Dog Heroes!!

We were celebrating Cynthia’s birthday on Saturday with a spirited round of drinking and board games. Cynthia and Steffi hosted and around 1:30 we were spent from Apples to Apples (featuring a truly awesome argument why “Screeching” was the only possible choice for “Natural” by Megan) so Gabe, Megan, Matt, Ginny, Robin, Knut and I headed out the door in a big herd.

Outside, about a half a block from the apartment, we saw a man sitting on the curb and a black labrador wandering on the street. We just assumed the guy owned the dog, but he asked us if we knew her and explained she was blind. He was outside half a hour previous and saw her and now he was nervous.

The dog didn’t look too old and she was plump and silky despite a few bare patches, but there was clearly something wrong with her. She did not have a collar. She was wandering aimlessly in a little circle in the middle of the street, shying at shadows and manhole covers. The guy, Kirk, explained that he has called animal control, but they wouldn’t be in until seven the next morning. What could we do with her in the mean time?

She was a sweet dog. She gratefully accepted our petting and sat politely on the pavement when asked. While we petted her, Gabe got out her phone and rang Cynthia. Cynthia gamely agreed to let the dog stay in her backyard until animal control could pick her up. Now we just had to get a sweet blind dog to walk up the street, into an alley, and into a strange backyard.

Matt walked with her, holding a hand on each side of her body to guide her. The rest of us walked on all sides to help steer her and encouraged her with whistles and frequent exclamations of “Good Girl!” We got her into the tiny backyard and went home—where we promptly worried about her all night. We were afraid someone had taken off her collar and dumped her in a nice neighborhood.

Then on Sunday, I received these emails:

From Cynthia:

so in case any of you are curious as to what happened to our canine
friend -- as luck would have it, she's actually back with her owner!

apparently she belongs to one of my neighbors, who heard her barking in
the middle of the night. he had been looking for her and was worried
(apparently she just went blind two days ago), and thought the barking
sounded familiar so he followed the sound to my backyard, hopped the
fence, and took her home (probably just a couple of hours after we put
her there). luckily i had left a note to the other tenants in my
building which included my name and phone number, so he was able to call
me this morning to let me know what happened. i'm glad i was still
asleep when he called -- i would have been really perplexed if i'd woken
up and found that she wasn't there. anyway, he sounded like a nice guy
and said he really appreciated us having kept watch over her.

sadly, due to a mixture of grogginess and surprise, it didn't occur to
me to ask him the dog's name until after i'd hung up the phone. but
it's nice to know there's a happy ending to the story. thanks for
spearheading the rescue mission! i'm really glad everything worked out
the way it did.

And then this one from Kirk:

Hi all.

Thank you SO much for your compassionate assistance with the dog last night. In a bizarre twist, it turns out I know the dog and her owner, though the dog was unrecognizable to me last night. Last I'd seen her, she was in perfect health, ten pounds lighter, fully sighted, and totally sprightly ... so I couldn't imagine that we were dealing with the same dog last night.

Her name is Shadow, and she's only six years old, but due to illness she's gone blind and aged a great deal in the last month and a half. I visited her owner today, and she's back in their care. Her owner is incredibly attentive to her, so she'll get great care, but without the small team we had last night, I'm pretty sure things would have gone a great deal worse. [Her owner] was overjoyed that we had all taken time out to bring Shadow in, and out of harm's way.

Cynthia, thanks so much for putting Shadow up for the night. Apparently she heard her owner's car and barked, and they heard her and took it from there.

So here’s my appreciation to the Dog Heroes: Cynthia, Matt, Gabe, Robin, Megan, Ginny, and Kirk!

Yoda the Four Eared Cat

Gosh, I love this cat!

He’s soooo cute!

And I’m horribly allergic to cats. I would take shots for this little guy.

He has four ears. Should anything with four ears be so darling?

He must be like cuddling a little space alien or X-Cat.

Full story on Yoda here.

As Fine as a Troll's Hoard

I have my jewelry class tonight and I’m thinking of bringing some of my most favorite jewelry to ask the instructor how it was made.

My favorite jewelry store in THE WORLD is in Valle, Norway. It is the home of Hasla.

We found it totally by chance. We had decided to drive through Norway from our home in the West to Oslo. In the wintertime, you have to take the highway that runs around the southern coast, but in summer, you can go through the mountains right across the center.

This is always charming because a good portion is through isolated country without human inhabitants, but lots of sheep. Farmers let the sheep up in the mountain to graze all summer long and then bring sheepdogs to round them up in early Fall to bring them back in for the winter. There are no fences and the sheep roam at will and nap in the road. They know no fear and you frequently have to stop the car and honk the horn until they get out of the way.

Anyway, after a tough morning of sheep-honking, we decided to stop for lunch just on the other side of the pass. This happened to be a tiny village called Valle.

It has a gas station, a city hall, a restaurant, a church, and a church community center. But towering about them is a silversmith in an enormous building built rather like a stabur.

Walk inside and it’s immediately clear there are masters at work. The workshop is visible through glass and the wall lined with sale cases. Hasla makes extraordinary bunad jewelry. Delicate filigree silver work is a trademark. It is beautiful, but I most love their modern pieces.

I have in particular two modern pars of earrings made in bronze. One is an elongated stem ending in four curved petals, known as their tulip design. The other is a bold twist of wires in a design the elves of Middle Earth might have admired.

They also use their bunad skills to other effects creating marvelous confections shaped like butterflies or daisies. Really spectacular.

It’s a shame, in a way. Their traditional pieces are fairly widely available, but the pieces I’ve really fallen in love with only seem available in that funny little valley.

www.hasla.no

A Work Day Fantasy

I’m not having a particularly nice day at work today, so I think I’ll lapse into a Walter Mitty style fantasy for a moment. Where would I like to be…

There is a beach in Hong Kong, not far from the worlds largest seated Buddha (not to be confused with the world’s largest reclining Buddha which is in Bangkok).

And on this beach, there is a pretty outdoor restaurant where the tables are set in the sand under a canopy. The sand is a little gritty and gray white.

The restaurant is owned by Ex Pats, so they serve bread to start with. We order seed bread packed with poppy and sesame seeds. We order Sangria. It’s clear red wine served in a small round wine glass, garnished with a stick of cinnamon and a slice of green apple.

We kick our shoes off and our toes dig like hermit crabs into the sand. We sip the sangria and nibble seed bread while the sun floats just above the horizon.

We spot another table beneath the red striped canopy. They are Englishmen dressed in traditional Indian white cotton outfits. We sneer a bit as we admire our seersucker and sundresses. The Englishmen have ordered many bottles of wine, but their inebriation is wholly cheerful.

We order grilled shrimp and crabs steamed with garlic. This is some of the freshest sea food in the world. We lick our buttered fingers and smile as the sun fades and pretty strings of miniature lanterns glow above our heads.

There’s still a bit of light so we leave our shoes under the table and take a a stroll along the tiny beach. A few children make grainy sandcastles but our attention is caught by something else. A feral cow stands on the shore, briny water lapping at its hooves. It’s furry and rather small. It wears no brand or ear tag. It will not let us touch it but is not bothered by our presence. The children jump up and we join them in chasing the cow down the beach. The cow jogs lazily along, clearly not too bothered by the game.

The sun goes on to warm the other side of the world and leaves us, the cow, and the children with only the glow of the party lights and the stars.

The Puppet Bike!

Knut and I were going to the Kriskintel Market in Daley plaza Christmas of 2006 and we were instantly smitten.

We met the Puppet Bike.

I am a huge Puppet Bike Fan.

The Puppet Bike is a tiny puppet theater mounted to the back of a bicycle that weeds its way around Chicago delighting many and mystifying a few. It’s a brightly painted box just large enough for one person to stand inside with a tiny stage at eye level. There two frolicking hand puppets dance their way through blue grass, swing, or old favorites. They don’t speak, just dance. Their trademark is when the two puppets join paws and twirl forwards and then backwards.

So far I have seen a sweet little bunny, two tigers, a cat, a bear, and a monkey. If you show your appreciation for the dancing animals by putting a dollar in the little tip box on the front, a puppet will pop out of a side slit and wave enthusiastically. I highly recommend tipping such a great (but tiny) institution.

The Puppet Bike usually hangs around the Loop in all kinds of weather. I’ve mostly seen it on Lake or Michigan Avenue and if you want to take a photo with the bike, the puppets will gladly pose with you.

See The Puppet Bike Perform!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OcPgTxbPdGQ

Daily Coyote

It's been a very busy week so I haven't had much of a chance to do a lot of posting, but I got the chance this morning to catch up on my favorite blog (besides this one):  The Daily Coyote

This blog is the work of Shreve Stockton, who is a most interesting woman.   She began by moving from San Francisco to New York, not with a U-Haul like the majority of us, but alone on a Vespa.  On her way, she fell in love with Wyoming and returned there, instead of continuing to live in New York.

In Wyoming, she encountered a motherless baby coyote and felt compelled to save him from certain death.  This blog is the story of Shreve, Charlie the Coyote, and Eli the Cat as they go through their daily lives.   It's recorded mostly through beautiful photographs.  

I'm always a little envious of people who have the ability to cast practical thoughts aside and roam at will.  Most of us are stuck in a groove that forces us to do quite reasonable things like stay in jobs we hate because we're accustomed to the money, live in areas purely because they're what we're familiar with, or stick to experiences that hold no threats for us.  The truth is that freedom is a very scary thing and too many people will trade liberation for security.

In any event, Charlie's life is one I fear stands a good chance of ending in sadness, but it is so exhilarating to watch it even from afar.

http://dailycoyote.blogspot.com

Bats!

On Sesame Street, when I was a lass, there was a purple fellow with long incisors named “The Count.” He counted things. One of his key numbers was a song that went “Batty batty bat. Batty batty bat. Batty batty bat. 1. 2. 3. Count!” The chorus was sung by tiny high pitched bat puppets. Thus a love of bats was born.

I even recall making my own bat puppet, probably using my mom’s best wool, complete with googly eyes and little teeth. Funny to think I could make a professional quality one now.

This continued into college. I still carry a trading card from a pack of cigarettes featuring a fruit bat. Someone gave it to me after a night of beer and frollicking. Later, I walked down Lakeshore Path and saw a tiny brown bat clinging to the side of the cement water building. I was admiring it and this freaky beatnik starting talking to me about the wonderousness of nature and the world—everything! I drew his attention to the bat and he said “Yeah, and the bat too!”

The pet guy who used to be on the Martha Stewart show has a pet fruit bat. I am deeply envious. He fed it grapes and explained he had no idea how old it is. It was full grown when it was given to him and that was 30 years ago!

For Halloween, Knut bought me a beautiful little bat skeleton. They truly are amazing. The power of flight, sonar, and snuggly soft fur.

Today, in fact, I am wearing a beautiful hand cast silver bat bracelet. It’s from Marty Magic. It was a princely sum 6 years ago and now even more! I’m glad she’s doing well; she has a very fine hand at minatures. I bought it in college. Perhaps on the same day I met my little bat clinging to the cement wall?

See some lovely bat photo here at National Geographic!

Ruminatin' on Roadkill

Roadkill causes the strangest behavior in people. This is my normal reaction:

1. Oh no! Look away.
2. Wait, what kind of animal was that?
3. A raccoon! Ewww… it’s all over the road! Look away.
4. Poor raccoon.

I’m pretty sure this is how most people react. Some, of course, have more interesting reactions like “Hmmm… that’s a good sized deer. I bet we could make sausage” or “A skunk?! In downtown Chicago?!”

I also can’t figure out how animals migrate to either the median or the side of the road. Possibly they retain some Schrodinger’s Cat abilities; because some are so squished they couldn’t have made it on their own. Alternatively, people wouldn’t just throw ‘em onto the shoulder. I suspect ravens might have the intelligence to move a meal to a place where they could gobble unmolested, but ravens are pretty rare overall.

(A note to city dwellers, if you think you’ve seen a raven, you haven’t. You’ve probably seen crows or grackles. Once you’ve seen a raven, you cease to mistake anything for a raven. You also giggle at tiny mysterious Goth girls calling themselves “Raven” because ravens are huge muscular threatening birds with the sort of alien intelligence in their eyes. They’re fascinating, but not in a pretty fluttery birdie kind of way.)

What’s interesting is that the above reaction occurs whenever I see something lying in the road no matter what it is. Only this morning I caught myself saying “Oh, poor coat!” and then thought “Wait a minute!!”

Whaling, Whaling, Over the Ocean Blue!

I’ve recently become aware of a Facebook group called “F*** OFF JAPAN… LEAVE THE WHALES ALONE.” This strikes me an as unusually rude (and frankly ineffectual) try at conservationism.

I’m a bit ambivalent towards whaling. Mostly because I’ve eaten whale and am not particularly enamoured of its “fish-beef” flavor. Imagine roast beef that’s gone off. They sell whale all over the place in Norway and Norwegians have a fairly active whaling industry. According to Wikipedia, Norway kills about 600 a year. Mostly they hunt Minke whales, which are pretty small for whales, but still huge. There is a skull of a minke whale in the basement of the Stavanger museum that is longer than I am tall, still drooping with dried out baleen.

It does occur to me that since each animal is basically school bus sized, you could potentially feed a lot of people with the death of a single animal. They are also not endangered. Because of its rarity, whale meat is fairly expensive and I imagine a lot of people earn a decent living off the lives of a relatively small amount of animals. This is a marked difference to, say, chickens. One large chicken feeds about 5 people so when you add up all those Sunday dinners, it’s at the cost of quite a number of animal lives.

On the other hand, whales have near human length life spans and long gestation and parenting phases. With animals that live so long, it can be difficult to correctly interpret conservation numbers. At the moment, Norway is still well within the quota of whales it can hunt, but I imagine the data can be pretty tricky to collect.

So it’s definitely not the debate over whether whaling is a good idea or not to which I object, it’s the general disinterest in information over emotion.

For instance, a few years ago MTV had an ad for Europe that showed a CGI mother and baby hump backed whale playfully frolicking while whistling Enya. Then it flipped to black with the slogan “NORWAY IS WHALING AGAIN!” I don’t think anyone hunts humpbacks, certainly not Norway, and hunting a mother with calves is a bad economic idea. It’s just a good use of sentimentality.

When I was in college, I was on the bus listening to a particular inane conversation between two classmates. It went something like this:

“Eww!! I hate lobsters! They’re like giant bugs.”

“Yeah! I don’t know how anyone can eat anything that ugly. Like big ugly bugs.”

“Yeah, but like cows are cute. I don’t want to eat them either.”

“Yeah, but like chickens are okay.”

“Yeah.”

Apparently, there’s a minimum and maximum level of acceptable attractiveness for edible animals. Despite the fact that crustaceans and mollusks are plentiful, nutritious, and of minimum intelligence they aren’t cute enough to eat. Cows are too attractive, so you can’t eat them either. I can’t quite figure out how other commonly eaten animals rank in this system. Presumably rabbit is too adorable, but what about sheep? I know snails are too ugly, but how about pigs?

I guess I just get annoyed at superficial opinions.

Cubbies!

We went to the Cubs game last week. Cubs vs. Dodgers. It was a pretty tense low scoring game, but the Cubbies managed to win in the 10th inning. Go Cubs!

Knut, surprisingly, seems to be the cure for the Billy Goat Curse. He’s never been at a game where the Cubs haven’t won. Unfortunately, no one’s offered to pay him for this service, but we have high hopes. Personally I find it too difficult when the Cubs do well. Last year, they threatened to get into the World Series and they’re famous for not having won since 1908. On one hand, I love the Cubbies and want them to do well. On the other hand, I think it’s awesome that a team with their record still sells out all the time. That’s devotion!

For you southsiders, here’s

The Legend of the Billy Goat Curse

The Cubs were in the World Series again in 1945. During the game 4, Billy Sianis, owner of the Billy Goat Tavern (made even more famous by the John Belushi SNL skit featuring “CHEESEBOOGER CHEESEBOOGER NO FRIES CHIPS!”), bought two box seats. One was for him; the other was for his goat.

However, goats tend to smell pretty bad, even those who have box seats, and the management insisted that the goat leave.

Billy paraded the goat around a few times, but he was angry that his beloved mascot was so insulted.

As he and the goat left the field, he cast the curse, “"the Cubs, they ain't gonna win no more."

And they haven’t been back to the World Series since.

Mysterious, isn’t it? The Cubs are a very old team and Wrigley field has an old fashioned picnic-like atmosphere adored by the Northsiders.

The mascot is, of course, the Cubbie Bear! There have been many incarnations of him, including this rather peculiar hat I’m wearing. In shape, it’s much more like the 1910s style, but the bear looks more like the 1960s Cubbie Bear. The inside is marked “Cooperstown Classic” but I can’t think when it’s from. Last year, a hot dog vendor and I had quite a long discussion about it.

Check out the guys behind us in this photo! Great old school fans. They gave the best running commentary during the game and hooted and booed appropriately. The older guy was going into the hospital the next day for gout surgery. Hope he’s okay! Knut told him it was the disease of nobility!

Go Cubs!

A Quick Test: Lover or Hater?

Does this photo makes you go “awww…” or reach for your bb gun? Or does it do a little of both?

I’m a little bit of an amateur city zoologist as you may have gleaned from my previous posts. I’m genuinely a little thrilled when we see rats or possums, odd as it may seem.

I have a bird feeder on the window sill in the chicken and I’ve observed some interesting birds, including:

Starlings (yuck!)
Pigeons (blargh!)
Doves (aww…)
Red Finches (AWWWWW..)
Sparrows (aww…)

And once I swear I saw a tiny falcon nestling up against the window for warmth. It was very small and had a round little face with a wicked curved beak. I’ve heard some of the skyscrapers have them to hunt pigeons. Maybe this little guy wasn't so far from his nest.

Our alley is home to raccoons, feral cats, possums, squirrels (one of whom threw a bagel at Knut’s head. Really.) and the occasional rat. We even saw a woodpecker just a few streets away!

These little guys are not from my neighborhood, however. They are, in fact, the third floor tenants in a two story house occupied by Lauren and Eli. Apparently, when the light is just perfect you can make out their silhouettes through the ceiling.

Lauren always thought they had squirrels, but a few weeks ago she heard crying on their back porch. It was a baby raccoon who was soon whisked away by its mother. She showed a photo of it around and generally thought it was the cutest thing ever.

Then they saw several on the roof and through the ceiling. They thought it was a mother and her two babies, but at this point three raccoons have been trapped and taken away and these little guys were still staring at us from the roof on the night of Eli's birthday party. I imagine they wanted some cake and taquitos.

The question is thus: are there 40 raccoons living in their ceiling? Or are they catching everyone else’s raccoons?

We had raccoons in my parents’ attic. One summer night, we were cooking outside and three little masks faces peered down at us from the roof. Their expressions clearly said “Why, yes, I would like a bratwurst.”

I asked my dad how he had gotten rid of them and he said that when it got really hot they left and then he patched the hole. It does strike me as possible we’ve got something walled up in there.

For the record, raccoons were native only to North America, although their Manifest Destiny attitude has allowed them to populate parts of Germany (from a bombed fur farm in WWII), however, you can find them in zoos in places like Hong Kong.

It’s so odd to go see a zoo animal that’s a pest at home. But, if they aren’t living in your personal attic, their antics and cleverness are really quite charming.

Birthday for a Thoughtful Rabbit!

Today is my birthday and while I was expecting a quiet day, I have been showered with attention and some really awesome presents! Thank you, everyone! I really appreciate it.

I did go to work today (and I can’t complain! People have been lovely. And the banana and blueberry muffins I baked were much appreciated), but I’ve decided to treat myself to a mental memory vacation for the day.

Got on your comfortable shoes? Camera? Your Jet Pack? Let’s go!

We wake up…

In Disneyland!! Not just regular Disneyland, but Disneyland Paris!

Don’t worry; we walked through a beautiful open air French market to get there, so you’ve got your croissant and café au lait. First we’ll enter this beautiful castle and climb our way down to the grotto beneath it. A fierce dragon lurks there who snorts smoke and flickering his scaly eyelids. But he never eats birthday people, so we should be safe. This time. We’ll make sure to ride the Haunted Mansion many times to figure out the creepy murderous Black Widow story line. After that, we’ll ride Peter Pan and Small World. When our feet start to hurt, we’ll curl up in Skull Rock, knowing that the American Parks no longer have that attraction.

That’s enough fresh air for a little while, how about some intellectual stimulation?

Off we go to London to the British Museum.

Of course, we’ll look at the Sutton Hoo treasure and the Teddy Bear collection, but the main stop is the Egyptian collection. Take a gander at these mummified cats! What did you think of the National Geographic reconstruction of Tutankhamen’s face? Hadn’t other reconstructions suggested that the ancient Egyptians had more African features? Wait! Is that a bunny on that mummy case?

I’m embarrassed to say, that strange sweet smell from the mummy room has made me hungry.

Time for Lunch… at Sola Strand Hotel in Norway!

I can’t eat the smoked salmon myself, but I’m sure you’ll like it. That there is fenalaar, which is preserved leg of lamb, very tasty. This is flatbrod, try putting some fenalaar on that with a little of the egg? Nice? I’m going to fill up on beef tenderloin and shrimp, but make sure to leave room for dessert. There are jellies and apple cake and caramel pudding. Make sure you get plenty of the mixed berries and cream. They grow them all locally. Whew. I am stuffed. I think I need a lay down, but where should we go?

What better place for a siesta than Spain?

This Moorish castle towers over Malaga, birthplace of Salvador Dali. The roomy accommodations here include plenty of benches, lots of shady vine covered verandas, and romantic nooks. What do you say we stretch out in the garden and enjoy the sunshine? Good thing we brought our Panama

I always feel like a little shopping after a nice lunch. Let’s head to Krakow!

This charming shopping street features Polish milled silk velvet scarves, paintings by students, beautiful silver work, blown glass Christmas ornaments, and most importantly amber. Find amber in shades you never imagined existed. Amber cut into cameos. Amber with insects. Who would guess fossilized tree sap would be so beautiful and such a pleasure to wear?

There is one odd thing about Krakow. See those cute young guys in black over there? Look, but don’t touch! They’re all priests.

Whew! It’s been a great trip, but I’m about ready to drop. I think it’s time to head home to my most favorite place of all.

Thanks for coming along!

Happy Annual Bunny Day to you!!

Eeek!! Oh...

Knut was going to take the dog out last night and what do you think was waiting for him?

This giant possum! It was crouched on the second landing of the back stairs. I can’t think what it was looking for since we don’t have garbage or anything out there. Possibly, it just smelled something interesting from the apartments. We did fry bacon last night.

Colin, of course, viewed this an a excellent opportuntity to play, but I wouldn’t back Colin in a fight against a baby chipmunk.

Possums are the only North American marsupial and while they’re totally harmless, they’re just not cute. I take that back. They aren't cute when they're fully grown. As babies they're sort of charming. Every once in a while you find one trapped in your garbage can. You can understand from the photos why no one wears possum fur. They’re distinctly patchy and scabby looking. We saw one at a my parents house a few summers ago that was lacking an eye. It was quite possibly the most malevolent looking creature I’ve ever seen in person. Makes you wonder what a possum and an aye-aye would think if they met eachother. “Ick,” probably. Possums have two defensive techniques: hiss while looking as gross as possible and playing dead. Usually the latter comes right after the former.

I wonder if this is actually our neighborhood possum. A little while ago Knut and I were discussing the way rats move while we were in the car. Rats have this peculiar skittering humped walk. It’s pretty well unmistakable. We turned the corner of our alley and saw a bag blowing across the cement of the alley. “Ha!” Knut laughed. “I thought that was a rat for a second.” The headlights illuminated the bag, which turned out to be an extra large possum.

It can’t be helped. Every time I see a possum crossing the street, I’m convince for a second it’s a Rodent of Unusual Size.

Knut ended up swatting it across the bottom with a broom to get it to go down the stairs. Its instinct is to the stay put, unlike a raccoon or squirrel which will run at any opportunity. I’m afraid it did take a little tumble down a few of the stairs but it was able to get up and run away as soon as it got into the darker parts of the lawn.

Colin attempted to pursue it, but we called off our fierce hunting spaniel. We have a lot of nature in our alley and I would never want to see the possum hurt. In fact, I look forward to seeing him again.

Illustration Friday "Wrinkles"

I do so like this Illustration Friday theme.  I kinda like wrinkles.  They show abundance!  Abundance of skin, life, fabric, etc.  Since wrinkles show abundance, I decided to draw an abundance of wrinkly animals.  We have an elephant, rhino, walrus, basset hound, pug, naked mole rat, and uh.. raisins.

Raisins are pretty much the apex of wrinkly-ness.  Click on the image to view full.

I did learn that most animals are actually pretty wrinkly under their fur.  It gives them more ease of motion.  I'll keep that in mind when I see women wearing ultra tight winter coats.

I especially like the wrinkles that a dog's stomach has when they're curled up into a little ball.  That's the best.  Let botox never come near them!

Odd Souvenirs

I’m a big fan of souvenirs. I try to only buy things I really feel I will use (like jewelry! Yeah!), so I don’t mind spending a bit. As a result I have a beautiful leather wallet from Spain, I’m wearing a gorgeous fire opal my brother brought from Australia, etc. I end up with a lot of beautiful things that remind me of adventures I’ve had.

However, some things are too good to pass up.

Behold two of my more unusual souvenirs!

The first is a postcard from Daytona Beach, Florida.

I’ll admit I get a creepy vibe from Daytona. People seemed genuinely surprised to see girls walking around who weren’t wearing thongs. Although in my case, it may have been my glow-in-the-dark complexion. I also don’t really get the point of being able to drive on the beach. Doesn’t that mostly mean you end up with a lot of polluted sand? Is the parking lot really so far away?

I found this beauty on the main drag in a stand outside a drugstore. I bought this in 2001. Keep in mind a few things here:

1. This guy’s awesome 1970s hair, mustache, tan, and teeth. He looks like a Charlie’s Angels guest star. One that could have kissed Farrah and had their hairprayed dos stick together. Mind you, it is Florida, so it’s possible this guy still has that look.

2. The crumbled yellowed look of the card. Look a bit as though it was on someone’s fridge for a few decades.

3. The Daytona pier in the background was apparently demolished quite a while ago.

4. On the back it bears the legend “Printed in West Germany.” Okay, we know this was printed before 1990 at the very least.

I’m kind of impressed at the gall of a shop to sell a postcard so many years out of date. Then again, I bought it so maybe they were on to something. And what does "Relax, it's Florida" mean? Is his making some sort of seductive comment to us? From that expression, I think the answer is "yes." I did make a t-shirt out of this for Knut with the inscription "Greetings from Daytona Beach" on it, but Knut never quite had the nerve to wear it. Not that I blame him :)

This one is a polaroid of me and Knut sitting on an elephant.

Circuses in Norway are different than in the US. When I went to a circus as a kid, it was a high affar in a stadium with professional concessions and everything else. In Norway, they’re tiny. The circus really is held in a circular tent lined with splintery wooden bleachers. You didn’t realize when you bought your ticket or a wad of cotton candy from a young woman in sparkly eye makeup that she was also the trapeze artist. Most of the performers were Eastern European, with only the announcer speaking Norwegian. Everyone else communicates in English. There are a lot of animal acts. The best one involved a teacup poodle on the back of a terrier on the back of a German shepard on the back of a little donkey as it ran around the ring.

The best part was at intermission you could walk around the outside of tent and see the camels, horses, and dogs in their own little areas. We were strolling along when a trainer told us we could have a photo with the elephant for $4. Absolutely!

This particular elephant was the star of the show. It was a sweet elderly animal who was placidly eating hay in its enormous semi sized trailer. Knut got to sit around its neck and I am sitting on its knee. An elephant feels like an old foam rubber sofa upholstering in wrinkly leather. It was clearly adored by all of its handlers.

A few weeks after the show we read a notice in the paper that a handler was seriously injured in this circus by the elephants. He was a Ukranian man who had been crushed when he was caught between the two elephants as they tried to pass eachother in the trailer. Fortunately, it was judged to be a simple accident and no onus was directed towards the animals. Still, it is peculiar to think you’ve sat on an animal that crushed someone.

This Must Be Underwater Color

I always loved art class in school. I loved clay, acrylics, pastels, colored pencils, figure drawing, etc, etc, and I was pretty good at most of them. But the most deceptively simple and difficult of all, I believe, is the watercolor.

You’d start out with the lightest possible pencil sketch and eventually end up with a muddy grayish page. “This doesn’t look like The Badlands!” you’d regally remark and toss your crumpled page in the bin.

In Norway, I began watching Cranshaw’s Watercolor Tours, which featured a gnomish English gentleman who toured Europe and the Middle East making enthusiastic comments about hookah smokers and occasionally stopping for a quick watercolor. I learned two things:

1. You need actual watercolor paper. It absorbs the color and holds it in place. I think my art teachers substituted drawing paper which quickly becomes a soggy wrinkled sheet. On the other hand, it’s probably much much cheaper for Middle School students who probably weren’t going to produce amazing works of art anyhow.
2. The pencil sketch underneath is vital. It’s how you produce shading. You can do some with the paint itself, but that pencil shading will give you darker, better shadows and forms. I was always instructed to use the paint for all the shading and the sketch was simply a guideline.
   

Now, like most rules, I feel certain gifted painters can totally disregard them, but one must crawl before one rockets a small dog into space.

I also learned some good tips on combining color and adding washes from Cranshaw. We started watching him because Knut would get so relaxed he’d fall asleep in seconds. He’s as good as a bedtime story, and I mean that as a compliment.

I haven’t done much painting since we moved back to the US (I am so tempted to make this Altoid box watercolor box so I can do guerrilla painting. Genius!), but I did enjoy it in Norway. This painting is of Colin on the shore of the North Sea. I gave it to my dad as a Christmas present. Here's the full version.

Birthday Ba!

Today is Colin’s birthday!

I can’t believe he’s already 4 years old. He still acts like a puppy in pretty much all respects. He still gets overstimulated whenever we go to my parents’ house. He still plays with toys. He’s still overcome with delight whenever we come home. He is the sweetest little doggie.
Both of the dogs we had growing up were rescued basset hounds, so we never knew when they were born. Colin was the very first puppy for me, so I suppose he’ll always be a little bit special.
His gifts include a nice walk (probably to the beach so we can play with the beloved pink ball) and one of these disgusting cakes we make him. This is the one from his first birthday. I believe it was two layers of toast, a peanut butter filling, and the whole thing was frosted with liver pate. His name was written with icing made from boullion and flour.
He loved it.
He kept an eye on us as he wolfed it down as quickly as possible. He isn’t usually territorial about food, so he clearly adored it.

Happy Birthday, Ba!

Let's Go Fly a Kite! It's Fun and We Can Afford It!

When Knut and I lived in Norway, money was always very tight. To have a large pizza delivered is about $40. As a result, we had no choice but to make our own fun, or to seek out the cheapest fun available. This resulted in us attending an unusually large amount of potato festivals, bunny jumping competitions, farmer’s fairs, and live stock auctions. We also picked berries, took long mountain walks, played “stick” with our dog, and jumped from rock to rock on the shore. We also learned to kite.

As you can imagine, the beach of the North Sea always has a cold wind. Even on the quietest day inland, the wind at the shore whips your hair and demands you take a sweater. Excellent for kiting. In college I bought a small, but good quality multicolored kite to bring to Norway. This lead us to two interesting experiences:

1. Cows are actually extremely curious. We brought the kite to Haa Gamle Prestegaard (the site of my dead whale story) one pleasant afternoon. There’s a rocky pasture right up against the sea and during the fine months, cows are left there to graze. Knut and I clever avoided the cow pats and got the kite into the air. The cows paid us no attention. Unfortunately, it was one of those days where the wind isn’t very predictable and the kite would be soaring one moment and crashing to the ground the next. Then I noticed something interesting. When the kite crashed and I started winding the string up, the cows would look over. They moved closer as the kite jumped towards me. Eventually, I gave up winding the string and just pulled it to excite the cows. I’d let it lay there dead and they’d walk up to look at it. Then, when they were practically nosing it, I’d pull the string and they’d jump back. I can’t tell you how long we did this.

2. Some people will take the simplest things to “The Extreme.” Sandnes put an announcement in the paper for a family kite day. We went with our little kite and admired bought kites shaped like airplanes and some amazing homemade ones shaped like sharks and squids. Everyone was having a very nice time with their kids flying their kites up and down the sand. Then we noticed a particular guy who was using the canopy thing used to para sail. Mind you, he was standing on the beach like the rest of us, but he made a huge show of tugging this thing back towards earth. Knut and I immediately starting shouting “Kiting… to the EXTREME!!” I took several photos of Knut in dramatic poses attempting wildly to control our little kite.

These pictures are from a little earlier this week. A few years ago I bought a beautiful 1950s Chinese silk kite shaped like a carp from a Chinese bookstore in Evanston (they also sell 1950s propaganda posters). Since I am of the persuasion that toys get upset if you don’t play with them, I always felt bad that it was just being used as a wall decoration. I was worried that flying it would ruin it, though. As an experiment I bought this Chinese kite from Cost Plus. It’s also silk and hand painted (nothing so fine as my vintage carp though). Since it didn’t come with string, I bought a drugstore kite and used that line. We put it into the air.

There is a reason kites are nylon and plastic these days. It was heavy and rather awkward, although once I got it positioned correctly it did fly. It was also a little difficult to get it to climb high enough to really maintain its flight. I did manage it, but at a particularly triumphant moment the cheap string broke and the butterfly soared free—into Lake Michigan. A nice Polish man helped me fish it out with his fishing rod, but it was really dirty and a little misshapen by then. Ah well.

I think I’ll keep the carp as a decoration

Photoshop Pup

A few years ago Knut had to give a little speech at the end of the year teachers party. He decided to give a humorous speech about our little dog and how he’s changed our lives. I made up a few fake photos and included some real ones to go with his speech

We got Colin as a puppy. We got our pick of the litter and somehow he was just the cutest one. Although his mother took some convincing to let him go.

We really love him. I can’t explain why, but we just feel compelled to spoil him and share all of our food.

As you can see, he has a very sweet nature.

Although sometimes he manages to disappear without a trace.

(note: real photo)

It’s nice owning a breed with real history behind it. There’s a reason they’re called Cavalier King Charles Spaniels. Look! He has a King-shaped birthmark.

Knut probably managed something more clever, but that was the gist of things. Weirdly, every time we met Knut’s colleagues, some one looked for the Elvis shaped spot on the dog. And that was one I purposefully made to look fake!

Blog Carnival: Bulls!

I am a Taurus and from Chicago and I have been known to talk crap; but I’m going to focus on those noble beasts of Spain.

In August 2005, we spent a week in Spain; which was one of the best vacations I’ve ever taken. Spain wasn’t a spot I had ever particularly planned to visit, but our friend’s parents had a bungalow there where we could stay just minutes from the beach.

We went to bullfights. It’s such an odd experience. There we were: Knut, Simen, Tor Bjorn, and I sitting in the Marbella arena. I was looking fab in a green paisley dress and awesome lavender Panama hat (Buy one!! They are amazing! And if they lose shape, you can iron them!), and a bull was led into the ring. I had this awful realization that that bull was not going to walk out like it walked in. I whispered to Knut “I don’t think I can watch this!”

Then the atmosphere sort of changed.

When the matador is good, he puts the sword directly through the animal’s heart. It dies on its feet. It dies before it hits the ground. It dies fighting. Maybe that’s a better way to go than shoved up a conveyer belt and into a bolt gun. And we saw several bull fighters get gored. It’s really not a one sided fight.

Not a popular view certainly, since most of us prefer to remember Ferdinand the Bull and his love of sitting in the shade. I also won't say it's not barbaric, but there is sort of a primal reaction to it.

In any case, the bull has become a cult figure in Spain, strongly reminiscent of the ancient Mediterranean cultures. You can appreciate what a powerful character the Minotaur would have been, when you see their foaming rampages and the huge gorges slashed in the wood of their pens.

The bull ring in the southern town of Ronda was especially beautiful. This charming stone head graces the entry way to the ring and the steps to the upper level are decorated entirely with bull themes, like the excellent fellow above. Clearly whoever made these items knew all there is to know about bulls! I love the Moorish tile traditions in Spain and was even more delighted to see these Delft like tiles.

The ring also has a nice collection of antique matador costumes, equipment, and beautiful posters. There were even a few taxidermy heads of particularly fine bulls, some of whom were so grand they were given reprieve and spent out their lives grazing and siring more bulls.

They are beautiful and romantic and fearsome. And when they go for the matadors, they go straight for the cojones.