Star Stuck

My wife loves looking at the nighttime stars!

There's only one thing that she loves more than that...dragging anyone in the house outside to look at them with her.

I don't think she's afraid of the dark, as she'll stand out there as coyotes, who are seemingly five feet away, bay at the moon, while bats circle her head.

And, she certainly is not gaining an authority on star groupings by gently forcing me or the boys to join her as, when she questions, "What constellation is that," we always answer the same way.  "It's the Twinkie constellation."

We get "that look," and she states, each time, "There is no Twinkie constellation!"

I murmur, "Twinkie, twinkie, little star....."

"If you're not going to enjoy this, then just go back inside," she commands.

Worked!  Well, actually, I dare not leave.  I quickly point, with a startle, and state, "Ooo, look, a shooting star!"

"That one," she asks, "that's moving across the horizon over the pine trees?  That's a plane!"

Oh.

I spot a small dot slowly moving overhead, "Hey, a satellite!"

She, "How about another plane?"

Okay.  I'm no expert.  I can spot things moving, but when they're millions of miles away can I be faulted for a small mis-identification?

Back a bit, when it was announced that one could see the space station fly overhead, okay a small bright dot in the netherskies reflecting where it was, we got dragged outside.

Based on what we had seen in the newspaper, my wife had figured out just where and when it would be viewable.  She placed blankets on the ground, had blankets to cover us, brought out a retinue of binoculars, and was ready for space station sighting!

I was bemoaning the fact that it was cold out, it was dark (I'm not so intrepid with the knowledge that coyotes, bears, foxes, raccoons, skunks, bats, mosquitoes, ticks, and rabbits run amok at night...yes, rabbits, they nibble on things and they have big teeth!), and now that I was laying down on the ground, my sinuses were moving about and I was getting dizzy.

I should also mention the fact that it was close to bedtime.  I was starting to doze awaiting the arrival of the astronauts.  Hoping that I could wave to them, I had a flashlight, but that idea got nixed when my very own Carl Sagan told me to "Turn that thing off, I can't see the sky."

Can't see the sky?  There's like eighty million acres of it above us...and billions and billions of stars!

I would have said that out loud, but that would have been considered heresy against her revered Carl.

Then the next statement from her, as I lay there shivering.  "Isn't this romantic?"

Fortunately, I had turned the flashlight off and she couldn't see the look on my face, jaw askew, as the frozen word left my mouth, "Abbbb..soo...luuuut...lyyyy."

Nothing more romantic than laying on frozen ground, holding a flashlight you're banned from using in a pitch black environment, sinus pressure squeezing your brains out, while you scour the sky for six Russian cosmonauts who you have zero chance of actually seeing.  Was that a rabbit that just ran by?

We didn't find the space station.  We're sure it's up there, but there wasn't much to report.  In fact, it got a little hazy and my wife wasn't pleased that her view was partially obstructed.

The moon was shining a bit, and that light dimmed the stars and her enjoyment.  She reported that it looked like it wasn't going to be worth the wait and we should head in.  She was disappointed that she wasted her time waiting to see something special and ending up seeing nothing.

At the moment that she stood and turned for the door, I was taking a last look at the skyline and suddenly a bright arc of light screamed across the sky.  In seconds it gained life, shouted it's existence with a blazing stream of light, and then burnt away.  One could almost hear the crackle of fireworks.

I must have gasped or inhaled deeply, as she heard me and turned to ask me, "What was that?"

We've been married thirty years.  I said, "Nothing, probably a plane."

"With everything in the sky, how come you only ever see planes," she asked?  "Good thing, though.  If that had been a comet or the space station I would have been really upset!?

I love star gazing.

The More Things Change....

The celebration of St. Patrick's Day each year reminds me of our family's Irish roots.

Also, lately, I've been in contact with a cousin who I met many years ago and with whom I recently struck up an Internet conversation.  I was sharing a note that her mother had written to me over a dozen years ago and now we write back and forth, almost daily, questioning each other about ancestors long gone.

All of that had me thinking about my great-great and great-grandparents, their lives before they came to America, and their dreams for their family as they made the hazardous trip from wherever they came.

I do know that some of my relatives came from County Mayo, some from Galway, and some from Donegal.  What I don't know is what life was like for them in Ireland or what their trip to this country was like.

What I can imagine is that they left much of what little they most likely had behind and came with many hopes that life would just be easier...some may have thought, as they were told, that the streets were lined with gold, that things would change for the better, there would be many more opportunities, and they'd be living the life of Riley. 

I had heard stories of "the old sod," where there was nothing to do, the crops had failed, work was not available, but they were held together by their community.

One story I did hear is that each night one of the great-great grandfathers would make his way to the local pub, find his compatriots who shared his current life's adventures, toss a few darts, and toss back a few beers.

They'd talk about hopes for change, but soon realized that a better life might be elsewhere.  My predecessors decided to leave Ireland, where things weren't going to get better for sure, and take a chance on having something better over the ocean.

I write these stories down, as I search for the personalities of those who came before us and I like to have them for my boys,  so that they know and appreciate the chances that their great-great-greats took to make a better life for them.

This recent family searching activity reminded me of something I had done.

Last St. Patrick's Day, I decided to put this little story on paper and thought it would be a good time to share it with my sons.

I wrote that their great-great-grandfather's had no jobs, they were living with their parents and most likely borrowing some "airgead," that means "silver," noting that they were headed to the pub to meet up with their friends, where they would be discussing any possibilities of work, life or adventure...anything to improve their lot.

At the pub, they'd play darts (most likely for a bit more of the airgead and, therefore, some more beer) until the wee hours, knocking back a few Guinness Stouts...okay, maybe more than a few...and then head home in the darkness knowing that the next day would most likely be the same as the one that just ended.

At some point, they got up the courage or the need to find a way to leave the island and, because of them, we have enjoyed our position due in part to that early effort.

I was looking for the two boys that were home that day, knowing that they were around the house somewhere, to share this story with them.

They were both recently looking for work and had said that they were getting together to talk over some positions they seemed to have found for each other.

I wanted to share the story of immigration, the dangers of the trip those hardy souls made, the hard work and perseverance that led to some successes, and to let them know that our lives were better.

My wife said, "They went outdoors, I think they're out back by the shed."

"Outdoors," I queried?  "Why?"

"Don't know," she said, "Go find out."

I went out the downstairs door and found that they had moved a dart board from the downstairs room and put in on the side of the shed.  Off to the side they had placed a bench and lined up a few bottles of Guinness.

I watched for a moment and listened as they talked about how hard it was to find work, that they wanted to be out on their own, and that the only thing they had to do that day was throw some darts and throw back a few brews!

At that point, I wasn't sure if I should share the story with them to point out how good they had it or suggest that they emigrate.

What I was certain about was the fact that it was probably a good thing that the great-great didn't live to see that, at that moment, about the only thing that had changed was that the dart game moved about 3600 miles west!

The Adventures of Bart Sweeney

At times, a review of your family history, and discussions with siblings and other family members, can help to explain why you are where you are now and how you got to be who you are.

I believe that while many set out to find out where ancestors came from, and to discover where they hid the gold and find unclaimed family land and treasures, people are on a path of self-discovery and look to take the cumulative information and say, "Got it!  That explains a lot. Now, if only Great-Grandpa So-and-So had only taken an earlier boat, who knows what we could have done!"

I had life changing events.  Happenings that I believe set me off on a career of service to others.

The first round gave me stamina.

Each school day, from 1st grade to 4th grade, I had to ensure that my younger brother made it to school on time.

By the time we set off to walk the mile plus trip to school each day, our mother was on her way to work and my grandmother was at our apartment, as she came down through the alley daily to get us breakfast and out the door, waiting for until the time that school would start before she returned to her home, thinking we might come back for some reason.

While she waited, she might, much to our mother's consternation, prepare to spend the day repainting the place.  My grandmother loved to paint more than clean...guess she figured painting accomplished many things...looked new, smelled new, cleaned!  Can't tell you how many times our mother came home to different colors on her living room wall.

Anywho, the one of us who made it back to the apartment almost daily, while trying to get to school, was my brother.

On the way to school, should I get two steps ahead of him, my brother would run back to the apartment to report, "He's not waiting for me!"  I'd have to chase him all the way back and start all over again.

Some days, we'd put in four miles just trying to go one way!

My grandmother would lecture me on why I had to wait for him and I had to be really, really careful that his stride was ahead of mine.

I guess I learned that I would succeed when I let others succeed.  Only thing is, to this day he thinks he's older than me.  I guess I let him get too far ahead.

The other adventure regards the choice of my confirmation name.  I had completely forgotten part of the story, but when visiting my brother recently he said, "Hey, what happened to Bartholomew?" 

The mention of that name brought out memories that were long buried.

We attended Catechism classes at the local Catholic school, as our mother couldn't afford the Catholic school tuition, going once a week for a very, very long time.  During that educational process, we were faced with Confirmation, a process where one finalizes the baptism process, committing to being a follower and picking up another name to place between your middle and last names.  I thought it was for better Catholic identification processes.

Turned out you chose the name of someone you wanted to emulate.  I did my research.

The events that transpired at that time had clouded the memory of my original choice, Bartholomew.  However, I really do remember the pain associated with his replacement.

First of all, we'll start with that particular Catholic school.

My mother was divorced.  Big problem.  She had attended the school where we had our weekly Catechism classes.  The nuns that ran the school when my mother was a student there were still there when we showed up all those years later.

They knew what happened to her marriage.  They knew us.

I arrived one day and, as usual, the nuns were lining the hallways greeting their once-a-week, yet to be saved, students.

We greeted them first, "Good afternoon Sister Immobilizia." (I don't remember their names, made that one up, most likely due to trauma).

"Good afternoon Mr. Sweeney."

I jumped back to confront the mistake, at age 8.  "Excuse me Sister, but my last name is Cunningham."  Her retort, "Not while you're in this school.  Here you're a Sweeney!"

I just move on.

Confirmation day is looming, choices to be made, and I had been reading and studying.  I wanted to succeed.  I had read about the exploits of St. Bartholomew and think that most likely Sister Immobilizia had "suggested" that someone choose that saint's name.

St. Bartholomew

I announced to my mother that I had chosen the name of Bartholomew.  "What," she shot back?  "You can't pick that name, it's too long.  You name is all ready long enough.  Pick something else."

Oh no!  I had one day to come up with another name!

Hundreds of thoughts ran through my head, mostly about forgetting all of the studying I did for my presentation, as we had to announce in front of the class what name we had chosen and why.  I settled in to a long night, as D-day was the next day.

Watching TV that night provided me with my out, as I saw and heard a name that fit with a respected saint and I quickly tried to come up with what to say.

That didn't go well.

I got the name right, and was on the right track, but honesty took over and I was more afraid of lying to a nun than I was presenting a made up answer.

"So, Mr. Sweeney, what name have you chosen," sounding almost cherubic, uncharacteristically, queried the nun?

Pat Garrett - Lawman

"Patrick," I stated.

Sister Immobilizia responds.  "Ah, Patrick.  Good choice.  Please tell us a little about Patrick and why you chose this name," the good Sister said almost lilting out the sentence.

"Umm...I picked the name Patrick for Pat Garrett.  He's a sheriff and he did good things and he shot Billy the Kid," I proudly announced.  Of course, I had to add, "He's on TV every week!"

I don't remember moving from my desk to the hall, but I was there in a flash.  The big pointy finger of the nun was in my face and I was dutifully instructed to go back into the class and tell all that I made a mistake and that I chose Patrick to honor St. Patrick of Ireland and I had better go home and study about St. Patrick and be prepared to come back to class with a full presentation next week, and confess this awful thing to the priest at Saturday's confession and be prepared to spend 1000 years in purgatory for having such thoughts.

At that point, I was just concerned about getting out of that school alive.

I did due diligence and studied up on the saint that ended up costing reptile zoos in Ireland a ton of money for serpents that they now had to import!

And, I learned stuff.  I learned that you are who others think you are, that you should go with your gut and generally stick with your first choice, especially when the boss (the nun) made the suggestion in the first place, that you need to study your material, write a script and stick to it, and when confronted with purgatory relax, it's not forever!

The genealogist in me wonders what I would be today had I stuck with Bartholomew.  As my brother wrote to me recently, "okay, so where art thou Bartholomew?"  I don't know.  As I told Sister Immobilizia, or whatever her name was, that's not my name!!!

But what if I was Bartholomew Sweeney?  Would I be in a different place?  Learned different things?  Don't know, but I still would have had to get that brother of mine to school every day for five years...there are some things that names don't change.  Did I mention that my brother used to jump in mud puddles all of the time, to and from school and that it was my fault!  More on that next time in "The Continuing Adventures of Bart Sweeney!"

Hmmm...maybe Bart is the writer in me...

King - Kong

Henry and Barbara King

I've spent about 40 years trying to figure out where I came from.

I know the biological part, I did well in science subjects in school.

What I didn't know was who came before us that got us to this country, how they got to the town where we lived, and why they didn't amass a fortune to leave to me so I could spend my days pasting stamps into albums.

And the "King-Kong" reference in the blog title has nothing to do with evolution...read on!

As part of a social sciences class in college, I embarked on a genealogical project that soon came to a stop when my grandmother (the only grandparent alive at the time I started working on this) couldn't remember much about her parents or siblings.

Her inability to come up with facts wasn't due to dementia or Alzheimer's...she just never paid attention.  As the youngest of 11 children, she was busy trying to keep up with the crowd and was much more interested in having fun.

She also wasn't hearing many of the family stories.  Some of her older brothers and sisters had married and moved out of the house before she started grade school.  There was that big of an age difference from eldest to youngest and her brothers wanted their own farms and her sisters married.

Before I go on, note to my boys here: they moved out!

My grandmother did remember that her father was in the Civil War, that he was brought to this country from Germany as a child, by his parents, and that he fell off a wagon in his latter years.

Nothing to do with drinking, he actually tumbled off a farm wagon and seriously injured himself.  That spill did him in and ended any possibility of anyone else finding out how he got to America or who his parents and their families were.

Another problem, as my grandmother started talking about her childhood?  Her father's name was Henry and she had two brothers named Henry.

Henry, the first son with that name, died young and when the next boy was born he became Henry.  People do that sometimes.  So, when I asked about Henry, depending upon which Henry she thought I was talking about, I could take quite a trip around the family tree, wondering why one day Henry was in the Civil War and the next day Henry had died before he was 10.  No, Henry lived to be an adult, got married and lived on the farm.  Henry the father or Henry the son? Yes.  Turns out those facts are correct for both, same farm, just different years for each of them.

The other issue that had to be dealt with was the change in the family surname from there, Germany, to here, New York.

In Germany, the family name was Koenig.  In America, King.

Now, it so happens that Koenig is German for King, but it wasn't until I saw a recent document that I may have gotten a clue that the name was changed for them, rather than they going to the English version.

For years, I searched for immigration records.  I looked at Koenig and King records for over a generation.  I searched via mail, filling out countless forms and, when it became available, on-line.  Searching ship manifests, going on the basis that Henry traveled with his family, as a  young boy.  I came up with his parent's names early on, Andrew and Elizabeth, but couldn't even get a hook with that.

Then, I found a census record that indicated Henry came over from Germany in 1845...he would have been about 5 years old.  That fit with the family story and I set off to search records with that new information.

Try as I might, no Andrew and Elizabeth, with Henry in tow, Keonig or King.  I pressed on.

The other day, somewhat frustrated, I decided to go through any ship's manifest I could find coming out of Germany where the last name started with "K", with an Andrew, Elizabeth and Henry and was struck still when I saw Andrew Kong.  1845.  From Germany.  Wife Elizabeth and son Henry, aged 4, with a sister, Marianna, aged 3.  Henry had a sister just two years younger...we knew her as Mary.  And Henry would have turned 5 just three weeks after landing in New York City.

I was able to print out the record and check it against the manifest that was replicated and found "Andrew Koenig."  The person who transcribed it for storage had changed Koenig to Kong.

Perhaps, as they gave their names for the manifest, they Koenig, the clerk said, "Kong," they heard "King," and here we are 165 years later living the lives of Kings!

Henry's father, Andrew, had a farm (go ahead, e-i-e-i-o), and then Henry had one that he left to his son Henry, who then sold it off when he had no one to take it over.

They were sustenance farmers, pretty much using up stuff and, apparently, the money on-the-go, and we were left with stories.

Some stories were funny, like the one about how my grandmother and her sister, as young girls about aged 8 and 10, had put chicken manure in the cider barrel and then watched her father, older brothers and uncle drink heartily from it one hot summer day!  They weren't feeling too well the next day.

Others were tragic.  In a day before penicillin, her brother was racing through a field in his bare feet and ran a Goldenrod stalk up into his foot.  He developed an infection and died from lockjaw.

I think that some who search their family histories are hoping to strike gold.  I wonder if Andrew and Elizabeth, who boarded the boat in Bremen in the summer of 1845, with their two children, Henry and Marianna (aged 4 and 3), thought that they were going to America to find gold.  It seems they had intentions of doing well.

Another family story was that Andrew and his family were on their way to California to become beer and wine makers.

Andrew had brought yeast from Germany with him to start the process.

But, once they landed in New York City, while the manifest checker called them Kings and they must have thought they had really made it, they had to turn over what monies they had to pay for the items they brought with them.

Finding they couldn't pay the freight to get to the West Coast, they found their way to upstate New York where friends beckoned them, hearing that their dream of barrels of beer and vineyards was dashed and that they were penniless from having to pay out what they had at the duty port.

Upstate, they did what they knew from the homeland and took up farming.

The Koenigs became the Kings, though the immigration agent called them "Kong."  They gave up their fermentation dreams, due to having to leave their cash at the piers in New York City.  It turns out, twas duty killed the yeast!

Crampon, Crampoff

My wife thinks we should go outdoors for some exercise on any day that she's home from work.

It's a good thing.  At times, we'll walk down the road by our house, about a mile round trip.

Other times it's the rail trail (which is really cross country skiing in the winter and walking in non-snowy weather, mostly flat, level surfaces), or a more serious hike at the Mohonk Preserve or Minnewaska State Park.

The Preserve and Park have all sorts of walking/hiking/climbing venues.  You can check out their offerings below, both have multiple recreational offerings:

http://www.mohonkpreserve.org/

http://nysparks.state.ny.us/parks/127/details.aspx

The most strenuous of activities at the parks, I think, is Rock Climbing.  Permits are required for that adventure.  But, you won't find me dangling from a cliff, unless my wife has something to do with it.  I am always surprised when I see climbers scaling up ice covered precipices; don't they know that the ice is just hanging there, too?

Anyway, there is a fee for hiking, but my wife has an Empire State Park pass and a Mohonk Preserve pass, both of which she purchases annually, so we can go ad infinitum...any time she gets the urge to move, we both move.

This time of year, ice is an additional factor to consider, on top of walking up and down hills, and we were prepared for the fact that various trails may be off limits to hikers.  Some trails are saved for cross country skiers and others are closed, just plain dangerous.  A small slip could result in a trip down the mountain in a matter of seconds, and one that you won't make again.

For our recent expedition, my wife suggested that we go to Minnewaska and just take a short, straight, level walk that would be an easy outing.  She also suggested that we put on our crampons, to ensure that we'd not slip on any ice or snow we encountered, even though we were going to be on an "easy" trail.

Crampons are devices that one attaches to hiking footwear to increase the possibility of not slipping.  Some are simple devices with metal coils that surround the boot; some have multiple long daggers that dig into ice a half inch or more.   Ours are of the less defensive type, so off we went.

We arrived at the parking lot in short order, put on our crampons, and set off for what was to be a "let's take it easy, level walk."

Within seconds I noted something that I remembered, putting together thoughts from geography and physics classes.

We were walking downhill.

As I pondered this action, I seemed to remember that in order to get back to the parking lot an "uphill" would be involved.

On the other hand, I have seen those drawings where you can keep walking down and end up up!

I thought maybe my wife had found one of those natural phenomenon and wasn't about to start complaining.

It was a bit icy, so I concentrated on not falling down.  I concentrated on not falling for quite a while.  In fact, I don't remember seeing anything but snow.  Not taking my eye off my step for seemingly miles, I'm wondering how many bear, snow rabbits or bald eagles I missed running nearby or flying over me!

We continued to go down and down the slope.

The crampons were doing their job and, along with sinking a foot or two into snowbanks as I was trying to avoid icy patches, I made it to what turned out to be a gorge at the bottom of this "easy level walk."

It was pretty to look at, once I stopped and didn't have to focus on my feet.

The path followed a creek, as did we, and soon we realized that we weren't where we thought we were.

We did have a map, we always take a map, but the color coded patches of paint on the trees for the red trail weren't there so we decided to go back the way we came so as not to get entirely lost.

You may remember that I mentioned, just a few paragraphs ago, that we started the "level" hike by heading downhill.

Turns out that stairway illusion of always going down and ending up doesn't work in our little world of physics.  No, gravity and geography took over and we started up...and went up...and up...not realizing how far down we had gone.

The picture below most likely represents the area where one of my crampons came off.

I didn't realize it at the time, but one of them gave up!  I was trudging, as best I could, to keep up with my mountain-goat-like wife (and I mean that in a good way, she can hike with the best), but one foot or the other was punching through the snow and sinking feet down as we traversed a trail that many had not taken.

Had others gone before us, it would have been worn a bit better for us, but being the explorers that we are we took the straight path, directly up the hill, to get back to the car before the sun set!

As we huffed and puffed to the car, coats and scarves hanging from our bodies half pulled off due to heat exhaustion, I reached down to remove the crampons and then saw that my left one was gone.  Fleetingly, and we're talking nanoseconds here, I actually thought of going back a bit to look for it.  Thankfully, lack of oxygen and the sudden realization that the universe had handed me "the excuse" for not hiking on winter trails prevented me from going more than two feet from the car.

I looked at my wife as she said, "Just throw those crampons in the back of the car," and said, "One is gone!  The snow ate it!"  I expressed my sorrow that due to the fact that my crampon was gone, I was mostly likely sidelined for the winter.  Next time we wanted to take such a hike, I'd have to tell her, "Sorry, no can do, crampoff."

Wearing My Heart On My Sleeve

While I am a traditional and sentimental sort of guy, the title of this post relates to a literal transaction of the day.

Before I go on, if you're reading this on Valentine's Day before 6:30 p.m. Eastern Standard Time, please don't tell my wife about this as she hasn't seen what I've been up to today!  She'll be surprised later!

This all started when my wife and I decided that we would not buy Valentine's gifts for each other this year.

When you have love, what else do you need?

Maybe you need a card, and if you didn't order yours from Wendy out in California, like the one pictured here, maybe you could contact her (see her website by clicking on her name in the "Paul's Friends" column on the right) and perhaps she can make you a "Belated Valentine's Day" card...hmmmmm...."I forgot you were my Valentine?"  Maybe not exactly that line...we'll think some more on that.

In the meantime, if you're a guy and you're married, or in any relationship for that matter, you need to pay attention to the "no exchange" agreement when it comes up.  I guarantee you'll hear it during your lifetime.

Whatever you do, don't follow through with this commitment to saving a few bucks.  It's a trap!

While you're thinking, "Great, can save some money and time," she's thinking, "Let's see what he really thinks of me!"

And, it doesn't apply just to Valentine's Day...you may hear this offer at other times of the year, but do not, I repeat, do not sit back and do nothing.  If you have to weave grass blades together, do something.

Today, I found myself in the position of not being able to get to the store (my son had to borrow my car and, as you remember, we live hours away from any sort of civilization).  My heart was pounding.

Yes, part celebratory due to the love holiday, but mostly fear of not having anything on hand when "My Valentine" hits the doorway after work.

I count on the universe for answers, a lot, and it came to me.

I could make something and for some strange reason (maybe too much Merlot last night) I thought meringue.

Weird?  Yes.  Successful?  Well, the process is simple and I think I turned out a good gift...we'll see what happens when my wife sees these later.
 

I took a simple meringue recipe, sugar and egg whites with vanilla, mixed it up, put the mix in a pastry bag and squeezed out heart shaped cookies on a baking sheet covered with parchment paper.

While they were baking, I made a chocolate glaze that would harden over them and found a tube of red icing in the back of the cupboard to add color to the finished goods.

About two hours later, I ended up with enough to gift everyone in the house!

The part about not having anything for each other?

This morning, guess what was waiting for me on the kitchen table?  A card from my wife!

See, the set up!

I pressed on.

Part of the process was fun for me, too.

As an artist, I get to "paint" things and did that by drizzling the melted chocolate mixture over the baking sheets holding the cookies.

While the chocolate was setting, I took that tube of red icing and just made some heart-like designs to finish them off.

What will be waiting for her when she returns from work...a card and a gift!

Ta-da!

I'll probably rack up about 50 points for this one (you get more points if you do this stuff and it's not a holiday)!

She'll see that I do care and I do remember.

Then, she'll ask me why my sweatshirt sleeves are all messy and crumby.

I can tell her that because of her I am wearing my heart on my sleeve for her.

Actually, she'll know that the crumbs are from the half dozen heart cookies that I ate during the day.

Hey, you know what they say!  You can't truly love anyone else unless you love yourself.

Happy Valentine's Day to my wife, to everyone else, and to me!

So, When Does The Relaxtion Part Start?

Our most recent weekend jaunt was to that mecca of Massachusetts, the town named after either some family by the name of Belcher, or in reference to the effect a local eatery had on its townspeople.  I haven't Googled that one, yet, so I'm left with that mystery.  We went to "get-away" for a couple of days and relax.

Just a bit off the beaten track, Belchertown is home to my brother and his wife, and a whole bunch of other people whom we don't know.

About three hours from our home, it's a scenic ride up the New York State Thruway where you can spot all sorts of nature and interesting items, before you turn "Down East" and head for the Massachusetts Turnpike.

To be honest, while the Thruway provides a straight shot towards our destination, most of the nature is lying on the side of the road and the "interesting scenic items" viewed are those things that people hide in their backyards.  Constant comment from my wife, "I wouldn't want to live with the Thruway in my backyard."  I remind her that we don't have it there and most of these people didn't choose it either, it was sort of put there after they moved in. 

This trip, my wife wanted the passenger seat so she could relax a bit, too, and look at all of the flora and fauna that dot the landscape and I was fine with that.

Lately, as she drives around and spots an eagle at 5,000 feet or a hawk swooping down on scattering prey in the field, her hand on the wheel moves in the direction of her glance and we end up either in the median or find ourselves drifting off the shoulder.

Not that it makes me too nervous...I just know we'll get more life out of the tires if we can avoid the concrete barriers we scrape along as she squints skyward.  If the shaking of the car from the concrete bumps doesn't get her attention, I gently remind her, "ROAD!!!"

Having her as an "upfront-backseat-driver" has its perils, too.  On the way up, later in the afternoon, she was taking in the sunset and would instruct me to, "Look at that sunset!"  I couldn't as I was driving and noted, "The sunset is behind us."  "You have to look at it," she responds.  As I strain to look like I'm turning my head, I coo, "Oh, beautiful." It's bad enough that I can't turn my head on a dime, like an owl, but doing so at 65 miles per hour has its downside.  I silently apologize to the guy behind me who's wondering if he should call 911 and report someone swerving in the lane in front of him.

"You didn't look," she shoots back.  "No, but I am alive and I thought you wanted to relax?"

"LOOK," she screamed, forcing me to slam on the brakes!  "A Blue Jay," she exclaimed!

I've told her a hundred times that shouting and using one word directions usually indicates trouble..."Look!...Stop!...Help!," you know, emergencies.  And guess what, I've seen Blue Jays before...we have a family of them that clean out our bird feeder daily!  Blood pressure rising.

So, then she reverted to the pointing.  That's the part where I'm driving along calmly and then, all of a sudden, her arm swings in front of my face, blocking my view, "A crow...see it?"

Having seen thousands of crows over my lifetime I'm safe in saying, "Yes," to get her to retract her appendage, as I was now trying to find the road.  Should she question me, I'm confident I could give a good description of a crow.

Anywho, we end up in Belchertown and she's amazed.  "Look at that," she says!  "What," says I?  "Snow, so much snow."  Yeah, I missed seeing that.  It's only EVERYWHERE.  I left it behind...relaxation...no snow blowing, no shoveling, no wet boots and gloves for the weekend.

My brother's place is out in the country.  They have birds and animals there, too.   Now that I'm out of the car and relaxing in a chair in the living room, one would think that we could avoid the happenings out of doors.  Nope.  My wife is looking out the window, cooing and awing, seemingly filled with amazement and wonder.

"Come here," she says gently (with the full meaning of a military commander), "Look at this."

I climb out of the overstuffed chair, where I was RELAXING.  "What," I ask as I approach the window, expecting to see a flamingo or some exotic fur covered vermin.  "Squirrels, playing with each other," she says eyes almost misty. 

I look at her like she's on some sort of medication.  "Those squirrels," I ask, "The ones that look like the three thousand that we have in our back yard?"  I ask my brother if he has any Pepto-Bismol.

"Don't sit down," her next instructions.  "Look at that over there...wow!"

"The chickadees," I query?  "They look familiar...probably left the flock of two hundred that were perched on our deck this morning and hitched a ride on our car!"

She responds with, "You just don't get it, you don't enjoy nature."

"I do enjoy nature, but show me a lion or a giraffe or something new.  I just don't get excited about seeing birds and animals that we see in our backyard every day all day long!"  I head back to the chair to continue my resting project.

 Then, my brother on whom I was counting for support steps up, "Didn't you see the giraffe down the road when you drove onto our road?"

"Wha?"

My wife is agog!  "Oh, yes, let's do that!"

"That will be relaxing," I note.  I get "that look" and remember that everyone has their own definition of relaxation and this past weekend it was not to be compared to mine.

Up On The Roof

News from today, between snow and ice storms.

Much like winters long ago, the snow keeps piling up all over the place, including on the roof! 

I get a little anxious when I can start measuring it in feet instead of inches.

What to do?  I know better than to try to go up there and shovel it off...I know, put one of my sons up on the roof with a shovel.  He's young and so much more flexible than I, should he catapult off the peak!

While I tended to the driveway and walkways, Matt climbed to the top of the place and pushed a whole bunch of the stuff earthwards!  This picture he took, upper right, is looking down at the back deck.  That's our Christmas tree, still standing up outdoors.  Each year we move the tree out in phases.  Phase III is "place on deck and hang bird seed cones on it."  Phase I and II of tree "move-out" have to do with having to be told several times to "get that tree out of here."

Anyway, once again I forgot to hook up the outside stereo system, so I didn't have this tune to accompany Matt while he was struggling to stay put on a 30 degree, ice laden slant, but you can listen to the music here, while you check out pictures below...and I thought as he was moving about on the roof moving snow that had blown about up there that it was ironic that the group that sang this was "The Drifters!"





Here's a pic of Matt standing on the ladder with a roof rake.

Nice try, but very energy draining as you push and pull while trying to balance on a metal ladder in a sleet storm.

I know, as I tried this for two minutes before I handed the rake off to Matt.

He did a pretty good job of getting the edges, but with a forecast of 10-12 more inches of the stuff, I wanted to clear a bunch off the whole roof.

His idea, put on a pair of Crampons and get right to the slopes!  When I saw the gear he was putting on his feet, with half inch steel points, I immediately imagined hundreds of cuts in the shingles and protested!  "Can't you just take off your boots?  You'll have better traction with your bare feet!"  He gave me a funny look and settled for my pair of Crampons that had coils...no nail-like daggers!

I held the ladder! 

I'm like OSHA, safety first!  And as long as I was on the ground, I knew I was safe.

The picture on the right is what Matt saw "up there."

The picture below is what I saw, down here!  That's because I was checking my email and got a message from Seal Beach, California!

I can multi-task!

Back to the snow and the roof, Matt did a great job...clearing both the front and back roofs.

And, he managed to get on and off the roof using the ladder.

Due to his efforts, there were some four and five feet snow piles next to the house to soften the blow, but he ran around up there like a mountain goat and I think he enjoyed it.

Every time I had instructions for him, shovel this way, do this not that, he would smile and say, "Sorry, can't hear you!" 

Just like the song, something good about being up on the roof!

The Whine Trail

Living in the Hudson Valley of New York State allows us the opportunity to visit a number of local wineries.

Some of our favorite are Baldwin Vineyards, http://baldwinvineyards.com/, Millbrook Winery, http://millbrookwine.com/index.php, and the Robibero Family Vineyards, http://www.robiberofamilyvineyards.com/...there are many others and you can find them by doing a web search of Hudson Valley wineries.

When my wife announced today that she was thinking of "doing a trail," I thought she meant the wine trail and I quickly suited up for the trip!

We have recently hiked and cross country skied and she said that she wanted to take it easy today.  I thought, "Nothing better than sampling some of the local winery treats," and was in the car before she unlocked it.

We drove quite a ways heading north, the opposite direction of where the wineries are located from our house.  But, as we all know that my sense of direction is way off, I figured she knew a shortcut.

We drove into a parking lot, with just a few cars, and she popped out of the car and instructed me to follow her. 

I was a little surprised to find myself walking across a frozen lake, with no buildings in sight, but figured she was in a hurry to get to the wine tasting building.  As we all know, the quickest route is a straight line!

We walked across the full length of the lake, and I kept my questions to myself.  I know better than to ask her, "Are we there, yet?"  I followed along as we took a trail off the lake and headed into the woods!

I did see signs for "Trail," and figured we were gaining on the vineyards.  All trails lead to wineries, no?

I didn't see any little grape icons or other wording that would leave one to believe that vino was in sight, but continued in trust.

The winding trail took us up and down, around the lake, and I noticed that there were woods everywhere.  Wondered where the grape vines were.

But, I know that some winemakers import grapes, due to the short growing season up here and the lack of many varieties of grapes that thrive in this area, so I pushed on.

I finally spoke up and said, "I see signs for Trail, and Trail Marker, and for Foot Trail, but I don't see anything that says Wine Trail!"

"Stop your whining," my wife replied, "We're enjoying the day, and the snow, and it's not always about wine, you know!"

Not always about wine? Why did I come? And who's whining?  I was making a comment about the markers, thinking we were headed to wine country!

And, why would I be trekking mile after mile if there weren't a reward?

About another half a mile up the trial, I spied a marker that gave me hope!

The tree marker was slightly atilt, a sure sign to me that someone had to have been drinking to put it on the tree that way.

I was energized to push further along.

About another half mile passed before I spotted the next marker...again, no words leading me to believe that we were any closer to my anticipated destination, but a sure sign that it was a possibility. 

It took me a few minutes to realize that I was laying on the ground looking up at this marker, having taken a fall on the trail.

As I lay there, I was now thinking that I really needed a drink...you know, to help me to my feet and soothe the soreness from the fall.

My wife said, "You're all right.  Just get up.  We're almost to the end!"

"Almost to the end," I asked, "You mean almost to the winery?"

She again expressed the opinion that I should get up, "Before you freeze to death," and I turned on my side to make the move upwards and thought I spotted something under the trees.

Could it be?  Had we found an outside winery?  Wouldn't the wine freeze?  Maybe someone just placed it there, knowing that we were on our way?

Now, I've heard of "Winter Wine," and I think I have even taste-tested it during a recent trip to the Finger Lakes. 

Spotting the bottles laid together out in the woods, in the snow, gave new meaning.

It meant it was already chilled!

I squinted again at the display and things seemed to get blurry. 

I asked my wife if she thought there was a corkscrew in the vicinity.  She told me to, "Stop fooling around.  Are you able to get up?"

I thought she said, "No fooling, there's a table set up!"

That, of course, encouraged me to muster every ounce of energy I had left and I dragged myself to my feet!  I could see what she was talking about!

I was ready to sample the offerings of the Winter Woods Winery.

After I was on my feet, I turned to make my way to the table and it all disappeared...I couldn't have imagined it, and I didn't have a thing to drink, honestly, but it was all gone.

Again, I heard, "Stop your whining.  We're not on the wine trail, but I'm starting to think we've found a similar one!" 

Off she tromped towards the parking lot.

As we were about the leave the trail, I spotted the next sign. 

Was it still the clunk on the head?

A sign with which I'm sure my wife had something to do, or is there really a new trail system?

The Year of the Metal Rabbit, Or It's New Year's All Over Again!

That was quick.

Seems like it was just a few weeks ago that I penned my resolutions for the New Year.  Hardly got to them and it's time to start all over.

I don't profess to know a lot about the traditions or celebrations that surround the Chinese New Year.

However, I have checked out Chinese Astrology over the years and I do know that I was born in the year of the Metal Rabbit.  Turns out that this year is also a Metal Rabbit New Year, so this should be a really good one for me.

The whole thing kicks off on February 3rd.   To be certain that I handle the process correctly, right from the start, I went to the web and found this link about traditions surrounding that celebration:

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ac/20110128/lf_ac/7720370_chinese_new_year_facts_traditions_1

In that article, several items stuck out as things I might add to my all ready long list of resolutions...you can check out past posts in my blog if you've forgotten them all ready (I know I have) or you can just assume that I'm sticking to my plan and looking at these for further inspiration:

* 2011 is the Year of the Rabbit
            My resolution is not to buy a rabbit.  We had rabbits when the boys were young.  It was one of those, "Please, please, I'll take good care of them," deals.  Suffice it to say, besides that fact that I think I was the only person who fed, cleaned and talked to them, it was not a good experience. 

* The 12 animal years are the Rat, Ox, Tiger, Rabbit, Dragon, Snake, Horse, Goat, Monkey, Rooster, Dog and Pig.
             As mentioned, we did the rabbit thing, and had a dog...we once rented from a couple who had the ox, horse, goat, rooster and pig!  There were snakes and rats around the property, as it was a former farm, I guess I could say the boys were "little monkeys" when they were young...that just leaves the dragon, so maybe I'll work on getting one of those as a New Year goal.  I'm thinking something carved, not a real one that will then have me upping my fire insurance limits. 

* Records for the traditional Chinese calendar go back to at least 14th Century BCE.
             I have Johnny Mathis records, a few of Ella Fitzgerald's, and some other older discs to spin, but nothing as old as these about Chinese calendars...maybe add that to the list.  Wonder what the 14th Century BCE record players were made of?  Reminds me of a Neil Sedaka song...



* Food and a family feast are the most important aspects of the holiday. The entire family gathers on New Year's Eve to eat a huge meal all night long. Eating long noodles is a sign of longevity as the noodles aren't cut. Serving a fish as the final course is symbolic of prosperity and the fish is not eaten.
             I like to eat.  Besides the point that it's integral to surviving, it would be nice to say that I'm eating a huge meal as it's a resolution for the New Year...sort of makes it a "must do."  Nobody argues with you when you're fulfilling your resolutions!  Resolve to celebrate each and every day.

* The original Chinese New Year celebration lasted 15 days. Many cities and business still celebrate for that long and workers get a week off to observe the holiday.
            A week off?  The Irish never came up with anything like that...possible resolution, convert!
   

* The color red symbolizes many things in China. For New Year celebrations a red envelope containing money is given to young people to guarantee prosperity. Anyone who has a job or is married gives money to someone younger and isn't working.
            This one is sort of a recall resolution.  We've been giving money to our boys for years, even after they've been working.   Seems like they accept it in any color envelope...actually, they'll just let you toss it to them.  Resolution, give boys money in red envelopes.  Resolution part 2, don't buy red envelopes! 

* Moon cakes are traditional foods served on the final day of the celebration at the full moon. They are round, white dumplings which symbolize completeness and wholeness of the family.
          Might have gone wrong here, too.  My moon cakes are half moon cakes, black and white frosting on chocolate cake (you might remember a recent post of mine).  Maybe that's why I only get halfway with my resolutions!

Oh well, here's a little bit about being a Rabbit, Chinese-astrology-wise.  You'll see that there are different types...I'd wouldn't want to be a Water Rabbit, I hate being the least bit damp and, from experience, I know that after a good rain they smell bad.

http://www.simple-chinese.com/chinese-culture/rabbit-and-five-elements.html

And it seems there are a lot of things to do, including arts and crafts, entertainment, all revolving around fun and food and family.  Check out this link for supplies or ideas you'll need to make the best of the holiday:

http://www.theholidayspot.com/chinese_new_year/

The holiday includes fireworks!   Resolution, buy fireworks to have on hand for holidays.

Although, with my family, forgetting any holiday or celebration, most times just getting together results in fireworks!

Now that I think of it, it's illegal for me to buy and use fireworks, so back to the family thing.


Resolution, be sure to invite family members who will create fireworks!  Oh, and, Happy New Year, again!