Happy Holidays

Thanks to everyone who left gifts under my tree, and I hope you all have a lovely remainder of the holiday season.

Tucson so far has been a lot of sun and green paint. I'll post some photos of the newly refurbished horse corral soon.

Two Skis to the Wind

On Thursday I walked three blocks home from work and upon my arrival my bag looked like this:


This is at least partially because Brian turned 27 on Thursday, and his birthday wish was skiable snow.

On Friday I weaseled my out of work in the afternoon (that is worked liked one of hell's minions all morning and got everything done early). I came home, Brian and I got dressed, made a quick stop on the way out to the trails so I could buy my very own set of cross-country skis with my birthday funds (thanks Mom!) and then we finally made it to the U of I cross country course, which was already groomed for skiing.

We skied for about an hour, came home, ate dinner, hung out, slept, got up, ate breakfast and went skiing again. Today, I am really, really sore.

Things I Like About Skiing:

1) It is a way to get out and be active at times when the weather permits very little else.
2) Ski clothes and cycling clothes are very nearly interchangeable, except you don't have to wear a helmet to ski.
3) The cross-country course has this lovely rise in the center, is surrounded by a thick ring of trees and is quite large, so when Brian disappears around the next bend, usually I find myself alone in a vast, still, field of snow - sometimes with the sun beginning to set. It's the closest thing I've found to genuine outdoor solitude since I moved to the Midwest.
4) Skiing is hard enough work that you barely even notice the cold.
5) It doesn't hurt to fall over.


All that said, I am a really bad skier. I am not yet fluid of movement and long of glide. At the beginning of the ski on Friday I resembled most closely a child who has been walking for, say, a week. Excitement outweighing skill significantly, I'd get going alright and even, at times, pick up speed. But all it would take was one obstacle - say, a ridge in the snow or an off-camber part of the trail, and I'd very nearly lose my balance.

By Saturday I had improved to the grace of perhaps a two year old. While mainly in command of my velocity and direction, I'd still sometimes sit down hard at the most unlikely moments, look around to make sure no one had seen my folly, and scramble back to my feet.

One of the nasty things about snow, though, is that is leaves a shiny layer of crystals that cling to clothing in spite of all efforts to be brushed off. So, once you've fallen, you're branded as someone who falls on skies to anyone who passes by. Luckily, most of the people out there are just way too excited about the snow to care.

In fact, it seems that everyone who bikes in Iowa City in the summer skis in the winter. Every other skier we encountered was also dressed in cycling clothes, and at one point when someone flew by me on skate skis wearing a Discovery Channel jersey, I realized I'd seen Jason McCartney.

Winter, For Sure

I've decided static electricity is my least favorite force of nature.

Flashing the Holidays

I stumbled across this little Christmas gift thingee, on the right there, ---->
on another person's blog, and decided I needed one of my own. I'm not really much into Christmas, and generally refuse to decorate my own house in the spirit of the season. But for some reason the fact that people can leave me little fake flash presents makes me want to have this on my blog. So, there it is. You all are welcome to have some fun with it.

Also, we have another opening reception at the gallery on Friday. Everyone is invited, as usual. A proper post on that soon to come.

Mending

This evening while at Walgreens picking up odds and ends, I remembered that the hole I burnt in my robe during a hookah upset many moons ago still gaped because I had hitherto failed to buy any white thread. My old spool of white thread got left somewhere in Arizona after the whole "I'm going to make my own bridesmaid's dress for Autumn's wedding" fiasco. Without white thread, I could not patch the wound in my fuzzy pale blue dressing gown with any degree of grace. So the hole remained. Day after day.

Tonight, I returned home with the white thread and, very excited to mend what had needed mending for a ridiculously long period of time, proceeded to first carefully trim away the charred area around the hole in my robe, then cut a three inch section off the end of the belt (which is made out of the same material as the robe). This I stitched behind the hole and voila, a whole robe is born... again. Due the extreme fuzziness of the material, the patch is very difficult to spot. I am quite pleased.

This exciting domestic scene took place after I spent the past many days in the Chicago area, hanging out in Geneva and participating in a Thanksgiving ritual that is not my own. After I spent an evening with much of Brian's extended family, apparently, the "rumor" is that everyone thinks I'm "lovely." So, that's good.

Other than Thanksgiving, we mostly spent the week relaxing around Brian's parents' house. We watched a movie or two on the massive HD TV with surround sound, and spent some time sitting in the hot tub, playing scrabble and hearts, and wandering around the suburbs on foot only to realize suburbs are not at all designed to be wandered about in on foot.

We drove back here this morning and immediately left again to spectate at a Cyclocross race outside of Iowa City. I had never seen one in person and I have to say, I was amazed at the grace and agility of the riders as they hopped over barriers and jogged their bikes up hills. Although it was a big race and the victor, Todd Wells, is somewhat famous, he came over immediately after winning to where we were standing with a group of boisterous fans and gave us high-fives before he went off to get changed and stand on top of the podium.

Then Brian and I rode our single-speeds home and made dinner.

Pre-Celebrations

Last night, Katherine had a surprise party for Scott, whose birthday happens to be on the same day as Paul's and mine. Also, one day before Erica's. So, in orchestrating a surprise for Scott, she included the rest of us in the celebrations. I was showered with dark chocolate and other sundries in preparation for my birthday today.

Among the more unusual gifts in the bunch were a custom comic decorated composition book from Chad, a Mango Tango Cheeseball mix from Bridgette, and an astoundingly politically incorrect set of cowboys and Indians from Gabe.


They battled all night over the Jelly Bellies from Anna, but by morning, a clear victor had yet to emerge.

Blogger's Block

It keeps happening that during the course of the day I come up with any number of bloggable subjects. They pop into my head while I'm at work, out and about, fiddling with this or that website or project. And then, when I sit down to write a blog, my head is empty. I have nothing to say.

So, I suppose I'll use the old "what I did today" fall-back.

This morning, I couldn't shake off a sense of inertia and exhaustion. Nick, when he dropped into work, was half-convinced I was suffering from serious emotional problems. I had to reassure him twice that I was just sleepy, not suicidal. When I got home, I tried to nap, failed. Tried to read, failed. So, I left. I went and wandered the town on foot, popping into various stores I'd never been inside to usually leave again almost immediately with a vague sense of horror. We all know how much I dislike shopping. Being out in the wasteful retail glut most of my generation wallows in so enthusiastically usually makes me a trifle sick at heart, but something about walking around for hours looking at all the things people are trying to sell me and realizing that (except for almost everything in Blick's art supply store) I don't want any of it makes me feel just a little bit triumphant.

I know. I'm silly.

I Really Am A Nerd At Heart

I have to say, ever since Vitzy's conversion to a mostly commercial website (a morph it's been undergoing slowly for the last couple of years), I've felt my previous happy-go-lucky approach to elaborating and maintaining my own website slowly give up and make way for the things that actually earn me some income. Recently, I made an attempt to inject a little more of my former playful style into the Vitzy's website - but it is hard. When I'm sitting with a client, looking at my own website and trying to explain to them how we're going to start his or hers, it's not useful to try to get side-tracked by anything at all unusual.

This, coupled with the problem that some of my client's are utterly incapable of typing the word "vitzys" without two or three scrambled letters, (causing sometimes time-sensitive emails to go astray) finally prompted my to think about another domain.

I've known for years that robinstephen dot com is owned and relentlessly occupied by a Realtor in Virginia. But robinstephen dot net? Not taken.

It is now.

One little purchase and I simultaneously opened the doors to a world of mundane email addresses that my clients can type, and a whole new playground for my creative efforts. This weekend I beefed up my knowledge of javascript and added it to my semi-new and highly liberating discovery of .png images, and .... well. Go see for yourself.

Foot Traffic

As anyone who uses a bike as a form of transportation knows, biking about town can be somewhat hazardous. Although I have been remarkably lucky, for the most part, in my traffic encounters, today I had a near miss that got my heart going.

Normally, when biking, the thing to be worried about is cars. Which is why today's close call was so startling. I very nearly got into a wreck, not with another vehicle, but with a pedestrian.

It happened on my way to work, which is mostly just a swift coast down a long gradual hill. There were no cars around and I (on my glorious Fuji) was a little bit late, so riding a little bit fast.

Into this scene via the left side of the street, (no intersection or cross-walk to give her the right-of-way) a girl stepped. This girl glanced left and right, and then lowered her head and began to walk. She continued to walk, seemingly oblivious to me, right across the yellow line and into the lane down which I was barreling at a formidable pace.

I would like to say I reacted with a comment along the lines of, "Excuse me, miss, but if you and I both continue on our current trajectories, we are going to collide in a most painful fashion. As you will note, I have a great deal of built up momentum and slick tires. There is no possible way for me to stop. So, if you could, please, let me pass before you go further."

Sadly, in the heat of the moment my thoughts didn't form quite so eloquently. Instead, I said, "Woh," loudly, several times, while slamming on my brakes and beginning to skid on my rear tire.

Luckily, my exclamations had the desired effect. She stopped walking, and I barely, barely, barely missed her. I believe I then uttered the word, "Jesus," at a rather loud volume, and rode on.

She said nothing. She made no apology or excuse for nearly sending me into a scratched up heap of stinging skin and spinning wheels. Her expression didn't even change. This made me want to go back and run her over just to be mean.

But I didn't. I went to work.

The Best $1.99 I Ever Spent

Yesterday, I went to Menard's. I had grand designs and plans. I, in my ongoing mission to make the basement into an inhabitable art-making space, wanted to block the view from my desk to the mess of pipes and ducts and things that make up our central heating unit. My thoughts for accomplishing this were along the lines of an elegant wood and rice-paper screen. Like this one:


The problem with screens like this one is that they cost a lot of money. Being poor, I can't afford to buy one. So, I thought to myself, hey, I use a power drill at work every day. A third of my job involves making four straight sticks of wood into one quadrilateral piece of wood. The rest involves placing something inside that quadrilateral space. I can handle this, thought I. I'll make my own rice-paper and wood room divider!

So, off to Menard's I went. After spending well nigh an hour wandering about, staring at different possible materials for the task, scribbling furtively on a notepad and adding things up on my cell phone's calculator, I realized that even making my own screen would be pricey. And, the final result would not be classy. I don't have any tools for finishing wood, so it would be raw and ugly. More importantly though, all the thin pieces of wood in all of Menard's are not straight. Not even remotely straight. Apparently thin pieces of wood in Menard's are meant to be nailed to thick, straight pieces of wood, and therein become straight themselves. As a support for a screen, nothing I saw before me would work.

Deflated, I left. What was I to do? Resign myself to staring at ugly pipes while trying to attain a state of artistic enlightenment? This hardly seemed fair, but there it was. I began to dismally steer my car out of the parking lot to go home, but then I thought, what about Target? Perhaps Target was having a rice-paper and wood room divider sale, right at that very moment.

Part of me wasn't inclined to continue the search. Have I mentioned that spending time in malls and other such retail havens is a fine-tuned form of hell for me? Well, it is. I hate consumerism, and the way people buy things they don't need. I hate that's it's actually cheaper for me to purchase something someone made in China than to make the same thing myself. But I do dislike looking at that central heating unit, so I rallied on. Already in a state of discomfort by the time I arrived at Target, the scene there (they are already selling Christmas things. Christmas!) did nothing to ease my suffering. I wandered more and more listlessly. Unable to find any screens, I found myself in the household goods sections, where I came across shower heads.

Our shower head has been dying slowly since we moved into our house. It dribbles out the sides and issues one thick, overwhelming gush of water from the center that always hits me right in the eye, all the time, no matter what. I have long disliked our shower head, but until recently never thought about getting a new one. When I looked at the shower heads in Target, I was a bit disappointed. They ranged from between $15-$50, and I didn't see a way to tell by looking whether or not they would work in our shower.

Then, I saw something. At first, I thought it must be a mistake. But I looked closer and saw the smallest, simplest shower-head among them sported a price-tag of only $1.99. By golly, thought I. Even I can afford $1.99. I seized one up, slightly rejuvenated, and continued on my way.

From there I proceeded to the curtain section, where I had the vast and staggering epiphany that a curtain would work just as well (perhaps better) than a screen to block out an ugly view, and cost a fraction of the money/time to buy/make.

Finally set on a definite course, I (painstakingly) made my selections and hurried on home. I hung the curtain with a pleasing result.




But the real triumph of the day is the shower head. It's amazing. First, it sprays water evenly over my entire body. Second, it uses less water, but manages to seem like it's using just the same amount as before. I love it. It makes me want to shower more than I usually do. I plan to continue loving it for as long as we live in this house. And for the life of me, I can't think of a single thing I purchased for so little which will give me such repetitive and long-lasting enjoyment.

Essays

I "wrote" two essays lately for my non-fiction class. You can view them below.

The first assignment was, basically, write a photo essay (our assignments are rather vague sometimes). They were sort of supposed to be auto-biographical.

Next, we had to do something having to do with (maybe) scrap-booking, and/or found objects. I ended up using both.

Gallery Opening

Once again, the Hudson River Gallery shall throw open its doors to various and sundry art lovers. This time, the featured artist is Nancy Purington. The work is mixed media. A lot of it is inspired by water.

The opening is from 6 - 8 pm. Afterwards, anyone wishing to continue festivities is welcome to retire back to our humble abode.

Directions to the gallery can be found here. More on the artist can be found here.

For those of you curious about the downstairs portion of the Mansion, you can find a little bit on that here.

On the Fly

Today whilst dashing around at work (we've been busy busy lately), I suddenly felt a somewhat alarming sensation. There was a small popping feeling in the region of my waist-line, and then my pants felt looser. After that, I felt something round and hard slide down my leg.

I was wearing a pair of airy linen pants I've grown somewhat fond of lately. They are comfortable, but admittedly on the large side. They have a slight tendency to sag. When I realized that the button had just popped off (the threads had been working their way loose for a long time, I just hadn't gotten around to adding some newer, sturdier stitches), I wasn't quite sure what to do. I cautiously bent down, retrieved my button from the floor and slipped it in my pocket, no one the wiser. But I had a problem. My pants were not likely to stay on long without a button, and Nick was about to leave for Utah. Thus, the gallery was going to be in my hands alone for the rest of the day.

Luckily, I'd been patching a canvas so was wearing my apron, which covered any unsightly gapage for a while, but after Nick left, the sun began to shine more brightly into my room, and the air heated up. It was uncomfortably warm, not to mention the apron would do little to help in the actual moment of a pants-losing crisis.

So, there was nothing for it. I had to make repairs. Fortunately, among the many sundry tools kept on hand at my job, there is a needle and thread. I took these out of their drawer, threaded the needle and looked around suspiciously.

Now, the hard part. The problem with my workroom is that you cannot ever tell when someone is going to appear in the doorway. Also, since I was in charge of the gallery and answering the phone, I had to stay where potential customers could find me. I had to be ready to help choose a frame or pick out a piece of art the moment someone should need me. Like I said, work's been busy lately. It was likely I had very little time to act.

If you've never sewn a button onto pants you're actually wearing, I would recommend steering clear of the experience. It's tricky, and engenders all sorts of hazards, particularly if you are in a hurry.

Happily, you'll all be glad to know that I replaced the button, unscathed, before any customers arrived. I can't help but feel it was a close call, though. I only narrowly escaped ridicule of the kind usually only known in dreams. From now on, when I notice a loose button, I will respond a bit more proactively.

More Innards

Today I added some things to the Inner Vitz - for the first time in quite a while. I went back and included a brief look at all the various steps vitzy.com went through to become what it is today - not only plural, but semi-professional.

To get to the Inner Vitz, click here (or go to vitzys.com and dot your i's or cross your t's). The username is "guest." The password is the missing word that goes in the blank in the sentence "Are you calling me a ___?"

To find the new pages, choose "Randomness" from the side menu, and then "old websites."

If you don't know the password, but want in, send me an email. robinovitz at gmail.

Tired Legs

Life seems busy lately, what with work, class, fencing, and friends all thrown into the mix, we've had very little downtime. And last weekend was one of those one day weekends for me. Next weekend will be another one day weekend. So, I'm pretty darn excited that it's Friday night and I've got two unfilled days sparkling on my horizon.

Into those two days, who knows what we shall pack? We do have a new steed in the stable. Brian finally has a town bike. The Kuwahara and the Fuji were predestined to be best friends. Perhaps because they both have only one gear, or because they both came from Japan? Who can say where the affinity comes from... Our first little spin on the two together was truly beautiful. Today, the final touches arrived, in the shape of the orange grips and new pedals. I'm growing quite fond of these little bike-refurbishing projects.



I also had a good ride on my Modena this week, which was nice because it's been a long time since I rode a bike solely for the purpose of riding a bike. When I stepped out the back door on the mansion on Wednesday though, I knew I had to spend as much of the evening outside as possible. The weather was just too beautiful to waste. A road ride seemed the best way to meet this end, so Brian showed me a nice loop north of town. We had a glorious spin about, and then came home for a glorious pizza.

Fencing has been a great deal of fun so far, too, though a tad humbling. First of all, there is a multitude of small, forgotten but suddenly remarkably noticeable muscles in my body that are not at all used to fencing anymore. Also, there are a number of people on the team and coaching the team who've been fencing for longer than I've been alive. Sometimes I dart in for a sure kill only to realize it's me that's been killed, not them. Not them at all. In fact, they somehow managed to hit me and not get hit by my ferocious attack - all by only moving about two inches.

Still, it's good to be doing something that earns me some sore muscles again.

Under the Walnut Trees

I never really thought much about walnuts. I like them, without a doubt. I consider them a fine addition to many breads and baked goods, and to bins of mixed nuts. I remember fondly certain instances in my childhood with nutcrackers and small, metal picks, cracking them open and extracting the meat. But of the story of a walnut before it reached my murderous hands, I never once thought.

Not long ago, the large, beautiful trees in our yard began to bloom, and then the blooms slowly gave way to small, green, spherical objects that the squirrels collected with excitement. Some of these fell into our yard. Sometimes I stepped on them as I walked to the garage. They had a leathery green skin, like that of an orange. Except... not orange. Green. Still, I didn't think much about them.

Recently, these spheres have begun to fall with much greater frequently and gusto. The trees, in fact, don't so much seem to drop them as hurl them forcefully downward with malicious intent. The little green bombs of doom bang off the roof and sides of our house every few minutes these days. They hit so hard, they cause a resounding crack or thud, which can be quite startling.

Finally, all the noise piqued my curiosity. What on earth were these little disturbers of the peace? It didn't take google long to provide me with an answer. Walnuts. Any of you who, like myself, have tried to crack a walnut knows how damn hard the shell is. Well, I can tell you they have to be that robust, to survive their violent journey to the ground intact. I imagine, if one were to fall on me, it would hurt quite a lot, and maybe cause a bruise.

So lately on windy days with the nuts falling thick as raindrops, I can't help but worry slightly about the squirrels.

When the Weather Turns Cold

Sometimes, when the air is chilly, I am stirred into unusual spurts of baking. I hatched a scheme to make blueberry muffins a few days ago, and Brian and decided to carry the plan to fruition this morning. We encountered a little hiccup when I realized I must have given my muffin tins away during move, and we didn't have any little muffin cup liners anyway.

I do have a lot of bread pans though, of many different sizes and varieties. So, muffin bread it was. And it was lovely.

Uber Cool Light-Weight Nerd

Today I took a little online test and discovered these interesting facts about my self.

Urban Pet Magazine

While we were house-sitting last weekend, Brian and I discovered that a couple of our friends have very creative pets. We had barely but arrived when Molly, Isabelle and Oliver informed us that they wished, with our help, to do a little something to impress Adele and Peter while they were gone. So, the five us wrote a magazine. It's only four pages long, but for two cats and a dog, that's pretty impressive.

You can view the image files below (they get bigger if you click on them) or open the whole pdf.

Page 1:

Page 2:

Page 3:Page 4:

Show Opening

The Hudson River Gallery will host an open house for viewing new paintings by Steven Erickson, on Friday Sept. 7, from 6 - 8 pm. Come see some great art and meet some great people.

The Hudson River Gallery is located at 538 S. Gilbert street, on the second floor of The Mansion - the large, imposing brick structure on the NE corner of Gilbert and Bowery streets. To reach the gallery, enter the front door of the mansion and proceed up the curved staircase.

Unfortunately, Gilbert street is under construction. This means reaching the mansion is currently slightly intimidating. In spite of appearances, one can turn into the parking lot from Gilbert street, but entrance to the back via Bowery is blocked. Also, parking is limited. Regrettably, there is not a bike rack at the mansion. By the back door of the building, however, there is a nice tree to which I lock my bike every day, as well as a porch rail and a few street signs. Also, the apartment complex directly across from the mansion's back door has a bike rack that's almost always empty.

Anyway, if you want more details, send me a message: robinovitz at gmail.

En Garde

Well, it looks like I'm going to start fencing again. It turns out there is a very active team here on campus, and they seemed enthusiastic to include me when I contacted them. It's odd though. It's been a very, very long time since I was deeply involved with the sport, and even longer since I did any tournament fencing (they want me to compete in two weeks). Furthermore, I can't help but feel that the 18 year old girl who wandered into a gym in Flagstaff seven years ago and thought, "Hey, this looks fun," is only sort of remotely connected to me, now. I did love many things about it -- fencing for hours on end until my arms were shaking and I couldn't lift my points off the ground, waking up the next day with that lop-sided sore feeling, or that random doctor who gave me a random physical before I went to England and asked, "Wow, what shoulders. Are you a swimmer?" My helpful reply, "No, I'm a fencer," and then, "Oh, that explains why the right side is so much bigger."

There are other things about that time of my life I don't miss, however, and have very thoroughly and deliberately left behind. Hopefully, taking it up again in an altogether different situation and place will me allow me to start now on a newly turned leaf, clean slate, fresh page, etc.

Student

I believe I've discovered the perfect way to go to school. Taking one graduate level class and existing entirely free from all other academic obligations while leading an otherwise moderate and flexible lifestyle is really pretty great. Tuesday's class was the first time ever a professor mentioned elective supplementary reading and I didn't laugh uproariously on the inside.

At Last

Yesterday I had a few things to do downtown. I'd gone to work and back in the morning, but had taken my car (Moday = recycling day). So, as I hopped on my bike for the first time for the day and rolled down our lovely street, I realized it was absolutely beautiful out. Absolutely. Beautiful. I drifted through town, parked my bike at the library, dropped off some books and proceeded from there on foot.

This isn't something I do often. Given a choice between pedals and feet, I will take pedals 99% of the time. But it was so particularly nice out, it felt lovely to just stroll alone among milling people, some of whom I've never met but recognize. While strolling, I decided to do something I've been meaning to do for a while and check out the White Rabbit consignment shop. I popped in, poked around, had a nice chat there with the girl who owns the place, and then proceeded to Prairie Lights. Outside the bookstore I noticed a bike on a rack that belongs to someone I know, and inside I moved unerringly through crowds of confused new students to the exact two books I needed, grabbed them and was out again in a trice. From there I went to a bench and sat, enjoying the breeze and the people, and began to read a book for class. I was interrupted some little time later by a rather racy conversation a guy was having on his cell phone. When I looked up and saw who was speaking, I realized I've met him.

All these combined factors suddenly coalesced and I abruptly discovered that Iowa City is starting to feel like home. I know how most parts of it connect to other parts. I know downtown. Familiar people populate downtown. I know which streets run which direction. I know where things are in the bookshops and libraries, and that you can't ride your bike through the ped mall.

I've been here nearly eight months. It's amazing how long these things really take.

My New and Somewhat Capacious Shoulderbag

Well. I'm in love. Today I went to the library and the co-op, and on this simple errand I took my new bag. I've decided it's mostly the greatest thing ever. While I rode, even when I stood up to pedal up hills (or race furiously towards a soon-to-be-yellow light), the bag did not budge. It then proceeded, in spite of its modest size, to fit everything I needed to carry inside. Just to prove the greatness of this feat, I took a photo:


I think, from this point forward, I will rarely be seen apart from my timbuk2 beauty.

Erik M. Lauritzen

"Artist, photographer, teacher, and Faculty Emeritus of TMCC, Erik passed away at his home with family at his bedside on August 9.

In his short 34-year career, Erik created a prolific body of artwork which has received many honors and is contained in public, corporate, and private collections as well as shown in numerous solo and group exhibitions.

Samples of his lifelong passion can be viewed on his website. www.eriklauritzen.com

View and enjoy."

A big blow contained in a small email today.

Triumph

Today I executed my first flawless campaign on ebay. Several day ago, I started looking for a small, left-handed, timbuk2 bag. You see, to buy the exact bag I wanted new would cost me $110, plus shipping. This seemed steep, even though everyone I know who's owned one of these bags has loved and abused it to distraction. The bags alway bear such treatment with stoic indifference, and seem to last forever. They also offer certain amenities for the bike commuter - most notably a small strap that clips across the chest to ensure that the shoulder bag does not budge while the wearer pedals furiously through traffic. In my bike travels, I have to constantly adjust my purse so that it's not bumping into my legs. To say nothing of the dangers of distracted, one handed riding, my right collarbone has been slightly raw for weeks.

Yes, that is correct. It's my right collarbone across which my purse strap lies. Which brings me to a previously undiscovered peculiarity in my nature. As all of you who know me well are aware, I am right handed. It would appear, however, that while most right-handed people are left-shouldered, I am not. I am, as proven through a definitive series of tests with Brian's timbuk2 bag, right shouldered. I can't change. It's just the way I am.

Naturally, (and here I get a tiny little glimmer of appreciation for the difficulties lefties face in everyday life) left-handed/right-shouldered timbuk2 bags are rare, and can only be acquired through custom design - hence the hefty price tag.

Ebay had the answer to my problem - a custom bag someone purchased only to receive and dislike the color. They offered it up, unused, for a fraction of its retail price. I spied this rare specimen days out, watched its progress until today, when I logged on to participate in the tense final moments of the auction. With scorn I sat coolly before my laptop as my opponents grew excited and began placing impatient bids ten minutes too soon. Finally, I orchestrated a perfectly timed blow with a mere 15 seconds still on the clock. The guy who almost won the bag never knew what hit him.

I look forward to approaching days of unscathed collarbones and secure commuting.

Finally - A Title

As it is Sunday and raining and I've run out of viable excuses for my recently finished novel's lack of name, I've given it something to go by. Henceforth, it shall be The Teardrop Game. So, now it feels much more complete. =)

I would like to thank Brian for coming up with this title, and for then waiting patiently while I explored many other (bad) possibilities before accepting the brilliance of his.

It's Good For You

Although I have now been employed by both a university museum and a reputable private gallery, have framed more pieces of art than I can remember and hung a fair number of exhibitions, I never find myself growing tired of art. For years now, I've made my living framing and preserving other people's visual treasures. I have taken pieces apart for re-framing to see that the previous framer jerry-rigged the inside in a manner that is slowly destroying the artwork. I have also found myself faced with questions of a difficult moral sort with regards to solving problems on the job. I know that art is not always handled with respect, and so I do my best to keep in mind when I'm working that although whatever I'm framing is just another job for me, it's a one and only to someone else. I am very careful.

Not long ago, Brian and I had some downtime at Chicago's Midway airport, and we found ourselves killing time in front of an unusual display: a gigantic, dangling bird made up of tiny plastic airplanes on bits of transparent wire. Brian and I had a brief discussion about the wonders of scaffolding, and then we moved on. This is not the only piece of art I've noticed in an improbable place, and I always assume when something large is suspended like that, the people who hung it had access to superior methods of attaining high places than I've ever encountered.


Today, however, I realized I'm probably wrong about this. At one point this morning, Nick popped into the back room with an innocent, "Hey Robin, will you give me a hand?" I followed him to the main hallway, where he pointed at an absolutely enormous painting and then up to two nails so high up on the wall I could barely see them. "Do you want to stand at the bottom and hold, or climb up the ladder and hang?"

I am not a confident creature once placed on a ladder, so I opted to remain on the floor. The next several minutes included a lot of Nick scampering up and down the metal steps while I stood, nearly on my tiptoes, bracing the painting against the ceiling and occasionally enacting a pathetic shuffle in one direction or another when Nick said things like, "A little to the left." In the midst of this, I recalled all the other times I've been at the bottom of a ladder helping to hang large or ungainly art. I also reflected on the degree of pain one can withstand when one must, wondered how badly a fall from that height would hurt Nick, and imagined the type of sound the painting would make if it hit the floor.

When my ab muscles were burning and my forearms were beginning to shudder spasmodically, Nick, from far above, looked down and said, "You okay down there?" It took me a moment to gather the strength with which to answer, "I'm fine." Then he laughed, scampered down the ladder and said, "It's good for you." Then, "Okay. Let go and see what happens."

The painting stayed put. And although any number of our art-loving clientèle will probably notice and compliment the large, striking painting high up on the wall, I doubt any of them will wonder how it got up there. In a week or so, when my hands have regained the ability to open and close without discomfort, I'll probably enjoy looking at it too.

Home Improvements

A few days ago, Brian and I happened to be at the hardware store. While wandering the aisles looking for the things we'd come for, we came across some hooks one drills into something and then hangs a bike from. Our living room and dining room have been, admittedly, a little cluttered of late. So, we decided to try these hooks out. They worked beautifully, and now five of our whole bikes and our two partial bikes are suspended in the air above the basement floor.

Here's Brian, sitting on the steps next to my racer-x and my jamis.


Here is Brian's canondale, his 1x1, and my modena, plus the two empty frames in the distance.


So, that leaves us with only our two every-day bikes in our living space.

Truth be told, however, the hanging started even earlier in the day when we decided to adorn our kitchen wall with the wine rack Mom and Dad gave us. (It holds four glasses too, but we're waiting to make sure we don't bump into it much before adding such fragile occupants.)


And finally, since the wine rack took the spot Brian's painting used to hang, we moved that into the dining room. This is better, because now it's more visible anyway.

Encore

I am now officially registered in a nonfiction readings class at the University of Iowa as a "tentative, non-degree seeking graduate student."

I dunno. I think I consider myself a tentatively surreptitious degree seeking graduate student.

N + 1

I have to say, there couldn't have been a better time to reunite with my Jamis. Although I still get a little thrill of disbelief every time I remember my old bike is with me again, it's rapidly reintegrating. With Mom and Meryl still here, we've had some getting around town to do, and it helps to have two townie bikes that both fit my sister and I perfectly. Meryl and I dashed over to the mall a couple of nights ago to see Ratatouille, and yesterday the three of us did some exploring of town.

Now that I have a townie bikes with gears, a townie bike without gears, a road bike, and a mountain bike, I sort of wonder how I ever got along in the days before the Fuji came along. The hardest decision I'll now have to face every morning is which glorious set of wheels to take on my day's adventures. We have some tentative plans to avail ourselves of the Jamis' touring capabilities - adorn it with some baskets and/or racks, perhaps some 650B wheels, and bigger tires. We'll see, but the possibilities are exciting.

Which just goes to show, as a cyclist friend of Brian's explained to me not long ago, the perfect number of bikes really is n + 1 (n being the number of bikes you already have). We are now a happy couple with seven fully functional bikes under one roof, and two extra frames.

On a different note, it's been great fun having my family here. Although the house is a little fuller than usual, we've had some good times involving port, cucumber sandwiches, WD-40, and potting soil (none of these things were combined). Our front porch is looking much more attractive since my intelligent female relatives suggested a brilliant way to fix (and clean) the exterior windows and, of course, they always help bolster my deplorable lack of interest in the area of clothing. So, I'm looking a bit better as well.


My mother and sister will head back to the land of sagebrush and mesquite trees tomorrow, and we here among the grass and humidity will miss them.

A Miracle

As my family was off visiting Grinnell today, Brian and I decided to go hit happy hour downtown after work. While sitting outside on a lovely patio, we had a couple of beers, and got to talking about sushi, and how great sushi is. We talked about sushi for long enough we felt we had to have some, so we decided to go to Takanami on our way home.

We walked through downtown at a leisurely pace. As we approached the intersection at Dubuque and Iowa streets, I glanced across the road and saw a solitary bike locked to a rack. The bike looked oddly familiar. It exuded a restless quality that pulled at my heartstrings. Also, it was dark green with silver decals. I looked closer and discerned some red on the underside of the saddle. Telling myself not to get excited, I said, "I think that's my bike."

Brian and I crossed the street. As we drew closer, there could no longer be any doubt. The Johnny Sprocket's decal on the down-tube, the double-sided pedals, the clamp for my light on the handlebars... everything was right. It was my bike. Undeniably, irrefutably my good old Jamis Aurora - stolen from my porch three months ago today.

I said, "What do we do?"

We called the police. They found the report I'd filed and an officer soon arrived on the scene. He verified the description and called for backup. Presently, another officer joined us, this one wielding the bolt cutters of justice (the handles were at least three feet long). After hacking through the lock that held my bike captive, they sent Brian and I off home with my liberated steed.

Unfortunately, the bike is a little worse for its journey into the unknown. It is going to need some repairs, as the thief obviously made no attempt to maintain or care for it. But, I'm just happy to have it back. Too bad it can't tell me all it's been through. Fortunately, as it wasn't a flashy bike to begin with, its new scars will just add character.


After bringing my bike safely home, we headed back downtown and had some celebratory sushi. It was pretty wonderful.

The One Where I Wish I Was As Good At Coming Up With Post Titles as Brian

Yesterday I remembered why I don't drive around town. My boss said to me in the morning, "I need you to go pick up a piece from the Jessup building on campus for repairs."

A simple sounding task. It would have been simpler if I was a student and familiar with the university. It also would have been simpler if many streets in Iowa City weren't closed due to construction. It would have been less of a task if I had ever driven on the streets between my work and campus, but as I invariably walk or bike everywhere, navigating this one-way street riddled maze in Nick's meticulously clean, and well-loved Lexus SUV was nothing short of nerve-wracking. As I drove around, I wondered how many of the other cars that were making my life more difficult with their presence were driven by people who easily could have walked or biked to their destinations.

Oh, and also it was pouring down rain. (I would note here that although a light dampening of rainwater damages art, it does not harm people.)

Suffice it to say the rather large and surprisingly heavy piece of art, the car, and I all made it back to the mansion intact, but I was so keyed-up by the end of the ordeal that a customer startled me a little later and I jumped so violently I lost my grip on the wire I was tightening and left a long, shallow gash in my arm with the needle-nose pliers.

But, I have the day off today to hang out with my visiting family. Yesterday, I believe my client and I put the finishing touches on her website, so I should have a truly labor free day. I believe my family and I will explore wineries and breweries, and perhaps take a (walking) tour of Iowa City and campus.

Enjoying That Place Between Being a Kid, and Having Kids

Last night Brian and I blew off dinner in lieu of consuming cookies and beer until we weren't hungry anymore.

A Feat

Yesterday, I accomplished something I'm a little proud of. I went to a client's house and from there to a part of town I'd never seen before (I didn't even know it was there, actually), found the place I was looking for, and then came home. I didn't follow a set route to get there or back, and I did all this without ever losing my sense of direction.

I will admit there were a couple rocky moments when I turned out of a neighborhood onto a street that was not perpendicular to the road I'd been driving on, but rather more like a 62° angle. All the other streets that branched off around me weren't aligned either. The people who constructed Iowa City didn't seem to know about the simple concept of a grid. But, despite these odds, I made it through.

Now, you might be thinking that I'm a little pathetic if I can't even venture into part of my own town without getting turned around, but let me defend myself by saying that I am struggling against the odds here. I grew up in the shadow of the Catalina Mountains. Off in the distance reared the Tucson Mountains, and the Tortolitas. When I moved to Flagstaff, the peaks were always hugely present outside my window, and on the four-hour drive between Tucson and Flagstaff, there was never a smooth horizon. Mountains were not just scenery for me, they were a fact of life.

In Iowa there are no mountains. None. There aren't even any overgrown hills. The landscape just rolls and rolls and things like trees and houses consistently block out the view of the low, low horizon.

Needless to say, as I grew up my sense of direction logically based itself on landmarks. When I first arrived here in Iowa, where there are no landmarks, I found myself instantly disoriented by, say, glancing quickly over my shoulder, or walking into a building and then walking out again a little later.

What I discovered during my little foray into the unknown realm of crooked streets and new parts of town - I've made some progress. (Although I will also note that yesterday my combined driving distance was less than six miles...)

When the Internet is Creepy

Scenario - A friend tells me about StumbleUpon. It seems kind of cool. I make a small profile and look around. Not long after, some guy finds my profile.

Guy: Hi Robin I like the Picture, it makes you think when I look at it.

Me: Thanks

Guy*: Thank you so much for getting back in touch with me as it actually made my day!!!, I don't know what made me so excited about you and how it all happen, but I am very interested to find out. I'm thinking I would like to know more about you. You sound like all that a man would need, is this true?

*This is only a tiny section of his letter.

Me: If you are looking for qualities of honesty, loyalty and respect, perhaps you should have had enough respect to read my profile before contacting me in this manner. The only real fact I mention about myself is that I'm in a relationship, and only online looking for friends.

Furthermore, since I am not single, even if I were interested in corresponding with you, I would have to be unfaithful to my boyfriend to interact with you, which would prove I am dishonest and disloyal, and therefore, by default, not what you say you are looking for.

Since I'm sure you use this letter over and over again, I thought I'd help you out with a vocabulary lesson to help you embarrass yourself a little less next time.


pa·tience -noun: the quality of being patient, as the bearing of provocation, annoyance, misfortune, or pain, without complaint, loss of temper, irritation, or the like.

pa·tient(s) -noun: a person who is under medical care or treatment.

ef·fect -noun: something that is produced by an agency or cause; result; consequence

af·fect -verb (used with object): to act on; produce an effect or change in

too -adverb: to an excessive extent or degree; beyond what is desirable, fitting, or right

to -preposition: used for expressing motion or direction toward a point, person, place, or thing approached and reached, as opposed to from


As far as your question about a "pretty lady" like me being on the internet, I am online to share media and ideas, and it is our harassment at the hands of men like you that make women like me so reluctant to appear in internet communities. It is ridiculous that you describe my polite, single word reply as a "letter" and construe it as my desire to get to know you. I try not to immediately assume all men who contact me randomly are creepy, but time and time again men like you prove me wrong.

Please do not contact me again.

Big Day

Well, it's done. I'll post the whole thing tomorrow. Or the next day. Or maybe Sunday, when I have some time off work again. I'm absolutely exhausted and can't sit in front of the computer any longer tonight. And my hand is cramping. And my neck hurts from sitting in the same position for so long. Oh, the woes and perils of creative expression.

The final total (although it has a number of gaps and plot flaws/sudden redirections that need to be smoothed out): 104, 176 words.

In other big news, I got a new web job today. I'll be working for a calligrapher. I met with her this afternoon and then came home and bought the domain. Keep an eye out for changes over the next few weeks. I think this will be a cool project.

Oh, and thanks to everyone who voted in support of my noveling binge - and fie on whoever selected, "No way." =)

An Interactive Entry

Today while I was joining frames at work, my boss walked in. This does not always happen on Mondays, as the gallery is technically closed. Anyway, I said hello to Nick, he asked me a few questions about some orders from last week, and then he said, "So, since I'm going to be out of town later this week I'm thinking maybe I'll just have you work Thursday, Friday and Saturday."

Basically, this means that instead of working my normal 25ish hours strung out over five days, I'll work my normal 25ish hours in three. Most importantly, I'll get Tuesday and Wednesday entirely off.

What am I going to do with this unbroken time on my hands? At first, I didn't know, but as I mulled over my options, it came to me. I'm going to finish my novel. And since I feel an utterly absurd but undeniably strong urge to add a little poll widget thingie to my blog, I'm asking you, dear reader, if you believe I can do it or not.

So, can I write 17,355 words in two days? Leave your opinion over to the upper right.

Testing

I'm trying out the new blogger fancy template thing. While there are some changes I do like quite a bit, there are others that drive me positively crazy. I knew the old template very well and could do pretty much whatever I wanted with it... but the new capabilities entice me with sleek additions like widgets. Besides, I strive to continue to learn, always.

Anynow, the jury's still out.

Sometimes I Just Can't Find a Title

Life continues - the big changes camouflaged in a myriad of little ones. Today I had news of something that makes me sad, and while it not the sort of thing that can accurately be said to have changed my day to day life, I can't help but feel (as nonsensical as it may sound) that it has changed my future.

I spend a lot of time thinking lately about the future, and the route I want to take while getting there. While thinking, I drift along smoothly, because the future comes to us, whether we pursue it or not. There are a few hopeful glimmers on the horizon, but I'm too far out to determine whether they will amount to anything. So, while I wait to see, today I invested a sizable amount of time in scrubbing at the discolorations at the bottom of the bathtub. I know perfectly well these are permanent stains from before we moved in, which I cannot get out. But I still try. And while trying I wonder if it's strange that I worry more about exposing myself to the toxicity of the cleaning chemicals than the bathroom germs.

On Friday we rode our bikes to North Liberty with the Eppens for Mexican food. That was very fun. It's nice to develop some new friendships, and long bike rides bookending food and drink are extremely fun. Last night we had a sleepover with Molly, Oliver, and Isabelle because their parents, Adele and Peter, are out of town. They are a very well behaved dog and couple of cats, but even after one night away it felt good to come home.

Oh, and I accidentally redesigned vitzy's and the gallery website again. Oops.

Of Potters, French Matts and Doping

Lately, I've spent a great deal of time doing three things - working, watching le Tour de France and reading the latest Harry Potter. Of these pursuits, oddly, work has proven the most satisfying.

Le Tour has been exciting this year, but has been rather drastically dampened by the steady stream of expulsions and firings due to the racers getting caught doping. I know this is a complicated issue, and I don't necessarily condemn the men who've been proven guilty, even though I certainly don't support the use of drugs. Currently, I am both feeling disappointed that the final time-trail is not going to prove nearly as interesting now that Rasmussen's out, and somewhat uncomfortably aware that it is the desire of the fans to watch exciting performances that pushes such athletes to dope... and yet if it weren't for the fans, the racers would have no sponsors and without sponsors the races would not go on. The answer? I don't know.

At work I've been learning all sorts of new things - from custom paper bevels to French Matting, (which doesn't involve anything that Brian might be jealous about but does require loose ink, a ruling pen and very steady hand). I love learning new things, and Nick is a good teacher. I've become, finally, very relaxed in my workspace and my only dissatisfaction with the job remains that sometimes I wish there were more hours for me to work.

Finally: Harry Potter. I started reading the 7th and final book yesterday. As odd as it may sound, I do not read Harry Potter because I want to. I give Rowling full marks for creativity, but I find her books poorly written and a little overfond of convenient coincidences and random killings and/or drastic shifts in fundamental character traits. Yet, I was admittedly too interested in the outcome of her saga to be satisfied with reading about the book. What I really wished was that someone else could put in the time for me - read the whole staggering number of pages and then just pour the knowledge of what happened, blow by blow, conveniently into my brain. Of course, such solutions only exist in Potter's world, so I had to do the grunt work. I read the book as fast as I possibly could, and now after many hours of solid reading, although I can't say I'm disappointed because my expectations were too low to allow for that, I can say I'm glad there will be no more Harry Potter books to take up my time in this manner.

On the upside, Brian's currently serenading me with 80's music, (maybe because I rescued him today) so my life is certainly pretty darn good.

A Visitor

Jesse came in for the weekend. It was good to spend some quality time with my brother. He flew in Friday morning and left Sunday evening. We managed to fill up that small chunk of time quite well.

We spent a fair amount of time watching le Tour. We also drove to Grinnell - the town my mother, aunt and uncle grew up in. We connected with an old friend of the family, visited the halls of the university in which my grandfather taught, the streets where my mom and her siblings played, and finally found my grandmother's grave in a cemetery on the side of a hill. I'd never visited a grave before. We had quite a search to find it and weren't sure at first we were looking in the right place. When Brian finally found her name on a tombstone and my brother and I walked over to look, I found the experience unexpectedly moving. I wondered how long it had been since someone stood in that spot and mourned her death. As I looked at her name carved on that stone, delineating the short years of her life, I wondered how my heart could stir for a woman who died over a decade before my birth. I thought of my mother, a young girl, standing in that same spot looking at that same stone and struggling with the new state of her reality.

I believe I don't want to be buried in a graveyard, but nonetheless it felt meaningful to make that little gesture - to sit on the side of a grass-covered hill overlooking a creek, take a moment to regret the loss of an acquaintance I never made, and feel thankful for whatever force lined up the variables to bring me that place.

Reconsideration

I think I am justified in calling myself a consistent person. I rarely make black and white declarations, but when I do, I stick to them. I think an important part of forging and maintaining my identity is standing by the decisions I've made.

So, it is not without ample consideration that I venture to retract a statement I made in no uncertain terms, in this very blog, not long ago. It was a statement I made while still green on the subject matter - a statement that has proven too extreme now that I am better acquainted with the facts of the case.

The truth is, I'm not sure museum glass is actually my nemesis...

I know, I know. What about those things I said? How do I know I'm not falling prey to a ploy on the part of the glass to get my guard down so that it can strike back when I least expect it? Don't think I haven't considered these things. However, I've learned a lot since I first met museum glass back in February. Chiefly, this finicky material is not so bad to work with, as long as it's handled properly.

Lately, I more view museum glass as that eccentric genius - you know, the guy who drives everyone crazy in most spy films because he's completely inept dealing with people, but the other characters put up with him and even rely on him, because he has the skills to get everyone through tight spots. Simultaneously, they all know his quirks and take great pains to avoid ruffing his feathers, because when he's pissed he'll put the whole mission in jeopardy.

I have to admit, in a few cases, museum glass has been there for me when no other kind of glass would do. It's uv protection coupled with the non-glare and also non-foggy coating is truly a wonder. Museum glass, once installed, literally dissolves into the shadows and disappears - just like those really cool guys in spy movies. Also like those really cool guys in spy movies, incorrect handling will make it make your life a living hell.

Still, having now used museum glass with very little difficulty quite a number of times, I hereby retract the title of nemesis I once bestowed upon my sometime adversary. Instead I extend my hand (wearing a lint free cotton glove, of course) in a tentative gesture of friendship and forgiveness.

Respite

To follow a very long week+ of traveling with a very long week of work is, I'm discovering, tiring. But tonight marks the beginning of the weekend, and I'm very glad for it.

This morning Brian and I instituted our plan to start jogging or swimming four mornings a week. I ran around the old neighborhoods up the hill from us, and it felt good. I think we'll stick with it. I do think the run is part of the reason I'm so utterly worn out now, though.

Another thing we've enjoyed doing in the mornings lately is watching the Tour de France. See Brian's blog if you want to know how we're viewing it online.

Also, I wanted to say to my friends in Flagstaff, I'm very sorry we didn't stop off to say hi to anyone while we were in Northern Az. Believe me, it wasn't because we didn't want to but because we genuinely had no extra time.

In more exciting news, my vagabond brother will arrive for a short visit a week from today, and in early August, the rest of my family is likely to drop in. Good times ahead, to be sure.

Good Times at the Wedding

After spending a few days with the family and the animals, we drove to Williams to participate in Autumn and Efrain's wedding. We ended up with the bride, Liz, Brian and I sharing a hotel room the night before (so she'd be away from Efrain for the wedding day), and we had a grand old time drinking port out of 10 oz kiddie tumblers. The next day we went to the ceremony and reception. It was one of the most sincere weddings I've ever seen.

Here we have Autumn, trying to stay calm as the morning of her wedding day crawls by.

Here's the carriage that took the bridal party (yep, that included me!) to the ceremony. The horse's name is Winchester, and he weighs 2300 lbs.


Autumn and Efrain, walking back down the aisle with rings on their fingers.


Liz and Autumn. It was great to spend some time with them again.


Since I had some leftover scraps from the dress, I made a matching tie for Brian. Here we are after the ceremony.

El Rancho Stepheno

There's never a shortage of critters around the family home.

On top of the puppy, my parents have a new kitten. Currently, he goes by Diablo.


Here we have all three horses, standing getting ready to go out on a ride. Mom, Meryl and I all went out together. This had never happened before, and likely will never happen again as Tommy will be off to his new home soon.


Here I am, on my last ride ever on Tommy. I rode him every day while I was home, and as much as I agree he'd not the right horse for my mom, I'll miss the little guy.


This is Jak, my sister's horse, who Brian is growing rather fond of.


Finally, here's the new horse Rojo. He's a Missouri Foxtrotter, which means he has five gaits instead of the usual four. He's 15.1 hands tall, and very friendly. I plan to get to know him better my next trip home.

Home

Well, we're finally back in Iowa City. It was a pretty fun trip, although the end was hectic and exhausting. The wedding was great though. I've rarely seen two people I feel are so perfect for each other.

So, here I sit typing with henna'd hands and a sore back. We battled jet lag to get out of bed in Chicago this morning, drove 3+ hours to Iowa City and then Brian and I were each at work until 8 pm. We are now both very, very tired.

It rained lightly this afternoon. The corn is tall and tasseled in the fields. The large trees in our backyard shade the house with their leaves. The landscape here is so different from the one in Tucson it seems impossible we can travel so quickly between them. Also, it's odd that returning to Iowa is starting to feel like coming home, too. I guess that's something to be grateful for - to have home on both ends of my trip.

I'll post photos of the wedding and the new horse and the new kitten soon.

Puppy!

Just a couple shots of my parent's new puppy, Tanzi.



Just a couple shots of my parent's new puppy, Tanzi.

Cracked

Today I broke my helmet. I did this by bashing it with great force between the pavement of the road and my skull. Fortunately, my head is intact. Although I'm sad to see the helmet go (it was still rather new and matched by carbon fiber bike perfectly), I'm glad it took the impact instead of me. Even with the helmet there doing its job, it took me about twenty minutes after the fall to fully remember where I was and how I'd gotten there. Scary stuff.


I am further pleased to report I am only missing a little skin, my titus is fine and, although I freaked Brian out pretty bad initially by asking alarming questions like, "where are we?" and "which way's north?" repeatedly, he seems okay now too. Although I do feel a little bad for stealing the spotlight on his new Surly's maiden voyage.

In other news, I was also... in the news today. Check out the article A fiesta of art, with bugs. I'm quoted at the end.

Heavy Bag

I put my new brake levers on my fuji yesterday. They are a vast improvement as far as comfortable gripping is concerned. Yesterday, as I rode my bike up the hill from the co-op with two full gallon jugs of water, a bottle of wine, two pounds of dinner meat, an avocado and a cucumber in my backpack, I was quite pleased with the new amount of squishy leverage the little white-hooded dears afforded me - although it never ceases to amaze me how much steeper those hills seem with a 20+ pound load.

My entire weekend (Sunday and Monday, that is) went into the labor intensive task of sewing my bridesmaid's dress for Autumns wedding. After investing much sweat, a little blood and thankfully no tears (yet), it's almost wearable (needs a hem and a few minor sizing adjustments).

And Friday Brian and I will take to the skies and fly home for a visit.

The Ants Go Marching

Growing up in the desert, we grew used to continually encountering the extremely hardy native inhabitants of the land. Most plants around our house were not at all pleasant to touch, and the animals reacted to human interference in a variety of ways, from squirting fake blood all over, to attacking with poisonous stingers.

Ants in the desert come in several varieties, and in our childhood we learned the range from semi-indestructible to completely-indestructible. Once, engaged in one of those illogical acts of childish generosity, my siblings and I decided to help a funnel-web spider by feeding it an ant. We captured and dropped a fire ant into its web. The fire ant promptly ripped the web to pieces and attacked the spider when it appeared to see what was going on. When we pulled the ant away with a stick and tried to smash it for its impertinence, it refused to be smashed. It continued to rampage in blind anger, until we relocated it to an area where there was nothing around for it to harm and finally left it alone.

In spite of what this childhood anecdote might suggest, I am not an insect killer. Truth be told, I am ridiculously soft-hearted as these things go. I can't stand to kill anything, not even a bug, unless it is a mosquito trying to inject me with a deadly virus. So, when ants here invaded our kitchen, we reacted with non-violent resistance. We blocked their entrance. They found another away in. We sprinkled white and red pepper on the counters. They marched right through. We made every effort to peacefully communicate that they were not welcome. Still, the little invaders persisted. I do not, on principle, mind sharing our leftovers with ants. But I definitely don't enjoy picking little stinging insects out of my salad during dinner.

You can imagine my surprise when I finally grew irritated one day and flicked one of these small Iowan ants across the counter - only to see it crumple against the kitchen wall, jerk spasmodically a few times, and die. I'd never seen an ant expire that easily in my life. I was used to ants that would continue to come at me in a terminatoresque fashion, pulling themselves along by their front legs if they lost the back half of their abdomens, or continuing to bite with their jaws if they actually lost their entire body.

Since then I've paid more attention and discovered these ants die with appalling ease. They die if they fall into a drop of water. They die if a small slice of tomato falls on top of them. They die if you bump them with a sponge when you're trying to wipe off the counter. They die and die and die, and leave their grotesque little bodies all over the place, to make you feel guilty for the loss of life, when they are clearly the invaders here.

I will never understand how such a delicate derivative of a species has managed to survive all this time. However, perhaps I will take a few home with me when I visit Tucson next week to make amends with the funnel web spiders.

!

Two pieces of good news. 1) The rain has stopped. 2) I'm 2/3 done with my novel. Book Two is complete and online. This means it's all downhill from here. I have less than half of what I've already written still to write. Sometimes silly little facts like that are profoundly encouraging.

Way hey, it's stormy...

Well, it's been raining for over 12 hours now. By raining I mean steady, sometimes heavy, water pouring from the sky, with pretty much constant thunder and lightning. Brian and I made a dash for the co-op last night to fill up on drinking water, the downpour started literally as we were hoisting our bikes onto the porch. It hasn't let up since. Tornadoes and baseball sized hail were featured in some neighboring counties yesterday. I would just like to take this moment to say - this weather is crazy.

I'm excited to go home next weekend. I've been hearing of big changes on the homestead. I'll get to meet the new Blue Merle Aussie Shepherd pup who's joined the family, as well as the Missouri Fox Trotter who's taking over for Tommy in the family stables.

Although I am glad our little mustang will still be around when I'm home so I can ride him a few last times, I cannot argue with the decision to replace him. I'm the only member of the family who succeeded in the hard task of getting attached to him, and even I experienced something I hadn't felt for years and years when I rode him once a few months ago. He freaked out at something I couldn't see and started to act up. I, alone, bareback, on a deserted stretch of single track surrounded by cactus and mesquite trees, felt afraid. I can't even remember the last time I was afraid of a horse, but I was scared because his fear bordered on that level a horse can reach where he just goes crazy and stops listening. At that point the reality of the situation (I cannot physically overpower an 800 lb animal) becomes very stark. After many small circles, some running backwards, some standing, more small circles, more running backwards, a lot of snorting, little bucks, little rears, and me contemplating jumping off and letting him go his own way, another horse came into view. Tommy calmed right down, and we went home.

I think the lesson I've learned from Tommy is that a mustang requires a lot of time and attention, from one person. When I was home, riding him nearly every day, he stopped spooking almost completely. But since I've been gone he hasn't gotten out as much and yesterday when my sister rode him to the neighbor's house, he spooked and bolted three times (due to two new signs and a Doberman he's seen every ride since he arrived at our house). For an experienced rider, such behavior is irritating. For anyone less than that, it's downright dangerous.

I just hope we find him a good home. And I'm excited to ride Rojo, who is apparently a "dream come true."