional) technique I used in this self-portrait. Love how my earring and my face are like brush strokes. The photo was taken for the sole purpose of showing my enjoyment of being on the lake on a beautiful sunny day.

Here is Steven Tyler of Aerosmith's house. Not very attractive, but "back in the day," this was a seriously modern house. Today it just looks ugly (I think). But I don't think he uses it very often. This is the first time in years that he was spotted around town on many occasions, recovering from his fall off the stage.

We had to hang out in the harbor for quite some time waiting for other people to pull their boats out. It's on a first-come basis, and there were two other people ahead of us. I took shots to amuse myself.

I love the wooden boats, they are so spectacular looking. I tried to get a good shot of them with the bush in the background, but the woman in the back (if you look closely) kept staring at me. Hey, it's not against the law to take a picture of someone!

At last it is our turn, and Peter backs the trailer into the lake. I am sad, not wanting our boat ride, or summer, to end.

Maddie lost the fun factor while we were waiting and took a little snooze.

And that is that. Boat out. Summer over.

Bye Bye.

Acorns, toadies and bears ... oh my!

Well. Today was a primo fall New Hampshire day. As much as I like to get all Scroogey and Ba Humbug about the damn FACT (yes, that is F A C T) that we live in nine months of winter here and a sprinkling of summer book-ended with a bit of spring and a smattering of fall ... when it is truly a fall day, it can make your heart sing.

Like today. I woke up to a sky beyond words. Well, I do have the words. As I stared out my sliding glass door from my wonderful bed (comfortable and bringing me back to life with consecutive nights of pure sleep) I saw a fog above the tree line meet a patch of blue sky, topped off with a beautiful layer of pink frosting. I was beside myself. Gorgeous.

As I watched, the fog lifted slowly and the tips of colored trees began to come into focus. Honestly, I fought the urge to go back to sleep because I knew that what I was witnessing was truly sensational.

I was in awe. And I knew this day of fall perfection meant I needed to get into the woods. But it was cold out. Brrrrrr.

I made a target time of 10:00 a.m. as the best time to hit the trail and began work on my book. Then my sister called and said she wanted to hike. I said come on down, I'll wait. And what a great decision that was, because when she got here, it was unbelievable. Warm and sunny. Beautiful. Magnificent.

We hit the trail, lunch in our packs, and it was great. We walked in a little over an hour and decided to stop to have lunch at this wooden bridge that spanned a babbling brook. I had my two black labs and my sister had her neurotic golden retriever Ruby. All was well as we chomped on our peanutbutter sandwiches, when suddenly Ruby started barking. And then my two started barking. We were seriously deep in the woods on a trail where I'd never seen other people. I didn't think anyone was coming up the trail. But Ruby was insistent, and my sister decided there must be a bear in the woods.

So she asked me: What would you do if there was a bear in the woods.

My response?

Well, since I would faint, the question is, what would YOU do if there was a bear in the woods and your sister was fainted dead away?

She said we needed to stop enjoying ourselves by the babbling brook and move on. (Away from the bear I suppose.) Which we did. We found a pair of adjoining rocks and sat down to digest our lunch. There were no bears to be seen in the immediate vicinity, though Ruby seemed to be going after something. At first I thought it was her toenails, what exactly WAS she doing?

Suddenly Tomasen screams "No, NO, LEAVE IT, RUBY STOP, LEAVE IT, STOP," and additional words and screaming I forgot to commit to memory because I was horrified and sure that there was a S N A K E involved in this horror show and I screamed "What is it? What is it? What is it?" over and over while she kept screaming, and finally I heard the word.

Toad.

Toad?

Ick. Ruby was eating a toad. I somehow had left my perch on my rock and had jumped several feet away from the whole scenario, and Tomasen was screaming that the toad was now demented and unable to move and ... would I LOOK AT IT?

No.

What type of dog eats a toad and why?

My dogs have their own forms of freakazoid-ism. Luna shakes and quivers because she hates to stop and only wants to hike and hike and hike and hike ... until she dies.

Lucy, on the other hand, only wants to retrieve. Anything. A stick. A rock, an imaginary anything. But please, just throw it so I can retrieve it because my genetic code insists upon it and if you don't I might EXPLODE.

Hiking with dogs and their inherent personalities is so ... relaxing. N O T!

So after the all the bear and toad hype, we turned around and I said that once we got back to the wide trail, I wanted to collect acorns. You know. Because yesterday my friend Liz collected acorns on the trail (another trail) and I was sure this was better acorn-fetching ground.

It was so wonderful. We went off-trail and searched for them, and between the two of us collected a large zip-lock baggies worth. I would never have done this, but Liz made me think it would be fun. And it was. I enjoyed every second of it.

Then Tomasen started to find pieces of birch bark that she envisioned to be wonderful, and as we trekked down the trail we created quite an impressive piece of art, adding colored leaves, greenery and even ferns to the intended centerpiece. I also jammed all the birch tree sticks she found into her backpack, which kept cracking me up because she looked like an indian wearing a headdress on her back or something. Hard to explain.

It was a wonderful way to spend an afternoon; not only hiking in the woods, but reveling in what the woods has to offer.

And while my backpack was overloaded with acorns, it did not carry a camera. I won't make that mistake again. Today was a day to record.

Next time.

Acorns, toadies and bears ... oh my!

Woods and forts forever

I love the woods. Yes, this time of year they are particularly mesmerizing -- with the colors of the changing leaves creating a massive canvas in the sky of vivid color and the ground dotted with the fallen ones. But no matter what season, I love the woods.

When I was a kid I spent hours in the woods. I would build forts everywhere. I had house forts and drinking cocoa forts and veterinarian forts. I came across spaces and instantly saw living rooms and bedrooms and examining rooms (for the many varieties of logs and rocks that I operated on in my veterinarian practice.) When Hallie and I were hiking the other day we came across a mossy space and she commented on it. I realized that as a kid I would have thrown myself upon it (a king-sized bed!) and upon my back I would have stared up at the sky and believed that my bed of moss was the best place in the world to be. Because it was.

My adult self saw things like wet and potential bugs (and heaven forbid a snake!) and sticks that would be uncomfortable. Everywhere I looked, I didn't see what was wonderful, I saw what was wrong.

Why?

Today I hiked with a friend in the woods and I was completely aware of the peacefulness of the surroundings. It felt like the only place in the world I wanted to be at that time. It felt like the best place in the world to be. Because it was.

We found a rock to sit upon and ate our peanutbutter sandwiches and it was better than a 4-course meal in a restaurant. Finished off with oatmeal chocolate chip cookies that Hallie had baked the other day. As I looked around while we walked, I kept thinking what my younger self would have thought. When we came across a cellar hole, I thought WOW! What a house that would make. There was a piece of scrap metal further up the trail, and I know without a shadow of a doubt that I would have dragged that back to the cellar hole and it would have been transformed into a wonderful counter.

I can still see the find of the century, in one of my fort homes of my childhood, of the old mailbox I found. A perfect refrigerator!

Some of that ability to make the best of my surroundings certainly followed me into adulthood. My first house was absolutely horrible. I look back on it now and can't imagine I lived as I did. But to me, it was fine. We used to live just in the bedroom, really, because it was cold and unwelcoming downstairs. We both worked and we would go out to eat, then come home and run upstairs and jump into bed and watch TV. I think those times in an early marriage (or relationship) are always so amazing because in your heart you know that you will go from that place to more. And when you get to more, you look back on that as not so bad.

We're all wacked!!!

Every morning in the winter we had to unfreeze the pipes with a hair dryer in order to take a shower. Peter had a sweater he left hanging on a hook that he would put on to climb underneath the house (before there was a cellar) and he would go at the pipes with a blow torch and I was inside blowing on the pipes in the wall with the hair dryer. Whatever, it was just what we did. We couldn't keep the house any warmer because we did it by woodstove, and we weren't really there enough hours to ever get it warm enough. Eventually we put in a foundation and a full cellar. Then we put in a heating system! And so it went, one improvement after another until we had a decent (and truly liveable!) home.

When this house was being remodeled, there came a time deep into summer and several months with my in-laws in a small cottage that it became absolutely and without a doubt MANDATORY that I return to my own space. I loved that time; of living in one room (the kids lived in the mudroom in bunkbeds!) and our hot water came from a small propane tank and since I didn't have a kitchen, I cooked on a grill. It was like camping, more or less, and it was of course not ideal. But I can live in a house that isn't perfect without a second thought.

I look at pictures of Charlie's birthday party after we moved back, and it cracks me up. There I was, holding a full-blown party in a house under construction, with wires coming out of the walls and ... who cares, right? I remember the first Thanksgiving after we moved here; there really was no kitchen to speak of, just a small space. No oven. I had a large convection/microwave oven that had to live on top of the refrigerator because there was no counter space. That is what I cooked the turkey in. Why wouldn't I have my entire family over for Thanksgiving just because I didn't really have a kitchen? I can still see that old bird rubbing up against the window of the oven as it turned on the carousel. Hilarious.

I just rearranged the living room. That is my thing. I have two large couches, three chairs, two ottomans and a big area rug with a few end tables. I can't tell you how many times I have reconfigured those items in this room. I swear, I came up with a new one. Or maybe I am delusional and it just feels that it is arranged the best way it can be.

Because it is.