Apres debate top ten (I had to write something, didn't I?)

1. I have a sinus headache from the Serge Lutens Arabie. My hands are dried out from trying to scrub it off. I like it, but my sinuses do not.

(You may be thinking, um, I thought she was going to write about the debate.)

2. At the one hour mark, they should have wrapped it up. I was bored, and I actually like debates, as painful as they may be. (Maybe that's why I started the post with a comment about Arabie)

3. What are the undecided voters looking for? One of these guys to come up with the most awesome noone's ever thought of it before perfect ultimate solution for everything?

4. If a candidate does go into serious detail about anything, whether it be the economy or the war, they'll sound so wonky that this debate will seem like a blockbuster action movie. The other problem is that there's no instant fact checker or on-screen calculator to tell us, the unwashed masses, whether either one is saying something that's true or even accurate. So, we guess at who's more sincere or more likely to be lying and that, my fellow Americans, is based on image, more than substance. Of course, we need to be more informed, but there's a limit. That's why there are experts.

5. I would have liked to have seen McCain tell Obama, to his face, what his ads are saying (and he approves those messages). It was too civil, considering what's really going on. The only time the mask fell away was when McCain called Obama "that one". I was taken aback, and I'm not all that sensitive.

6. Boy, it was really boring.

7. Okay, anyone who's read this blog knows I'm biased towards Obama, but really, John McCain, you can't have it both ways, talking about experience and your voting record. You stated, unequivocably that "We don't have time for on-the-job training, my friends". How can a person who picked Palin as a running mate say any of this with a straight face?

8. McCain said we need a "steady hand at the tiller" twice. His judgment in this campaign has not been that of a man with a steady hand. See #6, above. When asked about prioritizing, he said he could do three things at once, but he couldn't run his campaign while dealing the the bail-out (rescue), and so he "suspended his campaign". McCain, get your story straight.

9. I feel badly about this. I once liked John McCain. I even voted for him (well, it was only a primary, but still).

10. I'm not so sure those undecided voters are undecided. Maybe they just want to be polled or get on TV.

Bonus #11. I think we all need to read more history. One reason that debate was boring is because the questions were so generic.

Painting note: John Trumbull The Declaration of Independence 1795
I was looking for a good old painting of politicians debating, but got tired. But hey, the point is the same: every person in this painting is Christian, white and male.

Markov chain "poetry" number three

The old down coat
with a heating pad, too.

It’s not going to get hot enough.

That’s poverty.

When we
could use a landslide.


Note: I used the same rules as before.

Open letter to a stranger

Last night I noticed that my blog had a new "follower". I went to find out who it was. I read this person's blog, which was new.

I read, and I heard sadness and pain. Being me, I felt obligated to leave a comment. And being me, I felt obligated to leave a message that contained some hope.

I prefaced it with the comment, "I hope I don't sound preachy. . ." And perhaps I did sound preachy, but I meant no harm, not in the least.

Today, I checked in with this blog and saw there was a new post, which sounded even more sad. There was a comment in the post about people preaching instead of caring. I wondered if that was in response to what I wrote, but I brushed that thought aside, thinking, "Hey, it's not all about me!"

So, I left another message. Then I got an error message. I hit the back button and saw that the blog no longer existed. Hitting my back button again, I wound up at the screen where I saw who my "followers" are, and saw this person was gone. The blog was gone, and (s)he was gone.

I feel badly about this. Very. Whoever you are, I meant you only the best, from my heart. I know how it feels to think noone cares. I know how it feels to be lonely.

But I'm not young, and this makes some difference. And because I'm not young, I'm bound to come off preachy at times. I feel maternal towards people who are much younger than I - it's natural, I suppose. But, I'm like that towards my friends when they're hurting, too. One wants to point out what's good, because there are things (and people) that are good. There are.

It's hard to see that when we're hurting. It's easy to see everything and everyone as all good or all bad.

See - I'm preaching right now. It is wrong?

Whoever you are, I hope you're reading this out of curiosity, and I want to tell you this: I'm sorry. I thought I was doing what's right, but I don't know you, do I? We make these mistakes in real life, saying or doing things for others that we wish someone would do for us, but it isn't always what the other person wants. And when it's on the Web, well, it's even easier to make these kinds of mistakes.

I hope, whoever you are, that if you're reading this, you'll put up another blog. I promise I won't butt in.

Image note: Now seemed like a good time for Egon Schiele, who, for me, captures angst better than just about anyone.

"E-mail the author"

I discovered today that I've never received any e-mail from the "e-mail the author" link at the bottom of the posts. By the time you read this, that link may be gone. However, you can now "e-mail the author" through my profile page. Hope to hear from you!

They didn't even bother to add, "Ask your doctor"

History that isn't ancient

For all of you who aren't political junkies like myself, I wanted to provide this link: In Virginia, the bluegrass legend Ralph Stanley does a radio ad for Obama.

Hearing this ad is refreshing. The McCain campaign is ramping up its attack ads, and I hear that the Obama camp will probably do the same, though perhaps without so much venom. I hope they don't counter-attack, but hey, that's politics. I think most folks are truly sick of these kinds of politics, but I would venture to guess that I'm not the best judge of this. I don't think it's weak to not respond to verbal attacks. It's aikido of the mind.

The Ralph Stanley ad also touches me. I almost felt choked up. I'm going to say something about the "not to be mentioned topic": race. Hearing a white country music hero (and he is great) endorsing a black man for President is something that feels momentous. Is this hyperbole? I think not.

Slavery ended 145 years ago. That's not a lot of time, historically speaking.

Another number to think about: Women did not have the right to vote until 1920. That was only 88 years ago!

Painting note: Benjamin Robert Hayden William Smeal addressing the Anti-Slavery Society 1841

Image of the day

Since the last two posts had no images at the top, I felt obligated to post one. This is apropos of absolutely nothing. Well, that's not totally accurate. I intentionally led myself down the rabbit hole of the Web, following odd links and unknown languages, until I found this photograph. I don't know why it stopped my search (but I didn't know what I was looking for). The model is wearing a 1912 Paul Poiret gown. When did women start adopting this exact pose? I think that's a question someone needs to answer!

Perfume note: I am in love with Frapin 1270. According to Frapin the notes are "exotic woods, spice, raisin, vine flowers, pepper, candied orange, nut, hazelnut, prune, cocoa, coffee, leather, woods, white honey, vanilla." Rather a redundant list, what with both nut and hazelnut, exotic woods and (plain ol' regular?) woods. Well, no matter. I adore this scent. It's first blast is intoxicating. The drydown is a bit of a dissapointment after the richness of the opening, but I still like it, and like it a lot, which is truly bizarre, since it smells of patchouli with a hint of vanilla. I've hated patchouli, since, well, forever.

Addendum: In light of the post above, I thought I'd add this: This woman did not have the right to vote. So, I exhort you, whoever you are, whether you're for McCain, Obama, Ron Paul, Nader or want to write your cousin's name on the ballot, get out there and vote!

Bitter at the root: more fun with Markov

I'm fascinated with subjecting my text to the Markov Text Synthesizer. I took the same text from yesterday and subjected it to four more runs through the engine. It still reads about the same, but the grammar becomes a mess.

I like good grammar!

I spent a good deal of time today playing with this. It produces a lot of total garbage. But, what interests me is that if there is a subtext in the text, it still comes through. It's the essence of the stream of consciousness spew, stew or whatever one wants to call it.

I don't like absurdity for the sake of it. But I want to play the game fairly and not change the grammar or eliminate words from the product. So, when the text becomes so garbled that there's nothing left but its essence, it winds up like this (and again, the only way I rearranged the text is visually, not the order or the tense):

It was all this:

Regret.
Will.

I can not let myself
lapse into bitterness.

Markov chain generated "poetry"

Oh sure, I’m exactly like me
I wrote I was a bitter old women, didn’t I?

I feel the sadness of the time.

(I do bring their wives flowers for no reason
or gaze at them after twenty five years
with absolute
adoration.)

I never thought I hated it
I never thought I am.

It doesn’t change
It doesn’t change the first place.

I just wrote a bit
romantic.

Does it mean something or not? Is it any "good"? I don't know those answers. I do know I enjoyed creating it, for it was not entirely random. First, I wrote very quickly, in stream of consciousness (yes, even more than I normally do!) Then, I subjected the text to chopping. I recycled it four times. I was surprised how little it changed as it moved further away from the original. The topic wouldn't go away, for one thing. The only thing that I did as an editor of the text was to look at the final product, find a passage that I thought looked like it held together and then re-set it so it reads better, but I did not change a word.

Language, butchered

Here's a link that may be hard to pass up:InterviewPalin.com, which uses a Markov text generator to convert Palin's actual words into new text(and if you click this last link, good luck to you, unless you're a high level mathematician).

I'm not posting this to be snarky to Palin. I find this type of thing very interesting. If you look at my links list, you'll see "Chat with Jolie Kleine Praten", which is my neglected web bot. Last winter, I got interested in Artificial Intelligence Markup Language because of the fantastic "conversation" I was having with Celia Gray, the late great Dr. Stein, and the Mirror over at the Websafe Times (also on my links list, but I'm making it easy on you).

The "aim" of good AIML programming is to make the conversation seem as natural as possible. The Markov text generators don't do this, but they certainly produce interesting results. I put two posts about body image into the Markov text synthesizer at Beetleinabox and got this:

I was already quite "other", I played it up. I instituted this new eating policy in the world. But, it did not work. I have limp brown shoulder length hair. Ugh.I was anorexic for a boy. And for someone like me, who doesn't feel all that gendered, this feels almost as strange as wearing a sleeveless latex top and a friend's teenage daughter said to me, "Are you really going into the restaurant dressed like that?!" Yes, I was living alone Monday through Friday and share meals with Dick and friends on the weekends unless something special came up. I wore stiletto boots or Doc Martens. And not only was I blind to the person engaging in them?
I did not know. Sure, I had lost my butt. My hip bones stuck out so far that I have limp brown shoulder length hair. Ugh.
I loved it when I became middle aged, I'd develop a huge ass just like his sisters, so I thought. And when I cinch in the world. But, it did not work. I have no idea if this is an important topic. Weight and size are huge issues for women, and theses issues, in my family was thin in their eyes. "Where did you put that?", someone said, with the afterthought, "Aren't you full??!"
I am overweight and everything looks like crap on me. I assume that by your reading of my experiences and feelings. I may be big, but I'm nowhere near a size 6 is not such a big deal. I was a bunch of nonsense. How could alcoholics, drug addicts, anorexics and all the sense in the world. But, it did not work. I have a size 38! I've always been thin when I hit the double digit number of 10 and decided to eat like I was sick! Now, the fisherman whom I worked in a hurry while fighting sleep. I think many people projected their sexual fantasies upon me. It didn't help that I write about myself instead of writing theoretically. I may wind up taking down this post in a tattoo shop and because of this, I came up with a strategy, not a speck left. Once, I went shopping, I could not turn off these sorts of thoughts.

To me, that was not only interesting, but absolutely fascinating. I played around with this interface for nearly an hour. Setting the field "word groupings" to 2 makes it sound more coherent than the default. Try it and have fun. Now, you too, can write like Brion Gysin.

Painting note: Didn't mean to use Brueghel yet again, but it's the best painting of the "Tower of Babel" that I could find.

Addendum: I'm still playing with that program. I had to share this with you, for it is random - I kid you not:

We go about our everyday business, like washing clothes, with the expectation that we must make sense out of nonsense or adversity. It's not that it's been given to us for a reason. It's that we might be wearing them tomorrow.

Collecting rocks

Last week the girls next door were in my house. One of them was at the computer, e-mailing her summer camp friends. The other one had nothing to do, so I showed her my rock collection. She asked me,"Why did you pick this one?" And so, I told her exactly why I picked many of the rocks, what is was that I looked for that made it a "collection", and what made some particularly special to me. I didn't think much of this.

Later that day, she and her friend knocked on my door. "Come outside", she said, in an excited tone. On my table, outdoors, was a big collection of rocks. They had spent the entire afternoon looking (and collecting) rocks! She wanted to give them all to me, but I said "Why don't you keep them yourself?" and "Maybe your friend would like some."

The friend seemed awestruck. "Can I really have one?", she said. I told her she could have as many as she wanted, but she seemed too shy to accept more than one, as if I was giving her a really big present. She picked one small stone. My neighbor said, "But I thought you liked this one!" as she pointed to another small mottled gray stone. "Well, I do, but. . ." I had to argue, "Take it! C'mon!"

And so, both girls went away with a few small treasures. I still have a pile of rocks on my table outside.

Later on, I thought about this and realized just how special it was. In a fairly recent post I mentioned that I collected rocks when I was a kid and that I still do. It later occurred to me how important it was to show kids that there are precious things that don't have to be purchased. A simple walk through the woods can yield enormous treasures - beautiful leaves, seed pods, old bird's nests, lichens (with which you can dye things!) - the list goes on and on.

Sadly, it seems that this type of activity is yet another one of those things, like drawing pictures, that people put away when they become grown-ups, unless one has some sort of specialist's reason for doing it. So, many kids think that the really good stuff is the stuff that adults go out and buy, and that they have little access to.

And whydo we stop encouraging kids to draw and play instruments once they get near puberty? Ah, yes, one mustn't waste one's time on anything that one isn't exceptional at. At around the age of 12, this society starts to impose it's "get thee into a box" mentality on kids. What a shame.

Photo note: Some of my rock collection.

And yes, I'm still blogging.

I betcha, gosh darn it, that some women are secretly angry

This, from Rich Lowry at the National Review:

"I'm sure I'm not the only male in America who, when Palin dropped her first wink, sat up a little straighter on the couch and said, "Hey, I think she just winked at me." And her smile. By the end, when she clearly knew she was doing well, it was so sparkling it was almost mesmerizing. It sent little starbursts through the screen and ricocheting around the living rooms of America. This is a quality that can't be learned; it's either something you have or you don't, and man, she's got it."

This breaks my heart. Seriously. To all you hard working Republican women politicians who have toiled away in what must be hell and who have hammered away at that glass ceiling (a term I have never used until just now), I bet you are very angry in secret.

Palin proves that sex appeal trumps knowledge any day of the week. Just what many of us women have known all along, but it sucks seeing it right up in our faces.

Image note: Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec Ces Dames au réfectotie 1893
I only picked this because I said to myself, "What would these women think?" I had to have a good laugh when I discovered what the English translation of the title is: The ladies in the brothel dining room!

And I'm still putting these links on here, no matter how unused they are. So there!

To blog or not to blog

Fact one: I should be studying, not blogging.

Fact two: There are estimated to be approximately 70 million blogs worldwide, according to the Blog Herald.

Sort of a fact three: "Your loyal readers are the ones you service on a regular basis and if you can’t connect with them by giving them what they want, need, and rely upon, your post missed the connection." This, from the above mentioned Blog Herald.

I have no idea why anyone who is a regular reader of this blog comes back for more. I know that I get a lot of hits because of the few and far between tattoo entries, but those folks do not come back.

Conventional blog wisdom says this type of blog is doomed to failure, and I am beginning to understand why. Even I am getting tired of my rambling.

I also thought that I was doing some kind of service (ha! ha! ha!) by posting images of paintings that most people would never get to see otherwise, and providing links that could be followed with interest. But I know that noone clicks these links.

I also contended that being "interested in everything" was some kind of hedge against depression, but I sure haven't proved that one, have I?

So, as Freud might have asked, "What do blog readers want?" I ask periodically, but this time it's feeling more vital.

I'm starting to think that I could serve people best by posing questions, making suggestions (such as the time I said "go out and look at nature today"), and posting open-ended crafts project instructions.

In the format I presently have, you may land here and read a Palin-bashing rant (I couldn't hold it in any longer!) or you may read a perfume review. This is a super-specialized world - heck, there's a magazine for everything. I saw one today for people who made clothing for stuffed dolls.

This is a diary of sorts, open for all the world to see, but unless I want to push a cult of personality (and I doubt that's going to happen), how far can that go?

Please, help me out and give this all some thought (and get back to me, okay?)

Image note: From the Historic Iowa Children's Diaries Digital Collection. C'mon: click a link! It's good for you!

Cranky and trite pseudo-analysis of Palin, post debate

I couldn't believe that I was thinking "Now I can't wear my hair like that any more". But it's true. I've been growing my hair long to wear it in an updo, or a modern bouffant (a tame version of Amy Winehouse), and now I'm thinking "I don't want to look like Palin." What will I do?!

And, I can't believe that she winked. If a man winked at the camera, how well do you think that would go over? It is impossible for me to conceive that any woman watching could relate to her, but I suppose there's a lot of ex-cheerleader types out there.

I heard a woman on TV say "she's just like me." Sorry, anonymous woman, Palin is not at all like you. She's running for the second highest office in the United States and, really, should be held to a higher standard than, well, you, whoever you are.

Did Palin really dismiss everyone who lives on the east coast? Yes she did!

At one point, I said to Dick, "Do you think she's on speed?"

If you are sensitive to foul language, please skip the following:

At one point, I said to Dick, "Joe Six Pack is probably coming in his pants right about now." What point was that? Probably one of the countless times she scrunched up her nose in that cutesy way, followed by a hard as nails soundbite.

I don't like any of the candidates trotting out their families, but puh-leeze, seeing her with her baby, yet again. . .a living prop. And her husband - now he is the one who looks like a deer caught in the headlights. Who told him to keep a perpetual five o'clock shadow? I feel sorry for him. I can't place why. Maybe, in spite of her sexy/smart thang, I see her as far more emasculating than even Hillary Clinton. She's sort of the Lil Kim of politics. Seriously.

Am I being bitchy? Yes. It's not something that I usually indulge in or feel. Wait: just because I'm a woman doesn't mean I'm being bitchy. I am so offended by Palin it is painful. There's a need to kid around about it some.

With all the qualified women on the Right, McCain picks her. It can only be about seduction. I find it impossible to believe anyone says she is "real" or "sincere". At one point I said to Dick, "She reminds me of the women who stand next to new cars, but with a voice."

Gotta love Dick 'cause he said at least twice, "I hate her!" I ought to ask him to explain, but I was just enjoying his disapproval, since he's a man.

I was seriously offended when she didn't respond to the fact that Joe Biden choked up. It was as if he wasn't even there. What if he had said something that implied she had no problems in her family and she had gotten choked up? He would have been seen as a bully. And if he had ignored that it had happened, he would have been seen as a heartless son-of-a-bitch. But she can get away with it. It hurt to watch.

Her rah-rah America mini-speeches made me want to gag. This is the kind of faux patriotism that makes me feel badly about "my" country. It stuns me that people respond to this crap. But then again, it stuns other people that anyone responds to Obama's version of the same thing.

Once again, I am reminded of what a divided nation we live in. It seems that there are very few people who are not polarized on one side or the other (though there are plenty who don't give a damn). But when I look at the polling maps, I see it: Yep, the Northeast coasts are blue, the West coast is blue and then there's the northern middle states (and some people do call Chicago the "third coast").

I see the maps, with all that red in them, and wonder how on earth Obama can win. Then I realize how low the population density is in the states where he's not strong and remember that it's all about rural vs. city. Why don't more country folks feel offended by being winked at and talked to like they are idiots?

Okay, I let myself be mean spirited. I just had to. Anyway, my September vow is over 'cause it's October.

Painting note: Joshua Reynolds The Ladies Waldegrave 1780-81
Big hair in the 18th century! A solution to my hair crisis?

Some reasons I am afraid

I can only marvel:

Couric: What other Supreme Court decisions do you disagree with?

Palin: Well, let's see. There's, of course in the great history of America there have been rulings, that's never going to be absolute consensus by every American. And there are those issues, again, like Roe v. Wade, where I believe are best held on a state level and addressed there. So you know, going through the history of America, there would be others but ...

This wasn't an evasion. It was an attempt at an explanation and it was gibberish. I'm not picking on Palin. I am stating the obvious.

I want to be "fair" and not treat Palin as a joke, partly because I made that decision to try not to be a jerk, but also because this is serious. It is elitist to just laugh at her and what's more, it's a mistake. People do like her and it's important to understand why. She should also not be underestimated. Just because she garbles sentences doesn't mean she's an idiot. And don't forget that this country elected George W. Bush twice.

I realized earlier today that she scares me, and this is a good reason why I can't just ignore her.

Right now, I'm struggling for words. I can admit that (but I'm not running for office). I had thought that with the nomination of McCain, we were finally putting the ascendency of the religious right behind us. I truly believed he was a man of the middle, hawkish indeed, but not one to put justices like Scalia on the Supreme Court. Finally, even if there was a Republican in the White House, the forces that are pressuring this country to move towards fully embracing the idea that we are a Christian nation would recede.

But no, McCain picks Palin, who is anti-choice and believes that creationism is a theory as good as any science. These are religious opinions, not political ones.

So, why should this scare me? On a personal level, it will affect me not at all, for I neither have children or the spector of an unwanted pregnancy. Now, people ask me that; why I should be so bothered when it won't affect me, and I feel that shows a terrible view of how we live in this society. I do believe "it takes a village to raise a child" and what affects one of us affects us all.

Besides that, I would have to say that being a non-Christian has much to do with all of this. I am of Jewish heritage and grew up amongst people who had been survivors of the Holocaust. And even if there had been no Holocaust, my ancestors had been driven from their villages or killed for generations. I heard (and not just from my family) of how even those who had left religion behind, who lived in Vienna or Berlin, were scientists and intellectuals, well, both public and personal history has shown us what happened. One day you are living a decent life and the next you are considered scum and sentenced to extinction. And though I am painting this picture with a very broad brush, what was the reason? The economy was lousy and Christian morals were being flaunted in the cities of the elites.

Sound familar? That is why it scares me. It sounds altogether too familiar to me. Do I believe that a Hitler will rise again here in America? No. But I do believe that the movement we've seen towards a soft theocracy is a real danger.

I'll leave it at that. Earlier today, I was asking myself "Why can't you be more fun?" I was looking at Elizabeth's Dougherty's new book "Amigurumi!: Super Happy Crochet Cute" and her photos on Flickr. In the last few days, as I've perused many knit and crochet blogs, I kept encountering page after page of happy, colorful and productive people and their projects. A voice inside my head was yelling "What's wrong with you? Lighten up!"

Well, I can, but it's getting harder each day. This country is in rough shape. The whole world is. I can't pretend it's not so. I suppose it could be seen as hip and ironic to produce such cutesy fun stuff in the midst of all of this, and perhaps it's even healthy (and I bet it is, come to think of it), but hell, I suppose it's not in my genes. Seriously.

Addendum: I had meant to include this: Thinking about the last post, where I ruminate on Palin's inability to name even one magazine or newspaper that she reads, I realized that my reaction was very much due to my upbringing. I was brought up with one good belief - that education, and an end to illiteracy and ignorance would usher in more progressive and enlightened behavior and beliefs. I was told, in jest, that I should never trust the residents of a book-less house. And the thing is, I don't. And I certainly don't want a vice-president who is as uninterested in informing herself as Bush Jr. Both show disdain for readers, in fact. I know plenty of hunters who are also intelligent and informed people, who do, in fact, read.
Image note: This is one of Elizabeth D's amigurumi. These things really are a lot of fun to look at. I want to make one, but I think I'll stick to knitting and spinning my plain Jane natural wool.

A (sort of) unapologetic post about Palin

This is not political analysis. If I'm being judgmental, point it out to me. I don't think I am. When I watched the following on TV, my mouth was hanging open:

COURIC: And when it comes to establishing your world view, I was curious, what newspapers and magazines did you regularly read before you were tapped for this — to stay informed and to understand the world?

PALIN: I’ve read most of them again with a great appreciation for the press, for the media —

COURIC: But what ones specifically? I’m curious.

PALIN: Um, all of them, any of them that have been in front of me over all these years.

The McCain camp thinks this is yet another "gotcha!" question. No, it's a very simple question. The fact that Palin needs to sidestep this one boggles my mind.

Why couldn't she answer this? If she had, I wouldn't be wondering why she needed to evade it. So, now I have to ask - did she:
a.)Never read any magazines or newspapers?
b.)Think that whatever she has read would be too embarassing to mention?
c.)Think that being informed is a waste of time?
d.)Truly believe she's read "all of them"?

I've got a coffee table in front of me right now with many unread magazines on it. I am unafraid to tell you what's there: Newsweek, The New Yorker, The Smithsonian, National Geographic, Yoga Journal, Wine Spectator, Interweave Knits and Piecework.

C'mon, why couldn't she answer this question? If she really doesn't read, she should state why. Some people don't. They're busy. They get others to tell 'em what's up. George W. Bush is unapologetic about this. Perhaps Palin was told, "Don't sound like Bush, whatever you do!"

Evasion is never a good tactic. It only raises questions, as in this case, where I never would have believed I'd be ruminating about what Palin reads or doesn't.

I do think it's highly important for a world leader to be more informed than the average citizen. That's another reason why this particular exchange scares me.

I don't think it's wrong for me to point this out. I'm not making fun of Palin, nor calling her any names.

Painting note:Rik Wooters (this link is in Dutch) 1882-1916

Here's a webpage devoted to paintings of women reading (where I found the Rik Wooters painting). Interesting collection, to say the least.

I had to do this at some point, right?

List courtesy of TMC's Return to Rural blog:

My favourite age: Like the stone age or something? Nah. 38 was a good one.
My best friend(s): The rose-breasted grosbeaks that return to my garden year after year.
My celebrity crush: Matthew Gray Gubler (Dr. Reid on Criminal Minds)
My defining characteristic: I have no idea.
My most evil moment: In the 11th grade, I convinced a cheerful girl that life was meaningless and she started to cry.
My favourite food: A really good charbroiled hamburger with bacon, cheese, lettuce and mayonnaise.
My grossest injury: I kneeled on an upholstery needle and it got sucked into my knee, broke into three pieces and one piece was holding my skin up like a tent. Wasn't so much gross as weird.
My biggest hatred: I'm mostly sad over things or people that might be "hated".
My most illegal activity: Recently? We lit a roman candle. And the sheriff showed up! We are big time criminals over here.
My need for justice: Do I ever think of justice? Nope. Good topic for discussion!
My most knowledgeable field: I'm the poster child for the expression "Jack of all trades, master of none."
My life’s goal: Um.
My mother’s influence: Enjoying picking out clothes for other people.
My nerdiest point: Going to the first Star Trek convention.
My oldest memory: My mother bathing me in the kitchen sink.
My perfect date: It's too late for this to ever happen (sniffle sniffle) but I would have liked a man to meet me at the door with a bouquet of roses, just once in this lifetime! And y'know what? I would have liked to have been given jewelry during the dessert course. Yep, I have some unmet old-fashioned "Hollywood" chick flick desires.
My unanswered question: What is the purpose of life?
My random fact: Loons can't take off from anything but water.
My stupidest decision: In retrospect, all my decisions look stupid.
My favourite television show: Past or present? Hmmm. Star Trek Voyager may be the winner.
My style of underwear: Grandma style, but in black.
My favourite vegetable: Asparagus.
My weakest trait: Sloth.
My X-Men Power: Never mind the X-Men. I want: immortality, perfect health, the ability to change gender at will and a metabolism that allows me to eat anything without gaining weight.
My strongest yearning: To see the world.
My moment of Zen: Realizing that there is no such thing as a moment of Zen.

Photo note: I love kitsch signs. This one is from Austin, Texas, and I hear the restaurant is quite good (if you like that type of thing). I do.

Baby teeth

Did you know that baby teeth are called "deciduous teeth"? I didn't. I asked Dick, "why do we have baby teeth?" and he googled it. The answer to this question is not known for sure. I suppose it's not that important to know why. What is important? Brushing and flossing!

After discovering that this blog received the lowest amount of visitors ever today, I figured I'd start a new entry with an incredibly exciting piece of useless information. After all, "everything is interesting", isn't it?

I did want to know why we have baby teeth. I remember the exact places where I lost some of my baby teeth and how it felt. I loved worrying those loose teeth with my tongue. It hurt, but it felt interesting, too. It's interesting to have such a strong memory of a sensation - where does one feel the memory? I can feel the sensation in my mind of a tooth ripping from the gum, just slightly, and the taste of blood in my mouth. My mother told me not to play with those teeth, and that I should let them fall out in their own good time, but it was just too tempting, just like when I've chipped a tooth as an adult, my tongue tip always wants to poke itself into that new space. What exactly is that urge?

Memories are fascinating things. They can be elusive or vivid, accurate or just plain wrong. They can be ever present in our minds or forgotten.

I remember losing a tooth at the Heinz pavilion of the World's Fair in Queens, New York. I was given a whistle in the shape of a pickle by a woman who was there. Wow!

I don't remember much of the years that I was in the 8th, 9th or 10th grades. Did nothing happen? I doubt that highly. Unfortunately, I suspect that those years were so awful that they are just a haze. It isn't that they were so long ago (which they were), for if I can recall perfectly losing a tooth in 1964, it would stand to reason I'd remember something that happened ten years later. But, no.

I bet you can remember losing at least one of your baby teeth, no matter how old you are. Anyone have a good story? Hardly anyone is reading this today, so I have a feeling there will be no responses, but I'm asking anyway.

The stats tell me that if I write about McCain, Palin, a celebrity,or Salvador Dali (who people seem to google quite frequently, for reasons I don't understand and should look into), I will get more hits. They also tell me that if I don't stay on topic, the people who've arrived here will bounce away quickly.

Oh well. I can't conform to the standards of good web traffic. It figures. I can't seem to conform to anything properly! More on that another time.

Image note: I didn't know there was a movie called "The Tooth Fairy". Looks pretty scary! I never thought the tooth fairy was anyone but my mother. I got twenty five cents for a tooth. I have no idea what they are going for these days.

Note: If you want to read a solid editorial on McCain, I suggest this. As I have criticism of the Palin pick, because I do not think she is qualified to hold so high an office in government, I will hold myself to the same standards and stick to writing about things like memories of losing baby teeth.

Once upon a time, with sheep

Once upon a time, I had this fantasy: I would move to Northern New England, raise sheep, spin their wool and weave blankets on a 19th century loom (and I'd make a living at it).

Well, I did all of that, except for the part in parentheses.

It's been quite a while, but I miss those sheep. Getting up with the sunrise and tending to the animals, though sometimes a chore, was mostly a pleasure. I'm not looking back with rose-colored glasses. I loved raising sheep.

The second year that I had sheep, we saw a crazy cold winter. One month (I forget which one) the temperature never rose above zero. One morning, I looked at the thermometer and saw it read minus 28. I bundled up for my trip to the barn. In one hand I had a bucket of grain and in the other, water. A part of me wondered if those sheep would be frozen to death.

They acted like it was any other day. Some of them were in the barn and others were out sitting in the snow. They all had mustaches of ice. As I entered the barn, I sloshed the water around and got one of my mittens wet. Stupidly, I put my hand on the metal handle of the door to steady myself. Thankfully, that was one tough mitten I had knit. It immediately froze to the door, but my hand was hot inside of it, and I didn't lose any skin. I would have, most certainly. There were "freezing flesh warnings" on the radio. I had never heard of such a thing before.

It felt warm in that barn. The smell of hay was strong. I sat down on a hay bale and remember wondering if I'd knit a replacement for that mitten. It was a scallopman's mitten, designed to be worn by hands that got wet in the cold waters off the coast of Maine. For you knitters out there, these mittens were 90 plus inches around, knit with worsted weight yarn on size 2 needles and to top it off, they were lined with loops of wool (thank you "Homespun Handknit") I knit them before I even moved to Maine, while I was dreaming up this fantasy. I could not wait until I moved to a place cold enough to warrant wearing such things.

But no, I never knit a replacement.

I really miss those mornings with my sheep. I don't miss the anxiety I sometimes had after I started hearing coyotes on a regular basis. I once saw one at the edge of the woods. The sheep knew it was there before I did. I was wondering why all of them were standing at the edge of the electric fence, all turning their heads in the same direction. I looked where they looked and saw a coyote, its head down low to the ground.

Thankfully, no coyote ever got one of my sheep. I think they would have outrun any coyote, actually. The first time I had these sheep sheared, the fellow who did it came with two sheep dogs. Those sheep bolted right out of the shearing pen. I am not exaggerating when I say that the dogs chased them for two hours before the fellow called them off. He was afraid his dogs would drop dead from exhaustion. He came back the next day and did it my way, which was pretty funny, for I was a city girl who didn't know much. But I knew my wild sheep. They'd be cooperative for a bucket of grain with molasses in the middle of summer, when all they usually got was grass.

I remember these as lazy days. I'd spend time sitting in the barn or up in the pasture. I'd sit on the picnic table near the vegetable garden and shoot the shit with the fellow who owned the property. We'd talk for hours and then go back to whatever we were doing, me weaving or spinning or moving the fences around. There was a lot of work, with the sheep or in the garden, or with something or other, but I just remember a sort of langorousness, as if the days were longer than any days that preceded it or days that have come since.

I really miss that piece of property. It was a quarter of a mile down a dirt road and had acres and acres of rolling pasture, surrounded by a woods with a meandering path that lead to a large pond with an active beaver dam. It was perfection. Unfortunately, it wasn't my own property.

I feel like I live in suburbia these days, but that surely is a joke, for if I wanted a few sheep in my backyard, I could have them. There's no zoning against it, as far as I know. I'd be surprised if there were. I thought perhaps we should get some chickens, at the least. Somehow I don't think any of these things are going to happen on my little half an acre, but who knows?

Tonight I started spinning again after so many years. A wonderful woman lent me a wheel and it felt great to practice the simple art of spinning wool. I wonder why I ever stopped.

Painting note: This is a first - I had another image gracing the top of this post that I disliked so much I had to remove it. Instead, I offer up:
Gerard Dou's "Woman Eating Porridge" 1637
Beautiful spinning wheel - Dou was a stickler for detail, and probably would be diagnosed with something (OCD, perhaps) in this day and age. He made his own brushes in order to work with such precision on a small scale.

Addendum: I am quite smitten with Dou's paintings. His use of light and attention to detail are spectacular. I highly enjoyed the paintings I saw on line. I'd love to see some in person. Once upon a time, I lived in a place where I could go to a museum and see great art. Ah, there are tradeoffs in this life, aren't there? At least, now, I've got the Web. If I didn't, I doubt I could managed to have lived in Maine so long.