Steven Harper's Blog, page 63
August 3, 2018
Boston 3: Library and Paul Revere
Yesterday Boston was in the 90s, but we intrepidly trepped out like we'd never trepped before!
We wanted to visit the Boston library because they might have genealogy stuff for Darwin and because . . . library! This required working out the mass transit system, but fortunately I'm well-versed in subways after living in Europe. Boston's was easier to figure out than most. Darwin had never used a subway in his life, so I taught him the basics. We bought passes for the week and hopped aboard the blue line, which dropped us right in front of our goal.
Darwin rooted around in the local history and family history room while I explored the library. The Boston library was built back in the early 1800s, when libraries were built to resemble Greek temples. Big, echoing vaults, long reading rooms, statues and paintings everywhere. It's half museum, really. We found a 300-year-old table built of oak and marble that must have weighed 1000 pounds. I surreptitiously tried to lift one side, and it was like lifting a house. My . . . favorite work of art was the series of paintings in one gallery titled "The Triumph of Religion." The series started with a bunch of Pagan gods (who looked vaguely Egyptian) doing awful things to hapless humans or their souls. Then Christianity arrived, and everything turned lovely. (No mention of the Inquisition or the Salem trials or . . . ) It was painted between 1895 and 1905 or so, but the artists left one panel blank for the Sermon on the Mount. In the room were a pair of ceiling-high, glass-fronted cabinets--locked--with old books in them. I told Darwin that the books were clearly magic, and the library had commissioned the paintings to keep the books under control, but without the final panel, the books could easily escape. He wasn't as fascinated with the idea as I was.
After the library, we took the train over to the Italian section of town because that's where Old North Church and the statue of Paul Revere are (but of course). By now it was getting on 5:00, when everything closes, and the ticket-taker just waved us through.
Ticket-taker? You mean all these important national monuments cost money to see? Yes, they do. You didn't think the actual US government gave them money for upkeep, did you?
Anyway, we were able to zip through the church quickly. It was the same inside as all the other churches: a giant whitewashed room filled with boxed-in pews with a minster's stand at the front atop a short spiral stair. This church also displayed the window through which, according to legend, the minister who hung the famous lanterns jumped in order to escape British soldiers.
We also examined the famous Paul Revere statue to our heart's content. I pointed out to Darwin that the horse was plainly a stallion, a fact he was . . . disconcerted to learn.
It was truly hot and severely muggy, and we were more than a mile from the subway station that would take us to the flat. So we sprang for a taxi. Worth it!
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We wanted to visit the Boston library because they might have genealogy stuff for Darwin and because . . . library! This required working out the mass transit system, but fortunately I'm well-versed in subways after living in Europe. Boston's was easier to figure out than most. Darwin had never used a subway in his life, so I taught him the basics. We bought passes for the week and hopped aboard the blue line, which dropped us right in front of our goal.
Darwin rooted around in the local history and family history room while I explored the library. The Boston library was built back in the early 1800s, when libraries were built to resemble Greek temples. Big, echoing vaults, long reading rooms, statues and paintings everywhere. It's half museum, really. We found a 300-year-old table built of oak and marble that must have weighed 1000 pounds. I surreptitiously tried to lift one side, and it was like lifting a house. My . . . favorite work of art was the series of paintings in one gallery titled "The Triumph of Religion." The series started with a bunch of Pagan gods (who looked vaguely Egyptian) doing awful things to hapless humans or their souls. Then Christianity arrived, and everything turned lovely. (No mention of the Inquisition or the Salem trials or . . . ) It was painted between 1895 and 1905 or so, but the artists left one panel blank for the Sermon on the Mount. In the room were a pair of ceiling-high, glass-fronted cabinets--locked--with old books in them. I told Darwin that the books were clearly magic, and the library had commissioned the paintings to keep the books under control, but without the final panel, the books could easily escape. He wasn't as fascinated with the idea as I was.
After the library, we took the train over to the Italian section of town because that's where Old North Church and the statue of Paul Revere are (but of course). By now it was getting on 5:00, when everything closes, and the ticket-taker just waved us through.
Ticket-taker? You mean all these important national monuments cost money to see? Yes, they do. You didn't think the actual US government gave them money for upkeep, did you?
Anyway, we were able to zip through the church quickly. It was the same inside as all the other churches: a giant whitewashed room filled with boxed-in pews with a minster's stand at the front atop a short spiral stair. This church also displayed the window through which, according to legend, the minister who hung the famous lanterns jumped in order to escape British soldiers.
We also examined the famous Paul Revere statue to our heart's content. I pointed out to Darwin that the horse was plainly a stallion, a fact he was . . . disconcerted to learn.
It was truly hot and severely muggy, and we were more than a mile from the subway station that would take us to the flat. So we sprang for a taxi. Worth it!
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August 1, 2018
Boston 2
So our Boston trip has settled into a pattern:
1. 10 AM: Grudgingly get out of bed.
2. 10 AM - 12 PM: Futz around the flat.
3. 12 PM: Realize we've been in the flat all morning and we should go out and do stuff. Leave to tromp around Boston.
4. 6 PM: Realize we're both exhausted. Return to flat. Stay in for rest of evening.
5. Repeat.
Are we getting old? Only six hours of sightseeing does us in?
So far, we've visited the Granary cemetery, Boston Commons, Quincy Market, Faneuil Hall, Old King Chapel, the site where the first public school was set up, the New England Aquarium, and Boston Harbor.
The Granary cemetery (where several signers of the Declaration of Independence and Paul Revere and Benjamin Franklin's parents are buried) was, as always, interesting to us cemetery folk. The spot was Boston's first official graveyard, and it's called the Granary because later a grain warehouse occupied the lot next to it. The earliest graves are from the late 1600s, and the latest from the 1940s. It's easy to tell which stones were carved by the same stonecutter--the designs and handwriting are the same. A winged skull at the top of the stone was a very popular choice.
Boston Commons is a park with a shallow pool and sign that says NO WADING, which everyone ignores.
Quincy Market and Faneuil ("fan-yel") Hall are the best food court experiences in America, but the area around it (which has been a shopping center for 300 years) is . . . dull. All the stores are ones you can find anywhere in America: Abercrombie & Fitch, Sephora, American Eagle, Victoria's Secret. I can shop at those places at home. The places that aren't national chain stores sell tourist trinkets, which don't interest me, either--I have enough junk in my house, thanks. But the food market was frigging awesome, with menus of all types and nationalities, and I want to eat all my meals there.
Old King Chapel was fascinating. It was originally a Church of England thing that its founders had to fight to build, since King George wasn't too popular among Bostonians. It has the second-oldest graveyard in Boston next to it. Before the Revolution, it was a staging ground for a lot of revolutionary activity. The Boston Tea Party was organized there, and at one point, 5,000 people somehow crammed inside to argue about the upcoming revolution. (The building is the size of a decent-sized modern church, and 5,000 people is more than three times the 1,600 students at the school where I teach, to put it into perspective.) Darwin and I were drawn in, imagining people skulking through the streets at night, whispering word of uprising from house to house, ("And don't tell Fred--he has Tory leanings."), knowing they'd be executed if they were caught. During the Revolution, when the British occupied Boston, the church was converted into a military riding school, and the Brits trashed the place. After the war, George Washington visited and gave a speech vilifying the Brits for their behavior. They've marked the spot where Washington delivered this speech, but they don't allow anyone to stand there. I didn't know that early Colonial churches had pews that are more like boxes at a ball park, essentially tiny rooms enclosed by a waist-high wall. This was partially to help with heat, but mostly to show status. You =bought= your pew, and your ability to pay was a big part of your status.
The church was also the place where Samuel Seawell, a judge who ordered the execution of numerous accused witches in Salem, publicly recanted and begged forgiveness. He worked hard for charitable causes for the rest of his life. That was nice of him. I still spit on his name.
The New England Aquarium was mostly fun. When we arrived, we found a LONG line for tickets, so I whipped out my phone and discovered you can buy tickets on-line. The site even used my camera to scan in my credit card! In seconds I had two tickets, so we left the queue maze and strolled up to the ticket-taker. She scanned the email I'd received, and we went right in. I love the modern age.
The penguins were the most fun. Darwin was particularly enchanted by the young man in a wet suit who stood in the penguin exhibit doing penguin-related things. He was . . . exceedingly attractive. We dubbed him the Hot Penguinologist, and watched him more than the penguins. We happened to be there at feeding time, so we had an excuse to stare at the Hot Penguinologist for considerable time, in fact.
But man--the kids! The place was crowded with children. Families. Tour groups. Daycare groups. And they all had to yell and scream and squeal and shriek. It was deafening. I'm not a grouchy "shut that kid up" kind of person--kids are loud by nature. But after an hour of nonstop squealing/screeching/yowling/shrieking, you get a headache.
Eventually, Darwin and I retreated to the aquarium cafe, where we had a reasonably priced lunch with lots of caffeine to ward off further headaches. It was post-rush, so all the screamers had already eaten and it was QUIET. Once fortified with food, caffeine, and silence, we dove back into the noise to see seals and huge fish and tiny fish and more of the Hot Penguinologist. Darwin got to pet a small manta ray.
Several times, Darwin and I unconsciously held hands and twice I kissed him without thinking about it. No reaction from any of the attendees, though when we strolled down to Boston Harbor for a look, we did get a Heavy Silent Glare from one guy. That was it.
Coming up: the Boston Library, Salem, and Nantucket.
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1. 10 AM: Grudgingly get out of bed.
2. 10 AM - 12 PM: Futz around the flat.
3. 12 PM: Realize we've been in the flat all morning and we should go out and do stuff. Leave to tromp around Boston.
4. 6 PM: Realize we're both exhausted. Return to flat. Stay in for rest of evening.
5. Repeat.
Are we getting old? Only six hours of sightseeing does us in?
So far, we've visited the Granary cemetery, Boston Commons, Quincy Market, Faneuil Hall, Old King Chapel, the site where the first public school was set up, the New England Aquarium, and Boston Harbor.
The Granary cemetery (where several signers of the Declaration of Independence and Paul Revere and Benjamin Franklin's parents are buried) was, as always, interesting to us cemetery folk. The spot was Boston's first official graveyard, and it's called the Granary because later a grain warehouse occupied the lot next to it. The earliest graves are from the late 1600s, and the latest from the 1940s. It's easy to tell which stones were carved by the same stonecutter--the designs and handwriting are the same. A winged skull at the top of the stone was a very popular choice.
Boston Commons is a park with a shallow pool and sign that says NO WADING, which everyone ignores.
Quincy Market and Faneuil ("fan-yel") Hall are the best food court experiences in America, but the area around it (which has been a shopping center for 300 years) is . . . dull. All the stores are ones you can find anywhere in America: Abercrombie & Fitch, Sephora, American Eagle, Victoria's Secret. I can shop at those places at home. The places that aren't national chain stores sell tourist trinkets, which don't interest me, either--I have enough junk in my house, thanks. But the food market was frigging awesome, with menus of all types and nationalities, and I want to eat all my meals there.
Old King Chapel was fascinating. It was originally a Church of England thing that its founders had to fight to build, since King George wasn't too popular among Bostonians. It has the second-oldest graveyard in Boston next to it. Before the Revolution, it was a staging ground for a lot of revolutionary activity. The Boston Tea Party was organized there, and at one point, 5,000 people somehow crammed inside to argue about the upcoming revolution. (The building is the size of a decent-sized modern church, and 5,000 people is more than three times the 1,600 students at the school where I teach, to put it into perspective.) Darwin and I were drawn in, imagining people skulking through the streets at night, whispering word of uprising from house to house, ("And don't tell Fred--he has Tory leanings."), knowing they'd be executed if they were caught. During the Revolution, when the British occupied Boston, the church was converted into a military riding school, and the Brits trashed the place. After the war, George Washington visited and gave a speech vilifying the Brits for their behavior. They've marked the spot where Washington delivered this speech, but they don't allow anyone to stand there. I didn't know that early Colonial churches had pews that are more like boxes at a ball park, essentially tiny rooms enclosed by a waist-high wall. This was partially to help with heat, but mostly to show status. You =bought= your pew, and your ability to pay was a big part of your status.
The church was also the place where Samuel Seawell, a judge who ordered the execution of numerous accused witches in Salem, publicly recanted and begged forgiveness. He worked hard for charitable causes for the rest of his life. That was nice of him. I still spit on his name.
The New England Aquarium was mostly fun. When we arrived, we found a LONG line for tickets, so I whipped out my phone and discovered you can buy tickets on-line. The site even used my camera to scan in my credit card! In seconds I had two tickets, so we left the queue maze and strolled up to the ticket-taker. She scanned the email I'd received, and we went right in. I love the modern age.
The penguins were the most fun. Darwin was particularly enchanted by the young man in a wet suit who stood in the penguin exhibit doing penguin-related things. He was . . . exceedingly attractive. We dubbed him the Hot Penguinologist, and watched him more than the penguins. We happened to be there at feeding time, so we had an excuse to stare at the Hot Penguinologist for considerable time, in fact.
But man--the kids! The place was crowded with children. Families. Tour groups. Daycare groups. And they all had to yell and scream and squeal and shriek. It was deafening. I'm not a grouchy "shut that kid up" kind of person--kids are loud by nature. But after an hour of nonstop squealing/screeching/yowling/shrieking, you get a headache.
Eventually, Darwin and I retreated to the aquarium cafe, where we had a reasonably priced lunch with lots of caffeine to ward off further headaches. It was post-rush, so all the screamers had already eaten and it was QUIET. Once fortified with food, caffeine, and silence, we dove back into the noise to see seals and huge fish and tiny fish and more of the Hot Penguinologist. Darwin got to pet a small manta ray.
Several times, Darwin and I unconsciously held hands and twice I kissed him without thinking about it. No reaction from any of the attendees, though when we strolled down to Boston Harbor for a look, we did get a Heavy Silent Glare from one guy. That was it.
Coming up: the Boston Library, Salem, and Nantucket.
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July 30, 2018
Boston 1
Today, we packed up the flat, bid our landlady good-bye, and drove through horrible, awful, rotten traffic to Boston.
We didn't arrive at Beacon Hill until late afternoon. The flat is situated in a 150-year-old brownstone, and the entrance is down a little alley lit by its own gaslight. I later learned the area used to be occupied by servants who waited on the wealthy in their bigger houses, which is why the flats in the area are all so small. Eventually, however, the state installed a freeway that cut the servant neighborhood off from their employers. Over time, the wealthy area declined, and the servant area became gentrified. Such is city life!
We unloaded the car, dumped everything into the apartment, and drove the car to a garage for long-term parking. That was extremely difficult and involved a number of wrong directions and hair-raising U-turns, but we finally found the place. Darwin and I got our bikes off the rack to ride back to the flat, and suddenly Darwin's bike chain jumped the sprockets and tangled itself into a snarl. I had a look at it. The chain guard had somehow come almost off and got itself enmeshed with the chain. Darwin doesn't know for bikes and didn't know what to do. I decided that the guard, which was only plastic, needed to come the rest of the way off and the bike would be fine. But I had no tools. I finally wrenched the stupid thing back and forth a dozen times, greasing up my fingers marvelously, until it finally snapped off. At last we were able to get where we needed to be.
At the flat, I washed the grease off and we decided to look for supper. I asked Siri about nearby restaurants and discovered Cheers was only a little ways away. Well, why not?
Cheers was originally called the Bull and Finch, but when the TV show went on the air, using shots of their exterior, they changed the name to Cheers and even remodeled part of the place to mimic the set on the show. When you arrive at Cheers, you go downstairs just like on the show, and a greeter talks to you. If you want food, he sends you upstairs. You wind your way past a gift shop and a thousand photos from the show and up a spiral staircase, where another greeter brings you into the section which is done up like the bar in the show. An adorable waiter with an adorable Boston accent wearing an adorable gay pride bracelet took our order. Darwin had clam chowder (which the waiter adorably pronounced "chowdah") and I had nachos. It was fun.
The Boston Commons is right across the street from Cheers, so we wandered over to have a look. It's a big park with only a few trees and a no wading, no dogs, we're not kidding! duck pond in the middle. It made for a nice stroll, but it was getting dark, so we headed back to the flat to make plans for tomorrow.
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We didn't arrive at Beacon Hill until late afternoon. The flat is situated in a 150-year-old brownstone, and the entrance is down a little alley lit by its own gaslight. I later learned the area used to be occupied by servants who waited on the wealthy in their bigger houses, which is why the flats in the area are all so small. Eventually, however, the state installed a freeway that cut the servant neighborhood off from their employers. Over time, the wealthy area declined, and the servant area became gentrified. Such is city life!
We unloaded the car, dumped everything into the apartment, and drove the car to a garage for long-term parking. That was extremely difficult and involved a number of wrong directions and hair-raising U-turns, but we finally found the place. Darwin and I got our bikes off the rack to ride back to the flat, and suddenly Darwin's bike chain jumped the sprockets and tangled itself into a snarl. I had a look at it. The chain guard had somehow come almost off and got itself enmeshed with the chain. Darwin doesn't know for bikes and didn't know what to do. I decided that the guard, which was only plastic, needed to come the rest of the way off and the bike would be fine. But I had no tools. I finally wrenched the stupid thing back and forth a dozen times, greasing up my fingers marvelously, until it finally snapped off. At last we were able to get where we needed to be.
At the flat, I washed the grease off and we decided to look for supper. I asked Siri about nearby restaurants and discovered Cheers was only a little ways away. Well, why not?
Cheers was originally called the Bull and Finch, but when the TV show went on the air, using shots of their exterior, they changed the name to Cheers and even remodeled part of the place to mimic the set on the show. When you arrive at Cheers, you go downstairs just like on the show, and a greeter talks to you. If you want food, he sends you upstairs. You wind your way past a gift shop and a thousand photos from the show and up a spiral staircase, where another greeter brings you into the section which is done up like the bar in the show. An adorable waiter with an adorable Boston accent wearing an adorable gay pride bracelet took our order. Darwin had clam chowder (which the waiter adorably pronounced "chowdah") and I had nachos. It was fun.
The Boston Commons is right across the street from Cheers, so we wandered over to have a look. It's a big park with only a few trees and a no wading, no dogs, we're not kidding! duck pond in the middle. It made for a nice stroll, but it was getting dark, so we headed back to the flat to make plans for tomorrow.
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Eastern Seaboard Vacation 5: A Girl in Tears
We got back from whale watching and tower climbing very tired. But after resting a while, I felt restless, so I went out for a walk. I had no idea how strangely a simple stroll would go.
The night was beautiful--warm and breezy with a full moon and the smell of the ocean. I wandered down the road and came around a curve. There I saw ahead of me a dead end that had a little parking area in it lit by a mercury lamp. A staircase led downward, and the ocean spread out in the distance. How lovely! This needed exploring!
However, a car was parked under the mercury lamp. This meant that someone was down there already. This kind of thing gets tricky at night. This struck me as the kind of place teenagers went for . . . romance, and a strange adult male wandering by in the dark would make for all kinds of awkward for everyone involved.
As I drew closer, adolescent voices wafted up the staircase, meaning I was right. The voices were getting louder, too, which meant they were coming up. I didn't feel like interacting with these kids, so I ducked into the yard of a house near the staircase. The yard was separated from the road by a high fence and some bushes, and I stuck to the shadows in there. The teens reached the top of the stairs, and I heard a boy and a girl.
"I know I heard someone up here," the girl said. (My footsteps were indeed loud on the gravel.)
"He must have gone that way," the boy said. "Get in and start the car."
This sparked a minor argument between them. I waited quietly. In the end, the girl said, "It's like being in a horror movie." The car started. Judging from the sounds I heard, the boy walked around some more, then also got in. The car drove away.
But wait . . .
Once they were completely gone, I emerged from hiding and strolled down the steps. At the bottom, I found a beach and a quiet cove. Perhaps two dozen boats of varying sizes and quality floated at anchor on the softly lapping water. Even more kayaks and rowboats were scattered all over the shore. A bit farther up the beach sat a giant boulder the size of a small house. It was striking both for its size and unusual placement. I wondered how it got there. A trick of the ice age? Or had humans actually hauled it in? I couldn't see any reason for the latter and decided it had to be the former.
I wandered around the beach for a while, enjoying the water and the moon.
Eventually it was time to leave. I went back up the staircase and had just left the circle of mercury light when headlights came around the curve in the road and stopped. It was the teenager car. I was caught out now. No way for me to duck into hiding--the light behind me illuminated my shadow. So I just kept walking. I had no reason not to be on a public road, after all, so the awkward would just have to be awkward.
A car door opened and shut. Abruptly, the car turned around and zoomed away. The girl I'd heard earlier was left on the road. She walked toward me, and I heard her crying. Full, gut-wrenching tears. She continued walking toward me, and I crossed the road to be opposite her. She passed me by, still weeping, and I could see that she was drenched. Soaked from head to foot. Her long hair was an unruly, wet mess down her back and her clothes were sticking to her body.
She walked past me, crying her eyes out, either ignoring me or not noticing me. I kept on walking, too. There was nothing I could do. A strange man in the dark wouldn't be a source of help to a crying teenage girl!
The girl reached the staircase and glided down the steps. The darkness swallowed her up, and she was gone. I never learned a thing about her.
I walked back to the flat.
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The night was beautiful--warm and breezy with a full moon and the smell of the ocean. I wandered down the road and came around a curve. There I saw ahead of me a dead end that had a little parking area in it lit by a mercury lamp. A staircase led downward, and the ocean spread out in the distance. How lovely! This needed exploring!
However, a car was parked under the mercury lamp. This meant that someone was down there already. This kind of thing gets tricky at night. This struck me as the kind of place teenagers went for . . . romance, and a strange adult male wandering by in the dark would make for all kinds of awkward for everyone involved.
As I drew closer, adolescent voices wafted up the staircase, meaning I was right. The voices were getting louder, too, which meant they were coming up. I didn't feel like interacting with these kids, so I ducked into the yard of a house near the staircase. The yard was separated from the road by a high fence and some bushes, and I stuck to the shadows in there. The teens reached the top of the stairs, and I heard a boy and a girl.
"I know I heard someone up here," the girl said. (My footsteps were indeed loud on the gravel.)
"He must have gone that way," the boy said. "Get in and start the car."
This sparked a minor argument between them. I waited quietly. In the end, the girl said, "It's like being in a horror movie." The car started. Judging from the sounds I heard, the boy walked around some more, then also got in. The car drove away.
But wait . . .
Once they were completely gone, I emerged from hiding and strolled down the steps. At the bottom, I found a beach and a quiet cove. Perhaps two dozen boats of varying sizes and quality floated at anchor on the softly lapping water. Even more kayaks and rowboats were scattered all over the shore. A bit farther up the beach sat a giant boulder the size of a small house. It was striking both for its size and unusual placement. I wondered how it got there. A trick of the ice age? Or had humans actually hauled it in? I couldn't see any reason for the latter and decided it had to be the former.
I wandered around the beach for a while, enjoying the water and the moon.
Eventually it was time to leave. I went back up the staircase and had just left the circle of mercury light when headlights came around the curve in the road and stopped. It was the teenager car. I was caught out now. No way for me to duck into hiding--the light behind me illuminated my shadow. So I just kept walking. I had no reason not to be on a public road, after all, so the awkward would just have to be awkward.
A car door opened and shut. Abruptly, the car turned around and zoomed away. The girl I'd heard earlier was left on the road. She walked toward me, and I heard her crying. Full, gut-wrenching tears. She continued walking toward me, and I crossed the road to be opposite her. She passed me by, still weeping, and I could see that she was drenched. Soaked from head to foot. Her long hair was an unruly, wet mess down her back and her clothes were sticking to her body.
She walked past me, crying her eyes out, either ignoring me or not noticing me. I kept on walking, too. There was nothing I could do. A strange man in the dark wouldn't be a source of help to a crying teenage girl!
The girl reached the staircase and glided down the steps. The darkness swallowed her up, and she was gone. I never learned a thing about her.
I walked back to the flat.
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Eastern Seaboard Vacation 4: Whales and Towers and Cemeteries
The next day, we had tickets to go whale watching. This meant dragging Darwin out of bed early (before 10 AM) and getting him up to P-Town in time to board the 10:30 boat, which we did.
The boat had two levels, and Darwin wanted to go up top, so we did, along with a hefty group of other whale watchers. With everyone aboard, the boat headed out of the harbor and toward the whale preserve off the Massachusetts shore.
The weather couldn't have been more perfect: crystal sky, bright sun, warm, and a flat calm ocean. A youngish cetologist came on a mic and told us about the various whales we might see. She'd been studying the area for years and knew all the big ones by sight.
There was a long period with nothing, then we caught glimpses of some minke whales, which are small and shy. At the first sighting, everyone got up and ran to the port side of the boat, which made it lean. This was both amusing and unnerving.
In the far, far distance, a fin whale breached, but it was hard to see. Only the blue whale is bigger than the fin whale, and it would have been cool to see better, but ah well.
And then we saw a trio of humpbacks. The surfaced to breathe several times, and also dove deep several times, exposing their tail flukes. (For you Christopher Moore fans, none of them had BITE ME written on them.) Most humpbacks have white front flukes, and in the plankton-filled water, they seem to glow green under the surface, so you can see this ghostly green creature hovering below the surface for a while before the whale surfaces. Whales both fascinate and frighten me (I know it's illogical, but they do nonetheless), so I found this eerie.
We got to see the whales broach several times. There were a bunch of other smaller boats out looking for whales, too, and every time the humpbacks surfaced, they rushed over like fanboys stampeding to see Mark Hamill, and "our" cetologist complained that they were violating the rules. When whales surface, the area becomes a no-wake zone so the whales don't get hurt, but these boats didn't care. Fortunately, none of the whales we saw were injured.
I took some photos and I'll post them on Facebook--it's too difficult to post them here, and besides, we've all seen photos of humpbacks. It was very interesting and a little nerve-wracking at the same time. It was well worth the time and money, though.
When we got back to P-Town and disembark, we decided next to explore the Pilgrim Monument. The Monument is a 280-odd foot high tower built of rough granite blocks, and it sits on the highest hill at Provincetown. Granted, this isn't very high--P-Town is barely above sea level--but that only makes it stand out the more. The native lady who helped us find our car the previous day told us that when she was growing up, she and her friends often went out into the swamps and coves to play but never worried about getting lost because they could just sight on the Monument to find their way home.
The Monument was built in 1910 to commemorate the Pilgrims, who landed first at Provincetown before continuing on to Plymouth. Teddy Roosevelt dropped in to help set the first cornerstone, and Howard Taft dedicated it two years later. It's the tallest granite structure in the USA and juts upward like a great stone finger. You pay $10 at the gate, and they shoo you toward the tower. At the base is a little house that was built in the very early days of P-Town and was eventually turned into the very first museum in Massachusetts.
Darwin is acrophobic in the extreme, but he stoutly maintained he could climb the tower because it was enclosed, so off we went!
We were a little worried, though. The tower has no elevator, so you have to spiral your way up inside. That's a LOT of stairs! But it turned out some kind soul had years ago ordered the interior wooden staircase removed and replaced it with a ramp that spiraled up instead. It made the climb much, much easier! We weren't even winded when got to the top.
Along the way, you can read plaques set into several blocks that were donated by various cities and organizations across the USA Each block gives the city or organization's name and what year it was founded. One was from an association in Michigan, but I don't remember the name.
At last, we arrived at the top. The panoramic view of the Atlantic and the town and the coves was spectacular. I especially liked the view of the local graveyard--I'd never seen one from this high up. The top is enclosed with plexiglass and wrought iron fencing, so there's no chance you can fall, but Darwin turned a little green at the sight anyway and had to go sit on a bench for a while. Eventually he regained his composure and edged close enough for a few quick glimpses. I have no fear of heights whatsoever and spent considerable time trying to get better photo angles, which only made Darwin turned greener. Eventually I had enough, and we spiraled back down, to Darwin's relief. But he did the climb, so go him!
At some point during our visit, we did tromp through the cemetery at Orleans, something we both enjoy. We were a little surprised at the lack of graves from the 1700s--the gravestones all came from after the Civil War. Though it's very likely that earlier graves were either unmarked or marked only with wooden monuments, which didn't survive.
We did find one oddity, though--a low brick building the size of a large shed or small cottage with a peaked roof. It had no windows and heavy locked wooden door. We initially thought it had once been a storage area, a place to put the dead in winter, where the cold would preserve the bodies until the ground unfroze in the spring and they could be buried. However, this one had a strange feature--a square opening at the bottom of the door. It reminded me of a dog door, but it was completely open. I got down on my knees to peer through it and found myself looking at three metal sarcophagi lined up in the little room. There were inscriptions engraved on the long sides, but I couldn't read them entirely. They were from the 30s, though.
This puzzled both Darwin and me. If the little shed was actually a crypt, why did it look like a shed? Why was there a hole in the door? Why was there no inscription outside?
It occurred to me much later that maybe the building had indeed once been used for storing corpses in winter, but after mechanical digging equipment came along (late 20s, early 30s), the cemetery no longer needed it for that and maybe they decided to sell it as crypt space. That would explain a lot, though it seems like the people who bought it would want epitaphs (or at least a family name) on the outside.
It made for an interesting graveyard visit, though!
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The boat had two levels, and Darwin wanted to go up top, so we did, along with a hefty group of other whale watchers. With everyone aboard, the boat headed out of the harbor and toward the whale preserve off the Massachusetts shore.
The weather couldn't have been more perfect: crystal sky, bright sun, warm, and a flat calm ocean. A youngish cetologist came on a mic and told us about the various whales we might see. She'd been studying the area for years and knew all the big ones by sight.
There was a long period with nothing, then we caught glimpses of some minke whales, which are small and shy. At the first sighting, everyone got up and ran to the port side of the boat, which made it lean. This was both amusing and unnerving.
In the far, far distance, a fin whale breached, but it was hard to see. Only the blue whale is bigger than the fin whale, and it would have been cool to see better, but ah well.
And then we saw a trio of humpbacks. The surfaced to breathe several times, and also dove deep several times, exposing their tail flukes. (For you Christopher Moore fans, none of them had BITE ME written on them.) Most humpbacks have white front flukes, and in the plankton-filled water, they seem to glow green under the surface, so you can see this ghostly green creature hovering below the surface for a while before the whale surfaces. Whales both fascinate and frighten me (I know it's illogical, but they do nonetheless), so I found this eerie.
We got to see the whales broach several times. There were a bunch of other smaller boats out looking for whales, too, and every time the humpbacks surfaced, they rushed over like fanboys stampeding to see Mark Hamill, and "our" cetologist complained that they were violating the rules. When whales surface, the area becomes a no-wake zone so the whales don't get hurt, but these boats didn't care. Fortunately, none of the whales we saw were injured.
I took some photos and I'll post them on Facebook--it's too difficult to post them here, and besides, we've all seen photos of humpbacks. It was very interesting and a little nerve-wracking at the same time. It was well worth the time and money, though.
When we got back to P-Town and disembark, we decided next to explore the Pilgrim Monument. The Monument is a 280-odd foot high tower built of rough granite blocks, and it sits on the highest hill at Provincetown. Granted, this isn't very high--P-Town is barely above sea level--but that only makes it stand out the more. The native lady who helped us find our car the previous day told us that when she was growing up, she and her friends often went out into the swamps and coves to play but never worried about getting lost because they could just sight on the Monument to find their way home.
The Monument was built in 1910 to commemorate the Pilgrims, who landed first at Provincetown before continuing on to Plymouth. Teddy Roosevelt dropped in to help set the first cornerstone, and Howard Taft dedicated it two years later. It's the tallest granite structure in the USA and juts upward like a great stone finger. You pay $10 at the gate, and they shoo you toward the tower. At the base is a little house that was built in the very early days of P-Town and was eventually turned into the very first museum in Massachusetts.
Darwin is acrophobic in the extreme, but he stoutly maintained he could climb the tower because it was enclosed, so off we went!
We were a little worried, though. The tower has no elevator, so you have to spiral your way up inside. That's a LOT of stairs! But it turned out some kind soul had years ago ordered the interior wooden staircase removed and replaced it with a ramp that spiraled up instead. It made the climb much, much easier! We weren't even winded when got to the top.
Along the way, you can read plaques set into several blocks that were donated by various cities and organizations across the USA Each block gives the city or organization's name and what year it was founded. One was from an association in Michigan, but I don't remember the name.
At last, we arrived at the top. The panoramic view of the Atlantic and the town and the coves was spectacular. I especially liked the view of the local graveyard--I'd never seen one from this high up. The top is enclosed with plexiglass and wrought iron fencing, so there's no chance you can fall, but Darwin turned a little green at the sight anyway and had to go sit on a bench for a while. Eventually he regained his composure and edged close enough for a few quick glimpses. I have no fear of heights whatsoever and spent considerable time trying to get better photo angles, which only made Darwin turned greener. Eventually I had enough, and we spiraled back down, to Darwin's relief. But he did the climb, so go him!
At some point during our visit, we did tromp through the cemetery at Orleans, something we both enjoy. We were a little surprised at the lack of graves from the 1700s--the gravestones all came from after the Civil War. Though it's very likely that earlier graves were either unmarked or marked only with wooden monuments, which didn't survive.
We did find one oddity, though--a low brick building the size of a large shed or small cottage with a peaked roof. It had no windows and heavy locked wooden door. We initially thought it had once been a storage area, a place to put the dead in winter, where the cold would preserve the bodies until the ground unfroze in the spring and they could be buried. However, this one had a strange feature--a square opening at the bottom of the door. It reminded me of a dog door, but it was completely open. I got down on my knees to peer through it and found myself looking at three metal sarcophagi lined up in the little room. There were inscriptions engraved on the long sides, but I couldn't read them entirely. They were from the 30s, though.
This puzzled both Darwin and me. If the little shed was actually a crypt, why did it look like a shed? Why was there a hole in the door? Why was there no inscription outside?
It occurred to me much later that maybe the building had indeed once been used for storing corpses in winter, but after mechanical digging equipment came along (late 20s, early 30s), the cemetery no longer needed it for that and maybe they decided to sell it as crypt space. That would explain a lot, though it seems like the people who bought it would want epitaphs (or at least a family name) on the outside.
It made for an interesting graveyard visit, though!
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July 29, 2018
Eastern Seaboard Vacation 3: Orleans and P-Town
Orleans turned out to be . . . rather dull. It has the requisite shops and restaurants you expect in a tourist area, but they're all spread out, and the town isn't very walkable. We did like examining one of the local cemeteries, and I bought a book at the local bookstore, but that was really it. So we drove out to Provincetown.
It's a long, long drive up the Cape to P-Town, and on a Saturday afternoon, the traffic was hellish. But we arrived at last, found a lot that "only" charged us $20 for the day, and ditched the car.
Provincetown started out as the first stop for the Pilgrims before Plymouth, then evolved into a whaling town, and finally turned into the vacation spot it is now. It was settled by Europeans in the late 1600s, and you can tell--the streets are NARROW, and they twist and wind and make odd dead-ends. And it's filled with summer visitors. The entire downtown area is shops, bars, and restaurants. The docks are lined with sailors hawking whale watching tours, seal watching tours, fishing excursions, pirate trips, and more. It reminds me very much of Mackinaw Island, but with cars and lots and lots of gay people. Nearly every business flies a Pride flag. So many, in fact, that we began wonder exactly what the flag's presence means. Gay-owned? Gay-friendly? Gay-supportive? Trying to blend in? However, we found it nice to be in a place where our presence was both requested and welcomed (even if it's mostly because we have money to spend).
We explored and shopped and people-watched. I found a stylish backpack that I really, really wanted, and Darwin enabled me into buying it. And we got t-shirts. And food.
For supper, in fact, we hit up a second-floor restaurant that was really one big covered balcony. It was crowded, and Darwin and I managed to snag seats at a bar-like section that overlooked the main street and let us watch the people over dinner. They had a raw bar, so I got a raw crab claw just for fun. It was messy to break open and eat, but delicious. Their clam chowder disappointingly came out of a can, but their sushi was delish.
The restaurant is across from a leather clothing shop, and I noticed a hetero couple out front of it. The Handsome Husband (and boy, was he!) was waiting impatiently for his wife. She came out the door wearing a black leather jacket, which she modeled for him. They had an intense discussion which Darwin and I couldn't hear, but for which we made up our own dialogue. ("If you let me buy this, I'll spank you as many times as you want.") She went back inside, leaving him on the steps, and emerged a few minutes later wearing another jacket. This sparked an even more intense conversation.
By now, Darwin and I were getting interested. We were dying to know exactly what the conversation was about. It was clear that she wanted the jacket but he didn't want her to buy it, but the fine details of the situation eluded us. ("Oh, darling," we cooed on behalf of the wife, "I have to have it! It makes my butt look absolutely tiny!" "Honey, we have to make the yacht payment this month.") Their gestures and expressions got bigger and bigger. Finally, she swept back into the shop, clearly intent on buying the coat. The husband waited a few seconds, then stomped away. Oh no! This was bigger than we imagined! She chose the coat over her husband! Or he chose money over her!
The wife emerged again--without the coat! She'd decided not to buy it after all. But when she got to the steps, she looked around in confusion and dismay. Her husband was gone! She looked uncertainly about, then wandered sadly down the street. We never did find out what happened in the end.
We consoled ourselves by admiring our extremely handsome waiter.
By now we were shopped and restauranted out, so we headed back to the flat--or tried to. We couldn't find the parking lot. And worse, the Ford app that usually finds the car had undergone an update that wiped out its ability to find the car. Darwin and I wandered P-Town like lost puppies for more than an hour until we ran into a very nice native lady who, based on our description of the lot, kindly guided us to the place. Whew!
We spent the evening back at the flat, recovering from the adventure. But then I decided to go for a walk, and things got decidedly strange...
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It's a long, long drive up the Cape to P-Town, and on a Saturday afternoon, the traffic was hellish. But we arrived at last, found a lot that "only" charged us $20 for the day, and ditched the car.
Provincetown started out as the first stop for the Pilgrims before Plymouth, then evolved into a whaling town, and finally turned into the vacation spot it is now. It was settled by Europeans in the late 1600s, and you can tell--the streets are NARROW, and they twist and wind and make odd dead-ends. And it's filled with summer visitors. The entire downtown area is shops, bars, and restaurants. The docks are lined with sailors hawking whale watching tours, seal watching tours, fishing excursions, pirate trips, and more. It reminds me very much of Mackinaw Island, but with cars and lots and lots of gay people. Nearly every business flies a Pride flag. So many, in fact, that we began wonder exactly what the flag's presence means. Gay-owned? Gay-friendly? Gay-supportive? Trying to blend in? However, we found it nice to be in a place where our presence was both requested and welcomed (even if it's mostly because we have money to spend).
We explored and shopped and people-watched. I found a stylish backpack that I really, really wanted, and Darwin enabled me into buying it. And we got t-shirts. And food.
For supper, in fact, we hit up a second-floor restaurant that was really one big covered balcony. It was crowded, and Darwin and I managed to snag seats at a bar-like section that overlooked the main street and let us watch the people over dinner. They had a raw bar, so I got a raw crab claw just for fun. It was messy to break open and eat, but delicious. Their clam chowder disappointingly came out of a can, but their sushi was delish.
The restaurant is across from a leather clothing shop, and I noticed a hetero couple out front of it. The Handsome Husband (and boy, was he!) was waiting impatiently for his wife. She came out the door wearing a black leather jacket, which she modeled for him. They had an intense discussion which Darwin and I couldn't hear, but for which we made up our own dialogue. ("If you let me buy this, I'll spank you as many times as you want.") She went back inside, leaving him on the steps, and emerged a few minutes later wearing another jacket. This sparked an even more intense conversation.
By now, Darwin and I were getting interested. We were dying to know exactly what the conversation was about. It was clear that she wanted the jacket but he didn't want her to buy it, but the fine details of the situation eluded us. ("Oh, darling," we cooed on behalf of the wife, "I have to have it! It makes my butt look absolutely tiny!" "Honey, we have to make the yacht payment this month.") Their gestures and expressions got bigger and bigger. Finally, she swept back into the shop, clearly intent on buying the coat. The husband waited a few seconds, then stomped away. Oh no! This was bigger than we imagined! She chose the coat over her husband! Or he chose money over her!
The wife emerged again--without the coat! She'd decided not to buy it after all. But when she got to the steps, she looked around in confusion and dismay. Her husband was gone! She looked uncertainly about, then wandered sadly down the street. We never did find out what happened in the end.
We consoled ourselves by admiring our extremely handsome waiter.
By now we were shopped and restauranted out, so we headed back to the flat--or tried to. We couldn't find the parking lot. And worse, the Ford app that usually finds the car had undergone an update that wiped out its ability to find the car. Darwin and I wandered P-Town like lost puppies for more than an hour until we ran into a very nice native lady who, based on our description of the lot, kindly guided us to the place. Whew!
We spent the evening back at the flat, recovering from the adventure. But then I decided to go for a walk, and things got decidedly strange...
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Eastern Seaboard Vacation 2
In the morning, we headed out to Cape Cod. The drive started out nice, but turned awful. Some bad timing landed us just outside Boston right at rush hour, which extended the drive by a good two hours. We didn't arrive at Orleans and our AirBnB flat until after dark.
Orleans is a smallish town at the beginning of the place where Cape Cod juts into the Atlantic. It's a smallish town that mostly serves as a staging point for tourists visiting other parts of the Cape (as Darwin and I planned to do). Our flat is just outside of town and occupies the upper story of a detached garage. It's a lovely, airy studio with wood floors and bare beams and white walls. It's only disadvantage is that it's fully 45 minutes away from Provincetown. On the other hand, it was affordable! P-Town is notoriously expensive.
We dropped our luggage, then headed into Orleans to find supper. We managed it at a restaurant called Land, Ho. Fantastic clam chowder there! Then we stopped for provisions at a big grocery store called Stop and Shop. I only mention this because my ex-wife Kala and her friend Stephanie used to come out to the Cape during summer break at Central Michigan University because the Cape paid three times the national minimum wage and they could stay rent-free at a relative's house. They always worked at the Stop and Shop. I texted them photos.
Next morning, we headed out to explore . . .
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Orleans is a smallish town at the beginning of the place where Cape Cod juts into the Atlantic. It's a smallish town that mostly serves as a staging point for tourists visiting other parts of the Cape (as Darwin and I planned to do). Our flat is just outside of town and occupies the upper story of a detached garage. It's a lovely, airy studio with wood floors and bare beams and white walls. It's only disadvantage is that it's fully 45 minutes away from Provincetown. On the other hand, it was affordable! P-Town is notoriously expensive.
We dropped our luggage, then headed into Orleans to find supper. We managed it at a restaurant called Land, Ho. Fantastic clam chowder there! Then we stopped for provisions at a big grocery store called Stop and Shop. I only mention this because my ex-wife Kala and her friend Stephanie used to come out to the Cape during summer break at Central Michigan University because the Cape paid three times the national minimum wage and they could stay rent-free at a relative's house. They always worked at the Stop and Shop. I texted them photos.
Next morning, we headed out to explore . . .
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Eastern Seaboard Vacation 1
For our second trip of the summer season, Darwin and I decided to go to Cape Cod and Boston.
Actually, =he= decided to go to Boston. I said we should also visit Cape Cod/Provincetown while we're out there, since P-Town is a Big Gay Mecca. He agreed.
We drove it, and decided rather than do a single 15-hour drive, we'd break it in half. I pushed to stop at Niagara Falls, since neither of us has been there. Darwin wasn't enthusiastic, but finally went along with it. Our plan was to stop there for a few hours, then continue a little farther west and overnight in Rochester, New York.
After many hours of driving, we hit the town of Niagara Falls, and we were both startled and disappointed. The town was seedy, run-down, and just . . . crappy. Abandoned houses, boarded-up businesses, long lines of dull strip malls. This was the city in charge of a world-famous natural wonder?
It took some finagling, but we got to the national park with the falls in it. In this section things were rather better kept up. We stopped at a visitor's center to get basic information, then drove across the river to the island. The river splits around the island, you see, and creates two sets of falls on either side of it. It cost only $10 to park, a pleasant surprise. We were expecting either a stiff parking fee or orders to park far away and take an annoying shuttle bus.
The island itself was an unexpected wonder. Photos of the falls always concentrate on the waterfalls, but never on the surroundings. The island is resplendent with trails that take you past stunning little rapids and delightful tiny waterfalls that ring the island. I was surprised at how shallow the river is--between knee and ankle deep in most places. But make no mistake--if you set foot in that river, it would sweep you away in an instant. Flocks of water birds sit in the river paddling like mad to stay in place. A big bunch of them sat on warily a shelf of rocks just upstream from the main event as if saying, "Nope nope nope! We saw what happened to Fred, and this is as close as we're getting." We spent considerable time wandering the island, holding hands and enjoying the loveliness.
And, of course, we saw the Falls. Both sets. Incredible and thunderous and amazing. I took lots of photos, but everyone has seen similar ones, so I won't put them here. (This blog's format makes photos a pain to post anyway.) Far, far, far below we could see tour boats filled with raincoated tourists edging close to the falls, but we didn't indulge. Darwin said he was very glad we stopped.
Oh--and there was History. You can see the old power plants and the site of the cabin built by the first white inhabitant of the area. He became a hermit and spent his days painting in the early 1800s.
We decided to get a late supper at the park's restaurant. The service was lackluster, but the food was wonderful. And the view was spectacular.
At last, we climbed back into the car and wound our way to Rochester, where we checked into a motel for the night, pleased with our trip so far.
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Actually, =he= decided to go to Boston. I said we should also visit Cape Cod/Provincetown while we're out there, since P-Town is a Big Gay Mecca. He agreed.
We drove it, and decided rather than do a single 15-hour drive, we'd break it in half. I pushed to stop at Niagara Falls, since neither of us has been there. Darwin wasn't enthusiastic, but finally went along with it. Our plan was to stop there for a few hours, then continue a little farther west and overnight in Rochester, New York.
After many hours of driving, we hit the town of Niagara Falls, and we were both startled and disappointed. The town was seedy, run-down, and just . . . crappy. Abandoned houses, boarded-up businesses, long lines of dull strip malls. This was the city in charge of a world-famous natural wonder?
It took some finagling, but we got to the national park with the falls in it. In this section things were rather better kept up. We stopped at a visitor's center to get basic information, then drove across the river to the island. The river splits around the island, you see, and creates two sets of falls on either side of it. It cost only $10 to park, a pleasant surprise. We were expecting either a stiff parking fee or orders to park far away and take an annoying shuttle bus.
The island itself was an unexpected wonder. Photos of the falls always concentrate on the waterfalls, but never on the surroundings. The island is resplendent with trails that take you past stunning little rapids and delightful tiny waterfalls that ring the island. I was surprised at how shallow the river is--between knee and ankle deep in most places. But make no mistake--if you set foot in that river, it would sweep you away in an instant. Flocks of water birds sit in the river paddling like mad to stay in place. A big bunch of them sat on warily a shelf of rocks just upstream from the main event as if saying, "Nope nope nope! We saw what happened to Fred, and this is as close as we're getting." We spent considerable time wandering the island, holding hands and enjoying the loveliness.
And, of course, we saw the Falls. Both sets. Incredible and thunderous and amazing. I took lots of photos, but everyone has seen similar ones, so I won't put them here. (This blog's format makes photos a pain to post anyway.) Far, far, far below we could see tour boats filled with raincoated tourists edging close to the falls, but we didn't indulge. Darwin said he was very glad we stopped.
Oh--and there was History. You can see the old power plants and the site of the cabin built by the first white inhabitant of the area. He became a hermit and spent his days painting in the early 1800s.
We decided to get a late supper at the park's restaurant. The service was lackluster, but the food was wonderful. And the view was spectacular.
At last, we climbed back into the car and wound our way to Rochester, where we checked into a motel for the night, pleased with our trip so far.
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July 20, 2018
Workout Update
I'm getting Actual Results (tm) from the lifting, though every workout is awful. Darwin and I complain to each other: "Why are you making me do this?" "Why would my husband torture me this way?" and so on. Darwin lifts for half an hour, then works on abs for half an hour. I lift for half and hour and do treadmill wind sprints for half an hour.
Yesterday I realized my arms are bigger. Both biceps and triceps. And actual definition in both! My chest is growing, too. I don't do a lot of leg lifting--my legs are already tree trunks, thanks to a lifetime of biking and running. This is cool! Darwin is also getting more definition. He's lifting more to tone up than get bigger, so he does more reps with smaller weights, while I concentrate on fewer reps with as much weight as I can pound.
Since I don't have my home DVR at the gym, I listen to episodes of Zombies, Run! while I work out. The app thinks I'm lazy because I don't go much of anywhere. :) One weakness with ZR, though, is that its GPS/motion sensor system is rotten for keeping track of running on a treadmill, and it gives me wildly inflated scores. ("You've run. Two kilometers. In. Four. Minutes. And. Fifteen. Seconds," says the computer. Well, not quite) So the app also thinks I'm a sloth for the first mission, and an Olympic athlete for the second.
Another side-effect of lifting--I'm =gaining= weight instead of losing it. I'm assuming it's because I'm gaining muscle, which weighs more than fat. Still, it's disconcerting to check the scale after weeks of hard workouts only to see the number rise. I've ordered a body fat calculator to compensate and get a more accurate idea of my fitness level.
And back to the gym we go!
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Yesterday I realized my arms are bigger. Both biceps and triceps. And actual definition in both! My chest is growing, too. I don't do a lot of leg lifting--my legs are already tree trunks, thanks to a lifetime of biking and running. This is cool! Darwin is also getting more definition. He's lifting more to tone up than get bigger, so he does more reps with smaller weights, while I concentrate on fewer reps with as much weight as I can pound.
Since I don't have my home DVR at the gym, I listen to episodes of Zombies, Run! while I work out. The app thinks I'm lazy because I don't go much of anywhere. :) One weakness with ZR, though, is that its GPS/motion sensor system is rotten for keeping track of running on a treadmill, and it gives me wildly inflated scores. ("You've run. Two kilometers. In. Four. Minutes. And. Fifteen. Seconds," says the computer. Well, not quite) So the app also thinks I'm a sloth for the first mission, and an Olympic athlete for the second.
Another side-effect of lifting--I'm =gaining= weight instead of losing it. I'm assuming it's because I'm gaining muscle, which weighs more than fat. Still, it's disconcerting to check the scale after weeks of hard workouts only to see the number rise. I've ordered a body fat calculator to compensate and get a more accurate idea of my fitness level.
And back to the gym we go!
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July 19, 2018
Big Gay Birthday Cards
Darwin's birthday is next week, but we're celebrating it this week because we're going out of town on his actual birthday.
"I hope you're not planning some big thing for my birthday," he said.
"Just how attached are you to that statement?" I asked.
He wants to go out for dinner, so we'll be doing that. Meanwhile . . .
It's cherry season! And I also have in the freezer a white chocolate mousse cake that I've been dying to cover in mirror glaze.
This afternoon, I whipped up a chocolate mirror glaze and poured it over the mousse cake. The consistency of the chocolate mirror glaze was a little different. It was more viscous. And it went everywhere in ways the other versions didn't. The cleanup took longer than the glazing!
There was a crack in the mousse that encased the cake, however. The glaze ate into it and, like water in Michigan roads, washed away a chunk of the outer coating. I spooned it away and put it in a bowl, where it created an appealing-looking whirl of white mousse and glossy semi-sweet chocolate. Hmmm . . .
I have several bags of cherries, since it's cherry season and we eat them like popcorn. I washed and pitted a bowful of them and set them out to dry. Then I scraped the remaining cake glaze into a bowl.
With two plates covered in waxed paper, I dipped the cherries into the chocolate glaze to coat them well and set them on the paper. Then I swirled more cherries through the white mousse/chocolate glaze mixture. They all look very pretty, and I put them into the refrigerator to set.
The cake, accented with yet more cherries, went into the freezer to firm up.
I already have Darwin's present (some cologne he likes, and Max got him a set of headphones he's been wanting), but I needed a card, so I went to get one.
The card section at the store had rows and rows and rows of birthday cards for women. To My Sister. To My Wife. To My Mother. Grandmother. Aunt. Great-Grandmother. Great-Aunt. Great-Aunt's Grandmother. But nothing for male recipients. It took some searching to find them. There were very few of them. Apparently men don't get many cards.
Exactly six were directed specifically to a husband. One of them had "from your wife" in it. Another had a picture inside of a man and a woman holding hands. Neither of these fit my purposes.
I also checked some of the To Anyone birthday cards, but they all had some version of the word "friend" in them. Nope.
So I had four left to choose from. Meanwhile, in the For My Wife section, I counted nearly 20 different cards.
This is why we need more marriage equality.
(I don't really want to see links to web sites that sell birthday cards for same-sex couples. I know they exist. I needed a card today.)
Anyway, I finally chose one of the four and personalized heavily at home.
Now we have the restaurant, the cake, the cherries, the card, and the present. No trouble at all!
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"I hope you're not planning some big thing for my birthday," he said.
"Just how attached are you to that statement?" I asked.
He wants to go out for dinner, so we'll be doing that. Meanwhile . . .
It's cherry season! And I also have in the freezer a white chocolate mousse cake that I've been dying to cover in mirror glaze.
This afternoon, I whipped up a chocolate mirror glaze and poured it over the mousse cake. The consistency of the chocolate mirror glaze was a little different. It was more viscous. And it went everywhere in ways the other versions didn't. The cleanup took longer than the glazing!
There was a crack in the mousse that encased the cake, however. The glaze ate into it and, like water in Michigan roads, washed away a chunk of the outer coating. I spooned it away and put it in a bowl, where it created an appealing-looking whirl of white mousse and glossy semi-sweet chocolate. Hmmm . . .
I have several bags of cherries, since it's cherry season and we eat them like popcorn. I washed and pitted a bowful of them and set them out to dry. Then I scraped the remaining cake glaze into a bowl.
With two plates covered in waxed paper, I dipped the cherries into the chocolate glaze to coat them well and set them on the paper. Then I swirled more cherries through the white mousse/chocolate glaze mixture. They all look very pretty, and I put them into the refrigerator to set.
The cake, accented with yet more cherries, went into the freezer to firm up.
I already have Darwin's present (some cologne he likes, and Max got him a set of headphones he's been wanting), but I needed a card, so I went to get one.
The card section at the store had rows and rows and rows of birthday cards for women. To My Sister. To My Wife. To My Mother. Grandmother. Aunt. Great-Grandmother. Great-Aunt. Great-Aunt's Grandmother. But nothing for male recipients. It took some searching to find them. There were very few of them. Apparently men don't get many cards.
Exactly six were directed specifically to a husband. One of them had "from your wife" in it. Another had a picture inside of a man and a woman holding hands. Neither of these fit my purposes.
I also checked some of the To Anyone birthday cards, but they all had some version of the word "friend" in them. Nope.
So I had four left to choose from. Meanwhile, in the For My Wife section, I counted nearly 20 different cards.
This is why we need more marriage equality.
(I don't really want to see links to web sites that sell birthday cards for same-sex couples. I know they exist. I needed a card today.)
Anyway, I finally chose one of the four and personalized heavily at home.
Now we have the restaurant, the cake, the cherries, the card, and the present. No trouble at all!
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