Mile-High Technology

So, I am typing this blog entry at some 39,000 feet in the air, flying between Minneapolis and Portland.  Not so unusual, except that the airplane has Wi-Fi (free for the holidays) so I am live on the famed "intertubes" -- this entry won't be uploaded later, after I've landed, but is going out to the world at this very moment.

This is so cool, at least to us later adopters. You still can't make a call from a plane, but you can Facetime!

The photos below are not intentionally artsy -- they are simply my laptop camera's interpretation of the light and surroundings on an almost packed plane with conventional turbulence.

I am flying to Portland for our annual Glänza party (after a skipped year in 2009) -- the household is reconvening today from Idaho, Minnesota and Oregon for two days of cleaning, an evening of festivities, and then another day of cleaning afterwards.  And yet, every moment of preparation and clean-up will be worth it.  This is likely to be the last Hoisting of the Glänsa, at least in this house, but we aren't talking about it.

Tropical birds in the frozen north

Flamingos at the Como Park Zoo and Conservatory

Sister Peaceable and I walked about 6 miles today -- half a mile with the dog, who started flagging, so we turned around and returned her home. And then another 5 miles, round trip, to a favorite store of mine, the Bibelot. A very pleasant walk, ducking into the shade of the ash and oak and locust trees along Summit Avenue.

I've been in the Midwest for just over a month now.  I had intended to be here for 20 days -- so far it's been 35.  I haven't got my ticket home yet, but I expect to leave about 12 days from now.  Once I get home, though, I'll be just packing my car and driving back to Minnesota.

I called a friend up shortly after I arrived, to ask if he wanted to meet for dinner or something. He responded, "Yes, that would be nice, but really I have a job I need filled and you can have it if you start tomorrow."  Or something like that. It actually took a week to get from first indications to first day, but it felt to me as hurried as all that.

I am once again working for my old Minnesota company, 3M.  This time, I am a free agent, under my business name, which means less pay, no benefits and the possibility of being turned off without notice.  And I'm much happier that way.  The job is temporary -- three to six months to get them on their feet, after which I'll return to Portland. (Possibly earlier -- some of the work, after an initial month or three, can be done remotely -- so I could telecommute.)

The project involves taking a prototype that is currently held together with "duct tape and baling wire" and making it into a product that can be on the market, ready for thousands of customers, within six months -- they need help, lots of it, fast. My particular contribution will be technical communications -- translating notes and half finished white papers into documents and training materials. I am thrilled to have a job as "technical writer" on my resume, and I'm hoping I can use this to get other work. I've already worked three full weeks -- the shock of 6:30 a.m. mornings and 10 hour days with no lunch break has worn off. I'm hoping perhaps this coming week to have enough energy in the evenings to catch up on the cattus dommus news (as compared merely to my own news).

In the meantime, I get to visit with Mater once or twice a week, and Peaceable and Mr. Peaceable have welcomed me into their home. I have my usual room at the back of the house, quiet and outfitted just for me with a small desk and a chest of drawers.  At first I had nothing to fill the drawers with -- I had proudly packed especially light when I came for my visit, and I brought only a few vacation clothes for very hot climates -- that is, sundresses and sandals -- not business wear.

Honestly, the first thing that ran through my head when he offered me the job was not, "How much might I earn?" nor "How will I be able to help this project, and this friend?" but "I can't start tomorrow -- I've got nothing to wear!"  However, Miss Peaceable and I did some emergency shopping -- and with a daily raid on the closet of Miss Peaceable (who has a marvelous collection of fancy cardigans and jewelry, not to mention shoes my size, too) -- I have rustled up about 7 quite peacock-y outfits -- purple and blue and pink and gray -- all marvelously accessorized, much more groomed than I am normally. I am dressed well, and comfortably set, but still feel a long way from home.

A Visit to the Zoo

The men left at 7:30 this morning to ski on Mount Hood, leaving us females with little to do.  So we pulled out our umbrellas, called a friend, and hied us to the Oregon Zoo.

We got there early, so we could hear a zoo keeper talk about Asian Elephants (Girl-Child is considering Zoo Keeper as a career).  This zoo is one of the world leaders in breeding and caring for elephants in captivity, and has overseen the birth of 26 elephants (more than any other zoo). Then we watched Rama the Elephant paint. Yes, paint.

Each of the elephants has learned a long routine, of about 35 commands, which were developed to train the elephants to present different parts of their bodies for vet checks (such as turning from one side to the other, lifting each foot individually, lifting his head high in the air and then low).  As the zoo keeper stated, "When the animal isn't feeling well, it helps to have it trained to move in a certain way. Frankly, Rama is 9,000 pounds -- we can't make him do anything he doesn't want to do." They started having the elephants paint because they need a twice yearly exam for Tuberculosis. This involves having solution syringed into their trunks; they have to raise their trunks high so that the solution slides back into their nasal cavity, and then they spit the solution out (and it is tested for TB).

In an effort to provide intellectual stimulation for the elephants, they started having the animals snort non-toxic paints (which would also get them used to the action necessary for the TB test) and trumpet the paint onto canvas.  The painting has become a daily attraction for zoo-goers, and the results occasionally sell for zoo-charity functions.

Girl-child had the camera during that part of the show, but you can sort of make out the red and yellow painting on the floor, with the trunk snorting black paint at it.  Rama, one of the smaller males of the troupe, likes people and seemed to enjoy showing off for us. (The blond child reflected in the window was not one of ours.)

After the elephants, and a brief disappointing visit to the Ape House (the big male mandrill which Girl-Child's friend S. was looking forward to having a shouting match with was not in the exhibit), we headed off to "Lorikeet Landing". There, for a dollar, you can buy a little cup of "modified" [?] apple juice, and walk into an enclosure containing some 50 lorikeet parrots. They are quite bold (or they really love their sugar juice) and within a minute or two will land on your hand to drink the juice out of the cup. It's rather a wonderful experience -- they flock, and will gather in groups of 5-10 and swoosh across the netted area, in a flurry just over our heads.  There is much singing, clucking, and calling to each other -- the energy in the exhibit is high and friendly.

It was the highlight of Girl-Child's day, and she's now thinking maybe she wants a bird for a pet, rather than a kitten.

Gratuitous Cat Photos Illustrating Anticipation of Slow Progress Week

(Harry stalking the neighbor's hyacinths on Sunday.)

HomoDommi flew home this afternoon after spending the morning cleaning up his tools and work area.

Tomorrow, after watching a school play starring Girl-Child in a speaking role, he and the children will drive back to Portland for a week.  FemmeDommi, who still has limited vacation time, will fly in mid-week, and she and her husband will take a belated anniversary trip to the coast (Happy Anniversary, you guys!), while I get to play with the children.

(Tasha watching warily, March 21, 2010.

I love her expression, but you'll have to click on the photo to see it better.)

We hope to get some work done next week, but don't know how the presence of juniors will affect our progress (unfortunately, Portland's Spring Break is on right now, so all their friends will be in school during the day when they are here).

Then a House-sitter, Now a Guest

Cranky and Bride returned last night, delivered from the airport by Son of, who drove up from Woods Hole. I take his visit entirely personally, since CoG and Bride are taking Mater down to visit him next weekend after I leave -- so this was the only opportunity for the two of us to meet up.

Thank you, Son of!

Anyway, we have had a full day of doing little but eating, talking, eating, drinking tea and coffee and talking more, then eating more, while Cranky and Bride begin to get over jet lag.

There and Back Again

Last Saturday, The Texan and I left Portland in a record-breaking downpour and drove out to the new digs in Idaho. We were transporting to The Family a second car -- their 22-year-old white Toyota Corolla. The Corolla's air conditioning doesn't work any more, nor the radio; the engine runs well, but we were not convinced it would be able to make the 400+ mile summer trip to Boise. So we drove two cars, trading off periodically to relieve boredom. When we stopped in The Dalles for lunch, I reported that "now playing in the Blue Mini" was a CD of the original Broadway cast production of Brigadoon. The Texan replied that the entertainment in the white car was watching the arrow on the fuel gauge swing up and down. The fuel gauge doesn't work, either. (To save you any agonizing suspense, Reader, the Toyota purred without a hiccough the whole way there, using significantly less gas than the Mini Cooper along the way.)

I have been trying to figure out why I wanted to call this entry There and Back Again, the subtitle of The Hobbit. I must be free associating that the road goes ever on. And on. That is one long, long, drive. Seven hours with no stops (but further than one tank of gas, so stops are required), and when you go east, you also lose an hour. Boise is just close enough to attempt in one day, but far enough away to discourage stopping for hikes.

And, particularly on the drive east, what is there to look forward to? We left Portland in a rainstorm (not so good) but at least everything was damp and green. You drive through the Columbia River Gorge, with its magnificent waterfalls, the broad blue river and hillsides thick with conifers.

Image from Flickr.com

Slowly the freeway rises up to an open plateau, the river far below and the trees far behind. This, even, is not unbeautiful (although the view from the freeway isn't the best) -- but at least everything is golden, and gently rolling. And the windmills! The amazing windmills that poke up from every crest like the snout of a dog who has been messing with porcupines.

(I could go on at length about the beauty of manmade sophistication highlighting the elegance of the austere landscape -- I had over six hours to contemplate it -- but I'll save it. Or is it that I'll save you?)

The river and the freeway part ways. You spend over an hour traversing a section a disgruntled friend once called "80 miles of Nevada", high desert plateau, before you enter the Blue Mountains. Dry, also, but genuine mountains of blue spruce, bluer skies, steep cliffs, and snow-fed rivers.

(Taken from the drivers seat of the white car, you can see both the extensive crack in the windshield,

at extreme bottom of the photo, and the Mini out in front, just passing a signpost for La Grande and

places east. Click on any of the photos if you want to see them, larger.)

You turn south, paralleling the Snake River (although that is out of sight many miles away at the bottom of a distant, inhospitable canyon). The landscape is dotted with old memories of gold rush dredgings, defunct mines. The foothills are brown, but with the sun so low behind you, the sky is piercing azure, and you can still make out some of the ruts left from the Oregon Trail, which petered out 130 years ago.

(Well, no ruts in this photo. None of those turned out.)

And then the land just gets browner, and more withered, the hills sucked dry and showing bones like the fingers on a woman who spent too many hours tanning in her youth. Colors are limited to pale blue and pale tan. Texture is scrub. Signs point out "buttes" and "gulches".

(Taken somewhere east of Ontario, west of Caldwell, Idaho.

I was traveling west, home actually, when I took this photo,

so this is what you leave when you drive east. It does not get better for many, many miles.)

The freeway careens down to the bottom of a ravine, meeting up with the Snake River in the heart of the truly ugly industrial town of Ontario, Oregon (of Ore-Ida Tater Tot fame -- get it? Oregon-Idaho Potatoes). You cross over into Idaho. Within a few miles, the concrete, homogenous, unending waves of defunct shopping mall begins, due to uncontrolled sub-urban sprawl (and a ruthless economy), about 25 miles west of Boise.

But at least, now, for us, Boise offers a tidy, loving home to visit. It's not the Shire, there are no round doors -- but residents are friendly, and there are sure to be some excellent second breakfasts available if you visit, too.

A new look

We've been away for most of July, and it has taken a bit to get the energy up to post since we got back. To reassure those who didn't know, the upper midwestern states of USA are fine, lush and warm (not over-hot). We visited Minnesota (central, lakes, and southern), Wisconsin, and even drove about three car lengths into Iowa, just because we could.

Aside from getting back on the blogging horse, it's time to update our look. I realized about a month ago, with a shock, that I had the same template as Bride of. This Should Not Be. It's a nice template, but, like all cats, we must retain our individuality.

Therefore, I'm adopting another template, so at least we won't be mistaken for anyone near and dear to us. As you can see. I'll probably change the photo in keeping with the season.

I'll be blogging more later -- perhaps even tonight. Meanwhile, it's good to be back.

Boston Symphony Orchestra and Hall

Today again Neighbor of and I trained into Boston to see the Orchestra, this time an Open Rehearsal. This was a truly marvelous experience for several reasons. The most fun part was that we had to arrive before 9:00 a.m., when the doors opened -- because an Open Rehearsal is general seating, and Neighbor of has a particularly perfect seat that she claims.

This meant the not-so-fun part of the day: leaving the house before 7:00 a.m., to catch the train into the City, and then the subway and a short walk across chill streets (there was a frost last night) to arrive at Symphony Hall at 8:30 a.m. But there, to my great surprise, 30-40 people already stood waiting outside in the cold. Within a few minutes the Hall had opened doors to the lobby, so we continued to stand, but at least it was out of the wind. As we moved inside, Neighbor of slunk around people so she was third in line in front of her particular door into the main Hall. By 9:00 a.m., when the doors to the seats opened, the lobby was entirely filled.

The lobby was entirely filled with people who probably voted for FDR -- the first time he was elected. It was really fun to see a crowd of white-haired old people -- and some of these people were really old -- sharpening their elbows and jockeying for position to make the dash to get the perfect seat in the huge, beautiful, excellently acoustic Boston Symphony Hall. This is the face of "old" that I hope to have -- I might be half-bald, covered in liver spots, and requiring a walker -- but these lovely people were alert and excited and eager to hear the program today.

Neighbor of got her preferred seat: we were in the first seats on the left of the 2nd balcony, actually hanging over the stage. At her insistence, I took the endmost seat, close enough to touch the ornate carvings of the proscenium. Neighbor of says they aren't the best seats for most performances -- you are required to lean forward the whole time if you want to see the performers themselves (although being on the left side of the stage means you are right over the soloist). And the sound hasn't a chance to fully blend -- you get better harmony at the back or halfway up the main floor.

However, it is an excellent spot to watch rehearsal. I didn't take a photograph during (it is against the rules -- these photos are from the 45 minute lecture before the program). We could hear the conductor speaking to the musicians, although I couldn't quite make out the words. You could see the musical scores they were following -- incomprehensible to me, of course, who hasn't seen a score since chorus in middle school.

The program in tomorrow's formal performance will be Beethoven's Violin Concerto in D, followed by Mahler's 4th Symphony in G. They practiced the pieces in the opposite order -- the Mahler first, then Beethoven. I think that's because the Mahler needed more work. Not that I heard anything wrong (and from the reaction of the almost full house, they didn't either). Even so, after each movement the conductor would make a few comments and then they would replay a bit. At least, on the Mahler. The Beethoven had no public comments (although I saw him take aside the first violinist at the end, but that might just have been arranging drinks after the show tomorrow).

At the end of the Mahler, he took them back again to the third movement and spent quite a while with the violas on one particular passage, where the violas, the lead cello, and the violins seemed to be handing the theme back and forth. At least, I hypothesize that, based on a muted but animated discussion between the 4 violas and the cello, with a few interjections by the violins.

I am not sophisticated enough to be able to tell you what was happening musically. It all sounded marvelous. That is, except for this: the conductor had them play the same bit again and again. At one point, his voice rose clearly up to us, saying, with a laugh, "That [last play-through] was wonderful. However, I think you can do it even more wonderfully." And they played the same passage one last time, and, this time, something struck - something about how the cello faded out, leaving only the violas to carry the notes forward, and it was as if all the ions in the air in the auditorium switched polarization at that moment. They finished the measure, the conductor nodded, and rehearsal (of that piece) was over. A magical moment.

Woods Hole, Cape Cod

I spent Sunday with my eldest nephew, the one and only Son of, at Woods Hole, Massachusetts. We had a marvelous day, walking all over the little town, which is right on the south end of the mainland, protected from the hardest waves of the North Atlantic by the large island blobs of the little-known Elizabeth Islands (which continue the "peninsula" of land parallel to the mainland), Martha's Vineyard (looking close enough to swim to across Vineyard Sound), and Nantucket (out of view beyond the Vineyard). I forgot my camera, which is too bad, because the day was bright and clear, with a stiff cold wind blowing off the ocean to remind us it isn't summer yet.

View Larger Map
(Get rid of the obscuring white tag on the map, by clicking the little blue X in the top right of the label, just above the word "Map")

You get there by driving from the North Shore (where the COGses reside) to the South Shore. Cross the Cape Cod Canal, turn right, and drive until the land stops. Voila, Woods Hole. (Near Falmouth.)

The driving is actually a little more complex than that, but resolves to mere details handled by the GPS unit in the car. One of the details, in this case, involved driving through the newly constructed Ted Williams Tunnel. This Tunnel under the Boston Harbor feels like driving a quite spacious four-lane highway with a roof. Still, it crossed my mind somewhere in the middle that I was enjoying the tunnel about as much as I enjoy root canals -- a period of unpleasant numbness that you hope will pass quickly and not bring agony after the drugs wear off. I am a little claustrophobic, and long highway tunnels remind me of Princess Diana. And not in a good way, not like huge puffed white sleeves and royal scandals remind me of Princess Diana.

On the map you'll see all the larger settlements and geographic landmarks -- Falmouth, Yarmouth, Martha's Vineyard, Brewster, Barnstaple Town, New Bedford -- the sign of longtime English occupation. But zoom down in (click on the + sign), and treat yourself to the syncopated susurrus of the remnants of the Wampanoag Indians who first settled Cape Cod. The language they spoke (extinct for 200 years) lives on in the geography, in the wonderful words:

Sippewisset

Saconesset

Teaticket (reminding me of Terry Pratchett's assassin, Teatime)

Acapesket

Nantucket

Chappaquoit

Chappaquiddick (infamous for other reasons)

Poppenesset

Massasoit

Massachusetts

Happy New Year! 2009

The snow melted about the moment I left Oregon for a visit to Minnesota, where in ten days, at no point was there any chance that snow there could melt -- good Minnesota winter weather. I returned home almost a week ago, but have been catching up, and having those final clean-up Christmases (with The Texan, who was away with her own family for Christmas, and with a dear aunt and uncle with whom we could not meet for Christmas, due to the snow). We cleaned up the Christmas decorations yesterday.

I say "we", but I did nothing of the Christmas clean-up, except to rescue one bauble that had been forgotten, from a lower limb of the tree, after it had been shoved onto the porch. I wasn't really ready for Christmas to end yet.

But maybe it's for the best. The Glansa has been taken down (sob), so the front hall looks ... ordinary, and with the tree out of the living room, we have space to stretch out in. It's a good reminder that now we are into 2009 (well into 2009! almost the Ides already). Reality has struck the household and I am looking for work.

I hope things will settle soon into a routine and I will be back to posting a little more regularly. We shall see.

Games, Part 1

MagiQuest (wikipedia) is the game which captivated Girl-Child and myself at Great Wolf Lodge. It plays like a high-tech scavenger hunt. More than 50 items are stationed around the large lobby, one broad access stairway, and the area around the elevators on the first five floors of the building -- framed pictures on the walls, stone-look sculptures, stuffed animals (as in taxidermied), and large "treasure chests" (which look like what you'd imagine a treasure chest to look like). You buy a "magic wand", and, when the child waves the wand at it, the item responds in some way. The large jewels light up, the portraits speak, the stuffed animals' eyes glow, the treasure chests open.
The wand (which looks rather like a Harry Potter wand -- a length of fairly good quality plastic molded with swirls and knots to look like a carved bit of wood) is no ordinary wand -- it has some sort of technological thingy in it. I'm guessing that it is a form of Radio Frequency IDentification - RFID, which I have worked with a little in my engineering past, but the wikipedia entry says it is Infrared technology...which I doubt, because that doesn't allow storage of data. Whatever technology it is, it allows data to be stored in the wand interactively. This means, each wand gets waved at a sensor near the cash register, thereby "naming" it whatever the player prefers ("Magi Girl-Child Fairie" was the name of our wand).

Not all Great Wolf Lodges have a MagiQuest, and there are MagicQuest installations not in Great Wolf Lodges (e.g., in Japan, southern California and Maryland). The Grand Mound, Washington, version allows you to go on nine "Quests", which are scavenger hunts for specific items, and build up gold, "runes" (the treasure at the end of each quest) and experience points to prepare you for the "Adventures" you can do later. A monitor in the area where you purchase the wands constantly displays the high scores of the players for gold collected, quests completed, Adventures won, for the day, the week, the month and the year. I assume the names on the display at our Lodge were only from that installation.

The way it plays is this: Three Trees "grow" around the lobby area. Wave your wand at the tree, and a tv-like display in the middle of the tree recognizes you by name ("Greetings, Magi Girl-Child Fairie") and displays the information specific to your play (your gold, number of runes, and experience). After checking your overall status, you select a new game (such as the "Enchant Creature Rune Quest"), and a wizard, in full Dumbledore regalia, appears on-screen and explains the quest. He rattles off a rhyming clue for the scavenger hunt, and, when appropriate, congratulates you on your progress. After you complete the quest (or adventure) you return to the tree and check-in again, get credit for the quest, and select a new one.

Three hide in chests in the woods overgrown,/
The fourth in the portrait of a forest with a stone./
Once you've found all and to the Pixie returned,/
Claim the reward which you've certainly earned.

This particular quest, for instance, required that we find three specific chests (out of 10), and wave the wand at each. Some of the chests won't open until you have reached "Master Magi" status (i.e., completed all the quests), but others open every time. You are granted 50 pieces of gold, and if you've opened the chests correct for this specific quest, they say something funny and rhyming about how you are doing so well. One chest, for instance, had an Attitude: if you wanded it multiple times, a grouchy voice would say, "You've been here before! Don't waste my time and yours!" (or wtte). Girl-Child would wand it every time we passed, and retort it some attitude back, wagging her finger scoldingly (along the lines of "So's your old man").

We also had to find one specific framed picture, among, say, twenty spread across five floors (we got a good amount of exercise walking up and down the stairs). Lastly, we went to a room on the second floor where a floor-to-ceiling electronic display shows a video of a Tinkerbell-like pixie flitting from flower to flower in a garden. When you wave your wand at the display, you capture her attention and she rewards you with a "rune". All the gold you collect and the runes (which look like old Viking runes stamped on a piece of pewter) are displayed electronically (i.e., you don't actually carry anything but the wand).

Girl-Child and I completed all the quests (a little bit of the family compulsivity gene showed up in Girl-Child, who insisted upon not splashing in the pool on our last morning, in order to finish); but then we failed dismally on the first Adventure, defeating the Red Dragon. One nice thing about the game is that we can continue from where we are now, whenever we return to the Lodge. We might even be able to take the wand to another installation and play a game there.

All in all, it was great fun, and fun to work out the clever design of the game. Children from 5 - 15 were playing, all at levels appropriate to their ages. Which is to say, the littlest ones just waved the wand at things to get the funny response (there were even talking chipmunks in one of the restaurants); children of Girl-Child's age could find all the items; and children older (10-15, or older helpers such as me) could take on the Adventures. The Red Dragon Adventure seemed exponentially more difficult than the Quests, requiring us to figure out how to "cast a spell" with the wand, and to solve logic puzzles, as well as (from what I could tell watching others) timing one's wand waves specifically. The Red Dragon itself was a wall-sized interactive video of a dragon sleeping -- or roaring flamefully at you -- in a room tucked in a corner on the second floor of the hotel. We ran into one sweet-faced teenager who informed us he had defeated the Red Dragon five times by this, only his third, day at the Lodge. He offered to help us with anything we needed, raising his knee to show, pinned to the lower leg of his shorts, an official-looking badge labeling him a Questmaster.

The drawback to the game, and to the Great Wolf Lodge in general, was simply that there were too many people. The Trees, and the major collection points, such as the Pixie or the Red Dragon, had lines of children at all times. (The game is restricted to Waking Hours, that is 9 a.m. to 9 p.m. so there's no cheating in the night -- and so people keep to the Quiet Hour rules of the family-oriented hotel.) The items respond to a wand wave, but with six children fidgeting in front of a Tree, it couldn't tell which wand was first in line, so often the calmer children (such as Girl-Child and I) had to allow a few wilder kids to cut in front of us. (A few of the older kids took advantage of this, waving their wands as they ran up to the items, despite the line of smaller children already standing there.)

The Adventure of the Red Dragon, for instance, required us to stand outside the little Dragon room for 15-20 minutes while other children tried to defeat it. This was good for me, who was watching them and trying to figure out what they were doing (a complicated set of waving the wand at a subset of 12 "runes" set in a podium, in a specific order, and then, at times, waving at different corners of the Dragon screen), and wondering how the heck we were supposed to have figured that out. Because, with a line of 10 children behind us by the time we got into the Red Dragon room, we had one chance to try our shot (and lose), before standing at the back of the line again. (Which we didn't -- instead we checked out of the hotel and went home.)

Great Wolf Lodge

We are vacationing at The Great Wolf Lodge.

This fine "family-oriented" resort is one of 10 such "northwoods-themed" water parks scattered across the country (Connecticut, Ohio, Pennsylvania, Texas, etc.). Wisconsin has the dubious honor of hosting two such, one at the Wisconsin Dells (a perfect fit), and a "nautical-themed" resort in Sheboygan, Wisconsin. We are in the first one west of the Missouri River, which opened late spring of this year. We are in Chehalis, Washington, about an hour from Seattle and an hour and a half from Portland.


The Great Wolf Lodge -- or at least this one -- is a 4-acre hotel complex with a 4-story water park attached. That is, a giant funnel with a 40 foot drop -- the "Howlin' Tornado Water Slide" (the outside of which is visible in this photo), three other water slides, a hottub/whirlpool, a playing pool with basketball hoops and things to climb on and slip off of, a toddler's pool with no curb, and a large wave pool.

For children who love to be wet, heaven.


In the LotsaWater Dumping Area, a very large bucket (and I mean, very large -- 6 foot tall, perhaps?) tops a structure full of water guns and spinning water wheels, and the starts of two of the tube slides. A pipe dumps water into it at a rate of several gallons a second; it is balanced to tip over every 3 minutes, spilling out hundreds of gallons of water, completely soaking, drenching, anyone at the base of the structure. This is HomoDomi's favorite water feature.

But wait, I'm not done. There are five restaurants, a Starbucks, several shops (gifts, Crocs, Swim, & stuffed animals), an Aveda Spa (massages, manicures and facials), a "kid" spa (manicures, pedicures and facials, all with cupcakes on a bright pink sofa), a Video Arcade, a "Gr8 Space" (several large televisions that serve as Wii and XBox displays during the day, televised football games when there is one, and "Teen Dance Hall" in the interim), and last but not least, a large lobby dominated by an 8-foot fireplace (curtained off this summer) and by a giant animatronic treehouse. The treehouse is peopled with lifesize (and larger) robots: Yellow Feather, an Indian girl, and her wild forest friends, Moose, Owl, Woodchuck, and Raccoon, and Simon the white boy, who is afraid of the forest -- until Yellow Feather and the animals sing to him. Every fourth hour.

We arrived at about 5:30 last night, in the midst of the changeover of guests at the resort hotel -- there was a line of 20 people waiting to check-in. FemmeDomi crossed the lobby with our room keys and water park passes, and said to me only, "This is so Not Us".

And it isn't Us, but it has been a good experience. The children are in heaven, overwhelmed by the constant stimulation, always with something fun to do. And there is much people watching.

You don't actually swim here. We splashed last night for two or three hours, mostly in the wave pool, but also doing most of the slides. This morning started slowly, with Starbucks coffees, and then a couple of hours of splashing, but then Boy-Child went to the Video Arcade and Girl-Child and I started playing a resort-wide game of High Tech Scavenger Hunt, which I hope to blog about tomorrow. We pulled the kids, kicking and screaming, back to the room for some quiet time in the late afternoon, and then met a friend (who moved to this area from Portland last year) for dinner at a nearby out-of-resort restaurant. Tomorrow we will have one last swim, and then head home. I think the kids would be happy here for perhaps another full day before getting bored, but always pull 'em out wanting more.

Which I hope to do with you, by ending this entry here.

One Wedding and a Blood Clot (or two)

I went to Minnesota for a wedding (see previous), I stayed for a blood clot. Not my own, rather it belonged to, and was suffered by, Postnatus (my eldest brother). Poor guy -- he had a sore arm, but it led to 11 days of hospitalization and many many tests by the doctors, trying to figure out why a guy with a heart as regular and strong as Yellowstone's Old Faithful was getting clots in his arms.

I stayed over, to help out as I might. Which wasn't much, except getting Mater there and back. The VA Medical Center is near the airport, but you can only get there after navigating a tangle of old and new highways, complicated by the light rail, which neatly stops in front. Oh, and I served as ears and secretary -- writing down everything the doctors said and relaying it on to family members not present. I got home a week ago Thursday, and it's taken me this long to get back to blogging -- and I'm only barely here, bringing you up to date.

The photo atop is my pride in the wedding. The bridesmaids wanted to have a specific look for their veils, and I took it upon myself to achieve said look (since no one else was doing it). However, it proves (after shopping around at bridal shops and upscale -- and downscale -- fabric stores) that this veiling is not currently available to the general public. (It is known as "hat netting", or "Russian netting", by the way.) The knowledgeable ladies at Treadle in St. Paul said that it once was standard; went out with veiled hats, and now is in fashion again, but they can't get any to sell to their customers.

So I went to a vintage store, and bought some old hats. Stripped the veil off (it was similar, not identical), and created bridesmaids' veils with headbands (which I wrapped with ivory ribbon provided by the bride). They served as "something old" for the wedding. And then I forgot my camera, and took no photos of the final products.

The photo below is similar to my entry when I last visited MN, before Christmas. My color-coordinated companions, with whom I sleep. Or should I say, around whom I try to sleep.

Blogging from a distance

I am in a distant state (Minnesota), preparing for my niece's wedding. Much family, much discombobulation, much joy, actually. I have taken upon myself the job of preparing the punches (400 servings), the bridesmaid's veils (3, and one flowergirl's headband) and baking chocolate cakes (2) all for the dessert buffet at the reception on Saturday afternoon. I think I agreed to make 50 brownies, too. It doesn't sound like much, even to me, but it will be a stretch to get it all done, and to the level that I would like them all done. But still fun.

I took a picture of the ribbons and lace, but forgot the cord for transferring photos to the computer, so I'll have to show it later, if at all.

Cats I Have Slept With

I am in the Midwest, enjoying the taste of winter (highs in the 20°s F, -2°s C), the crunchy snow, the squinting-bright light, hued gray from the skies and white from the decorated trees and houses, and of course the warmth and vibrance of family. And my old friends, the cats, Hobbes (left) and Percy (below). I have yet to get a photo of Gandalf.

Maryhill Museum of Art

Ray, Andrew, Mel and I went to Maryhill today, about 100 miles east of Portland, overlooking the Columbia River from the north (in Washington). It is an art museum with an interesting history (for one thing, an art museum in Central Washington?). We went to see a book arts exhibit, but I'm going to talk about the fascinating man of many contradictions who built it, Sam Hill (1857-1931). The museum was quite frank about some aspects of the man's life, and glossed over other aspects.

It has Minnesota connections. Sam Hill was born in North Carolina to Quaker parents; the family moved to Minneapolis in the 1860's. As an adult he worked for J. J. Hill (apparently no relation), and married the boss's eldest daughter, Mary (Mamie). In 1890, he quit working for J. J., and set out west to become an entrepreneur, and never went back. He was quite successful, making and spending several fortunes in many different arenas. His wife, Mamie, "did not like the West" and moved back to Minneapolis to live with her parents in 1893, and the two remained separated and apparently estranged for the rest of their lives. They had two children -- a daughter with whom Hill remained close, who suffered schizophrenia, and a son who did not like his father and did not follow in his business or philanthropic efforts.

Hill also had two other, illegitimate children, talked about in the Family History part of the museum. One was the child of his secretary, who quit and moved to California, where she raised their daughter with the fiction that her father had died in WWI. The daughter only learned the truth when a biographer of Sam Hill contacted her in the 1970s. The other child was a son, born to an artist, Mona Bell, with whom Hill had a long-term relationship. According to the blurb under the photo of Sam Hill (Jr.), Hill (Sr.) "arranged for her to marry his cousin Edgar Hill, so the boy would have the same last name." (!) Both of these children are still living.

In 1906, Sam Hill bought 6,000 acres of land just across the Columbia River from The Dalles. He intended to start a Quaker communal farm on the land, and named it "Maryhill" after his daughter. The land, although beautiful, proved not to be arable (too dry, too far from the river -- 850 feet above it -- to irrigate), and he could not get investors. He had started to build a "ranch house" (a Georgian style 4-story house made of experimental poured concrete), but was convinced by a friend to convert it into an art museum instead.

That friend was Loie Fuller -- a dancer made famous by Toulouse-Latrec and Jacques Cheret. She was also a close friend of Rodin, and she arranged for all of the molds of Rodin's sculptures to be sent to Maryhill. Thus, it has the largest collection of Rodin sculptures (if you count the molds) in the world, perhaps including the Rodin museum in Paris.

Another "friend" was the future Queen of Romania, Marie (a granddaughter of both Victoria and one of the Tsars. I couldn't remember my European royal family genealogy well enough to figure out who were her parents). She apparently was very close to Sam Hill for many years, and was convinced to come dedicate the museum in 1926, the only time she ever came to central southern Washington. The museum has a nice collection of furniture which she designed, all gold plated but actually rather wonderful, in the height of Art Nouveau style.

It is not clear whether Hill had intimate relations with these women. Apparently Loie Fuller had a long-term lesbian partner (at least, there was a picture of Gabrielle Bloch, who "first fell in love with Loie" after seeing her perform, and who lived in her household for 20+ years until Fuller's death), so maybe his relationship with her was platonic. Marie of Romania, according to the biography in the gift shop, was not much bothered by conventional morals, and there is even some doubt that her six children were all fathered by her Romanian prince husband.

Hill's third partner in the formation of the museum was another woman, Alma de Bretteville Spreckels, the daughter of Belgian nobility who married a San Francisco millionaire. She was also very close to Hill for many years, and she is the one who lobbied to complete the museum after Hill's death in the 30's (it opened in the late 1940's).

So it was all good gossip, and it all adds up to an eccentric but high quality collection: the Rodin molds, the Romanian Art Nouveau furniture and glasswork, a large collection of ivory and porcelain chess sets, a small selection of 20th century American Classic Realism paintings (again, with a Minnesota connection -- the heart of that movement was the Atelier Lack studio in Minneapolis in the 40's-70's), not to mention the exhibit of Northwest book artists which we went to see.

The photos were taken in the sculpture garden. There were even tame peacocks roaming around, but I couldn't get a photo of any of them. The "apple tree" is a charming folly, made out of rusting steel, each leaf shaped individually, and connected in such a way that it moves in a (strong) wind.

Stonehenge War Memorial

I stupidly didn't take any establishing photos. Today was a marvelous sunny day, warm, but with the light and color of Autumn.

Stonehenge is a full-size replica of , umm, Stonehenge -- as it would be, were it still intact (and were it made of poured concrete.) It was built by Sam Hill after WWI, about a mile east of Maryhill, grandly overlooking the Columbia. I've seen it many times on the drive from La Grande to Portland, but never have visited it before. Sam Hill was into experimental building techniques -- the poured concrete is somewhat disappointing once you get up close, but it's still got beautiful views.

Hill was a pacifist. He had been told that the Druids practiced human sacrifice in Stonehenge, and he built the replica as a memorial to the soldiers from Klickitat County who died in the war, and as a protest against all wars which sacrifice our young. Each of the central columns has a name and birth- and death-date on it, of these thirteen young men -- aged from 18 to 35. Stonehenge (Washington) was founded upon a disproved theory (and did I mention the poured concrete?), but there are worse ways to be remembered a century later.

It is the first war memorial I've been to in a long time. I found it quite moving, thinking more of Baghdad than Flanders fields. Someone has installed a plaque on a long slab in the middle of the replica, calling out to the bravery and patriotism of those "who loved their country more than their lives" or some other claptrap, and we all agreed that Hill had not intended that sentiment.

Brief Break

I am going to accompany Anne to Coos Bay and Bend for a few days of work. She'll have company on the long car drives, and I'll get to walk on the ocean front and take a hike in the mountains. I don't know if I'll have internet access. Due back Wednesday, when I may report on all the work that Andrew completed in my absence.

Vacation Adventures 4: Mom's Garage

One last thing we did in Minnesota, before coming home to Oregon: Andrew cleaned Mom's garage, with help from David, Robert, Sarah, Mom, and me. Sarah and Mom helped hugely by taking the children swimming at the splendid Shoreview Community Pool and exhausting them with pleasure.

Actually, it was pretty easy. The garage was mostly full of trash that just hasn't been taken that final step (a high step) -- To the Dump. Or, in the case of some items, to GoodWill or recycling bins.

So it was simply a matter of breaking down boxes and tying them up to go to the Cardboard Recycler; pulling out still-usable stuff for GoodWill; separating the hazardous waste into a pile for special dumping (e.g., paint, oil, pesticides, fluorescent lightbulbs); and finally, stuffing everything else into garbage bags for easier carrying ability. I vacuumed 10 years of blown leaves, dust, dryer lint, and spiderwebs -- the only time in my life I've enjoyed vacuuming. It was very satisfying.

We also organized the space. All the treasures, including the things we thought would be precious to any of us regardless of whether they are actually of any value (e.g., the candle sconce Dad made in woodshop in high school) are in the shelves behind the boat (and in the army trunks). Dad's tools -- what's left of them after being sorted through by Rob and Andrew in previous years, and David for those that are still in use -- are in the shelving unit on the other side of the garage. Some tools that were Grandpa's (both grandpas) are over there, too. The cleanup left a shelving unit open, now reserved for David's use.

Easy it was; it did take all day, however. In the end we were stuck with everything all bagged up, but nowhere to go. You can't (legally) dump trash at the landfill after dark on Saturday night, and the Cardboard Recycling bin at the library was full. In order to save Mom and David from becoming the Clampetts of the street, we had to put everything back into the garage at the end of the day, which was disheartening. Existentially, Andrew and I felt we left the garage in the same state we found it -- the stuff remained one step (one steep step) from where it is supposed to be: Not There.

(In the photos, you can see some of the 30 or so trash bags stacked at the back of the boat. There also is a pile of extra gutters and long gardening stakes under the boat.)

Since we left, Mom and David have dropped off the charity items, and rid themselves of the cardboard. The trash is a different issue: waste containers (aka. dumpsters, which are conveniently dropped off empty and picked up full) are a lot more expensive in Shoreview than in Portland (about $178 compared to our $85). One slow but cheap option is to put a bag in the regular waste pickup every week, where they have room anyway. This isn't trash that rots, so that should work fine, but for us in distant Oregon, it remains an unfinished task.

Note: Mom says that Paul next door has his dryer vent hooked somehow into a bucket of water. It doesn't blow the lint into the garage, rather bubbles it into the water pail (which must need to be dumped and refilled regularly). We couldn't figure out how to set that up -- maybe someone in Minnesota could look into that. It'll save on vacuuming when next we clean out the garage, 10 years or so from now.

Vacation Adventures 3: Minnesota State Fair

This is, in brief, our Day At The Minnesota State Fair.

We rode the Flume.

We saw ducklings (and chicks and calves and lambs and ponies and piglets) at the Miracle of Birth Center.

We drank All The Milk You Can Drink for $1.00. Yes, the price has gone up -- even I used to pay 25¢ in college. But now you can get really really good chocolate milk. We drank about 8 - 16 oz cups, and carried them with us the rest of the day, just in case we came back near the milk truck.
We talked chicken to the roosters (and they talked back)!


We climbed the Forestry Tower at the DNR Building.





We were one with the people.

We sailed down the Big Slide. Twice!












We ate, drank and rested, and listened carefully to our aunt (off-camera). That's Joe, Rob's roommate, on the right.

We saw (but did not ingest) Deep Fried SPAM curds.



On the Midway, we rode the ferris wheel (on the left) and the rollercoaster (on the right) and played many prize-winning games of skeet shooting and toss-the-ball (no photos, we forgot).




We visited the Butter Princesses in the Empire Commons Building, and the Crop Art and Seed contests in the Horticultural Building.


We found the time to look like an extra in a James Dean movie.


And in the end, we had ice cream cones at Izzy's.