tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30854440134127029602024-02-19T18:03:03.192-08:00McDoingsPersonal and professional observations for public consumption and edificationMark McDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16469802659915856938noreply@blogger.comBlogger378125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3085444013412702960.post-65189679771687321372018-05-06T17:15:00.000-07:002018-05-06T17:15:50.609-07:00No More Freezing<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuSaSqLJs1UeHtR-stzwNwr1BAcSGxYNusffZickAv2SYUY2FA5WBIKBFzZi1D424zQFYp9tkoYgC3BHL_9BZQE71IGynBRj0OUoFdvFP4wka9QTV0W84RFpt7RVUlv8WnAcQu2dN1tnM/s1600/ShavenMug.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="433" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuSaSqLJs1UeHtR-stzwNwr1BAcSGxYNusffZickAv2SYUY2FA5WBIKBFzZi1D424zQFYp9tkoYgC3BHL_9BZQE71IGynBRj0OUoFdvFP4wka9QTV0W84RFpt7RVUlv8WnAcQu2dN1tnM/s320/ShavenMug.jpg" width="168" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is the new look.</td></tr>
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For those of you who aren't on Facebook, you haven't seen my latest look. I was feeling like changing things up, since I've lost quite a bit of weight since last October but I'm not yet at the point where I want to go out and buy clothes that fit. So I decided to shave off my beard, honing my visage down to mustache and soul patch. I like it; it makes me look about five years younger and finally, after over 10 years, I can again see my chin.<br />
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This last week was really special: Spring truly arrived and so did my good friend, Jessie.<br />
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Jessie arrived on Tuesday afternoon. Knowing my love of refrigerator magnets, she brought one from Elvis' birthplace (one of her stops before me). We went out to Piggy's for dinner and spent the evening just sitting around and catching up while it rained and thundered outside.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcHTmc7PeY67gVjbFtQexIooy69VfOUuwuObCSfroTgaNzkQiukz2f-QN_izFmPmHt5gtLJq6clzvRW4_c2UnP_xYDe38eqmSn1q2CLr608bfd428KmyaW_Mb0ngj9w9cQhf2q-DFMTNc/s1600/ElvisMagnet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="408" data-original-width="576" height="181" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcHTmc7PeY67gVjbFtQexIooy69VfOUuwuObCSfroTgaNzkQiukz2f-QN_izFmPmHt5gtLJq6clzvRW4_c2UnP_xYDe38eqmSn1q2CLr608bfd428KmyaW_Mb0ngj9w9cQhf2q-DFMTNc/s320/ElvisMagnet.jpg" width="256" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jessie gave me an Elvis magnet.</td></tr>
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Wednesday was The Center's volunteer appreciation dinner, held at the <a href="https://www.breakfastclub-pub.com/" target="_blank">Breakfast Club & Pub</a> downtown. It's a restaurant that serves breakfast all day, and the dinner consisted of waffles, hush puppies, bacon and sausage, scrambled eggs and a scrambled egg casserole, all of them very tasty. And we mustn't forget the full bar (which was no host).<br />
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It was a good chance for her to meet the folks I work with at The Center. We had about 35 people in attendance, and it was impressive to see how many volunteers we have helping out.<br />
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There was a Center Trivia game with 28 questions. It was too long and some of the questions weren't really thought out, so it took up a major portion of the evening (which was only 6 to 8).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8tPGHW02Uucy1mynerwE1iuMTOvmFwWDQHhPsR5jbnZRusidBU9brZBS7Q3TPnCkQz0BFDsMWVeONSkUpHEBX_YKzOjESbTbRmofqn2nXXDvCqrV77VtzVQmkJM_CWpGJVgBOgCbqkoI/s1600/CenterVolunteers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="511" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8tPGHW02Uucy1mynerwE1iuMTOvmFwWDQHhPsR5jbnZRusidBU9brZBS7Q3TPnCkQz0BFDsMWVeONSkUpHEBX_YKzOjESbTbRmofqn2nXXDvCqrV77VtzVQmkJM_CWpGJVgBOgCbqkoI/s320/CenterVolunteers.jpg" width="283" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gay humor is so wonderful!</td></tr>
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I played the quiz but we didn't hang around for the prizes (the person with the most right answers got a prize, then everyone else got a raffle ticket for each answer they got right; we took off while they were figuring out the distribution of the tickets). When we left, I forgot my umbrella behind (it had been raining).<br />
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Things have been hopping at The Center, as the remodel has started on the huge space into which we are going to be expanding. The mice that have been living in the previously empty space have started migrating, what with all the hubbub in their previous home.<br />
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We've seen many mice crawling around in the rooms we now inhabit, and while they're being mitigated, there's been a running dialogue on our volunteer group, a chunk of which I've included here to demonstrate the joys of gay humor.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhttJdsPtARDy6brgsOCxXjRateyeKYieYzIKTnbUqHlVbl5XzQzvRRFs-PwCkWzbJ77dnaK2sYhzFgCw80KD3YuwPgDVXb6-l8oI1FA02ZQoIGMs5rLGgdOeu86klwvlSyuqGLIqTWIl8/s1600/GoldenEagle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="401" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhttJdsPtARDy6brgsOCxXjRateyeKYieYzIKTnbUqHlVbl5XzQzvRRFs-PwCkWzbJ77dnaK2sYhzFgCw80KD3YuwPgDVXb6-l8oI1FA02ZQoIGMs5rLGgdOeu86klwvlSyuqGLIqTWIl8/s200/GoldenEagle.jpg" width="138" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Golden eagle Donald</td></tr>
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Thursday, Jessie and I made the River Run, which consists of heading north along the Wisconsin side of the Mississippi, stopping at Nelson (population about 400) which has a fabulous <a href="http://www.nelsoncheese.com/" target="_blank">cheese and wine shop</a> and really good sandwiches. We each had a "Town of Nelson" sandwich and picked up some delightful smoked Gouda and the most repulsive cheese I've ever tasted, labeled "German Brick Cheese." I'm not sure what I'm going to do with it.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAP2OvET5EB9KcZ_8F7xfBRLNOQBfWdHN7RvsXmZivanQfCgS9QPPF1BkwzoEqtbDqzzMDZXvVC0nq1tNTPADi8eSOiXW8O4PtlpGJRVmi5Zxh2InCFLfg63jOaq0gjpkGkQt4Vp5EhwM/s1600/BaldEagle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="476" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAP2OvET5EB9KcZ_8F7xfBRLNOQBfWdHN7RvsXmZivanQfCgS9QPPF1BkwzoEqtbDqzzMDZXvVC0nq1tNTPADi8eSOiXW8O4PtlpGJRVmi5Zxh2InCFLfg63jOaq0gjpkGkQt4Vp5EhwM/s200/BaldEagle.jpg" width="165" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bald eagle Angel</td></tr>
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We crossed over the river to Wabasha on the Minnesota side and stopped at the <a href="https://www.nationaleaglecenter.org/" target="_blank">Eagle Center</a>. We were the only two people, so we had the place to ourselves and the docents and volunteers were very attentive and informative.<br />
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On the way out, I broke down and purchased a stuffed bald eagle (not a real one but a plush toy). Now Rocky Raccoon has a buddy with whom to hang out on the couch.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOGLgJ5K6z5poVO67zh4QVRKSP-I-eJ5luyvq5cZQcXRB23G_LGYDD_cjyn723lP4lyNsUK7iA4rzyqd3y-SPwip9ekT-UdO64BFjFfHWdukrxSTURLTvWy6ujSZ8QiB3lAwNt2KPGUTE/s1600/RockyEagle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="304" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOGLgJ5K6z5poVO67zh4QVRKSP-I-eJ5luyvq5cZQcXRB23G_LGYDD_cjyn723lP4lyNsUK7iA4rzyqd3y-SPwip9ekT-UdO64BFjFfHWdukrxSTURLTvWy6ujSZ8QiB3lAwNt2KPGUTE/s320/RockyEagle.jpg" width="168" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rocky Raccoon has a<br />new feathery friend.</td></tr>
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Driving south on the Minnesota side of the river, we stopped off at <a href="http://www.larktoys.com/" target="_blank">Lark Toys</a>, a jewel that sits just outside the town of Kellogg (nothing to do with the cereals, that I know of). They have a toy store that goes on forever and case after case displaying collections of old toys, troll dolls, nesting dolls and just about anything nostalgic you can think of from your childhood.<br />
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There's also an indoor hand-carved carrousel, a candy shop and a fudge shop, where I am required to purchase the best fudge I've ever eaten. They have a boggling selection of flavors: mocha, peanut butter, Dreamsicle, cotton candy, Nut roll (tastes like a PayDay bar), Shrek fudge (neon green, caramel apple flavor with a gummy worm sticking out) and many more.<br />
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We were also nearly the only people there, so wandering around was not as daunting as when it's crowded with people. And their prices are great. I locked in on their selection of rubber duckies.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgGS6GX-i5ARV9MtmI6uDsEbmzK5azHqdXhmwM3BtKXoVETWHFsRh_dgyLAvLaov4iXWulcs9HjW4_AEKZfyDBTb7zInJFlT6kqy6a45QYJ_JEpVo8tIYJGtRqn1jucBR7PZFqEiDpqBw/s1600/RubberDuckies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="412" data-original-width="576" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgGS6GX-i5ARV9MtmI6uDsEbmzK5azHqdXhmwM3BtKXoVETWHFsRh_dgyLAvLaov4iXWulcs9HjW4_AEKZfyDBTb7zInJFlT6kqy6a45QYJ_JEpVo8tIYJGtRqn1jucBR7PZFqEiDpqBw/s320/RubberDuckies.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">As close as I could get to rainbow duckies.</td></tr>
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They didn't have just a regular rubber duckie, but a baffling assortment of themed duckies (policeman, cowboy, etc.) and some wild designs and colors that drew me in. At these prices, I bought three multicolored polkadot duckies that now grace the bathroom sink upstairs.<br />
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We arrived back in La Crosse in front of the storm clouds, ordered in some Chinese food and again just lounged and gabbed while it rained outside.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7eMuehKaqsbz4DY4Y1rm3r0hu5aq4sofNie6Mqx2JxFLyvz6syW2Uxd0SwbKhcqKXVsPKKQvp79jbs8XLNDqkWTD3EHHJdrrD46YBSlFnJIZGhefIQEV_ZkJBH64aq83c2lixgnDicLY/s1600/LarkLlamas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="390" data-original-width="576" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7eMuehKaqsbz4DY4Y1rm3r0hu5aq4sofNie6Mqx2JxFLyvz6syW2Uxd0SwbKhcqKXVsPKKQvp79jbs8XLNDqkWTD3EHHJdrrD46YBSlFnJIZGhefIQEV_ZkJBH64aq83c2lixgnDicLY/s320/LarkLlamas.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lark Toys has llamas, too!</td></tr>
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We stayed up late, and woke up late on Friday. I don't know if it was the walking on Thursday or the humid weather, but my hip was nearly immobile when I got up. I put myself onto the heating pad and nursed it, but by the time 5 o'clock rolled around, when Steve and Pam arrived from Ettrick, I was still not feeling like heading out for any extensive standing or walking.<br />
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Our original plan had been to head down to the Farmers' Market in Cameron Park. It was opening weekend, so Steve pointed out that there hadn't been much time for anyone to grow anything. It was doubtful if there was anything there to purchase and cook up.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYi-_giIs0W9rKkJXi9xX36G2FbssQVBqyTmOg38SfWOcfUNqkjmovvcWwj0YuF35p1NfkLOAWcmGdQwvgryQaxK58cEtKian_-7Pr_JmrMWNiq06nrVJ9mA78Tt_vaP9zNvg3kX0EBEU/s1600/CameronParkPete.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="424" data-original-width="576" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYi-_giIs0W9rKkJXi9xX36G2FbssQVBqyTmOg38SfWOcfUNqkjmovvcWwj0YuF35p1NfkLOAWcmGdQwvgryQaxK58cEtKian_-7Pr_JmrMWNiq06nrVJ9mA78Tt_vaP9zNvg3kX0EBEU/s320/CameronParkPete.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The only vegetables at Farmers' Market! ©Pete Solberg</td></tr>
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So Steve and Pam went out and picked up a pizza, we cooked and ate it and then spent some time sitting out back, enjoying the finally pleasant weather and our assortment of fudge purchased the day before. With the sun going down, I suggested that they take Jessie out to show her Riverside Park and the International Gardens nearby.<br />
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The trouble was, only two people could fit in their car, so Steve and I stayed behind and talked while Pam and Jessie went on a very short sightseeing jaunt (after all, the sun was going down fast). I think the two really liked each other, or at least they're both very polite.<br />
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Pam and Steve left around 9, and Jessie went to bed not long after, as she was leaving the next morning. She was planning on driving north, eventually reaching Toronto. She left just before 10 a.m. on Saturday, and I've been eating leftover Chinese and pizza ever since.<br />
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On Thursday, when we returned from the River Run, I took the folding chairs out from the garage and set them up outside. On Friday, she asked if we had to take them back in and I replied only if it's going to snow.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSHnHltPGW_19yljCJMQ3KsIXXjBvVj6NxZF5iT9LJf3oH_7eMRA7LRPj9sDwItlmObzSGeUMojg4AqWWPwx8sci7QpM0b83i7WRY7u_mlCMedJl_pG8exjdiZ7_5RM0LfRBBTUm-hfuk/s1600/Sunroom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="405" data-original-width="576" height="281" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSHnHltPGW_19yljCJMQ3KsIXXjBvVj6NxZF5iT9LJf3oH_7eMRA7LRPj9sDwItlmObzSGeUMojg4AqWWPwx8sci7QpM0b83i7WRY7u_mlCMedJl_pG8exjdiZ7_5RM0LfRBBTUm-hfuk/s400/Sunroom.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is something like what I'd like to put on the back of the house.</td></tr>
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Ever since winter finally departed, I've been thinking about putting a four-season sunroom on the back of the house. During the warm weather, it would function as a screened porch, and in the winter, it would be a place in the house to get some sun and not feel quite so closed in: anyone who's ever had cabin fever will understand.<br />
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One of the primary motivators for the contemplated construction, though, is the inclusion of a hot tub. I'm thinking that daily hydrotherapy would really help with my slowly advancing creaky-joint syndrome. And I've always wanted a hot tub all my own. You won't have to go naked in it, but I'm going to.<br />
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So I was playing around online and found some images of sunrooms and came up with this rough estimation of what I'm talking about, which is included here in these pictures. I'll have to take a small mortgage out on the house to make this happen, but the house really needs a porch area and, in winter, a mudroom for entering and exiting the house.<br />
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Right now, the back porch kind of serves a mudroom function, but it's not heated and most of the space is taken up with the snow shovel and salt bags for when you have to melt your way out to the garage!<br />
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Well, we'll see how it goes. Right now, I turn my attention to getting the lawn back is decent shape. The weeds are taking over already. Time to call Nick of Nick's Lawn Care, my go-to guy for everything exterior.<br />
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Until then, I'm just enjoying the open windows and fresh air that spring brings. I know a lot of my California friends think I'm nuts to move someplace with seasons, but warm weather is ten times sweeter when you've gone through the cold and beauty of winter.<br />
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<br />Mark McDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16469802659915856938noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3085444013412702960.post-11350462913241421622018-04-18T17:20:00.001-07:002018-04-18T17:20:06.565-07:00Nightmare Before Springtime<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfP7-3zfBd53ncnVHpSo6yWyGVwqGyVtgfLmYxx-Sqcntr3GsrbralsGxiCH-ttBD70ozxLOW4x-bHbj5N_jT0B57uW8w6vVOlnl7VXVr4yHYlmlSGz-IxCfB5CSrfgIIlkPAKd_kvEMo/s1600/SnowApril18b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="440" data-original-width="576" height="152" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfP7-3zfBd53ncnVHpSo6yWyGVwqGyVtgfLmYxx-Sqcntr3GsrbralsGxiCH-ttBD70ozxLOW4x-bHbj5N_jT0B57uW8w6vVOlnl7VXVr4yHYlmlSGz-IxCfB5CSrfgIIlkPAKd_kvEMo/s200/SnowApril18b.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What's this? What's this?</td></tr>
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Steve came into town for lunch today. He was attending a speech on religion and politics at UW, "Just to get out of the house," he said. He came by afterwards, around 1:15, and almost the moment he arrived, snow started falling.<br />
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This storm was forecast, but it wasn't certain whether it would be snow, rain or a mix of the two. The air temperature is well above 32º, so the snow is wet, though the flakes are small. So it started falling, we went out to lunch, and by the time we finished, the car was covered in snow.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs26Qg4S0T8HlryZCxulhIPKT7KPu2eGzzvoKQuDeVwPwlcErHsuP8Ix-Wsq9Mk934DWifjX9rJ7U1sRxy1Gpk12WeI9VIL3v3tYe2rEXQ7gj2WcdJ6qEfWgIImqVkAS-Y7SkZzzDonjQ/s1600/SnowApril18d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="392" data-original-width="576" height="174" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs26Qg4S0T8HlryZCxulhIPKT7KPu2eGzzvoKQuDeVwPwlcErHsuP8Ix-Wsq9Mk934DWifjX9rJ7U1sRxy1Gpk12WeI9VIL3v3tYe2rEXQ7gj2WcdJ6qEfWgIImqVkAS-Y7SkZzzDonjQ/s320/SnowApril18d.jpg" width="256" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spring came a month ago; where's my back yard?</td></tr>
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The roads were slushy (no plows out yet), and Steve dropped me off at home and headed out to pick up Pam at Western and drive back to Ettrick. The snow should be ending by 9 this evening, and tomorrow it's supposed to be in the 40s, so the snow should be gone by the end of the week when highs are forecast in the upper 50s and lower 60s.<br />
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This is the third snowstorm we've gotten in April. At lunch, Steve said he didn't remember a time in the past when there were three in April.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI1aDImQBu6sTEf1ZCEuvszCWZDXmqu213SyY6ZU8UWcIXd5IB8gzC3Nj5ty6In0cQE7sAZTGjAvPsWR_oAfIz3-sCR5H8TnvdhcXLqlGjxqIwqjFwxaiBcSIyhRIkG815WRiXlimTvqQ/s1600/SnowApril18c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="425" data-original-width="576" height="189" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI1aDImQBu6sTEf1ZCEuvszCWZDXmqu213SyY6ZU8UWcIXd5IB8gzC3Nj5ty6In0cQE7sAZTGjAvPsWR_oAfIz3-sCR5H8TnvdhcXLqlGjxqIwqjFwxaiBcSIyhRIkG815WRiXlimTvqQ/s320/SnowApril18c.jpg" width="256" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The standard shot of the German Lutheran church</td></tr>
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One of the things cold weather has done is exacerbate my hip, which has been sore for the past week or so. I think I'm developing arthritis in the right hip joint, but moving around and being active seems to work it out. Still I think warmer weather will help mitigate.<br />
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But I follow Steve's advice on the end of winter: Spring's not here until the nighttime lows are always above freezing. Also, watch the old trees, as they don't bud until they know winter is finally over. And they haven't really started budding yet.<br />
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This afternoon I would have normally gone in to the Center to man the desk, but not today. And we were supposed to have the volunteer appreciation dinner this evening, but that has been postponed until May. Everyone shares the sentiment of being sick of snow.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-2ERMug7ziZdfqwBbikYWgYbaTtWVbagrFvgQrHL9gf19FUnxSFqHLBIqaS1YEWIlwaf8KBk0kcaJmwunSAbrnYb3hUBbzhEjfR-7KnUMxmfqjaQ9Z1sbulddapRYd7RywOXzTxZ-PLE/s1600/NelsonCheese.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="547" data-original-width="576" height="189" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-2ERMug7ziZdfqwBbikYWgYbaTtWVbagrFvgQrHL9gf19FUnxSFqHLBIqaS1YEWIlwaf8KBk0kcaJmwunSAbrnYb3hUBbzhEjfR-7KnUMxmfqjaQ9Z1sbulddapRYd7RywOXzTxZ-PLE/s200/NelsonCheese.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cheese shop in Nelson</td></tr>
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I'm sure roads will be passable tomorrow, when we have a fundraiser for the Center at Fiesta Mexicana, one of the better Mexican restaurants in town. They kick back 10% of their take from folks who mention the Center when ordering. Seems like a good way to pack the place on a slushy Wednesday evening.<br />
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"The White Crow" reading went very well, with nearly 100 people attending. The performance went really well, and the post-show discussion was insightful and compelling as the show itself. We performed, unfortunately, on the same day as the local community theater's annual gala, so many folks I was hoping would attend were rubbing elbows at the Webster Center instead.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1kpcTBQgU4SVfYuKm0BAdsBgYjBgLZB5zgDt9aIh0ICs3gN3SMT-_7a1v7XNLtTgs0Ux71IaEXTFDI0hrHu1-fUgDCGwIHe7IpjLnk7FuAwBHbwLCBoRKbbZaZFBm3mjRIFE_Z7Lnwsg/s1600/EagleCenter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="392" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1kpcTBQgU4SVfYuKm0BAdsBgYjBgLZB5zgDt9aIh0ICs3gN3SMT-_7a1v7XNLtTgs0Ux71IaEXTFDI0hrHu1-fUgDCGwIHe7IpjLnk7FuAwBHbwLCBoRKbbZaZFBm3mjRIFE_Z7Lnwsg/s200/EagleCenter.jpg" width="135" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The eagle center</td></tr>
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Since October, I've been adjusting my eating habits, since the doctor labeled me as "pre-diabetic," which to me means "you're eating a crap diet and not getting enough exercise." So I've been cutting out sugar and refined carbs as I can.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgATfMFG4SoCjE6V1PxfVvcRriLJckWWOPHck8s5xFykXGTTak6VZuUspAyF9gICbxeYKjo7SHXWLBaz04dm-4jx9Hn68hKVxInypxdaGmo-azehP2cPB0DM4xp0gdb5MvdB6qsCaLEbJE/s1600/JesseRobins.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="463" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgATfMFG4SoCjE6V1PxfVvcRriLJckWWOPHck8s5xFykXGTTak6VZuUspAyF9gICbxeYKjo7SHXWLBaz04dm-4jx9Hn68hKVxInypxdaGmo-azehP2cPB0DM4xp0gdb5MvdB6qsCaLEbJE/s200/JesseRobins.jpg" width="160" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jessie at Robin's</td></tr>
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The upside of this "new" diet is I've lost four inches off my waist (I haven't been weighing myself, as how I'm feeling is more important than the actual number of pounds dropped), and, aside from my hip, I'm feeling more energy and have a more positive outlook.<br />
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Still, like Steve, this late winter weather is getting me down. I'm getting tired of being shut in the house when my expectations were to be outside in warmer weather. In Alaska, we called it cabin fever. And even though I live in town and my street is one of the first to be cleared when snow falls, I still want to see some sun and warmer temperatures. Even several days of rain would be preferable to this.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo0ERe9D7IYfhMz6diCcaj2ySbtYC8bstaOhUgc0haW3cI_IxGvpG82s0n-lGSZGWHcuE9EJPsQkX-TaMmCqu1Eaa5dLYe-gT8cGjy2ZLqAI5_aC-CHfHnHuHfyQGVDXLTn8eZDOtiOTU/s1600/LakeToys2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="465" data-original-width="576" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo0ERe9D7IYfhMz6diCcaj2ySbtYC8bstaOhUgc0haW3cI_IxGvpG82s0n-lGSZGWHcuE9EJPsQkX-TaMmCqu1Eaa5dLYe-gT8cGjy2ZLqAI5_aC-CHfHnHuHfyQGVDXLTn8eZDOtiOTU/s320/LakeToys2.jpg" width="256" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Vintage robots at Lake Toys</td></tr>
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But I am looking forward and staying positive. One of the things happening in May is the arrival of my friend, Jessie. She's lives in North Carolina and is taking a road trip. I'm very honored to be one of her stops. I'm just hoping there will be a couple days of good weather for her visit.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEZbGpJJxR9uxjV4T2un39JeiKAdUEuJM6BxaSyKlBd2_ma5JC1uzg7udXNhK1bSenQKfyw9RxmVzOiX3g2HXMbazj_nNcYWUKkI3eCaEKeXsGwxLsHzCJTo3xN0hZ7qF13vBdmedYkaE/s1600/LakeToys1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="413" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEZbGpJJxR9uxjV4T2un39JeiKAdUEuJM6BxaSyKlBd2_ma5JC1uzg7udXNhK1bSenQKfyw9RxmVzOiX3g2HXMbazj_nNcYWUKkI3eCaEKeXsGwxLsHzCJTo3xN0hZ7qF13vBdmedYkaE/s200/LakeToys1.jpg" width="143" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Vintage Toy kitchens</td></tr>
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I'm planning on taking her on the "River Circuit," which is north on the Wisconsin side of the river to Nelson (and the cheese shop there), then across the river to the Wabasha Eagle Center, down the Minnesota side with a stop at Lake Toys (gotta get fudge), then back to La Crosse.<br />
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Right about now I was expecting to be talking to my yard guy about getting the lawn back in shape for spring. Instead, I'm writing him out another check for snow removal. (I leave it on the back porch for him so he'll get paid even if I'm not around.)<br />
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For now, I'm waiting for my tax refund to show up, and I'm mulling over what I'm going to do with it. I do know that I need to put a new roof on the garage, as the shingles on there are peeling off with any kind of weather. I find chunks on the ground in the back yard when it's not covered with snow. Nick, my yard guy, also does roofing, so I'm going to get a quote from him before I start calling roofing companies. I mean, it's only the garage, after all.<br />
<br />Mark McDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16469802659915856938noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3085444013412702960.post-66517724871683531462018-04-04T19:28:00.002-07:002018-04-04T19:28:58.464-07:00April Blizzards Bring May Wizards?<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyMuWU-hePOYjdrrz12LKzxyWAeML7-q0BMXlZ_lqM-zw_3FZFIzND_aUUErek8mSmVtQs_-MrUCm4l6o1ctG4s526nlB-S1OO1vdM7rxruqTxBTQK-Nye_SwIQO25d-ZnsbtXXs1SLYI/s1600/SnowBackYard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="342" data-original-width="576" height="190" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyMuWU-hePOYjdrrz12LKzxyWAeML7-q0BMXlZ_lqM-zw_3FZFIzND_aUUErek8mSmVtQs_-MrUCm4l6o1ctG4s526nlB-S1OO1vdM7rxruqTxBTQK-Nye_SwIQO25d-ZnsbtXXs1SLYI/s320/SnowBackYard.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The snow was almost gone…</td></tr>
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For the last week or so, I was sure that global warming had won out and winter was completely over.<br />
Just about the time I was going to contact Nick, my snow/lawn guy, to look into getting the lawn fed and seeded now that spring was here, the weatherman on TV said more snow coming our way.<br />
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Shit.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLTmnD7gCRoRXHn_L_Jp7raYbQWK0fT-451Qj4m6hMA-MaeaYScmCvyrtg77rmskL5CCsBTDG_Ka1Mm-79MeGNzGrAE6o_UkpAY1HG8X4tSSINpibE3upTP1-ysEI4MlXk3qTXbg6Dx-g/s1600/LateSnow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="411" data-original-width="576" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLTmnD7gCRoRXHn_L_Jp7raYbQWK0fT-451Qj4m6hMA-MaeaYScmCvyrtg77rmskL5CCsBTDG_Ka1Mm-79MeGNzGrAE6o_UkpAY1HG8X4tSSINpibE3upTP1-ysEI4MlXk3qTXbg6Dx-g/s320/LateSnow.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">…and then it started up again.</td></tr>
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Well, it wasn't really a blizzard, but it was a good seven inches of snow. It started late Monday evening and lasted into Tuesday afternoon. By sundown, everything was white once again and things were cold. I headed to bed and, like some nights, I had trouble getting to sleep until late.<br />
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Around 4:45 Wednesday morning there was lots of grinding and scraping outside my bedroom window. Nick had shown up early to do the plowing. He's got a big ol' snow plow on the front of his truck and the biggest snow shovel I've ever seen and a very loud, gas-powered snow blower. I'm sure the neighbors loved it.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfuYu0cC9DrVyxG0ezYWPqa0WZeTHNCuNTgvlmVzFQoMH0dL5aJbgUPBylDnpbwvgpdcwAuRcgQqRt4P644IBJTukmyWYzVWHjr0CdgavI3S87ghWtLKgzjixmrd9HNwHtVExPKIJmbrQ/s1600/DanMug.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="411" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfuYu0cC9DrVyxG0ezYWPqa0WZeTHNCuNTgvlmVzFQoMH0dL5aJbgUPBylDnpbwvgpdcwAuRcgQqRt4P644IBJTukmyWYzVWHjr0CdgavI3S87ghWtLKgzjixmrd9HNwHtVExPKIJmbrQ/s200/DanMug.jpg" width="142" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dan Schneider</td></tr>
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Nick has a full-time job and does the maintenance work on his own time, so I would rather have him show up before heading off to work than arriving after work, leaving me stranded all day. Sure, I can get in and out of the garage through piles of snow, but control and accuracy suffer. I also had a couple people coming over later in the day, and giving them a clear driveway in which to park was a nice touch.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcl7y01vPtly28OQn6nzd8JDmcEKo8AwrmlF8Ku1AYgitzZT_RNVweJQCLYmJ4848OU5nzI1SpeWHz5Q_wVxeXOHVLcJEU3ucY3iF9ZCDU8mMl690rOlQi-3TMpE5KW3Gz941lA8kpcH0/s1600/DianeMug.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="411" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcl7y01vPtly28OQn6nzd8JDmcEKo8AwrmlF8Ku1AYgitzZT_RNVweJQCLYmJ4848OU5nzI1SpeWHz5Q_wVxeXOHVLcJEU3ucY3iF9ZCDU8mMl690rOlQi-3TMpE5KW3Gz941lA8kpcH0/s200/DianeMug.jpg" width="142" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Diane Breese</td></tr>
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At noon, Dan Schneider (who is reading the part of Adolph Eichmann) and Diane Breeser (reading his interrogator) came by the house for the final rehearsal before this week's reading on Saturday. I think we have things lined up nicely.<br />
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Diane had a mock-up of the play bill, and we ran over entrances and exits (about as far as blocking goes in a reading). Via e-mail, we have finally located someone to lead the post-play discussion. I started by contacting the rabbi at the local synagogue. From there we went through about a half dozen people who were interested in it but, for one reason or another, weren't able to do it.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuDVj6c5-23dgTvJn0ji1_-MpMnwjb8sq7AitUm6wswaMkk9GLBmnVfx2OvrYwBeDt7uZ4ogzwAT6iInyF6x8oyJLw0JwSh6pzJXwIMf64N21NoEyR8RTk237QYoAuN-8Bkh3OFq49_BI/s1600/MarkMug.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="411" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuDVj6c5-23dgTvJn0ji1_-MpMnwjb8sq7AitUm6wswaMkk9GLBmnVfx2OvrYwBeDt7uZ4ogzwAT6iInyF6x8oyJLw0JwSh6pzJXwIMf64N21NoEyR8RTk237QYoAuN-8Bkh3OFq49_BI/s200/MarkMug.jpg" width="142" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yours truly</td></tr>
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Even for a reading, there are things that have to be coordinated, so I arranged for someone else to lead the semimonthly adult group at the Center. That way, I have all afternoon to coordinate with the folks at the Unitarian church next door, where we're having the reading.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW5bQC7He9-HtxqIS-H4Zj4p3dbcY1hNAsWk8Xy1kGiiusDSDY5wWOEtcGnyvzoX98Wv7gOCRecinE4kAXUv2uMYt8Wn2Po8xPc-5QyO5ikteqA4U-IBXFxjHwxh2-HrEPVaE2WNtaMTs/s1600/LutheranChurchonWest.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="892" data-original-width="576" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW5bQC7He9-HtxqIS-H4Zj4p3dbcY1hNAsWk8Xy1kGiiusDSDY5wWOEtcGnyvzoX98Wv7gOCRecinE4kAXUv2uMYt8Wn2Po8xPc-5QyO5ikteqA4U-IBXFxjHwxh2-HrEPVaE2WNtaMTs/s320/LutheranChurchonWest.jpg" width="206" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This post card is over 100 years old.</td></tr>
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One of the reasons I bought this house for my home was because it was plopped in the middle of a very holy neighborhood. We've got the Unitarian Universalists next door, the catholic high school across the street, The Evangelical Lutherans catty-cornered to the south (with a catholic church down the block) and the Presbyterians just north across Cass Street.<br />
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The Evangelical Lutheran church has its original bells, and they clang on Sundays at 8 and 10:15 a.m., as well as other days at 2 and 5:30 p.m. It gives the neighborhood an urbane quality I wasn't suspecting in La Crosse.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEwH67mW6dSM2tWgw3hE7clJRjypaOmNxusV7pAdmrmaR5bfhIyb31y1QerKw8Lbr2KUY1sEiN0by9De-sWkD7gVVlcV5lP9GeagGkQLu6vDIAqR3MPtRjWWS9-V-86Pg5XhK3HxZE8rg/s1600/ChurchNeighbor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="430" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEwH67mW6dSM2tWgw3hE7clJRjypaOmNxusV7pAdmrmaR5bfhIyb31y1QerKw8Lbr2KUY1sEiN0by9De-sWkD7gVVlcV5lP9GeagGkQLu6vDIAqR3MPtRjWWS9-V-86Pg5XhK3HxZE8rg/s320/ChurchNeighbor.jpg" width="238" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is what I see from my back yard.</td></tr>
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One of the other reasons I chose this place was the beautiful old homes that make up this area of town. The timber barons of the area built their mansions on Cass Street in the late 1800s-early 1900s. A stroll down the street and around the park reveals some of the loveliest midwestern architecture I've seen. I will have to make a photo-pilgrimage and snap some shots of them when all the green returns.<br />
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When I went into the Center this afternoon to do my 4-8 p.m. shift, things were just hopping. We had three walk-ins (unheard of; we normally get 0-0.2 people on average in the evenings). There were also a couple of new volunteers ready for their orientation session.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzARdWvi8V8Ek1TbHfkusJnEUlG4XPCyhHGZLauGcOQdyqerQzG20q5JXgOEWuiGHg7r4-7CBGOJoinblV4p0VqCxeQNVH_QYBPaM7DfXdaKXOyjQoMq6X0ysAZyeRP3r_Vv4I-x9ZbSY/s1600/LateSnow2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="432" data-original-width="576" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzARdWvi8V8Ek1TbHfkusJnEUlG4XPCyhHGZLauGcOQdyqerQzG20q5JXgOEWuiGHg7r4-7CBGOJoinblV4p0VqCxeQNVH_QYBPaM7DfXdaKXOyjQoMq6X0ysAZyeRP3r_Vv4I-x9ZbSY/s320/LateSnow2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And the back yard with fat snowflakes falling.</td></tr>
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Deb was there for the new recruits, and Aleisha, our director of outreach, was there with her teen-aged daughter. I wisely retreated to the lounge and puttered on the computer, nodding off several times because that's what old farts do when they're bored.<br />
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Andrew (the wonderful young fellow who's revamping the Center's computer network) was there helping to train a new volunteer (we're up to 30!) whose name I've already forgotten. Since they had the desk covered quite effectively, I took off about 15 minutes early and came home.<br />
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Tomorrow, honest to God, I've got to do some laundry. It's very deceptive having a laundry chute on each floor. Dirty towel: toss it in the chute. Dirty clothes: toss 'em in the chute. One day I open up the closet and there's no more pants; open the underwear drawer to find it empty. And when one wanders into the laundry room in the basement, there is a small mount of fetid fiber and tainted textiles.<br />
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Where the hell did that come from? I just did laundry four day a-… no, a week a-…no two weeks ago. Hm. Maybe three. No wonder all the underwear's dirty! So I plan a day of puttering around the house between calls to the basement to fill-empty-fill-empty the washer and dryer. Four, five, six loads.<br />
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The biggest effort of the chore is shlepping all the cleaned clothes up two flights of stairs to return everything to the closet and dresser. If they could plan an easy way to get the grimy garments to the laundry room, why didn't they rig up something to take the fresh laundry back up to the second floor?<br />
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I want my flying car. I want my robot maid. I want my monorail. I was promised these things as a child, proffered to us all by Mr. Disney and his Land. Okay, forget the car. And the monorail. They don't do laundry. But robot maid, that's something to reach for!Mark McDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16469802659915856938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3085444013412702960.post-53029275385571603352018-03-21T01:10:00.001-07:002018-03-21T01:10:22.867-07:00I Know Why We Clean in Spring<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj67QF5bS-igdCpC2Egb_imgB6rUSePF5fWuGzcl0jw5LP-MaMctQJGLGOpVoB_GoykSWFQrbUcYRN96vCWP5L3sZ0r7inC9vkrZpgWAT_693RxWewtAGvdD1pCPTJIidabjc-KWDi8lxM/s1600/SnowLumpDriveway.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="358" data-original-width="576" height="198" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj67QF5bS-igdCpC2Egb_imgB6rUSePF5fWuGzcl0jw5LP-MaMctQJGLGOpVoB_GoykSWFQrbUcYRN96vCWP5L3sZ0r7inC9vkrZpgWAT_693RxWewtAGvdD1pCPTJIidabjc-KWDi8lxM/s320/SnowLumpDriveway.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That little lump of snow just won't melt.</td></tr>
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Things are still on the cold side; 30º and 40º highs (one or two days hit 50º), below freezing most nights. And while the furnace has been working less often lately, and while going outside does not require "suiting up" to battle the cold, still I want the warmth to get here.<br />
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I want constantly open windows (as does the cat so she can sit in the sill). I want fresh air blowing through the house. I want green on the trees and a resurrection of the grass in the yard. I want to sit outside in my shorts and enjoy the sun. And even rain: I want precipitation that doesn't make the world icy and slick.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWRAY8GtnDC4i7vvLLfWZdRCeGejYQ8DJOZgF4wWQkE5NNCe2sk4LR-h1HEMR2NaCQrAzE-xJKC7G3BwH_UsBp2Y9Y4b6Az-1sj7NQN311fbmR0x31t-mnPjupRFQOof63mVqBrckIGx4/s1600/SnowBackYard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="342" data-original-width="576" height="190" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWRAY8GtnDC4i7vvLLfWZdRCeGejYQ8DJOZgF4wWQkE5NNCe2sk4LR-h1HEMR2NaCQrAzE-xJKC7G3BwH_UsBp2Y9Y4b6Az-1sj7NQN311fbmR0x31t-mnPjupRFQOof63mVqBrckIGx4/s320/SnowBackYard.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The evergreens keep this sheet of ice intact.<br />
Lower left is the remnants of the huge snow pile mentioned.</td></tr>
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The snow is gone. Only a few spots existing in constant shade are still frozen (like the back yard). And that big pile of plowed snow, waist high and as long as a car, is almost gone from the driveway. Finally, there's no need to put a coat on to take the trash out. But still, we may get some snow on Saturday, although it will melt in a day.<br />
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The real arbiters of coming warmth are the trees, especially the old ones. They seem to know that things aren't over just yet. When they begin to bud, we'll know that winter is gone. Still, I remember driving into town when I moved here (an April 21st), and snow was falling, skittering across the highway. It didn't stick, but it was a prophetic welcome. After all, one of the reasons I moved here was to have seasons.<br />
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The warmer temps (such as they are) seem to have stirred me, like a bear from hibernation, and I've got things going on in my life. The first one is volunteering at the Center. We had our big fundraising event last Thursday, a 12-hour Facebook live stream, where we raised more than $11,000.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP7EyPI2nWHi-9n5hWR0OJuIwPp-WhFdvO98ZbY1oYxRPIlUuPZ3-zDtrEJzx9saGcJ7DcJnfNKiqgeHMXZubTkcEjc0lz6BI4ulje9dNe_qnoWkdJ1nxZV59GICpH57RW2E41zL20K_s/s1600/GayJeopardy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="322" data-original-width="576" height="201" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP7EyPI2nWHi-9n5hWR0OJuIwPp-WhFdvO98ZbY1oYxRPIlUuPZ3-zDtrEJzx9saGcJ7DcJnfNKiqgeHMXZubTkcEjc0lz6BI4ulje9dNe_qnoWkdJ1nxZV59GICpH57RW2E41zL20K_s/s400/GayJeopardy.jpg" width="360" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From left: Eddie, Stacey (aka Dawson) and Deb play Gay Jeopardy!</td></tr>
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The night before the event, I was staffing the desk at the Center while all the preparations were taking place. Someone mentioned having questions for a gay version of Jeopardy!, and since I'm a fan of the show (and a designer), I offered to take the clues and make up Jeopardy!-type cards for the game.<br />
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So I sat down with my laptop and read through the questions that had been written.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjzvzMRISJkGPBD0owckq3DEjiQrD8QRGNWre8m9gwzThITg_A52Mc700vJ8CLGtJsB58mEtl3cBdOJy_x-0cK1NR5Oqz98ep5NuvwsAOLGLgfZNuPM61moplDrxZjj4dvOVESyAeGInI/s1600/EddieMarkFunder.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="277" data-original-width="531" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjzvzMRISJkGPBD0owckq3DEjiQrD8QRGNWre8m9gwzThITg_A52Mc700vJ8CLGtJsB58mEtl3cBdOJy_x-0cK1NR5Oqz98ep5NuvwsAOLGLgfZNuPM61moplDrxZjj4dvOVESyAeGInI/s320/EddieMarkFunder.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Eddie and I discuss the origin drag queens.</td></tr>
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Questions? They're supposed to be answers; this is Jeopardy!, after all. Looking them over, I realized some of them were way too long to get on a card. Also, we needed six categories (one for each color in the rainbow flag) and there were only five, and the fifth category was a clue short. After some casual conferencing, it was decided the sixth category would be the Pride flags, since I could download those easily from the Internet without having to write more questions.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Galaxy kids (our youth group) join those who made the fundraiser work.</td></tr>
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To make a long story short, I left the Center after six and a half hours of rewriting clues, setting up all the cards (in the proper Jeopardy! typeface), and taping everything to the board, since the Facebook stream would start at 8 a.m. the next morning. I was scheduled to "interview" with Eddie, the host of the stream (and our board's president) about the history of drag, as well as sharing my coming out story. <a href="https://www.facebook.com/7riversLGBTQ/videos/10160030413510004/" target="_blank">Here's a link</a> (Start at 2:32:00 for my bit). If you want to spend the time to watch the Gay Jeopardy! game, <a href="https://www.facebook.com/7riversLGBTQ/videos/10160032311740004/" target="_blank">here's a link for that</a>.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGtoml7aXcTZFsjHWGzp2FNjfplf-9MYRuNPhn3Elv6lyYUF6tAaketFPSf0X4C2ID_GahWWp5SGyjZU2TPoo4iRjdriEr8B1y5tMG9-wl4Egw9PyFHSvsiyKAfEEUqcAOKhFxCA1qCNc/s1600/FunderDinner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="576" height="277" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGtoml7aXcTZFsjHWGzp2FNjfplf-9MYRuNPhn3Elv6lyYUF6tAaketFPSf0X4C2ID_GahWWp5SGyjZU2TPoo4iRjdriEr8B1y5tMG9-wl4Egw9PyFHSvsiyKAfEEUqcAOKhFxCA1qCNc/s400/FunderDinner.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Texas Roadhouse server joins our group photo celebrating the day.</td></tr>
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The wrap-up of the fundraiser was a group dinner at Texas Roadhouse, which had agreed to kick back 10% of any order when the Center was mentioned. I invited Deb to be my guest, since I know her budget is tight right now, and we all headed out to the restaurant after the streaming wrapped at 8 p.m. It was a kind of high, and a great way to end the event, everyone feeling very connected and rewarded for the 12 hours' work. I took half my steak home and forgot it in the car. I retrieved it the next morning, and it was colder than if I had put it in the fridge the night before (one of the upsides of below-freezing nights).<br />
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The other iron I have in the fire is directing "The White Crow" for a group here in La Crosse called The Alternative Truth Project. It was formed by a triad of women who had attended the Women's March on Washington the day after the inauguration last year. It grew out of their desire to continue the resistance in a relative, local way.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRQfyQLwVjnUEB4UtFpWMHWWlCO4-3gLA3VZifChx4EwnAf_RddKo3ghpF17NBH8E9kAaGDnHN_WFtB0BDEhLspbnNgAMWiWi6M2DGOYXL0YrnmC5u5LckAH5u9t1aqN1puehofbpgypY/s1600/WhiteCrowImage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="348" data-original-width="576" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRQfyQLwVjnUEB4UtFpWMHWWlCO4-3gLA3VZifChx4EwnAf_RddKo3ghpF17NBH8E9kAaGDnHN_WFtB0BDEhLspbnNgAMWiWi6M2DGOYXL0YrnmC5u5LckAH5u9t1aqN1puehofbpgypY/s400/WhiteCrowImage.jpg" width="360" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is the graphic I put together for "The White Crow" posters.</td></tr>
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So they facilitate theater readings, usually about one a month, that relate to what we're going through right now. Since "The White Crow" is about the pretrial interrogation of Adolph Eichmann in Jerusalem, it is relevant to the rising taste for authoritarianism in our country just now.<br />
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The format they use is casting any old way you want, two rehearsals of the piece and then one performance, for which the group pays the license. The director locates the performance space, acquires the license and arranges rehearsals. And, of course, the group is always there to assist you if you're a neophyte in the La Crosse theater community, as I am.<br />
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You are also asked to arrange for someone with knowledge of the subject matter of your play to be available for an after-show discussion. This put me in contact with Rabbi Prombaum of the Sons of Abraham synagogue here in town. He, in turn, has put me in contact with a couple people who might lead the post-play discussion. It all comes together.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkhZxFPtfcfRtTwPG8118GaDqTPehs3lADZrkAfVQ4J0j3L4R67gEBeqjCo2uodMhVa7s-LUrR44Lrpm3FED6G6wdblJcSlhaYEgyV4FG0uVJ_UDSxC4rh-7wtq08Rvgee-_CUuXBwmio/s1600/FortuneCookie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="216" data-original-width="576" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkhZxFPtfcfRtTwPG8118GaDqTPehs3lADZrkAfVQ4J0j3L4R67gEBeqjCo2uodMhVa7s-LUrR44Lrpm3FED6G6wdblJcSlhaYEgyV4FG0uVJ_UDSxC4rh-7wtq08Rvgee-_CUuXBwmio/s400/FortuneCookie.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm including this recent fortune cookie fortune just because.</td></tr>
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The first rehearsal is scheduled for this Sunday afternoon at my house, since there are only two main characters in the script, and the performance will be done sitting at a table. Makes sense. I have a dining room with a lovely table.<br />
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I'm also going to put my name in at the local community theater group, which I had previously written off as horribly cliquish. The artistic director who squelched me so completely when I tried to get involved has now left, and there is a new person heading up the group, who I am told is much more amenable to new people.<br />
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When I found out that half of the people directing this season had never directed before, I thought I would offer my services. They have a very nice facility downtown, right on the Mississippi with a stunning view. I'm hoping something will develop for next season.<br />
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So that's about it. Things continue on and I'm feeling good about the coming year. If not chock full o' fun, at least it won't be boring.<br />
<br />Mark McDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16469802659915856938noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3085444013412702960.post-87809608090476100872018-03-04T20:05:00.000-08:002018-03-04T20:05:17.951-08:00Lackluster WinterThe reason I haven't been blogging is that nothing has really been happening. And I'm finding that I have a winter behavior pattern evolving. Depending on the weather forecast, I either just hunker down when it gets really cold (like 12º or less) or I head out on the warmer days and get my errands done so that I can just hunker down when it gets really cold.<br />
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It's typical that we have a warm patch after the first of the year here in Wisconsin. People refer to it as the January thaw, and we've had three of them in the last two months. My hunch is it's a global warming thing. And the storms we've had so far have been small, almost bypassing us, and none have left more than two or three inches of snow. I do have a suspicion that we'll have at least one more snow storm before Spring really arrives.<br />
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After the last two winters, I have learned that an ice storm is what I really hate. It starts as regular rain during a "thaw," then the rain freezes, placing a thin layer of ice on everything. And as the ground is still well frozen, everything turns to clear (or "black") ice, and it's deadly slick. I was unprepared last year, but this year I have a 20 lb. bag of salt on the back porch, so I'm able to melt my way to the garage, if need be.<br />
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But for now, the old snow has melted after several days with highs in the 40s and 50s. We have a storm warning for tonight and tomorrow, then things dip back down into the 30s for several days, then pop back up into the 40s and 50s. (Can you tell that I'm really looking forward to Spring?) For today, though, I turn off the furnace and open the windows to get fresh air in the house after months of being closed up. And Patty, the cat, was genuinely surprised at open windows, delighted that she could sit in the windowsill again, smell the fresh air and watch the dead leaves, freed from their icy prison, skitter about the back yard and driveway.<br />
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So, nothing much has been going on. I'm still on the desk at the Center on Monday and Wednesday evenings, and I've taken over facilitating Andromeda, a biweekly "rap session" for 18+ folks on Saturday afternoons.<br />
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The Center's director of internal affairs (we also have one for outreach) has resigned, which is a real shame, as she was a very effective leader. We have a great board of directors, though, so I don't think the change in leadership is going to derail any of the Center's plans for expansion.<br />
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The Center has gotten the gig of selling beer tickets at Riverfest, which happens on the Fourth of July. This is a pretty big deal. There are three windows selling the tickets. The Knights of Columbus are staffing them during the day, and we'll be selling during the evening. Riverfest is paying our group $400 for the service, but I think the public exposure is what's really important.<br />
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A big development is my directing a reading of "The White Crow" with a theater group here in La Crosse called The Alternative Truth Project. They put on a reading about every month. Ours will be in early April. The license has been procured and the reading is scheduled next door at the Unitarian Universalist Fellowship at 7:30 p.m. on April 7. I just met with the folks at the fellowship and lined up everything for the use of the space.<br />
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I have an Eichmann and a Baum (the two characters in the play), so now it's just a matter of having a couple of rehearsals. One of the reasons I picked a two-character play is because you can get a lot of work done in rehearsal when you've just got two actors and the director.<br />
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The lion's share of Christmas still up (wreaths and garlands are down and stowed in the basement). Amanda and Natalie dropped by today and we put together a three-person bucket brigade to get the 21 little houses (in their boxes for a month) to the basement. We all moved the boxes to the kitchen table, then Amanda handed them off to Natalie who went up and down the stairs, handing them off to me and I put them on the shelves. We got them stowed and dragged the remaining empty Christmas storage bins and boxes upstairs, so now packing the rest of the holidays will be simple.<br />
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As proof that things have been unusually boring, I checked my phone and I haven't taken a single picture since the last entry, so no artwork, I'm afraid. But at least, now, you know how dull my life is.<br />
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<br />Mark McDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16469802659915856938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3085444013412702960.post-92189603844401486552018-01-10T08:10:00.001-08:002018-01-10T08:18:47.951-08:00Chilly New Year's EveI'm sitting at the reception desk at the Center for my four-hour Wednesday evening stint. Usually, this is a very boring point of my day, since it's almost 6 p.m., there will be no calls at all, but there is a development committee meeting coalescing in the conference room, so there's lots of activity.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBZSOVXpxzKI0MrJ5D0vu3vjMsjcJHojiWxczBulcLiF96XiELpdd4vCaHxQwB9MWtFz5P6TY45VwSWqRSABhrRGPWq-R0TXz1UW3OdHcXQiV6FnkSGJRYdzfg-uTmZm809XuDbRfxt5s/s1600/XmasTree_17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="407" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBZSOVXpxzKI0MrJ5D0vu3vjMsjcJHojiWxczBulcLiF96XiELpdd4vCaHxQwB9MWtFz5P6TY45VwSWqRSABhrRGPWq-R0TXz1UW3OdHcXQiV6FnkSGJRYdzfg-uTmZm809XuDbRfxt5s/s320/XmasTree_17.jpg" width="226" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Little houses under the tree</td></tr>
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The theological milestone of Epiphany has arrived and passed; the cultural cutoff date when all things Christmas are supposed to disappear and stow in their summer storage places. This rarely happens in so punctual a fashion in my household, no matter its makeup. Realistically, I shoot for Valentine's Day; that way, you get almost a quarter year's enjoyment out of the decorations.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But as long as they're up, I keep the blinds open so the rest of the world can enjoy them. The house is set back on the street, though, so most of the motorists never see the tree, and only the pedestrians who look straight at the house ever see it, either. It may be few who see them, but the decorations are up for them as much as me.</div>
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<br /></div>
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At the Center, More people are arriving, converging for the meeting. It doesn't happen that often (at least not for the adults), but you can feel the community among these people, among us. We focus most of our time/money/manpower on youth programs, since this is where the local need is greatest, but it's still great to get the adults together, even for something as sober as a development meeting.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE4ka3eqOir08JkoF-5QyCJ4SRUrVibjfGmPom9iqQGjATXYLgeOYb5oMC_-7NXO3IqPOj6BwuOQosHmccxMKCRCAzOt4-qFEnnBebMfNuwHRV5F_ncvs1qE2k_gbKzmOBi-Ep4Q5rJxc/s1600/XmasMantle_17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="349" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE4ka3eqOir08JkoF-5QyCJ4SRUrVibjfGmPom9iqQGjATXYLgeOYb5oMC_-7NXO3IqPOj6BwuOQosHmccxMKCRCAzOt4-qFEnnBebMfNuwHRV5F_ncvs1qE2k_gbKzmOBi-Ep4Q5rJxc/s320/XmasMantle_17.jpg" width="193" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The mantle from the hall</td></tr>
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It's revealing that we still have not had any meetings of the communications committee. Most of the focus is internal with the group right now, finding ways to expand finances, volunteerism and the actual facility itself. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
There's a large open space in the same building, right next to the current Center, which would more than double its size and provide a comfortable drop-in environment for the LGBTQ community. All it would take is knocking out a single wall and the space would be available. The landlord is amenable to renting it to us (there's even rumors of potentially purchasing the building from the owner), so this might just turn into a longterm home for the group.<br />
<br />
One potential on the horizon is my directing a reading of "The White Crow," by Donald Freed. This show was my first professional gig as a production stage manager (also running stage manager) at the Los Angeles Actors' Theater (precursor to the Los Angeles Theatre Center in downtown L.A.). I have yet to find a venue in which to present the reading, but I'm hopeful I'll find something.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDsFL4qx4KYxJt6-oHALbiQH_rXbNmHY3vZkCTgqZa2y0Udf3zi9qaz6n3m82fdT9lDxHZNHi-1_5bvR5v_tWLUxqwwtiWmho_T8SC0ZWUidKxt1mZPxga9NUniB-1Gfv0hthhIvDVkCk/s1600/NYE_Fireworks_17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="451" data-original-width="576" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDsFL4qx4KYxJt6-oHALbiQH_rXbNmHY3vZkCTgqZa2y0Udf3zi9qaz6n3m82fdT9lDxHZNHi-1_5bvR5v_tWLUxqwwtiWmho_T8SC0ZWUidKxt1mZPxga9NUniB-1Gfv0hthhIvDVkCk/s320/NYE_Fireworks_17.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">New Year's Eve fireworks on Grand Dad Bluff<br />
juxtaposed with the full moon above.<br />
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The reading is under the auspices of a group called The Alternate Truth Project. They want me to put it on sometime in March or April. I'm trying to set up the performance at the Unitarian Universalist Fellowship, which is right next door to my house. I have yet to get anyone to reply to my e-mail, though. I'm also checking with the Pump House Arts Center, as well. Something will develop on this front, I'm sure.<br />
<br />
The three women who have organized the group will also be helping out with auditions, since I know absolutely no actors here in town that would be good for the parts. I was told that they don't use props in their readings, but I think it's vital that we have folders and documents to use, as the two actors (one portraying Adolf Eichmann and the other his interrogator) fling documents onto the table to back up their points in what becomes a confrontational debate.<br />
<br />
I haven't firmed anything up with them yet, but I'm hoping that things will be in place by the end of the month. There will only be two rehearsals before the actual reading. The group has a robust e-mailing list, so there is little need to publicize. Should end up being fun, and I'm hoping to meet some theater people in the process.<br />
<br />
And taxes are on the horizon. I have most of the paperwork I need, I think, now, so it's a matter of getting everything together and processing it.<br />
<br />
This last week has been our "January thaw," which means we actually have had several days with highs in the upper 30s and lower 40s. It's almost over, though, as the forecast high for Friday (and into the next week and foreseeable future) is in the teens, with lows in the below-zero zone. So we enjoy the warmth while we can.<br />
<br />
With no meaningful snows yet this winter, we have yet to deal with accumulations beyond half an inch. I'm waiting for the big storm that will drop a good six inches of snow. Anything above that, my snow removal guy charges $30 instead of $25. He's still a bargain, and a real convenience. Between him and my snow thrower, the sidewalks always remain clear of snow.<br />
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Mark McDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16469802659915856938noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3085444013412702960.post-39145192248930328302017-12-14T16:00:00.001-08:002017-12-14T16:00:28.859-08:00Since I Went AwaySo, finally, six weeks after our return, I have reached the first of November.<br />
<br />
Somehow, I really can't remember much of what happened in November. I did my stints at the Center, on Monday and Wednesday evenings, and most of my free time was spent processing Paris photos, both mine and David's, and setting up the blog entries. And, of course, there was a Thanksgiving with folks from the Center. I provided the mashed potatoes, as was my tradition with my own family when Mom still did the whole turkey-cooking and multi-side-dish making thing.<br />
<br />
I think she got it right when she just started taking everyone out to Thanksgiving dinner at a restaurant. The one year I remember especially was at Spyglass Inn, because they gave everyone leftovers to take home. Now that's classy. I'm thinking that might be my M.O. next year, since I can't see myself going the whole nine yards with the turkey and e'ything.<br />
<br />
I've only done that once, and it was for just Steve and I. Kittie and David did come down and help mount a Thanksgiving feast in Pasadena. I just remember having a whole head of cauliflower slathered in cheese sauce for just three people.<br />
<br />
So that was November. On December 1st, Pam and Steve and Amanda, sans Natalie, came over and helped me lug Christmas up from the basement. We got quite a bit done in one afternoon, but I was left with the chore of putting all the ornaments on the tree. This was not because of anyone else's neglect; it's because I really take a long time to get them all on positioned the way I like them, distribution wise.<br />
<br />
So I had just about gotten all of them on the tree and Christmas would be up and functioning when, one afternoon while browsing through Facebook and our local Rummage Sale page, I found a listing for 20 of those little porcelain house that people collect and put under their tree or in dioramas on a table or shelves.<br />
<br />
I'd always liked those little buildings, lighted up inside, but I never had the patience to collect them year after year. So I admired them in other people's homes (Sandy Beck, I'm referring to you), but only had one or two of my own. My sister-in-law Carla had given me one as a present one Christmas, but it got dropped and broke. Perhaps that's why I never collected.<br />
<br />
So, yeah; 20 porcelain buildings, also including a little creek running through them, with a bridge and a sleigh, lamp posts and little people. They were all in original boxes. The woman, named Leslie, was asking $125.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Look at all these great houses! Each on its own box.</td></tr>
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I had never done a private purchase online, and it soon became obvious is was going to assume the tension and anonymity of a drug buy. I even took out cash for the transaction, as she had requested. After a couple messages back and forth, we agreed to meet Tuesday at 7 p.m. in the parking lot of Shopko on the South end of town. (If La Crosse has a "bad" part of town, it's the south end … well, and the north end, too. Those of us here in the middle are, well, in the middle.)<br />
<br />
Now, I had also arranged to meet on Tuesday late afternoon with Anne, a woman who has organized a performance group here town known as The Alternative Truth Project. They basically facilitate readings and limited productions of socially and politically relevant theater. It sounded like the kind of group I would be interested in, so she and I got together at JavaVino, a fairly hip place that serves really good coffee and fairly decent food. We had neither.<br />
<br />
Turns out Anne had worked extensively in L.A. in the entertainment industry, even working with Carl Sagan on Cosmos and several other television productions. It was really refreshing to talk with someone who understood the gestalt of Hollywood and The Biz. I gave her a manuscript copy of "The White Crow" from my theater files and told her it was something I would be interested in directing.<br />
<br />
When we got to talking about the local theater scene, I told her about my experience with David Kirkpatrick and working the stage crew on "Boeing, Boeing." She said the guy was a jerk, and that the impression I had gotten about the place being cliquish was wrong. She told me to get ahold of the guy who was now running the company; that most of the directors they had for this season had never directed before. I think I'll give it a chance.<br />
<br />
When we parted ways at JavaVino, it was about an hour before my planned meeting down at Shopko, so I grabbed a taco salad and drove down, sat in the parking lot and ate my dinner.<br />
<br />
I had sent a selfie to Leslie so she would know what I looked like and told her I would be in a white Saturn sedan (yes, my car is that old: "What's a Saturn?"). She was on time, found me, and we drove to a vacant area of the huge parking lot. I passed her the cash and she passed me the houses, one by one by one one by one by one one by one by one one by one by one one by one by one one by one by one one by one, and then two more boxes with the creek and sundries.<br />
<br />
I filled up the trunk of the car and ended up with four boxes in the back seat. It's in the teens or 20s, weatherwise, so unloading the car at home got me really chilly, as I was only in my semi-frigid coat. Even with gloves, I was glad to get inside with all these new purchases. I had boxes stacked everywhere.<br />
<br />
It was like my own special Christmas morning, opening each box. These houses were obviously loved. Each was still in its original styrofoam packing, wrapped in its original plastic bag. There wasn't a chip or crack on any of them.<br />
<br />
So this weekend, Amanda is coming into town to help me put these up and make them pretty! Since each has its own single bulb, cord and plug, I have to pick up several power strips just to plug them all in safely. When I had them all out, ready to take the above picture, I realized this purchase has added about 30% to my holiday storage volume, something I won't have to deal with until at least Epiphany. Luckily, there's room on the shelves in the basement.<br />
<br />
So, Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah (what's left of it) and Happy New Year, if I don't make another post before those salutations are appropriate. And I leave you with this:<br />
<br />
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<br />Mark McDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16469802659915856938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3085444013412702960.post-45199842340410259542017-12-11T04:16:00.001-08:002017-12-11T04:16:17.935-08:00There and Back Again: the Return HomeFor this last entry, I have absolutely no pictures available to post. People on vacation are manic about taking pictures, but on the way home their only focus is the return. So anything visual that might end up here will be coming from David's camera. But, having had requests for this final entry from one of my dozen readers, I thought I'd go with the written narrative.<br />
<br />
Like most evenings when big things will happen the next morning, I didn't sleep as deeply as I normally would on our last night in Paris. I wasn't too worried about scheduling, as we all made sure we were ready to up and leave on a moment's notice. We would wake up at 6 and be dressed in time for our car's scheduled arrival at 6:20.<br />
<br />
There was a door between the two bedrooms which was closed, so I could hear Dave's alarm go off early that morning. The sun wasn't rising until around 9, so I expected darkness when the sound emanated from behind the door.<br />
<br />
We had been sharing my old Brookstone converter to charge our cell phones. Kittie had purchased an adapter as well, but it didn't say "converter" on it, and didn't specifically say it would convert France's 220 volts into a friendlier 110 volts; none of us had the moxie to try plugging their phone into the adapter with the possibility of frying it.<br />
<br />
So we had made sure that all of our phones were charged in the evening before we went to bed. This being so, I had my phone on the night table next to the bed (normally I was the last to charge, and would just leave my phone on the kitchen counter to charge overnight).<br />
<br />
Dave's phone sounds in the dark. I instinctively turn to my phone to check the time: 5:00 a.m.<br />
<br />
What? I guess David had overshot the "6" when he set the alarm. What the hell. Time to get up, since I'm not going to nod off for a portion of an hour at this point. I assume Kittie and David have the same idea, as they are up and about in the next room.<br />
<br />
We all throw our clothes on and are in the living room. I mention that we have lots of time now. David looks at me quizzically. What are you talking about? he queries. It's only 5 o'clock, say I. David holds up his phone to show me. No, it's 6 o'clock, he says. I hold up my phone. No, it's 5 o'clock. He looks.<br />
<br />
Wha'?<br />
<br />
I check my phone and realize what happened at 3 a.m.: France had changed over to standard time from daylight savings time. The U.S. would not make the changeover for another week.<br />
<br />
What are we, in the Twilight Zone? As close as we could figure, since I had full service on the French service provider, my phone made the change, but since David was on a data-only plan, he did not get the automatic update.<br />
<br />
Now I start worrying that the driver will forget to change his clock, and he will be an hour late. We'd be leaving at 7:20 if that happened, trying to get to a 10:20 flight. Sounds like lots of time, but it took an hour to get into Paris from the airport upon arrival, so I'm assuming it will be pretty much the same on the way out.<br />
<br />
But it's Sunday. And it's 6:20. The driver texts me, we drop the front door keys on the counter, pick up our bags, and we're on our way down the four flights of stairs one last time. Going out the front door of the building, the car is sitting there. There's no traffic so he's not worried about blocking it.<br />
<br />
As a last hurrah, David takes video of our drive to the airport. At first I'm amused, but then I realize that this will probably be the last pictures of Paris any of us take. Although I've been longing to return home for the last day or so, I suddenly want to stay just a little longer.<br />
<br />
The traffic gets denser and more chaotic as we approach Charles de Gaulle Terminal 2E. Cars pull in at angles, blocking other cars. People, as we did, pop out of the cars, retrieve their bags and push money at the drivers. We enter the Air France check-in area, as we had been instructed online the night before, and find what we think is our line, and wait in it. Back's hurting, blah, blah, blah.<br />
<br />
We get to the woman at the front of the line, who is directing travelers to and fro, and find out we're in the wrong line. We have to continue down to the Delta check-in. Another line. Big ol' line. Lots of folks heading back home from their French vacation. We get up to the check-in and discover that the woman back in Minneapolis checked us in on both ends of the trip, and our seats are already assigned. The boarding passes are printed and handed over, and we head to customs. Another line.<br />
<br />
We get through that line, up to the customs counter, get processed and walk out and … into another line to go through security. Once through, all of us irritated — at the world in general, if not at one another — we start to head to our gate.<br />
<br />
A woman comes running up to David, "Did you leave a bag?" she asks. No, says David, and the he realizes he has the bag he bought back on rue Chapon. He wasn't used to carrying it and forgot to get it off the conveyor once through security. He retrieves the bag and profusely thanks this astute woman.<br />
<br />
On to the gate. I am scuttling like a crab, pulling my rolling luggage by its leash behind me. Everybody's hungry. No one's had coffee or food. We find our gate, each with mildly murderous thoughts behind our eyes, then David backtracks to find something to eat. I can't tell, but I think he wants to kill me … or Kittie … or maybe strangers. Or perhaps I'm projecting my own state of mind. When did airports become such evil places?<br />
<br />
When the flight is called (we're flying a A380 Airbus), we sit back and let everyone else go through the line. After about half an hour, the line has thinned out, so we get up and queue up.<br />
<br />
At the gate counter, boarding passes are being scanned and a few folks are being pulled over for a final security search. Perhaps it's her trench coat, but Kittie is pulled over. Having no contraband, she is cleared and joins David and I, who had been hanging back, waiting for her.<br />
<br />
We get on board and find our seats. The Airbus has four seats across between the aisles, seats as small as on domestic flights, with just as little leg room. Kittie is squeezed between a stranger on the left and David on the right. David is squeezed between Kittie and myself, and I hang off slightly on the right, just impinging on the aisle space.<br />
<br />
On top of the seats having less room, the arm rests do not fold up in our row, which removes another four inches from our personal space. The flight is eight hours long and incredibly cramped. The arm rest between me and the aisle does fold up, and i ride with it up, so I can at least scoot out a couple inches into the aisle and give Kittie and David a bit of breathing room. It doesn't really help, and the carts whack me in the shoulder every time the attendants go up and down with food and drinks.<br />
<br />
We left Paris at 10:20 a.m. and arrive in Minneapolis around 2 p.m, CDT. When I attempt to stand up in the plane (we waited for most other folks to deplane), my back sings out. I exit hunched over and stiff as hell. And, of course, the first thing that we encountered is a big ol' long line.<br />
<br />
It's the line to get into the line to go through customs. Hobble, hobble; hunch, hunch. "Last chance for bathrooms before entering customs," a sign declares. Folks dash out of line and return looking guilty about joining their parties, already in forward progress. Hobble, hobble, four steps and stop. Four steps and stop. The line crawls, back and forth, twisting like a Disneyland queue from hell.<br />
<br />
We finally make it up to the kiosks and, since we are family, we all move to the kiosk together. If you haven't been through the process yet, it is fully automated and bureaucratically intimidating, in a nonhuman way. It scans your passport, then it takes your picture and uses facial recognition to verify your existence. It then prints out a pass, complete with the just-taken picture.<br />
<br />
After all three of us are electronically folded, spindled and mutilated, we move to the baggage claim area, where I pick up my green bag, hook on its leash and begin dragging it behind my bent frame and into another line where a humorless agent is checking passports and printed custom passes against the human in front of them. Folks are occasionally moved off to the left, where a waiting area holds several folks who look very non-American.<br />
<br />
Being a fairly straight-acting white male, I make it through with no problem. So do David and Kittie, despite her Inspector Gadget trench coat. We walk out into the passageway and the relative freedom of Trump's America.<br />
<br />
At this point, Kittie and David have to make a fairly quick dash to find their next gate, as their connecting flight home leaves fairly soon. We hug and kiss goodbye, and I hobble off to find the signs that direct me to the shuttle services. And a place to sit down; please, God, a place to sit down.<br />
<br />
I have an hour and a half to wait for my shuttle to leave (Minneapolis to Rochester). There are several short rows of those semi-comfortable black leatherette seats that populate airport spaces. I sit and stretch in America for the first time in a week.<br />
<br />
When the time comes, the driver enters the waiting room and begins reading off names. One by one, passengers get up and collect their bags as their names are called.<br />
<br />
The shuttle is one of those vans that has been converted into an 11-passenger limousine. As we follow the driver out to the curb, he loads the baggage into the back. I hobble up with my green compatriot in tow, and as he tosses it into the back, he says, "There's a seat up front with me, if you want to sit there." My God. A person has actually seen my discomfort and addressed it. Of course, I take him up on his offer.<br />
<br />
The ride to Rochester, where I will connect with the shuttle heading to Winona and La Crosse, is uneventful. I've taken this ride before, and there are always a few couples, a spouse with a spouse, one of whom is heading to the Mayo Clinic; always looking nervous, worried and worn from a journey to what they hope is a medical solution for whatever physical conundrum they face. It pulls at my heart just a little.<br />
<br />
It had snowed slightly the night before, and the remaining snow hides in the shadows, changing them from black to white. When we arrive in Rochester, it's raining.<br />
<br />
I get into the Winona-La Crosse shuttle, asking for and getting the front seat once again. My back is already feeling better, and I'm standing almost upright.<br />
<br />
Since I left my car at Pam and Steve's in Ettrick, they had offered to pick me up in Winona and drive me back to their place to retrieve my car. I accepted, of course, and gave Steve the pickup information for Winona before I left for Paris.<br />
<br />
My drop-off point is, unfortunately, not the previous spot where he picked me up from earlier shuttle rides. So, he at the south end of Winona and me at the north, I give him my location and directions, but he is unfamiliar with the landmarks I mention. (I forget that I'm more familiar with the north end of Winona, having stayed with Amanda there for a month after first arriving from California). Despite some discombobulation on Steve's part, Pam enters the address of my location into her phone, and soon they find me.<br />
<br />
We head back to Ettrick and I stop off, sit for a bit, talk a little about my trip and share some pictures. Then, realizing I've been up for almost 24 hours, I decide I'd better leave and get back home. They offer to have me stay the night, but I want to get home to my own bed and a cat that might or might not be extremely pissed at me.<br />
<br />
Pam, kind soul that she is, helps heave my green companion into the trunk of my car, and I drive off home, to La Crosse.<br />
<br />
When I get home, I wrestle the green guy out of the trunk, reattach its leash and roll it to the back porch, struggling up the three steps, then under the kitchen table. Since it's full of nothing but dirty laundry (and a few souvenir refrigerator magnets), I leave it in the kitchen, planning to feed the soiled clothing into the laundry chute near the back door tomorrow, when I'm rested.<br />
<br />
As I head toward the living room, a furry visage appears on the landing of the stairs, peering with saucer eyes. The cat looks at me in amazement for a moment, then lets out a yowl I had never heard. I hold out my hand and she rubs up against it with ardor.<br />
<br />
Patty, the cat, had not been left alone for a week. My niece Emily, who works about a mile from my home and commutes into work from Ettrick each day, had agreed to stop by on her way home from work and feed the cat. Since Patty is terrified of everyone but me, Emily knew she would probably never see her. They did have one encounter under the armchair in my bedroom.<br />
<br />
So Patty had been fed and attended to while I was gone. But now I realize I need to provide bonding behavior, so I feed her some canned food, which she has been without for a whole day (the day before having been Saturday). There is always ample dry food.<br />
<br />
She eats until I walk from the room, then follows me like a puppy. It seems she's not angry at me for my absence, but is delighted for my return. I sit down and turn on the TV to catch up on the week of wackiness I have missed in Trump Land. During my cable news briefing, Kittie texts me that they have arrived safely home. It is finished.<br />
<br />
For the rest of the evening, the few hours before I collapse in ecstasy in my own, perfect bed, the cat is never more than a foot from me.<br />
<br />
And when I go upstairs and undress for my first long, sound sleep in a week, she is right there, on the bedspread, lightly yowling and purring at me. It will be two or three days before she realizes things are back to normal. It will take me considerably longer to make the same realization.<br />
<br />
<br />Mark McDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16469802659915856938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3085444013412702960.post-91076332542771558212017-11-25T23:50:00.000-08:002017-11-25T23:50:18.412-08:00There and Back Again, Part 6<h2>
Saturday, October 28</h2>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy4hi_yls7ACld3YRYqB2q2nyeFDUt_KYxBxe6ucsREBX1fbt03YrL-fJ_0TyUQd-EerFNOuFpxU2TXB3chC2bC-LY_SxgLAOAFceFIChrqhlRWa4EUD9UTqeXYb1DHenMRzHmPt-vXFY/s1600/SdC_stalls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="388" data-original-width="576" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy4hi_yls7ACld3YRYqB2q2nyeFDUt_KYxBxe6ucsREBX1fbt03YrL-fJ_0TyUQd-EerFNOuFpxU2TXB3chC2bC-LY_SxgLAOAFceFIChrqhlRWa4EUD9UTqeXYb1DHenMRzHmPt-vXFY/s320/SdC_stalls.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Two of many, many booths touting chocolate</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
On our last full day in Paris, it being a weekend day, I had hoped that the workers would not show up next door, but they did. We were driven out of the apartment fairly early, and set out for the Metro, since the trip to the Porte de Versailles (where the event was taking place) was fairly direct, with only one change of trains.<br />
<br />
When we arrived at the convention center where le Salon du Chocolat was being held, we encountered another monster line. And, again, standing about, my back started twingeing. The muscle is just at the pelvis and rather deep in the flesh.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg06rARQ687NAQm7Um1L7ddF522Sl-JsjGL5Vxz78NO4vpjY87Rnm7YEBjgn8m3fi398_zNU6zJrj_TlP_RRVD_0RIDutcEVwywM_yPpnjdWhIcl1psXsFut7_5ZPLq6lGmJ9STx7Ijdj0/s1600/SdC_Dress4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="283" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg06rARQ687NAQm7Um1L7ddF522Sl-JsjGL5Vxz78NO4vpjY87Rnm7YEBjgn8m3fi398_zNU6zJrj_TlP_RRVD_0RIDutcEVwywM_yPpnjdWhIcl1psXsFut7_5ZPLq6lGmJ9STx7Ijdj0/s320/SdC_Dress4.jpg" width="126" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chocolate gown</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The effect of the malady is like a low-level Charlie horse that knots up when standing up straight. So ambulation is possible, but it has to be hunched over, the epitome of old-person existence.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijwz-tyyHPu8W8joSimbpBpM4se3lNVNCvZz0xl_C-4WZ_7xHraclc63TsR_R0PW2skhcoOPHTZwjb1-oxRBMvfrYeCWilAdO4nSHvnWKGQozEj_YrppeZ5Lq6hscMK2K0s-7qjgIJg9I/s1600/SdC_Dress5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="254" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijwz-tyyHPu8W8joSimbpBpM4se3lNVNCvZz0xl_C-4WZ_7xHraclc63TsR_R0PW2skhcoOPHTZwjb1-oxRBMvfrYeCWilAdO4nSHvnWKGQozEj_YrppeZ5Lq6hscMK2K0s-7qjgIJg9I/s320/SdC_Dress5.jpg" width="113" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Edible clothing</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I think that half of my irritation came from hobbling around like an old man and how people could care less. Couldn’t they see the look of discomfort on my face?<br />
<br />
It’s another example of what my dad used to tell me about worrying what other people think: “You’re worried about how you look or act? Nobody pays that much attention to someone they don’t know. It doesn’t matter what they think because they probably don’t think anything at all.” Or something like that.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE7PumPBvYoeaLyLvZ1o5LPncCcTqwsSRjuF6Y2O8q74t_oBIKlbfFskwoiHk1KrW0QDIOQdNCxx9RdLA_mVHTImLvgKjvgk9EgpA2_YHMJ-gAYbImUICHe6e1D8umPmhubIUxyX0_RH8/s1600/SdC_Dress3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="477" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE7PumPBvYoeaLyLvZ1o5LPncCcTqwsSRjuF6Y2O8q74t_oBIKlbfFskwoiHk1KrW0QDIOQdNCxx9RdLA_mVHTImLvgKjvgk9EgpA2_YHMJ-gAYbImUICHe6e1D8umPmhubIUxyX0_RH8/s320/SdC_Dress3.jpg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">White chocolate orchids as garb</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The convention hall was huge, and the salon spread over two floors, with hundreds of booths. There were two presentation stages upstairs (one for demonstrations and another for musicians and performers) and one downstairs (for lectures on chocolate).<br />
<br />
I was a little disappointed that there weren’t more samples being given out, and the booths that did have samples had tiny, pea-sized chunks of chocolate to taste. Obviously, everyone wanted you to purchase their wares.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuU4fr9N30ZSW-KqE6W7wRTic-ZNANCNja87K6sKOLHmlg4L5bYqyEbIywB_PJMMnVMvFklYMaDOzP9mAvzgN75-iRCjJ1MiNAS56kHycGfDt2cWlRMQLpEQYDvRhZHiYGbx2jpz5OaXE/s1600/SdC_Dress1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="370" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuU4fr9N30ZSW-KqE6W7wRTic-ZNANCNja87K6sKOLHmlg4L5bYqyEbIywB_PJMMnVMvFklYMaDOzP9mAvzgN75-iRCjJ1MiNAS56kHycGfDt2cWlRMQLpEQYDvRhZHiYGbx2jpz5OaXE/s320/SdC_Dress1.jpg" width="164" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A dress that melts</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
One thing there wasn’t was a plethora of places to sit. Large platforms around the entertainment stage help perhaps 40 people. A few of the wiser participating booths had worked in chairs in their booth area, which always attracted attendees but rarely resulted in any sales.<br />
<br />
We started out on the second floor of the event. Two of the things I wanted to check out were the chocolate sculptures and the fashion show, which touted dresses made with elements of chocolate.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyvLeVKty7WQd_Ejka-ZD83tt5IHHKYjtu8pTCqdRSOGndcM32bJo-O4or_0u8lLQ6MIr_BZ7-A_Y-lF5boxdCaWlMTP-3AB_QR5pN5lmh57yyKzlcVS5AdbYjYedemVbPFVexnOJIP2g/s1600/SdC_Dress2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="411" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyvLeVKty7WQd_Ejka-ZD83tt5IHHKYjtu8pTCqdRSOGndcM32bJo-O4or_0u8lLQ6MIr_BZ7-A_Y-lF5boxdCaWlMTP-3AB_QR5pN5lmh57yyKzlcVS5AdbYjYedemVbPFVexnOJIP2g/s320/SdC_Dress2.jpg" width="182" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Is that a chocolate bodice?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
They had had a live fashion show the night before on opening night (the BBC even carried news of it), so the garments were now on mannequins. The news had said that there were problems with the stage lights melting the chocolate during the show, but whatever damage had been done was not evident.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP7vBWCYRmuHfC4kwsxj9RTBMaqK3jxDeKLoFjfIWHlqiR6TPWaPZHtHaPbuemCIEk6HSnnxxS5oFcosHpGKCBtygvUW8eZpkhz_wHw3PSXI6RVEn6RchemgEVJFOp0M63mMHK0EgBwO0/s1600/SdC_WolfSculpture.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="365" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP7vBWCYRmuHfC4kwsxj9RTBMaqK3jxDeKLoFjfIWHlqiR6TPWaPZHtHaPbuemCIEk6HSnnxxS5oFcosHpGKCBtygvUW8eZpkhz_wHw3PSXI6RVEn6RchemgEVJFOp0M63mMHK0EgBwO0/s320/SdC_WolfSculpture.jpg" width="162" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Very big chocolate fox</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I didn’t find a collection of chocolate sculptures, but there was one huge fox, perhaps five or six feet tall, that had been executed in chocolate, but if there was a competition on opening night, the competitors’ handiwork was nowhere in sight.<br />
<br />
The other thing I wanted to check out was molded chocolates to buy (you know, little hearts, shoes, cars and every other object imaginable). There were perhaps a dozen or so booths that carried that sort of thing.<br />
<br />
Most of these exhibitors were there to make network connections. At some booths (especially those from foreign countries like Japan and Brazil), it was obvious they were shunning the consumers and looking for that one broker or middle man who could make their chocolates famous.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4TQWIkCMkiAww9U8Gz1K-0Fk-SFAdami7m4Y2y-l8XliFq3qtwuTyXn23afTvPngy8FtxCBHET5stwfdT8jfPzFU3fs9DillUIvFz39j3Dmw15Y5eOWb9r4xqMAT3NQ8HhuoH-yhlNgE/s1600/SdC_Lecture.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="662" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4TQWIkCMkiAww9U8Gz1K-0Fk-SFAdami7m4Y2y-l8XliFq3qtwuTyXn23afTvPngy8FtxCBHET5stwfdT8jfPzFU3fs9DillUIvFz39j3Dmw15Y5eOWb9r4xqMAT3NQ8HhuoH-yhlNgE/s320/SdC_Lecture.jpg" width="256" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The lecture room had places to sit! Cacao genetics.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
After standing for so long, I simply had to find a place to sit. I took the escalator downstairs, where most of the foreign booths and raw-materials providers were situated. Then I found the lecture stage. Even though there was a lecture currently being presented, half of the chairs were empty.<br />
<br />
I slipped into an available chair in the front row and proceeded to listen to a very interesting talk about the genetics of cacao, the biology of the bacteria naturally occurring on the cocoa bean and how this all affects the roasting process and the consistent taste of any given brand of chocolate.<br />
<br />
About that time, Kittie showed up. While she missed most of the lecture, she did take advantage of the seating. It was early afternoon and she suggested we find food. This was not going to be easy within the confines of the salon.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_PyR85oRBIN_2LoIM1OYrg4z3wnFYuRp-v-adQwOhug4Sh71EbRaX-XnC_jQiipzzC9t_xlk6N9J0b243PknZjROYfKH3q-rMRixGWUtt5lSN-MscKbxGlwkGBFQmwquUtspl9ie8uNs/s1600/SdC-CeilingPotsClement.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="576" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_PyR85oRBIN_2LoIM1OYrg4z3wnFYuRp-v-adQwOhug4Sh71EbRaX-XnC_jQiipzzC9t_xlk6N9J0b243PknZjROYfKH3q-rMRixGWUtt5lSN-MscKbxGlwkGBFQmwquUtspl9ie8uNs/s320/SdC-CeilingPotsClement.jpg" width="192" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Copper pots pepper the ceiling<br />
of the delightful Chez Clément</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
There were two places selling <i>prêt-á-manger</i> foods (sandwiches and such) but, again, no place to sit down. The few seats that were available at one spot were constantly full, with folks waiting to take them over the moment someone abandoned their table.<br />
<br />
So, after some consideration, we decided that we should leave the exhibition (there was no re-entry) and look for real food somewhere nearby. And we found it. In spades. A bistro across from the convention center called Chez Clément.<br />
<br />
The place was a delight to the eye. The general motif was copper pots, coursing across the ceiling, fashioned into the front door handles, augmented by cutlery fashioned into shelves and lighting fixtures. The look was definitely playfully French provincial, and the menu reflected that.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJRyvyR5Z-ZODaeZYbMuEw-wG45GEWfrFzXWPoHb9mTSNbW0VZb2AWAAbKlYwKPTSQtSHpURWkEHtOkpA82suaZArjOLk_EAKe_xsVYmeor4wjGoA8FPSi2Gz3jfGB7__t7Bb_6hnSjp4/s1600/SdC_MarkClement.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="576" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJRyvyR5Z-ZODaeZYbMuEw-wG45GEWfrFzXWPoHb9mTSNbW0VZb2AWAAbKlYwKPTSQtSHpURWkEHtOkpA82suaZArjOLk_EAKe_xsVYmeor4wjGoA8FPSi2Gz3jfGB7__t7Bb_6hnSjp4/s320/SdC_MarkClement.jpg" width="192" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Checking out the menu</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Our waiter seemed a graduate of a mime school; he said almost nothing while serving us, but was funny as hell, picking on Kittie the entire time. Of course, she loved the attention.<br />
<br />
I’m unclear as to what I ate there, but I do remember that Kittie finally finished her gastronomic bucket list by having French onion soup. (You may recall, from earlier entries, that she had her foie gras and escargot earlier in the week).<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgInUrlcws-saT8TFrDWOyvcIkb80Sq9Am3XCmf6VAba1ptYM_b7GrRDQccntrS6lkf_Mogxn6fFdddsbvqnrwMWNxYklzwTmzTrv7ZNflRFo__4j89A3Xrl_19Uar0lk-Lplny4fJJGJI/s1600/SdC-KitSoupClement.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="576" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgInUrlcws-saT8TFrDWOyvcIkb80Sq9Am3XCmf6VAba1ptYM_b7GrRDQccntrS6lkf_Mogxn6fFdddsbvqnrwMWNxYklzwTmzTrv7ZNflRFo__4j89A3Xrl_19Uar0lk-Lplny4fJJGJI/s320/SdC-KitSoupClement.jpg" width="192" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kittie got her onion soup.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
After we ate, we headed back across the street to snag a taxi. The woman driving it knew a little English, and she was very nice. I had noticed her standing outside her taxi, vaping, when we came up. This seems to be the alternative for many previous smokers in Paris.<br />
<br />
She got us to the apartment, right to the front door, and I didn’t have anything with which to tip her. Kittie was digging around for cash, but the taxi was blocking the street, so the driver acquiesed to the cars piling up behind her and left.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKJmJBLgzi5btg7dD1L5hxR2aJ7mqTKfsKouN0fuLW3HlueXy76cnuNr58llKKhx5IcK64XojcSdwFBLmV_6EHI4aYEK2paFOWNX5adhrPlSAEqMd-f7XZKj4oln4RZ5Lo2ivXTcUwmkI/s1600/SdC-Pots2Clement.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="426" data-original-width="576" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKJmJBLgzi5btg7dD1L5hxR2aJ7mqTKfsKouN0fuLW3HlueXy76cnuNr58llKKhx5IcK64XojcSdwFBLmV_6EHI4aYEK2paFOWNX5adhrPlSAEqMd-f7XZKj4oln4RZ5Lo2ivXTcUwmkI/s320/SdC-Pots2Clement.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">More copper pots continue the motif in the prep area</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Once in the apartment, Kittie and David set back out to find a small carry-on that they could purchase, as they had packed in two tiny carry-on cases and had no place to stow their Parisian purchases on our return flight. They were back in a flash: David had found just what he was looking for in a shop next door. It was a nice, hard-shelled roll-around with a handle.<br />
<br />
Also while packing, Kittie realized none of their luggage would accommodate the chocolate advent calendar that she had purchased that day. I offered to put it in my checked bag, then mail it to her when we got back.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnF-znJpQkmlAVWAogcxNyAYPYjGMcZdZXDtb4ocYezwOU7awFJlabnP3ZZk39mtNcDmyRKyLYoAWUYX3UXXta59fUa0zD04QRSy9zNcSYhbBxdIVemCsjZFQmvSi4C92H5ZFb2_HqdBo/s1600/SdC-ChezClementSpoons.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="576" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnF-znJpQkmlAVWAogcxNyAYPYjGMcZdZXDtb4ocYezwOU7awFJlabnP3ZZk39mtNcDmyRKyLYoAWUYX3UXXta59fUa0zD04QRSy9zNcSYhbBxdIVemCsjZFQmvSi4C92H5ZFb2_HqdBo/s320/SdC-ChezClementSpoons.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spoons as decor</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Not long after, David held up a huge icing spatula he had purchased at the exhibition. It was about 18 inches long with handle.<br />
<br />
“This kind of looks like a machete,” he said, holding it up. It really did. “I don’t think I should put this in my carry-on.” I heartily agreed, and it was added to my bag, along with Kittie’s calendar.<br />
<br />
That final evening in Paris, we had one duty: to eat all the food that had accumulated in the refrigerator over the past week. And we did. The only item that was thrown out was the sautéed marigold greens.<br />
<br />
We got everything packed and ready to go. The car to the airport was supposed to arrive at 6:20 the next morning, and it being a Sunday, we could not rely on the workers to wake us. With all the bags ready to go, David set his alarm for 6 a.m. All we would have to do is throw on our close, drop the keys on the counter and pull the door to as we left (it was self-locking).<br />
<br />
That final night I slept relatively well, until something happened at 3 a.m. that no one was expecting. At least not us.Mark McDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16469802659915856938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3085444013412702960.post-14086526250528226802017-11-22T22:18:00.000-08:002017-11-22T22:18:45.765-08:00There and Back Again, Part 5<h2>
Friday, October 27</h2>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwgo1mz8GdrjxLHaKp3dBJTUQN3GKnBpQJFgWYaGiOzNcsm3p-QKVPRRcMw4D7ZvfhJihRgYs2uj-izvIiqfsiwgf3m1z3fJHCiUYVCaDcuCpXzysMjgI1ZnffYlD2gaj52efEzCqEMjU/s1600/LGBTCenter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="447" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwgo1mz8GdrjxLHaKp3dBJTUQN3GKnBpQJFgWYaGiOzNcsm3p-QKVPRRcMw4D7ZvfhJihRgYs2uj-izvIiqfsiwgf3m1z3fJHCiUYVCaDcuCpXzysMjgI1ZnffYlD2gaj52efEzCqEMjU/s320/LGBTCenter.jpg" width="198" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Seemed only to open at night</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Friday morning, we got up with the construction and headed out to find a place that was serving breakfast. I really wanted to sit in a cafe, drink coffee and not worry about dishes. We walked down rue Beaubourg and found a corner bistro serving omelets and similar breakfast fare and we ordered ham and cheese omelets all around.<br />
<br />
After eating and another cup of coffee, we headed out to find a taxi and headed to the Louvre. Things were really hopping there. We had our museum passes, so I expected to get in fairly quickly. But there was a security line, and the things they were checking were purses, backpacks and the like.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTP-EH9H2CPiFh5hCzZ3PHArOTs5T-11VYd2n0NvHLQyay4D6srDiQ4y9sNiACPpz8jD5LOJ-kL3FPY_mHnZnlemAqLkdnolIRmo9s8pf1jQROwEz5AknEHJRJ8Hy8CMP4jiT7PJ08_HQ/s1600/Lv_DavidKit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="391" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTP-EH9H2CPiFh5hCzZ3PHArOTs5T-11VYd2n0NvHLQyay4D6srDiQ4y9sNiACPpz8jD5LOJ-kL3FPY_mHnZnlemAqLkdnolIRmo9s8pf1jQROwEz5AknEHJRJ8Hy8CMP4jiT7PJ08_HQ/s320/Lv_DavidKit.jpg" width="217" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kittie and David at the Louvre</td></tr>
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Now, I knew that they would be stopping people carrying stuff, so I advised Kittie and David, and took my own advice, and we didn’t carry anything. But this did not matter, as those of us without any packages or parcels were required to stand in line with those folks who feel it necessary to carry their worldly possessions in a ruck sack when they travel.<br />
<br />
I think they would do well to create two lines, one for those with bags and one for those without. The French, though, don’t seem really good at streamlining that kind of procedure, though they excel Americans in setting up and installing (instilling?) bureaucratic structure.<br />
<br />
I had started out the day feeling good, but by the time I had stood in line, my hip was aching once more, but a good stride and the reasonably wide open spaces of the Louvre would work that off.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKEr5AMDEXhX2EPfPBAlle_X8m6XO6zsKv4NzTrPGUxVLFW7i-sM88Hpf_1uGHFZqLqiorJH-Fv2Q1K8CmwK9DJTPqzNBCu9qHd31eygG_MFJd703MS5SMoUXrdVB1-UbffHogY5Bohg4/s1600/Lv_Graces.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="457" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKEr5AMDEXhX2EPfPBAlle_X8m6XO6zsKv4NzTrPGUxVLFW7i-sM88Hpf_1uGHFZqLqiorJH-Fv2Q1K8CmwK9DJTPqzNBCu9qHd31eygG_MFJd703MS5SMoUXrdVB1-UbffHogY5Bohg4/s320/Lv_Graces.jpg" width="202" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The graces or muses or something</td></tr>
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This museum, too, had changed over the decade I had been absent. On top of that, they had several exhibits closed down, the most notable one being the Egyptian antiquities. I tried to get my bearings in the place, but it, too, was a labyrinth, and things didn’t flow from one to the next as I thought they would. I guess this is what happens when you adapt older buildings as museums rather than building them from the ground up, like Americans do.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguu62mKSKqWOMaHzzEWa0RGoHJLO6eARA6mdGk0qmcW5z3eXPXDTMQmtq7nHt09TZysLoavhTSOpcs0AysiBTNJxS8ytn7rHN1qYtcN-lIZL5M45eBy5cMH3-2XLfXjq43EDSMXB2rLbo/s1600/Lv_Venus-Cupid.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="295" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguu62mKSKqWOMaHzzEWa0RGoHJLO6eARA6mdGk0qmcW5z3eXPXDTMQmtq7nHt09TZysLoavhTSOpcs0AysiBTNJxS8ytn7rHN1qYtcN-lIZL5M45eBy5cMH3-2XLfXjq43EDSMXB2rLbo/s320/Lv_Venus-Cupid.jpg" width="130" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Venus and Cupid</td></tr>
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Today, we decided to kind of hang together but not expect everyone to stick together all the time. We had a general plan of attack, starting at the Roman antiquities and concentrating on sculpture.<br />
<br />
The things we did not get to see that I would have liked: the Asian-Oceanic exhibit and the collection of Arab art and artifacts. Another closed-off area was the medieval art wing. All three of these are exceptional collections.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUJQv2FtRMDaNbqTmX3uf_KiY-UDPuc0pXdOKd0XNiEBDSjgedqsp0Jt4zZTJOd6CeyqWU3OOMZmoL40CRHh0-kGu3wWZgmycuDEByNGULvV_aPLveOdQIugZn0V98B3PUj-S6msy7cik/s1600/Lv_Puck.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="512" data-original-width="576" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUJQv2FtRMDaNbqTmX3uf_KiY-UDPuc0pXdOKd0XNiEBDSjgedqsp0Jt4zZTJOd6CeyqWU3OOMZmoL40CRHh0-kGu3wWZgmycuDEByNGULvV_aPLveOdQIugZn0V98B3PUj-S6msy7cik/s320/Lv_Puck.jpg" width="256" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's that satyr guy I can't remember</td></tr>
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In fact, walk into any room or hall in the Louvre and you’ll see enough to fill an entire regular museum. And to think that a good portion of the Louvre’s collection is in storage.<br />
<br />
After we cleared the Roman sculpture and finished the smaller Roman artifacts rooms, we headed over to see the most famous painting in the world: her; the L de V bee-atch, the MoLi, dog.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVCQpwOpqQJq2ULGumng5uFACSzsGshDIOr0AFvKJWn2QDyaOD7HVTHdFuwq49RsMi3oHCcv9nY6GNiXyu10vO6FaOtEZHrJI0QTRaJhuaqvFVVJ1kEemutPutWbqBTzvwAwwmfRB_pxo/s1600/Lv_ClaudiusBust.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="376" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVCQpwOpqQJq2ULGumng5uFACSzsGshDIOr0AFvKJWn2QDyaOD7HVTHdFuwq49RsMi3oHCcv9nY6GNiXyu10vO6FaOtEZHrJI0QTRaJhuaqvFVVJ1kEemutPutWbqBTzvwAwwmfRB_pxo/s320/Lv_ClaudiusBust.jpg" width="166" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Emperor Claudius, my favorite</td></tr>
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She is situated on her own wall in the center of a large hall. There are ropes blocking off access at about six feet from her, and she’s in a bulletproof glass case. There she sits, grinning smugly at all these idiots in front of her, pushing, jostling, craning their phones into the air to get a picture of this trollop. And she just smiles back, like she’s the only one who gets the joke.<br />
<br />
Now my back was bothering me. I hobbled and bitched. Kittie and David tolerated it as gracefully as possible, but I could tell it was getting as tiresome for them as it was for me. So we wandered around and got lost once or twice, but we finally found the main area below the pyramid and headed to the eatery (a cafeteria/restaurant affair with a food court atmosphere).<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhySKc8Wc6UkWM-QxR4N3TXw1Jo78YVHqfTpFprd3om5_5FOHup7x1nvEKoOnGX4hWbb0SEkGtYRGpderpQCj0k7J8gOoOkECrSKhHd5gXX1rSlPog3nMr8r2fkeUwRIoiLZdHU5_rTnmo/s1600/Lv_MonaLisaSelfie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="500" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhySKc8Wc6UkWM-QxR4N3TXw1Jo78YVHqfTpFprd3om5_5FOHup7x1nvEKoOnGX4hWbb0SEkGtYRGpderpQCj0k7J8gOoOkECrSKhHd5gXX1rSlPog3nMr8r2fkeUwRIoiLZdHU5_rTnmo/s200/Lv_MonaLisaSelfie.jpg" width="173" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There she is back there!</td></tr>
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I remember ordering a hamburger (I stayed at our table to save our seats while Kittie and David stood in line; of course there was a line). What I got was a kind of bland pulled-beef sandwich in the most mediocre tradition of <i>prêt-á-manger.</i> I can’t recall what Kittie and David had, since all of it was just okay.<br />
<br />
After lunch we were all refueled, slightly rested, and I suggested that we walk over to Notre Dame. My back was feeling much better, and it couldn’t be more than half a mile. That way, we could see the Seine. Of course, as usual, it was rush hour and the Quai du Louvre, which we walked down, was crowded with pedestrians.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghtuyxD1LUhs6E2uxs-PwB3wPRRkSdSoMvZgnYqVWkyn1baWwEkOGr6Up7h8P-vDhxz4zRulNaE987LJv6cZnGh-vB2hqcYcWiTo3_9-Go9kyFUKW-4JsVNQpYpoq8be2P4hCtCD0tRv8/s1600/Lv_MonaLisa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="379" data-original-width="576" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghtuyxD1LUhs6E2uxs-PwB3wPRRkSdSoMvZgnYqVWkyn1baWwEkOGr6Up7h8P-vDhxz4zRulNaE987LJv6cZnGh-vB2hqcYcWiTo3_9-Go9kyFUKW-4JsVNQpYpoq8be2P4hCtCD0tRv8/s320/Lv_MonaLisa.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Look at them look at her looking at them.</td></tr>
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This trek was a good thing and a bad thing: a good thing because I found some refrigerator magnets that I had seen when we were driving past the day before in the taxi. The stall that was selling them was right on our route.<br />
<br />
The woman from whom I purchased the magnets (two of them; one of Monet's Irises and one of Lautrec’s Chat Noir) didn’t say a word to me, but earnestly wrapped the magnets each in a little bubble-wrap bag inside a tiny white paper bag. She then handed me the items and a lovely smile broke across her face as our eyes finally met.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3dW34Lk-6ITL5ZhnZxaCQQk-S9X6FzKEkZnDQRA1N8Y8HAWKmuDDtUU1iLfocCRzT0_zhJSxs-iT0Cdp2V1aHeAxu136yAd-3Hvn1dtCAsaT5-Ubq0n2SVnQ9N9ub0m8cjleCv9JADqw/s1600/Lv_CesaerBox.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="381" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3dW34Lk-6ITL5ZhnZxaCQQk-S9X6FzKEkZnDQRA1N8Y8HAWKmuDDtUU1iLfocCRzT0_zhJSxs-iT0Cdp2V1aHeAxu136yAd-3Hvn1dtCAsaT5-Ubq0n2SVnQ9N9ub0m8cjleCv9JADqw/s320/Lv_CesaerBox.jpg" width="211" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What would you keep in this box?</td></tr>
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Taking the walk was a bad idea because it was not a half-mile, but a mile between these places of interest. Also, waiting for traffic lights is not unlike waiting in security lines, and my back was knotting up and I needed to relax. And I find just the potential of discomfort, the anticipation of it, is almost as debilitating as the actual condition.<br />
<br />
It was around 4 p.m. when we got to Notre Dame. It was as crowded as any other popular landmark, and there was a long, long line to get in. Since the cathedral closes at 5 p.m., there was little point in standing on line. And even if we did get inside before closing, the sun would have gone down by that time, and the whole point of Notre Dame is the stunning stained-glass windows. Kittie and David saw the wisdom in this, and spent some time wandering around the exterior as I sat on a stanchion and stretched.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfMBRCF0oL_qzrwH24OB4jNf2NzpJRs9CiK6c24J9Pl39-Dt8e11FVt_sOE-_5tj6lPgfjCtXU2cCHNkUEe5QM1DYEfJkzchipFjaFjVLY-wPNfoyAiLDWX0d_NScug5cHyVBQD7D4U1I/s1600/ND_Front.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="386" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfMBRCF0oL_qzrwH24OB4jNf2NzpJRs9CiK6c24J9Pl39-Dt8e11FVt_sOE-_5tj6lPgfjCtXU2cCHNkUEe5QM1DYEfJkzchipFjaFjVLY-wPNfoyAiLDWX0d_NScug5cHyVBQD7D4U1I/s320/ND_Front.jpg" width="214" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Notre Dame Cathedral.<br />
The long lines are behind the doors.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
After Kittie and David had seen what they wanted to see, we headed to the taxi stand, getting a most unpleasant driver. It was obvious he did not want the fare (he was playing solitaire on his iPad), and took us begrudgingly because it’s the law. Once we got to the Marais (our neighborhood), he took several wrong turns and ended up dropping us off like three blocks from the apartment.<br />
<br />
So we walked up the street to our place, climbed the four flights of stairs to the apartment and I, at least, collapsed. But only for a time.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9rYaVC30F3DdEzDmHbLgdrXg9NLZWVNKgKoW-w5c3kWcuXoM2dve3ZNLm3gd9GqON1q-QHq4t3DgeS9Omusad_KVFZ-NuWz-zn7yBu415cmYDgMjCr6QwbMaHapPjOC7u6R4IWPiHNNA/s1600/ND_Selfie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="433" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9rYaVC30F3DdEzDmHbLgdrXg9NLZWVNKgKoW-w5c3kWcuXoM2dve3ZNLm3gd9GqON1q-QHq4t3DgeS9Omusad_KVFZ-NuWz-zn7yBu415cmYDgMjCr6QwbMaHapPjOC7u6R4IWPiHNNA/s200/ND_Selfie.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Selfies prove you were there.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I am finding that, in writing these missives, my memory dulls once we have returned to the apartment and trudged up the four flights. Then the shoes get kicked off and my thoughts turn to relaxation.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuBNLQ75Dv23PKamCiAEZ7PgpXDa5eTlMsDVrMUFyIoRvDa5T8qWRQw0bq3kMs6grzoGEicBPfYhY-BObjRMMTN9KjhklF5_lnnEiYCc5tsltuan7eUc4syunP02qcf37OEloTeGZvxkA/s1600/CanCalOutside.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="393" data-original-width="576" height="174" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuBNLQ75Dv23PKamCiAEZ7PgpXDa5eTlMsDVrMUFyIoRvDa5T8qWRQw0bq3kMs6grzoGEicBPfYhY-BObjRMMTN9KjhklF5_lnnEiYCc5tsltuan7eUc4syunP02qcf37OEloTeGZvxkA/s320/CanCalOutside.jpg" width="256" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cantina California was open</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Such is the travesty of old age and infirmity. Where evenings were <br />
once a time for partying and celebration, as I’ve aged, evenings have become the time when I unwind, relax, withdraw from the crazy and find my center. Perhaps this is why I can’t clearly remember what thing happened on which evening.<br />
<br />
In any case, we headed out to dinner and ate at a place called Cantine California. David had poo-pooed it once earlier in the week when we walked past. In Paris, he thought, we should be eating French food. He would derisively point out every Starbucks and McDonald’s that we drove past in taxis.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8xcqN-BBAqf4QB8qjZioCTKxvnCdhptwYKJBqIQ6FGkR5YJWpW5u6mjEbX5DKmIiRf3rzuPRAYzkffAl8H4oyD7uWiQFCTOMbuIqXiH0MQhB4P_NxTh243uut_ht5YNcBGn2YATEK6Aw/s1600/CanCalInside.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="507" data-original-width="757" height="171" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8xcqN-BBAqf4QB8qjZioCTKxvnCdhptwYKJBqIQ6FGkR5YJWpW5u6mjEbX5DKmIiRf3rzuPRAYzkffAl8H4oyD7uWiQFCTOMbuIqXiH0MQhB4P_NxTh243uut_ht5YNcBGn2YATEK6Aw/s320/CanCalInside.jpg" width="256" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The bar inside Cantina California</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
When we went out, I was looking for a certain restaurant, only to find out it was really more of a bar and smoking spot. This was true with the Royal Beaubourg and the Maryland (the name of the restaurant Kittie had spotted the previous day). I soon realized that a “tabac” sign on an establishment meant it was a bar that served food, and not a bistro, cafe or brasserie.<br />
<br />
After once or twice around the block looking for something new, we stumbled upon Cantine California. I was just wanting to sit down and have a drink. I don’t know whether it was my whining or his spirit of adventure, but David decided to give it a try. I’m glad he did, because it actually became one of my favorite meals of the entire vacation.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj24jLtXPJel6Kyol60baPeXjUjYkY6ruyc-e4UCgBGfZlsTEpNsHfdGm9UZ7_JpUmXloWJQql7B1MfdaGZVn77bqglW85-hBKmP2KidPR74RwJfliWG719XvZqaS2Plz5FQjXO8TWFiaI/s1600/CanCalGuacBurger.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="455" data-original-width="576" height="252" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj24jLtXPJel6Kyol60baPeXjUjYkY6ruyc-e4UCgBGfZlsTEpNsHfdGm9UZ7_JpUmXloWJQql7B1MfdaGZVn77bqglW85-hBKmP2KidPR74RwJfliWG719XvZqaS2Plz5FQjXO8TWFiaI/s320/CanCalGuacBurger.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My bacon-guacamole burger with fries. I'm sorry, but<br />
the French do better American food than we do.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I ordered a bacon-guacamole burger. It was a gem of ground beef, like a juicy, tasty cabochon, on a brioche bun with lots of lettuce, tomato and sautéed onions. It was so juicy, and with the guacamole there was no need for condiments although, being an “American” restaurant, they did have ketchup on the tables.<br />
<br />
Our server was new to the job, and she spoke a fair amount of English. She was kind of amused that people from California were coming to eat there. Her service was wonderful and attentive, and David flirted like hell with her, which she loved. I left her a €10 tip, even though the tip was included in the price.<br />
<br />
After dinner and a drink, I was feeling much better. We got back to the apartment at a reasonable time, though, because the next morning was the <i>raison d’être </i>for the trip: <i>le Salon du Chocolat.</i> It would be our last day in Paris.<br />
<br />
<br />Mark McDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16469802659915856938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3085444013412702960.post-38558588484072363372017-11-20T01:11:00.000-08:002017-11-29T20:07:47.572-08:00There and Back Again, Part 4<h2>
Thursday, October 26</h2>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH07O1gQ9NUq08KZUacwRRhEQZmkGTQL5ODIn9E7YirYdbPD7C2-8_SbwG_An8JpDatjHRE9iSpfajYy6NDPN0BCec3KmgFvCh8aZMCsAdQqsbL-_b3BcPJsVFDTblJlvIxZgAjAHOguE/s1600/dO_Ceiling.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="562" data-original-width="576" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH07O1gQ9NUq08KZUacwRRhEQZmkGTQL5ODIn9E7YirYdbPD7C2-8_SbwG_An8JpDatjHRE9iSpfajYy6NDPN0BCec3KmgFvCh8aZMCsAdQqsbL-_b3BcPJsVFDTblJlvIxZgAjAHOguE/s320/dO_Ceiling.jpg" width="256" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Interior of the d'Orsay Museum</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We got up at a reasonable time on Thursday. With everyone's phones on different time zones, the clock didn't seem to have the importance it does in everyday life.<br />
<br />
Now, there are a couple of downsides that I haven't mentioned yet: one, Kittie and I were catching a low-grade cold which reared its head around this time and, two, the apartment next door was being remodeled with a plethora of power tools, most of them being applied to the adjoining walls. This being so, we needed no alarms, as they started up at 9 a.m. sharp.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKjzvnDzYyVYV6JXVZEjX4_w6us6mTzCEWTYmTDsWTJ7F95X7l8Y13ZwwScsC1zwNIfkSXaDIoWFagOM3NM0iiXtcFPSoxsEYjTdd7btxzVSPBqBpUPNFlQYpeTyG8PZV9PM4W-HqAMPk/s1600/dO_Clock.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="368" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKjzvnDzYyVYV6JXVZEjX4_w6us6mTzCEWTYmTDsWTJ7F95X7l8Y13ZwwScsC1zwNIfkSXaDIoWFagOM3NM0iiXtcFPSoxsEYjTdd7btxzVSPBqBpUPNFlQYpeTyG8PZV9PM4W-HqAMPk/s320/dO_Clock.jpg" width="163" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The station clock</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The construction work next door went on all day, stopping around 5:30 each evening. Each of us was driven mad by the noise at least once during our stay.<br />
<br />
So Kittie put together breakfast from the food they had brought back the night before. Afterwards, with the workers busy making noise next door, we headed off to find a taxi. We walked down rue Beaubourg toward the Pompidou and ran into "those women."<br />
<br />
I had warned Kittie and David about them. They hang out in groups of three to six women. When Steve and I visited, they were handing out handwritten notes about being destitute and asking for money for their children, etc., etc.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid8ncZt9ha4Pc9Ld_j0GhFCk7P0AMDblKUvql14AWYDEdJfI1lEGlqqWyoniArqzv9Fx7MUTJJHLmjS0z1mzp1QMT8paCAOiMgEyQSsScEy-8NSBHH7RkQ4fNwa6gzPMo1JbhREat_Khs/s1600/dO_Zeus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="415" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid8ncZt9ha4Pc9Ld_j0GhFCk7P0AMDblKUvql14AWYDEdJfI1lEGlqqWyoniArqzv9Fx7MUTJJHLmjS0z1mzp1QMT8paCAOiMgEyQSsScEy-8NSBHH7RkQ4fNwa6gzPMo1JbhREat_Khs/s320/dO_Zeus.jpg" width="184" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Statue of Zeus</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
This time around, they had clipboards with a petition on it about blind and deaf people. They were merely asking for signatures. Knowing their scam, I was firm about not getting involved, but while I was fending off one, the others were cornering Kittie and David.<br />
<br />
David, good soul that he is, had signed the petition before he realized what was happening, and when they asked for a donation, he asked if they could change €20. The woman simply took the bill and walked off. He did have the presence of mind to sign a phony name and e-mail address.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPJATseDJLjqyrIsNMr8HxMD0A0bv3rIbGNlqnBx6RFr7N85w4lqmvX9DC4WIF3yCAUUSVEkx_0wZ-ZPM9VbyMdrEOebRPMQNW0PlGVWActsmgYDhk8kMr-iGNVWBCRoBhdAoNBVwZQ-4/s1600/dO_Pan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="511" data-original-width="576" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPJATseDJLjqyrIsNMr8HxMD0A0bv3rIbGNlqnBx6RFr7N85w4lqmvX9DC4WIF3yCAUUSVEkx_0wZ-ZPM9VbyMdrEOebRPMQNW0PlGVWActsmgYDhk8kMr-iGNVWBCRoBhdAoNBVwZQ-4/s320/dO_Pan.jpg" width="256" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pan pan pan</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We caught a taxi nearby and headed to the d'Orsay. When we arrived there, another group of women with the same petitions were there. We were waiting to cross the street and they came up, starting to hassle us to sign the petitions. We were all firmly saying no, then one woman pushed Kittie just a bit too much. Kittie turned and barked, "NO!" at the woman, who got terribly offended by that. They did leave us alone, though.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5FkuRxyKyGiNpi39AoNDU_BqnQVXH-tOTJdvxqT5Vrnnj8Re9lQnJjaNyAcsfwCZypM8rNrT8R03A7eignn7n_nHDXc8PRnT47bKdirwrXAhJIZoIQHmQdyfNzpgmjipom4IMQqRD25A/s1600/dO_NouveauBed2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="343" data-original-width="576" height="190" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5FkuRxyKyGiNpi39AoNDU_BqnQVXH-tOTJdvxqT5Vrnnj8Re9lQnJjaNyAcsfwCZypM8rNrT8R03A7eignn7n_nHDXc8PRnT47bKdirwrXAhJIZoIQHmQdyfNzpgmjipom4IMQqRD25A/s320/dO_NouveauBed2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Art Nouveau bedroom set.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
This museum was originally a train station, one right in the heart of Paris. When new stations were built, the d'Orsay was eventually converted to a museum to house impressionist paintings. The overall form of the station has been preserved while providing large and compelling display spaces<br />
in the building.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV5pYyYnpD-a41abNYX13CHxKgoMKbK0NeSY4zzbvx0vMwXa_ey6MUcQNWFdxNxcjol5QEB6o3Ehfka1rKlFKHh1D_Vioci3tLFD1Tr4DJReBkh1AS7OUutXVC3lKitYTjl42uy-JBUyM/s1600/dO_Lunch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="465" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV5pYyYnpD-a41abNYX13CHxKgoMKbK0NeSY4zzbvx0vMwXa_ey6MUcQNWFdxNxcjol5QEB6o3Ehfka1rKlFKHh1D_Vioci3tLFD1Tr4DJReBkh1AS7OUutXVC3lKitYTjl42uy-JBUyM/s320/dO_Lunch.jpg" width="206" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lunch at the d'Orsay</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Again, we decided to split up and meet later for lunch. My back was in pretty good shape, as there were no long lines for security and we had our museum passes, so I decided to walk to the top of the station and work my way down. I probably got through about half of the museum before lunch.<br />
<br />
I got to see quite a bit, and there was a fair amount that I just passed by, having seen it before or being distracted by expanded exhibits and whole new collections since I had last been there. I did come away with the knowledge that I'm just not as in love with impressionism as I used to be. But the other 20th century forms on display were very intriguing.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiAqLJ4zLkJVwjksWALW9KOj6j2HN22myVdnqWXhq7wA5YpIZ1ULRUugX2yHtgqJz4jSJEt9iZ3Kq4wtZDpJXFsv1P0Q4I_F041OT5JlaJ5HbPlpXK71_KNWfj0tzjbO7Bqo63qNA9MW8/s1600/dO_LunchRoom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="454" data-original-width="576" height="201" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiAqLJ4zLkJVwjksWALW9KOj6j2HN22myVdnqWXhq7wA5YpIZ1ULRUugX2yHtgqJz4jSJEt9iZ3Kq4wtZDpJXFsv1P0Q4I_F041OT5JlaJ5HbPlpXK71_KNWfj0tzjbO7Bqo63qNA9MW8/s320/dO_LunchRoom.jpg" width="256" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The lunch room at the d'Orsay</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The two areas of the museum that I found the most interesting were the Art Nouveau exhibits (with furniture, glass and ceramic creations), and an impressive collection of early 20th century sculpture. on the main level of the museum.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju0xDgf8oyTRuW9hXzXKvgPUAduB_hXlzstk9RSqofHvkfxpeZvVxwTgnJbHs6dr8RABVbEanEnD86S9RMohyphenhyphenMyxqQUq1TRCzzYMJjt1y5Ng4aZBv2k59O1C8DiXQo_p423ylfS1P87Vs/s1600/dO_WomanAtTable.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="380" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju0xDgf8oyTRuW9hXzXKvgPUAduB_hXlzstk9RSqofHvkfxpeZvVxwTgnJbHs6dr8RABVbEanEnD86S9RMohyphenhyphenMyxqQUq1TRCzzYMJjt1y5Ng4aZBv2k59O1C8DiXQo_p423ylfS1P87Vs/s200/dO_WomanAtTable.jpg" width="131" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A painting</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
When lunchtime rolled around it was now Kittie who we couldn't find. After some confusion (because the museum really is a labyrinth), we all met up and had lunch in the museum restaurant.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBgITgKb3V2eB-ETUZSuyTl52e1MiFRTUA_2eREsbEXw2dqOnLgFUB_Byru2OtmTgL-gu3EAgVBDvnHQKQfCWw4TGAyR4Ud35HSQxTPAgJEaDFyt2g_BCALmLOucRa157rYMC5honKJFk/s1600/dO_PewterBas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="550" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBgITgKb3V2eB-ETUZSuyTl52e1MiFRTUA_2eREsbEXw2dqOnLgFUB_Byru2OtmTgL-gu3EAgVBDvnHQKQfCWw4TGAyR4Ud35HSQxTPAgJEaDFyt2g_BCALmLOucRa157rYMC5honKJFk/s200/dO_PewterBas.jpg" width="190" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pewter bas relief</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I had a French version of chicken pot pie, with puff pastry and a wonderful light sauce. Kittie had salmon, I believe. David, as is his habit, pointed to something on the menu and had that. I was glad that we didn't take a break and go out to find a café for lunch. It was pricey, yes, but a very nice experience and the perfect punctuation for the day.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW4_U0CN8MDivL3ZnoOdeJWu_8FtN7z_E5Uch2_5LGAz9iVTDAJb3BqZNjEnphYQOysjOv3rJtxn4Au0I9fYqHkHT4od0dl_1ybZnxpKzU_-W1EFrCRa_viPXJ7cHpQCjaAiZSt6D-EPw/s1600/dO_Vuillard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="376" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW4_U0CN8MDivL3ZnoOdeJWu_8FtN7z_E5Uch2_5LGAz9iVTDAJb3BqZNjEnphYQOysjOv3rJtxn4Au0I9fYqHkHT4od0dl_1ybZnxpKzU_-W1EFrCRa_viPXJ7cHpQCjaAiZSt6D-EPw/s320/dO_Vuillard.jpg" width="166" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another painting</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
After our lovely lunch, I checked out the impressionist paintings, all of which have been moved to interior rooms to preserve them from the sunlight that streams into the station.<br />
<br />
It was the shank of the afternoon, and my back was wearing out, so I went out to the courtyard to stretch and have a cigarette. After, I went back into the gift store and bought what I thought would be my refrigerator magnet for this trip (this is how I memorialize my vacations; the next day would prove me wrong and create another gift to bring home with me).<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSUPkqAjOyUvclsTi_aMaH38M03UWwICo2YVllcS_L86NpEOxXyupSIdWgcm37Akk_L__aJm14y7ORPNMNys7Kceftcpzkt5IQOe1nj-SVjDwaPtd7ue1UDXxDyTypailtXP3qFE-0LZU/s1600/dO_Grotesques.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="267" data-original-width="576" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSUPkqAjOyUvclsTi_aMaH38M03UWwICo2YVllcS_L86NpEOxXyupSIdWgcm37Akk_L__aJm14y7ORPNMNys7Kceftcpzkt5IQOe1nj-SVjDwaPtd7ue1UDXxDyTypailtXP3qFE-0LZU/s320/dO_Grotesques.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Small grotesque statues</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We all met outside and got a taxi back home. In the rush hour, of course. Later that evening, Kittie and David went down to check out the Pompidou Center, which was open late on Thursday evenings. What they didn't explain was that the building was open until 11, but the museum closed at 9.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, I decided to get out and stretch the legs. I went up to the grocery store and picked up some snacks. The woman was very nice, even giving me a canvas tote bag free instead of charging me for a paper one (another souvenir).<br />
<br />
We all collapsed around 11 o'clock. No need to set the alarm, as the workers would be back next door first thing in the morning.<br />
<br />
<h2>David's Slideshow</h2>
<br />
<ul class="bxslider">
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbphyphenhyphen_aCxPw6-xF3nExEnf4Jq8wgpsbvbYpJin4FJojw21Er8D2t7d8ztdkOTqvs5pis_Mjz1onoKHxxcMPP_fKBlFMRHSIScVEaarvWDTvV9yupUfiCA-18gZWX5oNr1FjMqWSk62SRA/s1600/01_dO-MainHall.jpg" title="The main hall of the d'Orsay Museum" width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4_nHVCOVBQ6u-YvXSy75GTismj-HjZWjFTj38JqGT73ds5718_uoIr2aZJopicoV0IY8N0C0lFWjRxauRMW8gWrGsCZ6EGE0yaOxdF2MZi2kWlFw8eqHU3O78UbtcKiB5DW2ylFW1rj0/s1600/02_dO-MoorBust.jpg" title="Magnificent, so Regal" width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9EBBdUjHLLXJO0COhav6sSIxOOfKE1ft0OdKY-_cCSSSrlSPl4GTOtL2EYhWMil7_UMrBeXd5jT9dt2srKaAZ9ili35sX1fUKOIgE3JtGTH1QSg8wcabhaSlt74Fyyg9spxYxGtNpG-0/s1600/03_dO-MoorDetail.jpg" title="His head peace looks soft and fits so well there is no room for even a small bit of paper between." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSnIy9h4RCoXE4QaJgZbDk8DH0oslq13Su0fFtJLjiBpveeppeOtlY23OcQjItNbL6kGokYvs-YGOAS54D52qIDA4BeYm_1torMIkJmN3iHEliIY6OMrCEvMhhoIX-0LZ4Y6oJZV654wA/s1600/04_dO-MoorDetail2.jpg" title="The details of the clothing and the fit around the neck, amazing." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzXD4xOMq82Ac-ikTpH8mBzw1ya07er9QlSLHNkmdxCVBPNiHNJL6T1Z9H-CVnC3wX-Vk4HR5sahipMhKTrE8tfKJUuS7j1_gvcRBBt85G_Z7QDi8pBqaeYpz7HJ2FXFw_rgdlIUCAmIc/s1600/05_dO-MoorBust2.jpg" title="Stone and bronze. Three different kinds of stone, (base, clothes, head wrap) and the bronze bust." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDJNE1FgQY_xoogvjL_uDIr7aSmeSnI21HmXRMLpeSmoI5IQOBGMJO-aGLkMI0zn73NqCqHiMiBZVDVL5McWn9knY70Vquf98QL2Dbm6nw5kBC2tx1jj9kiMAqmWpbCdy5U7AkrK-AP4Q/s1600/06_dO-MoorDetail3.jpg" title="Detail of how well they fit together. The wrap is so thin it's translucent." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI72y6sDUxQlFSYJdByYS85KJSQfMFM3gfcSQgK_HtFg5fgWpnwHjbMfUFHI2gyV4HN3TA-vQcysODNfabsTjtyizobB1M872TJoEi4NWIVQSClAhFLG5wNkRHHWxOerrJSZE_i4s6M-g/s1600/07_dO-GirderGallery.jpg" title="All of these beams are made by hand riveting layers of plate steel together." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb_cigjuElygQNRwfoMV1pqg_8aaeQzpxH5GTfsMuoo3-6O_d4Q35UMB2xD6d9SMalxhdnj5xMTYQdAtpBmX4RcKyaE0qV6OXvpCaRC2ys-A8jxkxJpXTIWrnGoJDhzJqeK_3y8y53u68/s1600/08_dO-GirderGallery2.jpg" title="The horizontal supports are just as intricate as the vertical supports." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6jnuKVA9YQvZu1kJ8-bT7E4ET-8W7-4WWFRLQnffdF62sZtSN9yhHke_jQozamOn0qhsqsdi4TEKrBVe97pmGzJBBzyD7z-3QniiDGIYkWxLUybDBYAIDy0WBYff8qzBuo4xdEIDD_W8/s1600/09_dO-GirderGallery3.jpg" title="The hours of work it must have taken to stack each plate, drill, heat and install every one of the rivets is a testament to real lasting workmanship." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTYHPrK2BVORm6WDng8Yj88yJeXJBhDBmdRsxGTo320kWK4f3BnW8e0p1U2O8eWn9hITRcbkEQQIKB-T2oNn-Ua4ycSHHW6BJRYOs18fTjmU9r1Q79ioOmNBAJlor86xdYkRicMtvDlbs/s1600/10_dO-GirderDetail2.jpg" title="These rivets are almost 120 years old." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicSO3DeCvsgUTFdhGm9Ct3qorBO5chkDvTMkypQsHhsV0Lcf8aDr7aGWc7vOZ0BjNcbRf7qV5rG4F0ijA5J8uUAWdnHfhfCXn5QNOuYazWAuA_LwuU2kD5lgEA0XWNVdhOGva8kc2OqdM/s1600/11_dO-GirderDetail3.jpg" title="The d'Orsay station was built a year after the Eiffel Tower." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0wah_9ewXnk4m-q1ZKcY5Sr0SejijCPF4EfWD6zWIoG7ESQ3hY7by-OF__WrxdKoOYV54RfQ-1obfrQCTRr6TxCXCbemuqsS_Usx-YnKvhCUg909Z_o2a53vv3FVAq0cvjw1jvFi7Pvs/s1600/12_dO-GirderDetail.jpg" title="The succession of rivets joining the structural elements is amazing." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUZZpOq_KG5kmvd4fZu_SJOVl2Be_N64A5DTwPbXR5SMEVVJIn0bFwuxZ-NrW2IOm6TRrMJJd7LvwBKpJ8kY5EDs2CdUN9xPzQCwHSxB8dSDPA2BSdfzs75E_xrqLhHZ1pQyGqPlezjPc/s1600/13_dO-GirderGallery4.jpg" title="A detail of the laminating of steel plates." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1KlOm_JmaCzHJ__ZbFLreZw_0Fm7_h5LQ7NiWjQxzvsApSFFjh74InIv3RIuIGJL3TFuBkUiZmn3lvcfIxe7Rv8yVDxGHvABChyphenhyphenUEyQNBE5zE_Ah83ryd21x7THSYbDftueZpiJAmFkQ/s1600/14_dO-GirderDetail4.jpg" title="A fine example of a dead art." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ3yMMjjT9Vzx-z6oGtyEXw_uPwAQayL6uBIdPfKi5cC0WxqO4va92u1ISo1995dgCXTqwAHbH2qF3gQckZchPxmYUtrBVSZyAGzrJG9CLvuxPZzYoeJjhvqHXjHTHNgH7rz809KuwZuI/s1600/15_dO-LunchTable.jpg" title="Our table in the d'Orsay lunchroom." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhyphenhyphentXHBja0w0eB-0TFcWvDv5ag1wM9Fb-2nhYDkuJ02oRvbzZyW7zVdz45D7vZNiNNd5ROUgBdgCcCcSmv-9YiFK7k-SIorh5xQKUQwJVvip4LVwXzE_4C5TOW2sgkwssO96FFB8V_3qM/s1600/16_dO-DavidMeal.jpg" title="David is having the vegetarian dish." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEOoplGW1hUXIKfQPVB5StwGIHJGs-cKBjdeGhUTh7nfOS9LV_eeaPV0G_uPWJkQt8eSxzTHWjQ3ghxEmRYZfhNc37RK8IDodRpZUGSFGyD_lyepYr_J7LMoVZ8THz7Urys0HrlAAlt3Y/s1600/17_dO-LunchCeiling.jpg" title="Take a look at the ceiling in this eatery!" width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmsdXZY_YZbXYFkY_1mrGnBkgBNQLKpSFz2EH8jk-hRARbSvyTinNzI5OsduI9sjtnth4uDabAYwhwu1fl_WEoasBallPN99Ey8UW8t4VEitisCyC4JujGyDDhCswAzChRUc3eMIZuojQ/s1600/18_dO-LunchSelfie.jpg" title="David takes a selfie as Kittie chows down." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="758" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbdfRjFYjwmXi7FDdUxm1WQSqrLgTFC1JMj_DrLTaP5aFrh6QwB7VxheB5juPymdPe3xYGRG2t3hv7kSkFeKo9WHoLZnY-qZg3gaG68f6ldNxpUGWSE_agmQxISq3QPOJWolfx0Dq9Zn4/s1600/19_dO-KitMarkLunch.jpg" title="Mark has the chicken and Kittie has the salmon." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4bb4fbniiIPdGkw6PM3t_VOpIfkVq6VvDURpxvXbjbHM32dv79Qt3tebseWqYHf92PMmWn6igWlqlsC_O0FT-3YKJhXJq27oDDDxGcMo45nlKPVzEKPtgq1S_LLS_6r6BE_GlN3rUr0I/s1600/20_dO-ManArmsFolded.jpg" title="It's amazing that this statue has real clothing." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUuPv2LV3u-0nhdHlp-zSAvdu5djY34qXoHwIx0zC5I6_iOrSygBKvYR5yZ6v25MHMQsYy6FBLQwUn3N253xwWXV4rARJUmvU1zk0c44HcCc5krgKiooPYXveBhyphenhyphenaIYG1CiiqGb_M8u-4/s1600/21_dO-TopHatMan.jpg" title="This is a group of Belle Epoque diminutive statues." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ3lneGPeqp3eZdg_fdxtu0_sTTaioDA8Vv-uDEPqtCIRKdvEd5TN9PhDiGYZe22PkMC-Az92OD1-XL7ne1YsWiqMI74R06hn8NOXZdYGozIqsp4cSBkTbhgib6R0cyF4PwBFpjC3O82U/s1600/22_dO-TopHatMan2.jpg"
title="This three-foot-tall statue has real clothing, as well." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDuO64ydJgMsNYMRpri5Q4hfGxkuvRHNpaE1Rl20R49RhhyphenhyphenvRWo0dfMdkka6f7s1Nnfp-sM5nwgwaGCq-SuXtdqrhWJdkacOM5ea5fKf32tL05_O-kI6SGfAJH3psiSzZ5guGAZuvuGf8/s1600/23_dO-TopHatManDetail.jpg" title="Details of the coat and hat" width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0N0hWl6NlxsR7XnIyjS0P-0_H5dgPByuHC4KO0a6j7XLE8zUY1s6QQNqo8sp7uST4k8kY1PZwF-W_OcyuPK91RC0_dhyRrog6Zdn9hzZ1ktp9nrnNJ-X0705c8dGb8vnNAEmhGmXzC44/s1600/24_dO-CityModel.jpg" title="The model city under the glass floor" width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="413" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCXjCgSpWblDjFGiYCfsS0DxEOMWidXf-7af2F05VvB_cUv6XYuBeYCr86zHAprJ_HKGpehec17pENk0MSpgxklZYmlbZsqGub10UoM5WD8Hu9mJGn_hCNMrlq_KpMb8ePuyS8207IjZU/s1600/25_dO-TheaterModel.jpg" title="A scale model of the Opera House. David asked the man stand in the picture for scale." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="413" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkvEh09-HjxtbnKdgYtYe7yMxGcG8pG5_MUBeWiqanCLtJfaWC3O73sTeqe8iw-ZSdJX3fR952JMLOgkHkLM3XK0JyImxMk9ce-z-iisApzleVbnWiTIbgoFu8wl0ZyhX_stg5HlRmHzk/s1600/26_dO-WindowsSculpture.jpg" title="A view out the window" width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPyL7KJmQPbqrMy6cAEbk_VPFUXUoXIpRDtAfBqX3biTChoOG-qjrgmS-FcloySom6Jrd2xbQVbOOhlWiOeFkx843Oz9mmYbAjynW7wdsEKfeqDZGw6JoMcWsLlZ9N-ZEAO3LBQWK6NXs/s1600/27_dO-Windows.jpg" title="Another view of the outside"width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyWXi34UTNKFzQP6QZ7C3PCrovvKQfETOoEuAzKGurIlCuMS6Ac53y_vjV30i52p0teohBlOhYfHjUSYvSvr5Dors2XR75yXG9zsOJmPR1dUdtzuwXUHcErbBh5gPraB3b7N1iYui38K8/s1600/28_dO-Girders.jpg" title="This structure supports the massive skylight overhead." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="413" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG6Vl9U-06itPJbFHImcZoHdGtqfPqixu06FcUm3rAF4E86r3jGitMUdB0EGGgWfi8Lelzg_JUXGNpGSio2d573_XTL6FVj92BzRH9eXMMX_UCPZFcmbxOCPhs4IWy0Dhyphenhyphenz6mfERmkOV0/s1600/29_dO-HeatPipe.jpg" title="Hot water pipes provide heating for the building."width="550" /></li>
</ul><br />Mark McDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16469802659915856938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3085444013412702960.post-89636351078189456472017-11-13T17:08:00.001-08:002017-11-29T18:25:03.717-08:00There and Back Again, Part 3<h2>
Wednesday, October 25</h2>
As I recall, no morning alarms were set Tuesday evening, and we got up had some coffee and got ourselves together for a visit to the Picasso museum, which was just a couple blocks east of the apartment.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8vTed9utFHGtc3gLS507fbTq3hoyO7hF0KP2rkouYwjQhLGfx01RkwRr3mtzx5qWTUS2bWkmkuk0ltbY3nVoYTaOgfuH9h6CzBWG5teVZ26LkYhjmsSmZpn_glnzN2EmA4GHXFcEfhgQ/s1600/Le-Saint-Gervais.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="313" data-original-width="576" height="173" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8vTed9utFHGtc3gLS507fbTq3hoyO7hF0KP2rkouYwjQhLGfx01RkwRr3mtzx5qWTUS2bWkmkuk0ltbY3nVoYTaOgfuH9h6CzBWG5teVZ26LkYhjmsSmZpn_glnzN2EmA4GHXFcEfhgQ/s320/Le-Saint-Gervais.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We ate just inside the corner window, across from the park</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
There was a little bistro (Le Saint-Gervais) on a corner near the museum, so we stopped in there and had lunch before doing any touring. I recall fettuccine in a lovely mushroom sauce on my plate.<br />
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We lost David for a time (this was to become normal), and after an initial panic, I realized that he's a mature adult fully capable of getting around on his own and he has a mobile phone if he needs to text for help. This time, he had found a restaurant just across the street from Le Saint-Gervais. It's California surfer motif had caught David's eye. It was called the Pink Flamingo (are we in the gay section of Paris or what?)<br />
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After we ate, and while we were waiting for David to return, we stopped in a pocket park behind and museum and I had a cigarette.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_vFDBeu2cRsLyuem0PGziWd8Ablpfu9nyXCDl3W0_j6HkTFeSqokw1UeecYg3Hz0CfgAu9PPrCENBpfpbRb_mEAnTfspTwpcPbyy30eUo_ohMPUQIUxIYnIenh4KfD-I0ZLL76zt8rCk/s1600/CerealShop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="479" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_vFDBeu2cRsLyuem0PGziWd8Ablpfu9nyXCDl3W0_j6HkTFeSqokw1UeecYg3Hz0CfgAu9PPrCENBpfpbRb_mEAnTfspTwpcPbyy30eUo_ohMPUQIUxIYnIenh4KfD-I0ZLL76zt8rCk/s320/CerealShop.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Midget star trooper for a cereal restaurant.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Now, originally, I had planned to quit smoking during the trip. I had brought nicotine gum and a week's worth of patches. But with my back screwing up and the other stressors of travel, it was decided between David, Kittie and myself that perhaps purchasing a pack of cigarettes for the duration was not a bad idea. It did allow me daily time to sit and rest, stretch and continue on.<br />
<br />
So after the pause in the park, we went to the museum. On the way, we passed this brilliant idea of a restaurant called Cerealiste. The sign in the photo says, "Choose your size! Choose your cereal! Choose your milk! Choose your accompaniments/(sides)! Choose your topping. In our bowls!"<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEfp1buS9pEKIsThGXDRFwCpNRz-Vo7QifbraL8SW4ooHFyvDEwEPODyEIm9mSaNmNhkXhBQxZgVU_fKe8-vgDsM9oNIhD6JSZtKEAe2PQ9JkRL20PtoJz0EEIup5YVg86x4RBn2df7Vw/s1600/Pic_Grays.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="424" data-original-width="576" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEfp1buS9pEKIsThGXDRFwCpNRz-Vo7QifbraL8SW4ooHFyvDEwEPODyEIm9mSaNmNhkXhBQxZgVU_fKe8-vgDsM9oNIhD6JSZtKEAe2PQ9JkRL20PtoJz0EEIup5YVg86x4RBn2df7Vw/s320/Pic_Grays.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I didn't write down the names of the paintings.<br />
It's usually nude lady reclining or nude lady sitting.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The museum was just around the corner from the cereal restaurant. We bought tickets for the Picasso for that day, and bought two-day museum passes to use Thursday and Friday at the d'Orsay and the Louvre (where crowds would be much bigger).<br />
<br />
Once again, we started out in the wrong place, hitting the featured exhibit, Picasso '32, Année Érotique, which had a fairly substantial grouping of his more important pieces from that period. It also leant some insight into how he was developing his visual techniques and choices.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0-7MwcgfpkmVVg0OZQLzXpcKhoWl4VUBosaj_2mgmufxq5g39M-9P17D56yvJddtGpeLRWpOL7UPq84wPZi0mWQnnFvbPkMlgronk-McS9nGBYHFPKNOkz13jvqihh5HhKdKFjZ_h5fM/s1600/Pic_Group.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="560" data-original-width="576" height="311" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0-7MwcgfpkmVVg0OZQLzXpcKhoWl4VUBosaj_2mgmufxq5g39M-9P17D56yvJddtGpeLRWpOL7UPq84wPZi0mWQnnFvbPkMlgronk-McS9nGBYHFPKNOkz13jvqihh5HhKdKFjZ_h5fM/s320/Pic_Group.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Study of a grouping</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Kittie kept promoting the idea that we all just kind of split up and go our separate ways and meet back at a certain time. The only problem with that is one almost always bumps into the other folks while you're looking around, and there's a nascent urge to start hanging out with them.<br />
<br />
One of the sections I enjoyed the most was Picasso's private collection, where he purchased or swapped or was gifted artwork by his contemporaries: pieces by the masters whose works sit in the d'Orsay, here on display because they hung in Picasso's home.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwr-5yIz69mXwKJQRkod3ijzUNVja8wjMqtjfowMsrdE016vU9fW5x1dRb8aiydFhrdzzYTDe65c3Hke2XoufUyEaf6yqmGtESpX3nRTYgixsAdlQUz0ynU1R9q9fST3N3FfbqRVrqbPc/s1600/Pic_WomanAtMirror.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="489" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwr-5yIz69mXwKJQRkod3ijzUNVja8wjMqtjfowMsrdE016vU9fW5x1dRb8aiydFhrdzzYTDe65c3Hke2XoufUyEaf6yqmGtESpX3nRTYgixsAdlQUz0ynU1R9q9fST3N3FfbqRVrqbPc/s320/Pic_WomanAtMirror.jpg" width="271" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nude woman at a mirror</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We did fairly well at the Picasso with this task of independence. One of the upsides for me was being able to sit down and stretch the leg whenever I wanted without feeling like I was dragging down Kittie and David's time. That never really became a problem. Whenever I had to retreat back to the apartment (and a hot bath), Kittie and David were now comfortable enough to have their own adventures. And to be honest, time without me was probably their best times in Paris.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWB501yFsW_85PslCE6bDH2xT42GuLYDJ7FLgY4qc3dpkZfs3WpNzm-D3HOSyxJHL206eAKA_PFDDleIWTk2ov9VxdKrNQ8h1HQc_fieqwm23Zbp8gpib3672mOvYU1mjaQuFJW8BcwsA/s1600/Pic_PlantWoman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="477" data-original-width="576" height="264" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWB501yFsW_85PslCE6bDH2xT42GuLYDJ7FLgY4qc3dpkZfs3WpNzm-D3HOSyxJHL206eAKA_PFDDleIWTk2ov9VxdKrNQ8h1HQc_fieqwm23Zbp8gpib3672mOvYU1mjaQuFJW8BcwsA/s320/Pic_PlantWoman.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Still life</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
My memories of Wednesday evening are of sitting back and watching BBC World News. It was a different feed than we get in the U.S.A., and it was interesting to see what the rest of the world thought was important. I noticed there was a lot of coverage of Africa and the political problems there. Trump was covered as a sort of crazy American footnote to what had happened in the world that day.<br />
<br />
When David and Kittie returned to the apartment, they brought back some food, which I was more than thankful for. It was from a ready-to-eat place, all microwavable and fairly palatable for what it was.<br />
<br />
Another evening was upon us. My back had eased up quite a bit with prolonged rest, and we went to bed with the d'Orsay museum as the focus of tomorrow's adventure.<br />
<br />
<h2>David's Slideshow</h2>
<ul class="bxslider">
<li><img height="754" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6NTlOn_32hXowk8ZTChgsw59DPElF4fZyUOYzqeWxu3LZnNT4bYzoelijOHjOtWCoiM9z31K44tk-zD_1NAecNcUxIZrRsSLE5DVwyQN9bRTvIygQMXYy3qAUD6zA3f33qx5C8hFCcNY/s1600/01_CafeStGervais.jpg" title="The view from our lunch spot, Café Saint Gervais" width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCuh-yz8zB1IMquJObAeuPcvIPDOCppdqRG0Jm-Fq1sPBO4ebaQDmbUMgULUm5-W6RpTZibKXPNslgbvGXTdDRZNhAU5PMnOx-fnKHmpng_9mn4lyLcIpxjduSE05Xl9Uv2VWEWdkQQyI/s1600/02_CerealCafe.jpg" title="Another shot of the cereal café. It was called 'Cerealiste.'" width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin2ixRvachqY-cRQ9L86Njk6SqVMn8eLx9vKarz0SyXCzl2-jejS0S7T0x4TPlxbnZ9VLkz_vrkYPvpdfy1JwbN95zKe4-O8PO0IGVGJZu8XOzxi35p-3-0kZGH8nefn4AOwYLqEY4LVI/s1600/03_Pic-SeatedWoman.jpg" title="Seated Woman, part of the exhibition '1932: année erotique'" width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="561" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6UHwKIE8nSyBNHT6F_hZqIQEfh2EPH8GxhcDOF7VrJos98aSs7DMOuhv6OOoI7SNRJ4V_mR-M88akqoajwDN6-1IaqBNpCk17wF8mB2kadvlaalG-_CZ6iHDj75RayxQ_CJDMs753nVA/s1600/06_Pic-Sculpture.jpg" title="An assemblage of found items, one of several in the exhibit." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="732" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEV1nVBJBG8OPkVCrb1RMYPq2qIjMDz2Bry3NY-yN66_mjLxCyWrI0R5LAClb3g2jAwU2J8h4x7NGPcwQ3S0bqqf1zXZWFv4zEX9jdC-MrjjkwVSV8NqWhis75o4qH_qE5s9BQ5nzAaP4/s1600/04_Pic-SculpDetail.jpg" title="My guess is that it's a bird." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvOHDMto46-pzpDQxDb5mPeqnlT3SB4B9YqdiNT1HI0avAuZ8hgBIbGWsXgYQkNOs6NcgBzl-9GkZ1WGIqtRaj0h6HO1lVmedXSOqsrVg6idP0_FddqAxeRBDvUCy0iLPXwsQYEQrCjoo/s1600/05_Pic-SculpDetail2.jpg" title="Is that a colander?" width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXFFvMiZwXo3_ZJCEUE-iTNP5vPvWF1c4JhaNL3KkJwqn94n5INd88BXBvz0T_noT8GIH2W24GnxtPAmTTOf-7fdYfV4ZRXmlPn5ZHvYp-jNj3T5XRo_67eE_nb2c4-dXOPTgl4Dq3DvM/s1600/07_Pic-Sculpture4.jpg" title="Another bird assemblage, this one quite large." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBuyRyqvaLv_c0XGSBxe7v0F5N-lEOvOfYAt09zF3VNHvb5Ykh5xnBg6BEAQ0Pt27areoFQlIK9D48wEfpRhcVG4JB6zGHR0NwlS3Rw8-jIQJBrc8rahTljm4-itxm0fvRtMmQg1SVexo/s1600/08_Pic-Sculpture3.jpg" title="A side view of the same piece" width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioDTyfjR5rpCyC60ZSgXSWxcIpJz5HMkdUz51kOlc4PYbVfdVxBYwYyZZwdYuFT2p3Wyd0LFaEgOqT2FDbRMMHv5aHUPIGfiwzAW5cMzh107IsZ2k-sM6aEJhDDUSVYhx4Kw8qzmD9Skw/s1600/09_Pic-Sculpture2.jpg" title="And the back view, of course" width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="451" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-qy4JHcf9a34wcyDzN1qwMONC1PNZSTbD87XFTQKSG1beg3MvYtWXbVRsEn4tjjNSgwA2MZOxbT93JoxAC12Lr2Qbq2udJHAHkQgSG9iKwJPOh_w15peB0ysTIj7tWDGwE0bVZ7FHpAA/s1600/10_Pic-BullsStudy.jpg" title="A study of bulls in multiple forms; some turn into eyes and hearts." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="816" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhvhbIMPMfN_WmNFU0Y8AoVq2irPPgkZVajbQVFpXiNBndcasXiLkHqvUqiuaPkKINJ0Sa7OtYVYBgI60NApM_Pp7WFSXvYYgQ96czcDmtl3YoIhNNUAZ9TV2d2RdEAer47wG7piUJeXk/s1600/11_Pic-BullsStudy2.jpg" title="A final block cut of two bulls, along with the studies." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="590" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq2cyIOryQ4xBjQaYCo5weTncPdUikXNMpt0X_ZvOuJ2Oe5glNL2YofBz5X7KcJyqmHD3hwalwDVs4B6Y9vXakG5RmOrebPS-zDo9Svpiwm3c4ZyySqtD83h7khYtTZkbqA_cUSwKb6H0/s1600/12_Pic-CrucifixStudy.jpg" title="A study for a crucifix." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="581" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdz8K76aMfdus7chQPreM_UbnNoS08EbuWOtAK7F9_nDUg_GNeWttRmgi8ZTJ_-jMhBjpRx7TOTevXVKKyIHvcFDgOmxkPtAmpo_-va8UNeykP12-wdJyAqDFzXVeDfuk11KTB-8g3OmA/s1600/13_Pic-CrucifixStudy2.jpg" title="Study of another crucifix form." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="594" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizfCvyqZdpVC-eda9aevb8iaDvHk_q3KrQnynhPLN20FxloU6F89x83NNMwXtYnmCu9hycPi7_LW_FqnboL-Ujys4b_U2_dICiV4sQh5xoV0OPYhQfFGIeZJxZ8R7grKdPsg6WFtk2iw0/s1600/14_Pic-CrucifixStudy3.jpg" title="Details of possible assembly techniques." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="632"
src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidhUsWMXbEUpn8aXmW4FfgvxlijOb_YVMMdKz9z25z4lglvDEMhujj2drT_9ek7TgUFfIOufbhNMOQen4o7DtJgRhZAWJkuMEI6FbRil9BZ-CwOSBYHhPdDaPc8rkIll5ptuDVuZeU8hg/s1600/15_Pic-CrucifixStudy4.jpg" title="A study sketch for a calvary sculpture." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf8shKo3B8jtRuO6_-VKrtKQsW61e2bcn9tS_yNWr2JWAz_BQt4W7_JvG7Knf6IU0VMdeFJ9KtnqbWfXyKG07_W0jAePmuOyLRs5-Ss-YO4Smu79c2AFxeN2xpqgs0yM2hEr5nthoEGR4/s1600/16_Pic-Ceiling.jpg" title="The Picasso Museum is housed in Hôtel Salé, a sprawling 17th century mansion." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE3bnI0l7cLKiBihw571K2T5tSZDHpW_eX3hS6TMQVN7X0eKE9e9IwoYs6l8QuKbZpqCguJvwiavmy77E_3VDCzEuTaksIHlXuF1utLaMO3ETMNqHwvdzpKRos7IBwrtzzqEcv-NhPZVc/s1600/17_Pic-CeilingDetail.jpg" title="A detail of the baroque ornamentation." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7zrXWwHfzC0KGsj_qmetnKc8cppCHxgrUdrpIuSslwBdnFcsuej4JGckam7LMLh1odYWa1JgjMzQxf5E7QZ3A66VHtlZEDzf-tlAGUVwemmJ0900L5JCatyUmx5-fPNCpy7PDV5I92Zo/s1600/18_Pic-CeilingDetail2.jpg" title="Another angle shows the 'fruit salad' continuing down the wall." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUcR3_fNf4CA-bZ-c1anihPlzWmLs64_mjxgoKAQzhZgcbMzgy7ifWHzTSdF7nfoPxCmHckzovlaWasDKDvBa4GF8DI-fhyphenhyphenk7Bb77ysaSLrrq1Uf56tzNQx6onbJOHwBxVmSYv7APLXZw/s1600/19_Pic-Wainscotting.jpg" title="Details from the carved-wood wainscoting" width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV9GukPPXtwPY6LNEaPii15goT-PlhD2aWVcaWXvlJmAwpTuf2giRh-a5nUvRwQnttT1_moqADFzilcQ2RYnIm3zwLHHx4HX4LWo2IdXXLbehwkZZLnX0hoPrvMywo1RcWRcyUPEJLroo/s1600/20_Pic-Wainscotting2.jpg" title="Another angle shows the age of the wood." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="775" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGFweGIQy8v_zlhagUEsmhpeJX4WI0SIg9c3EKHLUcnKhm-BJX-onvEqnVD0WhvYVA1qKKfVATZ3errRQlC0Arf65GWT8fBN0hzMTxpr-BQ0Z6_1EY03zICyWVpbPVP21G8O_llahAbbY/s1600/21_Pic-Sculpture6b.jpg" title="This is one of many sculptures in the permanent collection." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="706" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe4X88Kd9NZxc6EST_RkYK01YP_TBog9uGrn_t-bLGckuzYYawm1_L61hi4ef9FmKlFbpGQOdAME3uDBfkp0Zna30OUbCLT6O5c_LSmAr5m8TrZNwbgzwXlCDUzPeTl10kdA040Zh2uHc/s1600/22_Pic-Sculpture6a.jpg" title="Another angle of the same piece" width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdXDnvw569qWTTOih0VvvEkunFEyw6yDTBmbXwP14f8_q6Z8bgrngv3ttRqZYYHGMtlPlwhlkjcsvCTLNCTDa6UPCfnc6hRu7egxPIw5Bn2LVOWW4ahavm_KxTJbUvU4L1PX2eMqMDD5A/s1600/23_Pic-Sculpture5.jpg" title="From the back this appears to be a maddona and child." width="550" wood="" /></li>
<li><img height="801" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmjjmWfxL-fehbmtu8BGvrmcLL1_5kRSmtgl2y9WmZtNu_swEkDU3RwnsC2Zwtgd7he2tWmwn2ZR-x5Mki2xc-yGecbaWOsqcNWCdVh8bHRwTr3pUzXOiTmDaBpGnez1Gdd15WJfjMIAw/s1600/24_Pic-SculptureGirl.jpg" title="From the front, it's just a statue of a girl. Look at the peace on her face." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="794" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfdYOYWw74aOpjHHZEu5EiZV64vgmMqevoOhFjFgts0hzN3y7FvPFs3gaUOS_63vZvGkxFh6rxpOPvA5v4ijnpFocLeukEnO4ZmBSqu3QfkKLd10CT4i1Z0iPzpbHe7_5CHPrEvUMjLnE/s1600/25_Pic-Mask.jpg" title="Picasso's take on a primitive mask" width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="620" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRRqbl9VQZhJtGB453O5uBroYx6ar4624jx_wTnC2y_dnD0xBorS_R6Yvtpysf35Q7GOSSXqVLyg6eqfqL2Ypynyrf-e7acyrMyZtuGFh3-djRq7uUucsAWhmd_uyqRe-urQ6hkcIxPtA/s1600/26_Pic-RoundCollage2.jpg" title="A small wall assemblage, perhaps 9 inches in diameter." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY6j49RhPYu3Th3hNceFczXA645MjN9vFrmU2PwUWaGHEg333TBTs2OJSzigq2XG_vx3lGOPx-WZj31YLr-8Mm7oBLSrbC1TqotK20M0qZeSkRnSmXcROZTQ4WQ2pogRpseyrGFbuG0Ic/s1600/27_Pic-BeamsKittie.jpg" title="Kittie viewing art on the top floor of the museum." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="703" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj82PnrhWkJiZNlHsTpHJ9rwLdoeBEZ6fKq7tdDtJ-aU6s-uJDJlIiQ8kb7Hevzi38PwtAMG8AAlZ2AEdafKpjgbuSoxNgieg2d01RoH5EdxjRaWIgRnRatWZqQa7UKW5MJ5X1HWO4o884/s1600/29_Pic-Beams3.jpg" title="Among all the modernity, 350-year-old beams still hold up the roof." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXNyF6T3DXSKCTHWUseidNArM-EmfmAfHHCnxGdEwatl-BuL0Cy062ArepOcji50qRUVROG2YKBTuC31iHzPQb1n2-_2LdZvN82KtRYSLg9TwaW5NETGIl7XwhBKtK8A3APF4IBKpzj3U/s1600/30_Pic-Beams5.jpg" title="That's a scary confluence of beams!" width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYXz_cLXNthxDQezT2BX27FrxTDZ9mfinQKLMQbggwdmIAyNq8lAv8x-9f2cYigAmq1ERXPmY49LPqRVzmw-KVKC8SMEskQOZOjS5oz-13z67JCOjjJm9-VDQV2Pm2XwZ8TWxv0nE8KUo/s1600/31_Pic-WallSlit.jpg" title="David has an affinity to viewing things through slits, at least at museums." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2I-bhWYQMdc5_uT2QJdkReDqri1MyArvKOlafktOQY1vqW1n4vdFY5mQ-IRKccrEV48CuG3Dr7wBZeipyLmbjAR3rbhKerrnLETXInUQDrM1RIFALFJ8gDP2yuUyYLhgjGdZrX4t3QRE/s1600/32_Pic-Window1.jpg" title="The old glass in the windows distorts the views outside." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-SpFOY8fMtlbvPhEgpS6QMVLZwtMuxpIV-k1pUYzzBglGoPZ1XE3UGqtiAET2J5j9PeqbXg2rmDls1MqzzQUByoXozYcuquuuU8ofVpI_lNmnp8i3J3gLTN-WKMjqx_DFQb3XTD07QAQ/s1600/33_Pic-Window2.jpg" title="The neighborhood as seen through old windows." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDRN7MTCI4c1oKoxGrY1qivblzGjq9djr4hlRRmvj2kVsxFHnIi4p-6x0e3FRkX50jUPEkqoHCpHHSNq19nhCeaJq2ECyd3bDrQYrxVuo3Tnq6uD42WGgRrBmz8P9oB5sWvotzgocAvLg/s1600/34_Pic-Window3.jpg" title="I used to have to take drugs to see stuff like this!" width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYiJx-vYnULh0LI1CLwglOC5zxfGX6VfJ8WHXNBOFvVKQN6yZIn7O1UKvbpVGcuMb-QQQBYkNF7U5XEc9m0N_il_p_Qc35xaTCIt_rQ9SMRb4EYndH7_vVDsycx5p9SLpYHC-BoEZohHo/s1600/35_Pic-SeatedWoman2.jpg" title="Picasso could paint realistically when he wanted." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="819" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJhjicYkDnGGapvtgokL_2AkQ1eB6UrxMs6R8c_1pn05ed36FmpOigmZoppKe2B5exJGws4qFslV42409C3QLGqCUPT16WWzimk3pWEE7JN3f4Bjf7GLUuFcECush_xN155Yt2XqPZHuQ/s1600/36_Pic-Mark.jpg" title="Marking sitting next to a sign that says: 'A beautiful gesture.' How did they know I was passing gas?" width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKWGyHv-vRAhrwYMRP8kY8DFZbjgwm1ad76pdHIcO66UHrCTLGDg1lz5Y1St3uGvf_eqBkCFvYNQiRk_QKprnVZtN-k8p3mDh-rEEJ73vTIZnQ8fSoTB9E1LpFworZu-J47Vkg2ypWPaE/s1600/37_Pic-Selfie.jpg" title="Picasso selfie. That guy with no socks was following me around the museum all day." width="550" /></li>
</ul>
<br />Mark McDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16469802659915856938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3085444013412702960.post-4435886129185258392017-11-08T17:44:00.002-08:002017-11-29T23:18:37.368-08:00There and Back Again, Part 2<h2>
Tuesday, October 24</h2>
The exhaustion of being up for nearly 24 hours took hold, and Kittie, David and I all agreed to set no alarm for the morning. We were going to sleep for as long as we needed.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5ZFUwrohCfsF-ot9kQY-caeQCDtT9d-3nljObS8HVkqhGBPx-Sk2_iGhTJY4kzKd_lf5Eag8_jDRq2lIUsLXPthhpl6UvLCiiez5tHbVhkFiRwGMud_knGmmnVh2piizNbEPxD92gLug/s1600/Bkfst1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="486" data-original-width="576" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5ZFUwrohCfsF-ot9kQY-caeQCDtT9d-3nljObS8HVkqhGBPx-Sk2_iGhTJY4kzKd_lf5Eag8_jDRq2lIUsLXPthhpl6UvLCiiez5tHbVhkFiRwGMud_knGmmnVh2piizNbEPxD92gLug/s200/Bkfst1.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tuesday breakfast</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I remember waking up at around 3:30 a.m., wandering out to the toilet (which is situated just inside the front door), stumbling back to bed, then waking up about seven hours later.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
Kittie and David were still out cold, so I got dressed, hobbled down all four flights of stairs and took a walk to the corner grocery store to work out the kinks and get coffee. The one thing we hadn't found at the health food store was coffee. I know Kittie and David love their coffee. I got a small bag of it, some lemon tart cookies and went back to the apartment.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ6Hq3yNg8W-T8Pmdk76OEvanlUMXDZTnOz3tZ3Zgt0sQQzTgl80TWu_vmu6RXLKjUSsg2HknvuTQCIrN4Px9F7RYRfyZjMb5LwiyI9XpuwXDUUZlNcgjFFyR0AeoMHnnYjRqgKLI5jzE/s1600/Bkfst2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="387" data-original-width="576" height="172" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ6Hq3yNg8W-T8Pmdk76OEvanlUMXDZTnOz3tZ3Zgt0sQQzTgl80TWu_vmu6RXLKjUSsg2HknvuTQCIrN4Px9F7RYRfyZjMb5LwiyI9XpuwXDUUZlNcgjFFyR0AeoMHnnYjRqgKLI5jzE/s320/Bkfst2.jpg" width="256" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Consciousness and blood sugar levels return.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Kittie got up and, with some invention, made coffee. It seems the bag of coffee I purchased was actually a bag of pre-measured packets, so she had to disassemble them, retrieve the coffee grounds and make the coffee. The coffee maker was horribly slow, taking about 20 minutes to generate a full pot.<br />
<br />
When David awakened (Kittie threatened to Walnetto walk him*, I said let him sleep), Kittie made a lovely meal of free-range eggs, transubstantiated ham and organic bread and butter. It was very good in a bland, healthy kind of way.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6lLZvhsjGVUXbrEmJjDKyu16AshqvuCnA32RjrXxASdBAPKnMwsKNyiglJn8X3uj2W1jzzy6wYQ5VVbAUowVG3lStWH_EqDDsznXEa4f4dlAZnuGm6xZYlYmEqnBs4zVUUbAWtltO4zg/s1600/AnM_Liberty.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="548" data-original-width="576" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6lLZvhsjGVUXbrEmJjDKyu16AshqvuCnA32RjrXxASdBAPKnMwsKNyiglJn8X3uj2W1jzzy6wYQ5VVbAUowVG3lStWH_EqDDsznXEa4f4dlAZnuGm6xZYlYmEqnBs4zVUUbAWtltO4zg/s320/AnM_Liberty.jpg" width="256" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Statue of Liberty model at Arts et Métiers</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Our museum of the day was le Musée Arts et Métiers, which translates as Arts & Crafts, but the museum was more about invention and innovation in France, from the mid-1400s until today. And it was just a couple blocks up the street.<br />
<br />
David, being mechanically inclined, loved this museum. I also found it fascinating, but at a slightly faster pace.<br />
<br />
The museum is broken up into over a half dozen areas like construction & materials, scientific instruments, communications, energy, mechanical energy and transport. As is my typical habit in new museums, we did the whole thing backwards.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwVDaRUUw8_DAGOu2bsCJheZCLpVUb5XXJkJgeCDFjll2HyAjnnjbFGtP3YkfrWMnjnFdzwFgoMU8nl63HJb4yUky0FIsg_20cTMFD-dgRVBlfOdizmNKB_lKnV43uTN5SfRm3cHlFODM/s1600/AnM_KitDave.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="349" data-original-width="576" height="193" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwVDaRUUw8_DAGOu2bsCJheZCLpVUb5XXJkJgeCDFjll2HyAjnnjbFGtP3YkfrWMnjnFdzwFgoMU8nl63HJb4yUky0FIsg_20cTMFD-dgRVBlfOdizmNKB_lKnV43uTN5SfRm3cHlFODM/s320/AnM_KitDave.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A thing with wheels captivates David.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
This meant we started with transportation; a hall with full-sized and models specimen of the earliest of technologies (like the first steam-powered French automobile).<br />
<br />
Most of the signage in this museum was in French only but, thanks to Rosetta Stone, I could make out enough of the text to understand what I was looking at. David did not have this problem. A friend to all machines and things with cogs and wheels, he seemed to be in his element.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLUOVUUep3HqGcn_C5cDddcNFOMF8qco8Fy3oDhTzjEdLf3hnuu9bN42FMJN11kcEdrwok9U85sEadfY83ur_D2KjEHCYZ4jsBHQdy3J9HHmBz9lKDV4sfIRWXBLDn0ucM026YIsaIRKk/s1600/AnM_Diver.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="379" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLUOVUUep3HqGcn_C5cDddcNFOMF8qco8Fy3oDhTzjEdLf3hnuu9bN42FMJN11kcEdrwok9U85sEadfY83ur_D2KjEHCYZ4jsBHQdy3J9HHmBz9lKDV4sfIRWXBLDn0ucM026YIsaIRKk/s320/AnM_Diver.jpg" width="168" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Captain Nemo to the max!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
At the end of the hall are the stairs to the next level. Tucked into a corner near these stairs is a most-astounding item, something that seems like a fever dream of Jules Verne. A fully functional diving suit, one of the first ever manufactured.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0Y0s5hIpnhZTk2yqIzRB4AtpcKj9pur_P5gy6T0dRdHya6sBr88Lv3KL_CTI3YcEfQMGhzmf3TltPYfzkXVwTyw3c6Qcz9PK2HaDfeHSpNug052Mk8c6JxJy9FJdgT4BUovzvAAoJlXQ/s1600/AnM_Flyer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="432" data-original-width="576" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0Y0s5hIpnhZTk2yqIzRB4AtpcKj9pur_P5gy6T0dRdHya6sBr88Lv3KL_CTI3YcEfQMGhzmf3TltPYfzkXVwTyw3c6Qcz9PK2HaDfeHSpNug052Mk8c6JxJy9FJdgT4BUovzvAAoJlXQ/s320/AnM_Flyer.jpg" width="256" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Airplane titled "Air No. 3"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The stairwell sports some stone benches, so I sat back and waited for David and Kittie to catch up. In general, I did need breaks when walking in museums. If allowed to stretch and walk, I felt much better. Standing and waiting drove me nuts and could provoke a twinge of muscle at any time.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEichCQ0iSQR2vkmoTNCzGlhLiaycZOoKMx9xF_74TWekcTye781RSdBUWHFFTgoEFfD1oaZIK2L8inRJ6r7CzE1t8IQZmWO7o2M0_ZkXQ9YrWS_bs1z3Z0862jFu0YebOUn7uMqoYfK3NU/s1600/AnM_WindupToys.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="336" data-original-width="576" height="186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEichCQ0iSQR2vkmoTNCzGlhLiaycZOoKMx9xF_74TWekcTye781RSdBUWHFFTgoEFfD1oaZIK2L8inRJ6r7CzE1t8IQZmWO7o2M0_ZkXQ9YrWS_bs1z3Z0862jFu0YebOUn7uMqoYfK3NU/s320/AnM_WindupToys.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Theatre du automate: antique wind-up toys</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
So I sat and stretched and stared up through the stairwell to another one-of-a-kind object, the third iteration of one of France's first powered airplanes, this one powered by steam. I checked carefully on the placard that went with the airplane, but it didn't specifically say whether the thing ever flew or not.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi556PLGWC0OVVnArNiVrDy2QlVryZ-ve11QfUES0E2824fKdvQEoJpVYPK_xhZidWkvHgJ4Egws34GECLEs6L7YYl5npxy8snctqzjYvnZuUXTwm9PodD52CcvT6w5MJLvVLupfyBlWzg/s1600/AnM_SolarOven.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="488" data-original-width="576" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi556PLGWC0OVVnArNiVrDy2QlVryZ-ve11QfUES0E2824fKdvQEoJpVYPK_xhZidWkvHgJ4Egws34GECLEs6L7YYl5npxy8snctqzjYvnZuUXTwm9PodD52CcvT6w5MJLvVLupfyBlWzg/s320/AnM_SolarOven.jpg" width="256" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No satellite dish; a solar oven from the 1800s</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Kittie and David catch up. I stand up, the back is fine. Stretch and walk. We climb the stairs and are treated by a new extensive hall with vintage and antiquated gears and cams and bearings of every kind, wheels and screws thought out and rethought. Some are so bizarre they don't look like they should mesh, much less turn. Some seem like abstract exercises in topology. Yet all these permutations lead to contraptions and inventions that hail the industrial era as a golden epoch of ingenuity.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQUj9aDpfMbCUL1P5CY7LU0j_KMGhxyQzgKe-iWFzWsxiOJy7t6t4mFK_Szeh_y57u9KcBOBeehEfmli2hOHhbcNQqJ8cE_hkVBjcHqHfmr7XD66RXqg2OHsXdp40d5lYN-24Dpu4Rz_k/s1600/AnM_1600Electricity.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="398" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQUj9aDpfMbCUL1P5CY7LU0j_KMGhxyQzgKe-iWFzWsxiOJy7t6t4mFK_Szeh_y57u9KcBOBeehEfmli2hOHhbcNQqJ8cE_hkVBjcHqHfmr7XD66RXqg2OHsXdp40d5lYN-24Dpu4Rz_k/s200/AnM_1600Electricity.jpg" width="138" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Generator, ca. 1600</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
And directly in the middle of this hall was the Theatre de automate, a collection of mechanical toys and moving machines of amusement. There are a few very large and impressive toys: clowns, a magician, a beautiful lady, but none photograph well.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG7DMVOzHcBgUu43n2PHzYHKaUzyNhuj5bbccnMRIGw-cSUZApba2wEOR54vOb6TAwGL2zFjeGSNNr5J2C2oJSnevLOPXcLH8ENbzyNFaU7iyFFTIfUFJ4MfjySHNbxkdyyMBFuJ2NnV0/s1600/AnM_PhoneExchange.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="293" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG7DMVOzHcBgUu43n2PHzYHKaUzyNhuj5bbccnMRIGw-cSUZApba2wEOR54vOb6TAwGL2zFjeGSNNr5J2C2oJSnevLOPXcLH8ENbzyNFaU7iyFFTIfUFJ4MfjySHNbxkdyyMBFuJ2NnV0/s320/AnM_PhoneExchange.jpg" width="162" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Telephone exchange</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Once again, I am ahead of Kittie and David. I am entering the Energy section. There is a solar oven from the 1800s, and a device for generating electrostatic energy, designed and built in the 1600s. There are quite a few eye-opening things on display. The nuts and bolts of energy generation and distribution laid out in historical fashion.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcIhcy2p7VZ0Fde8ulPfaucCtFvT22B10JkJlymoCfMN_SV2FU6JmAGQLfGfpPXxKPS1GAsvGvZYK01Z5hBk89A8wQLkREKrDWYRbhRX2dBxzoE7p61VQ9_Q3tNmTXlgBVthLWKutxdO4/s1600/AnM_EarlyFAX.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="463" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcIhcy2p7VZ0Fde8ulPfaucCtFvT22B10JkJlymoCfMN_SV2FU6JmAGQLfGfpPXxKPS1GAsvGvZYK01Z5hBk89A8wQLkREKrDWYRbhRX2dBxzoE7p61VQ9_Q3tNmTXlgBVthLWKutxdO4/s320/AnM_EarlyFAX.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Early fax machine</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
From the world of energy, I move into the next hall, which is communications. Here I am at home. The majority of the displays are iterations of the telephone, telegraph, phonograph, photography, cinematography. You get a real sense of how things exploded in the late 19th, early 20th century. Not just new ideas, but new applications that provided economic incentive to continue the inventing and innovating, driving progress just as doggedly as 21st century communications are driving ours at this very moment.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5r2ZyJVbwxEZHOjDMLTYVZakBtiwjaSWTFI40lt4m37wJGmPZDq86ULgjbZe_bHh_TNgVupomJfhv_rVruttu5VVCtw5anNwHzKvJoiKj7vXbs2rO0iRicVqyRpOfOR3p_mcMoffK6GU/s1600/AnM_Phototypesetter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="346" data-original-width="576" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5r2ZyJVbwxEZHOjDMLTYVZakBtiwjaSWTFI40lt4m37wJGmPZDq86ULgjbZe_bHh_TNgVupomJfhv_rVruttu5VVCtw5anNwHzKvJoiKj7vXbs2rO0iRicVqyRpOfOR3p_mcMoffK6GU/s320/AnM_Phototypesetter.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Phototypesetter: the green box on the left processed film;<br />
the one on the right was just for electronic components.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The one last thing that I think is worth mentioning is a version of the first French photoelectronic typesetter. It's sitting across from a model of Telstar, so you can get an idea of how huge this machine is. All that to generate type. And the weirdest thing is: I know how to run that machine!<br />
<br />
Beyond that was a section dealing with construction techniques and architectural models dating back to the 1400s. I was just finishing up with this section and looking toward the final hall with scientific instruments, but I realized the museum was going to be closing soon.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZMm7BlV2FhquI84IsciRyRIpkzdRNfVDX-4pDW-Aad-ESsQF0hsAd7Y2K4DiBt-eYJkEoMY76VCZi7m6xokrQfFZOH5XeyLRqpkvM-WrUgA3haxjq3cdl5DTtcn2W9qlYhYrlaGTFBNc/s1600/AnM_LibertyModel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="474" data-original-width="576" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZMm7BlV2FhquI84IsciRyRIpkzdRNfVDX-4pDW-Aad-ESsQF0hsAd7Y2K4DiBt-eYJkEoMY76VCZi7m6xokrQfFZOH5XeyLRqpkvM-WrUgA3haxjq3cdl5DTtcn2W9qlYhYrlaGTFBNc/s320/AnM_LibertyModel.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Model of construction of Lady Liberty</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Kittie, David and I met back outside the museum. We were looking for a place for dinner. We stopped by the Café Arts et Métier, but it looked like they were only serving drinks outside, so we went around, trying to find a place I had read about online. We never did find it, but ended up back at the Café Arts et Métier, so we headed inside to eat.<br />
<br />
Kittie had a list of French food she wanted to get while in Paris. One was escargot, another was foie gras, and a fourth was French onion soup. Here at the café, we started with a very friendly waiter who handed us off to a very friendly waitress. It was a really great experience.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGM0RPPEe7eml3wFfsVbTWDJQjAVf806KnHtAIpyqbnySFBRUIU_i6paSh47tFZ00L18UMU91L_hHn734xMu8nOlJvE8LcxCbBq4kU00jRdeqme7ZLWUGnlse4AxWaJIDQEl_jXkYcpZQ/s1600/AnM_Dinner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="432" data-original-width="576" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGM0RPPEe7eml3wFfsVbTWDJQjAVf806KnHtAIpyqbnySFBRUIU_i6paSh47tFZ00L18UMU91L_hHn734xMu8nOlJvE8LcxCbBq4kU00jRdeqme7ZLWUGnlse4AxWaJIDQEl_jXkYcpZQ/s320/AnM_Dinner.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our spread at Café Arts et Métier</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Kittie ordered the escargot and foie gras (canard) and a cheese plate. That was her starters. I can't recall what her main dish was, but David had veal Milanese (which looked good) and I had a crocque monsieur.<br />
<br />
One of the things I enjoy most about dining out in Paris is that the people don't lean on you to vacate your table so they can turn it over. If you are ordered or have ordered, you can take as long as you like, linger over drinks, have another coffee, and it's no problem.<br />
<br />
So after a leisurely dinner, we headed back to the apartment. Kittie and David made several excursions in the evenings when I was recuperating on my own. I'm glad that they didn't feel compelled to baby-sit me and my back, but to go out and enjoy their time in Paris. At this point in the vacation, I suspect they're having a really good time.<br />
<br />
<h2>
David's Slideshow</h2>
<h3>
Arts & Metiers Museum</h3>
<ul class="bxslider">
<li><img height="739" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuFA5TukpA_D3Ffjf7dlMT2O2z1bHC-4KmytBlKn5nQSmt0LIYFE3fazhmMZAo1mIMSUxdl-8xDGuSZ5bR6XdSYS-tHfi8n3rxwIhIBCeKxWsk1AIVJKsyTpn2XDA4dWfg3Zw2TnbQnqw/s1600/01_AM-Intersection.jpg" title="They were doing work on the intersection of rues Beaubourg, Réaumur and de Turbigo. Didn't stop the traffic." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="739" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyDsxxvkP_YW0CVeDtObp59bugoqPRkwDxPqF4-rprAnONcytKOipv4u74RSTsFQixeAVqULSBYW8ztQ3wNZ12Ss2GBiidfYbEb_LwZkACTmUSrOFsy-4P854PQ-2J3SNKrSLRv1vvpBI/s1600/02_AM-Intersection2.jpg" width= "550" title="This was the main corner in our neighborhood." /></li>
<li><img height="726" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVhrdncl2ceJQwCseyLBI-7lgEDQm7bPY7cmV3vl-sBBdEqcKqrOW8lm8au8fmJq5brdnKUzI4hFAYuM5B7Kko1Y-7voaVHgPiBGahLoAFPo9v6ozo4G5iW4aTFmionZ2snWP2owSw1WU/s1600/03_AM-KitOutside.jpg" title="Kittie outside l/Église Saint Martin." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="755" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM5mltKallYRowVgUe1T7_GFmXY-0c0CgQJoWMUTGfayS7t1SjgVUpHdMvuq2Ym-amvJ6Lr8fN8629iM6LmSIt9i7m-y5DOeWdZ03wQaGg7-1ItvTWtqEcXrgzgblQCWdSDlprqAmIKqE/s1600/04_AM-KitLadyLibert.jpg" title="Kittie and the scale model of the Statue of Liberty." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIdMGNj5cQxIKgVX5aqNhcPo0ZoqM61bl9atezFx0sFK6OlpkbFJmsB2xBJGFBsHnClIcR9al8NUQ1b56FzrycWBb8cngcSOHWWyenwJb_Omh18KF-_dVbkv6T16Udg9nQs6zXUm9eZb0/s1600/05_AM-ChurchClock.jpg" title="Close-up of the church clock tower." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig9N1F3xdnECfx4E0Q0ViatlZihcRFTRGOWlwAvCnQNQtbmmwaMlT0SCBLA9i9sP8dmmNreR7y5fa2IkT-fMUqlzHJfHrMwyR5oBbdThsyyGOnJh1V3hn4vl4NiCdvCkoq_F3DIyI2EYE/s1600/06_AM-ChurchDoor.jpg" title="Front door of the church." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6XbAZaP_-p0wLMG2vUMi19ToUdpnow5zFgxy-Tr-_ax9Fmvwy1I32gcVyDcSKDWxAOyaHK9SIj4qH0-EiIMzh41AFrgS2ov4WkqHwjXGxZW0neDQHp8XD6hZRhyphenhyphenglzKvsvC_BhdnKWVk/s1600/07_AM-ChurchWall.jpg" title="Detail of the church buttresses." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="365" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiv10zj4Qi6tfo-nkDKlTFpPsmf8IG66urZK44GmW5VJe_rVy7SodLXzEp6WKBK57EBBYpKwzOsh_ah3R1UXhL45LFMhyxgL8h56USvcjRbUAYU8VwpAhuyW1mvpjHs4bn8E1_-WO7Cfo/s1600/08_AM-SuizaAutos.jpg" title="I never heard of a Hispano-Suiza before." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="785" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAcGNylpoGNxQx5ETO7jM7vIZacY6tccbU4DmrYUoWSXiqpPC9IKtJOUxfolZhtzvcAHuVViuvSdVrlQO4DOhwFShTCv23e4pIyMYhdAdJjxopFJUfRUYSXTky6RVrx6aQZRlOuPZoD4A/s1600/09_AM-Diver.jpg" title="First fully articulated diving suit." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbOXQaTvGxNfd82wUJ5chgs8_WUc_nJEc-uBn_wZ2oox3pRSoDOJE9MNd7JTm2B6m4nBGUK2OaQEO9tu40-UJMPSmz3CMKBTJzdSd3LohKnkMqg5-ItB9QQ8XuosjZHorlxU3lzE2Cyhw/s1600/10_AM-DiverDetail.jpg" title="Detail of the elbow joint. Very Jules Verne!" width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="413" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-klAltufogd6JopRr7854xmr2MQFtLoCE3wdSx5CYSJ7HGGjtC3A49h0PLOKY561q1XdAJXY7OXCxjgZLzevoQba9TodG3F0eKAKKXEjwJKsz4m4-Tp3PFSlhjOqv6I4Kjl4R-TKf6-Y/s1600/11_AM-Flyer.jpg" title="An early flying contraption hanging in the stairwell." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="413" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJtU4fpI12xMXtz8RUBWBrxWk0LyeJqvIwrfm-om8lOWjw4zY3xK8_oy2qkOOCPNIefno-4_sJvhqQn1rE3jxfY0zQB04opD9DPrTUegySJxG6IUxzxqc7uuSsx7JGAohSqP5JDA-wHos/s1600/12_AM-Flyer2.jpg" title="Another view. Note the feather-shaped propellor blades." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="413" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-
UiinjTfBRlw/Wh0bihPjHOI/AAAAAAAAC1E/tfXzzGdxQGsVUw9JOGCF36ytIKg4mi-AQCLcBGAs/s1600/13_AM-FlyerDetail.jpg" title="Cockpit of the place that, the sign says, was powered by steam." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3YpY5lNxLLlgaMHYl3VBcEDCmwWGslzWdqpr7wK3uWIttaPEPxdTddeRIGaqsSX2__zljZC3fd_lYcwZjnwALNySV-K7cFgC3ZKtg85MNj7noYHjl51f_R8wYEWtkt2CjY1mVD6Js83E/s1600/14_AM-SewingMachine.jpg" title="An early French sewing machine." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKEvro9jhBRAuvQeBqfrCbZuD525QZ_Sj3Kuum8iMTDEn_6fpvGydFc4pkQex8btUGjwgMEUy5DquJLlMM0GYGFz6OkrmKf2WJ-NxXZTz-PiKlroJ0RBy1loAzRIKa0wHL6zPfn9U9iWY/s1600/15_AM-SewingMachines.jpg" title="A Singer sewing machine on the right (1865) and a Peugeot machine (1877) on the left." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieG4ntIvOrubmQGoJneJtnnwLxhAs0pvjo54p9QBuVpenKfu3vUAykDrhtZ3JJG56BhpneRmF4t99kW8rBTeFSz2iAV0uazmf0S_tRS7xkL_Z3LM5GD3YpqXfF8J3zMJnqJsfYfKkWVMA/s1600/16_AM-SewingMachine3.jpg" title="Yeah, that's right; a Peugeot!" width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFlbbEJSLc7wcp9IQzyPhwCSxzndYAzMCwoE6b02PObFTMkCohQIYBFsrmHwNRrNh0-3efnXCPWXit22IqisVXdCzZm4oL9BSaMDuCQL2rniL6Y7XzqQ6vOIv5Yc_uvtJd3iswGhf1Yrw/s1600/17_AM-SewingMachine2.jpg" title="Another 19th century convenience. What it is, I don't recall." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvgR3pkS8WX_zOPFDZ0qDP0QjDY6EtBbhZswcCGKrFM1rZNlwB0FdBypWdNgrgOwNkEDuihXtd_PdEKqvwR-zjT1tDzK7wVvMIiHfwbwXf0zhofplW65xzHFzhu9qW74WoMNtdIRk_tzQ/s1600/18_AM-Dinner.jpg" title="After the museum, we had an early dinner at Café Arts et Metiers. David had the veal Milanese." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGh4Ohqlvj375uNBRq0QyuMcuaNCOZDOueA8qJJv2-cmlbuph5H__5_Sc70NZb_1rnEHJPQkw8whWkSYdMIzX6HmetfXSZgGPelUTMdthfDVP_FQDhUQemn5XHgVKKYIsPg-qmM4MFr90/s1600/20_AM-Dinner3.jpg" title="I had a tasty croque monsieur." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvCXTZOvrme_12FNSP1PZChHzTjXbR2VqJIjTLDRMWlE0-hqJ95U69ubckNJgniqigf1hRMkTlEFrRaH1ZyA-rtVxMCoO1wzh1cikLLl1gEbTjm_aGaN8HWC77LUoI4MIB9lFcZlB3FU0/s1600/19_AM-Dinner2.jpg" title="Kittie had the cheese board…" width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYTNKblBFGTWqL0rLlNwsrx-PHylgUT4FdOBDZJ-jfvcyp30OvlMLJHlEohD-vYbcVN3XsHQKu1mhmf1IiPb9ChbP0IZXL-er2scu4TFFe3W27nVaLAgVJRJkDrFCxwW8ool2gNxd8In4/s1600/21_AM-Dinner4.jpg" title="…and the duck foie gras…" width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsWfsP-98NvT52asFh89gndcvggPei8KFI2zZ2coDhHfKu83yY4PZJjHiO49VrNZPhsOvH25rq2sZ15GKO4-1T0Z2O9bpaM-oMpu-rpg9Ax4KDPlIDKRLFQIRjXNFJo423xJkFkhzdCZQ/s1600/22_AM-Dinner5.jpg" title="…and the escargot. You es-car go, girl!" width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTVYhckE0Iy9ST0pHqYBushOx77s7ljD-HbwZ8pF97VNk0FmIbWhU8vsEuZVHIadI55wN0ixeVN6-fDNP8LwnH6ggpCYV9wQFjnOHHVuwIs2xNKNyi8JC6ZQGoEhRsIxuhZAPyKPeUJJI/s1600/23_AM-DinnerSelfie.jpg" title="David shooting Mark shooting our dinner." width="550" /></li>
</ul>
<br />
<i>*For the uninitiated, Walnetto walking is an old McDougal tradition used to arouse the slumbering.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>Mark McDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16469802659915856938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3085444013412702960.post-38076153791959019012017-11-07T12:26:00.000-08:002017-11-29T20:23:06.977-08:00There and Back Again<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8K1xo1K-SpGe0_jI1oWeotGINujFKjMXyUb7NQswEjJTnqeTr7EMRPmS4APEfIscc8VqZJ4F-pOGno5MS9ZRrCuqD-b1Pl_52Mia78uu3lqH2i9feYkQpixiJjt6mW1LKCLbBAxp60WE/s1600/Lv_DavidKit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="391" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8K1xo1K-SpGe0_jI1oWeotGINujFKjMXyUb7NQswEjJTnqeTr7EMRPmS4APEfIscc8VqZJ4F-pOGno5MS9ZRrCuqD-b1Pl_52Mia78uu3lqH2i9feYkQpixiJjt6mW1LKCLbBAxp60WE/s320/Lv_DavidKit.jpg" width="174" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">David and Kittie at the Louvre</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It's taken me about a week to mentally digest the trip to Paris with sister Kittie and brother-in-law David. We'd been planning it for months, and then in one fell swoop the whole thing happened.<br />
<br />
I'm splitting this up into days. The first day is actually three in one. Who knows, I may meld other days together into one entry as well. I do have to write enough to fill the space between the pictures.<br />
<br />
This trip started with a half-serious Facebook post. I had seen a video promoting Le Salon du Chocolat, shared it on Facebook and posted, "Does anyone want to go with me. I'm serious."<br />
<br />
Kittie replied, "Dave and I want to go. Got an idea of cost? Flight, hotel, diabetes treatments?"<br />
<br />
Several e-mails later, a plan was afoot and we were planning it all out.<br />
<br />
<h2>
Saturday, Oct. 21</h2>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3Svzbou9Vw2b0TRkLXCBm095pGazFFtwjCFGb8FyMnTrlz1BB2RE7Bh2Vo1NowGMJzESxzteGGvK9q56LiP8NDqLjkGRkUhye_VKet4HfRz-_vC52qZ9dyRwAlr_xn0-mLCU5mQetXdM/s1600/MinnMotel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="434" data-original-width="576" height="193" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3Svzbou9Vw2b0TRkLXCBm095pGazFFtwjCFGb8FyMnTrlz1BB2RE7Bh2Vo1NowGMJzESxzteGGvK9q56LiP8NDqLjkGRkUhye_VKet4HfRz-_vC52qZ9dyRwAlr_xn0-mLCU5mQetXdM/s320/MinnMotel.jpg" width="256" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pam, David, Kittie, Steve after Sunday breakfast</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
So the day came. Oct. 21, Steve, Pam and I drove up to Minneapolis. David and Kittie flew into Minneapolis from San Luis Obispo in the afternoon. We picked them up and headed to lunch, since it was almost 2 p.m. It was a little place called Chevy's, a Mexican restaurant, and I got the worst heartburn from their burrito.<br />
<br />
Then we headed to the Comfort Inn, where we had room reservations overnight. There is an Outback steakhouse attached to the inn, so we gathered there in the evening for dinner. The next morning we slowly congregated around the indoor pool and had the complimentary breakfast, which I found very lacking. We paused for picture-taking, then checked out, with Steve and Pam dropping us off at the airport, a good four hours before our flight time.<br />
<br />
<h2>
Sunday, Oct. 22/Monday, Oct. 23</h2>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqoFlgkf9AeQw3D-nImG0cuCAjcOzO5IaH1FDWktbkSYk20Cscfxj-hJe-onq778r7jHqEsy3NBCDfQSgfsYW6CiAvCmVzJPtm-phfcuUdsNRvIr_g4xOEgtP9tx7snuHVp_3pKolwPYc/s1600/Mimosa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="370" data-original-width="530" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqoFlgkf9AeQw3D-nImG0cuCAjcOzO5IaH1FDWktbkSYk20Cscfxj-hJe-onq778r7jHqEsy3NBCDfQSgfsYW6CiAvCmVzJPtm-phfcuUdsNRvIr_g4xOEgtP9tx7snuHVp_3pKolwPYc/s320/Mimosa.jpg" width="256" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">iPads at the tables are ubiquitous now.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Once at the airport, we were assisted by a very helpful agent who walked us through the process of using kiosks to register our passports and print our boarding passes. I haven't flown out of the country in three years, and that was Montreal. Even in those few intervening years, the technology has advanced. I definitely felt like I was being processed by the machine.<br />
<br />
Through security (rather quickly), we found our gate right away and spent most of the next hours waiting in a bar/brasserie called Mimosa. We had lunch there, which gave us the right to play on the iPads while waiting for the gate agents to show up for our flight.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpREBhky7QBmjyx5QGcODuZR7O2On04T-dfu1Hwb0vm4KDxKihc9Q7h07dCi1fZNeLkDlljlK8hA3CU3fQX8E509VVY6I8yIwMtyt_NmCYZvJV4YBcbZQl3LSIqM7y8OylGliMZGdyR-o/s1600/Plane2Paris.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="422" data-original-width="576" height="145" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpREBhky7QBmjyx5QGcODuZR7O2On04T-dfu1Hwb0vm4KDxKihc9Q7h07dCi1fZNeLkDlljlK8hA3CU3fQX8E509VVY6I8yIwMtyt_NmCYZvJV4YBcbZQl3LSIqM7y8OylGliMZGdyR-o/s200/Plane2Paris.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On the plane</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I was kind of on tenterhooks because Delta, the airline we were flying, only assigns economy seating at check-in. I was really looking forward to sitting together, three across in the middle section of the plane, because once we were in the air, we could lift the arm rests and make it like a couch.<br />
<br />
My sciatica, which flares up every couple years and takes weeks upon weeks to resolve, had started acting up, and shlepping bags around an airport and standing in lines was not helping it any. This early in the trip, I was getting unconditional concern from my travel mates. When the agent finally arrived at the gate desk, Dave went right over and got us seats together, just as we had wanted.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVx-kWxETFNyeorQByIVeeOpR-OyLBmx4WOPg9cCZuvBDCKr7Ey92OjOqPLyI95GDqZyl4WBCsDIZqxvv6jMqQFzM0S-TgZwiL0Yms9F36AZ86ZhHG_ocVJJ9hk-7rWWwGHq4BE37ZMjg/s1600/PlaneSelfie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="434" data-original-width="576" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVx-kWxETFNyeorQByIVeeOpR-OyLBmx4WOPg9cCZuvBDCKr7Ey92OjOqPLyI95GDqZyl4WBCsDIZqxvv6jMqQFzM0S-TgZwiL0Yms9F36AZ86ZhHG_ocVJJ9hk-7rWWwGHq4BE37ZMjg/s320/PlaneSelfie.jpg" width="256" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Selfies on a plane</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The seats in the plane were a tiny bit larger than on domestic flights (we were on a 777), and there was a bit more leg room. When airborne, it was as pleasant a flight as one can hope for these days, sans some magical upgrade.<br />
<br />
Nine hours folded into an airline seat, however, take their toll on my back, and I was hobbling when we got out of the airplane. Luckily, David had left his journal behind on the plane and had to run back and retrieve it. This gave me some time to sit and stretch even more. Following, of course, was standing in lines to go through the French border police. Because I had a checked bag, I was separated out from the carry-on-only folks and got through the checkpoint first.<br />
<br />
Our car was there and waiting by the time I got to baggage claim. I knew because the driver was texting me. And this brings up another new facet of this overseas trip: wireless connectivity here in the 21st century. I find it rather fascinating.<br />
<br />
My cell provider, Verizon, has an overseas plan for $10 a day. It allows you to take your stateside cell plan along with you in most countries. So when I landed in Paris, I turned my cellphone off, then rebooted it, and I was getting service through a French provider.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifNo8BbnyZblvOFy3xWK4I0kqjycBB7oBDnFCbnh0mvMH12wTIEpMPNF4-HEm6b4JX71sxkz-8tYpj7qIkAPp5Hc2eYv7J_pVcx2lWdlPwiymscMWqZ7bbkCcoADLyJyHifa8lH9ILl3k/s1600/WelcomeSign.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="495" data-original-width="576" height="274" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifNo8BbnyZblvOFy3xWK4I0kqjycBB7oBDnFCbnh0mvMH12wTIEpMPNF4-HEm6b4JX71sxkz-8tYpj7qIkAPp5Hc2eYv7J_pVcx2lWdlPwiymscMWqZ7bbkCcoADLyJyHifa8lH9ILl3k/s320/WelcomeSign.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The sign says "Welcome to Paris."</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Kittie and David, who are with AT&T, had chosen a $40-a-month plan that allowed them to use data services, but calls were charged on a per-minute basis. There was an $80-a-month plan that included talk, but they didn't feel the need to pay twice as much for calls when texting would do. And it worked perfectly for us.<br />
<br />
But on Kittie's phone (an iPhone4), the time did not update. On Dave's phone (an iPhone 5), it did. On top of the cell service, we had Wifi at the apartment we were renting, so checking e-mail and such was feasible, though none of us felt the urge to do it.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHnsKEVkyULAdoQ0PR4fE5GdIYrhAFTwXF8PSB27Cl336SVB_7062Cyb4Xh6rEgQ2DYW3u921R0Yx-zuYVCoCB454HiOA1omtDzq6CXSLdnVgyfLT9PhMuwxHzwUb9zUeYKKwUr4RyX_s/s1600/FrontDoor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="325" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHnsKEVkyULAdoQ0PR4fE5GdIYrhAFTwXF8PSB27Cl336SVB_7062Cyb4Xh6rEgQ2DYW3u921R0Yx-zuYVCoCB454HiOA1omtDzq6CXSLdnVgyfLT9PhMuwxHzwUb9zUeYKKwUr4RyX_s/s320/FrontDoor.jpg" width="144" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Front door of the apartment</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
So when we got separated at the border patrol checkpoint, I went ahead to claim my bag and hoped they would get my texts. Once through the checkpoint, one can turn right or left, both of which lead to baggage claim areas. I texted "go to the left," and they found me. I had already retrieved my checked bag, a large green affair from the 1980s with four wheels on the bottom and a leash to pull it.<br />
<br />
Once together, we found the driver, who dashed through the terminal toward his car. I was not able to keep up with him, dragging my checked bag behind me like a reticent poodle, hobbling mildly and feeling very uncomfortable. Finally in the car, I discovered that my change online (from an older apartment address to the new apartment address) had not be processed by the car service. I made a mental note, since this same company was picking us up to return to the airport in a week, and they would be showing up to the wrong address.<br />
<br />
We left Minneapolis at 4:30 in the afternoon and arrived in Paris at 7:30 in the morning. It was still dark outside, so we greeted our ride into Paris and the sunrise (such as it was in a drizzling rain) at the same time: morning rush hour.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZXRVp6G7fTLJGgy32IL0RNkPkILHnFN7i_7q0qvhOEZnLb-v6Rz3m-MxqnUke5AU4D7S4dhPH1JzMwYe0ySh5IgDXzMYBJvrH4gQFo8li5fmOuo1bCEb1ou6Nr7Tm824rmIsCP3T0Lv4/s1600/3FlightsUp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="415" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZXRVp6G7fTLJGgy32IL0RNkPkILHnFN7i_7q0qvhOEZnLb-v6Rz3m-MxqnUke5AU4D7S4dhPH1JzMwYe0ySh5IgDXzMYBJvrH4gQFo8li5fmOuo1bCEb1ou6Nr7Tm824rmIsCP3T0Lv4/s320/3FlightsUp.jpg" width="230" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Four flights up</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I have learned to trust local local drivers completely. They are professionals and understand traffic conditions and the etiquette of the road. This is what you are paying them for.<br />
<br />
We were supposed to meet the real estate agent at the apartment around 9:30. I got a text from him saying he was running late at another showing and would be there around 10:00, which is about when we arrived. We waited about 10 minutes, then another agent showed up a few minutes later. It turns out their offices are just a block or so away from the apartment.<br />
<br />
The fellow was very nice, and spent a good deal of time familiarizing us with the particulars of the apartment. We were given two keys to the apartment, so David took one and I took the other. If Kittie needed one, we could switch off if need be. The only drawback of the apartment: it was a three-story walkup, which means four flights of stairs up and down. As a point of interest, the place was for sale (they showed it once or twice while we were out, always with our permission); asking price: $1.15 million!<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg841vXcq0wLmYWReXGHjxNDuVYHzoLEUGsiyFHLPyV2kVr0YHjk_lBNC-dkRaWDGSpij5SdCj9Y5VmmxtkA70rjk_2_n9FG_30GyuojC_GRzSgmzSkgnyIoMJ96kAceKeWLwk_8Vmu1bU/s1600/KitCashMach.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="562" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg841vXcq0wLmYWReXGHjxNDuVYHzoLEUGsiyFHLPyV2kVr0YHjk_lBNC-dkRaWDGSpij5SdCj9Y5VmmxtkA70rjk_2_n9FG_30GyuojC_GRzSgmzSkgnyIoMJ96kAceKeWLwk_8Vmu1bU/s320/KitCashMach.jpg" width="312" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kittie and David get cash from the ATM.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We took some time and unpacked, then lied down for about an hour before heading out to the Eiffel Tower. We had reserved tickets for 2 p.m., and the wording on the website seemed to say that if you were too late, they might not honor the tickets.<br />
<br />
So we headed out a little after noon and stopped to get cash out of the bank. I had hit an ATM at the airport, but Kittie and David hadn't. Smart, though; you get a better rate in town.<br />
<br />
When we went down into the Metro, I realized there were new machines everywhere. The simple ticket machines of ten years ago no longer existed. Now it was all touchscreen technology and, even in English, I didn't know which buttons to push to buy a carnet (a pack of 10 tickets at a discount).<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUCNms2T8xVurWGCS79jcxKK4aHzThL3IYgwaOmxmUfP2yU_XJsNI1H3bSSvr_XrW2g6Nz3YjgTpQI6Wo6tR4nAG3ezs3zUtmIkjL4YFo0_Q5fYrX2aSBPEdOUZwK8p0o45UxqHpbR_vc/s1600/EiffelSelfie2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="409" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUCNms2T8xVurWGCS79jcxKK4aHzThL3IYgwaOmxmUfP2yU_XJsNI1H3bSSvr_XrW2g6Nz3YjgTpQI6Wo6tR4nAG3ezs3zUtmIkjL4YFo0_Q5fYrX2aSBPEdOUZwK8p0o45UxqHpbR_vc/s320/EiffelSelfie2.jpg" width="227" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me lagging behind.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
By the time I purchased the tickets and we got onto the train, my back was singing. After the flight and the lines and only a bit of rest, my back was protesting. The block-long treks underground between trains didn't help, nor did the fact that we ended up going the wrong direction on the regional train that we transferred to. We caught the mistake, and a very nice young woman verified in which direction we should be going. Soon, we emerged from the ground to the site of the Eiffel Tower.<br />
<br />
At that point, I had to stop. I told David and Kittie to go ahead while I rested my hip. After about 10 minutes, I got up and set forth (slowly) to the tower.<br />
<br />
Later on, David and Kittie told me they had no problem and walked right into the security stations (one to get onto the grounds of the tower, a second to get onto the elevator or stairs at one of the four legs). In the few minutes that had passed before my arrival, there must have been an influx of people, as it took me about 15 minutes to get onto the grounds and almost 40 minutes to get through the security at the elevators.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLHLMZCe5QDHGOUBfCTfAfl-XhcOFYZBF67bWVZnMHmJaZuqsDcq_ZeNJf9nUAB1iFn8n7HKjszk2UNKzzMyBykuBxVVRQdMuVwGaO2_ZTsVqtJOGn_JzBz0WY-pYayr1QLDxVAEr62uY/s1600/EiffelLift.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="391" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLHLMZCe5QDHGOUBfCTfAfl-XhcOFYZBF67bWVZnMHmJaZuqsDcq_ZeNJf9nUAB1iFn8n7HKjszk2UNKzzMyBykuBxVVRQdMuVwGaO2_ZTsVqtJOGn_JzBz0WY-pYayr1QLDxVAEr62uY/s320/EiffelLift.jpg" width="217" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In line to get in line.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I texted them and let them know I was on my way and would meet them on the 2nd story. We had tickets that allowed us to go all the way to the top on a second elevator. By the time I got up to the 2nd story and waded through the mass of people, I found Kittie and David nearly through the long line for the elevator to the top. I was in no mood to wait for 30 minutes in another line, so I sat and waited for them to come back down.<br />
<br />
Sitting on a bench, it hit me that this is the tower of Babel. There are people from all over the planet who had come just to see this tower, climb it, take photos, be able to say they were there. Like me.<br />
<br />
My back was tired and begging for rest. The idea of hobbling through the Metro back home did not appeal to me, and it was starting to rain, so we decided to get a taxi. I attempted an Uber ride but was totally confused by how the car would know me. We found the taxi stand in front of the tower, David and Kittie grabbed a cab (there were many people wanting one but no one bold enough to just go up and nab one), and we crawled through afternoon rush hour back to the apartment. But we were dry and comfortable.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwqbo5Ru6pE_T9vyHOBIpoEH5sdVOrtnGNMCFCMoOYTowbQ3sWCfaJBoXJfj3UgfzsnLBfUzeP_62KwzLX1h-9Tm-34TwyhFpzgQuNUawJbKY1jT0FHWAug3IseOi_GPlLYm2lawg5q2o/s1600/DimSum.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="405" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwqbo5Ru6pE_T9vyHOBIpoEH5sdVOrtnGNMCFCMoOYTowbQ3sWCfaJBoXJfj3UgfzsnLBfUzeP_62KwzLX1h-9Tm-34TwyhFpzgQuNUawJbKY1jT0FHWAug3IseOi_GPlLYm2lawg5q2o/s320/DimSum.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Menu is eight pages of choices.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
After a little relaxation, we went out to discover the neighborhood. One of the things Kittie wanted was to find a grocery store and get goods for breakfast the next morning. It turns out that we happened upon a health food store. They did have eggs and ham and fresh fruit, so we got our food and headed back to the apartment. At my suggestion, we stopped at a dim sum restaurant I had found online.<br />
<br />
The majority of their business is obviously take-out. The kitchen and cash register are in the front of the shop as you enter, but a short trek to the back reveals a very minimalist, nicely appointed, Asian space. The place smelled amazing, and the menu provided a huge assortment of foods.<br />
<br />
We realized that we hadn't had a decent meal all day, and we all chowed down. We ordered four different dim sum dishes, and each of us got a main dish as well. Some of the dinner did come back to the apartment with us, including the sautéed marigold greens Kittie ordered.<br />
<br />
A mutual decisioni was to set no alarms for the next morning. We were all running on batteries after almost 24 hours awake. Kittie and I took turns taking hot baths (a tub was a prerequisite for me), and we crashed around 10 p.m. The bed was comfortable enough, and I slept a solid night's sleep.<br />
<br />
<h2>
David's Slideshows</h2>
David took a huge number of pictures. In order to share some of them with you, I'm adding a slideshow to the bottom of each page as he makes his pics available to me and I can process them for the web.<br />
<br />
This is a blogger widget, so I don't have a lot of control over it, like sizing the depth. It imports with the tallest photo as the default for the slideshow box, so please bear with all the white space on horizontal pics.<br />
<br />
This page has two slideshows: From Minneapolis to the Apartment and Visiting the Eiffel Tower. Hopefully, not too many of the pictures are out of order. Ask David; he'll know. Enjoy.<br />
<br />
<h3>
From Minneapolis to the Apartment</h3>
<ul class="bxslider">
<li><img height="387" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0GpAzShlDXlo7v-bDGl4AQrtnH6RAcbUPSXTuo9D-pQM9VMlJRjiW7rfA1NkYdipJAzN9HMw3MHnxZl4qIuYT6a6sEUO_haYOiS_sC1dzunz8SxyFPbJav39gvNiMEk16vFjqO7ML_l4/s1600/KD_FlightOutselfie.jpg" title="First selfie on the plane to Paris" width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="413" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO5VjAPEyrA_d-BlQF00gPRk7IIt77-FZ_1bvbbgRPDYrJJAGyvgU6wmfnIWhlTbZYjkaZDQbVx-arCxJQkpwxVwrUK96wZEx2c9zrpEukDb1mUX3U7VAD6oMzPtGNcK2elpMHZnLcMhU/s1600/KD_FlightOut.jpg" title="View of the Boeing 777 from our seats" width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtrTtjpxhZwpPRygwHlm8Md3peBm4763kcagaPV8u-fHkhQT1Ju3T1U6N-RyPqEMrzg-on_n0mhHY-1KYp5JzpGdS24oblPJ9b9_OVDfnQMBmlHHGQhwhKurh9RNV1utDzEQIQtFNsgNo/s1600/D_rueChaponKitMark.jpg" title="Mark and Kittie hoofing down rue Chapon to the apartment" /></li>
<li><img height="930" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj_1QCrF-Zh0Bfr8G4C64Gvt83Gcv8V_XHp7-gdkopQEsEKlOVkLT-SGVr0FiXkswwngNzW80WfvPP6U-AXpVZrvXwmh6Jwz2Pk4vuAejsE0OMUPMCDr9NQkw959yXEcAo4GcDZ8XvtPs/s1600/D_rueChaponWaitSq.jpg" title="Waiting at the apartment for the rental agent" width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLmh2HPLdtdgM8R1ThDkaUBSlLj7c6E-HjFyqtErB3EH0CSj_BiioAXBM-F2yb2CPmrvBdUf5npBa-ZC5sXsFi9K7J1-IMH7pAzo5xbyMmZLeM5KzFA23D5FzE5DkfkLeG-h0qSGxwGAY/s1600/D_Apt-KitAtStairs.jpg" title="Kittie at the bottom of the stairs" width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="761" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIhQFG26Ef1G40a7fnRgylADQ24FJXR7ymmQ4gbUvt9lU0SkpRfx6vfllc48xKUBEJBKEXHOC1Sk9lx0vZUEfkCxuh1ycAzDBmrIZ9GrFs6dHHC_IHptdddpyHT1LVIFSR263cSH_eguY/s1600/D_Apt-FrontDoor.jpg" title="Our front door from the hall" width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="868" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj64XR0E3EFt-bc18OlKBzpXl9m2vuUCMc76JwHlUn0YcKFR_C77kyo217aL0Dsu9Qc7arMdhh7U2kxAH1pgTYoBRfderzGbiBlEurheZhwwZcBZ7p3BEPCa82sPIEOr_-w0OHBa82Wwb4/s1600/D_Apt-Door.jpg" title="Front door with security locks" width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="630" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNGs1NA1XvKYkS9Ez3DCv2lnBtwxEdR8FF6qluUGGzORhy0v5UKT8YKe5G-Se3ZGN7f82TQ6rfiGGyvM5WN1uVCnsNzJanwJwEa_l44Um6Ul6PPOhUI_f_X05JSeEXLlwn1Q5koki8V4Q/s1600/D_Apt-LR-Kitchen.jpg" title="The apartment living room" width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="650" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaIO65ZenmnzRwsu5lNJZWpDZLK1zs5mD8ima0i20vm3EcugK9_yJ-vHFLYJUGofTr87lZW6FRGzsRYGBROfErShwT9MFwbsLekMSnSR3AnkiKMN7aH6kElTpy9OYPS3ZrXZW1nwktJy8/s1600/D_Apt-KitKitchen.jpg" title="Kittie in the kitchen" width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDAIPfdBcURlnnD3hRlDQpCzEWjYOXWdRt2rBVMYWpS95rWJpScSXK-PcbXhMJOK8DmzVc6CDxlW53SO4k8HxzD0BHj3Y5btf34h5kMJdgwGT-epCrE2iYXxC4Oi6qXPcOnw_yGMArxCY/s1600/D_Apt-Selfie.jpg" title="David and Kittie in the courtyard" width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQacHQ5x26LBk8Kua-d__Ux22VC2lPfZxBnbLoyfYCcW1LLPWeummvBquU2kLB0_H3W1HdOhzwJH2salVxAb4rV5QpUTi8A2V108SKjiblCqavLxp-c3Mg5i1PMGe52hQaUvXIykfmgbM/s1600/D_Apt-Selfie2.jpg" title="David's apartment selfie" width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilP8WsKkt1ft6oi0Ni2dc7zwx_Z6z12MNRSzoTSgnz1KDS9UzeZP5mAwSnpDtGuubgkh5mQnGlB8YOyWS-xGH6sEgrU-PffGq7nhenQFu-jsEmnu4LDJWSdtFR95jgA_JASkxRBJQUEh8/s1600/D_Apt-KitStairs.jpg" title="Shot of Kittie from the stairs" width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="749" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijcuSFLq3WmwxQlGtZ14fZ0LT_D7xnGfbKXsYqws8RN-EmqwzO1yl1gDYvQ5kuR4usPzqf0ldYNBqayDZ02dVxU0Be2MXlIYaE0n8gA34JtSH_WPfjGte4Af2tbsMXThdgd4RMlowSfLg/s1600/D_Apt-Stairs.jpg" title="Stairwell looking up from the courtyard" width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix2w7BuhQfA9xp_rGhfFZqluZyKECvaHxGxBl_1ohycE9rrdgPBXWnifyrEN3KyjHVNR_-VbydG9C-zD5LFvqzYLpom05cEcMNdN9cDeulD7g0zQa5u489NxHmUX4zclmbuTRJQkwHMiY/s1600/D_Apt-StreetDoor.jpg" title="Street entrance to the building" width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbIq3tLwsnido2mD4Dm8OZ2ieb8FE2X3RjTuv9dSAc0yI-8_iLZEZFzhNFHZKCmgjsGRKE8T4mmNy3MdW-Bdw4u9c_KG4xrfx9rDxvCxnUmmykceZ45fu_PnlaTCaG-laZiCsGm6fOr9c/s1600/D_Apt-Stairs2.jpg" title="Our climb, looking down" width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="413" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhINADMx12VXMLZ0fcDPZBY9bk2tp-4Jna1UwQSM7EEYLeuMqMglfu5-yAsddQVZTl4zjWhqNyxGZwmouFsZEaMRBBt3Y2nPZMbnc0FSqChsc1trZ158S8k7llhrsr3Sop1L_hEmkFMA6s/s1600/D_AptSelfie.jpg" title="First breakfast in the apartment" width="550" /></li>
</ul>
<h3>
Visiting the Eiffel Tower</h3>
<br />
<ul class="bxslider">
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo92w9Ux4vLj1PF3bI3ArpERRIf3eekjsUF7v_p3ES4uMzY7c795sViT4L1p8IxQE71VuoLe496e5SgPFIeqg1GJcIQTB6z_wcITi6WEqNhhj8e00YIRvVALXPuMjqXciyGrfX43rDcco/s1600/01_MetroOpera2.jpg" title="Transferring at the Opera station on the Metro" /></li>
<li><img height="727" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiobTlhd9y6JlNXpv9BF1PSFmvah15YnheeHgI0Y482-xF3T69f71INRc1qLDchcnjpXxjILKDsdCYKxbBOYmHtoDoAvYNJysT2StYLrFNSvzwheYRBWw4x-HL7mCGxr9sfMgm8qDTr6Qw/s1600/02_ET-Apts.jpg" title="Apartments on the walk from the Metro. We almost rented one of those!" width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg22SWUSLClYxmZRZzJZZvYivLctr9w7m52bAmZAXtspTsipdq4E-vOyDw1xnG0BzwX5vxRoFlyydFi1PQWyXwliHHppZhqYijeVEWlvMEHCnOOwGyrl3EUT37gWPLzBm-2oH4Q3gUtIHY/s1600/03_ET-Houseboat.jpg" title="A houseboat on the Seine. Can we stay there?" width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="740" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7ejxq5RIuqffQwpxst14fPLHrEGZRYDuR7xTE3nQLD23LWVGY6gD4bljzS7JRSq7AJikOvlZaYuvAD2KdZGgWtyGNdTYdsXs6n57Ltbdi9jPhBD9eluBF3d7_wEhy-3dR4JjEma5pXsY/s1600/04_EiffelTower3.jpg" title="First view of the Eiffel Tower" width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="786" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN7XyPGdBwOyQ8QVvS1emHHU8enrtsVgt-Di1o8aB0u1VaFbnwEEz1iaRBYqxePmyQtDxSFUF-2-tQQn0GeNtHJZFsrk1QrICn4uYhZP6Arjiag0xGC0EDrJmZZUlPOYcE289X31QmD7g/s1600/05_EiffelTower2.jpg" title="We're getting closer" width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlKfmYDj5SM-TM0FfOYYQboFAd96yKLmydPm2Djt2tAFgNI4LY_KpyjOM1kIAPu2yinwEh55xJ8Wa0aM6r0NgKCYBgSoZp0q1Fgu_wnNUvwtgAHtl_tBrVlFwZcDcaDqvef6I7VVhzf3M/s1600/06_EiffelTower.jpg" title="Attival" width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSjtJo46q4Fgzyh_vsCYkAEhACxc2USvn9SSs2apiBGxlQvq59MBsDJesHayoW-ywzBG6WEc1vw-7ZOKQogd3zUTpAQppUSo08ebz-Qgsjzo27fcphLt8z90KUpyWzZscVHCL45hckYuM/s1600/07_ET-Struc2.jpg" title="People from all over the planet" width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB1plbUX11OcFWPrQGXG91urBaOuARq1bZnBL2Tu8DgL7aqdnym7nV_H1wRlHUROpBVOaiP44vpY-mG78AFPkIMWclLHrMHCrTUoH413AfPDcR-lM8Rq5ZkxqsMMSAiLX1fJiz6knBmNY/s1600/08_ET-Struc3.jpg" title="A view from beneath" width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="748" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqoDsnIIKtlmh1Th_2yEwseMVr949eIRLgO-rG64PUlWMlNdCgS1SatoAwEJrLoZEX14KF9C5d44fAls2zm7k5NBnVubZ99j2RPsFAkXLk7kMw4YBWayT-mdpVMrYUh7NBMvDo7J9ofVk/s1600/09_ET-Stairs.jpg" title="Some people took the stairs down. The crazy ones took them up." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="791" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6elxDsQX5YAZ8kvLliPiI-qYainiA-pLgCtGvX5Z5E0Gv4osfoPO_V-T7SBlbSjFdRK3fI3tPcYzXfdnQi5IJzXaZoEe4G0u2cWFDCxceJqZO-u_Er1INejw4uduWgf0o7lW8qyEuLTM/s1600/10_ET-Security.jpg" title="In line for the security checkpoint" width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="800" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghA7Q_yIi_I-TT3ExJfHgNfemYffr2ewwOhqIVr09Kr8Ekg71iqMPMYdxyEHeVsNzKajGl7FSwhJiNFPrLDyC1kuOkZ3i350kUFi3zrxSC7dBFSUCAMfUH1ZtxlWVr_MwyOQ3e3oEsoUA/s1600/11_ET-Security2.jpg" title="In line for the elevator up the north leg" width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIDmuSQDbtoi8VEURn5se3TNNdRdxR3tI2B77C_K7u96yXgBt6t43twQfw2W3NSa4VqteW8tZxgaAIbHF7Ra90pMLltNK5dpvXp18YKTjEJuC6jlswT2hylE750lfjqRoNiAmPkA6edhA/s1600/12_ET-Lift2.jpg" title="The lift. Finally." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxBD2Jj2JTtzz5rsW8vNp6H8CTl4GZO2Tod7b-M9SiK2DEOdzLaVP4_6zWPJGSfud9AIM8EpkmeHljM-E3bd0lGXL6tXpwAVmQ8ewgKUwvqxwT9OcY3P5IAJgndjYMRS9Ij9DenNzlW2o/s1600/13_ET-Selfie2.jpg" title="The last ground-based selfie" width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitZRll-pGCPZGtBXPtawVZCbgwuSYO3PUltBFKf99kZ5hILVdmvYKxtwblDYbBxt9TZ_1ZkT86sYjkrk54OVpY4W7NcUrBgs7_Wdl7PkIpNAmZau4YeidjnHcSxx-TomorkWCTn0rga_4/s1600/14_ET-Lift4.jpg" title="The equipment looks tried and true" width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4qXkK64rTS0VQsxXD_priDzs3kWa8iDUXtOMiEhIFewcNWsxWT5ZtBbZu1RDAOSr5tDFvT64JSXvWvkeA-kvmaBT7Kk9FO09jodBoVW3_m3KIWyejb71nrYgpX3AuXH8acnSIl-xe3bQ/s1600/15_ET-Lift3.jpg" title="A shot of the elevator shaft from the 2nd story" width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="679" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw_FTKBvlixZQS6WXNFQ3iajRhkMktBvPcJxJCAcz_M6tOwsPzgbHPJFsg61pU37buEP9t3HTDCMoHdxzYNiYvcoY00J0LollvwYFClWY-4COyYrmbeJdtR3HW8A5Vch-k5fkqZga1UXU/s1600/16_ET-Selfie.jpg" title="Great selfie with the Jardin de Trocadero behind" width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTnFHhNAEr0q5ol6UqFMYVKg2J9-94dmjKF81J8Pig5YewAMIUL-LaMEgHZlh8cTMOcmFEyHOjt8S9g-UB5S-OkXrQRnY3Iz9nr3cyE4agsXR9-EOJ8Mvhi2hwUU_VC-yYgPwqzaaRVec/s1600/17_ET-Selfie5.jpg" title="Selfie with the Seine" width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSeCZpVs2U54a5RV-kPnDvk8nNZdB695D38SBfmx-cjYJ8uyLNQSAMHvtprpgMkPh7iDlUappwZIdh5FODTiKPi7JFni2Wz1Iei8yoQ_ZD_Az0UmcFEFvEv99z0B6tb34HNTFEecZVqU8/s1600/18_ET-Struc17.jpg" title="A shot to the top" width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYazB_v1UIIR4pITlcCf8RFRkK6cqprcPB6u0DMqp2K9L124uNR2NmrEK4Ykqj8sdzMrcUcmqN8gQaHyo-Kv0a5vyQHJj59y7ao3Egc7Zjkq9tM2UKWz3ywBOMOjGXANjdprs2eu1rV24/s1600/19_ET-Selfie6.jpg" title="And a selfie" width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdaG58XOw-vd2qUA9x6G67lEdaGc2JS8g1ewfbamKvbkY38FcDX74rMJJ5Y1OxqdxpqfL6nc_9cmZskJiWpM2yjk_vwEJ9sLSt2INHyYP1peAUKf1InlqCfxfpBbbIx7eZqvEN2xFc_Z0/s1600/20_ET-Struc9.jpg" title="Part of the structure" width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBMPvjg0pXEaISPjgSE5JADtdhV46wIaEuLS0mHejy3jjc1JFceVNcFygmLbS2nwmND5ngB3XG7x8hb98nk2wBIR7NNVv6o-KSo9tD5aNpBN00L2w3tslsQIVjxd8mOfuQ1IAuHzwIcdE/s1600/21_ET-Selfie4.jpg" title="At the top. It's a mass of mass communications" width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNPMTWqF2sYd-QRrJ7Kb-w6cbrgdkFjeRlupLvfzceFTO4-5dLCbKg6WfOxSIn1h2m4FW5tJkRYr2-vLoPMBk5Krug-8g9W8aJRzvCca1jTBIckzmmld_uijtRzqYWlc64KoM-0hsq0Sg/s1600/22_ET-Struc14.jpg" title="Check out the world's tallest cell tower" width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdzQt-3Z-O4ZgPSAO7wpPB8Z1V1gvSU5BtEDrzlo-3I1RpkhlEh_cCp1d2KwKSVZzXH4LBMEgZfpGOLcGl01LQAfUempAfoq8yxkj5GTwOGVQYfNUb3vpe5RpE5_r-gRMWvSjKxRlto7I/s1600/23_ET-Struc15.jpg" title="More structural details" width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsJab5pVqe_7DdBWEkCwLs69HnLlc9XYJ2mqW0l5VfKRFoywDmfjiYKVEAfDRSnjfScgyhUQQwwNxewU-LA3sNLQSqGjRRULXYdxT0qWQtl0zkCEfb2ZzRmJQtD9NTJiOtjZNetEk3G40/s1600/24_ET-Struc18.jpg" title="A shot closer to the top" width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="742" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBclbFZvvsQVuuxBQUxfCBbO21KhuquScvG2RzASuyFN0sj2x2et6xjPuIo9HSUY9APGUOgkLBU_597BBxhQLfuV5oXJqaM8B4_R4zhIZi8bvg2650rLpOtxIhUv6turpXL4bjzwaX8ws/s1600/25_ET-View5.jpg" title="The Jardin de Trocadero from the top" width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPWpyDo8FqZDi8SO1Y-vCxZixi558dnytqLT4V0lL2SsU7FZfOaJYo9YAwgiL1pP4aFxBb6kWK6xr61JbLnkyIUOUUErKxDv5zWt6udKPyzeN9vMba_noW6SAmwpvrA687frHR8cBQGOg/s1600/26_ET-View12.jpg" title="Looking east" width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5NusTrS9V5cu4pHLVG3r2M48UI7IIaQzgloBW5ix3jvhfC1RZ2zCaZcWfwfyxOnKbJ4Px2hPaqy-Gm848w4Q9yuXG99DngiYNXGFTT6vd6nyKzEhacYUsWxypP4OmfDQ17wOSwCywM2A/s1600/27_RideFromTower4" title="These mini taxis were everywhere. Not enough room for three." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUkPmqBrShOTUQ-GvpYHhzrdcX1TMVcf6jdBT5sk7GdKNxS6HNb8AontRewzwV0cgQ9UTf8gg5_uoq0z7Y6r2thVmkGBhrxfout4X6ML6zL97Nvvwf0ky2XiKLAuLtE-dkXqPEMA7PYjQ/s1600/28_RideFromTower2.jpg" title="Buildings along the Seine on the taxi ride home." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="614" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiBn_pX2uLYbM9W8y9IIW0gMadovLDeDHAw6ArYoDknf_RJWWqpJEoQTn2FNez1JgUeuRMQJ848P0VZhYOhJtiNBp4ShWn4ot9vej406EAImYFJKkPMKasryKjILdiB8OQQRGjY5zUcEY/s1600/29_RideFromTower3.jpg" title="Can't remember which bridge this is, but it's beautiful." width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="756" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUOu7YOwcFtNqP6t35-kruH7ZDI4ZnQh0MNecRxaiaJ68VHzvwkVRGTu2fIO9xv0t8SIGYvaHM-3uuj2HLZyRG9qu9T347PwKplF6mZDhas45Q1F9yAqSQVcbA3On1x7SmJmSAU1BpdRA/s1600/30_RideFromTower5.jpg" title="Sundry statuary along the route" width="550" /></li>
<li><img height="733" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9Vmp3Go3lkgNZ1LFkGBcoIeAgPyAXVVhKyYPCTUXCZoElQ9lLVehTx3G0shOuqYUF_gQ_8ODA-vlpcbMdFczJ5qD02jM32lb2aBKgF9bcq_9CEduiJ2ofWMtpi6UxiOXik2Lpg_bEKF0/s1600/31_RideFromTower6.jpg" title="The traffic was heavy" width="550" /></li>
<li><img across="" from="" height="733" orsay="" river.="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha84KpI7aYhXSmyxYy2JZ3myVy9VzSTArx1t5uBvieoR1jSOEV1hA4iR1ZucbO6VFU2342NFLv6eI4BNJM6BwIfZDO86T5SEZxTvnwRkqACGktYb90FDA2IgbGmoZ0xH8lkQZJlRV6ih0/s1600/32_RideFromTower7" the="" title="A view of the d" width="550" /></li>
</ul>
Mark McDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16469802659915856938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3085444013412702960.post-76729787251231561242017-10-11T16:05:00.000-07:002017-10-11T16:05:54.206-07:00Seven-Year Cat Scratch Fever<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbrHdPp0pMHZfQNglYKgssuh8_CYC43_0jEDwIBXz_JKPlDKzLz1JkAOp8ABma8ld8uiPX-w5tLcdLZ_velxY70F43wAZlv7HRRh0q9Tr_9HcSsAD9Qk4tWEDppX1LSN36GgAfS1jZmgA/s1600/CarlaLocks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="422" data-original-width="576" height="186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbrHdPp0pMHZfQNglYKgssuh8_CYC43_0jEDwIBXz_JKPlDKzLz1JkAOp8ABma8ld8uiPX-w5tLcdLZ_velxY70F43wAZlv7HRRh0q9Tr_9HcSsAD9Qk4tWEDppX1LSN36GgAfS1jZmgA/s320/CarlaLocks.jpg" width="256" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Carla at the locks on the Mississippi</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We had visitors. Close encounters of the nerd kind. There were people sleeping in my guest room. And a most surprising development in months, maybe even years.<br />
<br />
Brother Jim and his wife Carla flew in from Everett, Wash., for a weeklong visit with the Wisconsin arm of the clan. It was a really nice time. I'm beginning to think we're all just terribly wise not to visit one another except for once every couple of years. It keeps things fresh.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFKqbJfJ9zJUFjUPzYrnnn7fTH-ERZ7lbF_zox6iwk3xM-4UtLOaDjbkXiJrzNVtgxCl01aI1EMdXdQK4NUcKPFi4aMgnIQqlwKoCD2Iv1QuL1xQgIoDr4FkoZTjBJ3NHv74tdJpAptkE/s1600/EagleColumbia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="363" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFKqbJfJ9zJUFjUPzYrnnn7fTH-ERZ7lbF_zox6iwk3xM-4UtLOaDjbkXiJrzNVtgxCl01aI1EMdXdQK4NUcKPFi4aMgnIQqlwKoCD2Iv1QuL1xQgIoDr4FkoZTjBJ3NHv74tdJpAptkE/s320/EagleColumbia.jpg" width="161" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Columbia at the Eagle Center</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
So Jim and Carla flew into Minneapolis, rented a car and drove down to Ettrick, staying with Steve and Pam for three nights and then staying three nights with me in La Crosse. I went out to Ettrick for the regular Friday Pizza Night, giving 50-50 on whether the Washingtonians arrive before I faded.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCrypq4XxqiXV6BC_RONrdlHCeiSHrzQOFGjljut72bISoLXBhEdticpnb83tBJcP8qkthQh1FEkAqhF0imeVZ7zcNkhDCWcL8S2VobfbBp2Z0ERMc2E9S83TrQyDr-HhI4XMQoV4_MC0/s1600/NattyCarousel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="389" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCrypq4XxqiXV6BC_RONrdlHCeiSHrzQOFGjljut72bISoLXBhEdticpnb83tBJcP8qkthQh1FEkAqhF0imeVZ7zcNkhDCWcL8S2VobfbBp2Z0ERMc2E9S83TrQyDr-HhI4XMQoV4_MC0/s320/NattyCarousel.jpg" width="216" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Natalie and Lake Toys carousel</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
They stopped and had dinner with Amanda in Winona (on the Minnesota side of the Mississippi). Around 9:30, I called it an evening and drove home. Good thing, too, as Jim and Carla arrived between 10 and 11. I had to get my beauty sleep, as we were all going to make the Cheese Shop-Eagle Center-Lake Toys River arc the next day.<br />
<br />
The idea of this day trip is drive north on the Wisconsin side of the river. Stops are Alma (the great bluff view of me), Nelson (with a great cheese shop). We cross over to Wabasha and the Eagle Center on the Minnesota side continuing south to Lake Toys, then Winona and home.<br />
<br />
This time out, we had lunch at Slippery's (famed for being a location shoot for "Grumpy Old Men"), visited the eagles and stopped off at Lake Toys for fudge and ice cream cone purchases, as well as a ride on the carousel for Natalie.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9NIcJUe2p8rXX1wevgvRX9x3a_lFf6DTvvme1z42sPQDEIbGUzTR7C9DqsxmuW401YUJdRZXyEl1utYsd9KxA506dZrLJ7Eqab831z394rtCxhvhRQrAbjpxokHC2QY6uWXMpOjeY6Po/s1600/MarkMississippi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="526" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9NIcJUe2p8rXX1wevgvRX9x3a_lFf6DTvvme1z42sPQDEIbGUzTR7C9DqsxmuW401YUJdRZXyEl1utYsd9KxA506dZrLJ7Eqab831z394rtCxhvhRQrAbjpxokHC2QY6uWXMpOjeY6Po/s320/MarkMississippi.jpg" width="234" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Coulee Valley, I guess it's called</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I skipped out on Sunday's excursion, as I was still working on cleaning the house. I had paid Emily to come over and clean the week before, but there was still stuff to do (there's always stuff to do), so I was a busy guy. Patty always gets upset when overt cleaning takes place, so I try to do it as surreptitiously as possible.<br />
<br />
Speaking of Patty, something amazing happened. A few weeks ago, Steve and Pam were sitting in the living room at my place and Patty came downstairs and meowed at Pam. From the landing, of course, but she did allow herself to be seen.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv8fTfzDaMP7e4gEgcVdjdR7vpCKkLYFsBbHNDBJjYlCdzYAiovg65FgpO8Ru0xhwq_nU0rfVHib7zGQUgqrfukbRTf07sGrWJpK73BRXAB8dpAcP0Z87H0RqEKU69lSTG6x8CrggDivE/s1600/PattySleep.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="495" data-original-width="576" height="196" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv8fTfzDaMP7e4gEgcVdjdR7vpCKkLYFsBbHNDBJjYlCdzYAiovg65FgpO8Ru0xhwq_nU0rfVHib7zGQUgqrfukbRTf07sGrWJpK73BRXAB8dpAcP0Z87H0RqEKU69lSTG6x8CrggDivE/s320/PattySleep.jpg" width="230" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">After seven years, Patty starts socializing.</td></tr>
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Then, Tuesday morning, I believe it was, Jim was up and in the bathroom and, as he reported it, Patty came in and started rubbing up against his legs. He reached down and she let him pet her. Afterwards, she came down in the evening and got petted by Jim and Carla. It seems she's realized the pleasures of socialization.<br />
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On Monday, around noon, Steve came into town with Jim and Carla (Pam was at work at Western Technical College, as she is not yet retired). It was a gray day, drizzling/raining off and on in the afternoon, but we did get in a stroll through the International Gardens. and check out Riverside Park.<br />
<br />
On Tuesday we drove back to Minnesota, about an hour east, to a small town called Lanesboro, which is something of an arts colony, as well as an Amish stronghold. Carla was interested in a tour they had, about 3 hours long, which showed you working Amish farms and gave you a chance to purchase their wares as you stopped at each farm.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX57WQtnrz5fUeSdANqTee7GWNkoHgOBWM7TRX_Iixa1ZKXJpjDbZCqVBj_ALANBbbT6fwWP6cBdRCr2P8YY1cPwh_PKYMkYYuTR0VMtFKXgE7SXiWlMGwQZ4aHi7QwJgczgEALMC0e68/s1600/AmishFarmhouse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="463" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX57WQtnrz5fUeSdANqTee7GWNkoHgOBWM7TRX_Iixa1ZKXJpjDbZCqVBj_ALANBbbT6fwWP6cBdRCr2P8YY1cPwh_PKYMkYYuTR0VMtFKXgE7SXiWlMGwQZ4aHi7QwJgczgEALMC0e68/s320/AmishFarmhouse.jpg" width="257" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An Amish farmhouse</td></tr>
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Of course, being Amish, they dealt only in cash, and that was probably a saving grace for me, because I only had about $50 in my pocket. So I ended up buying a very nice door mat for the front door. I could have dumped a couple grand or more into the amazing furniture they had available, but alas, lack the funds. Beautiful work.<br />
<br />
Tuesday evening we went out to dinner at Piggy's, which was a very disappointing experience. This is a restaurant down in the arts district (across the street from the Pump House Art Center and catty-cornered from the community theater). I have had numerous lunches there, and the food was really good. This time, we went "upstairs" for fine dining and, after about an hour of waiting got lukewarm food and dismal service. The woman wasn't rude or abrupt, just terribly trained. I had steak and scallops, and the scallops were on the point of being bad.<br />
<br />
Wednesday, Jim and Carla went to Pettipoint Island and some canoeing. I stayed at home and nursed my back, which had received a lurching in the tour bus much like I experienced on the train going cross country. It took several days (in both instances) to work out the sore muscles that resulted.<br />
<br />
Wednesday evening, Steve and Pam and Amanda and Natalie joined us in the back yard for brats. Amanda did the cooking. I thought it was a fitting conclusion to Jim and Carla's Wisconsin experience.<br />
<br />
I got an e-mail from the place in Paris that is renting us our apartment. Seems, because of some regulatory changes or something, the apartment I originally rented (and have already paid for) is unavailable. So they sent a list of similar properties for about the same price but none of them had two bedrooms or a bathtub.<br />
<br />
I went online and picked out another property, only a few blocks from the original one, and replied via e-mail that this was the property I wanted and to apply my payments to this one.<br />
<br />
I got a reply back from an actual person (Vesna), and I think things are back on track.<br />
<br />
It's getting close to leaving time and I'm starting to get excited about this.<br />
<br />
And since I didn't end this blog at the ten-year mark, I suppose I'll have to make a really long entry about Paris when I get back. (I don't want to lug the computer overseas and the rules on bringing them into the country are murky right now.)<br />
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Mark McDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16469802659915856938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3085444013412702960.post-24710422827756015832017-09-25T14:55:00.001-07:002017-09-25T14:55:31.962-07:00Untidy TimingWell, Sept. 11, the 10-year anniversary of my starting this blog, came and went and I never got around to putting together a deeply meaningful, comprehensive final post.<br />
<br />
So screw that. I guess you're going to be inflicted with photos and a painfully long post about the upcoming vacation in Paris. That won't be for a while yet.<br />
<br />
That's all. Nothing to blog about.<br />
<br />
Nothing to see here.<br />
<br />
Go away and do something more interesting.Mark McDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16469802659915856938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3085444013412702960.post-24692287138935900332017-08-23T17:18:00.000-07:002017-08-27T22:38:27.963-07:00Summer StuffLet's see. What's been going on? Like most of my life, there's not much to report.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWwHGiJ7dlFcQelmMoQ3cUyHyYTX778_S8thyphenhyphengnhqpLDzx7G-YeSK88BftJGFtKkSv6ABl2KE5epMrgEbwGHS1VgzD64iQZlkKz-FOZiHDBjIAIgKkHCqt0g22sOGfxa77E_AqEHDuNIE/s1600/TwistedSmores.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="375" data-original-width="576" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWwHGiJ7dlFcQelmMoQ3cUyHyYTX778_S8thyphenhyphengnhqpLDzx7G-YeSK88BftJGFtKkSv6ABl2KE5epMrgEbwGHS1VgzD64iQZlkKz-FOZiHDBjIAIgKkHCqt0g22sOGfxa77E_AqEHDuNIE/s320/TwistedSmores.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From left, Ada, Pam and Penny attack tabletop s'mores.</td></tr>
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In July, longtime Solberg family friends visited (Sam, Ada and Susan). I joined them, Steve and Pam, and Pam's sister Penny at the Cameron Park Farmer's Market, then we walked over to the Twisted Moose for dinner. The food was good (the place is new, and Steve and I had had lunch there recently), and Ada insisted on ordering the tabletop S'mores for dessert. It was really quite interesting.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPSHhcozDFkgYBOwQCghS2OqtPBGiBpx3VkGs5BxWKumFBL9ou_IdgrlhnA_ZNpq8Jw99jwcHryol7kHqW4r3d1VJdbH1geTB7tSCmGHPpEhhsqsmNNZmmLzT5DJ5DyGyABRFxUds2GDY/s1600/picnicCake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="499" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPSHhcozDFkgYBOwQCghS2OqtPBGiBpx3VkGs5BxWKumFBL9ou_IdgrlhnA_ZNpq8Jw99jwcHryol7kHqW4r3d1VJdbH1geTB7tSCmGHPpEhhsqsmNNZmmLzT5DJ5DyGyABRFxUds2GDY/s200/picnicCake.jpg" width="173" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Picnic cake</td></tr>
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That was on Friday. On Sunday, there was a family get-together in Ettrick and a great host of Solbergs were present for the festivities. Someone brought a really great cake that looked like a picnic basket on top of a checkered blanket. It even included ants marching toward the food. I didn't get a single bite of it, but I'm told it was as tasty as it was creative.<br />
<br />
The day's repast was typical Wisconsin, with barbecue (which is ground beef with a tomato sauce served on hamburger buns) and hot dogs. There were also numerous finger foods, appetizers, and sundry goodies that everyone had brought. And seeing as everyone had brought a little something, there was lots and lots of food.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYihQV_oVsqp74R_3013GKsqdTQtwdBNpxgKR-pGQ8dSNbhlZXC74ULMQ4NfXahnhBrvPCChp2FfA7UW3VMUVrZyl5Iz_9PqXxpXo8B4VNUX99s7PZsiOLGyWIYkT8lkhauVc9LjktYaY/s1600/SolbergPicnic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="338" data-original-width="576" height="187" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYihQV_oVsqp74R_3013GKsqdTQtwdBNpxgKR-pGQ8dSNbhlZXC74ULMQ4NfXahnhBrvPCChp2FfA7UW3VMUVrZyl5Iz_9PqXxpXo8B4VNUX99s7PZsiOLGyWIYkT8lkhauVc9LjktYaY/s320/SolbergPicnic.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The family gathers, including a squirming Natalie, far right.</td></tr>
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To give you an idea of how many Solbergs there are (and were there), here is a group photo of the clan as it convened for the above-described gathering.<br />
<br />
The next Saturday was my 64th birthday, and Steve and Pam took me out to a real Wisconsin supper club situated on the banks of the Mississippi in Trempleau, north of La Crosse. The environment was evocative of supper club places in Oregon that our parents had taken us to as kids, except it did not have the relish tray on the table. Emily and Jim were also in attendance, and it was a great birthday present.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOcArjLVPZfMjpWTd4esS6KHQ7YFRpIjoiJWS4RTfz4FyiofqqZ2oQj83y1gOEaZM5e-qx4ODgz_rsgAzW14xMyyUc3KoR5V8kxnt4eH1PDK7IfGU_3DXwskgFrqhxcjKh1cWsb-Q7skU/s1600/ViroquaMemorial.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="306" data-original-width="503" height="194" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOcArjLVPZfMjpWTd4esS6KHQ7YFRpIjoiJWS4RTfz4FyiofqqZ2oQj83y1gOEaZM5e-qx4ODgz_rsgAzW14xMyyUc3KoR5V8kxnt4eH1PDK7IfGU_3DXwskgFrqhxcjKh1cWsb-Q7skU/s320/ViroquaMemorial.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Steve and Pam at the Viroqua War Memorial.</td></tr>
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Steve, Pam and I went on our second day trip, this time to Viroqua, which is south of La Crosse and home town to my friend Deeann Hoff, who was art director when I worked at the Hollywood Reporter. I wanted to check out Gary's Rock Shop, which I had seen on the news, and I wanted to try out lunch at Driftless Cafe, which had won a national award and also been on the news. I bought a stone carving (a bison or a bear or something) and lunch was very good.<br />
<br />
As of the first of August, I've started volunteering at the Center (full name is Seven Rivers LGBTQ Connection) on Monday and Wednesday evenings, 4-8 p.m. On Mondays, a board member named Kellen hosts a live Facebook feed focusing on folks in our community. And on Wednesdays nothing of importance occurs, so things are pretty dead for my shifts.<br />
<br />
There was one Wednesday when the board met to discuss expanding the Center into an adjacent space in our current building (we are literally busting at the seams), and I got to tag along and inspect the proposed expansion space. It would be a real improvement, and make a coffee bar and hangout space a reality.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-hHGYUYQMErZw27z11Zya2jBk4gA7dzfnVg0a0n45n1A0TUMOYRsQlTXTF_J9Zqt40RXhRJsTe-pyX4NdpsVK987kxoNNYXtrmDJ9MHc_tkP-ethz-VMwk4VBGj8EEQRdnoeveWVJoaU/s1600/Plant-April.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="286" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-hHGYUYQMErZw27z11Zya2jBk4gA7dzfnVg0a0n45n1A0TUMOYRsQlTXTF_J9Zqt40RXhRJsTe-pyX4NdpsVK987kxoNNYXtrmDJ9MHc_tkP-ethz-VMwk4VBGj8EEQRdnoeveWVJoaU/s320/Plant-April.jpg" width="158" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Plant on April 5 this year</td></tr>
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Just today, my quietude was broken by a tall gentleman who walked in. Turns out he's been in town for all of 10 days, is in residency at Gundersen Healthcare (my provider) in alternative and spiritual healing. He asked lots of questions about the town and the people, what we did at the Center. I filled him in as much as I could, explaining that I had only been here two years, which is considered an outsider by the locals.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6LaL0qQvvOPD3iicR9fn6laeVGLVhXT67zfd1AnxJFEmNjiXkwd2dEPonL5jxYCSu10OMsW_v0nzb3u0bYMxxaZRSBlGqKbjqb_itAI1EGvAAb_N7gxWwZC24jvEI5r0pQAbJmiLxXZY/s1600/Plant-Aug.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="321" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6LaL0qQvvOPD3iicR9fn6laeVGLVhXT67zfd1AnxJFEmNjiXkwd2dEPonL5jxYCSu10OMsW_v0nzb3u0bYMxxaZRSBlGqKbjqb_itAI1EGvAAb_N7gxWwZC24jvEI5r0pQAbJmiLxXZY/s320/Plant-Aug.jpg" width="178" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Repotted plant</td></tr>
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The plant in the living room (I have no idea what it's called) has grown so much that it required a second transplanting. I found a nice planter at Menard's — lightweight and just stylish enough for my tastes (also it has no drain hole, which is good for the floors). I messed up the dining room preparing the soil and pulling apart the dense root ball. It turns out there are seven separate plants, so now it is/they are repotted and just starting to take off after establishing new roots.<br />
<br />
To give you an idea of how happy this plant is, I've posted a photo of it from April, when it got its first transplant, and after this second transplanting. Please note there is no longer a table underneath; the pot is a standing planter.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJVEqKO2ad20FzPek-uE_SqEcmls6Oabq7wlZNb5vVEXffuhBp1Bgd6haCll8DSBOGI77W1m1WwAsgYNA-CdW_SEIfClwSzxqosAkttOGsUMpEXapC60VYQb7FeYZJVOO4JpzG02zkRY0/s1600/PattyTongue.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="441" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJVEqKO2ad20FzPek-uE_SqEcmls6Oabq7wlZNb5vVEXffuhBp1Bgd6haCll8DSBOGI77W1m1WwAsgYNA-CdW_SEIfClwSzxqosAkttOGsUMpEXapC60VYQb7FeYZJVOO4JpzG02zkRY0/s320/PattyTongue.jpg" width="245" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Patty sleeping with her eyes open<br />
and her tongue out, just because.</td></tr>
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I think I've finally found a person to do my yard. I've been looking for someone who can do the weeding and trimming and let me do the mowing. He also does snow removal, so I may have the same deal with him in winter: I do the sidewalks and he does the driveway. We're meeting tomorrow, so all things should shake out then. Cross your fingers: a good , reliable yard person is hard to find here.<br />
<br />
Another fun household thing: the knob on the shower no longer mixes hot and cold water, but provides one or the other. I am also sick of the toilet upstairs, and when its ballast ball broke off last week, I decided it was time to replace it with a high-profile unit. So I had the plumber out this week to check things out. He took pictures and will get back to me with a quote. Doesn't matter; if it's within reason, he can do it ASAP. I'm sick of showering in the basement (although the basement shower is really nice, and much cooler in the summer).<br />
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<br />Mark McDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16469802659915856938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3085444013412702960.post-19557751956513336542017-07-18T07:06:00.001-07:002017-07-18T07:06:31.108-07:00Mark Marking Time<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjamzQcgZa9GrAYGynVj0zFEyJ_Hgs6z_VAvffLZQ8XZi_3f6NB7TwRG7nsar-kesD5jgNw4n3hcsuN6f1Zv2cWFIpmjevjqidWAKNDm38vLtfdlRWiItaT4jjLVXVPQIh0EMISqhiUdj8/s1600/MarkMug.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="864" data-original-width="576" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjamzQcgZa9GrAYGynVj0zFEyJ_Hgs6z_VAvffLZQ8XZi_3f6NB7TwRG7nsar-kesD5jgNw4n3hcsuN6f1Zv2cWFIpmjevjqidWAKNDm38vLtfdlRWiItaT4jjLVXVPQIh0EMISqhiUdj8/s320/MarkMug.jpg" width="170" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">New mug because</td></tr>
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I finally did it. Dad's grandfather clock is once again ticking out time.<br />
<br />
When mom died, my niece Amanda took several pieces from the estate. Among them was the clock.<br />
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It got shipped out to Ettrick in 2010 and sat in Pam and Steve's living room (still swathed in bubble wrap), never set up but waiting for Amanda to get a place where she could house it.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSVW7zFCpWnBo5g7k9GWZ1XDHKV23xhV4OH2rYEoqTwRtsiNBMfjnTkX6gs0K829CmnhFHZ-4Y3Kxw562PP1QQJ7g5Ve5xTTuFuu6amPjRDv2TN0SV5Ebor08oH6YDkbrRtmM-SPOZlh4/s1600/GrandfatherClock.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1075" data-original-width="576" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSVW7zFCpWnBo5g7k9GWZ1XDHKV23xhV4OH2rYEoqTwRtsiNBMfjnTkX6gs0K829CmnhFHZ-4Y3Kxw562PP1QQJ7g5Ve5xTTuFuu6amPjRDv2TN0SV5Ebor08oH6YDkbrRtmM-SPOZlh4/s400/GrandfatherClock.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grandfather clock working</td></tr>
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When I bought my home in 2015, Amanda suggested I take the clock, since I had room for it and it lent itself to the house. So we moved it over to my house and it has sat in the living room, unwrapped, only semi-assembled. The winding key was missing and the weights were not installed. Still, it looked really good.<br />
<br />
After my brother Steve retired earlier this year, he cleaned out his home office and ran across all the paperwork for the clock, including the installation instructions and, yes, the winding key. There was finally no real reason not to get the clock up and running.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcN4XcBET4By4Tc9Oo2M3N7D8vF_XXbyvYpG5tyKKnSTb-qXX6FZXKmjAPTM7fCTompWVSeptuEvxNxY2KGVScw2V4KRh0zow3lfCl59UXKQq8sbJs5dFboQzBI73fqnpSdDGoQmdFnIQ/s1600/Crystal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="456" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcN4XcBET4By4Tc9Oo2M3N7D8vF_XXbyvYpG5tyKKnSTb-qXX6FZXKmjAPTM7fCTompWVSeptuEvxNxY2KGVScw2V4KRh0zow3lfCl59UXKQq8sbJs5dFboQzBI73fqnpSdDGoQmdFnIQ/s320/Crystal.jpg" width="202" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crystal under the entry light</td></tr>
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I can't imagine that a clock not keeping time in one's home can't be good feng shui, and I've been trying to fine-tune things. Pam kind of started it all with the offer of a crystal for the entry. (The front door faces the front closet on the other side of the entryway. The crystal helps to disperse the chi to the sides, I'm told.)<br />
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The other dormant feng shui remedy in the house was the table fountain. It had been sitting to the side in the entry, unplugged, unfilled, inert. It was just a matter of sprucing it up a bit, some assembly and a little experimentation.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGMP0wLKGd35g9LK8CkFRa-d3nM-Pmm8XmphDfSen4MLzHMIjRldKI-7GvF3aouP3RpyUuNGmWn_OzHb7eJ1IcqkP-T6ua3HfwR_F7RrLZY5i4JCMMX4PU64q9lDhWhzXEQ0BmTor7xmo/s1600/Fountain.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="380" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGMP0wLKGd35g9LK8CkFRa-d3nM-Pmm8XmphDfSen4MLzHMIjRldKI-7GvF3aouP3RpyUuNGmWn_OzHb7eJ1IcqkP-T6ua3HfwR_F7RrLZY5i4JCMMX4PU64q9lDhWhzXEQ0BmTor7xmo/s320/Fountain.jpg" width="210" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wet and flowing once more</td></tr>
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I tried it out where it was in the entry, but I found I couldn't hear the water, and I'm of the opinion that the sensory input of feng shui remedies is half their effect. So I made a little room in the corner of the living room and moved it there. It looks really nice there, and the sound of water fills the room.<br />
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The other thing I did (awhile ago) but haven't shared is the print plates from "The Bridge of San Luis Rey." My dad gave me the book for Christmas when I was in my early teens, and I loved the story and was taken by the litho art plates. I had them hanging up the stairway in Pasadena, for anyone who visited there.<br />
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But when I went to hang them in the dining room here, I discovered that the frames were too big and slightly different sizes. That just wouldn't work in the tight arrangement I wanted. I found super cheap frames online ($8 a piece) and they're anodized aluminum so they have a slick, minimal look.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ8UcZTCU0Zw0A8kS_vGA6lTwe7-tmrm7n4Q0MEZZOWbOALZzOYXWQhzQ6rAXeJl5BIU6WUcSbbtSFR6leFHysFt-VsJj6w2KdrxN2Q3KuOk-WnVcYlMKuycTiKoEjPrd2IAgJxFaIJQ8/s1600/SanLuisReyPrints.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="982" height="323" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ8UcZTCU0Zw0A8kS_vGA6lTwe7-tmrm7n4Q0MEZZOWbOALZzOYXWQhzQ6rAXeJl5BIU6WUcSbbtSFR6leFHysFt-VsJj6w2KdrxN2Q3KuOk-WnVcYlMKuycTiKoEjPrd2IAgJxFaIJQ8/s640/SanLuisReyPrints.jpg" width="550" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Plates from The Bridge of San Luis Rey by Thornton Wilder</td></tr>
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But back to the clock: I got out the instructions and read through them several times to make sure I knew what I was doing. Some of the clock elements are fairly fragile, so I wanted to work carefully and deliberately.<br />
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It really didn't take much at all. Getting the weight wheels onto their cables was the most difficult part. Once I got everything assembled, I started the pendulum swinging and the clock's been striking the hour and quarter hours ever since.<br />
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Right now it's on Winchester chimes, but there are other settings (including silent). The chimes are quiet enough that I don't hear them up in the bedroom, and I like hearing the clock marking time all day long when I'm downstairs.<br />
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And speaking of time, I was looking back on the blog entries and realized that I started this 10 years ago come September 11. I did not start it on that date for any meaning, it just happened to be when I sat down in front of the computer for my first entry.<br />
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So I've decided that, since only about a dozen people (if that) read these posts, I'm going to conclude this project 10 years to the day it began. Now I just have to remember to make that last post on September 11, 2017.<br />
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I guess you'll never get to hear about the trip to Paris and Le Salon du Chocolat here, as that will happen in October. Them's the breaks.<br />
<br />Mark McDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16469802659915856938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3085444013412702960.post-91912090863710500852017-06-12T17:03:00.000-07:002017-06-12T17:03:51.902-07:00Early Sticky Summer<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3ESD6tE4iM7MDjB-ScBErBERIc43jqwZEh_P86JTcl1Agxbw2oSn2A9poXIslHZtxGE4zo-aUYmsW1H81MxNoDzuAgHZf7IkaRfyqJbh4RtDQV5P2O3X8SFQ1kCZFbSpWRjrARlAP0pQ/s1600/StormClouds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="432" data-original-width="576" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3ESD6tE4iM7MDjB-ScBErBERIc43jqwZEh_P86JTcl1Agxbw2oSn2A9poXIslHZtxGE4zo-aUYmsW1H81MxNoDzuAgHZf7IkaRfyqJbh4RtDQV5P2O3X8SFQ1kCZFbSpWRjrARlAP0pQ/s320/StormClouds.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dark clouds approaching</td></tr>
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Today at 3 p.m. the sun went away. Huge gray clouds loomed from the north and west, and soon it looked as dark as sunset. The cat's head popped up in alarm and she shot off upstairs for cover. There was a moment's silence outside, then came the rain. Then the wind. Then the lightning, followed by loud thunder. As usual, my smartphone weather alert popped up a minute or so after the pelting rain began. "Precipitation detected within five miles of your location." Thanks for the heads up.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6Qpd2NZWGWBaR7CwbFgm1WrJ1O1ZMELCw0WvIDoSjcBuCXvphvbfF9KKlrkax4Ol8rIFeu2i9bYilUxKXPNLpKGpm7bdUSuvhB4m07Z3xQwPnXuvVqiNEMYuv1xqAvCfNkLwLKZHYJrA/s1600/ThunderClouds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="547" data-original-width="576" height="189" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6Qpd2NZWGWBaR7CwbFgm1WrJ1O1ZMELCw0WvIDoSjcBuCXvphvbfF9KKlrkax4Ol8rIFeu2i9bYilUxKXPNLpKGpm7bdUSuvhB4m07Z3xQwPnXuvVqiNEMYuv1xqAvCfNkLwLKZHYJrA/s200/ThunderClouds.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here comes the storm</td></tr>
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<div>
This last week has been hot and humid. La Crosse has set new record high temperatures nearly every other day. Highs in the 90s, lows in the upper 70s, and humidity of 50% and 60%. Needless to say, the air conditioner has been running around the clock, as much to pull the stickiness out of the air as to cool it.</div>
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Now the front has passed on to the east, the thunder has lessened somewhat, the winds are just blustery and the rain is steady. We didn't get much rain in the last month or so, and this is a relief, for my lawn and, more important, the farmers all around who feed us.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifU_j9-WB92B4-2GxG0EFeXxBife9m6EAJd7wzLwRYB75Fp-j4r2PoDLZ7-Y_X8Sbg_WQUeYlY-6gwh-cI4llpdD9at_9CkHwLRzk1-xxIQSJ3vgwtC-E_evkItN_PHhG2pU72_vg9G9M/s1600/PattySleep.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="495" data-original-width="576" height="171" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifU_j9-WB92B4-2GxG0EFeXxBife9m6EAJd7wzLwRYB75Fp-j4r2PoDLZ7-Y_X8Sbg_WQUeYlY-6gwh-cI4llpdD9at_9CkHwLRzk1-xxIQSJ3vgwtC-E_evkItN_PHhG2pU72_vg9G9M/s200/PattySleep.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Moments before bolting</td></tr>
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<div>
Patty, my cat, has developed a sixth sense for thunder storms. I think she must feel the ozone in the air or something, because she's upstairs and ensconced in her happy place before a drop of rain ever falls. She is also an excellent watch cat: whenever someone comes to the door (or even when the neighbors take their trash out) her head pops up in alarm and she's gone.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4f9eu14_F_xDSh1Tww5uNRX2lAHLdNGTzywyxoY6GLGSheSzBOsTD33Bi5-R0M-AxssdQAHt-h6uj1KYKauYsKzK2owCiVYT4a8JUhx0I64N5kK2J6nueYWA5WAjdsWvlyPzUTt2Wyvw/s1600/Nelson-Hillside.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="357" data-original-width="576" height="123" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4f9eu14_F_xDSh1Tww5uNRX2lAHLdNGTzywyxoY6GLGSheSzBOsTD33Bi5-R0M-AxssdQAHt-h6uj1KYKauYsKzK2owCiVYT4a8JUhx0I64N5kK2J6nueYWA5WAjdsWvlyPzUTt2Wyvw/s200/Nelson-Hillside.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The hills are alive</td></tr>
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<div>
It was only weeks ago, it seems, that the trees were emerging from their dormancy, budding, every green possible springing up in the neighborhoods, on hillsides, the bare canvas of winter suddenly covered in verdant vegetation. And with that reawakening came the burgeoning growth of my yards, both front and back. I got the lawn mower up and working a few weeks ago and tackled both the front and back yards. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnIWW2RFLi_LWX1kNWo9A9v8oBMk9kyNyUim6IL4OfYzVGikdC_0CkJOur1alOhErZQkUvwWktZWEYcEREW88mg0_dFXJ6MmLlcXnx6VlPo7dwmKf50bua7PrYhVYd5FJhzuJzQ3MAxPw/s1600/BackYard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="325" data-original-width="576" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnIWW2RFLi_LWX1kNWo9A9v8oBMk9kyNyUim6IL4OfYzVGikdC_0CkJOur1alOhErZQkUvwWktZWEYcEREW88mg0_dFXJ6MmLlcXnx6VlPo7dwmKf50bua7PrYhVYd5FJhzuJzQ3MAxPw/s320/BackYard.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My little meadow</td></tr>
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Since then, I have again mowed the front, but decided to leave the back yard to go fallow, since it's more a collection of meadow plants than actual grass. There are tiny purple and white flowers, low-growing greenery and patches of tall grass. I think it's rather pretty.</div>
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I let it go wild because I don't use the yard but, since allowing it to take its own course, I have found that the neighborhood wildlife are quite fond of it. I have a couple rabbits who come and hide in the grass while munching it. The squirrels like it, and the birds visit every morning and afternoon, especially the robins.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja7Bk4S5qUKe6vdA8P-hahyphenhyphenOFtJNSs7w_OPfJC9yyhFvQTbPf8AwAZfZTuFFgm8TuxpNE1rOQAmgXuMrfAWwR6KJo23p2NZEgw0bFwoGZogCBiXqBSY4AfOw_8pe39ZsE_WBnkia6FQ0Q/s1600/DrunkStopSign.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="299" data-original-width="403" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja7Bk4S5qUKe6vdA8P-hahyphenhyphenOFtJNSs7w_OPfJC9yyhFvQTbPf8AwAZfZTuFFgm8TuxpNE1rOQAmgXuMrfAWwR6KJo23p2NZEgw0bFwoGZogCBiXqBSY4AfOw_8pe39ZsE_WBnkia6FQ0Q/s200/DrunkStopSign.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just because</td></tr>
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I know at some point I'll have to cut it back at least once, but since no one sees it but me and my backyard guests, I'm in no hurry. The front yard, however, is another matter. Facing one of the most traveled streets in town, everyone gets a gander at it, so I try to keep it at least presentable.</div>
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At first I was horrified at all the weeds in the lawn. But as I went about town, I realized that only the expensive houses with pristine yards (and a full compliment of gardeners) had grass lawns. Everyone else (including the city parks) just kept the weeds and plants in among the grass mowed down to an acceptable height, so that has been my strategy, as well.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghKFaVrRaGU1ASjAne4TjBg9jnXoSDMPb6k1PFwiqwAd0sOK2UWasrloLX9XNPjT7a7ZemJcllPFEk3LG1CbHON5MBu4ILVNZPtGM293mUYFDXFQJ6H3XfGLioXFRqNUG767YS7lo9pnc/s1600/NelsonCheeseShop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="414" data-original-width="576" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghKFaVrRaGU1ASjAne4TjBg9jnXoSDMPb6k1PFwiqwAd0sOK2UWasrloLX9XNPjT7a7ZemJcllPFEk3LG1CbHON5MBu4ILVNZPtGM293mUYFDXFQJ6H3XfGLioXFRqNUG767YS7lo9pnc/s320/NelsonCheeseShop.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Best cheese shop I've found in Wisconsin</td></tr>
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<div>
My brother Steve has officially retired, and we are committed to planning day trips, since we now both have our days free. It being summer, his wife Pam (a teacher at the local community college) may come along if she's not busy taking her classes online this summer. A few weeks ago, we took our first outing up to Nelson, along the Mississippi, to visit the amazing cheese shop there.</div>
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We stopped and had lunch (the cheese shop is also a sandwich shop). I picked up some Jarlsberg and a cousin to brie (can't remember the name, but it was scrumptious) after having a reuben sandwich with a cream soda.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRVKUxoU2nK5ULMcnsjTHYAU1h9fCNDp9VVYsxJrsW0lNegsMUS1hEklN_83Ok38ZFZzZXEysbBjF7fDPo6jt-1fuCaOlHZeYnl7fD1qAqb8KvX2k9mz3IzPHiBhqjeCaSJc8KIwOwbRA/s1600/Toys-Robots.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="432" data-original-width="576" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRVKUxoU2nK5ULMcnsjTHYAU1h9fCNDp9VVYsxJrsW0lNegsMUS1hEklN_83Ok38ZFZzZXEysbBjF7fDPo6jt-1fuCaOlHZeYnl7fD1qAqb8KvX2k9mz3IzPHiBhqjeCaSJc8KIwOwbRA/s320/Toys-Robots.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Toy robots for days</td></tr>
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<div>
We then headed over the river to the Minnesota side, driving down to Lake Toys, a complex of toy store, toy museum, lunch shop, fudge store, carousel and mini golf course. The only other time I'd been there was in March. The snow was still on the ground and the mini golf was totally covered. </div>
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This time around I got to see it active, with several water features. I was amused to see the water was tinted blue, as though the water itself wasn't inviting enough. I also stumbled upon a couple fun mirrors that I'd never noticed before; embarrassing, because they are in the main hallway of the place.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj8LueV0KpxWRVVK7Zfxsc8MKcGxXEv6Z03X7nXUAsS-ioYo1J2j33Z3AjbQtgA_CbBQ50pwDjb_PG8T2vA-AwFE-Uhaf-5rJI4aa4dSSYuCDDUscUdfQ10yp9p_YFJakGTU8jD8zuWzM/s1600/FunMirror1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="227" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj8LueV0KpxWRVVK7Zfxsc8MKcGxXEv6Z03X7nXUAsS-ioYo1J2j33Z3AjbQtgA_CbBQ50pwDjb_PG8T2vA-AwFE-Uhaf-5rJI4aa4dSSYuCDDUscUdfQ10yp9p_YFJakGTU8jD8zuWzM/s320/FunMirror1.jpg" width="151" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Funhouse mirror</td></tr>
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<div>
We continued south to Winona (stomping grounds of Amanda and Natalie), then over the bridge to the Wisconsin side and back to Ettrick. It was a pleasant day, and I got to purchase cheeses (though my next trip to Nelson I have sworn to be a little bolder in my exotic cheese choices).</div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyDSUuMvAeIo_ekUq_Y24l-JquzOkwCrJaWzO7BcMqrtOKLzQ3jHVKez4wJD1bOMJtHpsVanb9Efcq0h1IwV9d1cOvqZQZtcj4wZwgsI7SA0NkHLFeSfmxcoC-PJITectaOf2ZjgE-xF0/s1600/Toys-Pam.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="434" data-original-width="576" height="193" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyDSUuMvAeIo_ekUq_Y24l-JquzOkwCrJaWzO7BcMqrtOKLzQ3jHVKez4wJD1bOMJtHpsVanb9Efcq0h1IwV9d1cOvqZQZtcj4wZwgsI7SA0NkHLFeSfmxcoC-PJITectaOf2ZjgE-xF0/s320/Toys-Pam.jpg" width="256" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pam and the toy museum</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
Beyond that, I haven't been up to a whole lot. Moon Tunes (a series of weekly free concerts at Riverside Park) started last week, but it's too muggy to sit out there for any time. Artspire, the annual arts street festival, was last Saturday, and the same excuse applies for not visiting that.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjYTP8n6LmziNJD114yhz6u8oy57Nm0jJrd2vLy0fmtQs4pT7Seee1c3LCQ-8u4fS31WUnWPuzEOcptzHv-4HRZ1x_GMbS7lPxFSK7W1RVjtz2gbmSqZ7WeWy7SD5uvOLp2_3UR7bLchA/s1600/FoodTruck.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="427" data-original-width="576" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjYTP8n6LmziNJD114yhz6u8oy57Nm0jJrd2vLy0fmtQs4pT7Seee1c3LCQ-8u4fS31WUnWPuzEOcptzHv-4HRZ1x_GMbS7lPxFSK7W1RVjtz2gbmSqZ7WeWy7SD5uvOLp2_3UR7bLchA/s320/FoodTruck.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Waiting for egg rolls. Photo by Pete Solberg</td></tr>
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On Friday, things were a little more pleasant, and Pam and I went down to the Farmer's Market in Cameron Park (right downtown). Her brother Pete is the unofficial photographer for the market, so he's always in evidence. We walked up and down the stalls. I was looking for tomatoes, but it's a little too early for them. The big crops now are strawberries and asparagus. I bought neither.</div>
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I replenished my stock of Kickapoo maple syrup (dynamite stuff), broke down and got a loaf of chocolate cherry zucchini bread, and bought a hand-thrown coffee mug, which I have yet to use. (I mean, who wants to brew up a piping hot pot of coffee when it's 80º at 9 a.m.?) After this consumer frenzy, Pam and I stopped by the food truck. She got egg rolls and rice, I got sweet and sour chicken and rice. Heading back down the line of stalls, we chose cookies for dessert.</div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD-7oIv0sdg1vuQ3KvJOcwMnI-SY1jL5TfxAqCcoDKxUOJOHRgY8-sOD2FLTt3hi2oXIIsZT9WFcWqtSOm-Q3vIe1W-sHO_B5pDKYG6JxGCthWfY2FFwcQjMhI302TZZKVwZ7TKGivofQ/s1600/ColorNames.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="837" data-original-width="400" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD-7oIv0sdg1vuQ3KvJOcwMnI-SY1jL5TfxAqCcoDKxUOJOHRgY8-sOD2FLTt3hi2oXIIsZT9WFcWqtSOm-Q3vIe1W-sHO_B5pDKYG6JxGCthWfY2FFwcQjMhI302TZZKVwZ7TKGivofQ/s400/ColorNames.jpg" width="190" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Artificial intelligence names<br />
colors. Just because</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
My sister Kittie sent an e-mail recently, asking if I had old family photos, as she was looking for a particular one to use in a playbill for a show she helps put on each year. I did have old photos, so I dragged them down and spread everything out on the dining room table. It was certainly a stroll down memory lane.</div>
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I didn't find the one she was looking for, but I did successfully separate the photos out into separate piles for the five siblings. Then, this afternoon, Kittie called again and said Steve had some photos, as well. So he's bringing them over tomorrow, along with great-niece Natalie. Steve has a doctor's appointment, so this will be my first time watching Natalie solo. I think I'll enlist her in a separation of the new old photos and see if we can't find something more appropriate depicting her great-aunt Kittie.</div>
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The one constant over the weeks has been my reacquaintance with the French language via Rosetta Stone. As dedicated readers will know, Kittie, her husband Dave and myself are going to Paris in October to attend Le Salon du Chocolat. And although just about everyone who deals with the public there speaks English, I want to be able to speak to and understand what the locals are saying in their native language. It's also a good way to reactivate the four years of high school French I took and keep my gray cells alive and hopping.</div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZmzX97Leva8UNJVM7CUvCFsmwbTxuZKWKxp8ysUURVfJIZdu8VhBQFexE1KBoKrLGLLyKZkm6OZkAKWC3bQcVLDfGo4mNzrUuYApkLyrWz_FTz7nKQlTVWpRAkfBXFJXBxFRGQLOdpnI/s1600/DemonFamily.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="348" data-original-width="576" height="193" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZmzX97Leva8UNJVM7CUvCFsmwbTxuZKWKxp8ysUURVfJIZdu8VhBQFexE1KBoKrLGLLyKZkm6OZkAKWC3bQcVLDfGo4mNzrUuYApkLyrWz_FTz7nKQlTVWpRAkfBXFJXBxFRGQLOdpnI/s320/DemonFamily.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just because again</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
Beyond that, I've started binge watching "Leftovers" on HBO. I've been watching the first two seasons on HBO GO on my laptop, then I plan to segue to the show's third season now on cable.</div>
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Also, I watch the news channels on a daily basis, waiting patiently for things to unravel, for the truth to come to light. I have a feeling that, once all is known, Watergate will pale in comparison to the misdeeds of Trump, his campaign, his cronies and, indeed, his entire presidency. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
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But, as with Watergate, it will be a long haul between the smelling of the malignant detritus and the vivisection of the entire panorama of ill deeds. Next year's elections will be interesting.</div>
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Mark McDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16469802659915856938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3085444013412702960.post-85196959693150700832017-04-19T05:25:00.000-07:002017-04-19T05:25:14.271-07:00Spring SongI think spring is finally here. We haven't had a freezing temperature at night for over a week, and the days are reaching up into the mid- and upper-60s. The sun appears in the east around 6 a.m. or so and doesn't dip into the west until nearly 8 p.m.<br />
<br />
We've had rains off and on over the last few weeks (even a couple of thunder claps, which send Patty shooting upstairs to hide under the bed), and the grass is getting scraggly enough that I'll have to seriously think about assembling the lawn mower. Also, I'd say it's fairly safe to put the snow thrower away until next fall.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHs_t-gqKcYIgHsQAfX_lcjwaYZFyBrQpWgpPP2810xDxCYZzzSlY1phW2jbY0qdFexTNusLal34lOZt4olC7aGyDV9c-80nMNYor0n0WI4O61hk3xuvXr0CNWAbkhH_RSwm5GObZgEbE/s1600/PattySunning.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHs_t-gqKcYIgHsQAfX_lcjwaYZFyBrQpWgpPP2810xDxCYZzzSlY1phW2jbY0qdFexTNusLal34lOZt4olC7aGyDV9c-80nMNYor0n0WI4O61hk3xuvXr0CNWAbkhH_RSwm5GObZgEbE/s400/PattySunning.jpg" width="285" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Patty in the afternoon sun</td></tr>
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Looking at the square footage of the driveway and walks versus that of the yards, I think it's about the same area I'll have to cover with the mower. There will be extra effort the first time around the yard, as the trash passers-by have tossed into the front yard over the winter will have to be collected. (The small stuff, I already did a once around picking up beer cans, tennis balls, fast-food wrappers and the like.)<br />
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I've had the house opened up on several occasions, but Patty doesn't seem interested in getting back into the window casements, staring at the outside world. When they stay open all day and night, I think she'll get back into the habit. By the end of fall, I'm sure she'll be slightly offended when the windows close up again for the winter.<br />
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She does have a wonderful time sun bathing in the living room, though. And with a plant growing in the window, she's sure to get that lovely afternoon sun, no matter how glaring it gets.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjofR1oW2fk4juiH9mUc6McCnAYqq67xYRSSN1hh2wBShc7dvMlBUOqFYw1eDAevJlzCI3hsJxraY9y7IBlrdOvnimIjsOuxJDzPzScC2JGJfmN4Fvq4pZ3W1tkmTL0V5L7bQqx7IM_Gy8/s1600/OlsonMailer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="249" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjofR1oW2fk4juiH9mUc6McCnAYqq67xYRSSN1hh2wBShc7dvMlBUOqFYw1eDAevJlzCI3hsJxraY9y7IBlrdOvnimIjsOuxJDzPzScC2JGJfmN4Fvq4pZ3W1tkmTL0V5L7bQqx7IM_Gy8/s320/OlsonMailer.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Homemade politics</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We've had another election, this one for the city council. My new council member is Jessica Olson. I got one of her circulars in the mail and, once again, it encapsulates the reason I love it here in La Crosse. Instead of hiring a marketing firm to send out slick campaign materials, it was all done at the kitchen table.<br />
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You can see by the picture that the circular is handmade with construction paper and paper doilies, along with a photo of Jessica. A short letter outlining her positions was included. The envelope is hand addressed, and the stamp is licked and placed by hand. Even the return address sticker is hand applied. I'm glad she won.<br />
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The biggest news since my last entry is that my sister Kittie and her husband David are going with me to Paris for Le Salon Chocolat in October. We've got the plane tickets purchased, I rented a two-bedroom apartment in the Marais for us, and we're looking at what else to fill the week with, beyond the chocolate fair.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQuVIBnv16q7jtCvISCZLvFXquMM0FOIywayrkgdnQ3ui3YSVncE2azA67XtgNaBauYxM8UMpwEOZC7Gl_02WiZNTYYiS2obOJW2QOvst9-7spKo0c7lqgmVP6LlZSr1eFCdevClpZw3Y/s1600/SalonduChocolat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQuVIBnv16q7jtCvISCZLvFXquMM0FOIywayrkgdnQ3ui3YSVncE2azA67XtgNaBauYxM8UMpwEOZC7Gl_02WiZNTYYiS2obOJW2QOvst9-7spKo0c7lqgmVP6LlZSr1eFCdevClpZw3Y/s400/SalonduChocolat.jpg" width="268" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We just couldn't resist the temptation</td></tr>
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David wants to see the Eiffel Tower. I want to hit some of the museums that I haven't made it to in my previous trips, and I'm trying to get them on an evening boat tour of the city. No one's really had time to pore over the information, as it's tax season for Kittie and David is very busy at work.<br />
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I do have time, so I'm online every couple days looking up potential eateries and orienting myself to this new neighborhood. I usually stay down by the Louvre in the 1st arrondisement, but I had a problem finding any decent apartments in that area, especially two-bedroom places.<br />
<br />
The Marais is the gay district in Paris, although I didn't choose it for that reason. It was the cheapest two-bedroom apartment with double beds and a large soaking tub. It's also two short blocks from the Metro station and two short blocks to the Monoprix (think Target meets A&P). There are also many places that sell hamburgers, just in case we get a hankering for home. Also, there's a Starbuck's a couple blocks down the Rue Rivoli.<br />
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I've also coughed up some money to Rosetta Stone to brush up on my French. In Paris, just about anyone who deals with the public speaks English, but I'm going to be prepared at least to feel good about speaking with the natives if needed. I go to sleep every night with French swimming around in my head, which is a good sign, as I recall.<br />
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In a few weeks it's going to be warm enough to get started with spring cleaning. I really understand what that means now. After months and months of a closed-up house, Clearing everything out and polishing up the place is at least a necessity, if not a requirement.<br />
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As per usual these last few years, I waited until the last minute to do my taxes. They were fairly simple this year, so it took less than an hour, and I'm getting money back, which is nice. With my move to La Crosse happening in April, my car registration and insurance was due as well, followed by my homeowner's insurance in May.<br />
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So that's my post. I'm trying to keep up at least one a month. If my life ever gets exciting, their frequency might pick up. But I wouldn't count on it.<br />
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<br />Mark McDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16469802659915856938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3085444013412702960.post-42391577259086369812017-03-08T10:59:00.000-08:002017-03-08T10:59:32.239-08:00Still BreathingI guess it's time for another entry, though nothing much is going on.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzyP0P0wIPx59ZfgbFflJL4rPeJXAWndgITnhiBfosEKXFn1G7ydVstyGqUc2y6RQLTyG1HwgvUSpAZGEkXNvSj49EBsdH_90Xl3ioHgZvuDfDZaPiKlAUPLymSZvRga9E_PBME9biAOU/s1600/XmasBins.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzyP0P0wIPx59ZfgbFflJL4rPeJXAWndgITnhiBfosEKXFn1G7ydVstyGqUc2y6RQLTyG1HwgvUSpAZGEkXNvSj49EBsdH_90Xl3ioHgZvuDfDZaPiKlAUPLymSZvRga9E_PBME9biAOU/s200/XmasBins.jpg" width="191" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Christmas bins</td></tr>
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I have yet to get all the boxes down to the basement, mostly because once I got everything into the new bins, there are excess boxes, which means having to glean everything out of them, then break them down and get them out to the garage.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnRfRPvTyF9EfOQePXvi1oi5bESPWtdj7lkiLSnxqO9KDkzLYT4eeuTv7Du9VgX1vLDHj1AZwueusLpkjOMlq33V6nUD8dkWyJDQT_Lxd4ZQWdYvzVnlVH-YtZsAVvKulKhrM0-AL-0O4/s1600/PlantLR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnRfRPvTyF9EfOQePXvi1oi5bESPWtdj7lkiLSnxqO9KDkzLYT4eeuTv7Du9VgX1vLDHj1AZwueusLpkjOMlq33V6nUD8dkWyJDQT_Lxd4ZQWdYvzVnlVH-YtZsAVvKulKhrM0-AL-0O4/s320/PlantLR.jpg" width="206" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">New plant in the window</td></tr>
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It seems like, being cooped up in the house on cold days, I could get all this stuff done, but I seem only to attack one or two chores a day—if there's nothing good on Netflix. I have been making a concerted effort to keep the kitchen clean (it's very easy for things to pile up). I have the disability that most men have: being incapable of rinsing a dish and putting it directly into the dishwasher. My M.O. is to stack them up in the right side of the sink and let them "soak" (which means just sit there). Pots and pans need to be done by hand, so those pile up in left side. Lately, I've tried to have everything clean before I go to bed, and this has been fairly successful.<br />
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Little improvements have cropped up around the house, like a new caddy for the shower upstairs (the old one had weird red stuff growing on it: it was only 12 years old), finally repotting the plant I got several months ago at the grocery store (it's at the living room window, adding class to the place). More puttering. I also got a second toolbox, so there's one for downstairs and one for upstairs. Maybe I'll get to mounting all the stuff needs mounting (the vacuum cleaner, new smoke/CO detectors) and get the rest of the artwork up on the walls.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim_ZuliiHNB8e_xYpRtXfBFb5DaTbFaLq2SgqrpCfo_wKp1voIgMOOp4DFEbVWNrlmX0J4z-PIutEFkMBqtk0bdis8rNUDnlYdgXucInUfpEEQMoXWkMMhQ-LCuHur8hKc98aBXjl8-qM/s1600/SittingAreaLR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim_ZuliiHNB8e_xYpRtXfBFb5DaTbFaLq2SgqrpCfo_wKp1voIgMOOp4DFEbVWNrlmX0J4z-PIutEFkMBqtk0bdis8rNUDnlYdgXucInUfpEEQMoXWkMMhQ-LCuHur8hKc98aBXjl8-qM/s320/SittingAreaLR.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sitting area is looking good these days</td></tr>
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Things have been nice and warm (well, 40s and 50s, which seems almost tropical) and the snow has melted away. It would seem that spring was here, but the upcoming week will bring a cold snap, a couple days of near-freezing daytime highs and down into the teens at night. Get precipitation with that, and it means more snow and more snow removal. I am now fully prepared for winter weather, with my snow thrower, my snow shovel, my snow boots and nearly 70 pounds of ice melt salt still remaining. This will ensure that we don't have any more heavy snows.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrY4jmMiL5xTQYs0zmEpF1YsuXna2P1NtikzFSQGStxH8NNpZT2NRGJSpfyy7zMCjtuwR8TO3VkohO9oD3gA0upX__gopNYK-1BTXaa0gYvgvkgPC4wHdGti8xadWQDdMegX4J3WDpS_A/s1600/MowerThrower.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="218" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrY4jmMiL5xTQYs0zmEpF1YsuXna2P1NtikzFSQGStxH8NNpZT2NRGJSpfyy7zMCjtuwR8TO3VkohO9oD3gA0upX__gopNYK-1BTXaa0gYvgvkgPC4wHdGti8xadWQDdMegX4J3WDpS_A/s400/MowerThrower.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mower and thrower: Going green</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I have been thinking on spring though, and bought a lawn mower that runs on the same batteries as the snow thrower. I'm taking responsibility for the yard myself, since hiring someone is such a pain. Mark (my previous yard guy) really spoiled me. I figure taking over the mowing might even lead to getting out in the yard and planting something. I'd really like to have something planted that would come up with the spring thaw. Something with color.<br />
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<div style="text-align: right;">
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I have also been tackling the unpacked boxes upstairs. When you have extra room, it's very easy to leave all the stuff you don't use all the time in the boxes it arrived in. Most of it is office flotsam that really should be stowed or tossed, but there's enough stuff among it that should be out and available, so each box needs going through. I'm digging through, organizing stuff to be stowed and finding homes for the stuff I want to keep out and available. And getting rid of more empty boxes. Then there's the books and the artwork.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sassy brassy stuff</td></tr>
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I've finally put up the brass hook rack in the bedroom. I dragged out all the brass stuff that hadn't been polished in three or four years and bought some Brasso. It took a good afternoon of elbow grease, but now my comedy/tragedy masks, the hook rack, and the house numbers are all shiny. (Getting the numbers back on the door is another chore I've been putting off because of the cold.)<br />
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I also broke down last month and bought a new iPhone 7 (my previous phone was an iPhone 4 and the battery was starting to fizzle, not holding a charge overnight). The new phone has lots of bells and whistles, and I now get reception when I'm out in Ettrick at Pam and Steve's place (Friday nights are Pizza Nights, you'll recall).<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Finally found a decent lamp</td></tr>
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The last and most recent acquisition is a lamp for the "conversation area" in the living room. I finally found one that I liked that didn't cost an arm and a leg. And, of course, it came in a box; two boxes, actually. More breaking down and stowing.<br />
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This weekend we spring ahead, timewise, and I think the change will do a lot toward making things feel more like spring. This past winter, I noticed how long nights and short days affect me. It's not as pronounced as dark winters in Alaska were, but it still is a change. Maybe I need one of those sun therapy lamps.<br />
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I've gotten used to the cold, though, and enjoy it. Temperatures in the 30s are quite comfortable, and when it gets into the 40s things are downright cozy. All too soon, though, I'll be bitching about the weather being hot and muggy. Life's like that.<br />
<br />Mark McDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16469802659915856938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3085444013412702960.post-54276710859775991492017-02-02T18:28:00.000-08:002017-02-02T18:28:57.892-08:00How Cold Was It?Time to drop a line here. Not a whole lot happening, since it's winter.<div>
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After the ice storm early last month, which covered everything in ice (of course), there were four or five days of deep-freeze weather, and walking outside was genuinely dangerous. Things warmed up after that, and we had a week of days in the upper 30s and lower 40s, which melted most of the snow and ice. There are still a couple patches of ice at the end of the driveway that won't succumb to the snow shovel, but the car can navigate them easily, so things are OK.</div>
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Then the temperatures fell and another storm came around.</div>
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Having learned my lesson, I cleared the driveway and walks of snow the very next day and headed out to Blain's Farm & Fleet (where I got my cold-weather togs with brother Steve) to pick up some sidewalk salt (referred to as ice melt). It's actually a mix of different salts (magnesium chloride, calcium chloride and sodium chloride). I got two 50-pound bags of a mix that melts ice at temperatures down to -5º: one in the garage and one on the back porch. No one told me that one of the things you do when winter shows up is go out and get ice melt.</div>
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I haven't spread ice melt on the whole driveway and sidewalk, but it did take care of the inch-thick sheet of ice on the back door walk. Until then, just taking out the garbage was a life-threatening proposition. I'm getting the hang of this winter stuff.</div>
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At Blain's, I also picked up a couple of plastic bins designed specifically to store Christmas stuff. I've filled the first one with everything that goes on the and under the tree. The Xmas tchotchkes are assigned to the second bin (I have yet to bring up their individual storage boxes from the basement). </div>
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The tree has its own box, and garlands and wreathes their own box as well. Shlepping all those boxes up from the basement is not difficult, but I just haven't had the motivation yet. I am determined to get all the holiday decorations down and away by Valentine's Day. My friend Sandy gave me the inspiration for that deadline. You get two months of decorations that way, and I consider that reasonable for the amount of effort that goes into putting them up.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looks good, tastes like crap.</td></tr>
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I have been experimenting with my cooking on these long winter nights. It can be risky, though. I see these intriguing recipes on Facebook and decide to try them out. Some are good, but every once in a while I invest in a full dinner for four and end up with horrible results. </div>
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This week it was a chicken and rice casserole. The recipe called for cooking it for two hours as 320º. Sounded like a long time to me, but I followed along. The resulting dish was absolutely hideous, though it did look good coming out of the oven. I ate one helping and ended up tossing the rest: the chicken was dry and overcooked, as were the vegetables, and the rice was muddy with a slimy mouth feel.</div>
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In winter, when the daytime high is 12º and the nighttime wind chills hovers in negative numbers (sometimes -20º to -30º), it's easy to stay in the nice warm house. When I do bundle up and go out, I really enjoy the cold, even when it's in the teens, like today. </div>
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I headed out and did much-needed shopping errands today (a new cutting board and bathroom accessories from Shopko, extra glass shelves for the powder room from Menard's, and grocery shopping at Festival Foods). Cold in the teens is invigorating. Cold above freezing is downright comfortable. I'm getting used to this.</div>
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A storm came through a few days ago and dropped less than an inch of snow. If it's less than two inches, the city does not require you to clear your sidewalks, so I just let it sit on the sidewalk and driveway, since the car actually does better with a little snow on the ground.</div>
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I was putting together my shopping list this morning when I got a Faceook message from the wife of the guy who did snow removal for me last year. She was asking about the snow on the driveway. I wrote back I was clearing the snow myself and asked if Mark (her husband) was doing snow removal (and she was fielding offers for him). She said no, but she and Mark worry about me and she noticed the snow in the driveway as she was driving by, so she checked up to see if I was OK or needed help.</div>
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I love this town and its people. Thinking of others is the norm here.</div>
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I am not one to make New Year's resolutions, but I came up with one this year that rang true for me: Show up. Too many times I've let attending a meeting or social events just slide: too cold, too tired. So I'm making a point of getting next door on Sundays for the Unitarian Universalist services, and I've been going to functions at the Center, like the annual meeting. Because nothing of consequence happens if you don't show up. And, at some point, I'm going to locate a part-time job to fill in some of the idle hours. It's out there; I can feel it. It just hasn't arrived yet.</div>
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Brother-in-law David said I should be putting more pictures in the blog entries. Problem is, I don't remember to take them (except for the casserole). And I usually sit down to write these in the evening, and all the light's gone outside. And also, my phone has been losing its charge over the course of hours: the battery is dying, and it's time to cough up the cash and upgrade from my iPhone 4 to the iPhone 7. It would probably motivate me to take more photos, since the camera would be much improved. The Verizon store is just down Losey Boulevard, across from the supermarket.</div>
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But that's an errand for another day.</div>
Mark McDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16469802659915856938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3085444013412702960.post-32288318320145033692017-01-10T19:07:00.000-08:002017-01-10T19:07:55.276-08:00Snowed InWinter has been different this year. Probably the biggest change is that, instead of finding someone to do snow removal, I decided to get a snow thrower and a snow shovel and do the job myself. Good exercise. I had looked over the costs last year, and I could purchase an electric snow thrower (no gas to deal with), an extra battery for it and still spend less than I did on snow removal last year. But the one thing you can't buy at the store is experience with snow removal. But I believe in the slogan of my Alma Mater, Cal Poly: learn by doing.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Christmas tree at the Solbergs.<br />You can see my tins in the orange circle</td></tr>
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Christmas Eve was spent with the Solberg clan, again at Patty's in Dakota, Minn. For the kids, I scored a dozen tins at the dollar store, as well as a dozen tiny gingerbread houses. I took the chocolate-covered popcorn and loaded up the tins, putting a gingerbread house in the middle of each. For the adults, I had a dozen Lennox Christmas ornaments that I scored from QVC last year. They never got onto the tree, so they were still in their boxes.<br />
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Everyone was pleased with their gifts, and I think a little embarrassed, since no one had bought for me. No problem. The reason I did it was to get into my head who was related to whom and how many adults and children there were in the Solberg clan. It's a lot of both.<br />
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Now it had snowed earlier in the week, and I got my first taste of DIY snow removal. The second battery for the snow thrower was on back order, so I discovered it runs for about 45 minutes on one charge. Luckily, that's about as long as I could last outside, so I got the sidewalk out front done and the sidewalk to the house and two passes up and down the driveway before we both pooped out.<br />
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The biggest pain is the large dirty piles of street snow that the plows deposit on the side of the road (including in front of the driveway). My snow thrower just can't handle large chunks of refrozen street snow, so clearing the driveway has to be done with shovel, which is much more labor intensive. I can get about a third of the driveway entrance cleared before I have to take a break and catch my breath. If you haven't shoveled slushy ice-snow, you have no idea how heavy it is (my guess is about 35 pounds a shovelful).<br />
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So, the night before Christmas Eve I went out to do some grocery shopping. Returning home, I turned into the driveway and the back fender got caught on the edge of the ice heap next to the driveway. The back end of the car was sticking out about two feet into the street. Rocking the car, I got the back of it out of the street, but no matter how I tried, I could not get enough traction to pull the car forward into the driveway.<br />
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I left the car with its lights and emergency flashers on, went to the garage and retrieved some large sheets of cardboard to put under the front wheels to get traction (it's a front-wheel drive). I went to start the engine and the battery was dead. Lovely. Assessing the situation, I called AAA.<br />
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It was about 9:30 in the evening by the time I called, and the woman on the phone was pleasant and helpful. Someone would be there in the next two and a half hours. I was deflated at the wait time, but realized there were probably plenty of cars stuck on the side of the road out in the middle of nowhere. I was in my driveway and could walk back into the nice warm house to wait. Even my bad luck seems to be somehow blessed.<br />
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The tow truck showed up about 11 p.m. The guy assessed the situation, got the jump battery out started the car and I demonstrated how I couldn't get it to move.<br />
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"Do you have a traction control button on the dash?" he asked. I did indeed have a button with an abstract tire design and "TC" on it. "Turn it off," he said. I did, and suddenly the front tires surged, grabbed the snow and ice, and lurched forward, pulling away from the snow piles and up into the driveway.<br />
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I got the car into the garage with great relief. I thanked the guy profusely. He suggested I run the car for a half hour or so in the garage to charge the battery, which I did. But the next morning (Christmas Eve Day), I went out to start the car and it was once again dead. Old battery. So I called Steve and Pam and asked if they could head about 20 miles out of their way to come pick up me and my presents on their way to Dakota. They did. I have a great family.<br />
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To further show how great my family here is, on Monday morning after (Boxing Day), Jim and Emily made a special trip into town from Ettrick, stopped on the way in to pick up a new battery (at a discount because they know the guy who owns the auto parts store in Galesville), and Jim installed it lickety-split.<br />
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I headed to Ettrick after them and we had the McDougal Christmas. I received many lovely presents, including Jim and Emily's traditional steaks and, this year, venison; pillows-in-a-tote and prepared frozen meals from Amanda and, of course, socks from Avis and catnip bean bags for my cat Patty.<br />
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A week later, Amanda, Pam and Steve came over for New Year's Eve and I made a rather dismal simulation of Dad's clam chowder. We also had sandwiches on croissants and toasted the New Year with a bottle of Veuve Cliquot Brut champagne. Steve and Pam left early to get home and Amanda stayed overnight.<br />
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The weeks since Christmas have been odd, with temperatures just above freezing for a few days, then rain getting everything slushy and wet, followed by a plunge into single digit temperatures and below-zero nighttime lows. This causes the water on the streets and sidewalks (and driveways) to freeze, clean and slick, creating a glazed ice surface upon which it is impossible to walk.<br />
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The first time this happened, I went out to Blain's Farm & Fleet with Steve and I got a real cold-weather coat, a pair of real snow boots, effective and comfortable gloves and a funky head cover with ear flaps. I'm not really focusing on fashion here, but comfort, warmth and survival.<br />
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Last night and this morning rain fell, turning to snow in the afternoon; just enough to need clearing. This time out, I recalled what I had learned the last time around: don't let the snow sit for even a day, as it will be ice by the time you get to it and take three times the effort to remove.<br />
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The back-ordered second battery had arrived in the interim, so now I can do the entire chore of snow removal without waiting four hours for the battery to recharge. So I headed out with a fresh battery and did the deed today. With clearing the front steps, the sidewalks and the driveway, it takes about an hour and a half. I didn't want to put it off, since the next several days the temperature will again plunge to single digits above and below zero, with a wind chill factor of -10º to -30º.<br />
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Once the snow removal was finished, I got into the car and braved the streets, most of them still covered with snow and ice, just to practice driving in these conditions. It was also about getting out there, back on the horse, and coming home to face the hell hole of my driveway entrance.<br />
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A couple times, at stop signs, I had to turn off the traction control to get the car moving, and at one stoplight I had to cruise through a yellow light turning red because the brakes were ineffective and I would have skid into the intersection after the red had turned. Little lessons.<br />
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Returning home I had no traffic behind me which I felt good about, just in case the turn into the driveway was somehow compromised. But I negotiated the driveway with no problem and was safely back home. Off with the gloves. Off with the heavy coat. Off with the snow boots. Into my moccasins and I'm home for the evening. Fire in the fireplace. Cat sleeping next to me on the couch. With all the inconveniences, I really like winter a lot.<br />
<br />Mark McDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16469802659915856938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3085444013412702960.post-37062406667239122522016-12-06T07:48:00.000-08:002016-12-06T07:48:09.305-08:00Let It SnowHappy Holidays, folks.
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The first real snow of the season started this morning. Big, fat flakes drifting softly to the ground. Having just finished the Christmas decorating this weekend, it kind of completes the feel of the season.<br />
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The temperature outside is just above freezing, which is nice because the snow won't stick to the roads or sidewalks. I have yet to pick someone to do the snow removal for me, so that's fortunate.<br />
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I was originally going to have Thanksgiving by myself. I've been feeling an urge to begin my own traditions in this new house (which is not so new anymore). In the end, I went to the Solberg gathering in Dakota, Minn. It's a very Midwest meal, with everyone bringing crockpots filled with food. So there's no gathering about the table or carving the turkey. Everyone serves themselves, buffet style, eating off disposable plates with disposable cutlery: hot dish as Thanksgiving.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">New tree…with remote!</td></tr>
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Steve and Pam came over the Sunday after Thanksgiving and helped me drag all the Christmas stuff up from the basement. I did have one large element already upstairs: the new tree. Last year, while Emily and I were taking down the old tree, two full strands of lights (it was a pre-lit tree) shorted and every bulb on them blew out. Time for a new tree.<br />
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Back in July, I was watching the Republican National Convention. I found that I could only take about 30 minutes at a time, then I would switch over to QVC, which was having Christmas in July, a monthlong sale of Holiday stuff. There was a tree for sale with pre-lit RGB LEDs (each bulb can be any color by mixing the RGB primaries). What drew me to it was the "warm white" setting, which mimics the traditional incandescent mini-bulbs' hue.<br />
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So I had ordered my tree back in July and it's been sitting in its box in the corner of the dining room ever since. We opened it, and it was a cinch to assemble: a simple stand, and each of the three sections lights up automatically when you place them together: one wire to the wall and done. For once in my life, putting up the Christmas tree was without trauma of any kind.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looks even nicer at night with a fire.</td></tr>
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Since then, I've been puttering, hanging ornaments, and binge-watching "The Simpsons" on TV. Then, this weekend, Emily and Jim dropped by on Saturday to help out with finishing up the tree and getting the holiday tchotchkes out and arranged. I've been going about the house since then, jujjing and fluffing out all the artificial greenery. Today, the empty boxes are heading back to the basement and all should once again be presentable.<br />
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Things to do this week: get a new pair of winter boots. Get more winter shirts (Hawaiian shirts just don't make it, even when you layer). Get gift containers for the chocolate-covered popcorn I'm going to give the kids this Christmas. (I'm not sure where that will be, but I'm planning on doing the big Solberg Christmas.)<br />
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You may have noticed that I've made no reference to the recent presidential election, its outcome and my feelings and prognostications thereof. That's because I'm still processing the entire thing. One thing I will say, it's nice to have a brother who's a political scientist, since he provides a saner view of the happenings of the last month. I will probably be more vociferous about this new kind of politics.<br />
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Until then, Happy Holidays, Merry Christmas.<br />
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<br />Mark McDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16469802659915856938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3085444013412702960.post-82000899368270097582016-11-07T18:14:00.001-08:002016-11-07T18:14:15.951-08:00Make It Stop…or StartAbsolutely nothing of note has happened in the last month. I hit this wall with presidential campaign coverage, like being at a train wreck: you can't look away and you can't do anything about it, but it fascinates with its shock and horror.<br />
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I haven't heard anything from Ryan or the Pump House folks since I "helped out" with the performance there in September. He said he was going to send me a list of upcoming shows I might be interested in running, but it never showed. I thought about e-mailing him, but then I realized I don't want to be involved in a group that seems to flaky.<br />
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Same thing is happening with the Center. I dropped a line in early October, saying we should get together to plan out the fall newsletter and find someone to edit it. The reply was, "Let me think on that," and I haven't heard anything since, except the mass e-mailing telling everyone the Halloween Gala (a significant fundraiser) had been canceled because of lack of ticket sales.<br />
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Once again, I had the urge to head into the fray and save the newsletter, taking over the editing, writing and planning on top of the layout, but I backed off. If producing the newsletter is a burden on the organization at this moment, then we drop the newsletter. I have found, in the past, that taking on whole projects for a non-profit on a solo basis is not a good idea.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja-UqKaCiYGn1BiC_SJrtjbiV09IJb9cvMjNNHKWtNEGtrU614P9MAGJ1teon5gRimATEHf4qmSIjBsVjya7dy56yLWG1NsiLASmvn9QX3nmW6SsKtFL7fQf4zZfH5GFghqK6xW_auFWI/s1600/JobAd.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja-UqKaCiYGn1BiC_SJrtjbiV09IJb9cvMjNNHKWtNEGtrU614P9MAGJ1teon5gRimATEHf4qmSIjBsVjya7dy56yLWG1NsiLASmvn9QX3nmW6SsKtFL7fQf4zZfH5GFghqK6xW_auFWI/s200/JobAd.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px; text-align: center;">This ad caught my eye.</td></tr>
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So I'm at a loss: I've tried working with the community theater, the Pump House theater, the LGBTQ Center and none of those places were welcoming or really of interest to me. I keep thinking that, if I were about 20 years younger, things would have turned out different. I'm seeing, over and over, that my age is a real barrier as far as other people are concerned.<br />
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The job front is also vacuous. Nothing of consequence has come along in any graphics field. I'm still in fine shape financially, so it's not a vital thing to be employed, but it would be nice to have something to create routine in my life right now (one of the reasons I was really hoping to land the job at the Pump House earlier this year).<br />
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So I have devolved into watching the cable news channels, obsessing on something new each day. And I just can't believe anyone could think Trump was capable of being president. And I just don't understand how people can so vehemently hate Clinton. And I don't think either candidate has mentioned anything of substance since the last debate (and sparse little then).<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyXwiqgl8pmVFVnQRZWMB9oG7wAjJWFjPZM4OMpuvDmAsx78vIUgeEEJqZ9Hxcee9wX6sCqy8g651MV4Ug_pSBqvW8hT4q3rU9KTcQV1gncsEkzh6gdqgC_gstXKQm6e8GpSHjn1sjkYk/s1600/trump--clinton.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyXwiqgl8pmVFVnQRZWMB9oG7wAjJWFjPZM4OMpuvDmAsx78vIUgeEEJqZ9Hxcee9wX6sCqy8g651MV4Ug_pSBqvW8hT4q3rU9KTcQV1gncsEkzh6gdqgC_gstXKQm6e8GpSHjn1sjkYk/s320/trump--clinton.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
All the down-ticket campaigns, at least here in Wisconsin, have taken a page from the Trump nasty book, and we see all sorts of vicious, stilted, unsubstantiated attacks and innuendo. One ad from a Republican PAC against the democratic candidate for Senate (Feingold) ends with an atomic blast (this is what will happen if you vote for him). It has even trickled down to the local state races with tiny ad budgets.<br />
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But tomorrow this will all culminate. I will stroll over to my polling place, only a block and a half away, and do my duty. Hopefully, tomorrow night (and perhaps Wednesday) will be the last time I have to focus on this. I just hope to God that things work out for the best.Mark McDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16469802659915856938noreply@blogger.com0