Good husband

My husband bought me a chimenea. Good husband!

I love my chimenea.

I've wanted an outdoor chimenea for my upstairs balcony for years, ever since I saw one on my friends' back deck.

Now, any sort of a fire pit on my upstairs balcony is a tricky proposition. Our balconies, instead of having metal railings, are surrounded by wood siding, wood being flammable.

For this reason, I was attracted to the chimenea with its enclosed fire pit which basically eliminates the likelihood of swirling embers flying through the air and landing on the wood siding.

A couple of years ago, I mentioned my desire to my husband but I neglected to explain my thought process regarding the preferability of the chimenea over an open fire pit. So my husband, being a good husband, surprised me with an open (albeit screened) fire pit on Christmas Eve. And I, being a good wife, was very appreciative of my good husband's gesture even though my stomach was a knot of anxiety the whole time the fire was burning in the fire pit and the embers were swirling wildly in the winter wind.

We didn't light a fire in the fire pit again until we donated it to our neighborhood a year later for a New Year's Eve bonfire in the middle of our outdoor common area.

Fast forward another year (to this year). Good husband goes on a shopping expedition (as I have previously explained, most shopping round these parts involves an expedition). Upon his return, he meets us and some friends at the local movie theater. After the movie, walking home, as we approach our neighborhood, he inexplicably speeds up, claiming an urgent need to use the bathroom. I swallow this pretext, hook, line and sinker.

I leisurely amble into the house and upstairs where what to my wondering eyes does appear but a glowing fire seemingly floating on my upstairs balcony. Very cool.

So we've been enjoying our chimenea. It's quite delightful, lying on the bed with the lights dimmed, watching the flames flicker in their little enclosed space.

The Fourth Estate

On Thursday, December 21, 2007, there was a tragic avalanche in bounds at the Snowmass ski area which killed a young elite skier. While the run was closed, there was some dispute over whether or not the two skiers caught in the avalanche knew they were skiing a closed run.

This post is not about the accident but rather about my reactions and thoughts on the press coverage.

In the days since the avalanche, there have been articles and letters to the editor in both of the local papers. Save for a single eloquent letter by the surviving skier, there has been what I thought was the inevitable fingerpointing but which I now think is inevitable only in that some reporters have minimal self-control when it comes to the inclination to stir up controversy.

Front page articles in both of papers today brought home once again how much bias and slant exists in reporting, even when those reporting work mightily to avoid it and especially when they don't.

As I read the Aspen Times front page article regarding the circumstances leading up to the avalanche, I was very impressed with the evenhanded response of the Aspen Skiing Company which is in the difficult position of supporting its hard-working employees while also appropriately expressing its condolences to the family and friends of the deceased skier. The SkiCo representative stood by the fact that the run was closed while being willing to entertain the possibility that the skiers might not have known they were on a closed run. My impression was of a classy response to a tragic outcome.

I then turned to the Aspen Daily News which was reporting the same story and same information from Aspen Skiing Company on its front page. I was appalled by the differences between the two articles. Little of the evenhandedness I had read in the Aspen Times article came across in the Aspen Daily News article. The Aspen Daily News reporter seemed to be bent on perpetuating the us versus them fingerpointing that had characterized articles in both papers after the accident.

In the Aspen Daily News article, the SkiCo representative came across as arrogant and unwielding. In the Aspen Times article, the SkiCo representative came across as accommodating and concerned.

I have always liked and defended the Aspen Daily News' irreverent style. The Aspen Times can be stuffy while the Aspen Daily News' motto is "If you don't want it printed, don't let it happen."

But this is one case where I won't be stepping up to defend the Daily.

Otherwise known as . . .

I'm not allowed to say. Rachel says it's mean.

Snow Flower and the Secret Fan by Lisa See

I kept picking this book up but not buying it. I was definitely attracted to it but had heard little about it so kept putting it off.

Then, the other day, one co-worker was returning it to another co-worker and I mentioned my indecisiveness. The next thing I knew I was taking the book home.

After I read One Thousand White Women by Jim Fergus, my copy was handed around to at least five other people. It traveled down the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon, to California and to New York. I thought that spoke volumes about the story, the word of mouth that enticed my friends and acquaintances to experience it.

This copy of Snow Flower and the Secret Fan has a similar history which encouraged me to bump it up my reading list. I'm pleased that I did so. I started it on Christmas and finished it last night.

Snow Flower and the Secret Fan is a story of the lot of women in rural China in the late 19th century and the story of an unlikely lifelong friendship between Lily and Snow Flower. I have not done much reading about this era or culture so found the book edifying as well as entertaining. Women were valued only as mothers of sons but as often happens with oppressed populations, they found subtle ways to circumvent the various authorities in their lives. As Lily's mother-in-law taught, "Obey, obey, obey, then do what you want."

The focal point of the story is nu shu,

the secret-code writing used by women in a remote area of southern Hunan Province [which is believed to have] developed a thousand years ago. [Nu shu] appears to be the only written language in the world to have been created by women exclusively for their own use.

I like this hook. It speaks to our contemporary mores and allows our 21st century sensibilities to connect with these women's 19th century realities.

See does a good job of foreshadowing without hitting the reader over the head. The hints are woven into the story just as off the cuff observations might be. One reviewer describes the work as understated and absorbing which captures my reaction well. While avoiding being overwrought, See invokes various emotions, including anger, wonder, horror, sadness and, yes, tears.

Lisa See will be appearing here in Aspen on February 20 at Aspen Winter Words. I just might have to check it out.

And so it went

When you're used to Christmas with upwards of a dozen people, Christmas for three is an adjustment.

We managed pretty well for our first try.

Rachel and I took some time earlier in the day to do all the prep work for dinner so when Steve called to say he was close to home, it took no time to heat the cheese and the oil for the fondues. As is my wont, there was way too much food, but better too much than not enough. Rachel loves it because it means multiple fondue events. We ate 'til we were full, then had chocolate fondue for dessert.

Rachel did have an unfortunate encounter with a hot fondue fork which necessitated multiple ice applications.

We cleaned up the kitchen and changed clothes, bundling up for our sally forth into the cold (we had dressed up for dinner to make it more special). I've decided that, along the making it special line of thinking, I'm going to invest in some Christmas dishes and linens. It seems rather silly to have a set of dishes and linens for once a year usage for just three people but it'll add to the atmosphere.

A friend had given us silly glasses, kind of like 3D glasses, which refracted snowmen around all the headlights, tail lights, stop lights, street lights and Christmas lights so we took those along for some additional entertainment. Town was beautiful, snow covered and colorfully lit.

We made our way back home only to discover that I'm a bad wife who forgot to fill her husband's stocking. I had passed along stocking responsibilities and it never even occurred to me. Bad wife.

Since Rachel had about 7 gifts for every one of ours, we didn't really hold to the taking turns thing. Rachel was Santa and her marching orders were basically just to dole out the gifts as they came. With just three of us (four if you count Ellie), this worked well enough.

Even though she tries to work it so that she knows what's coming, Rachel had some nice surprises. She's discovered that blogging has some unimagined benefits.

Due in part to mishaps in the past involving accidentally discarded gifts, I'm one of those who likes to collect the wrapping paper as each gift is opened. Steve is more of the chaos school of Christmas. So, in a compromise, I threw out my wrapping paper as I went and Steve and Rachel threw theirs all over the room. Rachel then had to carefully comb through the shreds as she cleaned up to ensure no unintentional discards.

We were done by 10 pm and Steve had to work early Christmas Day so he and I settled down for our long winter's nap soon thereafter (although Rachel managed to stay up until approximately 4 am watching new DVDs).

Abraham's Well

I have mixed feelings about this book.

I liked the story presented by this book. I didn't tire of it and was able to read it quickly.

I appreciated the window into events with which I was barely acquainted. I added to my understanding of the Trail of Tears which the book handled in depth and with believable detail. The descriptions reminded me of a similar forced march portrayed in One Thousand White Women by Jim Fergus (a book I have repeatedly recommended and praised).

The language choices used to present the attempts to turn the protagonist into a "breed mother" worked well.

The characterization of Mama Emma's guilt and denial over her role as a slave keeper rang true as did Armentia's struggle with her feelings for and expectations of Mama Emma.

Yet, the book is not without its shortcomings.

I never connected on an emotional level with the protagonist.

The inclusion of the 54th Massachusetts Regiment, Juneteenth and the Land Rush felt contrived. The last third of the book seemed rushed.

As I read, I occasionally had the feeling that the sentiments or, at least the vocabulary used to express the sentiments, were too contemporary.

The religious message was heavy handed. The multiple chapters dealing with the middle of the night preaching session were overlong.

The book succeeds in some measure on an educational level but, on a story telling level, it hits just shy of the mark.

Snow Dog

Christmas cookie artist

Steve = 5


















Rachel and me = 54

Anticipation

My parents, two of my brothers, et al are doing the Christmas Eve thing tonight due to the every other Christmas thing some couples gotta do.

So they're all in Chicago, opening their gifts and Rachel is quite jealous, as much about the fact that they get to open gifts tonight as about the fact that they're there and we're not.

Even though she felt funny about it, she called to at least feel a part of it all. It helped with the feeling left out but exacerbated the impatience.

American Home December 1966

Well, because I'm a freak, after my last post, I was compelled to find and purchase the December 1966 issue of American Home.

It's on its way.

Woohoo.

40th anniversary

I'm waiting for the butter to soften so Rachel and I can bake Christmas cookies. More accurately, so we can make the sugar cookie dough and get it in the fridge to set before we make Christmas cookies this afternoon.

My Christmas cookie recipe is one my mom tore out of the now defunct American Home magazine in December of 1966. Wow, this is the 40th anniversary of my favorite Christmas cookie. This dated recipe even calls for shortening. We're definitely not telling Thomas Freiden (New York City's paternalistic Board of Health Commissioner). He wouldn't approve.

As we all are aware, traditions take on a special importance around the holiday season. Sometimes we get so entrenched in traditions that we can't extract ourselves even when we realize that our traditions are burdensome. And yet, what seems burdensome also creates holiday memories. And memories are an integral part of traditions.

In my family, we opened Christmas gifts on Christmas Eve. It was always quite the schedule. We had a sitdown dinner of 3 different home made quiches in the formal dining room with the good china. We cleaned up and went to Christmas mass, arriving early in order to secure seats in the overcrowded upstairs church (we usually attended mass in the more informal downstairs church). After mass, we went to a relative's house for a Christmas Eve visit. Santa was always gracious enough to make his annual delivery while we were out, enabling us to arrive home to a wealth of gifts which we then spent the remainder of the evening (night?) opening, one at a time. Bedtime was usually after midnight.

This will be my first Christmas not spent with my parents. To put that in some perspective, this will also be my 45th Christmas. Accordingly, this is Rachel's first Christmas without my parents. This is Rachel's 15th Christmas.

So, we're faced with creating our own traditions while incorporating our treasured historical traditions. We will, of course, have Christmas cookies from the 40 year old recipe. We're going to do fondue (3 kinds, cheese, oil and chocolate) for dinner and dessert, not quite as formal but just as much of a production. We'll go for a walk after dinner through our snow covered, tree-lit, Christmas card town during which time Santa will graciously make his delivery so that we can return to stay up way too late opening gifts.

Zipporah, Wife of Moses

Think a fluffier Red Tent (I recommend the Red Tent most highly, by the way).

Moses' struggle with his destiny was compelling but the end wrapped up rather abruptly and Aaron and Miriam were portrayed quite poorly (although perhaps accurately. Who knows?).

The book did leave me wondering how Zipporah, Gershom and Eliezer really died. I went to the Old Testament but didn't find my answer there or online.

I do enjoy how historical fiction often leads me to further research.

Halter includes the interesting backstory regarding Thutmose III and Hatshepsut, the pharaohs who are portrayed (perhaps accurately) as Moses' "adopted" brother and "adopted" mother, respectively.

I've read Sarah and I'll read Lilah, if that's any indication of my regard for this book.

3.5 stars out of 5.

Dreamin'

I've been accused of being contrary (actually nowadays we more often use that term when referring to Rachel, but the apple doesn't fall far from the tree).

Anyone who has experienced my contrariness might get some measure of satisfaction from knowing that I also subject myself to my contrary streak.

Oftentimes, I engage, as I suspect many of us do, in the lottery fantasy. You know, what specifically I would do if I won the kazillion dollar lottery.

Since I live in an area where free market homes cost at least half a kazillion dollars, my fantasies often involve blowing the bulk of the winnings on a freemarket house here in town.

Yesterday, as I was driving downvalley, I was engaging in this little daydream, brought on by passing many new homes in the midst of construction. It wasn't very long before my contrary streak started taking over.

I can't win the lottery because I never want to move again.

Let me be clear, I never want to go through the moving process again. I never want to have to pack up all my shit, schlep it (even across the street), unpack it all and figure out where it should live.

I like my house plenty well but it's far from perfect. So it's not that I want to stay here so badly (again, it's a sweet deal but it's employee housing so is small and has no investment potential in a town where free market housing has oodles of investment potential).

As I was doing the daydreamin' thing, I tried to solve my problem by hiring movers. Sparing no expense to hire movers who would come into my house while I was on my round the world trip (bought by my kazillions of lottery winnings) and pack up every last thing in my house, move it all to my new mansion and, and, and . . .

Ah, therein lies the rub. While I'm sure I could certainly pay someone to unpack my stuff, that wouldn't work. I need to put my stuff where I want it. There's just no getting around the fact that I would have to at the very least oversee the unpacking and putting away process.

Ughh.

I can't stay in employee housing if I don't work 9 months of the year in Pitkin County. If I win the kazillion dollar lottery, I doubt I'm going to want to do that. So, if I win the kazillion dollar lottery, I have to move. I don't want to move.

Such a dilemma.

So you see, I'm screwed by my own contrariness. I suspect there are at least a few of you laughing at me right now.

My new favorite radio station

At least for another week.

Radiofreeaspen.com plays round the clock Christmas music with no commercials.

It also has a website that consists of a scrolling banner of the currently playing song, a list of songs last played, the Aspen weather and a sparkly flash image which plays a variety of Christmas images. Right now it's stars and has been ornaments, presents, all dancing against a black background. Very festive.

KCUF, 100.5, Keeping Colorado Uniquely Free, El Jebel, Colorado.

It also has amazing coverage valley wide. Yesterday on my drive downvalley, I didn't lose reception until I was in the second tunnel in Glenwood Canyon on eastbound I-70.

The only sad thing is that I've noticed that their SiteMeter count is at a lowly 379. Come on, people!

Our Christmas Card

Happy Holidays!!

Regift = Tacky

This evening, I was lecturing Rachel. Not because she had done anything wrong, mind you. She was actually getting ready to make me dinner.

No, I was lecturing in an attempt to plant my voice in her head. I understand that my voice is already in her head but I wanted to be sure that it was implanted there on this specific subject. So that when the temptation to engage in this behavior rears its ugly head, and it will, she'll hear me loud and clear. She may go ahead but at least I'll have had the opportunity to weigh in and we all know how important that is to me.

So what am I talking about? (like the title didn't give it away . . .)

I am inveighing against the online attempts I have stumbled across to legitimize regifting.

Regifting is, in a word, tacky. It is dishonest. The core tenet of regifting is deceit. Regifting, bad.

That's the message I want to pop through Rachel's subconcious when she's tempted.

O Tannenbaum

After some struggle with my inner Grinch, I rallied today and with much assistance from Rachel, trimmed the tree.

Rachel says she always thought trimming the tree meant cutting it down.

Not really necessary with a fake, pre-lit tree. So much easier, although I do have to say it was a bear to retrieve from the subterranean storage. But at least I wasn't tromping around in the cold like my neighbors.

I know, there's a whole less filling/tastes great dynamic to the fake vs fresh issue but I'm lazy enough to be all about convenience.

It seems like I put all this effort into putting the tree up only to turn around and take it down a minute later. Every year I intend on putting the tree up on Thanksgiving or the day after so that I can get my money's worth from all that effort. But every year, it just doesn't happen.

Last night, I was thinking that I'd just sit and listen to all my Christmas music for the next two weeks and that would do it for me. No need to decorate with all this Christmas spirit on the old iPod . . .

But decorate we did. We skimped on the gold bead garland and the bows but Rachel did go outside and decorate the back of the tree through the sliding glass door so it'll look nice for the neighbors.

AtomicTumor

I follow a few blogs regularly. I read WaiterRant, The Company Bitch, PostSecret, Rantings of a Civil War Historian, Ruined for Life and since November 17, AtomicTumor.

I basically don't comment on any of them and other than occasionally using them as entrees into my own musings, I don't mention them here.

I like it like that. I'm a lurker. I'm the same way (for the most part) on the multiple email lists to which I subscribe (work lists - Part B, CRN, Private Payer and personal lists - GCPBA, RRFW, Idahowhitewater, IC friends, etc).

I'm compelled, however, to talk about AtomicTumor. I stumbled upon his blog the day his 28 year old wife of 10 years died after a short, unexpected and intense illness. His blog was addictive. He posted frequently, multiple times a day, and shared everything. I checked in quite often and was usually rewarded with a new post for my effort.

I always read the posts and rarely checked the comments. I wasn't interested in other people's reactions to AT. I was interested in what he had to say.

But, I appear to have missed something which I can only surmise played out in the comments. On Thursday and Friday, AT was pondering whether it was helpful for him to continue to blog and it appears that he stepped on some toes with an off the cuff reference he made to the organ donation people who were present as his wife was dying.

Now remember, AtomicTumor is AT's house and we're all invited guests. I realize it's a public blog and all but it's his house. He's working through some stuff that I have no way of identifying with and he's laying it out there as honestly as I think it can be done. If he was rubbed the wrong way by how he was treated by the organ donation people as his wife was on her death bed, then he's got a right to talk about it.

Granted, I'm a lurker by inclination but I can't say that I can see where it's really anyone's place to call him on something like that.

But then again, people are stupid.

So, now he's pissed and he's taken down the AtomicTumor blog including all of the archives. He's started over in HTML since Saturday and he's still posting, still being honest, still trying to figure it out. He's also still talking about whether he should still be posting.

I'm selfish. I want him to continue, at least until after I get bored. I like checking in on him and seeing how he's doing.

But, I hope that, stop or continue, he does what's best for him. He doesn't owe anyone anything.

I'm a Christmas Music Freak

I am a Christmas music freak.

I own 40 Christmas CDs and buy new ones every year. I bought 4 today.

There's something wrong with me.

That's 505 songs, 1.2 days, 1.62 GB.

There's something wrong with me.

I will be playing Christmas music on shuffle nonstop between now and Christmas. Well, not quite nonstop, but you know . . .

My favorite Christmas song is Carol of the Bells, just about any version of Carol of the Bells. I especially love vocal versions. I actually burned a CD with 12 different Carol of the Bells. To make myself feel better, I gave a copy to a friend too. She claims to love it. I think she's just humoring me.

My second favorite Christmas song is God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen. So, I really like Trans-Siberian Orchestra's Christmas Eve (Sarajevo 12/24) which combines God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen and Carol of the Bells in a rousing rock orchestral arrangement.

Oh, yeah, and the video is pretty cool too. Hmmm, a cool Christmas music video. There really is something wrong with me . . .

Repeal Day

I'm jumping on the bandwagon or falling off the wagon or something like that.

Waiterrant blogs about the attempt to create a holiday celebrating the ratification of the 21st Amendment, which occurred 73 years ago today.

Why celebrate the ratification of the 21st Amendment?

Why, because it repealed the 18th Amendment!

Huh?

Although I'm not much of a drinker, I do enjoy a glass of wine now and again.

So, here's to Repeal Day.

Jeers to Consumer Reports

I can't let my last post be without expressing how irritated I am with Consumer Reports.

I have been a subscriber to Consumer Reports magazine since I was in college (which is to say, for decades) and I have always sworn by it. My siblings got sick of my refrain, "Well, Consumer Reports says . . ." Most of my purchases, especially my "big ticket items," have been vetted through Consumer Reports first.

Not long ago, I discovered to my dismay that, in order to access the Consumer Reports' website, Consumer Reports magazine subscribers are expected to pay an additional 73% of the subscription price. This to access information for which I've already paid to receive in magazine form.

Their justification is that it costs a lot to maintain a website and they are a non-profit. Understanding this, I would not object to a small additional charge for magazine subscribers; I just object to an additional charge equal to 73% of my subscription cost.

Hence, no link to their website is included in this post or the last.

I guess I showed them!

I think I'm over it

Consumer Reports states that the Toyota FJ disappoints. They also headline an inset box with "Why We Can't Recommend the BMW X3 or Toyota FJ"

At least, the FJ is in good company (BMW?) in its ignominy.

[I]t's poorly suited for daily use. Visibility is quite poor and the rear-hinged doors are awkward. Routine and emergency handling is clumsy; the ride is compliant but unsettled.

On the other hand, the Toyota RAV4 (I drive a '98) is the most highly rated "Sporty SUV." So I guess I'll just stick with what I have.

I still think the FJ looks cool . . .

I'm failing as a parent

On AtomicTumor today, The Bosphorus wrote about it being the first Sunday of Advent which had totally escaped me.

Since we had been talking a few weeks ago about getting an Advent calendar (every year, I talk about getting an Advent calendar and then it's December and I haven't gotten an Advent calendar), I turned to Rachel and said, 'Rachel, it's Advent!"

She replied, "Oh no, I haven't given anything up yet!"

"No, Rachel, that's Lent."

"Oh. When's Lent?"

Ski sickness?

I'm not a hypochondriac. Really, I'm not.

I'm never sick. I never take a sick day.

But, it appears that I live in a ski town and I suffer from ski sickness.

Rudolf Häusler, Professor, University ENT Clinic, Inselspital, Berne, Switzerland states:

Dizziness with illusionary rotatory or pendular sensations and dysequilibrium accompanied by nausea and occasionally by vomiting may appear during down-hill skiing. It is proposed that the condition is called "ski sickness".

Yep, that's what it says. Ski sickness. Huh.

And the cure?

Häusler says the quickest answer is to take off your skis.

Uggh.

Living with headaches

Living with chronic headaches sucks.

I've had headaches all my life. My dad used to say there was no such thing as headaches. Yeah, right.

Most of the time I just ignore the pain and soldier on. It's the way it's always been so it seems normal.

I did get some neurological testing in the late 80s but everything was normal or at least, there was no tumor or anything obvious like that.

No, my headaches are more insidious, more run of the mill, more routine.

It wasn't until 2001 that I was even diagnosed with migraines. It was the aura that did it. I couldn't complete a sentence, I couldn't remember the word for tongue, I was seeing spots, my fingers were tingling. My doctor thought I might be having an aneurysm. She drove me to the ER herself.

Usually, I just get the migraine. Sometimes, I get the aura but no migraine. I prefer this. But for the fact that I can't see, I can still function. It's still a pain, trying to function when there are big blind spots in my field of vision but at least there's no pain. Once I had aura when I was trying to paint the house. It's kinda hard to paint when you can't see what's right in front of you. My peripheral vision was fine but peripheral vision doesn't work so well for house painting (0r working at a computer, etc).

Migraines suck. Trying to figure out what triggers a migraine and how to prevent a migraine sucks. It's one of those ridiculous conditions infested with contradictions and nebulous answers. Caffeine might trigger a migraine or it might forestall a migraine. What's true for one migraine sufferer (or migraineur) isn't for the next. Is the headache I have right now even a migraine?

So far, my response to this diagnosis has been basically to ignore it until the pain gets too bad, then I take a pill. This coping mechanism isn't terribly effective.

The thought of trying to figure it out makes my head hurt.

Two feet of snow in 24 hours!

Two snow days (as in no school) in a row . . .

The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls

Wow! Read this book!

My mom recommended this book to me a few months ago and a woman on a plane next to me told me that she had just finished it and could not get it out of her mind.

I read it in two days.

In a remarkably matter of fact yet connected voice, Jeannette Walls details her childhood. As the child of a brilliant alcoholic father and an artistic irresponsible mother, Walls suffered extreme deprivation. But for all that, she never whines or blames and she emerges with a remarkable lack of anger.

I was often angry with Walls' parents but I was left marveling at the love this family felt for each other through it all.

While the book itself does not include a reading group guide, I think it would stimulate a lively book club discussion. Try the Book Browse reading group guide.

Fireworks

I watched World Cup fireworks over Aspen Mountain tonight from my front porch. I could hear the cheers of the crowd after the grand finale.

Aspen has a lot of fireworks. We're a ways from Disney World with its nightly fireworks but we've got more than our fair share.

We've got fireworks for World Cup, fireworks for New Years, 2 sets of fireworks for Winterskol, fireworks for X Games, fireworks for 4th of July, fireworks for corporate events and more.

I'm not complaining. I love fireworks. They still fill me with a childlike awe and excitement.

I especially like fireworks that involve absolutely no work on my part. In my first apartment in Aspen, I could watch the fireworks from bed. In my current house, I can watch the fireworks from my front porch or from my shower (yes, I have a window in my shower). I can watch the 2 sets of Winterskol fireworks which are staged on opposite sides of the valley first from my front porch and then from my back balcony.

If I want to experience the fireworks with a bit of company, I can walk the 5 minutes to town and watch from the base of Aspen Mountain, just below where they're set off.

I've also watched the fireworks from above by hiking partways up Aspen Mountain to a vantage point at eye level with many of the explosions.

Some in Aspen are jaded by the frequency with which we are graced by fireworks. I won't name names . . . but my husband numbers himself among them although he did rouse himself enough to watch the fireworks from the shower that first time after we moved into this house, mostly so that he could say that he had.

He really should be more appreciative of fireworks. After all, there were fireworks the day we met.

Fireworks still quicken my pulse and delight me. Hopefully, they always will.

UPDATE: The husband responds.

On Beauty by Zadie Smith

Yuck.

I want back the time that I wasted on this book.

Yuck again.

I want my money back.

Two families full of characters I either despised (Howard Belsey, Victoria Kipps) or simply disliked (Zora Belsey, Monty Kipps). It reminded me of The Corrections with no redeeming graces.

It was disjointed, with characters falling in and out of the story. Carl's here, Carl's not here, oops, Carl's here again, oh now Carl storms off for good.

There were no truths. Maybe that's an overstatement. Very few truths. Just contrivances, superficialities and exaggerations. Stereotypes.

Yuck.

Suspicious

I missed All Things Considered live yesterday and I was checking out the story listing online when I came across a story that at first blush triggered my bullshit meter. The story about fatal familial insomnia while seemingly farfetched turned out to be a true account of a "horrific disease" and I felt guilty for doubting it.

I have a suspicious nature. Not sure if it's congenital or acquired. Probably both.

My husband often gets offended when I don't immediately believe something that he's telling me, especially if it contradicts one of my accepted beliefs. It's nothing personal. I'm analytical and sceptical, both by nature and by training.

I am compelled to investigate.

I'm open to new information, I just feel the need to confirm it.

I once had a rival for a cheating boyfriend's attentions tell me in an accusing, condemnatory tone that I was very suspicious.

And rightly so. Duhhh.

My thought was that it was thoroughly justified and that if she was smart, she would be suspicious, too.

It turns out, she wasn't very smart. (hmmm, that was mean.)

Actually, I had heard that about her (from the cheating boyfriend, no less).

My friends have learned (often to their chagrin) that if you send me one of those forwarded emails, my first stop is snopes.com to search urban legends. Generally, my second stop is an email response to whomever sent me the forwarded email, debunking it. I never reply to all. I'm not interested in embarrassing anyone, just in educating.

I'm just trying to help . . .

Some people just don't understand . . .

March by Geraldine Brooks

The drought is over.

Finally, a book with which I connected.

I've been intrigued by the concept of this book since I first became aware of it right after it was released in paperback. I have no idea how many times I've held it in my hand, contemplating its purchase. It was awarded the Pulitzer Prize in April and it's been on my Amazon wish list since May.

Then, a week ago Wednesday, the woman next to me on the plane was holding it in her hand. I asked her if she liked it and she said she hadn't even started it yet. A few minutes later, she looked up from it and exclaimed that it was wonderful.

So I took the plunge. So many unread books in the house, but still I'm buying more.

I started it Friday night and finished it this afternoon.

Partially because it's written in the first person, partially because it's so well written and partially because I was already acquainted with the characters by virtue of reading and re-reading Little Women and Little Men, I felt an immediate connection to Mr. March (as I'm writing this, it occurs to me that I don't think we're ever told his first name) and his travails. For the most part, the plot flows naturally and does not seem contrived but for the repeated reappearance of Grace, which is a necessary and welcome coincidence.

All but four of the chapters are written from March's perspective. Those other four chapters are a surprising and illuminating look at the story from Marmee's perspective. I especially appreciated learning that certain interpretations presented as gospel from March's perspective were in fact utterly misguided. Brooks' portrayal of March's motivations for certain actions and Marmee's differing understanding of those same motivations was a masterful chronicling of the pitfalls of marital communication.

While the ending of Brooks' previous novel, A Year of Wonders (which I also highly recommend), seemed forced and artificial, March does not suffer so.

Brooks reads my mind when she states,

The thing that most attracts me to historical fiction is taking the factual record as far as it is known, using that as scaffolding, and then letting imagination build the structure that fills in those things we can never find out for sure.

Mary Reilly

I blame Rachel.

She was on a Julia Roberts kick and added every Julia Roberts movie she hadn't seen to our Intelliflix queue.

So, quite a few weeks ago, Mary Reilly arrived in the mailbox. Not a movie that I would have ordered but since Rachel did, I thought I'd watch it with her. Today, she announces that she's not going to watch and we should just send it back.

Well, I can't just do that. It's been here so long, I have to at least watch it.

Hmmmmm.

It was rather tedious. Julia Roberts' accent was spotty, coming and going to the point that when it was on, it was distracting. Glenn Close was playing 101 Dalmatians' Cruella De Vil. (Both movies came out in 1996 so I'm not quite sure why the characters are so similar. Coincidence?) The weather was staged as monotonous, always so foggy and grey that you couldn't tell day from night. Now I'm as familiar as the next person with the term 'London fog' but I've also been to London and I can tell you from experience that the sun does actually shine in London, at least occasionally. I also understand the concept of setting the mood but I couldn't help thinking that a bit more light, judiciously placed, might have increased the ominous effect. I kept wondering how Mary's garden grew so quickly with no sunlight.

The overall concept was intriguing and kept me watching. I enjoy experiencing familiar stories from new perspectives, a la The Red Tent, Ahab's Wife, Gregory Maguire's novels, and right now March. Given that Mary Reilly was based on the novel by the same name, I may be adding another book to my to-read list (although I am a bit leery of the violence and gore).

Julia Roberts' performance, other than the accent difficulty, worked. She conveyed the pathos of the housemaid, reaching beyond herself yet always aware of her station.

John Malkovich was consistently creepy as Mr. Hyde and slightly more sympathetic as Dr. Jekyll. Those sorts of roles in movies must be fun and challenging for actors. Rather like Nicolas Cage and John Travolta in Face/Off, a regrettable movie whose sole appeal was the whole Nicolas Cage playing John Travolta playing Nicolas Cage and vice versa thing.

I was interested to discover that the actor who played Mary's despicable father, Michael Gambon, is the same actor who replaced Richard Harris as Albus Dumbledore in the Harry Potter movies.

Cinderella Man

I cried. Twice. Tears streaming down my face cried.

But, I do cry fairly easily. I've been known to well up while reading a Sports Illustrated article.

SPOILER ALERT!

Director Ron Howard did a good job maintaining the suspense, especially in the lead up to the ultimate fight. In fact, I was so apprehensive about the outcome that I paused the movie and googled James J. Braddock. All I needed was the search results page to learn that "Braddock also went on to serve honorably in World War II" which gave me enough peace of mind to watch the rest of the film slightly more relaxed.

I should have remembered that I was watching a Ron Howard movie. I've only seen 8 of his 21 (according to IMDB) directed motion pictures but every one I've seen definitely has the Opie touch. Don't get me wrong. I like the Opie touch and enjoyed every one of the 8. Although I don't specifically remember, they all probably made me cry. Crying is good.

The portrayal of New Jersey and New York during the Depression was poignant and sorrowful. At one point when Howard starkly juxtaposes the wealthy and the poor, I found myself wondering how close this country might have been to revolution.

I do have one complaint though.

It has nothing to do with the actual movie. I'm an Intelliflix member due to the fact that it's significantly less expensive than Netflix and that it was highly rated by Consumer Reports. I like the functionality of their website and the responsiveness of their customer service, especially when it comes to dealing with lost, delayed or damaged disks.

However, I am a bit dismayed by the number of disks which arrive damaged. Most of the damaged disks are totally unplayable but even more frustrating are the disks that appear to be playable only to freeze up halfway through the movie. I missed two and a half scenes of the movie this time. On the plus side, if I inform Intelliflix of the problem, they will ship me another copy but since I've already watched the end, I'd rather they just ship me the next movie in my queue. So, I'm not going to tell them it's damaged and they'll ship it out to the next unsuspecting victim.

I feel guilty . . .

Paris to the Moon by Adam Gopnik

An eminently readable series of essays about an ex-patriate American family of three in Paris. The French bureaucracy does not fare well but that's not surprising. Gopnik is genuinely fond of the Parisians and gives the American reader insight into those qualities which we tend to disparage.

Nice?? Me??

A potential customer recently thanked me over the phone for being so nice to her, saying that she had heard that about me. My first thought was that she must have been thinking of someone else. Nice is not the way I would expect to be described by the majority of the customers with whom I interact at work.

I work in a field where the majority of the staff are there to help, care for and nurture and the majority of the clients are there to be helped, cared for and nurtured. But my chosen field is also a business and I'm just about the only person who's responsible for keeping an eye on that. There are 16 people in my office taking care of people; I am the only person in my office taking care of the business so all those other 16 can continue to get paid.

The chips are stacked against the professionals in my field when it comes to running a business and earning a living. Our fees are a mystery to the majority of our customers, our billing is extremely complicated, our regulatory burden is overwhelming, there are too many entities involved and our customers are for the most part several steps removed from paying for the services they are purchasing.

Usually, by the time a customer speaks to me, s/he is frustrated, has spoken to several people already and is unlikely to receive the answer that s/he is seeking. I am usually in the position of having to tell people that I'm sorry they are dissatisfied but that that's just the way it is.

It is my job to say no, a lot.

I have been hung up on; I have been cursed out; I have been threatened with bad karma; I have had people try to go over my head (unlikely); I have been told that I don't know how to run a business; I have been told that my customer service ethic sucks; I've been told that I don't care about people; I've had customers try to bully me.

Thank God, I have a thick skin.

I live in a small town. Not that I expect people in town to be talking about me, but to the extent that they do, I would expect adjectives to be employed such as hard-ass, difficult, rude, condescending.

But not nice.

So, yes, it surprises me that there are customers out there who would describe me as nice.

The Memory Keeper's Daughter by Kim Edwards

I think it must be me. I can't think of the last book that I connected with on an emotional level.

I found this book to be emotionally distant, dispassionate.

Not mesmerizing and definitely not "Absolutely mesmerizing" as Sue Monk Kidd states on the cover quote. I did read it quickly but partially because I started it while traveling so had nothing better to do. I found it slow to start.

About half way through, I did find myself, at bedtime, reading it for longer than I anticipated, but I have to chalk that up to a desire to find out how the secret is resolved, an idle curiosity, not an emotional engagement.

I didn't care; I was curious.

The concept of how deeply a secret can affect and ruin a family played out in a fairly believable way, given the background of the players but there was at least one plot twist involving an unwed mother which came out of left field, hung around for a while and then disappeared as suddenly as it appeared.

David's resolution was confusing to me. It was very sudden and had me flipping pages back and forth to see if I had missed anything.

I didn't like any of the main characters although I guess I identified most closely with Caroline. She was pragmatic and able to channel events so as to not allow them to destroy her.

My reaction to this book does have me questioning a reviewer's ability to separate his/her emotional state from that which s/he is reviewing. Ultimately, a review is a sort of a window into the reviewer's state of mind as much as it is about the work being reviewed.

Corelli's Mandolin by Louis De Bernieres

With a long wind up, De Bernieres provides a window into an obscure corner of World War II.

While De Bernieres does a fair job on an intellectual, introductory level, there is a remove to his characterizations which never allows the reader to feel quite the level of attachment to the cast of his novel as one might wish.

The end of the novel feels rushed and flat, especially when compared with the detail-laden, almost overdrawn beginning. It's as if the novelist tired of them or at the very least ran out of time.

All the same, due to my lack of knowledge regarding virtually all of this history, I did find many redeeming qualities and am glad that I took the time to read it. I enjoyed getting to know all the main characters as individuals whom I might have like to have known in real life.

Stranger than Fiction

Rachel and I saw this movie Sunday evening with another mom/daughter combo.

We all really liked it.

It's great to see comic actors whom we enjoy stretch and succeed in other genres a la Tom Hanks and Jim Carrey. Couple that with the comedic timing and willingness of Emma Thompson to be as unglamorous as possible and you've got a satisfying cinematic experience.

I am a discriminating Will Ferrell fan, loving Anchorman and Talladega Nights which I call smart stupid humor but not finding much to recommend such films such as Zoolander, Old School and Elf,which I see as just stupid stupid humor.

Stranger than Fiction was funny, touching, and well-crafted. I appreciated such details as the beige drabness of the IRS auditor's apartment juxtaposed with the colorful eclecticsm of the rebel law school drop-out's apartment.

There were many laugh out loud moments and even more quiet chuckles. There was also an important eyes-welling moment.

Approach Stranger than Fiction in an Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (altho no where near as odd) way and you shouldn't be disappointed.

Side note: while the city in which the movie takes place is never identified and is clearly not supposed to be any recognizable city, much of it was filmed in Chicago and as a former Chicagoan, it was fun picking out the landmarks.

See also: NPR reviewer Bob Mondello's take on the movie

Family Upgrade

My co-worker/boss and I returned from our conference yesterday and we had quite the charmed travel day.

First, before we went to the airport, we were able to go on a beautiful, leisurely stroll through the woods with one of my co-worker's former classmates and his family. Beautiful fall colors, tromping on beds of leaves, temps in the high 70s. Just the ticket after three days indoors.

Our travels home necessitated three flights. Our first flight was on a small jet with just four seats across and no room in the overhead bins for any carry-on larger than a briefcase.

Just before the doors are closed, a drunk, loud, Southern, retirement aged couple boarded with way too many carry-ons and sat down directly behind me. Sensing trouble, I popped up immediately and dig my iPod out of my briefcase in the overhead bin.

I settled in, turned on KT Tunstall, then Snow Patrol, then Jack Johnson for the duration of the flight, ignoring the overhead announcements about not using portable electronic devices during take-off and landing. I mean, we're talking my sanity here, folks.

The wife proceeded to regale the entire flight with her opinions on a variety of political and religious topics, including her views on same sex marriage. I blissfully missed most of it but was chagrined to find out that she would be on our next flight also.

As my co-worker was waiting in line at Starbucks during our first layover, she was on her cellphone telling her mom all about the previous flight. The gay gate agent for our next flight overheard, misunderstood several things, including my co-worker's and my relationship and, in solidarity, proceeded to offer us the "family upgrade" to the sweetest available seats on the flight, our longest of the day.

I don't even know the secret handshake . . .

We never saw the loud, drunk, Southern woman again.

Since we were in the front of the plane, we were among the first to deplane. We had a two hour layover but as we checked the monitors, we learned that there was a flight to our destination, boarding at that moment at the other end of the terminal.

We took off running.

Doing the OJ thing through the airport (I later had to explain to my 14 year old what the OJ thing is), we leapfrogged each other to the gate, arriving just in time (and I mean just!) to make the flight.

So, we arrived home two hours early, to the beginnings of a snowstorm which may or may not have cancelled our scheduled flight, after having been pampered in Business Class, all because of the loud Southern woman whose political views, ironically, were actually extremely Blue State.

Solidarity, Sister!!

My Russian Masseuse

I'm currently out of town attending a conference. Since it ended earlier today, my co-worker and I went to get massages.

Those of you who visit this space regularly (grin) know that my last massage was quite the luxury experience. It was at Remede in the St. Regis in Aspen and pampering is the motif. While the massage itself can be as therapeutic and deep tissue as you desire, everything surrounding the massage is gentle, langorious and muted. The masseuse (in my case) moves in long sweeping motions, especially when floating around you and assisting you in changing positions.

And then there's Irina. Irina is the very Rusian woman who is the masseuse at the gym next door, to which the hotel refers its massage requests. The adjectives to describe Irina are efficient, business-like, crisp, powerful . . .

No long sweeping floating motions here.

Such a different experience. And yet, very satisfying. While I came out of the Remede feeling de-stressed in a decadent, lazy sort of way, I came out of my massage today feeling more like I feel after a workout, relaxed but accomplished.

Invigorated.

Naive?

I think I must be naive.

I can't think of any other reason for my surprise on Election night when I heard one of NPR's commentators discussing the fact that Nancy Pelosi was indicating that her speakership would be more civil than Dennis Hastert's term has been.

No, that's not what surprised me . . .

It seems that while the Republicans were in control of the House, it was standard operating procedure to either not tell Democratic committee members where committees were meeting or even when committees were meeting.

I find this appalling.

I also find it appalling that I had never heard this until Election Night.

Is it naive to believe this to be newsworthy?

Nevermind. Of course it is. This is politics, after all.

Smack Down

I just keep hearing Karl Rove's superior (arrogant, condescending, rude) tone when he talked over Robert Siegel on NPR during the White House Radio Day.

SIEGEL: I'm looking at all the same polls that you are looking at.

ROVE: No, you are not. I'm looking at 68 polls a week for candidates for the US House and US Senate, and Governor and you may be looking at 4-5 public polls a week that talk attitudes nationally.

Hmmm. Well, I guess my polls are better than your polls, huh?

and

ROVE: I'm looking at all of these Robert and adding them up. I add up to a Republican Senate and Republican House. You may end up with a different math but you are entitled to your math and I'm entitled to THE math.

SIEGEL: I don't know if we're entitled to a different math but your...

ROVE: I said THE math.

Is that fantasy math????

Huh????

I know I should just ignore him but what the hell is this supposed to mean???

What kind of political ad is this??

I think his entire campaign was a gag and this is his "Gotcha!"

Scraping the barrel

I'm taking a short trip this week.

I'm leaving on Wednesday, returning on Saturday and spending the two days in between inside in meetings.

This is definitely the sort of trip which calls for a carry-on.

When the FAA first banned liquids in August, my thought was to Fed-Ex my toiletries to my hotel.

However, now that the liquid restriction has been eased, I'm trying to figure out if I can meet the TSA's requirements for which they're using the catchy phrase, "Get the 3-1-1 on air travel."

I don't use many toiletries and even fewer cosmetics (really no cosmetics). The mountain woman lifestyle is refreshingly cosmetic free.

I basically use shampoo, conditioner, hair gel, toothpaste, body lotion, deodorant, facial lotion and contact solution. That's it in terms of liquids or gels (bar soap is not a liquid or gel, is it?).

I can't take any one container larger than 3 oz and it all has to fit in one quart sized ziploc bag.

No overstuffing allowed!

I've purchased 4 2 oz empty bottles, a small tube of toothpaste and a small tube of hair gel. The ziploc is basically full and I haven't added the deodorant.

Oh, now I'm getting creative. I'm not particularly picky about my shampoo; it's my conditioner in which I put more stock so if I use the hotel shampoo, I'll be able to fit the deodorant.

That's important. Don't want to be offending people, now do I?

I wonder what sort of increase in usage of complimentary toiletries hotels have seen since August.

Alrighty then, in an attempt to answer the above inquiry, I've found that at least as of 8/16/06, the Sheraton (which is where I'll be staying) was offering complimentary shampoo, conditioner, deodorant, hair spray, hair gel, toothpaste, and shaving cream.

I guess if I really care, I could call today to find out if they're still offering these items.

Knowing me, I probably will.

Ceviche!

I went to a potluck last night so I made ceviche.

A lot of people don't quite understand ceviche. When they hear ceviche, they think raw which isn't the case. According to Wikipedia,

In addition to adding flavor to the ceviche, the acid in the citrus marinade pickles or "cooks" the fish, so by the time the ceviche is served, the fish is no longer technically raw.

My ceviche is quite popular.

Some people make ceviche with a tomato cocktail type sauce but I prefer a lighter fresher tasting ceviche so I altered a Rick Bayless recipe for classic ceviche that I found in the 2002 Food and Wine Magazine Classic at Aspen Tasting Notes.

I almost always make it with shrimp, not fish, although we did once make an awesome batch with fresh red snapper caught an hour earlier in the Sea of Cortez when we were staying near El Cardonal, just north of Los Barriles, Baja California Sur.

Since I don't like avocado or chiles and since Steve doesn't like olives, I omit all of those but I add a whole peeled chopped cucumber in order to introduce a wonderful crisp texture. My ceviche is not as spicy as some but the lime juice gives it a fabulous tang.

While the recipe is very easy, it takes a lot of chopping so whenever I make it, I double it. The fish can be prepared the day before (it should not marinate for more than 4 hours) but everything should be mixed together the same day it is being served.

I serve it with Tostitos Scoops which, although they break kind of easily, work like little bite sized tortilla bowls.

Yum!

Blushing

I think this is a first for me. I certainly can't come up with any other time it's happened.

Someone's posted a blog entry about me. I'm very flattered.

Rachel got invited to do a Washington Summer Scholars Program at my alma mater, American University through LeadAmerica. In the midst of explaining AU's Washington Semester program to her, I decided to google a good friend whom I had met when he was a Washington Semester student but whom I haven't seen since approximately 1984.

In doing so, I happened upon his blog and was interested enough in his thoughts to post a couple of comments. He emailed me back as I hoped he would and thought he might.

What I didn't expect was to see a post about me when I checked his blog again.

Very cool! It made me smile.

(and no, being mentioned in posts by my husband or daughter, while also very cool, isn't the same as an entire post by a non-family member about me.)

(i know, we take those closest to us for granted, don't we?)

A member of the club

I posted this photo in Wednesday's post and Friday when I signed onto AOL, there it was on the sign on screen (see link embedded in the title).

I feel like I'm part of the story. Or perhaps I'm just being a lemming.

What does it mean if so many people independently seize upon the same image? It speaks to a lot of people, not necessarily for the same reasons.

I found it on someone's blog that I disparaged. Where did she find it?

The irony of the photo (probably not lost on those who created it) is that they really are stuck in Iraq. After his recent debacle, though, I doubt that John Kerry will be able to provide much assistance. That's too bad. I really wish that he had maintained his early defiance.

Rant

I'm irritated.

I'm probably just going to keep my almost $800. So there!

The Aspen Recreation Center has a discounted annual family pass available for members of the the Aspen Chamber Resort Association.

This is a very nice benefit which ACRA members can offer to their employees (although ACRA membership is not cheap).

So far, so good.

Now, if you go to the Aspen Recreation Center website, there is absolutely no mention of the Chamber discount. The fee for an annual family pass for an Aspen resident is $917.

So, you travel to the Chamber website where you find that the discounted ACRA fee for an annual family pass to the ARC is $756. You get a check from your employer for this amount because this is the advertised price. You go over to ACRA to get the voucher which proves that you are a Chamber member and then you go to the ARC to get your family pass.

You are told by the staff member at the ARC that the cost for a Chamber member is in fact $780.

Since you were planning on using the Aspen Recreation Center's facilities, you didn't bring your wallet (didn't want to tempt any opportunistic thieves in the locker room). You point out that $756 is the advertised price and even so, you offer to pay them the difference the next time you come in.

No dice.

Since you were unlucky enough to come in on a very busy Saturday afternoon when they were hosting a Fall Face-off hockey thing, the place is a zoo and there is nobody in charge.

So you leave disgusted and feeling like at $759 or $780, you're no longer interested in giving them your money. You go home, recheck all the aforementioned websites to ensure that it was not your mistake and call back to the ARC to leave a message for someone in charge to call you on Monday.

The apologetic staff member with whom you dealt earlier tells you that she asked someone else there and he told her that ACRA always screws up the ARC's prices on its website.

Your thought is well, then, why doesn't the ARC post the ACRA prices on its website????? That's what SkiCo does and there's never any issue there!

Since it's a small town, you are acquainted with the person in charge at the ARC who is going to call you back and you are on a first name basis with the president of ACRA. You will definitely be expressing your displeasure to both of them.

It's a good thing, though, that it's Saturday and you won't be able to reach either one of them until Monday. You probably need a day and a half to calm down.