Steven Harper's Blog, page 63
July 8, 2018
Cats, Carpets, and Cleaners
The carpets haven't been cleaned since we laid them down more than three years ago. In that time, we've had work done to the house and endured several seasons of pine pollen. They needed to be cleaned, upstairs and down.
The basement carpets especially were smelling musty and, it must be said, catty. No urine--just animal. I told Darwin it was my opinion that this was because the cats spend 10 or 11 hours out of 24 down there, either because they want to or because they have to. He agreed. Perhaps it was time to re-think the household policy of having the cats spend nights in the basement.
I called a carpet cleaning company, and they arrived on Saturday morning with their trusty truck and elongated hoses. We locked the cats in the bathroom while the cleaners went through the house, removing dust, dirt, and stains and leaving a lemon scent behind.
After they left, we let the freaked cats out of the bathroom. They didn't like the wet carpets at all! When they walked across them, they tried picking all four feet up at once. And to their dismay, every time stepped onto the wood floors, their wet paws skidded out from underneath them. We thought it was funny, but they didn't.
That night, Dora began her usual routine of begging for treats before being locked in the basement. I tossed her treats down the stairs and she waddled after them, but I didn't shut the door. Dinah followed. A few minutes later, Dora reappeared, looking mystified but hopeful. Had we forgotten the entire incident and could we therefore be convinced to give her MORE TREATS? The begging began. I squirted her with a water bottle, and it ended right quick.
Every time we passed the cats, however, they scampered away or hid, afraid we were going to put them into the basement. (I feel I should add that the basement is spacious, fully carpeted, and filled with cat toys, so it's not like the basement is a hardship. The cats just dislike being separated from the humans.) Eventually we went to bed.
Dora made the mistake of crying outside our closed bedroom door. I whipped the door open, hosed her with the water bottle, and she waddle-scampered away. Darwin says after I fell asleep, she whined again, but he ignored her and eventually she stopped.
At about 3:00 AM, I bolted awake for gods know what reason and couldn't get back to sleep. I slipped out of bed and went out to the living room to read for a while. Dora was lying on the couch, and when she saw me coming, she completely flipped her litter. She leaped straight up, all puffed out, and bolted so hard for the basement that she left the air behind her unzipped. Subtext: "Shit shit shit! I'm supposed to be downstairs!"
I read for a while and eventually she poked her head around the corner. No reaction from the human. Huh. Okay, then.
Dinah, meanwhile, stayed atop the cat tree, watching the drama with a much calmer expression.
So we'll see what happens tonight.
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The basement carpets especially were smelling musty and, it must be said, catty. No urine--just animal. I told Darwin it was my opinion that this was because the cats spend 10 or 11 hours out of 24 down there, either because they want to or because they have to. He agreed. Perhaps it was time to re-think the household policy of having the cats spend nights in the basement.
I called a carpet cleaning company, and they arrived on Saturday morning with their trusty truck and elongated hoses. We locked the cats in the bathroom while the cleaners went through the house, removing dust, dirt, and stains and leaving a lemon scent behind.
After they left, we let the freaked cats out of the bathroom. They didn't like the wet carpets at all! When they walked across them, they tried picking all four feet up at once. And to their dismay, every time stepped onto the wood floors, their wet paws skidded out from underneath them. We thought it was funny, but they didn't.
That night, Dora began her usual routine of begging for treats before being locked in the basement. I tossed her treats down the stairs and she waddled after them, but I didn't shut the door. Dinah followed. A few minutes later, Dora reappeared, looking mystified but hopeful. Had we forgotten the entire incident and could we therefore be convinced to give her MORE TREATS? The begging began. I squirted her with a water bottle, and it ended right quick.
Every time we passed the cats, however, they scampered away or hid, afraid we were going to put them into the basement. (I feel I should add that the basement is spacious, fully carpeted, and filled with cat toys, so it's not like the basement is a hardship. The cats just dislike being separated from the humans.) Eventually we went to bed.
Dora made the mistake of crying outside our closed bedroom door. I whipped the door open, hosed her with the water bottle, and she waddle-scampered away. Darwin says after I fell asleep, she whined again, but he ignored her and eventually she stopped.
At about 3:00 AM, I bolted awake for gods know what reason and couldn't get back to sleep. I slipped out of bed and went out to the living room to read for a while. Dora was lying on the couch, and when she saw me coming, she completely flipped her litter. She leaped straight up, all puffed out, and bolted so hard for the basement that she left the air behind her unzipped. Subtext: "Shit shit shit! I'm supposed to be downstairs!"
I read for a while and eventually she poked her head around the corner. No reaction from the human. Huh. Okay, then.
Dinah, meanwhile, stayed atop the cat tree, watching the drama with a much calmer expression.
So we'll see what happens tonight.
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A Strange Vacation 3
I haven't seen my college friend Stephanie since her wedding over 20 years ago. Since then, we've both been divorced, had multiple careers, raised autistic children, dealt with severe health issues, and have reached the point where hands-on parenthood is nearly over. We've kept in touch sporadically on-line, but not face-to-face. Stephanie lives in Philadelphia, so when I told her I was coming for a few days, we happily set up a meeting.
We met at a cafe for an early lunch. It was so good to see her! Stephanie hasn't changed at all except for the gray in her hair. The weather was roasting hot--over 90 degrees--so we stayed in the air-conditioned cafe and talked. Darwin had never met her, so he got to know her. :) And then after we started feeling guilty for hogging the table, we adjourned to our rented flat and talked some more. It was wonderful to get re-acquainted!
Eventually, Stephanie had to leave. After a "we won't wait twenty years for the next reunion" farewell, Darwin and I wandered about Philadelphia doing nothing much, just admiring the neighborhoods and the architecture.
The following morning, we packed up and hauled our suitcases down all four freakin' flights of stairs. I ran down to the parking garage, paid the exorbitant ransom for the car, and put it in yet another illegal spot near the apartment so we could load it.
It was a long, long, LONG drive home. Over nine hours. With only brief rest breaks. But we finally got home.
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We met at a cafe for an early lunch. It was so good to see her! Stephanie hasn't changed at all except for the gray in her hair. The weather was roasting hot--over 90 degrees--so we stayed in the air-conditioned cafe and talked. Darwin had never met her, so he got to know her. :) And then after we started feeling guilty for hogging the table, we adjourned to our rented flat and talked some more. It was wonderful to get re-acquainted!
Eventually, Stephanie had to leave. After a "we won't wait twenty years for the next reunion" farewell, Darwin and I wandered about Philadelphia doing nothing much, just admiring the neighborhoods and the architecture.
The following morning, we packed up and hauled our suitcases down all four freakin' flights of stairs. I ran down to the parking garage, paid the exorbitant ransom for the car, and put it in yet another illegal spot near the apartment so we could load it.
It was a long, long, LONG drive home. Over nine hours. With only brief rest breaks. But we finally got home.
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July 5, 2018
Kitty Treats and the Basement
We interrupt the vacation report for a kitty blog.
Darwin and I have to put the cats in the basement at night because otherwise they scratch at our bedroom door and meow and cry and wail., "THE DOOR IS CLOSED! WHY WON'T YOU LET US IN????"
And our cats are NOT good bed companions. They wander around the bed, bat at the covers, and sit on your face. So at night, into the basement they go.
Darwin somehow trained them to scamper for the basement when he claps his hands at them, which was a neat trick. But sometimes the cats don't want to go, and instead of running for the basement, they run under the bed or the table to hide, which forces us to spend several annoying minutes in kitty extraction.
And then I remembered the cat treat box.
I store the tiny nibbles of cat treats in a Tupperware container rather than in the bag they come in because the bag never closes right, and the treats go stale. Whenever I want to give the cats a treat, I shake the Tupperware, and the rattling of treats instantly brings both cats a-running, no matter where they are in the house. Dora, who waddles rather than runs, especially can't resist the siren lure.
So one evening when the cats were resisting the basement, I shook the cat treat box. POOF! Both cats emerged from hiding and danced around the kitchen, demanding a treat. I tossed the treats into the basement. ZOOM! The cats rushed down the stairs. I shut the door.
This went on. It never, ever failed. More than once, I could see that Dinah was leery about the basement and didn't want to go, but the treats are her crack, and she has to go.
And Dora? The little lard butt doesn't even pretend to resist. And then we had a new development. Nowadays, when it gets dark, she waddles up to the nearest human, meowing and whining and demanding attention. I couldn't figure out why she was so needy after dark. I'd try to pet her, and she'd run out of the room, then saunter back in, meowing some more, then run away when I tried to pet her. I finally realized she was waddling toward the basement. She WANTS the basement because it means a cat treat! She's willing to sell hours of freedom for a teensy snack that takes her only a second to devour.
Classic conditioning in action.
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Darwin and I have to put the cats in the basement at night because otherwise they scratch at our bedroom door and meow and cry and wail., "THE DOOR IS CLOSED! WHY WON'T YOU LET US IN????"
And our cats are NOT good bed companions. They wander around the bed, bat at the covers, and sit on your face. So at night, into the basement they go.
Darwin somehow trained them to scamper for the basement when he claps his hands at them, which was a neat trick. But sometimes the cats don't want to go, and instead of running for the basement, they run under the bed or the table to hide, which forces us to spend several annoying minutes in kitty extraction.
And then I remembered the cat treat box.
I store the tiny nibbles of cat treats in a Tupperware container rather than in the bag they come in because the bag never closes right, and the treats go stale. Whenever I want to give the cats a treat, I shake the Tupperware, and the rattling of treats instantly brings both cats a-running, no matter where they are in the house. Dora, who waddles rather than runs, especially can't resist the siren lure.
So one evening when the cats were resisting the basement, I shook the cat treat box. POOF! Both cats emerged from hiding and danced around the kitchen, demanding a treat. I tossed the treats into the basement. ZOOM! The cats rushed down the stairs. I shut the door.
This went on. It never, ever failed. More than once, I could see that Dinah was leery about the basement and didn't want to go, but the treats are her crack, and she has to go.
And Dora? The little lard butt doesn't even pretend to resist. And then we had a new development. Nowadays, when it gets dark, she waddles up to the nearest human, meowing and whining and demanding attention. I couldn't figure out why she was so needy after dark. I'd try to pet her, and she'd run out of the room, then saunter back in, meowing some more, then run away when I tried to pet her. I finally realized she was waddling toward the basement. She WANTS the basement because it means a cat treat! She's willing to sell hours of freedom for a teensy snack that takes her only a second to devour.
Classic conditioning in action.
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June 29, 2018
A Strange Vacation 2
On Tuesday, we drove to Philadelphia. This is because George McClary had ties in Pennsylvania, and Philadelphia has a huge library of genealogical records from all over the state.
Ohhhh, the nightmare of driving in Philadelphia! Because the city is so old, the streets are narrow and you pay internal organs for what little parking there is. Even the GPS worked poorly.
With a great deal of effort, we found our first AirBnB apartment and parked illegally to unload. The second-floor place was part of a heavily-renovated building. The entry hallway used to be the alley between two buildings that were combined into a single building. The apartment was completely new, from new wooden floors to new ceiling. It was spacious and bright. This is why we don't do hotels anymore!
I found a parking garage that would "only" charge $25 per day, stashed the car in it, and rode my bike back to the apartment, using my GPS as a guide. It was difficult--the GPS kept futzing out or telling me I was a block away from my actual location. This problem carried major repercussions later.
For the next couple days, we alternated research and touring. Darwin and I love cemeteries (the mystery of the people buried there is irresistible), and we spent hours poking around Philadelphia's many graveyards, including the famous one at Christchurch, where Benjamin Franklin is buried. Darwin's great-something uncle baptized Benjamin Franklin, so he always like seeing Franklin-related stuff.
He was in the right place for it. Philadelphia never lets you forget Benjamin Franklin was the city's most prominent citizen. Every place that he was in any way involved in has a marker or a statue or a plaque dedicated to his work. We read them all and visited the site of his house and enjoyed all of it.
We visited Washington Square, which is the unmarked grave site of thousands of slaves, poor folk, and Revolutionary War soldiers who died either in British captivity or of yellow fever. THOUSANDS. The place is now a park with an Unknown Soldier tomb and eternal flame in the center. I like that the graveyard has become a park. The individuals buried there may not be known by name, but we know what they did, and lots of people visit the place every day.
Darwin also hit the historical library. I helped as best I could, but this time was of limited worth. Darwin searched the database and leafed through dozens and dozens of dusty books. He found nothing useful about George or Margaret McClary. The search continues.
Yesterday evening, we realized a problem--we had no idea where the car was. The garage spat a card as us when we pulled in, but we left it in the car. And since the GPS sent me here and there and everywhere on my way from the garage to the apartment, I had no idea how to get back to it.
We spent a difficult couple of hours. We looked up parking garages on-line, but none of them looked familiar. We even rode our bikes out to check out a few, but none of them were right. This was getting more and more worrisome. Should we call the police for help? But what could they do? I checked the app that I can use to control the car with (turn it on, lock it, etc.) to see if it had a location function, but I couldn't find one. After more frantic searching, I checked the app again and found a phone number for Ford. Desperate, I called it. The customer service person said there was indeed a GPS locator for the car, and she walked me through finding it. (It was hidden deep in the recesses of the app and hard to find.) Success! I had it on my map and we found it. Man.
This morning, we checked out of the first apartment. The place wasn't available through the weekend, so we had to get a second place for Friday through Sunday. I fetched the car without incident (except for the $75 parking fee), parked illegally near the apartment, and we loaded up. More hellish driving through Philadelphia took us to another parking place near the historical library, where I'm writing these words. Darwin is doing more research, and later we'll check in to our new digs.
Tomorrow, we're hooking up with my friend Stephanie, who I haven't seen in nearly 20 years. Looking forward to that!
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Ohhhh, the nightmare of driving in Philadelphia! Because the city is so old, the streets are narrow and you pay internal organs for what little parking there is. Even the GPS worked poorly.
With a great deal of effort, we found our first AirBnB apartment and parked illegally to unload. The second-floor place was part of a heavily-renovated building. The entry hallway used to be the alley between two buildings that were combined into a single building. The apartment was completely new, from new wooden floors to new ceiling. It was spacious and bright. This is why we don't do hotels anymore!
I found a parking garage that would "only" charge $25 per day, stashed the car in it, and rode my bike back to the apartment, using my GPS as a guide. It was difficult--the GPS kept futzing out or telling me I was a block away from my actual location. This problem carried major repercussions later.
For the next couple days, we alternated research and touring. Darwin and I love cemeteries (the mystery of the people buried there is irresistible), and we spent hours poking around Philadelphia's many graveyards, including the famous one at Christchurch, where Benjamin Franklin is buried. Darwin's great-something uncle baptized Benjamin Franklin, so he always like seeing Franklin-related stuff.
He was in the right place for it. Philadelphia never lets you forget Benjamin Franklin was the city's most prominent citizen. Every place that he was in any way involved in has a marker or a statue or a plaque dedicated to his work. We read them all and visited the site of his house and enjoyed all of it.
We visited Washington Square, which is the unmarked grave site of thousands of slaves, poor folk, and Revolutionary War soldiers who died either in British captivity or of yellow fever. THOUSANDS. The place is now a park with an Unknown Soldier tomb and eternal flame in the center. I like that the graveyard has become a park. The individuals buried there may not be known by name, but we know what they did, and lots of people visit the place every day.
Darwin also hit the historical library. I helped as best I could, but this time was of limited worth. Darwin searched the database and leafed through dozens and dozens of dusty books. He found nothing useful about George or Margaret McClary. The search continues.
Yesterday evening, we realized a problem--we had no idea where the car was. The garage spat a card as us when we pulled in, but we left it in the car. And since the GPS sent me here and there and everywhere on my way from the garage to the apartment, I had no idea how to get back to it.
We spent a difficult couple of hours. We looked up parking garages on-line, but none of them looked familiar. We even rode our bikes out to check out a few, but none of them were right. This was getting more and more worrisome. Should we call the police for help? But what could they do? I checked the app that I can use to control the car with (turn it on, lock it, etc.) to see if it had a location function, but I couldn't find one. After more frantic searching, I checked the app again and found a phone number for Ford. Desperate, I called it. The customer service person said there was indeed a GPS locator for the car, and she walked me through finding it. (It was hidden deep in the recesses of the app and hard to find.) Success! I had it on my map and we found it. Man.
This morning, we checked out of the first apartment. The place wasn't available through the weekend, so we had to get a second place for Friday through Sunday. I fetched the car without incident (except for the $75 parking fee), parked illegally near the apartment, and we loaded up. More hellish driving through Philadelphia took us to another parking place near the historical library, where I'm writing these words. Darwin is doing more research, and later we'll check in to our new digs.
Tomorrow, we're hooking up with my friend Stephanie, who I haven't seen in nearly 20 years. Looking forward to that!
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A Strange Vacation 1
Darwin is an avid genealogist. Over the years, he's compiled an enormous family tree dating back to the 1600s. However, as happens to all major family tree projects, he has a few gaps, relatives he's unable to track down or verify. One major block for him is a distant grandparent and his children who lived in Newton Falls, Ohio (near Warren) in the 1800s. The grandparent (George McClary) owned a farm outside Warren and was buried there, but twenty-some years after his death, his son Alexander sold or abandoned the family farm and moved to Niles, Michigan. Why? Good question. Darwin has also been trying to find the grave of George McClary and his wife Margaret for years and years with no luck. There's also almost no information about Margaret to be found.
For years, Darwin has been wanting to visit Warren to see if any local records mention George and Margaret. This year he finally set aside time to go, so off we went.
I was coming along as a sort-of research assistant and to explore a new town. I figured I could also do some writing while Darwin was researching.
I found us an AirBnB apartment in Warren, and it was very nice, with original woodwork and floors but updated fixtures. The building seems to have been an eight-unit apartment building put up in the 20s and recently renovated by a new owner. The other apartments were occupied by young professionals.
Warren itself fell on hard times. Years ago, it was a major shipping hub. A canal and a railroad had major stops in Warren, and as a result, a lot of decent-sized factories went up--you wanted your factory close to the shipping back then. But then came trucking. And a couple-three recessions. The canal was closed. The railroad faded away. The factories also closed or relocated. And the town went to seed. Today its main industry seems to be the hospital. Nearly everyone we ran into was connected to it in some way. The downtown is a delight, with a huge, impressive stone courthouse that looks like a castle. But outside that small area are dead strip malls, boarded-up factories, and crumbling Victorian houses.
After we arrived, Darwin and I drove over to Newton Falls to look around. We found the old cemetery right off (the new one was across a rusty WPA bridge that rattled over the river) and searched through it for George's grave. No luck. Many of the stones were, of course, hard to read, and we had no idea what section he was in. While we were searching, a woman and her young son strolled through the graveyard, and it looked like this was part of a regular route for them. I asked her if she'd ever seen a grave for McClary. She said she hadn't, but she could give me the number of the cemetery sexton, who would know. Yes!
The next day, I called the sexton, but only got voice mail, so I left a message. While Darwin was occupied with something else, I did a quick search on George McClary and discovered someone had posted a photo of the gravestone just last year (after Darwin had stopped bothering with on-line searches for him). We rushed back to Newton Falls and started hunting. Fairly quickly I found it and called Darwin over. The stone was one I'd seen yesterday, but the inscription was too faded to make out well, and I'd passed it over.
Darwin was happy to have found it. I was two for two!
However, the grave next to it had no stone. Presumably this was Margaret's grave, but it had no marker.
After another call to the sexton got only voice mail, we tracked down the office and went to see him in person. He was also head of the local road commission, and he shared office space with a small fleet of construction vehicles. He seemed a little annoyed that Darwin was asking for grave information (though it's his job), and he dug through a file of stuff. Nothing about Margaret McClary. Not a word.
This has been bugging Darwin for some time. He doesn't even have a death date for her. He's not 100% certain she died in Newton Falls. Perhaps Alexander McClary dumped the farm BEFORE she died, and the entire family moved up to Michigan, leaving the empty grave behind. Or perhaps they were having financial problems (the farm was tiny and supporting eight people) and couldn't afford a stone. Or . . . or . . . or . . . The answer may lie in Niles, which we'll have to visit later.
We also tracked down the exact location of the McClary farm and drove out to have a look. The area is all Ohio farmland, with corn and wheat and hay fields in all directions--EXCEPT the McClary farm. It was all woodlands with Kale Creek running through it.
Darwin was uncertain about exploring the place, but I pointed out that there were no houses anywhere within shouting distance, so who would notice we were there? I parked the car in a forgotten side road and we got out for some tramping around.
The former farm was completely overgrown by a forest that looked to be tertiary growth, maybe 75 or 80 years old. This added to the mystery. The place used to be a farm, which meant it was clear-cut like all the rest of the land around it. Obviously the McClarys had left the place and no one else had taken it over. We coudln't find out who currently owned the land, but Darwin is going to check on-line later.
The land was beautiful, with the trees and the babbling creek. It would be an idyllic place for a young Alexander McClary to grow up (as much as being an 1800s farm boy can be idyllic). We tramped around for a while and tried to figure out where the house might have been, but had no luck there. And I got stung by nettles. Ow!
We left with mud all over our shoes and headed back to town for more research. I also did some exploring around town by myself. Darwin eventually came to the conclusion there was nothing else to find.
So we headed to Philadelphia.
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For years, Darwin has been wanting to visit Warren to see if any local records mention George and Margaret. This year he finally set aside time to go, so off we went.
I was coming along as a sort-of research assistant and to explore a new town. I figured I could also do some writing while Darwin was researching.
I found us an AirBnB apartment in Warren, and it was very nice, with original woodwork and floors but updated fixtures. The building seems to have been an eight-unit apartment building put up in the 20s and recently renovated by a new owner. The other apartments were occupied by young professionals.
Warren itself fell on hard times. Years ago, it was a major shipping hub. A canal and a railroad had major stops in Warren, and as a result, a lot of decent-sized factories went up--you wanted your factory close to the shipping back then. But then came trucking. And a couple-three recessions. The canal was closed. The railroad faded away. The factories also closed or relocated. And the town went to seed. Today its main industry seems to be the hospital. Nearly everyone we ran into was connected to it in some way. The downtown is a delight, with a huge, impressive stone courthouse that looks like a castle. But outside that small area are dead strip malls, boarded-up factories, and crumbling Victorian houses.
After we arrived, Darwin and I drove over to Newton Falls to look around. We found the old cemetery right off (the new one was across a rusty WPA bridge that rattled over the river) and searched through it for George's grave. No luck. Many of the stones were, of course, hard to read, and we had no idea what section he was in. While we were searching, a woman and her young son strolled through the graveyard, and it looked like this was part of a regular route for them. I asked her if she'd ever seen a grave for McClary. She said she hadn't, but she could give me the number of the cemetery sexton, who would know. Yes!
The next day, I called the sexton, but only got voice mail, so I left a message. While Darwin was occupied with something else, I did a quick search on George McClary and discovered someone had posted a photo of the gravestone just last year (after Darwin had stopped bothering with on-line searches for him). We rushed back to Newton Falls and started hunting. Fairly quickly I found it and called Darwin over. The stone was one I'd seen yesterday, but the inscription was too faded to make out well, and I'd passed it over.
Darwin was happy to have found it. I was two for two!
However, the grave next to it had no stone. Presumably this was Margaret's grave, but it had no marker.
After another call to the sexton got only voice mail, we tracked down the office and went to see him in person. He was also head of the local road commission, and he shared office space with a small fleet of construction vehicles. He seemed a little annoyed that Darwin was asking for grave information (though it's his job), and he dug through a file of stuff. Nothing about Margaret McClary. Not a word.
This has been bugging Darwin for some time. He doesn't even have a death date for her. He's not 100% certain she died in Newton Falls. Perhaps Alexander McClary dumped the farm BEFORE she died, and the entire family moved up to Michigan, leaving the empty grave behind. Or perhaps they were having financial problems (the farm was tiny and supporting eight people) and couldn't afford a stone. Or . . . or . . . or . . . The answer may lie in Niles, which we'll have to visit later.
We also tracked down the exact location of the McClary farm and drove out to have a look. The area is all Ohio farmland, with corn and wheat and hay fields in all directions--EXCEPT the McClary farm. It was all woodlands with Kale Creek running through it.
Darwin was uncertain about exploring the place, but I pointed out that there were no houses anywhere within shouting distance, so who would notice we were there? I parked the car in a forgotten side road and we got out for some tramping around.
The former farm was completely overgrown by a forest that looked to be tertiary growth, maybe 75 or 80 years old. This added to the mystery. The place used to be a farm, which meant it was clear-cut like all the rest of the land around it. Obviously the McClarys had left the place and no one else had taken it over. We coudln't find out who currently owned the land, but Darwin is going to check on-line later.
The land was beautiful, with the trees and the babbling creek. It would be an idyllic place for a young Alexander McClary to grow up (as much as being an 1800s farm boy can be idyllic). We tramped around for a while and tried to figure out where the house might have been, but had no luck there. And I got stung by nettles. Ow!
We left with mud all over our shoes and headed back to town for more research. I also did some exploring around town by myself. Darwin eventually came to the conclusion there was nothing else to find.
So we headed to Philadelphia.
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June 20, 2018
It's Not Just Trump at the Border
I don't understand how the people on the ground can be part of ripping children away from their parents at the border. Someone had to build the shelters, erect the cages, install the security system, arrest the parents, yank the children away, and stuff them into cages. How the hell? I would unilaterally refuse, and if/when I got into trouble, I would go straight to the press and tell the full story. The people who are "following orders" are just as bad as Donald Trump himself.
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June 17, 2018
Gym Update
Darwin and I were stumbling around the gym, not entirely sure what we should be doing. So I finally made us an appointment with the trainer. Zach sat down with us and created a workout regimen. Mine is a little different from Darwin's. I'm already running 6 days a week ("Are you training for something?" Zach asked. "No," I sighed. "I just need to exercise, and I hate running the least."), and I have slightly different goals. I want to work on upper body strength, since all my power is in my legs. Zach wrote this out and gave Darwin and me a tour of the different machines.
The next day, we went back and set to work. Weight machines are mean! Chest and back was first on my list, and it was awful, which means I was doing it right. I could feel the tight soreness in my muscles, so I spent considerable time stretching afterward. The next day, I wasn't sore at all. Darwin didn't stretch very much, and paid for it later!
The next day, Darwin didn't want to go. I played a card that usually works: "I'm leaving. It'd be great if you came with me, but I'm going now." This often gets him moving! Day two was arms. More cruelty! And each weight workout is followed by three kilometers of running. (Usually I do five, but if I've been lifting, I'm giving myself a little break.) Darwin prefers the rowing machine for cardio.
Today is Father's Day, and I'm resting. :)
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The next day, we went back and set to work. Weight machines are mean! Chest and back was first on my list, and it was awful, which means I was doing it right. I could feel the tight soreness in my muscles, so I spent considerable time stretching afterward. The next day, I wasn't sore at all. Darwin didn't stretch very much, and paid for it later!
The next day, Darwin didn't want to go. I played a card that usually works: "I'm leaving. It'd be great if you came with me, but I'm going now." This often gets him moving! Day two was arms. More cruelty! And each weight workout is followed by three kilometers of running. (Usually I do five, but if I've been lifting, I'm giving myself a little break.) Darwin prefers the rowing machine for cardio.
Today is Father's Day, and I'm resting. :)
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Darwin and Sienna
Yesterday, Darwin took me to Adrian. Such a romantic getaway!
Actually, one of the people in his office was having a party, and she lives in Adrian. It's a LONG drive--90 minutes each way. (Darwin later admitted that if he'd realized how long the drive was going to be, he probably would have turned the invitation down.) But we bundled ourselves into the car and headed out!
The weather started off awful--thunderstorms and cloud bursts. But then it suddenly cleared and turned sunny and warm but not too hot. And not humid. A perfect Michigan summer day!
The party house was out in the country and I only knew a couple of people, including the guest of honor. So the party was a lot of standing around making conversation with strangers. But they were very nice people, and there was cake.
Afterward, Darwin wanted to stop at Sienna Heights University, his alma mater, and which he hadn't visited for nearly 30 years. This sounded interesting to me--walking through the places where Baby Darwin was first entering the adult world.
It was a great deal of fun. The university was closed for the summer, but (as I learned from my time at Seton Hill University) Catholic schools never lock anything, and security is nonexistent. We were able to get into nearly everything we wanted. Darwin was able to get into his old dorm room and the dining hall and the academic halls. In one big, echoing chamber is a statue everyone calls "Touchdown Jesus" because of the gesture he's making:
It was fun to see all these places and watch Darwin re-see them through the eyes of a full adult. When you're 18, you don't often look at the details of the places around you and figure out what they mean. Darwin learned a number of things about Sienna now that he could see it as an adult, and it was fun to share that with him.
We got some lunch, and then drove home on the route Darwin used to drive when he was young. More memory lane for him. It was a perfect day for driving, with the sunny, warm air rushing through the car windows. At one point, I saw a sign for eggs and made Darwin stop. I bought two dozen eggs that had been laid only that morning. Nice!
And we finally arrived back home. It was a fine day.
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End of Year 2018
This year, the end of the school year went . . . slow . . . ly.
My seniors (four sections of them) all graduated the week after Memorial Day. This left me with a single section of freshmen to teach for two weeks and give exams to. Teach only one class for three weeks? Score!
I was looking forward to getting a lot of stuff done. Research new curriculum! Modify lesson plans that hadn't worked! Revamp old material!
And then, the first day, I got sick. A cold. A bad cold. I was miserable. And exhausted. I went in every day and slept in my classroom. I even brought in a pillow and a camping mattress I could roll up and stash in the cupboard for the hour I was teaching. It was awful. I couldn't call in sick--all my sick days went to hospital stays this last year. In fact, I spent the rest of the year paranoid about getting sick, because if I stayed home, I'd get docked. And when you get docked, it's for a LOT of money.
I suppose if I had to get sick, this was the perfect time for it. I only had to rouse myself enough to teach one class of very nice freshmen, and then I could go back to dozing. But it sucked because all the stuff I'd been planning to do went undone.
After a full week, the cold finally let up and I was feeling normal just in time for exam week. Exams are half days, with two exams per day. Afternoons, the students go home to study (ha!) while the teachers grade piles of papers. I had several days completely to myself here, since I had just one exam to give on Wednesday.
So I cleaned my classroom.
I mean, seriously cleaned it. I have three storage cabinets and a filing cabinet chock-full of the detritus of 24 years of teaching, and I hadn't gone through it all in decades.
The filing cabinet went first. I saw quickly that 90% of the stuff in there was either 1) outdated and useless or 2) already scanned to my computer network as a PDF. So almost all of it went into the recycling. I had five paper boxes worth! I also came across my file of thank-yous, little notes and cards from students I've gotten over the years. "You changed my life." "I'm so glad I had you for my teacher." "I hated English until I had you." Those I kept.
Next day, I tackled the storage cabinets. The fact that I had video and cassette tapes in there should tell you how long it's been! I tossed everything I hadn't used in three years. It took three trips to the dumpster! Then I rearranged everything so it was easier to find and access what I needed.
And then I washed down all the surfaces. The custodians never, ever dust. Nor do they wipe down the tables. A classroom gets dirty really fast when you have 160 students using it every day, but budget cuts have resulted in a tiny custodial staff that just empties the wastebaskets and cleans the floor. When I started teaching, custodians cleaned the desks and windowsill and washed the blackboards every day. If you wanted to keep something on the board, you had to write SAVE next to it, or it would be gone in the morning. No more. Now my room gets grimier and grimier. I cleaned everything, and the room smelled of bleach disinfectant when I was done.
I also cleaned out my desk drawers, tossing all the junk I wouldn't use. I have a warehouse-class pile of classroom supplies in my desk, and digging through it was a revelation. So many boxes of pencils! And look--two whole boxes of staples! This took considerable time to reorganize.
And then I was done with the cleaning. My freshmen arrived and took the exam, a single long essay. I graded them, sent out a final "Enjoy your summer!" message to them on Remind, and closed out my classroom. Friday morning, I turned in my keys at check-out, and I was done!
This was overall a nasty, shitty year, and I'm glad to see it end. This is solely because of the five months of on-off stress, misery, and pain from the kidney stones. My bank of sick days is gone, and I have to build it up again. I lived in a state of anxiety for weeks and weeks and weeks, and worked hard to hide it from my students.
But it was good year for students. My fourth hour was difficult, but far from the worst I've had. My media literacy class was small, and it was nice to have a quiet little group at the end of the school day. My freshmen were total sweeties and were fun to teach.
And now we have the long, empty summer days to rest!
comments
My seniors (four sections of them) all graduated the week after Memorial Day. This left me with a single section of freshmen to teach for two weeks and give exams to. Teach only one class for three weeks? Score!
I was looking forward to getting a lot of stuff done. Research new curriculum! Modify lesson plans that hadn't worked! Revamp old material!
And then, the first day, I got sick. A cold. A bad cold. I was miserable. And exhausted. I went in every day and slept in my classroom. I even brought in a pillow and a camping mattress I could roll up and stash in the cupboard for the hour I was teaching. It was awful. I couldn't call in sick--all my sick days went to hospital stays this last year. In fact, I spent the rest of the year paranoid about getting sick, because if I stayed home, I'd get docked. And when you get docked, it's for a LOT of money.
I suppose if I had to get sick, this was the perfect time for it. I only had to rouse myself enough to teach one class of very nice freshmen, and then I could go back to dozing. But it sucked because all the stuff I'd been planning to do went undone.
After a full week, the cold finally let up and I was feeling normal just in time for exam week. Exams are half days, with two exams per day. Afternoons, the students go home to study (ha!) while the teachers grade piles of papers. I had several days completely to myself here, since I had just one exam to give on Wednesday.
So I cleaned my classroom.
I mean, seriously cleaned it. I have three storage cabinets and a filing cabinet chock-full of the detritus of 24 years of teaching, and I hadn't gone through it all in decades.
The filing cabinet went first. I saw quickly that 90% of the stuff in there was either 1) outdated and useless or 2) already scanned to my computer network as a PDF. So almost all of it went into the recycling. I had five paper boxes worth! I also came across my file of thank-yous, little notes and cards from students I've gotten over the years. "You changed my life." "I'm so glad I had you for my teacher." "I hated English until I had you." Those I kept.
Next day, I tackled the storage cabinets. The fact that I had video and cassette tapes in there should tell you how long it's been! I tossed everything I hadn't used in three years. It took three trips to the dumpster! Then I rearranged everything so it was easier to find and access what I needed.
And then I washed down all the surfaces. The custodians never, ever dust. Nor do they wipe down the tables. A classroom gets dirty really fast when you have 160 students using it every day, but budget cuts have resulted in a tiny custodial staff that just empties the wastebaskets and cleans the floor. When I started teaching, custodians cleaned the desks and windowsill and washed the blackboards every day. If you wanted to keep something on the board, you had to write SAVE next to it, or it would be gone in the morning. No more. Now my room gets grimier and grimier. I cleaned everything, and the room smelled of bleach disinfectant when I was done.
I also cleaned out my desk drawers, tossing all the junk I wouldn't use. I have a warehouse-class pile of classroom supplies in my desk, and digging through it was a revelation. So many boxes of pencils! And look--two whole boxes of staples! This took considerable time to reorganize.
And then I was done with the cleaning. My freshmen arrived and took the exam, a single long essay. I graded them, sent out a final "Enjoy your summer!" message to them on Remind, and closed out my classroom. Friday morning, I turned in my keys at check-out, and I was done!
This was overall a nasty, shitty year, and I'm glad to see it end. This is solely because of the five months of on-off stress, misery, and pain from the kidney stones. My bank of sick days is gone, and I have to build it up again. I lived in a state of anxiety for weeks and weeks and weeks, and worked hard to hide it from my students.
But it was good year for students. My fourth hour was difficult, but far from the worst I've had. My media literacy class was small, and it was nice to have a quiet little group at the end of the school day. My freshmen were total sweeties and were fun to teach.
And now we have the long, empty summer days to rest!
comments
June 15, 2018
Advice Repeats
Check this out:
https://www.washingtonpost.com/lifestyle/style/ask-amy-alcoholic-friend-should-abstain-from-camping/2018/06/13/7c1dc328-6797-11e8-9e38-24e693b38637_story.html
and
https://www.washingtonpost.com/lifestyle/style/carolyn-hax-how-to-show-solidarity-with-a-recovering-alcoholic/2018/06/14/3ebf8788-6b56-11e8-bf8c-f9ed2e672adf_story.html
Both advice columnists are running the exact same letter, word for word! Clearly someone sent the letter to both of them (probably figuring only one would print it, if either of them did), and cha-ching! Not only did they both run the letter, they ran them ON THE SAME DAY!
comments
https://www.washingtonpost.com/lifestyle/style/ask-amy-alcoholic-friend-should-abstain-from-camping/2018/06/13/7c1dc328-6797-11e8-9e38-24e693b38637_story.html
and
https://www.washingtonpost.com/lifestyle/style/carolyn-hax-how-to-show-solidarity-with-a-recovering-alcoholic/2018/06/14/3ebf8788-6b56-11e8-bf8c-f9ed2e672adf_story.html
Both advice columnists are running the exact same letter, word for word! Clearly someone sent the letter to both of them (probably figuring only one would print it, if either of them did), and cha-ching! Not only did they both run the letter, they ran them ON THE SAME DAY!
comments
