This year my office decided to have an ornament exchange to celebrate the Holidays, and I was inspired to write the following while wrapping my contribution. I hope you enjoy it:
There once was a little round glob of glass that lived in the scrap bin at a glassblower’s studio. It wasn’t lonely—it had lots of company, but it was depressed and downcast, because it had wanted more out of life than to just take up space.
One day, the glassblower was commissioned by the city where he lived to fashion some very special ornaments for a tree that would stand in the county courthouse over the Christmas holidays. He was overjoyed at this prospect, because not only would it bring him a handsome and much-needed commission, but it would give him a special opportunity to show what he could do, perhaps bring more work his direction, and let him show his own devotion in a way that was truly unique.
He decided to use only the glass fragments in his scrap bin to symbolize how God is able to use whatever is available to achieve His ends, even the most fragmented and downtrodden. Thus inspired, the glassblower went to work using the utmost of his talents to create glass ornaments that would do justice to the season, the tree, and himself.
The tree was decorated, and it was indeed glorious to behold. People came from all the nearby towns and counties to see it, because the word had gotten out that it was wonderful, and before the end of the season it had gained a fair measure of fame. When it was time, the tree was taken down and the decorations packed away, and everyone thought how wonderful it would be to enjoy them again the following year, but when the time came to retrieve the tree trimmings from storage--they had disappeared! The townsfolk looked high and low, but nowhere could these beautiful glass ornaments be found.
Rumor had it that the glassblower himself had taken them and secretly sent them as gifts to other cities to bless and inspire them by his work. Occasionally, someone would think they had seen one, but the little town itself never saw them again. It was said that every year each glass ball was passed on to yet another town, or even to deserving individuals, to bless them in turn.
And so it came about that the little round glob of glass was able to achieve its heart’s desire: to amount to something beautiful and make a difference in the lives of others. Who knows, maybe it’s even the one you got this year!
Merry Christmas!
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Friday, December 19, 2008
Christmas--Bah, Humbug?
Considering the pain our nation and the world are enduring at this moment, I reflected for a while this morning on the fact that our current economic woes may actually be blessings in disguise. I cannot minimize the suffering individuals and their families are experiencing right now, or the fact that this economic crisis has had far-reaching consequences that few of us might have anticipated one year ago. I doubt that there is a single person whose life is untouched, so each of us must be more compassionate than usual and try to find ways to help. How many of us have bemoaned the fact that Christmas in particular and holidays in general had disintegrated into little more than over-commercialized expressions of greed? How many have longed to return to simpler times when, in the case of Christmas, what we celebrated was the birth of the Messiah and what that represented?
I don’t know how other people feel about the advertisements running on TV right now, but most of them seem very out of touch. I’m sure for some, it’s “business as usual,” and I know retailers depend on Christmas sales for a majority of their yearly income, but I doubt many of us are going to run out and buy a brand-new BMW or Mercedes right now. I heard a newscast last week on TV saying that the American sales fleet told Mercedes not to send any more cars, because there were loads of them sitting on the docks unsold. No, the possibility of buying a new car or plasma TV seems remote if you just lost your job, you’re wondering if you’ll have a job next week, or you’re just trying to feed your family and keep a roof over their heads!
I remember when Christmas, at least in my family, meant making the presents you intended to give, spending time with family and loved ones, and yes—attending Church. It wasn’t about giving expensive gifts or the latest technological fad. It wasn’t about buying new party dresses and going out. You didn’t give people money for Christmas so they could go and buy what they wanted—you spent time giving of your own industry and thoughtfulness. And, you appreciated and were grateful for what you received, no matter how quaint or ill-conceived the gift might be, because that person took the time to care about you. Granted, it is so much easier to just drop a check in the mail or buy a gift card, but it’s also lazy. Who needs to take time to figure out what the person might like? Who even cares to bother? My friends know how I like iTunes, but I don’t want to get a gift card for Christmas unless it’s from my employer or someone who lives thousands of miles away. This year, I’m giving mostly what I call “cards and cookies.” I’ve made a few crocheted and knitted items for the really special folks. I still have no idea what to give my husband, however, though finishing a sweater I started years ago or making him a new robe would be good.
I never dreamed I would ever see so many friends and family members facing economic hardship. I never thought scenes from Dickens would become a daily reality, but when you work in health care as I do, you see it every day: the homeless, whose most immediate need is a meal and a warm, dry bed for the night; those who drown their troubles in alcohol or drugs; or the desperate who want to end the pain, or at least make a cry for help. I can thank God, Providence, or my lucky stars that I’m not in those circumstances myself, but I’ve come to realize that I AM in the boat with these people, and that if I can’t find compassion in my heart and make some attempts at helping, then I’m not much of a human being. Sometimes it takes being creative to find the right way to make a difference, but if each person could reach out and do one thing, it WOULD make a difference. Some people might say that what’s happening now is just the “chickens coming home to roost”—and that may be true, but I’d like to think that all of us have an opportunity to become more than we’ve been and BE better people.
I don’t know how other people feel about the advertisements running on TV right now, but most of them seem very out of touch. I’m sure for some, it’s “business as usual,” and I know retailers depend on Christmas sales for a majority of their yearly income, but I doubt many of us are going to run out and buy a brand-new BMW or Mercedes right now. I heard a newscast last week on TV saying that the American sales fleet told Mercedes not to send any more cars, because there were loads of them sitting on the docks unsold. No, the possibility of buying a new car or plasma TV seems remote if you just lost your job, you’re wondering if you’ll have a job next week, or you’re just trying to feed your family and keep a roof over their heads!
I remember when Christmas, at least in my family, meant making the presents you intended to give, spending time with family and loved ones, and yes—attending Church. It wasn’t about giving expensive gifts or the latest technological fad. It wasn’t about buying new party dresses and going out. You didn’t give people money for Christmas so they could go and buy what they wanted—you spent time giving of your own industry and thoughtfulness. And, you appreciated and were grateful for what you received, no matter how quaint or ill-conceived the gift might be, because that person took the time to care about you. Granted, it is so much easier to just drop a check in the mail or buy a gift card, but it’s also lazy. Who needs to take time to figure out what the person might like? Who even cares to bother? My friends know how I like iTunes, but I don’t want to get a gift card for Christmas unless it’s from my employer or someone who lives thousands of miles away. This year, I’m giving mostly what I call “cards and cookies.” I’ve made a few crocheted and knitted items for the really special folks. I still have no idea what to give my husband, however, though finishing a sweater I started years ago or making him a new robe would be good.
I never dreamed I would ever see so many friends and family members facing economic hardship. I never thought scenes from Dickens would become a daily reality, but when you work in health care as I do, you see it every day: the homeless, whose most immediate need is a meal and a warm, dry bed for the night; those who drown their troubles in alcohol or drugs; or the desperate who want to end the pain, or at least make a cry for help. I can thank God, Providence, or my lucky stars that I’m not in those circumstances myself, but I’ve come to realize that I AM in the boat with these people, and that if I can’t find compassion in my heart and make some attempts at helping, then I’m not much of a human being. Sometimes it takes being creative to find the right way to make a difference, but if each person could reach out and do one thing, it WOULD make a difference. Some people might say that what’s happening now is just the “chickens coming home to roost”—and that may be true, but I’d like to think that all of us have an opportunity to become more than we’ve been and BE better people.
Friday, December 5, 2008
The Most Wonderful Time of the Year
It’s that time again. You know, when everyone’s hoping it might snow, and trying to figure out what to do for Christmas THIS time around. I’ve been pre-occupied with other things this past month, but turning my attention to something else is far overdue. It’s time to start writing out a few cards and letters and trying to decide what gifts I plan to buy, so considering there are only about 20 more days to go, I’d better get with it!
I have always loved Christmas. People say Christmas is for kids, but I never grew up, did you? I guess part of it is that I love giving gifts, no matter what time of year. I love the bustle of shopping, decorating the house, baking special treats, and wrapping beautiful packages—never mind that they will be ripped to shreds and destroyed in a moment—that’s part of the fun.
Christmas was always at my Grandma Rose’s house when I was a kid. That was partly due to the fact that my Mom and Dad and I lived there too, until I was about five years old and we moved into our own house. In later years we had a tree and opened presents on Christmas morning at home, but to me, Christmas didn’t really start until we got to Grandma’s house. Dinner was always there, regardless.
I was the only child, as well as the first and only grandchild, for quite a few years growing up, so my expectations were naturally somewhat skewed. I can remember a Christmas when I was probably about two years old, when it looked as though there were about a thousand presents under the tree, and most of them ended up being for me. That was all right! I’ve always loved receiving gifts too—but still, nothing makes me happier than watching someone open a package that I’ve prepared just for them.
Our family developed a few of its own traditions through the years. The type of tree and how it was decorated, decorations in and around the house, what kinds of sweets Grandma and I baked to serve or give away, and what would be on the table Christmas Day: all these things took on their own special significance. I nearly always baked with Grandma, rather than my Mom, but that was because Grandma let me cook at her house, and she’s the one who actually taught me. Mom baked sugar and candy cane cookies, but that was about it. Grandma taught me how to make peanut brittle the old-fashioned way, and to make fruitcake. One year I made goat milk fudge. I even learned how to make and put together gingerbread houses at Grandma’s, so those became part of our Christmas tradition, too.
Grandma would usually let me decorate her tree for her, and she never went out and selected her own, but someone in the family would always bring her one and put it on a stand. My Mom decorated our tree, and she would select it in the summertime while she was out in the woods. Mom preferred blue spruce trees with all blue lights, but Grandma’s was generally a fir and was covered with all different-colored lights. We never had white lights on our tree back then, and I never saw trees with all white lights until we moved to Seattle.
Normally there were huge gobs of tinsel on the tree, and as many different shiny glass and metal ornaments as we could get on it. We’ve had many ornaments through the years, but I like to decorate with special ornaments. Each year I buy one special ornament to represent that year, or we will receive an especially nice one as a gift.
One year I bought a lighted capiz shell star to put on top. Grandma’s tree had a star for a topper for a while, but one year she bought one of those pointy ornament-type toppers that is supposed to look like a star. Mom had an angel that went on top of ours. The angel was a printed picture on cardboard, but she had real platinum blonde hair and wings made of white feathers glued onto it. It was very beautiful, and we enjoyed it for many years, but one year Mom stored the Christmas ornament boxes in one end of the horses’ metal feed shed, and one of them dragged the boxes down to see what was inside. The horse was just being curious, of course, but the angel ended up being trampled in the muck, and I was so upset I cried. Christmas was never the same without it, and it was almost as though someone I loved had died.
We didn’t have a fireplace when I was growing up, and there were no mantle decorations, so it was always a toss-up where to hang our stockings. Mom would put an orange in the bottom, along with handfuls of candies and nuts. We didn’t have “stocking stuffer” gifts, since Santa supposedly filled the stockings while we were asleep, but somehow I always knew it was Mom. Now that we have a fireplace, Sam, Roxi (our German Shepherd dog), Hadarah (my horse), and I can hang our stockings on little brass hooks set in place by the previous owners. Sam’s stocking has a picture of a teddy bear on it, and mine has a rocking horse. Roxi and Hadarah just have red fuzzy stockings topped with white fur, but they don’t care. I think Roxi’s will have a nice, yummy bone and lots of dog treats, but I don’t know what to put in Sam’s stocking yet. Hadarah’s will have some apples, carrots and a bag of horse cookies. Hmm, am I Santa? At our house, probably I am.
This will be the second Christmas Sam and I spend in our house. It’s odd to think back on traditions and decorations brought from both our families and over the years we’ve been together. Now we’re trying to decide what fits us, here and now. I’ve always wanted outdoor lights, but Sam doesn’t want to put them up. We don’t have children or loads of friends or church members that we expect to drop by, and all our family members live a long way from here. We’ll spoil the dog, and I do hope we can have a small get-together with our friends, but Christmas nowadays is rather Spartan compared to when we grew up. Most of us will have to work at least part of the Holidays, and all of us have to watch our waistlines.
I plan to start getting into the right spirit tonight by watching a few of my favorite Christmas movies on DVD, having a couple of Irish coffees, and making up a Christmas carol playlist for my iPod that I can share with my co-workers. Maybe tomorrow I’ll start on the card writing and make a few cookies while I’m at it. It sounds like fun to me!
I have always loved Christmas. People say Christmas is for kids, but I never grew up, did you? I guess part of it is that I love giving gifts, no matter what time of year. I love the bustle of shopping, decorating the house, baking special treats, and wrapping beautiful packages—never mind that they will be ripped to shreds and destroyed in a moment—that’s part of the fun.
Christmas was always at my Grandma Rose’s house when I was a kid. That was partly due to the fact that my Mom and Dad and I lived there too, until I was about five years old and we moved into our own house. In later years we had a tree and opened presents on Christmas morning at home, but to me, Christmas didn’t really start until we got to Grandma’s house. Dinner was always there, regardless.
I was the only child, as well as the first and only grandchild, for quite a few years growing up, so my expectations were naturally somewhat skewed. I can remember a Christmas when I was probably about two years old, when it looked as though there were about a thousand presents under the tree, and most of them ended up being for me. That was all right! I’ve always loved receiving gifts too—but still, nothing makes me happier than watching someone open a package that I’ve prepared just for them.
Our family developed a few of its own traditions through the years. The type of tree and how it was decorated, decorations in and around the house, what kinds of sweets Grandma and I baked to serve or give away, and what would be on the table Christmas Day: all these things took on their own special significance. I nearly always baked with Grandma, rather than my Mom, but that was because Grandma let me cook at her house, and she’s the one who actually taught me. Mom baked sugar and candy cane cookies, but that was about it. Grandma taught me how to make peanut brittle the old-fashioned way, and to make fruitcake. One year I made goat milk fudge. I even learned how to make and put together gingerbread houses at Grandma’s, so those became part of our Christmas tradition, too.
Grandma would usually let me decorate her tree for her, and she never went out and selected her own, but someone in the family would always bring her one and put it on a stand. My Mom decorated our tree, and she would select it in the summertime while she was out in the woods. Mom preferred blue spruce trees with all blue lights, but Grandma’s was generally a fir and was covered with all different-colored lights. We never had white lights on our tree back then, and I never saw trees with all white lights until we moved to Seattle.
Normally there were huge gobs of tinsel on the tree, and as many different shiny glass and metal ornaments as we could get on it. We’ve had many ornaments through the years, but I like to decorate with special ornaments. Each year I buy one special ornament to represent that year, or we will receive an especially nice one as a gift.
One year I bought a lighted capiz shell star to put on top. Grandma’s tree had a star for a topper for a while, but one year she bought one of those pointy ornament-type toppers that is supposed to look like a star. Mom had an angel that went on top of ours. The angel was a printed picture on cardboard, but she had real platinum blonde hair and wings made of white feathers glued onto it. It was very beautiful, and we enjoyed it for many years, but one year Mom stored the Christmas ornament boxes in one end of the horses’ metal feed shed, and one of them dragged the boxes down to see what was inside. The horse was just being curious, of course, but the angel ended up being trampled in the muck, and I was so upset I cried. Christmas was never the same without it, and it was almost as though someone I loved had died.
We didn’t have a fireplace when I was growing up, and there were no mantle decorations, so it was always a toss-up where to hang our stockings. Mom would put an orange in the bottom, along with handfuls of candies and nuts. We didn’t have “stocking stuffer” gifts, since Santa supposedly filled the stockings while we were asleep, but somehow I always knew it was Mom. Now that we have a fireplace, Sam, Roxi (our German Shepherd dog), Hadarah (my horse), and I can hang our stockings on little brass hooks set in place by the previous owners. Sam’s stocking has a picture of a teddy bear on it, and mine has a rocking horse. Roxi and Hadarah just have red fuzzy stockings topped with white fur, but they don’t care. I think Roxi’s will have a nice, yummy bone and lots of dog treats, but I don’t know what to put in Sam’s stocking yet. Hadarah’s will have some apples, carrots and a bag of horse cookies. Hmm, am I Santa? At our house, probably I am.
This will be the second Christmas Sam and I spend in our house. It’s odd to think back on traditions and decorations brought from both our families and over the years we’ve been together. Now we’re trying to decide what fits us, here and now. I’ve always wanted outdoor lights, but Sam doesn’t want to put them up. We don’t have children or loads of friends or church members that we expect to drop by, and all our family members live a long way from here. We’ll spoil the dog, and I do hope we can have a small get-together with our friends, but Christmas nowadays is rather Spartan compared to when we grew up. Most of us will have to work at least part of the Holidays, and all of us have to watch our waistlines.
I plan to start getting into the right spirit tonight by watching a few of my favorite Christmas movies on DVD, having a couple of Irish coffees, and making up a Christmas carol playlist for my iPod that I can share with my co-workers. Maybe tomorrow I’ll start on the card writing and make a few cookies while I’m at it. It sounds like fun to me!
Monday, November 3, 2008
Being Blonde
A blonde joke came in my E-mail today, and it made me chuckle. They usually do, because they ARE funny, even if also insulting, like Polish jokes. For once it wasn’t the usual fare illustrating how obviously brainless blondes are to the non-blonde world. This time the blonde got the last laugh, and my thought as I finished reading was, “Revenge!”
Being blonde, or more correctly stated “having hair the color of blonde,” is quite an experience and not for the squeamish. I can speak with some authority on this, having been blonde now for about 15 years and in some degrees of blondeness for several years before that, so let me say that if you’ve never been, you have no idea what it’s like.
People have asked why I did it, and there were several things that influenced me. My favorite aunt Barbara was a blonde as long as I can remember, and she was a beautiful woman with good taste and class. I suppose part of me wanted to emulate her. Since I was not a redhead like my Dad and younger sister, I favored having a bit of blonde in my light brown hair to perk it up. It began with sun streaks (remember Sun In?), progressed to highlighting, then to frosting, and finally to going all the way. I might not have done it, except that the bleach used to frost my hair turned it into lifeless straw—and then there was that “going gray” thing. My hairdresser Garry assured me that he could use a much gentler bleach on my whole head than he did with the frosting, so I thought, “Why not?” After all, I could always retreat to brown hair again.
That first bleach job was an experience I won’t forget. It took all day, and try as he might, Garry could not get the color to stay in my hair. I finally ended up going home with a bright brassy do, a can of spray tint, and his promise to contact the company to see what to do about this problem. I was not happy at all with how it turned out, and for the first time in my life, I cried over my hair. Thank God Garry called me the next day and arranged an appointment to fix it, because I was heartbroken with how it had gone.
I should tell you that I was not one to dye my hair all shades of the rainbow when I was younger. I never especially disliked my hair color, and it was not a nondescript mousy brown. About all I had done before this blonde progression was use a little blonde rinse on my hair. I had the skin coloring to go red if I’d desired, but I never wanted to be a redhead, nor had I wished to be a brunette like my Mom. No way!
So Garry fixed my hair, and I’ve been platinum blonde ever since. I loved the color, as did Sam my husband, but I was totally unprepared for the reactions I got from men I’d known for years as well as from complete strangers. To be honest, it scared me to death to have men I worked next to suddenly freak out and say things such as, “Wow Dianne, you are totally hot!” Excuse me? Nothing had changed but the hair! The clothes were the same. The make-up and perfume were the same. As far as I could tell, I acted the same, so why all the commotion? Then there were the total strangers who would come up and start conversations out of the blue while I was minding my own business. The world was turned on its head, and suddenly there was no place to hide. I mean, I couldn’t push a shopping cart through Safeway without having at least one stranger ask me how to select vegetables or go to a celebration at work without being engaged in conversation by a man I didn’t know. I guess if I’d been looking for someone, it might have been great, but I wasn’t and it was not. I seriously considered going back to my old color, but I didn’t want to—I loved the new one, so I had to learn how to steer my way through the mine field that had unexpectedly opened in front of me.
Blonde jokes never used to bother me, because (after all) I was not REALLY blonde. As the years went by though, it hit me that most of the people I know think of me as a blonde, and most of them even think I’m a natural one. It wasn’t bad as long as “blonde” was equated with sexy, appealing, and attractive; but when it meant dumb and brainless, I didn’t like it! Phrases such as “having a blonde moment” are common now, and the meaning is not that the person suddenly blossomed into attractiveness. No, it’s meant to say that the person had a moment of unexplainable stupidity.
On the other hand, people have said all sorts of things about me as a blonde that I never heard with brown hair. I’ve been compared to angels and queens of cinema—believe me, that never happened to my brown-haired self! People even think you’re sexy when you’re fat—take Mae West as an example. I tell you, people (men and women alike) say and do all sorts of things they would never dream of if you had any other shade of hair, and they make assumptions that aren’t always warranted. Well, let me just say in parting, I’m the same old me that I was before and will be for many more years, God willing.
Being blonde, or more correctly stated “having hair the color of blonde,” is quite an experience and not for the squeamish. I can speak with some authority on this, having been blonde now for about 15 years and in some degrees of blondeness for several years before that, so let me say that if you’ve never been, you have no idea what it’s like.
People have asked why I did it, and there were several things that influenced me. My favorite aunt Barbara was a blonde as long as I can remember, and she was a beautiful woman with good taste and class. I suppose part of me wanted to emulate her. Since I was not a redhead like my Dad and younger sister, I favored having a bit of blonde in my light brown hair to perk it up. It began with sun streaks (remember Sun In?), progressed to highlighting, then to frosting, and finally to going all the way. I might not have done it, except that the bleach used to frost my hair turned it into lifeless straw—and then there was that “going gray” thing. My hairdresser Garry assured me that he could use a much gentler bleach on my whole head than he did with the frosting, so I thought, “Why not?” After all, I could always retreat to brown hair again.
That first bleach job was an experience I won’t forget. It took all day, and try as he might, Garry could not get the color to stay in my hair. I finally ended up going home with a bright brassy do, a can of spray tint, and his promise to contact the company to see what to do about this problem. I was not happy at all with how it turned out, and for the first time in my life, I cried over my hair. Thank God Garry called me the next day and arranged an appointment to fix it, because I was heartbroken with how it had gone.
I should tell you that I was not one to dye my hair all shades of the rainbow when I was younger. I never especially disliked my hair color, and it was not a nondescript mousy brown. About all I had done before this blonde progression was use a little blonde rinse on my hair. I had the skin coloring to go red if I’d desired, but I never wanted to be a redhead, nor had I wished to be a brunette like my Mom. No way!
So Garry fixed my hair, and I’ve been platinum blonde ever since. I loved the color, as did Sam my husband, but I was totally unprepared for the reactions I got from men I’d known for years as well as from complete strangers. To be honest, it scared me to death to have men I worked next to suddenly freak out and say things such as, “Wow Dianne, you are totally hot!” Excuse me? Nothing had changed but the hair! The clothes were the same. The make-up and perfume were the same. As far as I could tell, I acted the same, so why all the commotion? Then there were the total strangers who would come up and start conversations out of the blue while I was minding my own business. The world was turned on its head, and suddenly there was no place to hide. I mean, I couldn’t push a shopping cart through Safeway without having at least one stranger ask me how to select vegetables or go to a celebration at work without being engaged in conversation by a man I didn’t know. I guess if I’d been looking for someone, it might have been great, but I wasn’t and it was not. I seriously considered going back to my old color, but I didn’t want to—I loved the new one, so I had to learn how to steer my way through the mine field that had unexpectedly opened in front of me.
Blonde jokes never used to bother me, because (after all) I was not REALLY blonde. As the years went by though, it hit me that most of the people I know think of me as a blonde, and most of them even think I’m a natural one. It wasn’t bad as long as “blonde” was equated with sexy, appealing, and attractive; but when it meant dumb and brainless, I didn’t like it! Phrases such as “having a blonde moment” are common now, and the meaning is not that the person suddenly blossomed into attractiveness. No, it’s meant to say that the person had a moment of unexplainable stupidity.
On the other hand, people have said all sorts of things about me as a blonde that I never heard with brown hair. I’ve been compared to angels and queens of cinema—believe me, that never happened to my brown-haired self! People even think you’re sexy when you’re fat—take Mae West as an example. I tell you, people (men and women alike) say and do all sorts of things they would never dream of if you had any other shade of hair, and they make assumptions that aren’t always warranted. Well, let me just say in parting, I’m the same old me that I was before and will be for many more years, God willing.
Friday, October 31, 2008
Happy Halloween Everybody!
The big day is here at last, and I’m now ready. The only thing I wasn’t able to figure out was how to make my own fangs, but I guess that’s all right.
Since my friends were all either working or taking their kids around on Halloween this year, I gave up on the notion of having a party. Such affairs don’t seem to work out as well as when we were all in college—now we’re all working and have kids to think of, so things such as parties have to take the back seat. I should say that most of us have kids—Sam and I have a dog, and the only thing with her is that she has to go in the back yard while we’re handing out treats to the little ghosts, goblins, and witches who may show up. She got a cut little bandana from the kennel when we picked her up last week that is covered with pictures of ghosts and pumpkins and says “Boo!”
I’ve got plenty of scary music to play this evening, though I will most likely be watching Rosemary’s Baby or Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein tonight, or it might be Bram Stoker’s Dracula instead. We watched The Ninth Gate last night—a movie production which grows in my estimation each time I watch it. Since Roman Polanski produced and directed both Rosemary’s Baby and The Ninth Gate, I would say he knows what he’s doing.
I hadn’t decided what to do about my costume until just today. I finally settled on being a vampire, since I had the clothes and make-up for it. I didn’t have the hem in my black crushed velvet cloak, but I solved that by pinning it up. I have a long black satin slip that works fine as my vampire shift, plus a silver cord belt, black stiletto heels, and some black crystal earrings. Wearing glasses was not going to work, though, so I put in my contacts. I applied the very palest shade of foundation make-up I owned to my face, purple eye shadow, lots of eyeliner and mascara, bright red lipstick with loads of lip gloss, and dusted a huge amount of rouge on my upper cheekbones. The hair was easy: I just fluffed it up as high and wide as I could with my fingers until it stuck out all around my head. Gee, even without the fangs I look pretty convincing!
Earlier today I carved the jack o’lantern for the front porch. I decided to put some votive candles around out front, too, since it’s been raining today and candelarias were out of the question. I wish I’d gotten some dry ice for fog, but that’s okay—it gives me something to shoot for next year.
I have a bowl full of candy by the front door, ready and waiting, so bring on the kiddies! I’m looking forward to seeing who shows up at my front door!
Since my friends were all either working or taking their kids around on Halloween this year, I gave up on the notion of having a party. Such affairs don’t seem to work out as well as when we were all in college—now we’re all working and have kids to think of, so things such as parties have to take the back seat. I should say that most of us have kids—Sam and I have a dog, and the only thing with her is that she has to go in the back yard while we’re handing out treats to the little ghosts, goblins, and witches who may show up. She got a cut little bandana from the kennel when we picked her up last week that is covered with pictures of ghosts and pumpkins and says “Boo!”
I’ve got plenty of scary music to play this evening, though I will most likely be watching Rosemary’s Baby or Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein tonight, or it might be Bram Stoker’s Dracula instead. We watched The Ninth Gate last night—a movie production which grows in my estimation each time I watch it. Since Roman Polanski produced and directed both Rosemary’s Baby and The Ninth Gate, I would say he knows what he’s doing.
I hadn’t decided what to do about my costume until just today. I finally settled on being a vampire, since I had the clothes and make-up for it. I didn’t have the hem in my black crushed velvet cloak, but I solved that by pinning it up. I have a long black satin slip that works fine as my vampire shift, plus a silver cord belt, black stiletto heels, and some black crystal earrings. Wearing glasses was not going to work, though, so I put in my contacts. I applied the very palest shade of foundation make-up I owned to my face, purple eye shadow, lots of eyeliner and mascara, bright red lipstick with loads of lip gloss, and dusted a huge amount of rouge on my upper cheekbones. The hair was easy: I just fluffed it up as high and wide as I could with my fingers until it stuck out all around my head. Gee, even without the fangs I look pretty convincing!
Earlier today I carved the jack o’lantern for the front porch. I decided to put some votive candles around out front, too, since it’s been raining today and candelarias were out of the question. I wish I’d gotten some dry ice for fog, but that’s okay—it gives me something to shoot for next year.
I have a bowl full of candy by the front door, ready and waiting, so bring on the kiddies! I’m looking forward to seeing who shows up at my front door!
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
More Great Things about October
I felt it was only proper, since my last blog post extolled the many charming qualities of the Halloween celebration, to mention some of the other things observed during the month of October. I went to Google (my search engine of choice), typed in "October: Month of," and voila, I found Brownielocks and the Three Bears' 'Website (http://www.brownielocks.com/october.html). This Website shows an exhaustive list of things or organizations selecting October as their official month of awareness, etc. There are also weeks of things. For instance, who knew that October 6-12th was National Financial Planning Week? You'll have to excuse me for finding this much too much of a coincidence! Some of us were busy re-organizing our 401Ks, I'm sure. The rest of us either wished we could or decided the best course was to look the other way and pretend it wasn't happening for as long as possible. If you were fortunate enough to still have a roof over your head, a job, and food to set on the table after the past couple weeks, I have no doubt you're counting your blessings and hanging on--but I digress.
In my own family October has a couple anniversaries of note: my niece Chelsea was married Saturday October 18th this year, and her daughter Riley will be three years old on Halloween--perhaps the best day of the year to have a birthday, other than July 4th (which is mine). I don't know what costume Riley intends to wear this year. She may choose to be a pony, because she loves the equine set every bit as much as I do.
Most of us knew that this was National Breast Cancer Awareness Month. October is filled with all sorts of programs and events designed to raise our consciousness and money for research. Being a breast cancer survivor myself, I heartily applaud all of it and join in where I can. This year The Breast Center where I get my annual mammograms initiated a program to give out hand-made pink scarves to their patients which were made and donated by members of our community. In one week's time, they took in 250 scarves! Everyone was amazed at the tremendous outpouring of emotional support these scarves represented, and when the folks at The Center began giving them out, the women who received them cried, they were so overcome. Meanwhile many of the scarves were put on display. The Gift Shop crew had to deflect a number or offers to purchase them, but these scarves were not for sale. I made and donated one myself, and I count myself fortunate to participate in something which produces so many benefits to all involved. Right on, ladies! You go girls!
That's not all there is to October, but I HAD to mention these at the very least. Enjoy a great month to be alive!
In my own family October has a couple anniversaries of note: my niece Chelsea was married Saturday October 18th this year, and her daughter Riley will be three years old on Halloween--perhaps the best day of the year to have a birthday, other than July 4th (which is mine). I don't know what costume Riley intends to wear this year. She may choose to be a pony, because she loves the equine set every bit as much as I do.
Most of us knew that this was National Breast Cancer Awareness Month. October is filled with all sorts of programs and events designed to raise our consciousness and money for research. Being a breast cancer survivor myself, I heartily applaud all of it and join in where I can. This year The Breast Center where I get my annual mammograms initiated a program to give out hand-made pink scarves to their patients which were made and donated by members of our community. In one week's time, they took in 250 scarves! Everyone was amazed at the tremendous outpouring of emotional support these scarves represented, and when the folks at The Center began giving them out, the women who received them cried, they were so overcome. Meanwhile many of the scarves were put on display. The Gift Shop crew had to deflect a number or offers to purchase them, but these scarves were not for sale. I made and donated one myself, and I count myself fortunate to participate in something which produces so many benefits to all involved. Right on, ladies! You go girls!
That's not all there is to October, but I HAD to mention these at the very least. Enjoy a great month to be alive!
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Thanks for the Proximadade Award!
Thanks to Sooz for awarding me the Proximadade Award recently. I had no idea there were any awards for Bloggers, but this seems like a good one. According to Sooz, this award is recommended for bloggers who encourage people to become closer to each other. Since I don't read many other blogs, I can't currently "pass it on," but I will keep it in mind.
Your new kitty Desi looks promising. I always gravitated to the black or tabby-colored cats, too. Best luck with your new friend!
Your new kitty Desi looks promising. I always gravitated to the black or tabby-colored cats, too. Best luck with your new friend!
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Hooray, It's October!
Including: NOT A NATURAL BLONDE's Top 25 Halloween Movie List
Well friends, it’s that time again—when we’re all loading up on fun-size candy to hand out to the little urchins in a few more weeks. If you’re like me, you’ll have to buy two batches of candy; because you ate the first one before handing any out (I never keep anything like that in the house, so consequently I find it nearly impossible to resist it when it is here). If you are fortunate (or unfortunate) enough to have the night to yourself, you’re probably making plans to either (1) turn out all the lights and pretend you’re not at home; (2) dress your kids in their costumes and take them out as soon as it’s dark, and then pretend you’re not at home when you return while going over the kids’ haul; or (3) decorate and put together the best and scariest costume ever, complete with low lights, weird music, and ground fog for when kids turn up at your door. You may even be planning a party.
For many years I honestly believed my favorite holiday was Christmas (and in some ways it still is), but I have to admit that I’ve always regarded Halloween as loads more fun. Ever since I was a little kid, I loved dressing up and pretending to be someone or something else every year—even more than the prospect of all that candy. No stuffed shirts are allowed on Halloween, except the real ones, of course: scarecrows filled with straw, for example. You can let your imagination literally run wild and be absolutely outrageous. Please don’t misunderstand me, however. I DO NOT advocate any kind of malicious violence or destruction of property! There aren’t many outhouses to overturn any more, but egging cars is a NO NO, as is spray painting stuff. TP-ing houses, or writing on things with soap bars, etc. is okay, because that’s annoying without causing any permanent destruction or defacement of property. You get the idea.
Most years I've had to work on Halloween, which totally takes all the fun out of it, since I work in the Emergency Department of a major medical center. Believe me, the crazies do come out, and some of them are not very nice people. That’s aside from the ones who choose to indulge in excessive amounts of drugs or alcohol—those folks are never any fun, and we see them every day of the week anyway. It seems as though nearly every year some sicko feels compelled to find a new way to hurt little kids, such as putting pins or glass in their candy. For a number of years we always got a few phone calls from parents wanting to know if we were x-raying candy for foreign objects, though I don’t think we got any of those calls last year. Most parents solved this problem by never letting their kids trick-or-treat strangers or by having their own Halloween parties (AKA supervision)—both excellent solutions, and it also assures that your kids aren't off doing anything you'll be liable for.
This year I’ve taken some vacation over Halloween. I had wanted to have a party, but that prospect is waning, since many of my friends and co-workers have little kids or grandkids to take out or other commitments to attend. Actually, I don’t care, because I know I’ll get plenty of trick-or-treaters from the surrounding neighborhood, so I’m going to enjoy myself anyway! I plan on decorating the walk and entry to the house and having a scary costume for handing out treats. Doesn’t everybody? I haven’t decided on what it will be yet, though. Last year I thought it would be great fun to be a pirate, but I don’t want to be one this year. Pirates are now passe. As a kid, my favorite costume was gypsy fortune teller, partly because it was relatively easy to come up with some likely looking clothes and then dab on lipstick and rouge. I’ve liked Cleopatra and Morticia (from The Addams Family TV series) in years past, too. My first impulse this year was Cat Woman, from the Batman movies, but I have to admit that I’m a bit too chunky to be a credible Cat Woman. Maybe next year. Maybe I’ll just be a witch this year—they don’t have to be skinny.
Another tradition, which I began last year, is my list of Top 20 or 25 Halloween movies. I was sure I had saved my previous list, but try as I might, I couldn’t find it in my computer anywhere. That meant I had to start over, but that’s all right. I made a point of watching most of the movies on my list from last year—since I was recommending them, and seeing some of them again made me wonder why I had ever thought they were good in the first place! So, starting fresh and making a new list was probably for the best.
I should explain that my list does not include many of the obvious choices, because they do not have anything to do with Halloween. This means many science-fiction, monster, slasher, and plain old horror movies will not make this list at all. That’s because (gasp) either they’re not any good; or, they belong to another genre. Sorry, but guts and gore alone will not get a movie on this list. If it did, Carnosaur would be here. No, Godzilla, Alien, Hostel, Saw I, II, III, or IV, Amityville Horror, or Night of the Living Dead will not be on this list—sorry, but that’s just how it is: My rules rule. I require that the movie be about Halloween itself, the supernatural, magic or witchcraft, or the perversion of the laws of God and/or nature. That’s why Dracula, Frankenstein, and The Mummy made it, but Godzilla and Alien did not, though a case could be made for the presence of Alien Resurrection. I must explain, too, that I am partial to the old classics. It’s also VERY hard to limit the list to only 25. One criticism of last year’s list was that most of the movies were made before 1950, so I tried to include some newer ones for those of you who don’t watch anything that was made before you were born. I understand also, that many of you consciously avoid horror films in general—well, me too! Most of the current crop of what I call horrendous movies involve little more than vulgar gobs of carnage and gratuitous violence. Definitely not what I like to subject myself to, so I have attempted to compile a list of entertaining and reasonably tasteful movies for you to enjoy watching this month—with me if you like. Hey, if you think I left a deserving movie out, be sure and let me know! My rankings are purely subjective, and in some cases I couldn’t make up my mind, so I put them in the best order I could. I also regret that I had to leave out a few features I might have otherwise included, if I’d made a longer list.
Not a Natural Blonde’s Top Twenty-Five Halloween Flicks:
Well friends, it’s that time again—when we’re all loading up on fun-size candy to hand out to the little urchins in a few more weeks. If you’re like me, you’ll have to buy two batches of candy; because you ate the first one before handing any out (I never keep anything like that in the house, so consequently I find it nearly impossible to resist it when it is here). If you are fortunate (or unfortunate) enough to have the night to yourself, you’re probably making plans to either (1) turn out all the lights and pretend you’re not at home; (2) dress your kids in their costumes and take them out as soon as it’s dark, and then pretend you’re not at home when you return while going over the kids’ haul; or (3) decorate and put together the best and scariest costume ever, complete with low lights, weird music, and ground fog for when kids turn up at your door. You may even be planning a party.
For many years I honestly believed my favorite holiday was Christmas (and in some ways it still is), but I have to admit that I’ve always regarded Halloween as loads more fun. Ever since I was a little kid, I loved dressing up and pretending to be someone or something else every year—even more than the prospect of all that candy. No stuffed shirts are allowed on Halloween, except the real ones, of course: scarecrows filled with straw, for example. You can let your imagination literally run wild and be absolutely outrageous. Please don’t misunderstand me, however. I DO NOT advocate any kind of malicious violence or destruction of property! There aren’t many outhouses to overturn any more, but egging cars is a NO NO, as is spray painting stuff. TP-ing houses, or writing on things with soap bars, etc. is okay, because that’s annoying without causing any permanent destruction or defacement of property. You get the idea.
Most years I've had to work on Halloween, which totally takes all the fun out of it, since I work in the Emergency Department of a major medical center. Believe me, the crazies do come out, and some of them are not very nice people. That’s aside from the ones who choose to indulge in excessive amounts of drugs or alcohol—those folks are never any fun, and we see them every day of the week anyway. It seems as though nearly every year some sicko feels compelled to find a new way to hurt little kids, such as putting pins or glass in their candy. For a number of years we always got a few phone calls from parents wanting to know if we were x-raying candy for foreign objects, though I don’t think we got any of those calls last year. Most parents solved this problem by never letting their kids trick-or-treat strangers or by having their own Halloween parties (AKA supervision)—both excellent solutions, and it also assures that your kids aren't off doing anything you'll be liable for.
This year I’ve taken some vacation over Halloween. I had wanted to have a party, but that prospect is waning, since many of my friends and co-workers have little kids or grandkids to take out or other commitments to attend. Actually, I don’t care, because I know I’ll get plenty of trick-or-treaters from the surrounding neighborhood, so I’m going to enjoy myself anyway! I plan on decorating the walk and entry to the house and having a scary costume for handing out treats. Doesn’t everybody? I haven’t decided on what it will be yet, though. Last year I thought it would be great fun to be a pirate, but I don’t want to be one this year. Pirates are now passe. As a kid, my favorite costume was gypsy fortune teller, partly because it was relatively easy to come up with some likely looking clothes and then dab on lipstick and rouge. I’ve liked Cleopatra and Morticia (from The Addams Family TV series) in years past, too. My first impulse this year was Cat Woman, from the Batman movies, but I have to admit that I’m a bit too chunky to be a credible Cat Woman. Maybe next year. Maybe I’ll just be a witch this year—they don’t have to be skinny.
Another tradition, which I began last year, is my list of Top 20 or 25 Halloween movies. I was sure I had saved my previous list, but try as I might, I couldn’t find it in my computer anywhere. That meant I had to start over, but that’s all right. I made a point of watching most of the movies on my list from last year—since I was recommending them, and seeing some of them again made me wonder why I had ever thought they were good in the first place! So, starting fresh and making a new list was probably for the best.
I should explain that my list does not include many of the obvious choices, because they do not have anything to do with Halloween. This means many science-fiction, monster, slasher, and plain old horror movies will not make this list at all. That’s because (gasp) either they’re not any good; or, they belong to another genre. Sorry, but guts and gore alone will not get a movie on this list. If it did, Carnosaur would be here. No, Godzilla, Alien, Hostel, Saw I, II, III, or IV, Amityville Horror, or Night of the Living Dead will not be on this list—sorry, but that’s just how it is: My rules rule. I require that the movie be about Halloween itself, the supernatural, magic or witchcraft, or the perversion of the laws of God and/or nature. That’s why Dracula, Frankenstein, and The Mummy made it, but Godzilla and Alien did not, though a case could be made for the presence of Alien Resurrection. I must explain, too, that I am partial to the old classics. It’s also VERY hard to limit the list to only 25. One criticism of last year’s list was that most of the movies were made before 1950, so I tried to include some newer ones for those of you who don’t watch anything that was made before you were born. I understand also, that many of you consciously avoid horror films in general—well, me too! Most of the current crop of what I call horrendous movies involve little more than vulgar gobs of carnage and gratuitous violence. Definitely not what I like to subject myself to, so I have attempted to compile a list of entertaining and reasonably tasteful movies for you to enjoy watching this month—with me if you like. Hey, if you think I left a deserving movie out, be sure and let me know! My rankings are purely subjective, and in some cases I couldn’t make up my mind, so I put them in the best order I could. I also regret that I had to leave out a few features I might have otherwise included, if I’d made a longer list.
Not a Natural Blonde’s Top Twenty-Five Halloween Flicks:
1. The Ninth Gate (1999) starring Johnny Depp, Frank Langella, and Lena Olin; directed by Roman Polanski. This movie had me on the edge of my seat till the end, and it’s one I have to own.
2. Bram Stoker’s Dracula (1992) starring Gary Oldman, Winona Ryder, Anthony Hopkins, and Keanu Reeves; directed by Francis Ford Coppola. Won three Oscars: Best Costume Design, Best Effects, and Best Make-up. First rate all the way.
3. Rosemary’s Baby (1968 ) starring Mia Farrow, John Cassavettes, Ruth Gordon, Sidney Blackmer; directed by Roman Polanski. Ruth Gordon won an Oscar in this movie for Best Actress in a Supporting Role; Roman Polanski was nominated for an Oscar for Best Screenplay Based on Materials from Another Medium.
4. The Omen (1976) (this movie and its sequel Damien, Omen II {1978}, are not bad, but III is really boring—unfortunately, by then you’re roped into watching it to see the conclusion) starring Gregory Peck, Lee Remick, David Warner, Harvey Stephens, Billie Whitelaw, and Patrick Troughton; directed by Richard Donner. David Selzer wrote the script as well as the novel on which the movie is based. Someone just made The Omen IV, which I have not seen.
5. The Exorcist (the original was scary enough for me, but you can watch the un-cut version now that includes deleted scenes if you must); (1973) starring Jason Miller, Ellen Burstyn, Max von Sydow, Lee J. Cobb, Kitty Winn, and Linda Blair; directed by William Friedkin. Won two Oscars: Best Sound, and Best Writing: Screenplay from Another Medium.
6. Nosferatu: The Vampyre/Phantom Der Nacht (1979), starring (and directed by) Werner Herzog, and Klaus Kinski. English subtitles, but worth it.
7. Young Frankenstein (1974) starring Gene Wilder, Peter Boyle, Chloris Leachman, Terri Garr, Madeline Kahn, Marty Feldman, Gene Hackman; directed by Mel Brooks. Nominated for Oscars in Best Sound and Best Screenplay Adapted from Another Medium. One of the funniest movies ever made.
8. The Rocky Horror Picture Show (1975) starring Tim Curry, Susan Sarandon, and Barry Bostwick; directed by Jim Sharman. This is the ultimate Halloween cult classic.
9. The Witches of Eastwick (1987) starring Jack Nicholson, Cher, Susan Sarandon, and Michelle Pfeiffer; directed by George Miller. Based on a novel by John Updike.
10. Frankenstein (1931) starring Colin Clive, Mae Clarke, John Boles, and Boris Karloff; directed by James Whale. Based on the novel by Mary Shelley and the play by Peggy Webling.
11. Wolfen (1981) starring Albert Finney, Diane Venora, Edward James Olmos, Gregory Hines directed by Michael Wadleigh. Suffers from poor editing, but the movie has enough suspense to make up for it, and Finney is great as always. 12. The Witches (1990) starring Angelica Huston and Mai Zetterling; directed by Nicolas Roeg; based on a book by Roald Dahl.
13. Dracula (1931) starring Bela Lugos, Helen Chandler, David Manners, Dwight Frye, Edward Van Sloan, and Frances Dade; directed by Tod Browning. Based on Bram Stoker’s novel and the play by Hamilton Dean.
14. The Mummy (1932) starring Boris Karloff, Zita Johann, David Manners, Arthur Byron, Edward Van Sloan; directed by Karl Freund. The original and the best—forget the sequels! The new Mummy movies, starring Brendan Fraser, are also good.
15. The Bride of Frankenstein (1935) starring Boris Karloff, Colin Clive, Valerie Hobson, Ernest Thesiger, and Angela Lansbury; directed by James Whale.
16. Cat People (1942) starring Simone Simon, Kent Smith, and Tom Conway; directed by Jacques Tourneur. Another great film that doesn’t get the respect it deserves, being lauded by Martin Scorsese and influencing such films as The Blair Witch Project.
17. Interview with the Vampire (1994) starring Tom Cruise, Brad Pitt; directed by Neil Jordan. Nominated for Oscars in Best Art Direction/Set Decoration and Best Music/Original Score. Based on Anne Rice’s novel.
18. Poltergeist (the original, none of the sequels—actually, I haven’t seen any of those, so I can’t rate them), (1982) starring Jeff Bannister and Helen Baron; directed by Tobe Hooper. Nominated for Oscars in Best Score, Best Visual Effects, and Best Sound Effects.
19. Ghostbusters (1984) starring Bill Murray, Dan Ackroyd, Sigourney Weaver, Harold Ramis, Rick Moranis; directed by Ivan Reitman. Nominated for two Oscars: Best Effects, Visual Effects, Best Music, Best Original Song. One of Murray's and Ackroyd's best.
20. The Devil’s Advocate (1997) starring Keanu Reeves, Al Pacino, Charlize Theron; directed by Taylor Hackford.
21. Army of Darkness (1981) starring Bruce Campbell and Embeth Davidtz; directed by Sam Raimi. This is part three in Sam Raimi’s Evil Dead series and was Bruce Campbell’s one big starring role. It has a tremendous cult movie following, and should have boosted Bruce into instant mega stardom, but Universal Studios unceremoniously dumped him because they had lawsuits to deal with (unrelated to Bruce or this movie) and probably didn’t know how to market it. One of the very few zombie movies I like. Most recently he was in Spiderman 3.
22. An American Werewolf in London (1981) starring Jenny Agutter and Griffin Dunne; directed by John Landis. Won an Oscar for Best Make-up. Great transformations.
23. Practical Magic (1998) starring Sandra Bullock, Nicole Kidman, and Stockard Channing; directed by Griffin Dunne. *See note below!
24. The Craft (1996) starring Robin Tunney, Fairuz Balk, Neve Campbell, Rachel True; directed by Andrew Fleming.
25. The Blair Witch Project (1999) starring Heather Donahue, Joshua Leonard, Michael C. Williams; directed by Daniel Myrick and Eduardo Sanchez.
I hope you will watch a few of these in the spirit of the season (pun intended). It’s all about having fun, after all, isn't it?
Postscript: Thank you to those of you kind enought to email me your comments or post them here. I DO appreciate your comments, and they are always welcome!
*Note: Actually, the only movie on this list I had not previously seen, but taken somebody else's word on it's value as a Halloween movie, is Practical Magic, starring Sandra Bullock and Nicole Kidman. Aaugh!!! It's a chick flick! Don't waste your time on this one--unless, of course you are a big chick flick fan. This movie is not in the least bit scary and it's not a parody or satire, so it does not belong here. There are a number of deserving movies I could put in its place, but one that immediately comes to mind is Wolf (1994), starring Jack Nickolson and Michelle Pfeiffer; directed by Mike Nichols. Won an ASCAP award for best writing. I believe I had included it on my list last year.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Adventures in Camping
I'm home at last, after spending a week (mostly) camping out in Eastern Oregon. I left here on Tuesday, Sept. 23rd and returned yesterday on Wednesday, Oct. 1st, driving the Miata down through Central Washington: to North Bend and I-90 via Hwy 18, thence to Ellensburg, Yakima, past Tri-Cities (Kennewick, Richland, and Pasco), across the Columbia River at Umatilla below McNary Dam, on to I-84 near Hermiston, through Pendleton, La Grande, Island City, and finally out to Cove and my sister Laurie's place. The drive is 315 miles and five-and-one-half hours, though it's fairly pleasurable in the Miata. No, I did not drive with the top down.
I stayed at my sister's the first and last nights, since Sam was to pick me up there and he didn't arrive until late. Then, I figured it would be un-sisterly to just shower, wash my clothes, and leave without a visit, so I stayed an extra night. We didn't end up talking a lot (which was probably just as well), though I did get to see my niece Alyssa's new baby and drive out to where my niece Chelsea lives with her fiancé Chris (they're getting married on Oct. 18th). Chris introduced me to all their horses, since he knew I was interested in perhaps borrowing one the next time I go up to Eagle Cap Wilderness. I will probably take him up on his offer of using his seven-year-old grey gelding the next time out, because that trail is murder. Besides, I'd like to have a horse to ride around up there. I thought it was terribly nice of him to say I could take his own horse out anytime I wanted, since all he knows about my horsemanship skills is what he's heard from my family—though he has talked to me a couple of times. He must have been favorable impressed, because I wouldn't loan my horse to just anybody!
We stayed at our base camp at Two Pan down at the trailhead on the Lostine River for the first three nights. The parking lot was full of big horse vans and stock trailers belonging to outfitters who were busily engaged in ferrying parties of elk hunters in and out (plus their kills) from a special archery hunt up in the Minam Canyon--at least that was our speculation. Sam used the time to make improvements to our camp site there. To those of you who don’t know him, Sam has never found anything that cannot be improved. The first night he leveled the spot where the dome tent was to go. The second day he put in a different (and a much nicer) fire pit that he'd found, complete with a brick hearth and a couple of logs next to it to set items on while cooking; he also leveled the floor of the screen tent where we keep food and cook on the propane camp stove. The third day he dug out a hole in the river for storing cold beverages. I spent my days helping him when I could, organizing all the stuff we'd brought along, playing with the dog, and hiking around. I also managed to write a journal and read two books while there. The weather could not have been nicer, though it was really cold at night (40 degrees F.). Also, it got dark pretty early, and there was nothing to do but go to bed, making the nights REALLY LONG. Mind you, I'm used to only sleeping about six hours a night, and I get off work at 1 am, so this was a radical change to my schedule. I found myself tired enough to sleep when I went to bed, but then I'd wake up at about 2 am (and several times afterward) and try to go back to sleep. You can probably understand that I was bored out of my mind by the third day.
On Saturday, we finally tackled the trail up the mountain. Mind you, Sam had warned me that it was quite difficult, but I knew pack strings of horses and mules went up and down it all the time, so I wasn't too worried. It was only three-and-a-half miles, after all--how hard could it be? Sam had also told me that it was like the Glacier Basin trail I'd hiked on Mt. Rainier a couple of years ago, but I must say that I was nowhere near being adequately mentally prepared for how bad it was. Yes, it was "like" a part of the Glacier Basin trail--but this one went on and on for three %&@$ing miles!--straight up! Thank God I had really good Gore-Tex hiking boots and some trekking poles, or I would have never made it. And, going up was nothing compared to coming back down again on Monday. How do you limp on both feet? I know the answer to that! Yes, I can and most likely will make the trip again, though next time I will know what I'm in for--and I may well take Chris up on his offer to loan me Grey Gelding to haul my backside up there.
Once we got to the meadows and the river valley, the scenery was truly impressive, and I managed to get some nice photos of Eagle Cap while Sam was fishing, but I didn't have the time or the gumption to go on to Mirror Lake, which I had really wanted to do. That undertaking was another three-and-a-half hours of trekking, and I just did not have it in me this time around. It will have to wait for next time (!) and (probably) the horse.
The first night at what Sam calls Two Creeks Camp, we listened to a bull elk bugling up and down in the valley below all night. He began at about 7:30 pm and ended up on the ridge above us about twelve hours later. At one point I seriously thought he was coming into camp to check us out (Roxi the dog and I were huddled in sleeping bags in the tent trying to keep warm--Sam had gone back down the mountain to bring up a second sleeping bag and a few other items we needed), but he didn't. Even though it would have been dangerous, I was disappointed at not getting to see him. The second night I heard him start out on the ridge top above us, but he went east into the box canyon up there. He must have found what he was looking for, because we didn't hear from him again.
The next day, after a breakfast of coffee, instant oatmeal, and sausages, we hiked up the canyon trail and Sam fished in the Lostine River (which at that point is little more than a creek). All the fish in the Lakes' Basin were originally planted long ago by the Forest Service, but there are now brook trout literally everywhere. You cannot walk down the banks of any stream there without seeing schools of fish, though by our standards they're pretty small. Seven-inchers are pretty good-sized fish, but most are three- to five-inches in length. It takes four or five of them per person for a meal, but they are nice meaty little fish. Sam brought one in nearly every time he stuck the fly he was using (a grasshopper) in the water.
While Sam was fishing, I hiked up the trail with the dog, since she likes to "help" Sam fish. I took a few more photos, but then I turned back and we sat down for a bit of lunch: a couple of taco wrap sandwiches, a nut bar, and a piece of fruit apiece. Carrying water was not necessary, since we could get a drink anytime we wanted. Sam fished a bit longer, until he felt we had enough for dinner, and we returned to camp.
Monday morning we broke camp and then hiked back down the trail to our base camp. That took all day, and we barely got to camp before dark. I can honestly say I cannot remember feeling more miserable in my entire life (I’d say it was an “8” on the pain scale), and the only thing that kept me going was that I had no choice. Going down that boulder-filled trail was no fun at all and a real challenge to my attitude. Was Sam going to leave me on the hillside and get an outfitter to pack my sorry butt down? Not unless I had a broken leg or something! Sam even told me he was proud of me several times, though I was beginning to whimper and whine near the end. We stayed overnight at base camp and the next morning divvied up the things I would bring home with me in the Miata. Sam intends to stay up there for another week, so I left the bulk of the food with him. On Tuesday night I stayed at my sister's and then drove home Wednesday afternoon.
I am so very glad Sam was a boy scout and has excellent woodsman's skills, beyond what I'd thought of in the past. He's tougher than I knew he was, and I have a new appreciation for what he usually does out there on his own. I know it's a cliché, but now that I'm home, there is absolutely nothing like sleeping in your own bed. You can believe it.
I stayed at my sister's the first and last nights, since Sam was to pick me up there and he didn't arrive until late. Then, I figured it would be un-sisterly to just shower, wash my clothes, and leave without a visit, so I stayed an extra night. We didn't end up talking a lot (which was probably just as well), though I did get to see my niece Alyssa's new baby and drive out to where my niece Chelsea lives with her fiancé Chris (they're getting married on Oct. 18th). Chris introduced me to all their horses, since he knew I was interested in perhaps borrowing one the next time I go up to Eagle Cap Wilderness. I will probably take him up on his offer of using his seven-year-old grey gelding the next time out, because that trail is murder. Besides, I'd like to have a horse to ride around up there. I thought it was terribly nice of him to say I could take his own horse out anytime I wanted, since all he knows about my horsemanship skills is what he's heard from my family—though he has talked to me a couple of times. He must have been favorable impressed, because I wouldn't loan my horse to just anybody!
We stayed at our base camp at Two Pan down at the trailhead on the Lostine River for the first three nights. The parking lot was full of big horse vans and stock trailers belonging to outfitters who were busily engaged in ferrying parties of elk hunters in and out (plus their kills) from a special archery hunt up in the Minam Canyon--at least that was our speculation. Sam used the time to make improvements to our camp site there. To those of you who don’t know him, Sam has never found anything that cannot be improved. The first night he leveled the spot where the dome tent was to go. The second day he put in a different (and a much nicer) fire pit that he'd found, complete with a brick hearth and a couple of logs next to it to set items on while cooking; he also leveled the floor of the screen tent where we keep food and cook on the propane camp stove. The third day he dug out a hole in the river for storing cold beverages. I spent my days helping him when I could, organizing all the stuff we'd brought along, playing with the dog, and hiking around. I also managed to write a journal and read two books while there. The weather could not have been nicer, though it was really cold at night (40 degrees F.). Also, it got dark pretty early, and there was nothing to do but go to bed, making the nights REALLY LONG. Mind you, I'm used to only sleeping about six hours a night, and I get off work at 1 am, so this was a radical change to my schedule. I found myself tired enough to sleep when I went to bed, but then I'd wake up at about 2 am (and several times afterward) and try to go back to sleep. You can probably understand that I was bored out of my mind by the third day.
On Saturday, we finally tackled the trail up the mountain. Mind you, Sam had warned me that it was quite difficult, but I knew pack strings of horses and mules went up and down it all the time, so I wasn't too worried. It was only three-and-a-half miles, after all--how hard could it be? Sam had also told me that it was like the Glacier Basin trail I'd hiked on Mt. Rainier a couple of years ago, but I must say that I was nowhere near being adequately mentally prepared for how bad it was. Yes, it was "like" a part of the Glacier Basin trail--but this one went on and on for three %&@$ing miles!--straight up! Thank God I had really good Gore-Tex hiking boots and some trekking poles, or I would have never made it. And, going up was nothing compared to coming back down again on Monday. How do you limp on both feet? I know the answer to that! Yes, I can and most likely will make the trip again, though next time I will know what I'm in for--and I may well take Chris up on his offer to loan me Grey Gelding to haul my backside up there.
Once we got to the meadows and the river valley, the scenery was truly impressive, and I managed to get some nice photos of Eagle Cap while Sam was fishing, but I didn't have the time or the gumption to go on to Mirror Lake, which I had really wanted to do. That undertaking was another three-and-a-half hours of trekking, and I just did not have it in me this time around. It will have to wait for next time (!) and (probably) the horse.
The first night at what Sam calls Two Creeks Camp, we listened to a bull elk bugling up and down in the valley below all night. He began at about 7:30 pm and ended up on the ridge above us about twelve hours later. At one point I seriously thought he was coming into camp to check us out (Roxi the dog and I were huddled in sleeping bags in the tent trying to keep warm--Sam had gone back down the mountain to bring up a second sleeping bag and a few other items we needed), but he didn't. Even though it would have been dangerous, I was disappointed at not getting to see him. The second night I heard him start out on the ridge top above us, but he went east into the box canyon up there. He must have found what he was looking for, because we didn't hear from him again.
The next day, after a breakfast of coffee, instant oatmeal, and sausages, we hiked up the canyon trail and Sam fished in the Lostine River (which at that point is little more than a creek). All the fish in the Lakes' Basin were originally planted long ago by the Forest Service, but there are now brook trout literally everywhere. You cannot walk down the banks of any stream there without seeing schools of fish, though by our standards they're pretty small. Seven-inchers are pretty good-sized fish, but most are three- to five-inches in length. It takes four or five of them per person for a meal, but they are nice meaty little fish. Sam brought one in nearly every time he stuck the fly he was using (a grasshopper) in the water.
While Sam was fishing, I hiked up the trail with the dog, since she likes to "help" Sam fish. I took a few more photos, but then I turned back and we sat down for a bit of lunch: a couple of taco wrap sandwiches, a nut bar, and a piece of fruit apiece. Carrying water was not necessary, since we could get a drink anytime we wanted. Sam fished a bit longer, until he felt we had enough for dinner, and we returned to camp.
Monday morning we broke camp and then hiked back down the trail to our base camp. That took all day, and we barely got to camp before dark. I can honestly say I cannot remember feeling more miserable in my entire life (I’d say it was an “8” on the pain scale), and the only thing that kept me going was that I had no choice. Going down that boulder-filled trail was no fun at all and a real challenge to my attitude. Was Sam going to leave me on the hillside and get an outfitter to pack my sorry butt down? Not unless I had a broken leg or something! Sam even told me he was proud of me several times, though I was beginning to whimper and whine near the end. We stayed overnight at base camp and the next morning divvied up the things I would bring home with me in the Miata. Sam intends to stay up there for another week, so I left the bulk of the food with him. On Tuesday night I stayed at my sister's and then drove home Wednesday afternoon.
I am so very glad Sam was a boy scout and has excellent woodsman's skills, beyond what I'd thought of in the past. He's tougher than I knew he was, and I have a new appreciation for what he usually does out there on his own. I know it's a cliché, but now that I'm home, there is absolutely nothing like sleeping in your own bed. You can believe it.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
So, You Think You Know How to Drive?
Like most people, I’ve always felt I was a pretty good driver. In fact, I’ve always felt that I was much better than average and have even been a little bit cocky driving SABLWLF, my 1996 black Miata MX-5, around town. That was until yesterday, when I attended my first Evolution Driving School. That’s when I found out how much better I could be.
This round of the Evolution Driving School (picture taken at the Mazda Grand Prix of Portland), put on by the Western Washington Sport Car Club of America (WWSCCA) and organized by Keith Brown, was held in Packwood, Washington on the back parking lot of the lumber mill there. It included Phases I and II and Challenge over a space of three days, running two phases per day. Since I was quite inexperienced, I elected to only do the Phase I class this time around, so I could practice what I learned before moving up to Phase II. I think that was a good plan, because doing more would have been too much information right now.
Aside from being way out in the tooleys (you know what I mean—I can’t find the word in the dictionary), it was a great location: small rural town, big paved lot that drained well (it rained most of the day), and a warehouse-type building for the base of operations (where we could park, store our stuff, and stay dry). Instructors were Tom Katzian (a long-time multiple National Champion at autocross or road racing, I’m a bit fuzzy on that), Andy Hollis, and Glenn Hernandez—both of whom are very experienced autocrossers—again, I’m a bit hazy on exactly all they have accomplished in the sport of auto racing, but they both definitely knew their stuff! Class began at 8 am sharp, with cars empty of all loose items, tires pumped, and Snell-approved safety helmets in hand.
The plan was to run three laps of the course by ourselves with instructors watching. Then we were divided into five groups of two or three (there were 13 students total) with each instructor taking someone from each group to tutor over ten laps of the track. Then we broke for lunch, had a group ride-through with the instructors in sedans, went to different instructors for the afternoon session, and followed that with three laps on our own. Since we finished fairly early in the day, and everybody wanted to do more practice laps, we were divided into two groups and ran as many laps as we could cram into 15 minutes. Those of us who were not driving spent our time out on course chasing the cones that were knocked down, so the next driver could proceed on the course as soon as possible.
It was a challenging day! The course consisted of a slalom of eight cones, around a circle heading through an angled turn toward a pivot cone, back into a sweeping turn, a Chicago box, another angled turn and then across the finish line. Please forgive me if my terminology is off! Since I had only participated in one autocross prior to this (I’m pretty sure I was the greenest member in the class), and that was a couple of years ago, my first obstacle was learning how to read the course in the seeming forest of cones. It’s not that hard to decode, but it took a couple laps for me to figure out where I was supposed to be going—with my instructor Andy’s help. My first trip around was a miserable 84.121 seconds, hitting cones, screeching to a halt to try and remain on course, and totally missing the pivot cone which was the fourth element around. In comparison, Andy drove the course with me in 42.783 seconds! I spent the rest of the day learning what I SHOULD be doing, rather than improving what I was already doing. It was humbling, but not once did anyone ever make me feel that I was incompetent—I just needed to learn, and they were there to teach me.
Once I figured out where I was supposed to be going, the lessons got much easier, and I found that I could relate a great deal of it to what I already knew from my experience in riding horses. Funny thing about how your body moves the car where you are looking, and actually looking where you are going was one of the most important lessons of the day! If you focus on the cones right in front of you, you miss the line you need to be driving, instead of having a nice, flowing line through the course where the elements blend together, and each one sets you up for the next. Having soft eyes and looking ahead is something that has been drilled into me in my riding lessons, and it works in driving cars also. Keeping your hands on the wheel is important too, because you can’t drive the car unless you are holding onto the steering wheel—without that, the car is driving, and it doesn’t have a brain! We were introduced to the concept of “shuffle steering,” where you turn the wheel by progressively passing it through your hands. I will have to practice that. Toward the end of the day the only times I got in trouble was when I was focusing on where I was, instead of where I was going. My last three “graduation runs” came in at 45.259, 44.290, and 43.998 seconds respectively. Not bad at all, considering where I started.
In all, I feel that I gained a great deal of confidence in my driving over the space of the day, and my accuracy in driving a line through the course was vastly improved. One problem I had at the start was in being too tentative and not “going for it.” But as Glenn told me, “Cones don’t have lawyers. Don’t stop or slow down if you hit one, learn what you need to and go on.” I don’t plan on becoming a dedicated autocrosser, but I will be out there next year as often as I can fit it into my schedule. Hey, street racers—if you want an outlet where you can legally pour on the steam, there’s a racing venue for you, whether it be drag racing, road racing, or autocross.— And you won’t have the worries of injuring or killing another driver or innocent bystander, or being ticketed by the cops. Never fear, there is plenty of adrenaline to go around!
Monday, August 18, 2008
Confessions of an Olympics Junkie
The Olympics and the Good Will Games have always inspired me. I was not especially athletic as a child, in fact I detested physical education in school, but I have always greatly admired the commitment to excellence made by anyone who qualifies as an Olympic level athlete. I can scarcely fathom the kind of drive it takes to spend all day every day working out and perfecting your performance in activities the rest of the world considers worthy of only leisure time. Of course, you can’t unless you are brilliant enough to earn sponsorship. The rest of us don’t make that grade. Our part is to watch and cheer them on. The closest I ever came to an Olympic commitment was in owning horses and becoming an equestrian.
My particular interest in the Olympics is, naturally, the equestrian events: Three Day Eventing, Dressage, and Stadium (or Show) Jumping. The equestrian events are notable for the facts that they are the only ones in which men and women compete on equal footing, and the only events involving an animal partner. All three sports are based on skills once necessary in wartime, when fought from the backs of horses. The Olympics and Good Will Games also include an event called the Modern Pentathlon (to distinguish it from the ancient discipline with which it shares no events), based on the skills a cavalry officer needed during the Napoleonic Wars if caught behind enemy lines. It includes epee fencing, pistol shooting, running a 3K, swimming a 200 m freestyle, and jumping a stadium round on a horse you’ve never seen or ridden before. It is limited to a total of 72 competitors (no more than two per nation), takes place in only one day, and men and women compete separately. In the 1990 Good Will Games held in Seattle, the jumping phase was held at Cedar Downs, an equestrian stable where I took weekly riding lessons. It was the equestrian element that determined the winner—and the riders who received the highest and lowest scores got them on the same horse! The equestrian phase makes competitors the most nervous, because it is the one event that they have the least control over. Being successful requires you to be a skillful horseman, because you can't just manhandle a horse around the jumps. Furthermore, the owners of horses donated for the event don't appreciate their horses being "yanked around" the course, either.
One special treat this year was being able to watch the equestrian competitions on my computer, regardless of the time of day. How far we have come since Barcelona when NBC decided to broadcast 12 minutes of video showing horses falling! Back then I ponied up the money for Pay per View of the Three Day Event and recorded all of it on video tape. Since I was too poor to pay for Dressage and Show Jumping, I didn’t get to see those, but I didn’t really care. It was the Three Day that mattered. This year I loved being able to watch the entire cross country competition live, go back and watch highlights, and after that the US team. The riders and horses make it look easy, but believe me, an Olympic caliber course is anything but. Those fences are huge, and they don’t fall down like the airy jump standards in the Stadium Jumping. Looking across a big, black ditch lying right behind a tall jump across to the second element that the horse must also clear will put fear into you if anything will. I used to walk the course at Mountain Meadows (when the Equestrians’ Institute Three Day Event was held there—the highest level of competition was Intermediate), look at some of those jumps, and know I could never do that, no matter how much I wished I could. Training Level was possible, but anything beyond that was not for me.
Eventing as a sport has always been my love, even though I train and ride dressage on my Arabian mare Hadarah. I took jumping lessons for a while on my instructor Karin Bishop’s thoroughbred school horse California, but I fell off a lot. Even though I usually managed to fall “gracefully” (according to Karin), I decided to hang it up after falling off my own horse during a lesson and getting knocked out. My dream of someday fox hunting in Ireland would not be happening, but I learned to love being able to execute demanding dressage movements successfully. Even though I have never competed my horse, I never felt pressed to do so, since Karin was a qualified dressage and horse trials judge and always gave me excellent advice. Who knows, perhaps I will compete one day, but right now I can certainly enjoy watching others excel; I can offer bits of advice and wisdom from my accumulated years of horse-keeping, training, and riding; I can continue to train my own horse and take occasional lessons; and I can enjoy riding on the trail with (or without) my friends. I can offer heartfelt congratulations to those who do earn medals, and I will say that riding my horse is my little piece of the Olympic dream that I pay for myself and enjoy in my own leisure time.
My particular interest in the Olympics is, naturally, the equestrian events: Three Day Eventing, Dressage, and Stadium (or Show) Jumping. The equestrian events are notable for the facts that they are the only ones in which men and women compete on equal footing, and the only events involving an animal partner. All three sports are based on skills once necessary in wartime, when fought from the backs of horses. The Olympics and Good Will Games also include an event called the Modern Pentathlon (to distinguish it from the ancient discipline with which it shares no events), based on the skills a cavalry officer needed during the Napoleonic Wars if caught behind enemy lines. It includes epee fencing, pistol shooting, running a 3K, swimming a 200 m freestyle, and jumping a stadium round on a horse you’ve never seen or ridden before. It is limited to a total of 72 competitors (no more than two per nation), takes place in only one day, and men and women compete separately. In the 1990 Good Will Games held in Seattle, the jumping phase was held at Cedar Downs, an equestrian stable where I took weekly riding lessons. It was the equestrian element that determined the winner—and the riders who received the highest and lowest scores got them on the same horse! The equestrian phase makes competitors the most nervous, because it is the one event that they have the least control over. Being successful requires you to be a skillful horseman, because you can't just manhandle a horse around the jumps. Furthermore, the owners of horses donated for the event don't appreciate their horses being "yanked around" the course, either.
One special treat this year was being able to watch the equestrian competitions on my computer, regardless of the time of day. How far we have come since Barcelona when NBC decided to broadcast 12 minutes of video showing horses falling! Back then I ponied up the money for Pay per View of the Three Day Event and recorded all of it on video tape. Since I was too poor to pay for Dressage and Show Jumping, I didn’t get to see those, but I didn’t really care. It was the Three Day that mattered. This year I loved being able to watch the entire cross country competition live, go back and watch highlights, and after that the US team. The riders and horses make it look easy, but believe me, an Olympic caliber course is anything but. Those fences are huge, and they don’t fall down like the airy jump standards in the Stadium Jumping. Looking across a big, black ditch lying right behind a tall jump across to the second element that the horse must also clear will put fear into you if anything will. I used to walk the course at Mountain Meadows (when the Equestrians’ Institute Three Day Event was held there—the highest level of competition was Intermediate), look at some of those jumps, and know I could never do that, no matter how much I wished I could. Training Level was possible, but anything beyond that was not for me.
Eventing as a sport has always been my love, even though I train and ride dressage on my Arabian mare Hadarah. I took jumping lessons for a while on my instructor Karin Bishop’s thoroughbred school horse California, but I fell off a lot. Even though I usually managed to fall “gracefully” (according to Karin), I decided to hang it up after falling off my own horse during a lesson and getting knocked out. My dream of someday fox hunting in Ireland would not be happening, but I learned to love being able to execute demanding dressage movements successfully. Even though I have never competed my horse, I never felt pressed to do so, since Karin was a qualified dressage and horse trials judge and always gave me excellent advice. Who knows, perhaps I will compete one day, but right now I can certainly enjoy watching others excel; I can offer bits of advice and wisdom from my accumulated years of horse-keeping, training, and riding; I can continue to train my own horse and take occasional lessons; and I can enjoy riding on the trail with (or without) my friends. I can offer heartfelt congratulations to those who do earn medals, and I will say that riding my horse is my little piece of the Olympic dream that I pay for myself and enjoy in my own leisure time.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Reflections on the Mazda Grand Prix of Portland, Oregon (7/22-27/08)
It sounds like a hive of angry bees, but if you ever get stung by the car racing bug, chances are slim that you’ll entirely recover. Those were my thoughts earlier today while I sat watching the Formula 1 race cars whiz past at the Mazda Grand Prix of Portland. I was seated comfortably enough at an umbrella table next to the Oregon Brewer’s Festival satellite tent, sipping a plastic cup of Mac ‘n Jacks, and it seemed a most enjoyable way to spend an afternoon. My only regrets were that I was unable to get close enough for any good photos—and that I wasn’t out there on the track myself.
My husband Sam and I had decided to drive down for the day as soon as we saw the ad on page 31 of issue 2 of Forever MX-5 magazine (it was the first one we got—an oversight quickly remedied by an E-mail to Carzines). “All Hail the Gods of Thunder” it said, and since it’s just a two-and-a-half hour drive to Portland, we decided we had to attend—in our Miata MX-5, of course!
The Portland International Raceway is a large racing venue located a short distance off I-5 Southbound (take Exit 306B and you’re practically there), and it’s very easy to find. One feature I found especially handy is the pedestrian overpass to the infield, and there are large bleacher-type grandstands located at various spots around the track. Also convenient is the spectator parking and access to the Car Corral and competition race cars. You can get a nice close-up look and maybe even chat with one of the crew, an owner, or driver. One thing that soon became apparent though, is that it is impossible to get any good photos of the race cars in action, because you cannot get close enough to the track—unless you have a high-powered telephoto lens for your camera. My Nikon Coolpix 4300’s built-in lens was obviously not up to the job.
We arrived and parked in the shade under some trees right next to the Car Corral and walked over to take a look at all the glorious Miatas parked there. Mt. Hood Miata Club was out in force, and though we didn’t count how many were there, they were all gorgeous cars. Also noticeably in attendance was Forever MX-5 magazine. We were fortunate to meet David Russell, Activities Director of the Mt. Hood Miata Club, who showed us around and told us about all the cars. We also got an opportunity to talk briefly to Scott Fisher, Lifestyle Editor of Forever MX-5 magazine. The first car we saw in the Corral was The Survivor, a project car from Issue 2 (see pp. 54-67). Gosh, I had read all about this car, and it was as though I’d run into an old friend and a celebrity at the same time. I’d know that car anywhere! We saw Scott’s 1996 Brilliant Black Miata (a brother to my own, being also a 1996 Brilliant Black MX-5), there was a metallic red one with flames stenciled onto the hood, a sapphire-blue one that we were told had been rescued for $250 and restored. There were cars with various configurations of roll bars, and of course all different types of wheels, etc. What can I say? It was an excellent showing of the Club’s supporters, and I never fail to be amazed at how much we Miata folks adore our cars. We were even invited to join the Car Corral while we were there, though we declined, preferring to park in the shade for the day, since we were not part of their club nor there with our own.
As I mentioned earlier, the Oregon Brewer’s Festival had a satellite tent at the race. The Star Mazda Championship, presented by Goodyear, was there. Several Playboy bunnies were signing autographed pictures, since Playboy is the sponsor of the Mazda MX-5 Cup. Another feature was the Volkswagen TDI Cup, and there was Formula Drift competition sponsored by Circuit City. And as if this was not enough to interest you, there was Motocross, a Motathlon (sorry, I still don’t know what that is), Great American Stock Car racing, Drag racing, a Beaches Cruise-In, Time Attack, and live music at some point in time. Wow! We were sorry we had only come down for the day—and we would have stayed longer, but we had to get home for our dog.
The only thing marring the experience came from the fact that Mazda had to save the Grand Prix of Portland in literally the 12th hour. When Champ Car Racing pulled out, for whatever their reasons, everyone assumed that the Grand Prix would have to fold, because it was too late to find a sponsor. Well, Mazda stepped up to the plate and did their best, but unfortunately, the volunteer support base that is the heart of any such event was already gone. There was no printed program, but thanks to Mt. Hood Miata Club and the Oregon Chapter of the SCCA, we were able to find people around to direct us. There was also an issue of the Oregon SCCA magazine available with a program in it and an explanation of what the races were all about. We frankly were amazed that there were not more people in attendance—but the cars were certainly there! The Spec Miata field was 40 cars, and who knows how many lined up for Time Attack? It was scheduled from 5 to 10 pm. Sam and I have already decided we have to participate next year.
After doing autocross once and attending two major race events this year, I have to say I’m excited by the racing avenues open to us in the Northwest, whatever the interest. Whether you want to stick in your toe or go whole hog, there is a place for you, if you want to be part of it. If you don’t have a car or don’t want to drive, you can volunteer—we all need to do that, regardless. If you want to try racing your daily driver a few weekends a year, autocross is there for you. If you want more than that, there are driving schools and track days. If that’s not enough, you can get a license to do Time Attack or even put together a Spec Miata racer. Whatever your time, interest, or income level, you can do it. Come join us, won’t you? We were bitten by the bug!
My husband Sam and I had decided to drive down for the day as soon as we saw the ad on page 31 of issue 2 of Forever MX-5 magazine (it was the first one we got—an oversight quickly remedied by an E-mail to Carzines). “All Hail the Gods of Thunder” it said, and since it’s just a two-and-a-half hour drive to Portland, we decided we had to attend—in our Miata MX-5, of course!
The Portland International Raceway is a large racing venue located a short distance off I-5 Southbound (take Exit 306B and you’re practically there), and it’s very easy to find. One feature I found especially handy is the pedestrian overpass to the infield, and there are large bleacher-type grandstands located at various spots around the track. Also convenient is the spectator parking and access to the Car Corral and competition race cars. You can get a nice close-up look and maybe even chat with one of the crew, an owner, or driver. One thing that soon became apparent though, is that it is impossible to get any good photos of the race cars in action, because you cannot get close enough to the track—unless you have a high-powered telephoto lens for your camera. My Nikon Coolpix 4300’s built-in lens was obviously not up to the job.
We arrived and parked in the shade under some trees right next to the Car Corral and walked over to take a look at all the glorious Miatas parked there. Mt. Hood Miata Club was out in force, and though we didn’t count how many were there, they were all gorgeous cars. Also noticeably in attendance was Forever MX-5 magazine. We were fortunate to meet David Russell, Activities Director of the Mt. Hood Miata Club, who showed us around and told us about all the cars. We also got an opportunity to talk briefly to Scott Fisher, Lifestyle Editor of Forever MX-5 magazine. The first car we saw in the Corral was The Survivor, a project car from Issue 2 (see pp. 54-67). Gosh, I had read all about this car, and it was as though I’d run into an old friend and a celebrity at the same time. I’d know that car anywhere! We saw Scott’s 1996 Brilliant Black Miata (a brother to my own, being also a 1996 Brilliant Black MX-5), there was a metallic red one with flames stenciled onto the hood, a sapphire-blue one that we were told had been rescued for $250 and restored. There were cars with various configurations of roll bars, and of course all different types of wheels, etc. What can I say? It was an excellent showing of the Club’s supporters, and I never fail to be amazed at how much we Miata folks adore our cars. We were even invited to join the Car Corral while we were there, though we declined, preferring to park in the shade for the day, since we were not part of their club nor there with our own.
As I mentioned earlier, the Oregon Brewer’s Festival had a satellite tent at the race. The Star Mazda Championship, presented by Goodyear, was there. Several Playboy bunnies were signing autographed pictures, since Playboy is the sponsor of the Mazda MX-5 Cup. Another feature was the Volkswagen TDI Cup, and there was Formula Drift competition sponsored by Circuit City. And as if this was not enough to interest you, there was Motocross, a Motathlon (sorry, I still don’t know what that is), Great American Stock Car racing, Drag racing, a Beaches Cruise-In, Time Attack, and live music at some point in time. Wow! We were sorry we had only come down for the day—and we would have stayed longer, but we had to get home for our dog.
The only thing marring the experience came from the fact that Mazda had to save the Grand Prix of Portland in literally the 12th hour. When Champ Car Racing pulled out, for whatever their reasons, everyone assumed that the Grand Prix would have to fold, because it was too late to find a sponsor. Well, Mazda stepped up to the plate and did their best, but unfortunately, the volunteer support base that is the heart of any such event was already gone. There was no printed program, but thanks to Mt. Hood Miata Club and the Oregon Chapter of the SCCA, we were able to find people around to direct us. There was also an issue of the Oregon SCCA magazine available with a program in it and an explanation of what the races were all about. We frankly were amazed that there were not more people in attendance—but the cars were certainly there! The Spec Miata field was 40 cars, and who knows how many lined up for Time Attack? It was scheduled from 5 to 10 pm. Sam and I have already decided we have to participate next year.
After doing autocross once and attending two major race events this year, I have to say I’m excited by the racing avenues open to us in the Northwest, whatever the interest. Whether you want to stick in your toe or go whole hog, there is a place for you, if you want to be part of it. If you don’t have a car or don’t want to drive, you can volunteer—we all need to do that, regardless. If you want to try racing your daily driver a few weekends a year, autocross is there for you. If you want more than that, there are driving schools and track days. If that’s not enough, you can get a license to do Time Attack or even put together a Spec Miata racer. Whatever your time, interest, or income level, you can do it. Come join us, won’t you? We were bitten by the bug!
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Techno-Love Notes
Uh-oh, I think I've just fallen in love again. It's not my fault--well, I guess it really is. If I hadn't gotten that new water bottle from Starbucks because I was trying to reduce eco-waste from water bottles in the local landfill; if I hadn't put the water bottle in my bag instead of carrying it; if the thing hadn't spilled and put an inch of water in the bottom of my bag; if my iPod had not gotten wet and died . . . this would have never happened. Or at least it would not have happened for a while.
I was happy, or at least mostly happy with the iPod I've had for the last three years. It is a black 30 GB video iPod, and the only things that bothered me were that it could no longer store my entire iTunes library, and that I would get a little cross-eyed after watching a video TV show on it. Before this one got ruined, I was thinking about buying another one with more capacity and giving this one to my husband. I'd been looking at the 160 GB iPod Classic, but then I stumbled across the iPod Touch while perusing Amazon.com, and I thought, "Whoa Baby, you've come a long way since I last looked at you!"
I considered an iPod Touch when it first came out, since everyone was raving about it, but I dismissed it then because the capacity was so low that I couldn't see any point in investing in one. Now, however, you can buy one with 32 GB of capacity, and Internet access, and Wi-fi! That puts it in a different league entirely from the iPod I'm used to--not to mention the fact that it has a much larger screen, so I won't get cross-eyed anymore. I can preview songs and videos and download directly from the Internet. I can use it as a navigation device with the Maps feature. I can store my contacts, calendar, and update my files, check out the weather, do my E-mail. I can play the games on the touch screen too, instead of trying to fool around with the click wheel. Ever try to play Bejeweled with a click wheel?
I had an HP iPac Pocket PC that I thought was going to do it all, but it was a huge disappointment. I even bought the thumb and QWERTY keyboards and a gorgeous red leather case for it. I never could find a SAN-disc card that it "liked," so I was unable to use the removable data storage function, it left much to be desired as an MP3 player, and if the battery got too low (which it seemed to do regularly, despite roosting on its dock every night) it would re-format itself and all the files would have to be restored.
The iPod Touch promises to be all the iPac was and more. I still have the old iPac in my computer hardware boneyard, and I think of all the money I wasted on it. I can't use it at all now that I have Vista. Can I believe in the Touch to deliver the equivalent of technological Nirvana? I'd sure like to think so.
I was happy, or at least mostly happy with the iPod I've had for the last three years. It is a black 30 GB video iPod, and the only things that bothered me were that it could no longer store my entire iTunes library, and that I would get a little cross-eyed after watching a video TV show on it. Before this one got ruined, I was thinking about buying another one with more capacity and giving this one to my husband. I'd been looking at the 160 GB iPod Classic, but then I stumbled across the iPod Touch while perusing Amazon.com, and I thought, "Whoa Baby, you've come a long way since I last looked at you!"
I considered an iPod Touch when it first came out, since everyone was raving about it, but I dismissed it then because the capacity was so low that I couldn't see any point in investing in one. Now, however, you can buy one with 32 GB of capacity, and Internet access, and Wi-fi! That puts it in a different league entirely from the iPod I'm used to--not to mention the fact that it has a much larger screen, so I won't get cross-eyed anymore. I can preview songs and videos and download directly from the Internet. I can use it as a navigation device with the Maps feature. I can store my contacts, calendar, and update my files, check out the weather, do my E-mail. I can play the games on the touch screen too, instead of trying to fool around with the click wheel. Ever try to play Bejeweled with a click wheel?
I had an HP iPac Pocket PC that I thought was going to do it all, but it was a huge disappointment. I even bought the thumb and QWERTY keyboards and a gorgeous red leather case for it. I never could find a SAN-disc card that it "liked," so I was unable to use the removable data storage function, it left much to be desired as an MP3 player, and if the battery got too low (which it seemed to do regularly, despite roosting on its dock every night) it would re-format itself and all the files would have to be restored.
The iPod Touch promises to be all the iPac was and more. I still have the old iPac in my computer hardware boneyard, and I think of all the money I wasted on it. I can't use it at all now that I have Vista. Can I believe in the Touch to deliver the equivalent of technological Nirvana? I'd sure like to think so.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
My Romance with Sports Cars
Like many other folks, I’ve been in love with cars ever since I can remember, most specifically Sports Cars. My first love was a silver gray Corvette Sting Ray with red leather interior. I fell for that one when I was in high school, and whenever I saw it drive by, my heart missed a beat. I liked it so much, in fact, that I bought the Sting Ray model car kit (and I’m a girl). Then, shortly before graduating from high school, one of my schoolmates’ fathers bought a brand-new white 1965 Mustang coupe. I never got close enough to see the interior, but it was a honey.
When I went away to college at the University of Oregon in Eugene, I had to pass by the Jaguar dealership whenever I walked downtown from campus. That’s when I discovered the XKE, one of the most beautiful cars ever designed—and I’m not the only one to have that opinion. Once, I walked over to admire a silver gray one close up, and on an impulse I checked to see if the door was unlocked. To my complete amazement, it was, and before I knew what I was doing, I had gotten in and was sitting in the driver’s seat. I think Heaven must have dove gray glove leather seats and a solid wood steering wheel. I was high for at least a week! Through the years I’ve admired many other Sports Cars, but those three were the ones that began my addiction—three of the finest cars ever made. Very high on my list of great cars are the Porsche 911 Carrera and the Boxster, The BMW Z4, the MG, Triumph, Alfa Romeo, and all the Mercedes two-seaters. The car of my dreams, however, (and my current ride) is the Mazda MX-5 Miata, a car which single-handedly resurrected the two-seater convertible in a format reminiscent of the classic British MG—only in a better designed and more mechanically dependable format.
But what is a “Sports Car?” Nowadays people use the term quite loosely. To quote Eric Edwards’ article “Sports Cars: The Definition of Fun” on page 20 of Forever MX-5 Magazine (Issue 2), “The classic definition is that a Sports Car is a lightweight, 2-seat, no fixed roof, rear-wheel drive automobile designed for sporting driving or racing. If it has a fixed roof, it’s a Grand Touring or GT. There can be GT 2+2s, if they have a rear seat. Not strictly Sports Cars, but generally derived from them and closely connected in spirit. And as you can see, these terms primarily describe configuration, rather than performance. The definition assumes that we are talking about cars that have some performance, not big lead-sleds.” Eric goes on to say that people outside the community have been blurring the definition of “Sports Car” for years now, so that the term is nearly meaningless. Nowadays the term refers to nearly any car that can be driven in a spirited manner. According to Eric: “I have heard it applied to Muscle cars, All-Wheel Drive sedans, front wheel drive coupes and even full-size pickup trucks. You’ll suffer a bit of abuse if you tell someone that their car is not a ‘Sports Car.’ No matter what you say, they usually end with, ‘Well, it’s a Sports Car to me.’”
I have to confess that, like many others, I’m guilty of blurring this distinction a bit, referring to just about any small car with a bit of zip to it as at least “sporty,” if not a Sports Car. Aficionados insist that a Sports Car must have performance capability. It must be able to go fast and handle well. Nowadays many cars are very well designed, and many of them are really fun to drive, but they are not necessarily “Sports Cars.” I remember a TV ad that Mazda ran a year or so ago: The scene opens with a small group of hikers standing next to a twisty piece of pavement cutting through the woods, and we can hear a car approaching, because the driver is noisily revving the engine and down-shifting through the curves. One of the young men looks at the others and says something like, “What’s coming?” One of his companions nods knowingly and replies, “Sports Car!” He listens intently and, based on what he hears, tells the group what kind of equipment the approaching “Sports Car” has on board. The group waits expectantly for this impressive machine to round the bend, while the driving noise gets louder and louder, when suddenly a little red Mazda 3, or some such car, rounds the corner. Everyone is dumbfounded, staring as it quickly rolls past and disappears from sight. As you may imagine, the young man who said it was a Sports Car is now taking some ribbing from his friends, but what Mazda is saying is that it’s not so much the looks that makes a Sports Car, it’s what’s under the hood and how it drives. They made their point, but I have to say, “Well, yes and no.” I have to agree with Eric Edwards that some sporty vehicles just are not Sports Cars, no matter how you view them or how they drive—and they never will be. That does NOT mean they are bad cars, nor does it have any bearing on how fun they are to drive through a twisty set of curves.
Having a Sports Car is ALL about fun to drive. Car and Driver Magazine once again placed the 2008 MX-5 Miata in their Top Ten Cars in the “most fun to drive” category—a distinction this little car wears proudly. Mark Stevens (mrkstvns)—who writes reviews and advice on hotels and restaurants and this review of the MX-5 Miata at http://www.epinions.com/content_286982180484—calls the Miata “a glorious expression of pure driving hedonism” and says driving one is “the most fun you can have with your pants still on.” Being one of the most fortunate people on the planet to own one myself, I can only echo his sentiments.
I had wanted to own a Miata since they first rolled off the production line, but back then it was totally out of the question. I was smack dab in the middle of my equestrian wanna-be period, and every spare nickel (even some of the committed ones) went into the horse project. There was no money for a car! I was too busy paying for another new broodmare, hay, and riding lessons twice a week. If I had any spare change, it went into new riding breeches or turn-out rugs (I typically had to buy each horse a new one every year, because they were trashed by the end of the winter). The Miata had to wait until it worked its way higher up on my list. In those days cars were a means of getting from one place to another or for transporting feed. What a come down.
As the years went by though, I noticed what other people were driving—the ones who had the luxury of owning powerful cars that were beautiful and not just utilitarian. I’d sigh over the Porsche 911 or the Corvette that just whizzed past my old Buick Electra, and wish things were different—but they weren’t. The Buick was a V-8, but that’s the only nice thing I could ever say about it, since it was painted that rotten gold color that never looked good and had a peeling vinyl roof. I always felt awful when driving it, and I would actually slump down and try to hide behind its big plastic steering wheel so no one could see me. I hated that car. Eventually, however (thanks to Sam), sanity returned to our household and the horses no longer ruled. We began to have extra money again. We even began owning better cars, though I went through several “interesting” Ford Pinto station wagons. One of my friends once commented that I had to be a really good driver to be able to drive them. Nice, huh?
I had been driving a cute little red Geo Storm for a couple of years, when it suddenly blew a head gasket coming up the long hill from the Renton-Maple Valley Road and abruptly died on me. I was crushed, because I didn’t have any money saved to replace it—we had always paid cash for our cars (part of why we drove beaters). I was wondering out loud to my husband Sam what to do, when he said, “Why don’t you just buy what you really want?—A Miata.”
What a concept! Just buy what I want? That would mean a car loan, something we had never done, and even though we had good credit, I had never considered having a car payment before. I realized that I could afford it, and better yet, I could get a loan through my credit union. They had just mailed me a flyer promoting their car loans a few days before, which I had automatically tossed in the recycle bin, so I gave them a call, started the loan process and got pre-qualified. Then I got on the Internet and made a list of all the Miatas for sale within 300 miles of my house. I narrowed that list down according to what I wanted in a car: year, engine, transmission, color, etc. I wrote E-mails and called prospective sellers, and then I sent Sam out to look at the ones I had finally selected. Out of 11 cars whose owners I contacted, five responded right away, and I made appointments with them. He was able to look at only three of them and took me to see two of those the following day. Of those two, it was obvious, even to Sam, which one was my car. It was as sweet and trouble-free a process as you could possibly hope for, and when I climbed in behind the wheel to drive it home, I slipped one of my CDs into the player. The very first song was "Hello, I Love You" by the Doors.
One disappointment was that the car did not have air conditioning, and that was promptly remedied. People think you do not need it in a convertible, but trust me, when you’re driving a black car through the Central Washington desert with the top down (or even up) in the summertime, you NEED air conditioning. I also bought a hard top (I live in Western Washington! Hello!). In the winter rainy season, you need one, in spite of the fact that the Miata has an excellent heater. People have asked me if I looked under the hood to check out the engine before I bought it. No, that was Sam’s job. As far as I knew, there was a team of squirrels under there, so why would I look? Aside from the air conditioning, though, the car was all I had hoped for and more. You can buy a used Miata and not worry too much, because people who own them are known to baby their cars, unlike many other Sports Cars which often are driven to death. You usually get good insurance rates, too, because many Miatas are owned by older women like me, who have excellent driving records.
In the three years since buying the car, I’ve personalized it quite a bit. I had a vision for this car, and I dare say that neither of its previous owners would recognize it now. It has a personal license plate: SABLWLF, named for a black wolf in a dream I once had. I added a rosewood steering wheel, a Zebrawood dash kit, Momo Zebrano shift knob, and rosewood brake handle; there are tasteful chrome touches also added to the interior, along with Roadster billet pedals and custom floor mats. The chrome looks great since it’s a black car with a black vinyl top and black leather interior. Last year I had a new vinyl soft top installed that has a glass rear window with a defroster. This year Sam came on board with some of what needed done, too, since I’m not mechanical (if it involves more than changing the oil or a tire, I’m lost), and now it has roll bars (real ones, not style bars), a spoiler, new intake and exhaust systems, a new header, new shocks, and a generally beefed-up suspension. It has brand new 17-inch Momo wheels and low profile headlights. Still to come are fiberglass Racing Beat body parts: new nose, rear bumper, and side skirts. Those are waiting in the garage to be installed. We are enrolled in the Evolution performance driving school in August and plan to do track days and autocross next year.
No, SABLWLF is not a puppy dog any more—it’s well on the way to being The Big Bad Wolf! And, you may ask, am I having fun? Oh most emphatically yes, I am!
When I went away to college at the University of Oregon in Eugene, I had to pass by the Jaguar dealership whenever I walked downtown from campus. That’s when I discovered the XKE, one of the most beautiful cars ever designed—and I’m not the only one to have that opinion. Once, I walked over to admire a silver gray one close up, and on an impulse I checked to see if the door was unlocked. To my complete amazement, it was, and before I knew what I was doing, I had gotten in and was sitting in the driver’s seat. I think Heaven must have dove gray glove leather seats and a solid wood steering wheel. I was high for at least a week! Through the years I’ve admired many other Sports Cars, but those three were the ones that began my addiction—three of the finest cars ever made. Very high on my list of great cars are the Porsche 911 Carrera and the Boxster, The BMW Z4, the MG, Triumph, Alfa Romeo, and all the Mercedes two-seaters. The car of my dreams, however, (and my current ride) is the Mazda MX-5 Miata, a car which single-handedly resurrected the two-seater convertible in a format reminiscent of the classic British MG—only in a better designed and more mechanically dependable format.
But what is a “Sports Car?” Nowadays people use the term quite loosely. To quote Eric Edwards’ article “Sports Cars: The Definition of Fun” on page 20 of Forever MX-5 Magazine (Issue 2), “The classic definition is that a Sports Car is a lightweight, 2-seat, no fixed roof, rear-wheel drive automobile designed for sporting driving or racing. If it has a fixed roof, it’s a Grand Touring or GT. There can be GT 2+2s, if they have a rear seat. Not strictly Sports Cars, but generally derived from them and closely connected in spirit. And as you can see, these terms primarily describe configuration, rather than performance. The definition assumes that we are talking about cars that have some performance, not big lead-sleds.” Eric goes on to say that people outside the community have been blurring the definition of “Sports Car” for years now, so that the term is nearly meaningless. Nowadays the term refers to nearly any car that can be driven in a spirited manner. According to Eric: “I have heard it applied to Muscle cars, All-Wheel Drive sedans, front wheel drive coupes and even full-size pickup trucks. You’ll suffer a bit of abuse if you tell someone that their car is not a ‘Sports Car.’ No matter what you say, they usually end with, ‘Well, it’s a Sports Car to me.’”
I have to confess that, like many others, I’m guilty of blurring this distinction a bit, referring to just about any small car with a bit of zip to it as at least “sporty,” if not a Sports Car. Aficionados insist that a Sports Car must have performance capability. It must be able to go fast and handle well. Nowadays many cars are very well designed, and many of them are really fun to drive, but they are not necessarily “Sports Cars.” I remember a TV ad that Mazda ran a year or so ago: The scene opens with a small group of hikers standing next to a twisty piece of pavement cutting through the woods, and we can hear a car approaching, because the driver is noisily revving the engine and down-shifting through the curves. One of the young men looks at the others and says something like, “What’s coming?” One of his companions nods knowingly and replies, “Sports Car!” He listens intently and, based on what he hears, tells the group what kind of equipment the approaching “Sports Car” has on board. The group waits expectantly for this impressive machine to round the bend, while the driving noise gets louder and louder, when suddenly a little red Mazda 3, or some such car, rounds the corner. Everyone is dumbfounded, staring as it quickly rolls past and disappears from sight. As you may imagine, the young man who said it was a Sports Car is now taking some ribbing from his friends, but what Mazda is saying is that it’s not so much the looks that makes a Sports Car, it’s what’s under the hood and how it drives. They made their point, but I have to say, “Well, yes and no.” I have to agree with Eric Edwards that some sporty vehicles just are not Sports Cars, no matter how you view them or how they drive—and they never will be. That does NOT mean they are bad cars, nor does it have any bearing on how fun they are to drive through a twisty set of curves.
Having a Sports Car is ALL about fun to drive. Car and Driver Magazine once again placed the 2008 MX-5 Miata in their Top Ten Cars in the “most fun to drive” category—a distinction this little car wears proudly. Mark Stevens (mrkstvns)—who writes reviews and advice on hotels and restaurants and this review of the MX-5 Miata at http://www.epinions.com/content_286982180484—calls the Miata “a glorious expression of pure driving hedonism” and says driving one is “the most fun you can have with your pants still on.” Being one of the most fortunate people on the planet to own one myself, I can only echo his sentiments.
I had wanted to own a Miata since they first rolled off the production line, but back then it was totally out of the question. I was smack dab in the middle of my equestrian wanna-be period, and every spare nickel (even some of the committed ones) went into the horse project. There was no money for a car! I was too busy paying for another new broodmare, hay, and riding lessons twice a week. If I had any spare change, it went into new riding breeches or turn-out rugs (I typically had to buy each horse a new one every year, because they were trashed by the end of the winter). The Miata had to wait until it worked its way higher up on my list. In those days cars were a means of getting from one place to another or for transporting feed. What a come down.
As the years went by though, I noticed what other people were driving—the ones who had the luxury of owning powerful cars that were beautiful and not just utilitarian. I’d sigh over the Porsche 911 or the Corvette that just whizzed past my old Buick Electra, and wish things were different—but they weren’t. The Buick was a V-8, but that’s the only nice thing I could ever say about it, since it was painted that rotten gold color that never looked good and had a peeling vinyl roof. I always felt awful when driving it, and I would actually slump down and try to hide behind its big plastic steering wheel so no one could see me. I hated that car. Eventually, however (thanks to Sam), sanity returned to our household and the horses no longer ruled. We began to have extra money again. We even began owning better cars, though I went through several “interesting” Ford Pinto station wagons. One of my friends once commented that I had to be a really good driver to be able to drive them. Nice, huh?
I had been driving a cute little red Geo Storm for a couple of years, when it suddenly blew a head gasket coming up the long hill from the Renton-Maple Valley Road and abruptly died on me. I was crushed, because I didn’t have any money saved to replace it—we had always paid cash for our cars (part of why we drove beaters). I was wondering out loud to my husband Sam what to do, when he said, “Why don’t you just buy what you really want?—A Miata.”
What a concept! Just buy what I want? That would mean a car loan, something we had never done, and even though we had good credit, I had never considered having a car payment before. I realized that I could afford it, and better yet, I could get a loan through my credit union. They had just mailed me a flyer promoting their car loans a few days before, which I had automatically tossed in the recycle bin, so I gave them a call, started the loan process and got pre-qualified. Then I got on the Internet and made a list of all the Miatas for sale within 300 miles of my house. I narrowed that list down according to what I wanted in a car: year, engine, transmission, color, etc. I wrote E-mails and called prospective sellers, and then I sent Sam out to look at the ones I had finally selected. Out of 11 cars whose owners I contacted, five responded right away, and I made appointments with them. He was able to look at only three of them and took me to see two of those the following day. Of those two, it was obvious, even to Sam, which one was my car. It was as sweet and trouble-free a process as you could possibly hope for, and when I climbed in behind the wheel to drive it home, I slipped one of my CDs into the player. The very first song was "Hello, I Love You" by the Doors.
One disappointment was that the car did not have air conditioning, and that was promptly remedied. People think you do not need it in a convertible, but trust me, when you’re driving a black car through the Central Washington desert with the top down (or even up) in the summertime, you NEED air conditioning. I also bought a hard top (I live in Western Washington! Hello!). In the winter rainy season, you need one, in spite of the fact that the Miata has an excellent heater. People have asked me if I looked under the hood to check out the engine before I bought it. No, that was Sam’s job. As far as I knew, there was a team of squirrels under there, so why would I look? Aside from the air conditioning, though, the car was all I had hoped for and more. You can buy a used Miata and not worry too much, because people who own them are known to baby their cars, unlike many other Sports Cars which often are driven to death. You usually get good insurance rates, too, because many Miatas are owned by older women like me, who have excellent driving records.
In the three years since buying the car, I’ve personalized it quite a bit. I had a vision for this car, and I dare say that neither of its previous owners would recognize it now. It has a personal license plate: SABLWLF, named for a black wolf in a dream I once had. I added a rosewood steering wheel, a Zebrawood dash kit, Momo Zebrano shift knob, and rosewood brake handle; there are tasteful chrome touches also added to the interior, along with Roadster billet pedals and custom floor mats. The chrome looks great since it’s a black car with a black vinyl top and black leather interior. Last year I had a new vinyl soft top installed that has a glass rear window with a defroster. This year Sam came on board with some of what needed done, too, since I’m not mechanical (if it involves more than changing the oil or a tire, I’m lost), and now it has roll bars (real ones, not style bars), a spoiler, new intake and exhaust systems, a new header, new shocks, and a generally beefed-up suspension. It has brand new 17-inch Momo wheels and low profile headlights. Still to come are fiberglass Racing Beat body parts: new nose, rear bumper, and side skirts. Those are waiting in the garage to be installed. We are enrolled in the Evolution performance driving school in August and plan to do track days and autocross next year.
No, SABLWLF is not a puppy dog any more—it’s well on the way to being The Big Bad Wolf! And, you may ask, am I having fun? Oh most emphatically yes, I am!
Friday, July 11, 2008
A Curious Phenomenon: Renting Handbags?
From time to time things come along that, I must admit, totally astound me. One of these phenomena is renting high-priced designer handbags. In fact, one is not limited only to handbags; one can also rent designer sunglasses. So many women are doing it apparently, that it has been featured in the new Sex and the City movie, presumably to market the service to yet more women who would like to have the bags but cannot afford them—or at least can’t afford more than one. I must be rather out of fashion these days, and the fact is that it has been some time since I especially cared whether I was au currant or not, but be serious—RENTING handbags?
I have noticed that a number of my co-workers (I work almost entirely with women in my office) are caught up in the designer handbag thing. Some of them can afford to buy them, though they usually drive miles out of their way to buy them at outlet mall stores. Yes, the bags are attractive, and I don’t mean to step on the toes of women who really want to own designer handbags—hey, it’s your money honey! It’s just that I don’t personally understand it. I have to admit there is one Chanel makes that I wouldn’t mind having, but it goes for $600—a price that I find exorbitant and refuse to pay for an item to carry my clutter, no matter how attractive it is. Besides, I have no reason to impress anybody on that level, nor have I ever wanted to be a walking billboard. Am I impressed that somebody has a $600 handbag? I suppose I am, but it is not with the handbag, and I wonder how much better the $600 might have been spent. Charity? Retirement fund? Don’t get me wrong. I am not known to be a tightwad or penny pincher and will drop $500 at the drop of a hat if it’s something I want. If you’ve seen my dog, my car, or all the equestrian apparel and tack I own, you know it’s true!
I have several handbags, including some I have made. My favorite is a little black leather shoulder bag made by Koltov that I bought at Fred Meyers for $30 about four years ago. It carries everything I need, is not clunky, and does it in style. Another favorite is a designer Coach bag that I bought at Value Village five years ago for $2.50. It is indeed the real article, and I almost went into shock when I found it, but I snapped it up as though I were sinking a fly on a lunker. It was in almost perfect condition, showing a little wear along one outer seam, but that was all, and I happily plunked down my $2.50—one hundredth of what that particular handbag normally sells for. It is a pretty bag, being one of the smaller ones Coach makes, and I might have bought it anyway for the style, but what really tickled me about this particular purchase is that I made a huge score. I have a cotton string bag (made out of ordinary cotton kitchen string) I crocheted that is perfect for summer and which took two days to make. One year for her birthday I gave my boss at work a black suede yarn evening bag that I made—and I liked it so much that I made another one for myself.
As for me, I need to have more than one bag, so I guess women who rent the designer bags also have ordinary ones that pinch hit when the designer ones won’t do. While I no longer try to match them to my shoes or outfit, one handbag is not appropriate for all occasions. If I get bored using one handbag, I simply switch to another one, or if I need to carry more items with me, then I use one of the larger carry-all tote bags. Since mine are less expensive, I can afford to have several and use the one that suits my needs for the day, rather than waiting for a new designer one to come in the mail or by Fedex. I just go get a different one out of the closet! Since I have made handbags of my own (it’s not very hard folks), I have done so when I needed a new one rather than go down and buy another. It’s fun and creative, so if you are capable of sewing, knitting, or crocheting, why not? You will truly have an original plus the satisfaction that goes with being able to say, “I made it myself.”
This summer I’ve tried getting along without handbags entirely. My success has been limited, but it’s one less thing to keep track of. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve misplaced my handbag or left it behind in stores, and since it’s very distressing (your whole life is in there, not to mention all your important make-up), I figured out how to do it when I didn’t need to take very much with me. Men don’t use handbags, after all, so I believed it must be possible.
Eliminating money and carrying only plastic got rid of the wallet. All I needed was a card case with a zipper compartment for storing change. I needed my keys, sunglasses and some lip gloss, too, but those items could all either be worn or stored in pockets. Now I know why jeans have five pockets and jackets have one out of sight inside the lapel. I felt so clever about this, until one day I was at the grocery store and realized that I had neglected to bring my card case with my driver’s license, debit, and credit cards. Oops! That was embarrassing, but what made the clerk think I was insane was that I was trying to get along without a handbag.
There are many aspects of human behavior that I cannot fathom and never will. Renting designer handbags is one of those phenomena, so I’ve given up trying and just say, “If it makes you happy, you can afford it, and it’s your money, then I guess you can!”
I have noticed that a number of my co-workers (I work almost entirely with women in my office) are caught up in the designer handbag thing. Some of them can afford to buy them, though they usually drive miles out of their way to buy them at outlet mall stores. Yes, the bags are attractive, and I don’t mean to step on the toes of women who really want to own designer handbags—hey, it’s your money honey! It’s just that I don’t personally understand it. I have to admit there is one Chanel makes that I wouldn’t mind having, but it goes for $600—a price that I find exorbitant and refuse to pay for an item to carry my clutter, no matter how attractive it is. Besides, I have no reason to impress anybody on that level, nor have I ever wanted to be a walking billboard. Am I impressed that somebody has a $600 handbag? I suppose I am, but it is not with the handbag, and I wonder how much better the $600 might have been spent. Charity? Retirement fund? Don’t get me wrong. I am not known to be a tightwad or penny pincher and will drop $500 at the drop of a hat if it’s something I want. If you’ve seen my dog, my car, or all the equestrian apparel and tack I own, you know it’s true!
I have several handbags, including some I have made. My favorite is a little black leather shoulder bag made by Koltov that I bought at Fred Meyers for $30 about four years ago. It carries everything I need, is not clunky, and does it in style. Another favorite is a designer Coach bag that I bought at Value Village five years ago for $2.50. It is indeed the real article, and I almost went into shock when I found it, but I snapped it up as though I were sinking a fly on a lunker. It was in almost perfect condition, showing a little wear along one outer seam, but that was all, and I happily plunked down my $2.50—one hundredth of what that particular handbag normally sells for. It is a pretty bag, being one of the smaller ones Coach makes, and I might have bought it anyway for the style, but what really tickled me about this particular purchase is that I made a huge score. I have a cotton string bag (made out of ordinary cotton kitchen string) I crocheted that is perfect for summer and which took two days to make. One year for her birthday I gave my boss at work a black suede yarn evening bag that I made—and I liked it so much that I made another one for myself.
As for me, I need to have more than one bag, so I guess women who rent the designer bags also have ordinary ones that pinch hit when the designer ones won’t do. While I no longer try to match them to my shoes or outfit, one handbag is not appropriate for all occasions. If I get bored using one handbag, I simply switch to another one, or if I need to carry more items with me, then I use one of the larger carry-all tote bags. Since mine are less expensive, I can afford to have several and use the one that suits my needs for the day, rather than waiting for a new designer one to come in the mail or by Fedex. I just go get a different one out of the closet! Since I have made handbags of my own (it’s not very hard folks), I have done so when I needed a new one rather than go down and buy another. It’s fun and creative, so if you are capable of sewing, knitting, or crocheting, why not? You will truly have an original plus the satisfaction that goes with being able to say, “I made it myself.”
This summer I’ve tried getting along without handbags entirely. My success has been limited, but it’s one less thing to keep track of. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve misplaced my handbag or left it behind in stores, and since it’s very distressing (your whole life is in there, not to mention all your important make-up), I figured out how to do it when I didn’t need to take very much with me. Men don’t use handbags, after all, so I believed it must be possible.
Eliminating money and carrying only plastic got rid of the wallet. All I needed was a card case with a zipper compartment for storing change. I needed my keys, sunglasses and some lip gloss, too, but those items could all either be worn or stored in pockets. Now I know why jeans have five pockets and jackets have one out of sight inside the lapel. I felt so clever about this, until one day I was at the grocery store and realized that I had neglected to bring my card case with my driver’s license, debit, and credit cards. Oops! That was embarrassing, but what made the clerk think I was insane was that I was trying to get along without a handbag.
There are many aspects of human behavior that I cannot fathom and never will. Renting designer handbags is one of those phenomena, so I’ve given up trying and just say, “If it makes you happy, you can afford it, and it’s your money, then I guess you can!”
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
What Makes a Team?
Yes, I know I wasn't going to talk about sports anymore, but when you live where there are professional sports and college teams, you can't help but hear what's going on even when you're not interested. Through the years there has been a great deal of buzzing going on over the airwaves about all our local teams, whether it be the pros or college teams, and it got me wondering, just what IS a team?
I'm certain most of us think first of the groups of players who go out there and duel with other groups of players, or we may also include in those thoughts the coaches, managers, or even the owners. To be sure, all of them are included, but what really got me engaged in this train of thought was a big promotion done last fall by the Seahawks called "the Twelfth Man."
"The Twelfth Man," which is of course the fans, was all over the local news last fall, and there were many promotional events with free items given away to encourage the fans to be supportive of the Seahawks. Even as a dis-interested bystander, I was impressed by all this, and it made me realize that actually the fans are the most important part of the team, when all else is said and done.
Coaches, managers, players, and even owners come and go, but the fans--those loyal diehards who make it to most if not all of the games, or watch every game on TV, who paint their faces, and dress up in ridiculous outfits, buy tons of team memorabilia, or not, who have bumper stickers on their cars, and give team stuff to all their kids and friends--the fans are always there. Hey, the players who once belonged to the Sonics are gone, but the team name, past trophies, AND the fan base are all still here. What Oklahoma City has is not the Sonics. I don't even know what they have decided to call that team. Regardless of the season of the year, loyal fans are always there supporting their teams and should not be discounted. If not for them, there would be nobody filling the stands at games, and there would be no reason for anyone to play ball at all.
I can't remember all the times friends or family members have told me how important their teams are to them. Their teams. They take ownership, and how their teams perform is a personal thing--a matter of personal pride. One of my closest friends recently told me that one of his goals in life is to watch a professional baseball game at every single stadium in the country. Well, I was impressed by that, because it made me wonder what would be so important to me that I would put it on my bucket list? I'm still thinking about it.
Even though I doubt I will ever attend any of the games held here--unless I go with my friend who wants to watch the Mariners play--I have to admit that professional sports fill a void for many people. I don't seem to experience that in my own life, perhaps because I'm busy with my own particular interests; but I can honor it, whether I participate or not.
I'm certain most of us think first of the groups of players who go out there and duel with other groups of players, or we may also include in those thoughts the coaches, managers, or even the owners. To be sure, all of them are included, but what really got me engaged in this train of thought was a big promotion done last fall by the Seahawks called "the Twelfth Man."
"The Twelfth Man," which is of course the fans, was all over the local news last fall, and there were many promotional events with free items given away to encourage the fans to be supportive of the Seahawks. Even as a dis-interested bystander, I was impressed by all this, and it made me realize that actually the fans are the most important part of the team, when all else is said and done.
Coaches, managers, players, and even owners come and go, but the fans--those loyal diehards who make it to most if not all of the games, or watch every game on TV, who paint their faces, and dress up in ridiculous outfits, buy tons of team memorabilia, or not, who have bumper stickers on their cars, and give team stuff to all their kids and friends--the fans are always there. Hey, the players who once belonged to the Sonics are gone, but the team name, past trophies, AND the fan base are all still here. What Oklahoma City has is not the Sonics. I don't even know what they have decided to call that team. Regardless of the season of the year, loyal fans are always there supporting their teams and should not be discounted. If not for them, there would be nobody filling the stands at games, and there would be no reason for anyone to play ball at all.
I can't remember all the times friends or family members have told me how important their teams are to them. Their teams. They take ownership, and how their teams perform is a personal thing--a matter of personal pride. One of my closest friends recently told me that one of his goals in life is to watch a professional baseball game at every single stadium in the country. Well, I was impressed by that, because it made me wonder what would be so important to me that I would put it on my bucket list? I'm still thinking about it.
Even though I doubt I will ever attend any of the games held here--unless I go with my friend who wants to watch the Mariners play--I have to admit that professional sports fill a void for many people. I don't seem to experience that in my own life, perhaps because I'm busy with my own particular interests; but I can honor it, whether I participate or not.
Sunday, July 6, 2008
First Thoughts
When I first thought about writing a blog, it was with the idea that I'm a fairly decent writer with opinions worth sharing, so why not? Several of my friends already had them going, and I had been reacting to what they'd written for some time. What about adding a few of my own threads to the clog on the Internet? Well, here goes.
Since I'm a girl, you will note that this blog will probably not often deal with some masculine topics. For instance, I have never been into professional sports, and even though I now hail from the Seattle area, I have never been to a Seahawks, Sonics, or Mariners game. I have never been to any Huskies' games or to the Storm"s or Sounders' games. I have nothing against them especially, it's just that I'm not spending my hard-earned dollars watching somebody else get paid for playing games that I played in high school and college, nor do I waste money on team memorabilia. True, I was not as good at it as to merit someone paying ME to play ball, but I had fun doing it myself. Nowadays I ride my horse or play at autocross with my Miata from time to time--but here's the point I'm trying to make: I'm spending my money on my own good time, not watching somebody else have theirs.
Like all good locals, I'm not against watching the lads and lassies on TV when they're doing well, if I have the time. Some of what happens in the professional sports world, however, borders on idiocy. Take the recent affairs of the basketball team "formerly known as the Seattle Sonics," for example. The City of Seattle locked the Sonics into a terrible contract a few years back, which hinged on the remodeling of the Key Arena venue in the Seattle Center complex. I believe I remember hearing at the time that it was a terrible contract and wouldn't work, but what of that? The next thing we locals hear is whining about what a terrible contract the Sonics were locked into. They were unhappy and wanted a whole new sports dome built just for them. Before reading any further, you must realize that King County taxpayers had already been roped into building new sports venues for not one but two other Seattle professional sports teams--against the protests of local voters. But who cares what the taxpayers want when professional sports are at stake? The King Dome, which was supposed to serve all of them except the Sonics, was demolished. The Mariners got Safeco Field, and an engineering marvel it is; the Seahawks got Qwest Field--and yes, Paul Allen paid for a sizable chunk of that. But now the Sonics, which were sold to new owner Clay Bennet could not be expected to play in such a substandard place as Key Arena. Hey, I've been there from time to time for other events, and it looked perfectly fine to me--oh, but I didn't go upstairs to the penthouses or to the locker rooms. Sorry, I wasn't invited to view those supposedly sorry pieces of real estate.
Here we are with the taxpayers being expected to once again foot the bill for another Sports Dome, which will end up happening anyway once the State Legislature okays it. Is anyone surprised that the proposals batted around last summer didn't fly? Clay Bennet knew all along that the voters would not spring for yet another new arena. Then we heard that Bennet never had any intention of keeping the Sonics here. He meant to move the team to Oklahoma City from the beginning.
I have to laugh now that all the dust has settled, because the real winner here is the City of Seattle, which negotiated a heck of a settlement with Bennet. Clay Bennet did get a team for Oklahoma City but he had to pay through the nose to get out of the last two years of their contract to play here. He didn't get the Sonics name--he got the players and some of the team infrastructure, all at a cost of what I've heard on TV may be somewhere around $500 million by the time he's through. Gees, Clay, don't you feel smart? You even have to help Seattle find a new team to play here or it will cost you another 30 million! You can't even take the banners or the 1979 NBA trophy with you, even though you had duplicates made to show off down there. Everybody knows they're fakes, Clay. We may still be angry about what you pulled, but we are laughing at you all the same!
Since I'm a girl, you will note that this blog will probably not often deal with some masculine topics. For instance, I have never been into professional sports, and even though I now hail from the Seattle area, I have never been to a Seahawks, Sonics, or Mariners game. I have never been to any Huskies' games or to the Storm"s or Sounders' games. I have nothing against them especially, it's just that I'm not spending my hard-earned dollars watching somebody else get paid for playing games that I played in high school and college, nor do I waste money on team memorabilia. True, I was not as good at it as to merit someone paying ME to play ball, but I had fun doing it myself. Nowadays I ride my horse or play at autocross with my Miata from time to time--but here's the point I'm trying to make: I'm spending my money on my own good time, not watching somebody else have theirs.
Like all good locals, I'm not against watching the lads and lassies on TV when they're doing well, if I have the time. Some of what happens in the professional sports world, however, borders on idiocy. Take the recent affairs of the basketball team "formerly known as the Seattle Sonics," for example. The City of Seattle locked the Sonics into a terrible contract a few years back, which hinged on the remodeling of the Key Arena venue in the Seattle Center complex. I believe I remember hearing at the time that it was a terrible contract and wouldn't work, but what of that? The next thing we locals hear is whining about what a terrible contract the Sonics were locked into. They were unhappy and wanted a whole new sports dome built just for them. Before reading any further, you must realize that King County taxpayers had already been roped into building new sports venues for not one but two other Seattle professional sports teams--against the protests of local voters. But who cares what the taxpayers want when professional sports are at stake? The King Dome, which was supposed to serve all of them except the Sonics, was demolished. The Mariners got Safeco Field, and an engineering marvel it is; the Seahawks got Qwest Field--and yes, Paul Allen paid for a sizable chunk of that. But now the Sonics, which were sold to new owner Clay Bennet could not be expected to play in such a substandard place as Key Arena. Hey, I've been there from time to time for other events, and it looked perfectly fine to me--oh, but I didn't go upstairs to the penthouses or to the locker rooms. Sorry, I wasn't invited to view those supposedly sorry pieces of real estate.
Here we are with the taxpayers being expected to once again foot the bill for another Sports Dome, which will end up happening anyway once the State Legislature okays it. Is anyone surprised that the proposals batted around last summer didn't fly? Clay Bennet knew all along that the voters would not spring for yet another new arena. Then we heard that Bennet never had any intention of keeping the Sonics here. He meant to move the team to Oklahoma City from the beginning.
I have to laugh now that all the dust has settled, because the real winner here is the City of Seattle, which negotiated a heck of a settlement with Bennet. Clay Bennet did get a team for Oklahoma City but he had to pay through the nose to get out of the last two years of their contract to play here. He didn't get the Sonics name--he got the players and some of the team infrastructure, all at a cost of what I've heard on TV may be somewhere around $500 million by the time he's through. Gees, Clay, don't you feel smart? You even have to help Seattle find a new team to play here or it will cost you another 30 million! You can't even take the banners or the 1979 NBA trophy with you, even though you had duplicates made to show off down there. Everybody knows they're fakes, Clay. We may still be angry about what you pulled, but we are laughing at you all the same!
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