Not-So-Idiot Savant

The Many Aliases of Beatrice "Cissie" Meryl Greenbaum Quinn

2008-11-09T23:08:00.003-07:00

Tonight, I was just thinking about all the names that my dad has called my mom, who generally goes by Cissie Quinn (or mom, to us) over the years and thought I'd record them for fun - and of course, posterity's sake:

The Commander
Ezra
Wink
Willie
Jasper Littlebottom
Vardell
Shaniqua
Shaunda
Jabber
Gooch (before children)
Jeeps (before children)

I know there are many, many more, but that's all I can think of for now. Cheech, help me out.

Birds of Evergreen Out of Their Birdbrain Minds

2008-08-11T16:24:00.006-06:00

I've heard of humans feeling like they're trapped in the wrong body: a man, who feels like he's really a woman or vice versa. But a bird, who feels deep down inside that he was born the wrong species of bird? Apparently, there's some of that going on in the woods of Evergreen.

First, there was the delusional robin, pecking at our window as if he were a woodpecker. And I don't mean just a few pecks here and there. I mean pecking at it - non-stop, every day for a few days. Some have suggested that he may have been looking at his reflection, thinking it was another robin, and trying to fight it.

I disagree. I think this robin had dissociative identity disorder. He would fly away, come back again and again, to peck in the same spots around our house - and peck so madly and derangedly there had to be something wrong with his birdbrain. He also did this to our neighbors truck window, all the while pooping away - on our window sill and their car door. Lovely, I know.

Today, I heard a weird chirp and thought it was a hummingbird once again trapped in our house. Looking down at the hummingbird feeder, I saw a most unusual sight: a woodpecker, hanging with half its body off the feeder, almost upside down like some sort of acrobat, trying to sip from the hummingbird feeder. Woody, you're a WOODPECKER, not a HUMMINGBIRD. And ROBIN - you are a redbreasted, worm-eating ornithoid, who heralds springtime's arrival, but most certainly does not typically peck at objects, such as glass or trees - ummm, that's a WOODPECKER.

What's wrong with these creatures? I've heard of "flights" of fancy, but these take the cake.

These birds are seriously confused.

A Tale of Two Sides of the Island

2008-08-08T22:25:00.004-06:00

Aloha and Mahalo, Kauai. Today is our last night on the island.

The best thing is that both Fran and I feel like we really have squeezed every experience possible out of this island: hiking to a remote waterfall on the Na Pali Coast, surfing lessons (in shark-infested waters - seriously), taking a helicopter ride, snorkeling and witnessing the elegant sea turtle, who looks like he's flying in water, meeting a rare - and endangered - monk seal, as he lounged on the beach, swimming right up to our spot in the sand (he picked that particular space on an enormous beach), boogie boarding, taking in beautiful sunsets with mai tai in hand, swimming, lounging, reading, eating shave ice (local delicacy) and poke (another local delicacy, akin to sashimi sushi with spices). You name it, we did it.

It's been a great trip!

My title is a reference to Dickens' story, of course - the only novel I've read any time recently - that I finished here on the beaches of Kauai. It was the perfect beach read, but a little too suspenseful, since it kept me constantly wanting to get back to read to find out more about the fates of the Mannettes, Mr. Darnay, and Mr. Carton.

We left the north and east parts of the island - Princeville, Hanalei and Kapa'a - on Wednesday, and came to Poipu on the south shores. The difference in weather is amazing - it's almost always sunny here, whereas on the north side, it's almost always overcast and rainy (near the mountain that receives more rain than anywhere on earth). We're staying at the Sheraton, and we love it. Much, much better than the Princeville, in my opinion, other than the panoramic view we had there. But since most of your time in Hawaii should be spent not in your room, a good view is worth only so much.

Lots has happened since I last wrote. We've gone snorkeling at Tunnels Beach, which was a magnificent underworld previously unknown to me. There were the most amazing varieties and colors of all sorts of fish. And I even saw an eel, slithering through some of the "tunnels." Right as we were about to leave, bummed that we didn't see any sea turtles, Fran spotted one. It was so beautiful, using its wing-like front legs to swim, but the motion looked more like lazy flight, as the sea turtle drifted along. If anything hangs loose on this island (and a lot of things - including people - do) the sea turtle certainly embodies this laid back vibe, going with the flow of the ocean, wherever it seems to take him.

As Fran wrote in a postcard to his mom and dad:

We spent a day snorkeling and lounging at the beach in the photo (Tunnels) and luckily, just before coming in for the day, spotted a sea turtle and swam behind him across the reef. Talk about going with the flow - he looked to be the most relaxed creature I've ever seen - paddling lazily every few seconds, but otherwise, just riding the waves. We've tried to learn from him. We've minimized all effort on this vacation, happy as sea turtles to go with the flow.

The next day (I think) we hiked the Kalalau Trail along the Na Pali Coast - doing the four-mile round trip to Hanakapi'ai Falls. It was a muddy (very muddy) trip, but well worth it to swim in the refreshing pool below the enormous rush of water.

Life is Good. Ohm.

2008-08-01T23:30:00.004-06:00

That's my new motto. At least for today.

It was a day of firsts - me with snorkeling, Fran with boogie boarding. And we both loved our newfound adventures, each of us showing the other how it's properly done.

Here's how today went:

Got up early and booked our helicopter flight over the island with Blue Hawaii. According to our guidebook, The Ultimate Kauai Guidebook, which I would highly recommend, not going on a heli ride in Kauai is like going to see the Sistine Chapel and not looking up. So heli we must. This guide, on a side note, has been right on - all the places the locals say are good, this book says are must-sees.

This morning for breakfast we went to Eggbert's, a local place. It was okay. Then we headed to gear up for snorkeling and boogie boarding at Boss Frog's. Met a guy who worked there and used to live in Boulder, Colo. Told him we should do a house swap some time, so he can ski and we can suntan. He was game, so we shall see!

We made a quick stop at Safeway and ABC to grab some ahi poke (essentially tuna sashimi with some excellent spices), shrimp poke, beer, water and apples. Only the necessities. Yum.

Then, we were off like a herd of turtles, heading to Kealia Beach to boogie board our brains out. And that we did. I used to boogie board every once in a while at the Outer Banks of North Carolina, when there was a sand bar and the waves were actually big enough to warrant something resembling surfing. Here, there were waves like this every two minutes. And they pummeled us, over and over. We caught a few really good ones and had a great time watching all the surfers do some incredible tricks. The first few minutes out in the surf were a little hairy, though, since there's a pretty strong undercurrent and riptides.

After spending a good portion of the day there (about three hours), Fran's sinuses were bugging him from all the saltwater, and we were both ready for a rest. So we headed to a "secret" beach near our hotel (secret, apparently, even from the guests to some degree), called Hideaways. To find it, you had to go down this very steep path, but the small beach at the bottom was incredible, with false kamani trees providing almost complete shelter from the sun. We realized by this time that I was really fried, and Fran was just sort of fried, after only applying 15 spf sunscreen once in our rooms before we left, and once before boogie boarding.

At this point, we also discovered that my snorkel mask was broken, but we tried snorkeling for a little while anyway. Wow. I've never done any of that before, but it was like being in a giant, endless aquarium full of tropical fish. The colors were so vibrant and the fish were huge. Unfortunately, most of the coral was dead, but Fran pointed out a few spots were it was still alive. I can't believe that there's an entire other world under the sea. It's so funny to watch the fish, too - they just kind of hang out, get moved by the currents and just seems sort of content. (On a side note, apparently the coral reefs around the world - like pretty much everything else - are endangered due to climate change and pollution; great recent article by Bryan Walsh in TIME: "Coral Reefs Face Extinction." Glad we got to see Hawaii's while they still exist - but Fran said he could tell that they weren't as vibrant as those he had seen on reefs in Samoa 10 years ago. It does seem, to some degree, that once bustling metropolises of the underworld are becoming ghost towns.)

After hanging at Hideaways, we headed back to our hotel room, which was within walking distance, and drank some wine while watching the sun set over Hanalei Bay. The sunsets here are really truly spectacular. Unlike any I've ever seen elsewhere, especially since there are always a few clouds, making for beautiful colors, like tonight's show, which was mostly orange and blue, then faded to orangy pink.

Fran said South Pacific, the movie, was filmed here. Every time I think of Bali Hai, I'll now think of Hanalei Bay - it looks exactly like you would picture the song - and the song in the movie was filmed right here.

I love the musical South Pacific, and so does my mother-in-law, Peggy, who bought me the sheet music, singing me her favorite song, "Some Enchanted Evening," long before either of us had any inkling that I'd fall in love with - and marry - her son!

In a Land Called Hanalei

2008-08-01T12:33:00.004-06:00

Yesterday, Fran and I arrived in Kauai for our 10-DAY, yes 10-DAY vacation! We were both pretty tired, since I didn't sleep at all and Fran slept about 2 hours before getting up at 3:00 a.m. for our 6:00 a.m. flight. We were also a little jetlagged (Kauai is four hours different than MST), so it's actually 8:30 a.m. right now).

So we hung out on the beach, sipped some pina coladas, and jumped in the water. Later, we went and got some wine, cheese and crackers from the little local grocery store, and watched the sunset from our room - we got upgraded to ocean and mountain views! - as the sounds of the hotel's lu'au drifted up to our room.

We are staying at the Princeville Resort in Hanalei. It's gorgeous.

Today, we're off to go rent some snorkel gear and boogie boards and do those two things all day on the great beaches around here. Wahoo!

The Jeep's Pine Box Derby, Or Man (and Jeep) Vs. Wild

2008-07-29T23:07:00.007-06:00

Background: Every time we drive from our mountain house down to the town of Evergreen, my husband always wonders if he might, just might, be able to cruise in the Jeep down our winding roads, without ever hitting the brakes, never using gas, and making it all the way to the bottom.

All of this, despite the fact that there are about three stop signs with T intersections - not to mention several hairpin turns that would likely have to be taken on two wheels to accomplish this feat.

No worry. This guy I like to call "my husband" is essentially a boy trapped in a man's body, so, to him, this whole endeavor sounds more like the ultimate adventure than anything (he idolizes Bear Grylls if this gives any window into his soul) - and it's one he just can't get out of his mind.

Tonight: Somehow, the Jeep died a few days ago, and Fran hasn't been able to restart it.

Sitting in the hot tub, he tells me he's thought all of our options over (clearly), and there are only two ways to get the Jeep back to humanity to be fixed.

1) He called a towing company, and they can tow it for $79 initial hook up, plus an additional $10 for each additional mile they have to drive. Civilization is about 10 miles away, so that's about $100, from my estimates. TOTAL = $179

OR

2) We can join AAA for $65 - for the year - and they'll tow it free. TOTAL = $65

Now, I don't know about your math skills, but here's what I concluded: Option 2 is the cheaper method. By far.

But here's where it gets interesting.

Fran proposes what we'll call Option 1 on crack (before even mentioning Option 2): We put the Jeep in neutral, start it rolling down the hill by our house. I am supposed to go out by the curve, which represents the first obstacle where we might hit someone head on, and direct traffic if someone is coming, holding out my hand like a traffic cop to halt oncoming cars (how I'll sprint to this intersection - a distance of about 400 meters, after helping roll the Jeep - escapes me.) Fran showed me the signals I'm supposed to give oncoming traffic - hand flexed, arm extended, signalling the cars to halt.

According to Fran's calculations, we can save at least $50 (he's so frugal, this guy) on the towing expenses using this technique.

At first, I was a little perplexed. Then, it dawned on me. This wasn't about the significant savings we'd reap (a whole $50 - what will we do with all that cash?), in our little do-it-yourself (and-probably-die) version.

It's a chance for him to have his own taste of Man (and Jeep) vs. Wild, right here in Evergreen, racing down the hill, Boy-Scout-pine-box-derby-style, throwing caution to the wind, proving once and for all that Fran is truly on par with Bear.

Only Fran could come up with this crazy scheme - and actually be semi-serious about its implementation.

Good, Better, Best. Never Let It Rest.

2008-06-22T16:02:00.003-06:00

Just heard this saying on the TV that my dad always used to use.

Good, Better, Best. Never let it rest.
'Til your good is better and your
better is best.

It's another one of those phrases I thought he made up, just like I thought he wrote "Me and Bobby McGee," since he always sang that song in the shower, but only sang the first few lyrics, "Busted flat in Baton Rouge, waitin' for a train."

Still not sure who said this quote first, but it always reminds me of my dad.

This is Just to Say

2008-06-11T00:06:00.004-06:00

I just heard a "This American Life" episode that talks about people saying they're sorry, but not really being sorry, and this poem, "This is Just to Say," by William Carlos Williams:

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold

Apparently, there are many, many spoofs of this poem - and "This American Life" contributors each tried their hand at it.

Here's my take:

This is just to say

I made you
go last
in Chinese
jumprope

which probably
made you
feel
unimportant

Forgive me
that was cruel
but you were so eager
and I so willing

Another:

This is Just to Say

I have filed
a complaint
with the
regional branch

a move
which I'm guessing
you didn't
expect

Forgive me
your service was atrocious
so unreliable
and so unsound

My Heart's Home is On the Plains

2008-06-10T23:33:00.002-06:00

The sun sets over mountains, but somewhere over the next ridge, she works on.

Over the plains, she meets the horizon, all orange, afire, glowing, and knows exactly when her day is through.

Wind rustles the aspen leaves, and all is silent, except the earth's syncopated breath through the trees with its stop, start, stop rhythm.

Breezes that create waves of wheat on flat land howl, whistle, constantly calling out as if lonesome in the expanse. The soft, low hiss bumps up against vastness, no steep hills to interrupt.

Deer and elk wander into the yard, but here they do not play with the antelope, and I want to see that spot where the sun meets the earth, where grass rolls endlessly on.

My house is in the mountains, but my heart's home is on the plains.

H & R Block...Heads

2008-06-03T20:14:00.004-06:00

Never, I repeat, never go to H & R Block to get your taxes done. I have heard nothing but bad things from everyone I've talked to about this company, but of course, only after I had committed to getting my taxes done there.

My dad often refers to a stupidity tax when you buy something really dumb that you didn't need and/or it turns out to be worthless. Well, this was a stupidity tax on my taxes. Taxes on taxes. Could anything be worse?

After two hours spent over lunch time a few weeks ago with the resident genius at H & R Block in Evergreen (I'll show some mercy and not call him by his name), we spent another hour tonight, only to have him screw up our taxes more than if I had done them myself.

In our first meeting, he tried to tell me that I should be paying New York income tax because my company that is based in New York, even though I work from home in Colorado - and he said I shouldn't be paying Colorado income tax.

Most people would say: Hmmm, that doesn't seem to make any sense, since I don't drive on New York's roads, send my non-existent kids to their schools, or do anything else in that state. This is exactly what I told him. After tearing my hair out on the verge of tears on the way home from this meeting (under his calculations we owed way more than I expected), he finally calls me back to tell me I was right - I should pay in Colorado and get money back from New York. And he does taxes FOR A LIVING.

Tonight's fiasco continues with him telling me that we needed to count our refund from New York state from last year as "income" for this year. WWWWWHHHHAAATTTT? I looked at him like he was from another planet (I think he might actually be). Let me get this straight, the government said the amount of money I paid last year for the amoutn of money I earned was too much. So they gave me a refund. This should count as my income this year? He must be on crack.

Tomorrow, H & R Block's corporate headquarters are getting a call from me for a major a$$ reaming. I want my money back.

Beavers Of Unusual Size

2008-06-01T23:25:00.003-06:00

Okay. I realize that sounds really sick. Downright disgusting, for any of you with a dirty mind. And trust me. We made soooo many jokes about this camping this weekend. But that's what Fran and Chad said they saw. Beavers Of Unusual Size. B.O.U.S.'s for any of you Princess Bride fans out t here. Oh yeah. We also saw R.O.U.S.'s too. Rock chuggers or chuckers or something like that. They look like giant rats.

We asked Chad - the super outdoorsmen - if he'd ever eaten beaver. Roaring laughter. He says yes. Tess asks: Was it because you had to or because you liked it? More roaring laughter. We just couldn't help ourselves. It was funny every time.

Needless to say, it was a good weekend. Fun to get away, kick back, read, sip a few brews and bloodies (one too many, one day).

Fran, Tess, Chad, Joy and I all went camping just outside of Kremmling near Gore Pass. We found a great spot, near a roaring creek. But the creek was rushing too fast for Fran and Chad to fish. So, they drove about a mile above up and found this cool little swampish area, where the beavers had dammed up the creek in several spots, creating three different levels with waterfalls at each level. We checked it out tonight before we left and were all amazed by the beaver's home. He seemd to have built a beaver skyscraper, or some sort of apartment building. It was huge.

I always thought beavers ate fish and used the logs they chopped down for their dams. Turns out, I was sorely mistaken. They actually eat the logs - and create the dams so they don't have to get out of the water (all the better to eat you, my dear). Pretty elaborate concoction just to grab a few bites of wood.

One last note: I'll never understand why people have to camp all up in your stuff, when there are millions of other good campsites. Why? Why? Why? Today, just as we were lounging and just beginning to talk about the fact that we had to leave, this giant motor home pulls up, ATVs in tow (sorry, a big pet peeve when you're trying to enjoy peace and quiet) and they park RIGHT NEXT TO OUR SITE. And waited until we packed up. What gives, hillbillies, what gives?

They were nice enough, but sheesh. There's a whole freaking wildnerness. And NO OTHER CAMPERS. Sure, we picked a nice spot. Duh. That's why we got there early. Don't they know: Finders keepers, loosers weepers?

Obrigado, Portugal, and Saude!

2008-05-16T18:23:00.006-06:00

This past Sunday and Monday, Fran and I spent two entire days on the beaches of southern Portugal, in the Algarve region, just outside the city of Albufeira at the Sheraton Algarve.

Apparently, we were in the "tourist" area, where a lot of British, German and Portuguese vacation. We weren't really there to sitesee, but rather lie on the beach and bask in the sun. And that's exactly what we did. Especially after the nightmare of actually getting there.

I'll get to that in a bit.

But overall, I love Portugal. The people are really friendly and, incredibly, every last one of them seems to speak English. And get this: They actually like Americans. No kidding.

Portugal is known for its port, so we drank that every night, along with the local liqueur made of almonds, called amarquinha, as we sat in an outdoor bar on a platform overlooking the ocean and the beach. That was my favorite part of our little daily ritual. It was so peaceful watching the sun set - even more peaceful than living up here in the mountains. You couldn't even hear a single car, airplane, nothing. Just the wind and the waves crashing - and the smell of fresh ocean air.

We'd wake up in the morning and head straight for the beach cafe to get some coffee and milk. I love the way Europeans do coffee. Starbucks doesn't even come close.

Then, we would settle in to take a nap or read. One day, we even tried running, but I got a giant blister and Fran got a cramp in his groin, because the beach was so uneven. Oh well - we weren't exactly there to exercise.

Lunch, we'd feast again at the beach cafe, eating the super-healthy (think Mediterranean cuisine) buffet the first day, and the next day, sardines, another food for which this region of Portugal is known. Yum. Tons of seafood, fresh vegetables, you name it.

The first night, we ate at a touristy spot called La Cigale. The view would have been spectacular, but we were there after sunset. It's pretty touristy and most people go here for the view and the atmosphere. The food, however, was just okay. If you ever get to this part of Portugal, I wouldn't recommend this spot, unless you can go there at sunset; it's right on the beach, so it would have amazing scenery.

The next night, we went to this incredible little local spot, within walking distance of our hotel, in the city of Albufeira. It's called A Lagosteira, and I will definitely go there again, if I ever get back to Portugal. The food, service and atmosphere (more local and authentic) were amazing. We had a Portuguese dish called cataplana that I want to learn how to make. It's served in a traditional brass pan and is made of a mixture of clams, pork, spices, garlic, onions, tomatoes and white wine. My stomach growls just thinking about it. There, we also drank a delicious wine from a local vineyard, called Casa de Santar from the Dao region of Portugal. We bought a bottle (2003) and brought it home. Can't wait to crack it open in a while, as we reminisce about our trip.

All in all, a wonderful trip to a place I doubt I would have otherwise gone had Fran not needed to make an extra stop on his round-the-world trip. We got up at 3:30 a.m. to catch our cab - and then flights to Lisbon, then to Heathrow (for me) and Paris (for Fran). He's off to Tokyo today, and I won't get to see him until next Thursday, after I return from New York.

Okay - here's the side note on getting there.

Flying in was a little traumatic, since I flew from Denver to DC (Dulles) to London (Heathrow) to Lisbon to Faro - and then took a taxi to Albufeira. Yikes.

The Portuguese airline, TAP, is the worst airline on which I've ever flown. Avoid this airline at all costs, unless, of course, you'd like to pull your hair out and go crazy trying to get to your destination, all the while having supposed "customer service" people tell you how it's not their fault.

I can understand "not our fault" when it's an act of God, or even mechanical failure. And at least United Airlines keeps you apprised of the situation. TAP Airlines? Oh...you need to know what's going on and how long the delay will be so you can figure out how to get on the next flight out because you just missed the last flight (for reasons they never clarify, but usually involve just sitting around because staff hasn't shown up, or the ground crew is "unprofessional," something they literally said on my flight out of the country)? Their attitude is akin to the MAD Magaine guy: "What, me worry?"

Just for posterity's sake, I'll record my ordeal:

11 a.m. Friday. Leave Denver.

6 a.m. Saturday (London & Portugal time, from here on out) Arrive at Heathrow. Proceed directly to the terminal from which TAP flies out, just so I am sure to be there in plenty of time for my 11:30 a.m. flight.

6:30 a.m. (Heathrow is a mess - takes forever to get from one place to the next. Note to self, never fly out of Heathrow again.) Speaking with the people at the TAP counter, they told me they didn't know the gate yet (understandable) and would check me in at the counter, but that I would get my boarding pass at the gate. The woman there literally wrote my seat assignment on a piece of paper.

9:30 a.m. Go to TAP counter, just to make sure I'm on track; see if they know the gate number. They don't, but another flight that just departed from Heathrow to Lisbon had to turn around halfway through and come back to Heathrow. Overhear people saying that they were told nothing about what the reason was they turned around, what to do now, etc., etc.

11 a.m. Look up at monitor and see there's finally a gate for my flight. Head to gate. Get stuck in the hallway, because Heathrow is such a mess that they've set it up so people arriving and getting off planes block the people trying to get to their flights. There's even a glass wall, so people can only pretty much walk in one direction, meaning that if more people are going "to" than "from," there's nowhere to spread out. Feel like herded cattle, waiting for slaughter. Wait for an entire plane load to deplane. Getting antsy and irritated. Haven't slept for a long, long time. Should have heeded inner ominous feeling.

11:15 a.m. Line for boarding is horrendous. Seems like no one, inlcuding the people checking us in, knows what the hell is going on. People from earlier flight in line, too. Get up to gate, and they say, step aside, you don't have a boarding pass. Me: But the person at the TAP counter said you'd give that to me. Them: Ma'am step aside. Me: (slap my fist on the counter). Them: Ma'am, don't do this. Me: Tell the guy they gave me my seat assignment on a scrap of paper. No kidding. Them: Look me up, finally, and guess what, you're in the system.

11:30 a.m. Get on plane at the time we're supposed to be departing. Wait. Wait. Wait.

12:00 p.m. More waiting. Beginning to get a little panicked. Ask flight attendant what is going on and if I'll make connecting flight. She doesn't know anything.

12:30 p.m. Plane still hasn't taken off. No word whatsoever on why. Seems like we're waiting for people from the earlier flight. Really worried since I only had an hour layover in Lisbon to connect to my Faro flight. Ask two flight attendants (idiots) will I make my flight? Can they ask if I can move up, since I need to connect, or ask others to wait? They can't do this. They don't know anything. More of the same.

12:40 p.m. Finally, take off. An hour late. For no apparent reason, other than that we were waiting for passengers from the previous flight. But who cares about the people trying to connect?

1:30 p.m. Continue asking flight attendants for information. What do I do? Do they know if we'll get there on time? They have no freaking clue. Seriously, the least helpful people I've ever met.

3:20 p.m. Land in Lisbon. My flight for Faro leaves in five minutes. Ask the flight attendants for information. Where do we go? Them: Someone will tell you when you get off the plane. Get off the plane, ask someone else. Them: Someone will tell you inside the terminal. Get inside the terminal - mad dash to find customs, get through customs, get on another bus that sits and waits for what seems like hours. Finally, depart for other terminal. Get to the gate. Them: Plane has just departed five minutes ago. Us (now there are several of us...very, very angry): Why didn't you hold the flight? You held it for the people in London? No explanation, of course.

3:45 p.m. Go to "customer service" counter (using customer service very, very loosely). Woman barely speaks English (the only one in ALL of Portugal...what luck). She says there's nothing she can do. We go round and round (with six other people, all in the same predicament, all irritated as hell with TAP).

4:30 p.m. Finally get the manager. She says, there's nothing she can do. Then, she guarantees that we'll all get on the next flight out at 7:30 p.m. I go to call Fran, since he's arrive at 4:10 p.m., when I was supposed to get there. Can't get in touch with him. Try several times.

5:00 p.m. Get back to counter. Go to check in for the next flight. Me and another woman learn it's full. The idiot woman from before says she can put us on the wait list. The wait list? At this point, I am yelling - and in tears. I have LOST IT. We're on the wait list. THE WAIT LIST for the next flight. And it looks like we won't get on.

6:30 p.m. Go back to counter. Everyone has checked in - or is connecting from an earlier flight...hmmm...like we were.

7:00 p.m. Go to gate. People arriving. Everyone's there.

7:25 p.m. Flight is supposed to leave. They wait for five minutes, just to make sure everyone gets there (of course, they could not have done that for us). The other woman gets on. At the last minute, the last person shows up. I do not make this flight. Start to cry. Again.

8 p.m. Go back to counter. Get next ticket. Do not pass go, but collect 250 euro ($400), the only bright spot - if there was one - in the whole ordeal, because the EU has a passenger's bill of rights. Go back to gate. Sleep on bench in between crying.

11:30 p.m. Last flight out. Doesn't leave on time (surprise, surprise).

12:00 a.m. Arrive in Faro.

12:30 a.m. Arrive in Albufeira. Finally.

What do NYMEX, Mamma Mia and Bloomberg TV All Have In Common?

2008-03-18T19:34:00.003-06:00

The answer: I was at all three of these last week in NYC.

The New York Mercantile Exchange (NYMEX) was neat to see firsthand. Traders are an interesting lot.

Went to Mamma Mia on Broadway last Thursday - it's a fun musical, and the songs are definitely catchy - all ABBA all the time. Brought back memories of college days, especially "Dancing Queen" (or Dancing Quinn?) - a perrenial favorite at keggers!

Finally, at Bloomberg Television on Wednesday with the Premier of Saskatchewan, I had a total six degrees of separation moment. We were waiting in the green room for the premier to go on TV, and so I introduced myself to this guy, who was already sitting in the green room. He said he was there with Grover Nordquist, who was being interviewed about his new book - he also heads up Americans for Tax Reform. I asked this guy if he minded if we turned up the volume on the other TV screen so we could hear the Premier speaking. So the Premier starts talking about Saskatchewan's CO2 sequestration project, where they pipe CO2 from North Dakota to the province. The guy says, "Hey, my home state!" I said, "You're from North Dakota?!?!?" He says, "Yeah, Bismarck." Me: "Hazen." He looks at my card again and says, "You're not related to Jeb Bodine by any chance are you?"

Turns out, he was in Jeb's frat, used to visit Bonzers and Whitey's, so he knows "Tessy" as he calls her, and he also remembers Fran, too. Incredibly small world - ND connection, sitting in the green room at Bloomberg TV in NYC. You never know who you'll run into.

Fran's in Brazil right now - and I'm meeting up with Bethany Axtman tomorrow for dinner at Bistro Vendome. Should be fun!

Jolly Old London

2008-02-16T18:07:00.009-07:00

Friday, February 15

Fran and I got into London at about 7 a.m., but had to wait about one hour to get through customs. No such thing as Britsh efficiency. Neither Fran nor I really slept on the plane, which made me even more grumpy and irritable. - I was about ready to kill someone by the time we made it to the front of the line.

Finally, Fran and I checked into our lodging, The St. Martin's Lane Hotel, a swanky, super mod place with rooms designed by Philippe Starck. Strack takes his name very seriously; our room is extremely...well...stark. But it's really cool - all white, with one hallway painted brillaint, neon yellow. There's no decoration on the walls, save for one pink flowery plant in a terracotta pot.

To the left: Our hotel is just beyond the "BOX" sign on the left, which stands for GYM BOX.

We're in the 'West End,' the Theater District near Covent Gardens and SoHo. We have a great view; outside our window is the spinning globe of the Coliseum Theater, and we can see the London Eye, as well as Lord Nelson in Trafalgar Square.

After checking in, Fran and I explored Covent Gardens' markets. But we succumbed fairly quickly to jet lag and decided we couldn't fight it any longer. We went back to our hotel room and took a four-hour nap. When we woke up, we went out for excellent, up-scale Indian food at The Red Fort, at 77 Dean Street. We walked around Chinatown and also grabbed drinks at The Salisbury.

Saturday, February 16

After grabbing breakfast and coffee at Nero Coffee, we walked to Trafalgar Square on our way to The Strand.

We stopped in for a drink at a very empty, very dead bar called The George (Fran thought it was some famous bar, but turns out that it wasn't true...oh Franny.)

Next we walked around searching for The Temple Church, founded by the Knights of the Templar in the 12th century. It's between Fleet Street and the Thames, and it's hidden pretty well among modern-day buildings. You have to go down a few alleyways and turn some corners to find it. (This is the church talked about in the book and movie, "The DaVinci Code.") It is an amazing piece of history; the stones even have the appearance of being incredibly old, and there are tombs of the Knights of the Templar outside.

Next, we headed further down Fleet Street to see St. Paul's Cathedral. It is huge and also quite old and incredible.

Then, we walke across the Millennium Bridge to see Shakespeare's Globe Theatre. But we decided not to go in, because the structure there now is not even close to the original; the actual Globe was on land aobut 200 yards away, and this version had been built in the 1990s. But it must have been so neat to see one of the Bard's plays here back in the day.

After walking the Queen's Walk along the Thames, we crossed Tower Bridge and toured the Tower of London, which was built in 1078. This was my favorite part of the day; the history here was unbelievable. For fans of "Braveheart," like my husband, it's impressive to hear that Edward I, or "Longshanks" (he was 6'2"), lived here during the time of William Wallace and the Scottish uprising.

Also incredible were The Crown Jewels, royal crowns, scepters, bracelets, and rings encrusted with rubies, sapphires, emeralds and of course, diamonds. Lots of them - and giant ones at that.

We also saw a surviving Roman wall from 200 A.D.

Tonight, we went to the Mozart Opera, The Magic Flute, with a major twist - it was performed by a South African company, using marimbas and a trumpet, instead of violin and the flute. It was really, really good - the voices were amazing.

For dinner, we had fish and chips at Rock and Sole Plaice, at 47 Endell Street, Covent Garden, a fish and chips joint that had been open 1871. My favorite: mushy peas, a staple that goes along with fish and chips. Mmmmmm.

The Incredibly Powerful "The Lives of Others"

2008-01-31T23:14:00.000-07:00

Movies about loneliness; about people looking in on someone else's life and wishing it were theirs; that help you understand the inner thoughts of those you might not think about twice, who quietly lurk in the shadows, or appear to be monsters to the outside world; these are the movies I often find most powerful.

And the German movie, "The Lives of Others," was an exception, even for this standard. The subtle foreshadowing, the contemplation of what it means to be an artist, the suffocating atmosphere of East Germany before the Berlin Wall fell, and the life of one incredibly caged and sad man, all combine to make for an unforgettable movie.

Maybe I love these types of movies - Pedro Almodovar's "Talk to Her," also comes to mind - because the characters are such a departure from my own personality; I'm not someone who lives in my own head - I need the company of others, just as much as these characters long for it. Or maybe it's the expression of the same common need among all humans - for touch, for conversation, for comfort and for a meaningful relationship. And the very different ways we go about interacting - or trying to interact - with each other.

The quiet, thoughtful, even painfully shy, main characters often live lives of yearning and desperation, trying to understand and make sense of the world around them that they, for some reason, can't seem to become a part of. They want to connect with people, but they don't know how, and it's excruciating to watch, all the moreso because the absence of this feeling is so sorely missed, if even for a day or two, when I'm by myself; I can't imagine never experiencing the closeness of friends, family or a spouse.

How true, then, Thoreau's observation: "The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation." The movie eloquently does this notion justice.

Knee-d Help

2008-01-22T21:28:00.000-07:00

Today I went to my orthopedic doctor - Dr. Gottlob - to get my knee checked out. I had surgery to repair my ACL in April, and it's still not feeling better, which really stinks. I had another MRI taken, and I found out today that my body is not really dealing with my surgery so well. Apparently, the area around the graft is really inflamed, especially in the spot where a screw is supposed to be dissolving - and what do you know - this is where I've been having most of my pain.

It's also possible that I have this thing, called a Cyclops, where scar tissue forms on the front of your knee and causes it to be really sore and feel like it's hyper-extending.

Argggh. I am so sick of all this business.

So cute Dr. Gottlob (my mom and I have a mini-crush on him) gave me a shot of cortisone to see if that will calm down the inflammation. This shot was HORRIBLE. It didn't hurt that much, but it just felt gross - they inject the stuff into your knee joint, so you can just feel this pressure that hurts a little bit.

Now, however, my knee feels pretty good - but I think that's because the first stuff they put in is a fast-acting numbing agent, then a longer-lasting numbing agent, and then finally the cortisone. So in a few days, it's possible that my knee will feel worse than it did before - at least until the cortisone kicks in.

I hope this does the trick, because Dr. Gottlob said my healing is way behind the bell curve - by now I should be able to run, play sports and ski with no problem. If it isn't 100% after a year, he said he'll likely want to go back in and scope my knee to see what the problem is.

Bahhh. At least the doc's cute.

The Cheeeesy Sisters

2008-01-19T22:42:00.000-07:00

Megan and I have this ritual established now for when I come to visit her in New York. I usually head to Williamsburg at some point during my stay, we hop on Megan's scooter - or just walk - with nephew Toni somewhere in tow, to the Bedford Cheese Shop.

We'll taste a couple of cheeses - chevre, blue, brie - you name it, and act like we know something about what we're tasting (some of the signs say, for example, "tastes like manure," so I pretend like I would enjoy eating something that tastes like manure). Megan says she likes the "gnarly" cheeses and usually opts for some blue cheese that smells like rotten feet - fitting, since this is all too often the smell of her own feet. We usually grab a loaf of ciabatta bread as well.

And since little Chichi is a starving, tortured artist (I did Megan a favor by torturing her when we were little - I helped put the torture in the tortured artist), the big sister usually pays. Sometimes, I think we think we're rich, buying expensive cheeses and generally living the high life in New York City on big sister's dime.

Next, we head to the wine shop, and little sister has to remind me that there are no - zero, zilch, nada - good wines in New York City to be had for under $10. So, we proceed to find the cheapest, but best tasting, bottle we can get and head back to Chichi's apartment, where we'll drink the wine, eat the cheese and bread, put our feet up on her coffee table, try to defend our cheese from ever-encroaching Toni and perhaps watch a little Chelsea Lately.

As Ned has been known to say, "I wonder what all the poor people are doing today."

Ahhhh. We do live the good life in New York City.

Science: Both Popular and Fun. Who Knew?

2008-01-16T21:16:00.000-07:00

Yesterday and Monday, a colleague and I took Rena Pacella, a reporter for Popular Science, all over Metro Denver to tour companies in the region. I love my job - I get to see some of the most spectacular things going on in the world. Really.

Monday

First, we met with David Hiller, the executive director for the Colorado Renewable Energy Collaboratory, a research partnership among the National Renewable Energy Laboratory and Colorado State University, the University of Colorado at Boulder and Colorado School of Mines.

Next, we met with the most amazing professor, researcher and business owner - Claude Selitrennikoff, who's also the Vice-Chair of the Department of Cell and Developmental Biology at the University of Colorado Health Sciences Center. He's an incredible character - he has an excellent sense of humor and explains complex biology in laymen's terms - and he got us all (well Susan, my colleague, and I) really excited about science.

Through his company, Mycologics, he's working to find a vaccine for Leishmania, or Baghdad Boil as it's affectionately known - a fungus carried by sandflies in the Middle East (so lots of Iraq and Afghanistan vets are getting the disease). This same vaccine will likely work on malaria as well - fascinating science that has the potential to save millions of lives.

Apparently, diseases like Leishmania are migrating, thanks to yours truly, Global Warming, and may be coming to a desert near you soon. After meeting with Claude, we started singing, a la Flashdance, "She's a Leishmaniac, Leishmaniac on the floor...."

Next, we headed to CH2M Hill, where we met with Thomas Searle, the president of CH2M Hill's international division. Mr. Searle told us all about his company's incredible work in Singapore, including the upcoming Singapore Deep Tunnel Sewage System, the Panama Canal Expansion program, and the 2012 London Olympics. (They are also working on the Masdar Initiative in Abu Dhabi.)

Then, we met with George Douglas at the National Renewable Energy Lab in Golden.

We wrapped up the day at the Colorado School of Mines, Center for Space Resources and its Eighth Continent Project. Although the School of Mines has its history in - what else? - mining engineering, it is now using this expertise for space - mining the moon, mining in conditions that are inhospitable to humans, such as under the ocean, and for mining uranium. I never thought about trying to mine on the moon, but they told us that you essentially need a miniature Bobcat that is light, requires virtually no energy, has parts that won't get clogged up by moon dust (super sharp and corrosive stuff, apparently) and can keep the mining material in one place (oops, I forgot that the stuff floats away...).

Also, the Center came up with a system for suppressing fires in space - tiny, tiny droplets (sounds easier said than done) - but apparently this application has uses on Earth, too - the National Gallery of Art in Washington, DC, is now using this system to protect its art, because the water droplets evaporate quickly after putting out fire - and so, won't ruin the paintings.

They have also come up with this thing called Space-DRUMS, a machine that uses sonar sounds to keep a sample from touching anything and getting contimated. Many people wonder why we go to space when there are so many issues on Earth. Well, we discovered that many of the findings in space have applications here, such as - in space, cells hold chemotherapy for a longer time than on Earth, meaning the treatment is more effective in this environment. Maybe George Bush was right about one thing - getting back to the moon.

That night, we ate at the Walnut (Jeb waited on us - and Joy showed up later, too) and stayed at the Hotel Boulderado, a historic hotel in Boulder.

More on the Tuesday events tomorrow...

Staff Retreat Par Excellence

2008-01-08T19:41:00.000-07:00

Our DCI offices are in Union Square in New York City. It's an amazing neighborhood - tons of shopping, excellent hot spots for eating, etc.

And from Jan. 3-4, our staff met at our offices for our annual retreat. It was a great time, as always. We talked about goals, the past, the future and all things DCI. We learned more about our pro bono client, Aid to Artisans, and also learned about sales from Bill Whitley.

But the best part about the staff retreat? Socializing. The first night for the 3rd Annual Teddy Awards (named after our founder, Ted Levine), we ate and drank at Borgo Antico Ristorante at 22 E 13th Street (off University Place). A good - and raucous - time was had by all.

The next night, Friday night, we went to Haru Restaurant. It was a cool atmosphere, but we got kicked out, because we hadn't reserved the space for the full night. So everyone migrated to The Coffee Shop in Union Square. I thought it was a fun place, but this review (linked) is dead-on; the waiters and bartenders are "the beautiful people," waiting to be discovered.

Christiane Amanpour at the LaGuardia Baggage Claim

2008-01-03T00:16:00.000-07:00

Christiane Amanpour was on my flight from Denver to NYC for my staff retreat at DCI on Jan. 2. She was standing in front of me, and I thought she looked familiar, but I decided to wait to hear her speak before saying anything. Once she opened her mouth, I knew it was her; her voice is so distinctive. I said, "Excuse me, are you Christiane Amanpour?" To which she replied politely, "Yes. Did you have a good holiday?" I told her I was a big fan of her work. Waiting around, I tried to think of something intelligent to say. I asked if she had spent the holiday in Denver (genius question...); she replied she was just passing through. I said, "I can't believe no one is recognizing you. Don't you get recognized? But it must be kind of nice not to." (Another brillaint move on my part - was I trying to imply she's not that famous?) To which she replied, "Yes, I do get recognized, but not like this. People aren't used to seeing me in this environment." I guess people shoving and trampling each other at LaGuardia doesn't exactly qualify as a war-torn region. I then proceeded to tell her I liked the series, "God's Warriors." Then, I realized this whole starstruck thing wasn't working so well for me, so I decided to be quiet for a change.

It seems like I always see famous people on flights from Denver to NYC. A few visits ago, I saw Colorado's former Governor Bill Owens. He could see in my eyes that I recognized him and gave a polite smile. Must be weird to be famous.

"You and Fran is Good Cookers"

2007-12-20T09:14:00.000-07:00

Last night, Fran and I went over to Ivy and Rodney's house to deliver Christmas presents and have dinner. Fran and I always love going over to their house, not only to hang out with the adults, but also to hear the antics of Olivia (6) and Landon (3).

Landon loves to play this game, where I put him on my shoulders and then pretend I can't find him anywhere. He could play for hours and hours, and thinks it's the funniest thing that I seem not to know where he has gone. So when I walked in the door this time and picked him up, he said, "You say, 'Where Landon?'"

Along with the gifts, we brought all the makings for pear and spinach salad, including some homemade candied pecans. Landon, who loves nuts, had to try some. Upon eating them, he declared, turning to Fran and me, "You and Fran is good cookers." That's probably the most ringing endorsement I've heard of my capabilities as a chef.

Landon also loves to cook and seems to have a keen sense for good food. While sitting in the living room later, Ivy started making some shrimp-cake soup. Landon declared, "Me smell something yummy," again, looking at Fran and me to see if we had caught a whiff, too.

Next, Landon and Olivia showed us the loot that was already piling up under the Holms' 20-foot-high Christmas tree. I asked Olivia what you do with all those presents, and she quickly put on a demonstration for me. "First, you lay the present on the ground," she said, "Then, you tear it open, and shout, 'Yes!'" Olivia jumped up when she declared the, "Yes!" acting as if she was surprised and delighted by the contents within the box.

Then, our attention turned to The Never Ending Story DVD we got them for Christmas, which was opened and ready to be played within about two seconds of Fran and me walking through the door. Landon said that they had the book. "That movie has scary parts?" asked Landon. "Maybe two?" he wondered, holding up his fingers to clarify.

I forget just how scary movies can be when you're younger.

Every time Landon and Olivia come over to our house, they watch The Princess Bride. But they are always terrified of the R.O.U.S.'s (Rodents Of Unusual Size). It's been such a long time since I watched The Never Ending Story, I hadn't remembered "The Nothing," and its henchman, a big, nasty-looking wolf.

As the movie began, all was going well. Olivia thought at first that Atreyu, the warrior who's supposed to save Fantasia, was a girl. When I told her it was a boy, she said, "Oh, that boy has a really pretty face. He must use lotion on it." And after he talked for the first time, said, "Yeah, his voice does sound like a boy voice. Girls have prettier and softer voices."

The first time "The Nothing's" wolf appeared, Olivia sighed, "That part was rather scary." After the wolf had come a few times, Olivia couldn't take it anymore and had to leave the room. Landon, however, quickly said, "I'm brave of the wolf," holding up his hands and shrugging, like he couldn't help not getting as scared as his older sister. This is the same guy who touches cacti in the store, and says, "Ouch!" Then, "Me want one of those."

We wrapped up the evening - after a delicious dinner of soup and shrimp gumbo and amazing banana caramel bread pudding - with a rousing rendition of "Oh, Christmas Tree." I played the piano, while Ivy and Landon sang along. But instead of singing the regular words the whole way through, Landon decided, "Oh, Christmas Pee," was a lot funnier way to go about the song.

All in all, it was a fun night with good friends. That's what Christmas is all about.

The Kooks Concert at Fox Theatre

2007-12-16T10:14:00.001-07:00

On Friday, Ivy, Rodney, Fran, Tess, Chad, Joy, Jeb, Gretchen and I went to The Kooks Concert. It was excellent. Those boys know how to rock. My personal favorites (same as the rest of the crowd), were Ooh La (awesome video shot in the streets of France below), She Moves in Her Own Way and Naive. Only drawback to the concert? These guys are so young and new and they played every single song in their repertoire in 45 minutes. Made for a very short show.

When Good Deer Go Bad

2007-12-10T21:55:00.000-07:00

The other day, Fran called me to let me know that as he was pulling out of our driveway, he saw a whole herd of deer.

Among the ladies, he had spotted a buck, whose face and neck were all bloody and cut up from fighting the good fight. You can see a little bit of the blood on his throat if you look closely at this picture.

Evidently, he was protecting the honor of his harem, and apparently, the ladies were impressed by what they saw, if the number of females with him was any indication of his prowess.

A few days later, though, we spotted the young buck off on his own. Probably, he had grown weary of all those babes, their endless cackling and the rut in general, and was looking for some solitude in the evening as the sun set on Evergreen.

Slender, Tender & Tall Gives Birth to Slender, Tender & Small

2007-12-10T16:07:00.001-07:00

Angie Iverson, one of my best friends from high school, called me today to let me know that she had just had a baby girl, who she named Paige Rihanna. My dad's nickname for Angie (along with Dannette, who he also called Olive Oil) was "Slender, Tender and Tall" in high school, because - well - she was pretty much slender, tender and tall. So I think a great nickname for her daughter, who was born one month premature, but healthy, is "Slender, Tender and Small."

I hadn't talked to Angie for more than a year; both of us were just busy with our lives, I guess. Now, I can't believe Angie's a mom, since she was one of the craziest people I knew growing up.

Angie and I went cliff jumping into Lake Sakakawea one time near Riverdale. I'll never forget, the guys we were with told Angie, "Whatever you do, make sure to keep your legs closed, especially when you hit the water." Of course, Angie, being up for anything, decided to go first - and screamed and straddled her legs the entire way down. After she hit the water, she thought she had torn her butt open.

Other times, Angie and I would cruise around by the lake in my parents new Toyota with the windows down and "I'd Die Without You," by P.M. Dawn blasting. But my favorite memory of me and Angie was going sailing one time with my dad, building a campfire and going skinny-dipping, then dancing around by the light of the fire and the moon to music on a boombox we brought along.

Angie was always up for anything, which is one of the things I always loved about her. Now, she seems like she's up for motherhood; she was breastfeeding while we talked on the phone. And she also seemed very happy, which is great to hear.

We also talked about the time my parents got caught at her parents' house in Wilton in a crazy blizzard in North Dakota, back in '77, when I was just a few days old, I think, on the way back from a doctor's appointment in Bismarck, or something like that. So, we were laughing that we were destined to be friends, since we've known each other for so long. Strange that that was 30 years ago. Her birthday's Oct. 28, and mine's the 17th, and her mom was either pregnant when my parents stopped, or she had just been born. Either way, I've known Angie for a long time.

The Writing on the Wall

2007-12-09T19:02:00.000-07:00

People always say, "Read the writing on the wall," or ponder what walls might say if they could talk. Well, Fran and I finally took this advice and read the writing on the wall at our house. We listened, too, just in case it decided to say something. Initially, the writing on the wall didn't seem too insightful about what our future might hold:

Eric. Eric. Didn't seem like much, but since the wall said it twice, it must have been serious about this Eric business.

According to Wikipedia.com, the phrase, reading the writing on the wall, originates from a Biblical reference from the book of Daniel. Apparently, the King got drunk and said some things that weren't very smart (sound familiar to anyone?), and a hand appeared out of nowhere and wrote Aramaic words on the wall that had a double meaning, portending the King of Babylon's and his empire's demise. At first, the King, like us, didn't understand what the writing on the wall meant and had to have someone - Daniel, in his case - interpret what the message conveyed.

Had we not had our own version of Daniel to decipher our message, we might never have even noticed the barely-visible letters on the wood, let alone decoded its intent.

It turns out, our Daniel - or Daniels - as the case may be, are the former owners of our house, Mark and Deanna Fell, who visited recently. They owned the house from about 1991 to 1997. Apparently, the writing on the wall mysteriously appeared after their grandson ventured out to a little ledge, outside the railing on the second floor of the loft, and was precariously perched there when they discovered him.

The couple, who now live in Arkansas, said this was their favorite home of all the houses in which they ever lived. Along with the story of the writing on the wall, they told us about all of their other memories here.

Building the waterfalls that we still hear from our bedroom in the summer...the two cougars up on the deck, getting into the grill....how their 13-year-old daughter lived in the basement, because she needed to get away from her parents...and put posters up on the stairs, because she thought her mom couldn't see her that way...but the mom could see her anyway...how they used to have a wood-burning stove, where we now have a pellet stove...that there used to be plexiglas on the windows...and carpet on the floor...but the back bedrooms were basically the same...that the French doors in the basement squeak now just like they did then.

"Do you still see elk?" the man asked. "Just look at this view," said the woman standing in loft. "Every way you look it's beautiful."

I can remember being little in Wheeling, W.Va., when my dad took me and my sister to see the house he grew up in on Poplar Lane. He just marched up to the door on the big old Victorian and said that he used to live there as a kid and could we come in. I think the people were freaked out, but we took a picture on the front porch anyway.

And my mom had a hard time going by my grandma's house after it was sold and completely remodeled, because it's changed so much from how it was when she grew up in it. It's sad to think, but the dogwoods in the front are likely gone now and who knows if the azaleas are still there. Or the screened-in porch in the back, where my grandma would sit and read The New York Times, the bird-feeder outside the window at her kitchen table, the orange-and-aqua room, where my sister and I would stay, the attic, which, no matter how many times you searched it, would always yield some treasure that you never saw there before, and the black-and-white pictures of relatives that lined the hallway.

It's interesting how much people's homes mean to them. I guess it's because they are physical reminders of so many memories. Inanimate, yet alive with the smells and laughter of the people who once lived there.

The other night, sitting at dinner, Fran and I talked about how many houses we have grown up in. Fran has lived in four houses; I've lived in two, but only one I can remember.

A lot of big events in our lives have happened in the places we have called home. I had an apartment in Elmhurst, Ill., right by the railroad tracks, where I lived during the first year of my first real job out of college. Fran and I got engaged on the front porch of our apartment in Boulder, before it was completely built. And when I'm in Chicago, I always have a strange urge to check out my old haunts in the city, despite some of the bad memories I have associated with them.

Of course place means something, but home, for some reason, means so much more.

I wonder what people are looking for when they visit the homes in which they used to live. Are they looking to recreate or relive memories, triggered by the sight of something written on the wall? Do they want to see if the house has changed as much as they have since they lived there? Or has it stayed the same, preserved like a museum, honoring the life they once lived in that place.

After thinking about all of this, I don't think Eric, the writing on our wall, is a bad omen at all, as the saying has come to mean these days. Instead, it reminds me of what Alex says at the end of "Everything is Illuminated," one of my favorite movies:

I have reflected many times upon our rigid search. It has shown me that everything is illuminated in the light of the past. It is always along the side of us, on the inside, looking out. Like you say, inside out. Jonathan, in this way, I will always be along the side of your life. And you will always be along the side of mine.

Mom vs. Del Monte

2007-11-29T16:52:00.000-07:00

VS.

When my mom and dad where here for Thanksgiving, my mom brought some dilly beans for my sister that she had made this summer from fresh green beans in her garden. Hoooweeee, sister. Those things are tasty.

Apparently, she used to make dilly beans, along with homemade pickles, when we were little. After opening up a jar of Little Cis' Finest Dillies, I realized dilly beans were on my new top ten list for food. Megan and I each demolished about a jar a piece in no time flat. Dilly beans may just be the new superfood: hardly any calories, made of a vegetable (so they have to be good for you) and edible by the jar. Now that's my kind of food. They're this incredible cross between pickle (also on the top ten) and green bean.

Well, I decided I couldn't wait to get my hands on the next batch of homemade dilly beans, so I went to Safeway and was wandering the aisles, when lo and behold: Del Monte Dill Beans. Today, I opened these puppies up - and they were okay - but no match for Little Cis' Finest Dillies. Much to my chagrin, they were too sweet and not as sour - mom seems to have that combo down perfectly.

One other thing this blog made me realize: So far, the topics my blog covers are frightnening similary to my dad's - granny-slapping food and unusual, you-had-to-be-there-type events.

Sloth Hides Out in the Hills of Evergreen

2007-11-27T19:43:00.000-07:00

While Megan, Ned (my sister's boyfriend), and my parents were here visiting for Thanksgiving, Megan and I went for a short walk on the roads just above my house with Mr. Toni J. Sprinkleton (my only nephew by blood, who also happens to be a chihuahua, and now also apparently goes by the name Gary Gasbutt, a new and very fitting name according to many who've seen a bad aura around the dog as he realeases his shakra).

The roads around our house wind around like corkscrews, and, in the winter, are somewhat treacherous. But most everyone here is friendly, so as each car passes, there's a customary wave, just to let you know that they see you - and you see them. Not a bad idea, when, as my dad says, people are playing "dare to be stupid."

A couple in an SUV drives toward us on the opposite side of the road; the man behind the wheel waves. A teenager in a red Audi passes; not surprisingly, no wave. Two overweight dudes in a suburban. Both wave. Old geezer in a green Subaru, gives the frantic "Hullooo, hullooo, hullooo," that my dad used to do around Hazen, which always left us asking, "Did you know that person?" (We later found out that this is a genetic trait on the male side of the Quinn clan, when, at my cousin Cindy's wedding, my uncle Tom drove around Wheeling, W.Va., waving at anything that moved.)

Just as Megan and I are getting the hang of this - smile, be friendly, wave, watch the ice below and try to get out of the way, an odd vehicle comes our way. It's a weird cross between golf cart and Hummer, and it seems to be all-terrain, because it's having no problems getting up the slick roads.

But the person in the vehicle turns out to be an even weirder hybrid than the car he's driving.

I prepare myself for the usual grin and start moving my hand in recognition that I see the person. As the vehicle approaches, I see this enormous bump protruding from what appears to be the person's face. Closer: The face has next to nothing on it, no eyes, no hair, no features. Just a round, pink orb. Closer: I think there's at least one eye, maybe two, and a mouth drawn in a small o-shape, like a fish's pucker. As for teeth, it looks as though they (probably three of them) may be made out of makeshift objects, like a cut-off piece of a woodtip cigar.

Unfortunately, by now, my face cannot hide what my brain is thinking, but I manage a forced grimace nonetheless. The man-monster waves back unassuredly, sadly seeming mystified that someone might be waving at him.

After the man has passed, I turn around to Megan, who has a similarly stunned look on her face, and ask, "Was that Sloth?" We both laugh. Anyone from our generation knows this reference.

But we also agree that we feel really sorry for the guy. Or maybe it was a woman. Pretty hard to tell. Then, we tried to guess what might have happened to him. My first thought was the Iraq War. Megan's take: He had either been horribly disfigured in an accident - or was the result of too much inbreeding.

Needless to say, I'm surprised that Sloth lives in Evergreen. And Brook Forest, no less.

Maybe it's a cruel comparison, but Sloth from the movies turned out to be very friendly, was a great help to the Goonies in finding One-eyed Willie's treasure, and all it took to keep him happy was a few Baby Ruth candy bars. And he was pals with a kid named Chunk, who did the "Truffle Shuffle." What's not to love?

We think Evergreen's Sloth may work for Sanford and Sons, an interesting operation that we discovered this weekend operates in an area with myriad "Keep Out" and "No Trespassing" signs a few miles above our house. From the road below, you can see where the whole hillside has been clearcut for their junk. Let's just hope that the Sanfords are nicer to Sloth than the Fratelli's were.