September 2012

The Road.

Back in 1996, when Earl and I were dating and hadn’t moved in together yet, I drove him down this road and showed him a house that I really liked. It was a fairly simple house that had been built in the 20th century. It was set back from the road about 100 feet. The house, though simple in design, still had a fairly sprawling feel to it as it had been added on to each end over the years. Tennis courts were on the lot adjacent to the house and landscaping and the like indicated that it was all one property.

The property was settled on a road across from large, open cornfields, which were protected from the road by a row of large maple trees. It was such a beautiful, peaceful setting for me, and I could imagine looking out the picture window on the front of the house, through the maples, across the field and onto the hill that was off in the distance; the last hill between the Adirondacks and the Mohawk Valley.

The house in question was for sale but was way out of our price range at the time. Earl and I were just talking about living together in the apartment he was living in at the time, a house would be further down our timeline together. But there was something about that house and that road. I just loved it. So peaceful.

The road in question, at least the portion between two parallel, fairly-main roads, is home to a couple of stone farmhouses, an Amish family in a very simple, white house and a few newer houses. Each lot is at least a couple of acres. The southern side of the road, aside from one of the farms with a stone farmhouse, is all working farmland. It looks like corn was the crop of choice this year. The entire portion of this road is flanked by maple trees.

During my bike ride today I found my way over to this road simply because I still have a certain fondness for it. It is paralleled to its north by a river, which runs behind the house I loved back in 1996. I stopped for a moment to take the photo at the beginning of this entry and after hearing the fake shutter sound from my iPhone, I just paused and listened to the stillness. I could hear birds doing their thing in the field. The hum of farm machinery was faint but still indicative of work being done on a Saturday morning. And I could hear the river doing its thing behind the houses it passed by. Here and there I could hear leaves dropping as they’re apt to do this time of year. The maples aren’t in their fiery glory yet; the peak leaf-peeping weekend is still a couple of weeks away in these parts, but I still felt that that road was still an ideal for me.

The house in question has long been sold and its owners do a fantastic job of taking care of it. I smiled as I rode by and continued along my bike ride.

Perhaps someday.

Friday Dance Party.

From their 1989 second album, here’s Exposé with their Top 10 hit “What You Don’t Know”.

iPad.

So I’m trying to fall in love with my iPad again. I know that I am a very lucky geek to have the new iPad, and I do enjoy using the device, but I’m trying to love it. I’m trying to convince myself that I don’t need to bring a laptop along when I go somewhere, that my iPad will do everything that I want it to do.

I can watch television on my iPad (I just finished “Downton Abbey” and am now ready for the new season), I can read magazines, I can go through email, browse websites, hunt down porn if I so choose and I can be connected to the internet anywhere there is cell service with this nifty little device.

The one thing that I struggle with is writing. And quite frankly, I love to write. The lack of a keyboard on an iPad is the issue; I usually end up using an Apple bluetooth keyboard, but it feels kind of weird to haul such a keyboard into a Panera or other café. It sort of feels blasphemous.

A few months ago there was a Kickstarter project for a device called The Brydge, which basically added a keyboard to your iPad and turned it into something quite like a MacBook Air. The Brydge is rather pricey though at around $180, $200 if you want upgraded speakers. This is a nifty idea, I suppose, but I’m really picky about keyboards. Because of the speed at which I am able to type, it’s really important that I have a full-sized keyboard. Back in the days of my original iPad, I had a case with a built-in keyboard but it was this Barbie’s Doll House version of a keyboard and my fingers didn’t know where to travel to. My brain was more confused than usual when my pinky was aiming for an “a” and all I got was a caps lock light turned on. Any by the way, who needs a caps lock key anyway? I find any prose written in all caps to be quite offensive to my eyes and sensibilities. Didn’t we give up caps lock around the release of the Apple ][e?

So I’m trying to find a way to love my iPad and make it work as my primary portable device. I know I wouldn’t want anything smaller; I have my iPhone 4 to handle those duties. I guess I just need to find a way to get the perfect keyboard attached to the thing. The Brydge? It’s a possibility (though quite pricey). I feel funny asking about iPad keyboards at the Apple store because the associate will quickly gasp in horror before composing himself back to Apple-standard friendliness. Maybe I need to go to Best Buy or something of that ilk and see if there are some keyboards that I can try out.

I’d love it if any of my Apple happy/iPad using readers have a suggestion.

Excitement.

I can’t help but be excited about the upcoming weekend. I mean, it’s the weekend after all, and lately it seems like the work week is just an annoying obstacle to the weekend, where I want to be. I suppose that could be interpreted as a crappy work attitude, but it’s not, it’s just being real. I do what I do because I get paid and I reasonably enjoy what I do. But to weigh the work experience against a time period where I’m calling the shots and doing my thing on my terms without stock holders getting all cranky about things? I’ll take the weekend every time, thank you very much.

Earl comes home tonight after being gone since Monday and this contributes to my mood of frivolity. I made one small change to the kitchen to spruce it up a bit while he was gone and I’m hoping that he’ll enjoy this one little thing. I know I enjoyed it when I got up this morning and made way to eat my breakfast.

Tomorrow night we are venturing to Rochester for the evening to have dinner with friends. Two hour drives in each direction to have dinner with friends is well worth it. Most find us crazy for doing such things, but I don’t mind being thought of as crazy. Crazy people do their own thing on their own terms. And that’s what I do.

Kmart.

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I just had the oddest retail experience at our local Kmart. I’m sorry, it’s actually a Big K, though I don’t know by it’s called that as the pharmacy, garden shop and cafe have been mercilessly ripped out of the place and to add to the deserted ambiance, there is a swath of empty aisles along the back of the store.

But I digress.

There was only one checkout open. Behind the check stand of register 7 stood no cashier, instead, plopped onto a stool was Albert. He seemed a friendly sort, though I think he had been screwed down to the stool. Because Kmart, I’m sorry Big K, does not have automated belts on their registers, he beckoned to me to slide the items down. He did not use the built in scanner designed for maximum efficiency and cashier comfort, instead he opted to use the gun usually reserved for the likes of kitty litter and lumber.

When asked my phone number so I could add the order to the rewards program, though I have no idea what the rewards are, he broke out into hilarious laughter when I gave him my Google voice number, a number based in Buffalo. Apparently my name, combined with Buffalo is fall down but not off the stool hilarious. He asked how it was in Buffalo. Apparently he’s never left the stool to go there.

As he gunned my order he just slid the items down to the bagging area and then asked me to bag it myself, lest he get off the stool.

I was kind of in a state of shock with his level of customer service. But, he did remember two important things: 1. He asked me if I wanted to put this on my Sears charge (I replied, absolutely not until Mr. Roebuck is reestablished with the company) and 2. TYFSAK, “Thank you for shopping at Kmart”.

I miss when the savings were amazing at Ames.

Quiet.

I’m sitting here in the kitchen, taking a break from the workday and eating my lunch. I’m still trying to eat healthy and the scale has not been kicked across the room in a while since I began this effort the last week of August. That’s a good thing. I worry that the BMI scanner doesn’t work properly when the scale is kicked across the room like a field goal attempt between the sinks.

The house is quiet today. I find this a little surprising, since Earl is in Memphis through late tomorrow night, but Scott is here until tomorrow afternoon and Jamie is doing his usually Wednesday business about the house. Right now it’s a matter of getting his truck fixed and Scott has gone to pick him up (I almost wrote ‘gone to fetch him’, but I thought that would sound haughty), so other than me the house is empty and I’m just listening to the hum of various appliances and the click click of the clocks on the minute. Even Tom is enjoying some fresh air on the front porch.

This morning I saw a mention of something called a “Honey Boo Boo” on Twitter and I had no idea what the person was talking about. As I type this, someone with the Twitter handle @hotdesigner just informed me that BooBoo is a tubby reality child star. I wonder if that’s something like the 1993 pop sensation Jordy with “Dur Dur D’Être Bebe”. Actually, I don’t really wonder it all because anything that is called Honey Boo Boo is certainly not worthy of my attention. It’s kind of like this fad called a Kiki. I was told that a kiki was a party meant to calm my nerves. There are fewer things I find grating in this world than people piling into a gathering called a kiki. I didn’t even really care for Kiki Dee, why would I want to go to a party in her honor? I find the whole thing dubious at best.

I’d rather calm my nerves by enjoying the quiet.

Netflix.

I have officially fallen in love with Netflix’s streaming service. We have used it on and off since it was introduced a few years ago, but after watching the entire single season of “The Event” at my convenience, I am now seeking out other series to watch in the same way.

A couple of weeks ago I started watching “Downton Abbey” from the beginning of the series. I just finished the season one this morning. I’ve also picked up on “Heroes” again, starting with the plot reboot midway through the third season, and that is something that I have been enjoying for the most part. (“Heroes” went way off the rails for a while, there).

Even though I used to make my living writing ad copy for radio and television commercials, I have come to absolutely loathe ads. I can’t stand to watching advertising during television broadcasts, I always buy a paid version of an iPhone or iPad app so I don’t have to see ads floating all over the place, I dislike the ads that are constantly being flung around the LED ribbon at the Carrier Dome during SU games and I go out of my way to avoid internet services that are ad supported. Ads are one of the reasons that I also struggle with Hulu Plus; after paying $9.99 a month I don’t believe I should be watching ads, even if they’re less in number. I’m canceling the Hulu Plus subscription this week but keeping Netflix because there’s no ads being sent my way on that service.

With the ad supported internet services, it’s not that I worry about data mining or sharing my personal preferences, my life is hardly that interesting, I just don’t want services trying to sell me something that I most likely don’t need.

I’m looking forward to starting the next season of “Downton Abbey” tonight. The writing is smart, the score is brilliant music and the show has done a good job of keeping me engaged. And the cool thing about Netflix, of course, is that I can pause watching the show on my computer, pick up in the bedroom on the Apple TV right where I left off while I fold laundry and then pick up again on my iPad when I go to workout or something.

Wicked cool. That’s probably not a phrase in any of the scripts of “Downton Abbey”.

Sanctity.

So as I was making my way out of the office for lunch a co-worker asked if I was leaving the building for the hour. He indicated that he was finding his way to cafeteria so he could read. I told him that I need to leave the building at lunch time so I feel more grounded for the afternoon. It’s a good way to clear my head.

As corporations continue to squeeze every possible ounce of work out of their employees, many feel the crunch of working in a situation that I’m currently in: we work in a group of three that should be a group of 10-12. This type of situation can create unreasonable amounts of stress and we all know that stress isn’t good for the body, mind or soul. Stepping out of the office for an hour and having a change of view helps me keep that stress under control. Stress that is under control is good.

I’m enjoying lunch in the autumn sun. I’m watching a small calico cat make her away along the perimeter of the parking lot. She looks to be in hunting mode. She’s a small cat but when I made a friendly cat sound to her, she stopped, perked her ears and up looked at me and then continued on her trek. Occasionally she stops in a grassy area and watches for field mice, ears perked in the direction of possible mouse movement. She’s a short-haired calico cat with white paws. She seems content and she appears to be very car smart. Car smarts is a good skill for a cat.

There have been a couple of times in the past two weeks where co-workers have tried to schedule meetings during my lunch time. I refuse to play that game and I decline invitation for this type of meeting. Some may say that I’m being selfish; I like to think that I’m being responsible and doing what I need to do to stay on top of my game. A homemade lunch and a few moments away from a computer (other than my iPad-derived blog entries) and I’m good to go.

Now it’s time to take a short nap.

Flight.

So yesterday one of the chapters of the EAA (Experimental Aircraft Association) that my father belonged to had their annual picnic. It was being held at the airport my father last flew out of last December. Our family was invited as part of the picnic would be a memorial to my father.

My father always had a big grin whenever I rode my bicycle up to his house (around 60 miles) so I thought it would be appropriate to ride my bike to the airport. The trip was around 70 miles and since I have been active with my cycling again, I thought my body would be well prepared for it. The weather called for rain, so I wore my rain gear.  I found the ride to be quite enjoyable.  I was making good time and when I got to the halfway point I noticed that my bike started feeling really odd. I looked down and saw that I had a flat tire in the back.

Sigh.

It’s been a couple of years since I’ve had to change a tire on my bike while in the middle of a ride, but after a few deep breaths, I remembered how to do it and set about doing what needed to be done. It took a while to complete the task and during this time, four different vehicles stopped alongside the road to make sure I was okay and each driver seemed genuinely interested to see if there was anything they could do to help. I had everything under control but I expressed my thanks.

Just as I was getting ready to pump the tire up, my phone started blaring an alert about a severe thunderstorm warning. As fate would have it, I was right in the path of the storm that promised hail and 60 miles per hour winds. I looked up and sure enough, the sky was getting quite dark.  I hurried my pace and quickly tried to pump up the tire. And that’s when I realized that the CO2 based pump wasn’t seated properly on the tire stem, so I expended all the air that was suppose to into the tire outside of the tire instead. My tire remained flat. Luckily, the CO2 pump doubles as a mini hand pump, so I fiercely pumped up and down hoping to get enough air into the tire so I could at least get under cover before the storm came.  

No such luck.

I admitted defeat and called Earl and asked him to come get me. I continued trying to get the tire filled with air so I could head away from the storm. A short while later and still having no success, I picked everything up and got ready to head into a wooded area close by. I then looked up and saw my husband driving up.

The best laid plans…

Anyways, we finally got to the airport and had a lovely time at the picnic. Because the weather was still kind of dicey, some of the pilots didn’t feel comfortable with flying in the planned Missing Man Formation. I had expressed an interest in flying along in the planned formation, and though it was canceled, our friend Rich asked if I wanted to go up with him so we could see what was coming in for the next round of weather. 

So, in my father’s flight jacket, I jumped into the 1948 Piper Vagabond and we left FZR to do a few rides around the pattern, looking to see what weather was coming in so that others that had to leave by plane could get out before more storms moved in. It was the first time in over two years that I had flown in a small plane and it was the first time in nearly two decades that I had flown in a small plane with anyone but my father as the pilot. That being said, flying with Rich was like flying with family.

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1948 Piper Vagabond.

 

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Rich doesn’t like to yell over the engine like I did with Dad in the J-5 Cub Cruiser or the AcroSport II back in the day. We used an intercom. Wicked cool.


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Fulton, New York.


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Coming in for a landing. The stormy weather made the ride expectedly bumpy, but the landing was smooth. The vertical lines are actually my iPhone catching the spinning prop.

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Back on the ground and all smiles with Rich.

Flying with Rich yesterday made me remember how much I love to fly. God I’ve missed it.Yeah, flying on a commercial flight is fun and neat and all that, but flying in a two or four seater is where my passion truly lies. Though I inherited my Dad’s flight jacket, I really inherited his passion to fly. 

Rich and his son Scott flew a formation in memory of my father as they left the picnic yesterday.

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Formation.  Rich is in the Vagabond, higher up, Scott is in the Piper J-3 Cub (yellow), which is much like the J-3 sitting in the foreground of the photo.

It was a very special day for us in many ways. Gosh I miss my dad, but I think he was smiling the whole time, especially when he saw how much I was smiling (ok, there were a few tears).

And I can’t wait for my next opportunity to fly in a private plane again. 

Friday Dance Party.

I’ve posted this one before, but I still love love love this remix that came out in ’96. It was never released to country radio, but it reached on the Billboard Dance charts.

I still remember dancing to this with my husband at Hillside Campgrounds, not recognizing the version and then gasping in surprise, “It’s REBA!”. We drove to Boston the next weekend to get the limited edition pink vinyl from Tower Records. I, of course, never parted with the pink vinyl. w00t!

Here’s Reba McEntire with “Keep Me Hanging On (Love To Infinity Remix)”.