The Amazing and Mysterious Case of the Missing Socks
I'd be willing to bet that just about anyone who has these four items - a pair of socks, a washing machine, and a dryer - has at some point in their life been faced with this great, universal mystery of life, namely, why is it that you often put two socks into a washing machine or dryer but only one sock comes out? For years, my answer to that question was to blame my lovely and long-suffering wife, Katie, because she was the one doing the majority of the sock-washing (and drying), and since she was doing the sock-washing, it made sense to blame her when my socks went into the laundry two-by-two, then returned, solitary and alone. Now before you jump up out of your chair (or wherever you're sitting) to defend Katie and blame the villainous appliances, I should note that the culprit in this situation, quite often, was Katie, in that she would mistakenly put my sock with laundry belonging to one of the kids, so they would take my sock and stow it away in their dresser drawers (which, in my mind, means that they're really the ones to blame, because my socks are quite distinct from theirs and they should recognize an unfamiliar sock among their own, say to themselves, "Hey, that doesn't look like one of my socks, maybe I should find out who it belongs to," and return it to their rightful owner, which would be me). But because they were thoughtless and nonchalant, they didn't do that, and instead, crammed my sock into their drawer with their socks, where it would languish for days/weeks until I went searching through their drawers and discovered/rescued it from this purgatorious state. So this might seem like a whole lot of to-do over something pretty minor, and in the grand scheme of life the universe and everything, I suppose that might be true, but ever since I converted to the non-cotton-sock club, I've grown quite attached to my specially constructed running socks, so when one of them goes missing, I get a little upset (plus, the darned things are pretty darned expensive, and I am, as has been previously noted on previous occasions, a bit of a miser when it comes to monetary issues).
So the upshot of all this is that I started washing all my socks (and other running/cycling gear) separately so that I would be in complete control of the process from start to finish. And, for quite awhile, that seemed to solve the problem. I would put a pair of socks in the washing machine, and when it was done washing, spinning, rinsing, and cycling through all its cycles, I would take a pair of socks out. Perfect. Until last week, that is, when I pulled my laundry out of the machine, began to sort it and discovered… that I was missing two socks! Seriously. Not just one, but two. And not a pair of two, but one from one pair and one from another. Imagine my sorrow and dismay. Well, needless to say, I was quite dismayed and sorrowful (as well as frustrated) and I immediately set out to find the missing socks. First, I figured they might still be in the machine, and maybe I overlooked them in my haste. So I took a second, and even a third look, but found no socks. Then I thought maybe I had dropped them on the way from my bedroom to the laundry room, so I carefully retraced my steps, examining the floor carefully for any sign of a stray sock, but once again, found nothing. Then I thought maybe I had accidentally tossed them past the laundry basket so they might be lodged in an odd nook or cranny in my room, but though I searched all nooks and every cranny, I still found neither sock. Needless to say, I was heartbroken as I went to bed that night. Where could the missing socks be? How could my perfect system have failed so miserably? All night, I tossed and turned as nightmare visions of my socks, lonely and neglected, plagued my dreams. But at some point, I decided that I must soldier on. So soldier on I did.
For several days. Until, out of the blue, I had a sudden thought. A strange and wonderful and slightly zany idea popped into my head. The cat. Likes to hide under the bed. And cats are strange animals. And this cat is especially strange, even for a cat. And strange cat-type animals might like to steal socks. So maybe our cat (She-she Squeakers Kittyface) had stolen two of my socks out of the basket, pulled them under the bed and… well, I can't describe what she might have done with them, partly because I really don't have any idea, and partly because I'm making an effort to keep these entries appropriate for all ages. So I went to the bedroom, got down on hands and knees, and peered into the dark and mysterious world that makes up the world under the bed - and what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a pair of missing socks, and eight tiny reindeer (not really, it was just the socks). The mystery was solved. And now, I make sure to put my socks underneath something substantial (like a shirt) whenever I put them in the laundry basket - hopefully all will be well that will end well.
Let them eat cake
Connor celebrated his birthday last week, and we decided to participate in the strange birthday custom in which you bake a cake for the birthday person (where does this come from, anyway?). So he came up to me before I went to the store and said, "Dad, will you get me cake mix for my birthday cake at the store?" and I said, "Sure. What flavor do you want?" and he said, "German Shepherd," and I said, "Are you sure?" and he said, "Yeah, I always get that kind," and I said, "Really? You want to eat a cake that's flavored like a dog?" and he looked at me like I was crazy for a second until he realized what he had said, and we both had a pretty good laugh about that one. Yeah. Good times. For sure.
Okay, that's all for this time 'round the rodeo range, so until next time, may your socks remain safely mated, may your pets remain non-kleptomanic, and may your cakes be light and fluffy and moist and deliciously enticing.
Friday, September 4, 2009
Friday, August 28, 2009
Courtesy Calls, Popcorn Salesmen, and Magnetic Messages
Yo Howdy!
Usually I kind of tune out the announcements at school, but every once in awhile something catches my ear. Which happened just this week when the announcer (who shall remain anonymous, but who is well-known to anyone who attends, attended, or has a child who attends Orange Grove Middle School) made an announcement aimed at discouraging kids from visiting the office without a pass by saying something like, "Don't just come to the office to say, 'Yo howdy!' without a pass." Why did this catch my ear? you may ask. Well, because I found it to be mildly amusing, so I then dared my first period class to, at some point during the day, go to the office and say, "Yo howdy!" (without a pass). I also stipulated that they had to say, "Yo howdy!" in an enthusiastic and ebullient manner - not just mumble it - for it to count. During the day, I continued to dare students to go to the office and say, "Yo howdy!" (without a pass) and apparently quite a few of them took me up on it. I had instructed them not to tell anyone who dared them, but of course the little rat-finks ratted me out, so the next day, there was an announcement that students were supposed to either, "bow or curtsey whenever entering Mr. Bindschadler's room," and ever since then, I've had quite a number of students bowing and curtseying (7th grade boys especially seem to enjoy the curtseying - I guess it's not surprising since 7th grade boys also seem to enjoy dressing up like girls for Halloween - not sure what the significance of all that might be) to me as they enter the classroom, which actually isn't such a bad thing and I'm doing everything I can to encourage them to continue.
Another mildly amusing school-related anecdote
The other day after school, I was sitting at my desk grading papers, when some kid (I have no idea who he was) knocked on my door, opened it up, poked his head in, and said, "Would you like to buy some popcorn?" I've been a teacher for 22 years, and I can honestly say that this is the first time this has ever happened. And I'm guessing it will never happen again.
Yet another mildly amusing school-related anecdote
I have those little magnetic words on the doors of a metal cabinet in my room (the ones that can be arranged into weird/disturbing/borderline inappropriate sentences and phrases) and every once in awhile, a small group of kids (usually 7th grade boys) gather around them and giggle while arranging them into weird/disturbing/borderline inappropriate sentences and phrases. Here are a couple of the ones I found today:
•"Mom always blows horsefly whips."
•"Caramel is chocolate."
•"Celebrate Christmas pie - ho ho ho."
•"Dad kisses brilliant women's bellies in the morning."
•"My cat likes sweet melon cakes."
As I read these little snippets (and others like them) I'm always reminded of that old tale about the million monkeys typing at a million typewriters for a million years. Eventually, brilliance will emerge.
Speaking of cats…
As you may remember from a previous post, we adopted a cat a few months ago. The reason we adopted the cat was because she was, literally, a scaredy cat. As in, when her previous family added a dog to the household, this cat hid under the bed and never came out. So we took her in, and for the first three weeks, she hid under the bed and never came out. But now she's much better, and she only hides under the bed about 50% of the time, and the rest of the time, she'll actually come out and interact with the family (except when we had the crazy little puppies in our house for about a week this summer, but that's a whole other story). Anyway, we weren't really sure what to call the cat for quite awhile (maybe because we never really even saw her for the first three weeks while she was hiding under the bed) but finally, after much deliberation, she has been officially named, and her name is… Sheshe-Squeakers-Kittyface. Sheshe because that's what her name was when she came to us (don't ask me why, because I have no idea why anyone would ever name anything "Sheshe," though I'm guessing it has something to do with being young and cute - at least that's what I hear from Katie), Squeakers because she's very squeaky and makes this squeaky meowing sound when she tries to meow, and Kittyface because, well, she's a kitty and she has a face. So now whenever I see her, I say things like, "Hello there, Sheshe-Squeakers-Kittyface, how are you today?" which may sound kind of goofy but is actually oddly satisfying. Don't have any idea why.
Which leads us to a gerbil update
Connor seems to have recovered from the tragic loss of his beloved gerbil "Snake Eyes," and after much hand-wringing and agonized pondering, he did finally decide that he wanted to get another gerbil to take the place of the one that passed away, and the new gerbil (who started out as "Snake Eyes, Two," but I think has been renamed but I don't remember what) seems to have bonded with the remaining original gerbil (Stormchaser) so all seems to be good for now.
That's all I've got, so until next time, may your magnets remain uncluttered, may your secrets remain hidden, and may your animals all be memorably named.
Usually I kind of tune out the announcements at school, but every once in awhile something catches my ear. Which happened just this week when the announcer (who shall remain anonymous, but who is well-known to anyone who attends, attended, or has a child who attends Orange Grove Middle School) made an announcement aimed at discouraging kids from visiting the office without a pass by saying something like, "Don't just come to the office to say, 'Yo howdy!' without a pass." Why did this catch my ear? you may ask. Well, because I found it to be mildly amusing, so I then dared my first period class to, at some point during the day, go to the office and say, "Yo howdy!" (without a pass). I also stipulated that they had to say, "Yo howdy!" in an enthusiastic and ebullient manner - not just mumble it - for it to count. During the day, I continued to dare students to go to the office and say, "Yo howdy!" (without a pass) and apparently quite a few of them took me up on it. I had instructed them not to tell anyone who dared them, but of course the little rat-finks ratted me out, so the next day, there was an announcement that students were supposed to either, "bow or curtsey whenever entering Mr. Bindschadler's room," and ever since then, I've had quite a number of students bowing and curtseying (7th grade boys especially seem to enjoy the curtseying - I guess it's not surprising since 7th grade boys also seem to enjoy dressing up like girls for Halloween - not sure what the significance of all that might be) to me as they enter the classroom, which actually isn't such a bad thing and I'm doing everything I can to encourage them to continue.
Another mildly amusing school-related anecdote
The other day after school, I was sitting at my desk grading papers, when some kid (I have no idea who he was) knocked on my door, opened it up, poked his head in, and said, "Would you like to buy some popcorn?" I've been a teacher for 22 years, and I can honestly say that this is the first time this has ever happened. And I'm guessing it will never happen again.
Yet another mildly amusing school-related anecdote
I have those little magnetic words on the doors of a metal cabinet in my room (the ones that can be arranged into weird/disturbing/borderline inappropriate sentences and phrases) and every once in awhile, a small group of kids (usually 7th grade boys) gather around them and giggle while arranging them into weird/disturbing/borderline inappropriate sentences and phrases. Here are a couple of the ones I found today:
•"Mom always blows horsefly whips."
•"Caramel is chocolate."
•"Celebrate Christmas pie - ho ho ho."
•"Dad kisses brilliant women's bellies in the morning."
•"My cat likes sweet melon cakes."
As I read these little snippets (and others like them) I'm always reminded of that old tale about the million monkeys typing at a million typewriters for a million years. Eventually, brilliance will emerge.
Speaking of cats…
As you may remember from a previous post, we adopted a cat a few months ago. The reason we adopted the cat was because she was, literally, a scaredy cat. As in, when her previous family added a dog to the household, this cat hid under the bed and never came out. So we took her in, and for the first three weeks, she hid under the bed and never came out. But now she's much better, and she only hides under the bed about 50% of the time, and the rest of the time, she'll actually come out and interact with the family (except when we had the crazy little puppies in our house for about a week this summer, but that's a whole other story). Anyway, we weren't really sure what to call the cat for quite awhile (maybe because we never really even saw her for the first three weeks while she was hiding under the bed) but finally, after much deliberation, she has been officially named, and her name is… Sheshe-Squeakers-Kittyface. Sheshe because that's what her name was when she came to us (don't ask me why, because I have no idea why anyone would ever name anything "Sheshe," though I'm guessing it has something to do with being young and cute - at least that's what I hear from Katie), Squeakers because she's very squeaky and makes this squeaky meowing sound when she tries to meow, and Kittyface because, well, she's a kitty and she has a face. So now whenever I see her, I say things like, "Hello there, Sheshe-Squeakers-Kittyface, how are you today?" which may sound kind of goofy but is actually oddly satisfying. Don't have any idea why.
Which leads us to a gerbil update
Connor seems to have recovered from the tragic loss of his beloved gerbil "Snake Eyes," and after much hand-wringing and agonized pondering, he did finally decide that he wanted to get another gerbil to take the place of the one that passed away, and the new gerbil (who started out as "Snake Eyes, Two," but I think has been renamed but I don't remember what) seems to have bonded with the remaining original gerbil (Stormchaser) so all seems to be good for now.
That's all I've got, so until next time, may your magnets remain uncluttered, may your secrets remain hidden, and may your animals all be memorably named.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
A More-Reflective/Less-Mildly-Amusing Posting
Every once in awhile, something happens that makes you look at someone you think you know in a whole different way. They say something, or do something, and you realize that the person you thought you knew isn't really that person at all. For me, it happens with my kids quite often, which I suppose makes sense because they change so much as they grow older. We'll just be going along in life, and suddenly, something will happen that will make it abundantly clear that they're not the same person I'm holding onto in my memory. With Caitlyn, I remember this happening when I went and watched her perform in a play last year at the UA. Seeing her up on stage - the confidence she had and the ability to become her character and perform so convincingly - it was like seeing a whole different side of her. Just the other day, Carrie was telling us that she was going to be on an Odyssey of the Mind team this year, and Katie asked her how she was going to fit that in with everything else she was doing, and Carrie just said, "I'll make it work," with this quiet sense of conviction, and I realized that she has a sense of self that's very strong and a motivation to push herself to do as much as she can. I'd seen glimpses of these things in the girls before, but those moments cemented them in my mind. And then there's Connor.
We've always known there's a lot going on in Connor's head, but we're never quite sure exactly what it is because he's pretty good at locking it in. When he's sad, he'll make jokes and laugh things off, or he'll hide under blankets in his room. But not today. A couple of weeks ago, he decided he wanted to get gerbils for his birthday. He'd taken care of all the various animals (cat, guinea pigs, tortoise) over the summer, and we were impressed by how responsible he'd been about feeding them and paying attention to them, so we figured he could handle his own pets. Katie suggested he should spend some time learning how to take care of gerbils, so he checked out several books from the library, then spent a week or two reading all about them. Then Katie took him to the pet store and he got two gerbils and brought them home. Even though they're girls, he named them after "GI Joe" characters (Snake-eyes and Storm-something) and every day he's been feeding them and putting them in their little hamster ball so they can roll around the house and generally taking really good care of them. Yesterday, he spent his own money to buy them a fancy new habitat with an "Xtreme spiral slide," a "petting zone," and an "Xtreme wheel" that goes in circles when it rotates. So everything was good.
Then this morning, while I'm reading the paper, Connor comes holding a shoebox. His hands are shaking and his eyes are swollen, and I just know what I'm going to see in the box. One of his gerbils is lying very still, and Connor starts to cry. I'm thinking, "This is the kid who laughed when Barney the dog died. This is the kid who took his grandpa out in the backyard and said in a jovial tone, 'The dog's dead. Dad buried him here. Barney died.' This is the kid who hides his sorrow and laughs off his pain, and now I'm holding him in my arms while his body is shaking and his eyes are overflowing," and pretty soon I'm crying too, and I realize that this scrawny little kid I'm holding isn't the same person he was three months ago. Something fundamental has changed. And I guess that's good. But it's also a little sad.
We've always known there's a lot going on in Connor's head, but we're never quite sure exactly what it is because he's pretty good at locking it in. When he's sad, he'll make jokes and laugh things off, or he'll hide under blankets in his room. But not today. A couple of weeks ago, he decided he wanted to get gerbils for his birthday. He'd taken care of all the various animals (cat, guinea pigs, tortoise) over the summer, and we were impressed by how responsible he'd been about feeding them and paying attention to them, so we figured he could handle his own pets. Katie suggested he should spend some time learning how to take care of gerbils, so he checked out several books from the library, then spent a week or two reading all about them. Then Katie took him to the pet store and he got two gerbils and brought them home. Even though they're girls, he named them after "GI Joe" characters (Snake-eyes and Storm-something) and every day he's been feeding them and putting them in their little hamster ball so they can roll around the house and generally taking really good care of them. Yesterday, he spent his own money to buy them a fancy new habitat with an "Xtreme spiral slide," a "petting zone," and an "Xtreme wheel" that goes in circles when it rotates. So everything was good.
Then this morning, while I'm reading the paper, Connor comes holding a shoebox. His hands are shaking and his eyes are swollen, and I just know what I'm going to see in the box. One of his gerbils is lying very still, and Connor starts to cry. I'm thinking, "This is the kid who laughed when Barney the dog died. This is the kid who took his grandpa out in the backyard and said in a jovial tone, 'The dog's dead. Dad buried him here. Barney died.' This is the kid who hides his sorrow and laughs off his pain, and now I'm holding him in my arms while his body is shaking and his eyes are overflowing," and pretty soon I'm crying too, and I realize that this scrawny little kid I'm holding isn't the same person he was three months ago. Something fundamental has changed. And I guess that's good. But it's also a little sad.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
A Couple of Milestones
Around the world in 5-1/2 years (or a little over 2,000 days)
Way back in 2004, I started keeping track of how many miles I traveled while exercising on a spreadsheet (no, I wasn't exercising on a spreadsheet, I was keeping track on a spreadsheet). So every time I run or cycle or hike or swim, I record my mileage, total it up at the end of the month, and add it to the spreadsheet. And when I started doing this, I thought, "Wouldn't it be cool to make it all the way around the world" (in a virtual, rather than real, sort of way, obviously, because I'm not able to take a boat around the world like that one kid did just recently, which was actually a pretty amazing accomplishment, in my opinion - I mean, I just can't picutre taking a year off from life to do something like that - plus I don't know how to sail). Anyway, I kept plugging away, and lo and behold, when I entered the mileage for last month (June, 2009) I discovered that I'd passed the 25,000 mile mark, which was what I was counting as my "around the world" threshold (not sure how accurate that number is - so feel free to challenge this distance if it pleases you). To get to that grand total, I ran 5,930 miles, cycled 17,627 miles, hiked 1,269 miles, and swam 259 miles. Whew. Just typing that makes me a little bit tired. As a side note, I recently found out that my mom is doing the same thing - guess it runs (and swims, and cycles) in the family.
Kind of random milestone #2
In addition to keeping track of my mileage, I also keep track of every book I read (also on a spreadsheet). I've actually been doing this since September of 1994 (that would be close to 16 years for those of you keeping track). Well, this month, I went over the 1,000 books read mark (which averages out to approximately 64 books per year). My goal is to reach 1,000,000 pages, and I'm almost 1/3 of the way there (326,000 pages read so far). So I figure if I keep going at this pace, it will only take me another 30-35 years to make it, which means I'll be in the 75-80 year old range (assuming I make it that long - and I can still read - and there are still books). Yikes. Talk about a long-term goal. Now I wish I'd started keeping track earlier.
Some bad news from my achilles tendons
On the downside of things, my achilles tendons decided to act up last week, and I haven't been able to run for the past several days. I'm hoping it's just some swelling in the bursa sack that's at the attachment point and not tendonitis, because I've been down that road and it's definitely a long and winding one that I don't want to travel again. I'd much prefer a short and straight road that doesn't spring any surprises and provides an easy exit point in the not-too-distant future. In the meantime, I'm still able to cycle and do the elliptical, and I'm running in the pool, so in the grand scheme of things it could probably be much worse. Plus, we're still between seasons, so I have a couple of weeks to heal up before our new group starts practices on August 8.
Speaking of which…
Our new TNT season is getting revved up and we've been holding information meetings over the past few weeks. As always, it's exciting to see so many people sign up and get involved with such a good cause. We'll be training for the next 5 months or so to get ready for the Phoenix Rock 'n' Roll marathon in January. Katie will be participating this season, so you'll probably be hearing from her re. fund-raising in the not-too-distant future.
That's all I've got, so until next time, may your journeys be fruitful, may your fruit by juicy, and may your juice be delicious and nutritious.
Way back in 2004, I started keeping track of how many miles I traveled while exercising on a spreadsheet (no, I wasn't exercising on a spreadsheet, I was keeping track on a spreadsheet). So every time I run or cycle or hike or swim, I record my mileage, total it up at the end of the month, and add it to the spreadsheet. And when I started doing this, I thought, "Wouldn't it be cool to make it all the way around the world" (in a virtual, rather than real, sort of way, obviously, because I'm not able to take a boat around the world like that one kid did just recently, which was actually a pretty amazing accomplishment, in my opinion - I mean, I just can't picutre taking a year off from life to do something like that - plus I don't know how to sail). Anyway, I kept plugging away, and lo and behold, when I entered the mileage for last month (June, 2009) I discovered that I'd passed the 25,000 mile mark, which was what I was counting as my "around the world" threshold (not sure how accurate that number is - so feel free to challenge this distance if it pleases you). To get to that grand total, I ran 5,930 miles, cycled 17,627 miles, hiked 1,269 miles, and swam 259 miles. Whew. Just typing that makes me a little bit tired. As a side note, I recently found out that my mom is doing the same thing - guess it runs (and swims, and cycles) in the family.
Kind of random milestone #2
In addition to keeping track of my mileage, I also keep track of every book I read (also on a spreadsheet). I've actually been doing this since September of 1994 (that would be close to 16 years for those of you keeping track). Well, this month, I went over the 1,000 books read mark (which averages out to approximately 64 books per year). My goal is to reach 1,000,000 pages, and I'm almost 1/3 of the way there (326,000 pages read so far). So I figure if I keep going at this pace, it will only take me another 30-35 years to make it, which means I'll be in the 75-80 year old range (assuming I make it that long - and I can still read - and there are still books). Yikes. Talk about a long-term goal. Now I wish I'd started keeping track earlier.
Some bad news from my achilles tendons
On the downside of things, my achilles tendons decided to act up last week, and I haven't been able to run for the past several days. I'm hoping it's just some swelling in the bursa sack that's at the attachment point and not tendonitis, because I've been down that road and it's definitely a long and winding one that I don't want to travel again. I'd much prefer a short and straight road that doesn't spring any surprises and provides an easy exit point in the not-too-distant future. In the meantime, I'm still able to cycle and do the elliptical, and I'm running in the pool, so in the grand scheme of things it could probably be much worse. Plus, we're still between seasons, so I have a couple of weeks to heal up before our new group starts practices on August 8.
Speaking of which…
Our new TNT season is getting revved up and we've been holding information meetings over the past few weeks. As always, it's exciting to see so many people sign up and get involved with such a good cause. We'll be training for the next 5 months or so to get ready for the Phoenix Rock 'n' Roll marathon in January. Katie will be participating this season, so you'll probably be hearing from her re. fund-raising in the not-too-distant future.
That's all I've got, so until next time, may your journeys be fruitful, may your fruit by juicy, and may your juice be delicious and nutritious.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Yellow Snacks, Puppies, Surprise Gifts, and Driver's Ed
This one time at Tech Camp…
Apparently, people who have actually been to band camp are annoyed when someone who has not been to band camp (like me) and who finds the phrase, "This one time at band camp…" to be mildly (or wildly) amusing uses the phrase as a joke. But, like I just said, I haven't ever been to band camp, but I have now been to tech camp, and this one time at tech camp, they served snacks in the afternoon, and everyone was really excited by the snack display because… it was all yellow! People came rushing into the room where we were working on our projects and said things like, "You've got to hurry out and see the snack display! It's all yellow!" As in, they had yellow food (e.g. potato chips, pinapple chunks, yellow M&M's) and yellow plates and yellow napkins and yellow tablecloths. Seriously, it was the most excited I saw people get all week (except when they were raffling off prizes, of course). I guess I'm just a stick in the mud, because I didn't get what all the fuss was about, and I didn't even eat any of the yellow snack food - mainly because they feed you a whole lot at tech camp, and I was still stuffed from lunch that day. But I did wander out so I could check out the display, and I observed that it was indeed all yellow, and then I went back to work on my project. But I did (and still do) wonder, why yellow? Why not blue or red or green? Still don't have an answer for that one, and I probably never will. I guess it will have to remain one of those great mysteries of life.
Maternal Instincts
My oldest daughter is currently puppy-sitting for two strange looking little critters who are very spoiled and very demanding, and she's finding it to be quite a challenge. As in, she gets really grumpy when the puppies wake up "unbelievably early" in the morning (let's define "unbelievably early" here as anytime before 7:00) and whine, screech, yip, yap and make other "let us out of our crate" puppy noises that impel her to get out of bed and let them out of their crate. "Why do they have to be so loud?" she asks. "Why do they have to get up so early? If they'd just sleep till 9:00 or so, I could handle it." Anyway, she lets them out, then shuffles back to bed to catch some more shut-eye. Meanwhile, the puppies do what puppies do, which is (in addition to making lots of noise when Caitlyn wants to be sleeping) to poop and pee all over the house. Which Connor actually kind of enjoys, because whenever he finds evidence that the puppies have pooped and/or peed somewhere in the house, it gives him an excuse to go wake up Caitlyn and inform her that the puppies pooped and peed in the house and she needs to get up and clean it up. Which she does while muttering darkly under her breath (or breaking down and becoming semi-hysterical - depending on the day and the amount of sleep she's gotten). I've found all of this to be tremendously entertaining, although I have to say that I'm a little bit worried about the well-being of my future grandchildren. If there ever are any, that is.
A slam-bang, jim-dandy, eye-popping welcome mat
Just the other day, we received an amazing surprise in the mail. It was a long rectangular box. What could this be? we wondered. When we opened it, we discovered a welcome mat. And not just any welcome mat, but one made out of organic fibers (40% coconut fibers - or maybe it was bamboo?) that was emblazoned with the letter "B" (I'm assuming that was for Bindschadler). Where did this wondrous welcome mat come from, you ask? Apparently, it's what you get when you buy a new car from Precision Toyota here in the Old Pueblo. Now, there are some people who would consider this to be a "free gift." But I'm not one of them. For me, it's kind of like when you buy something on sale. Most people say things like, "I saved $15 on the shoes I just bought," and everyone around them ooh's and aah's about the great shoes and the money they saved. But really, they didn't save $15 (unless the store paid them $15 to take the shoes, which I seriously doubt). Maybe they didn't pay full price, but they still paid for the shoes, so they spent $55 (or $60, or $45, or whatever the shoes actually cost them). This philosophy of mine, by the way, is not widely accepted, and it tends to drive certain people crazy (such as my dear and lovely wife, who is often "saving money" for us by buying stuff). So for me, the "free gift" wasn't really free at all. In fact, it's probably the most expensive welcome mat I'll ever own.
Who's gonna drive you home?
Daughter #2 (Carrie) recently received her driver's permit, so I took her out for her maiden voyage. Luckily, we have some dirt roads right next to our house, so we set off in the Dodge Caravan for our adventure. And adventure it was. If you haven't had the opportunity to drive with someone for the first time, I highly recommend it. There's a lot of toe clenching, neck snapping, and steering wheel grabbing as you struggle to remain cool, calm and collected. It all took me back to the first time I drove. Unfortunately, my parents never took me out driving (I'm assuming that their experience with my older brother was so traumatizing they couldn't handle any more) so the first time I actually drove a car (other than those cars at Disneyland that run on a track) was with a driver's ed instructor and two other unfortunate student drivers (both of whom has been behind the wheel several times before this experience). I told him I'd never driven, but he assured me I'd be fine and took me out immediately on the busiest street in the city (Pershing Avenue). Luckily, this was Cheyenne, Wyoming, and the busiest street really wasn't all that busy, but for a small-town boy like me, it sure seemed overwhelming (mainly because there were other cars on the street) and the whole things was terrifying to everyone in the car. I also remember that at one point during this initial driving experience, a squirrel ran out in front of us and I slammed on the brakes, which the instructor informed me wasn't the prudent course of action ("Run over the squirrel next time!" he advised me). So all in all, all's well that ends well, and we made it back home safe and sound. Now we're just waiting for round two.
Guess that's it for this time, so until the next time this little rodeo rolls into town, may your catch-phrases remain catchy, may your bulls remain bullish, and may your lassos remain strong and untangled.
Apparently, people who have actually been to band camp are annoyed when someone who has not been to band camp (like me) and who finds the phrase, "This one time at band camp…" to be mildly (or wildly) amusing uses the phrase as a joke. But, like I just said, I haven't ever been to band camp, but I have now been to tech camp, and this one time at tech camp, they served snacks in the afternoon, and everyone was really excited by the snack display because… it was all yellow! People came rushing into the room where we were working on our projects and said things like, "You've got to hurry out and see the snack display! It's all yellow!" As in, they had yellow food (e.g. potato chips, pinapple chunks, yellow M&M's) and yellow plates and yellow napkins and yellow tablecloths. Seriously, it was the most excited I saw people get all week (except when they were raffling off prizes, of course). I guess I'm just a stick in the mud, because I didn't get what all the fuss was about, and I didn't even eat any of the yellow snack food - mainly because they feed you a whole lot at tech camp, and I was still stuffed from lunch that day. But I did wander out so I could check out the display, and I observed that it was indeed all yellow, and then I went back to work on my project. But I did (and still do) wonder, why yellow? Why not blue or red or green? Still don't have an answer for that one, and I probably never will. I guess it will have to remain one of those great mysteries of life.
Maternal Instincts
My oldest daughter is currently puppy-sitting for two strange looking little critters who are very spoiled and very demanding, and she's finding it to be quite a challenge. As in, she gets really grumpy when the puppies wake up "unbelievably early" in the morning (let's define "unbelievably early" here as anytime before 7:00) and whine, screech, yip, yap and make other "let us out of our crate" puppy noises that impel her to get out of bed and let them out of their crate. "Why do they have to be so loud?" she asks. "Why do they have to get up so early? If they'd just sleep till 9:00 or so, I could handle it." Anyway, she lets them out, then shuffles back to bed to catch some more shut-eye. Meanwhile, the puppies do what puppies do, which is (in addition to making lots of noise when Caitlyn wants to be sleeping) to poop and pee all over the house. Which Connor actually kind of enjoys, because whenever he finds evidence that the puppies have pooped and/or peed somewhere in the house, it gives him an excuse to go wake up Caitlyn and inform her that the puppies pooped and peed in the house and she needs to get up and clean it up. Which she does while muttering darkly under her breath (or breaking down and becoming semi-hysterical - depending on the day and the amount of sleep she's gotten). I've found all of this to be tremendously entertaining, although I have to say that I'm a little bit worried about the well-being of my future grandchildren. If there ever are any, that is.
A slam-bang, jim-dandy, eye-popping welcome mat
Just the other day, we received an amazing surprise in the mail. It was a long rectangular box. What could this be? we wondered. When we opened it, we discovered a welcome mat. And not just any welcome mat, but one made out of organic fibers (40% coconut fibers - or maybe it was bamboo?) that was emblazoned with the letter "B" (I'm assuming that was for Bindschadler). Where did this wondrous welcome mat come from, you ask? Apparently, it's what you get when you buy a new car from Precision Toyota here in the Old Pueblo. Now, there are some people who would consider this to be a "free gift." But I'm not one of them. For me, it's kind of like when you buy something on sale. Most people say things like, "I saved $15 on the shoes I just bought," and everyone around them ooh's and aah's about the great shoes and the money they saved. But really, they didn't save $15 (unless the store paid them $15 to take the shoes, which I seriously doubt). Maybe they didn't pay full price, but they still paid for the shoes, so they spent $55 (or $60, or $45, or whatever the shoes actually cost them). This philosophy of mine, by the way, is not widely accepted, and it tends to drive certain people crazy (such as my dear and lovely wife, who is often "saving money" for us by buying stuff). So for me, the "free gift" wasn't really free at all. In fact, it's probably the most expensive welcome mat I'll ever own.
Who's gonna drive you home?
Daughter #2 (Carrie) recently received her driver's permit, so I took her out for her maiden voyage. Luckily, we have some dirt roads right next to our house, so we set off in the Dodge Caravan for our adventure. And adventure it was. If you haven't had the opportunity to drive with someone for the first time, I highly recommend it. There's a lot of toe clenching, neck snapping, and steering wheel grabbing as you struggle to remain cool, calm and collected. It all took me back to the first time I drove. Unfortunately, my parents never took me out driving (I'm assuming that their experience with my older brother was so traumatizing they couldn't handle any more) so the first time I actually drove a car (other than those cars at Disneyland that run on a track) was with a driver's ed instructor and two other unfortunate student drivers (both of whom has been behind the wheel several times before this experience). I told him I'd never driven, but he assured me I'd be fine and took me out immediately on the busiest street in the city (Pershing Avenue). Luckily, this was Cheyenne, Wyoming, and the busiest street really wasn't all that busy, but for a small-town boy like me, it sure seemed overwhelming (mainly because there were other cars on the street) and the whole things was terrifying to everyone in the car. I also remember that at one point during this initial driving experience, a squirrel ran out in front of us and I slammed on the brakes, which the instructor informed me wasn't the prudent course of action ("Run over the squirrel next time!" he advised me). So all in all, all's well that ends well, and we made it back home safe and sound. Now we're just waiting for round two.
Guess that's it for this time, so until the next time this little rodeo rolls into town, may your catch-phrases remain catchy, may your bulls remain bullish, and may your lassos remain strong and untangled.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Five Weeks Worth of Foolishness
Question and Answer
Question: How does one know when it's been a really long time since one posted an entry on one's website?
Answer: When one goes to log in and add an entry, one discovers that one has forgotten one's password and has to be reminded of what it is so one can log in and add one's latest entry. So one sends in a request via the magic of the internet, and there is a nearly instantaneous response which involves some kind of database, one has to imagine, along with some type of an automatic response system, and within (literally) 30 seconds, one receives a message in one's mailbox telling one what one's password is so that one can go ahead and log in and start posting. Pretty amazing stuff, wouldn't you say?
Anyway, this might turn out to be one of those long and winding kinds of roads since we're covering 5 weeks of material, so consider yourself forewarned (and we all know, to be forewarned is to be forearmed, whatever that means).
Estes Park: Part 1
When we arrived on the eve of May 31, it was raining. And it was cold. And for the next week-and-a-half, it rained quite a bit. And it was (for us desert dwellers) cold (by cold, I mean the highs each day were in the 50's and at night it dropped into the 30's and there was one afternoon when I looked out the cabin window and saw these weird white flaky things blowing around through the trees - which turned out to be snowflakes). So we spent a lot of time playing board games and reading and doing puzzles and cozying up around the fireplace. And then it warmed up just a bit on the day of the EP marathon (high in the mid-60's) which was actually pretty comfortable temperature-wise. And I have to say that it's kind of cool to run a marathon that only has 104 participants. For one thing, parking really isn't an issue. I drove down to town about 1/2 an hour before the race and was still one of the first people there. For another thing, the lines for the port-a-potties are really short. For a third thing, you're pretty much guaranteed to finish in the top 100 (I wound up 54th). And finally, there's not much of a pause between the starter saying, "Go!" and you crossing the start line. In fact, there really isn't a pause at all. They say, "Go!" and you go. Imagine that.
Estes Park: Part 2
Things started getting difficult, though, right after crossing the start line. I was running along at a decent clip, but for some reason (perhaps because we were at 7,500 feet?) I was finding it difficult to breathe. But I ignored that (which, in hindsight, probably wasn't such a great idea) and barrelled through the first two miles, then turned to head up a four-mile uphill stretch that led to the high point of the course (just a smidge over 8,100 feet). As before, it was tough to breathe, but I ignored that (which, in hindsight, probably wasn't such a great idea) because I was chugging along and starting to think, "Hey, maybe I can do a sub-four-hour marathon at altitude. Wouldn't that be cool?" And it all was okay to the top of the hill, when we veered to the right and headed back down towards town, at which point I figured I could pick up the pace a little bit since it wasn't so hard to breathe going downhill (which, in hindsight, probably wasn't such a great idea) and then we ran along a river for a couple of miles and I saw my cheering section at around mile ten (mom, Katie, Carrie, niece - plus Connor, who was not part of the cheering section because instead of cheering for his father, he was sitting in a chair moping rather than cheering, because this was the "most boring thing he'd ever had to do. Ever."). And my pace was still pretty good to that point, but I was starting to feel fatigued, and I knew I'd better start taking some walk breaks soon or I was going to be in trouble. So I decided to take a quick walk break every mile and see how that went, and it was okay as we circled around the lake and passed the halfway point, but then we had to head up another couple of quick hills and my legs were dead and I was doing a lot more walking than I'd planned on. But I still held onto my pace through mile 18, but at that point I was facing another two-mile uphill climb and I knew I was done. I just couldn't breathe well enough to run uphill anymore. So I decided that I was going to enjoy the scenery, enjoy the beautiful weather, and not worry about my time, and I walked the uphills and ran the flats or downhills for the final 8 miles and was really, really glad when I reached the finish line (though not as glad as Connor, who had been rolling on the ground, moaning things like, "Torture. This is torture," because he was so bored of waiting for his father to finish the race - my niece was also less than impressed with my performance, because she kept asking, "Why is Uncle Brian so slow? Why are so many people finishing ahead of him?"). So I finished with my worst time ever, and my diaphragm was cramping and I was more than a little dizzy and had to pause to catch my breath every fifth step when I walked back to the car with Katie, but other than that, it was a beautiful course and a beautiful day and there's nothing wrong with being humbled just a bit every now and again.
Estes Park: Part 3
We still had another week in EP and the weather got quite a bit nicer, though it was still fairly cool. But we managed to get in several hikes and saw lots and lots of snowdrifts on the trails and took Carrie up Flattop Mountain, which really had a lot of snow - so much that Carrie and I both had completely soaked feet by the end (on the other hand, Katie, thanks to her magical Gore-Tex boots, was completely dry - which she pointed out at least 27,000 times on the trip down the mountain). And then we piled back into the car at 3:30 in the morning and drove and drove and drove until we finally arrived back in the Old Pueblo, where it was (and still is) really, really hot.
Rockin' and Rollin'
However, after only two days back in the Old Pueblo, I got up at 3:30 in the morning and drove to the airport, boarded a plane, and flew to Seattle with my Team in Training group for the Seattle Rock 'n' Roll marathon. And the weather there was cloudy and pleasant (although on the day of the race it was nothing less than beautiful - not a cloud in the sky and temps in the mid-70's). Contrary to the EP marathon (which, as mentioned before, had 104 participants) this one had 25,000, so things were a little different at the starting area - as in, it was really, really crowded, and when the starter said, "Go!" the only people who "went" were the elite runners way up at the front of the pack, and everyone else kind of stood around until they called for the next group to move forward and said, "Go!" again, and that group "went" and we all shuffled forward about 50 feet, and so on until, about 20 minutes after the race had started, our corral reached the starting line, and this time when they said, "Go!" we finally "went" (but the other 20 corrals behind us were still shuffling and waiting). And then on the course, there were actually people all around. And not just one or two, but lots and lots of people all around. But it was all good, and everyone in our group managed to finish (with a combination of smiles and tears), and I put in a lot of miles (35) and was really tired by the time it was all done (and wore out a pair of shoes). And along the course there were beautiful views of Mt. Rainier (from the Lake Washington Bridge and with the stadiums in the foreground) and also of the Seattle skyline, Puget Sound, Lake Washington, etc.). And then we got back on the plane and flew back to Tucson, where it was (and still is) really, really hot.
Speaking of which…
Running during monsoon season in Tucson is really, really tough. Because it's a wet heat, and sweat doesn't evaporate when it's this wet, it just sits there on your skin and soaks into your clothes and drips into your eyes and makes it look like you just got out of the shower. Plus there are all these little bugs that like to swarm around after it rains, and when you run through them, they stick to the sweat on your arms and neck and face and legs and they get in your eyes and get trapped between your teeth, so that when you finish, you look like a really wet, sweaty person who's covered in bugs. So that was pretty much what my run was like this morning.
And finally
We finally decided to get a new car, and after much searching and dilly-dallying, we got a Toyota Prius. So we now have four vehicles parked in and around our home, which is pretty ridiculous (though we are planning on selling one as soon as we can find a buyer). When I drove the car home and showed it to the kids, the response was unanimous. "This car is way too nice for us," they said. And it probably is. It's not a rusty 1989 pickup truck. And it's not a soccer-mom mini-van. Plus, it's got automatic windows and locks. Yow.
All right, my fingers are cramping and my brain is numb, so until next time (which will be sooner than 5 weeks from now, I promise), may your skies remain blue (unless you're praying for rain), may your roads remain uncluttered, and may your batteries remain fully charged. Happy Birthday, America.
Question: How does one know when it's been a really long time since one posted an entry on one's website?
Answer: When one goes to log in and add an entry, one discovers that one has forgotten one's password and has to be reminded of what it is so one can log in and add one's latest entry. So one sends in a request via the magic of the internet, and there is a nearly instantaneous response which involves some kind of database, one has to imagine, along with some type of an automatic response system, and within (literally) 30 seconds, one receives a message in one's mailbox telling one what one's password is so that one can go ahead and log in and start posting. Pretty amazing stuff, wouldn't you say?
Anyway, this might turn out to be one of those long and winding kinds of roads since we're covering 5 weeks of material, so consider yourself forewarned (and we all know, to be forewarned is to be forearmed, whatever that means).
Estes Park: Part 1
When we arrived on the eve of May 31, it was raining. And it was cold. And for the next week-and-a-half, it rained quite a bit. And it was (for us desert dwellers) cold (by cold, I mean the highs each day were in the 50's and at night it dropped into the 30's and there was one afternoon when I looked out the cabin window and saw these weird white flaky things blowing around through the trees - which turned out to be snowflakes). So we spent a lot of time playing board games and reading and doing puzzles and cozying up around the fireplace. And then it warmed up just a bit on the day of the EP marathon (high in the mid-60's) which was actually pretty comfortable temperature-wise. And I have to say that it's kind of cool to run a marathon that only has 104 participants. For one thing, parking really isn't an issue. I drove down to town about 1/2 an hour before the race and was still one of the first people there. For another thing, the lines for the port-a-potties are really short. For a third thing, you're pretty much guaranteed to finish in the top 100 (I wound up 54th). And finally, there's not much of a pause between the starter saying, "Go!" and you crossing the start line. In fact, there really isn't a pause at all. They say, "Go!" and you go. Imagine that.
Estes Park: Part 2
Things started getting difficult, though, right after crossing the start line. I was running along at a decent clip, but for some reason (perhaps because we were at 7,500 feet?) I was finding it difficult to breathe. But I ignored that (which, in hindsight, probably wasn't such a great idea) and barrelled through the first two miles, then turned to head up a four-mile uphill stretch that led to the high point of the course (just a smidge over 8,100 feet). As before, it was tough to breathe, but I ignored that (which, in hindsight, probably wasn't such a great idea) because I was chugging along and starting to think, "Hey, maybe I can do a sub-four-hour marathon at altitude. Wouldn't that be cool?" And it all was okay to the top of the hill, when we veered to the right and headed back down towards town, at which point I figured I could pick up the pace a little bit since it wasn't so hard to breathe going downhill (which, in hindsight, probably wasn't such a great idea) and then we ran along a river for a couple of miles and I saw my cheering section at around mile ten (mom, Katie, Carrie, niece - plus Connor, who was not part of the cheering section because instead of cheering for his father, he was sitting in a chair moping rather than cheering, because this was the "most boring thing he'd ever had to do. Ever."). And my pace was still pretty good to that point, but I was starting to feel fatigued, and I knew I'd better start taking some walk breaks soon or I was going to be in trouble. So I decided to take a quick walk break every mile and see how that went, and it was okay as we circled around the lake and passed the halfway point, but then we had to head up another couple of quick hills and my legs were dead and I was doing a lot more walking than I'd planned on. But I still held onto my pace through mile 18, but at that point I was facing another two-mile uphill climb and I knew I was done. I just couldn't breathe well enough to run uphill anymore. So I decided that I was going to enjoy the scenery, enjoy the beautiful weather, and not worry about my time, and I walked the uphills and ran the flats or downhills for the final 8 miles and was really, really glad when I reached the finish line (though not as glad as Connor, who had been rolling on the ground, moaning things like, "Torture. This is torture," because he was so bored of waiting for his father to finish the race - my niece was also less than impressed with my performance, because she kept asking, "Why is Uncle Brian so slow? Why are so many people finishing ahead of him?"). So I finished with my worst time ever, and my diaphragm was cramping and I was more than a little dizzy and had to pause to catch my breath every fifth step when I walked back to the car with Katie, but other than that, it was a beautiful course and a beautiful day and there's nothing wrong with being humbled just a bit every now and again.
Estes Park: Part 3
We still had another week in EP and the weather got quite a bit nicer, though it was still fairly cool. But we managed to get in several hikes and saw lots and lots of snowdrifts on the trails and took Carrie up Flattop Mountain, which really had a lot of snow - so much that Carrie and I both had completely soaked feet by the end (on the other hand, Katie, thanks to her magical Gore-Tex boots, was completely dry - which she pointed out at least 27,000 times on the trip down the mountain). And then we piled back into the car at 3:30 in the morning and drove and drove and drove until we finally arrived back in the Old Pueblo, where it was (and still is) really, really hot.
Rockin' and Rollin'
However, after only two days back in the Old Pueblo, I got up at 3:30 in the morning and drove to the airport, boarded a plane, and flew to Seattle with my Team in Training group for the Seattle Rock 'n' Roll marathon. And the weather there was cloudy and pleasant (although on the day of the race it was nothing less than beautiful - not a cloud in the sky and temps in the mid-70's). Contrary to the EP marathon (which, as mentioned before, had 104 participants) this one had 25,000, so things were a little different at the starting area - as in, it was really, really crowded, and when the starter said, "Go!" the only people who "went" were the elite runners way up at the front of the pack, and everyone else kind of stood around until they called for the next group to move forward and said, "Go!" again, and that group "went" and we all shuffled forward about 50 feet, and so on until, about 20 minutes after the race had started, our corral reached the starting line, and this time when they said, "Go!" we finally "went" (but the other 20 corrals behind us were still shuffling and waiting). And then on the course, there were actually people all around. And not just one or two, but lots and lots of people all around. But it was all good, and everyone in our group managed to finish (with a combination of smiles and tears), and I put in a lot of miles (35) and was really tired by the time it was all done (and wore out a pair of shoes). And along the course there were beautiful views of Mt. Rainier (from the Lake Washington Bridge and with the stadiums in the foreground) and also of the Seattle skyline, Puget Sound, Lake Washington, etc.). And then we got back on the plane and flew back to Tucson, where it was (and still is) really, really hot.
Speaking of which…
Running during monsoon season in Tucson is really, really tough. Because it's a wet heat, and sweat doesn't evaporate when it's this wet, it just sits there on your skin and soaks into your clothes and drips into your eyes and makes it look like you just got out of the shower. Plus there are all these little bugs that like to swarm around after it rains, and when you run through them, they stick to the sweat on your arms and neck and face and legs and they get in your eyes and get trapped between your teeth, so that when you finish, you look like a really wet, sweaty person who's covered in bugs. So that was pretty much what my run was like this morning.
And finally
We finally decided to get a new car, and after much searching and dilly-dallying, we got a Toyota Prius. So we now have four vehicles parked in and around our home, which is pretty ridiculous (though we are planning on selling one as soon as we can find a buyer). When I drove the car home and showed it to the kids, the response was unanimous. "This car is way too nice for us," they said. And it probably is. It's not a rusty 1989 pickup truck. And it's not a soccer-mom mini-van. Plus, it's got automatic windows and locks. Yow.
All right, my fingers are cramping and my brain is numb, so until next time (which will be sooner than 5 weeks from now, I promise), may your skies remain blue (unless you're praying for rain), may your roads remain uncluttered, and may your batteries remain fully charged. Happy Birthday, America.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Reunions and Running
Lost and Found
As you may or may not know, depending on how faithfully you follow these on-line postings, several months ago we became the proud foster family for a pair of baby desert tortoises that we wound up naming Uno and Dos in honor of our Spanish heritage (our living-in-Tucson heritage, not our actual lineage, which is not Spanish, but is in fact Scottish (Katie) and German (me) and which would have led us to name the tortoises Yin and Twa or Ein and Zwei, depending on whose heritage we wanted to honor). We also named them Uno and Dos because it was catchy and clever (and the names Connor suggested were ridiculous and silly), which is often the goal when coming up with names for animals, although there is a school of thought that animals shouldn't be given names at all because it's confusing to small children who begin to think that animals are people when they're really not, so you should name a duck, Duck or a chicken, Chicken, or a guinea pig, Pig (which is generally what I call whatever guinea pig(s) happen to be residing with us at any given time). Anyhow, these two baby tortoises are very, very adorable because they're little tiny creatures - and because tortoises are kind of cool looking even when they're not little or tiny, and we quickly set about updating our tortoise den so it would be suitable for babies. This involved digging out all the dirt that our dearly-departed-and-still-greatly-missed tortoise, Albert John, had dug into the den, then adding some cinder blocks around the outside so it was enclosed, putting down a layer of pea-gravel, adding a wading pool and some landscaping, and then covering the whole thing in chicken wire so the big bad birds can't swoop in and grab our little critters. Needless to say, the end result was both aesthetically pleasing and practical, and any tortoise would be thrilled to move into such a high-class joint. And so, Uno and Dos moved in and promptly went into hibernation. Every once in awhile, we would check up on them just to see how they were doing, and they were doing just fine until one day about a month or so ago, Katie went out to check on them and discovered that, while we thought they were sleeping, the little imps had actually been cooking up an escape plan. I'm not sure when they did it, but the little sneaks were secretly burrowing under a boulder that made up one of the walls of the enclosure (not sure if they were sneaking out the dirt by carrying it in their pockets, then dumping it on the ground, but I wouldn't put it past them). So when Katie discovered this, she burrowed in after them, and to her dismay, only found one of the tortoises - ironically enough, the one tortoise she found was Uno. Which meant that Dos was missing. She immediately formed up a search party and we wandered around the backyard calling, "Dos, Dos. Wherefore art thou, Dos?" and whistling and making tortoise calling sounds, but much to our dismay, Dos was not to be found. So we fortified our enclosure to keep Uno from following Dos and hoped that Dos would somehow manage to survive in the wild. As stated before, that was about a month or so ago. Well, yesterday afternoon, Carrie was walking out into the backyard and who do you think she spotted sitting by the door? That's right, it was Dos. He was looking kind of scraggly and dirty, but his eyes were shining and he obviously had been having a fine old time wandering around who-knows-where and getting into all kinds of mischief. And so this story has a happy ending because Dos is now back at home with Uno, the enclosure should be escape-proof (we hope), and… okay, I guess there is no and, because that's it.
Living the High Life
Katie and I spent the weekend in Estes Park (Colorado) celebrating cousin Molly's nuptials. It always feels a little surreal to get on a plane in Tucson, where it's pushing 100 degrees, and then a little over an hour later to arrive in Denver, where it's most definitely not in the 100's. Anyway, I suppose the wedding was beautiful and all that junk, but the most important part of all this (okay, the most important part to me, which just goes to show where my priorities lie) was that it gave me a chance to run a goodly portion (18 miles) of the Estes Park Marathon route in preparation for the Estes Park Marathon which I'll be running in about three-and-a-half weeks, and I have to say that the course is absolutely breath-taking. Partly because it's spectacularly beautiful as you wind around lakes, follow mountain streams, gaze up a snow-capped peaks, and pass through and pine/aspen forests and alpine meadows where deer and elk are grazing, and partly/mostly because the elevation is between 7,500 and 8,100 feet, and there's not nearly as much oxygen at 7,500 to 8,100 feet as there is in the "Old Pueblo" (elevation around 2,500 feet) and it's especially breath-taking on the four-mile stretch that goes up from 7,500 feet 8,100 feet. So after huffing and puffing my way around the course, I'm pretty sure I'm not going to set any speed records during this event, which I was pretty much figuring going in, but I'm also pretty sure that this might wind up surpassing the Anchorage Marathon as my favorite and most scenic course.
That does it for this edition, so until next time may your pens remain filled with ink, may your words of wisdom be honored and obeyed, and may your wayward wanderers return safely home (unless you want them to stay away, in which case, I hope they stay away).
As you may or may not know, depending on how faithfully you follow these on-line postings, several months ago we became the proud foster family for a pair of baby desert tortoises that we wound up naming Uno and Dos in honor of our Spanish heritage (our living-in-Tucson heritage, not our actual lineage, which is not Spanish, but is in fact Scottish (Katie) and German (me) and which would have led us to name the tortoises Yin and Twa or Ein and Zwei, depending on whose heritage we wanted to honor). We also named them Uno and Dos because it was catchy and clever (and the names Connor suggested were ridiculous and silly), which is often the goal when coming up with names for animals, although there is a school of thought that animals shouldn't be given names at all because it's confusing to small children who begin to think that animals are people when they're really not, so you should name a duck, Duck or a chicken, Chicken, or a guinea pig, Pig (which is generally what I call whatever guinea pig(s) happen to be residing with us at any given time). Anyhow, these two baby tortoises are very, very adorable because they're little tiny creatures - and because tortoises are kind of cool looking even when they're not little or tiny, and we quickly set about updating our tortoise den so it would be suitable for babies. This involved digging out all the dirt that our dearly-departed-and-still-greatly-missed tortoise, Albert John, had dug into the den, then adding some cinder blocks around the outside so it was enclosed, putting down a layer of pea-gravel, adding a wading pool and some landscaping, and then covering the whole thing in chicken wire so the big bad birds can't swoop in and grab our little critters. Needless to say, the end result was both aesthetically pleasing and practical, and any tortoise would be thrilled to move into such a high-class joint. And so, Uno and Dos moved in and promptly went into hibernation. Every once in awhile, we would check up on them just to see how they were doing, and they were doing just fine until one day about a month or so ago, Katie went out to check on them and discovered that, while we thought they were sleeping, the little imps had actually been cooking up an escape plan. I'm not sure when they did it, but the little sneaks were secretly burrowing under a boulder that made up one of the walls of the enclosure (not sure if they were sneaking out the dirt by carrying it in their pockets, then dumping it on the ground, but I wouldn't put it past them). So when Katie discovered this, she burrowed in after them, and to her dismay, only found one of the tortoises - ironically enough, the one tortoise she found was Uno. Which meant that Dos was missing. She immediately formed up a search party and we wandered around the backyard calling, "Dos, Dos. Wherefore art thou, Dos?" and whistling and making tortoise calling sounds, but much to our dismay, Dos was not to be found. So we fortified our enclosure to keep Uno from following Dos and hoped that Dos would somehow manage to survive in the wild. As stated before, that was about a month or so ago. Well, yesterday afternoon, Carrie was walking out into the backyard and who do you think she spotted sitting by the door? That's right, it was Dos. He was looking kind of scraggly and dirty, but his eyes were shining and he obviously had been having a fine old time wandering around who-knows-where and getting into all kinds of mischief. And so this story has a happy ending because Dos is now back at home with Uno, the enclosure should be escape-proof (we hope), and… okay, I guess there is no and, because that's it.
Living the High Life
Katie and I spent the weekend in Estes Park (Colorado) celebrating cousin Molly's nuptials. It always feels a little surreal to get on a plane in Tucson, where it's pushing 100 degrees, and then a little over an hour later to arrive in Denver, where it's most definitely not in the 100's. Anyway, I suppose the wedding was beautiful and all that junk, but the most important part of all this (okay, the most important part to me, which just goes to show where my priorities lie) was that it gave me a chance to run a goodly portion (18 miles) of the Estes Park Marathon route in preparation for the Estes Park Marathon which I'll be running in about three-and-a-half weeks, and I have to say that the course is absolutely breath-taking. Partly because it's spectacularly beautiful as you wind around lakes, follow mountain streams, gaze up a snow-capped peaks, and pass through and pine/aspen forests and alpine meadows where deer and elk are grazing, and partly/mostly because the elevation is between 7,500 and 8,100 feet, and there's not nearly as much oxygen at 7,500 to 8,100 feet as there is in the "Old Pueblo" (elevation around 2,500 feet) and it's especially breath-taking on the four-mile stretch that goes up from 7,500 feet 8,100 feet. So after huffing and puffing my way around the course, I'm pretty sure I'm not going to set any speed records during this event, which I was pretty much figuring going in, but I'm also pretty sure that this might wind up surpassing the Anchorage Marathon as my favorite and most scenic course.
That does it for this edition, so until next time may your pens remain filled with ink, may your words of wisdom be honored and obeyed, and may your wayward wanderers return safely home (unless you want them to stay away, in which case, I hope they stay away).
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