Frogs and Ravens

Looking Up

Here she is again, MNC (My Neighbor's Cat). Sometimes she likes to tap me on the head when I walk under her like this.

Happy New Year!

Image Credit

Flashback

Listening to Terry Gross interview Robert Plant on Fresh Air today reminded me that my high school junior prom had "Stairway to Heaven" as its theme. Yaarg. There's a wad of stale memories!

Sleeping and Waking

I think my body clock is stuck. It doesn't matter if I go to bed earlier, or set the alarm differently. Every morning, regardless of when I wake up initially or how much sleep I've had, I can't get out of bed until 7:45.

Of course, if I had my druthers, I'd stay in bed until 8:30 or 9 or later.

This does pose the question, though -- where are my druthers, if I don't have them? Are they hiding out in someone's funky communal house, or backpacking in Australia, or traveling through the backroads of Ireland and Spain? DId someone steal them?

I Want to Go Home

I try not to post while I'm at work unless I'm on my lunch hour. At the moment, though, the only work I have on my desk is something that requires one of the main computer programs, and it is down for "indexing." So I am stuck sitting here for another half hour, wishing I could do the work, or go home, or sleep, or something useful. Knitting would be nice. Maybe I could try doing yoga. (I am still (!) stiff and sore from class on Sunday.) I've already done my blog rounds.

The week's been pretty quiet otherwise. D. and I have gotten sucked into the Top Model show, and have been enjoying the intro episodes of American Idol (I probably won't continue past the prelims, which are the most bizarre and entertaining). So my week has been television and knitting, when not at work. It's a nice intersection; knitting keeps me from fidgeting, and the tv keeps the knitting from getting tedious. (When I've finished the pieces of my Dad's sweater, I'll try to remember to post a picture.) Tomorrow is likely to be more of the same; it's CSI night and I still have the sleeve to finish. (Funny thing about all of these shows, with the exception of Star Trek -- on tonight -- is that I wouldn't make an effort to watch them if it weren't that I'm watching them with D. They are that forgetable.)

I hope they turn the computer program back on soon.

Regrets?

I really miss my friends in the Midwest.

I can't say that I miss the cold.

Practicing Practice

I had my first yoga class in months yesterday. They talk about beginning each class with no expectations and an openness to whatever happens, and I try to do this, but even so I was surprised. I've been feeling quite stiff lately, especially along the backs of my legs, so I was expecting that this would be something to work with. It was, but not that much. When you go from very stiff to very very stiff, the poses don't change too much. (My hamstrings have long been a challenge.) What was more surprising was that my ribs were stiff! (I mean, the spaces between the ribs. Eh.) This meant that taking deep breaths was harder than before. Further, I had forgotten to think about strength as well; poses that had become, if not easy, at least not daunting, were now very strenuous indeed. Plank and Downward Dog are no longer my friends! (Weird and unreliable though they had been, I miss their friendship.)

So the class was a strange exercise in my head and body remembering how to do the poses, and at least half the time no longer being able to do them as before. Add in an instructor who reminded me of Eugene Levy intoning soothing admonitions to "reconnect with your body" and you have a downright surreal experience.

I've purchased a series of classes, so we'll see what the other teachers are like. (He was perfectly nice, but the class was crowded and his style of yoga didn't do much for me.) Meanwhile, I will cautiously claim to be doing yoga again.

Historian with a Motorcycle

I was laughing over this ad earlier this evening (my emphasis):

Betelgeuse Productions, a nationally recognized production company, is searching for two history professionals as potential hosts for a cable television series on history.... It is looking for history professionals between the ages of 30 and 50 (approximately) who ride a motorcycle and are interested in sharing their passion for history with the television audience through a camera.... The program is directed to men 18-49...

Then I took an online quiz and got the following result:

What Classic Movie Are You?

It's a sign!

Oh, wait. I don't know how to ride a motorcycle.

Intellectual Knitting

Amanda at Household Opera links to and comments on sites dealing with "geek knitting." Cool stuff.

Swap Meet Morning

The day started nicely with a visit to the swap meet. I should have gone earlier, since it takes about two hours to do and sellers start packing up around 10 am, but there was enough to keep me happy.

Some of the delight comes from the cheapness factor; my Scottish ancestors must be happy seeing one of their descendents haggling and buying neat things for a fraction of their cost new. Yeah, most things are a bit worn or a tad dirty, but they are easy to mend or clean (if not, I don't bother buying them). They're not much worse than my existing possessions, in fact!

The main pleasure comes from interacting with people and exploring the objects for sale. There is always an amazing variety of things to look at and ponder. Often you can tell a lot about the sellers, or about the household from which the objects came. Some stalls are full of things being sold by someone other than the original owners; others are more like garage sales. Both offer a window on lives lived (in the first case) and lives abandoned (in the second): a record of unfinished projects, old clothing sizes, past hobbies, outgrown interests, and so on. One of the former made me wish I'd had a chance to know the people whose stuff it had been; there was a lot of photography equipment, well-used camping equipment, a box of postcards and letters, and some charming kitchenwares. I didn't want any of the objects for myself; I just liked what they implied about the tastes and interests of their previous owners. Other stalls were much less compelling, or were downright strange. One featured multiple Bibles, gingham and lace crafts, many stuffed animals, and way too many fake flowers in white wicker containers. Another featured a mystifying amalgam of Celtic-themed things, animal bones, tacky wall hangings and a miniature spinning wheel. One odd phenomenon I've observed many times is the "theme of the day." For some unknown reason, some days everyone seems to be selling the same thing. One time it might be Cabbage Patch dolls, another wooden boxes, the next old VCRs, and so on. It's like there's this strange group vibe, telling all sellers "Today would be a good day to unload the NordicTrak!"

When you grow tired of the objects, you can turn your attention to the people, both buyers and sellers. The local community has a large Hispanic component, so you witness transactions being carried on in Spanglish, gestures and facial expressions -- a universal language of buying and selling and haggling. Some sellers aren't interested in conversation, and others are bent only on persuading people that their goods are worth their unusually high prices (either because they are unique antiques or are "virtually new" and originally bought for a lot of money -- like the average swap meet buyer actually cares -- we're a cheap lot). Many, though, are happy to chat, both about the things their selling, and just to be friendly. Sellers sometimes run in themes, too. Today I encountered an unusual number of middle-aged male flirts. I have no idea what I did differently today to make me appealing to grizzled guys with baseball hats. Another swap meet mystery.

All in all, it was a good start to the day. If only I could learn to get up earlier!