Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Fishing, mommyhood, culture, and sexism
Or...Fishing: I'm feeling a bit girly about the whole thing. OR...how to perplex the professionals.
My son decided he wanted his fishing belt loop for Cub Scouts. Even better, the Cub Scout leader said there'd be an opportunity to learn at the end-of-the-year campout. Well...kinda. In the end, we all muddled through and both kids learned to fish with a borrowed rod that was given to my son at the end of the day. *whew*
The bad news, IMHO, is they both loved it. They want to do it again.
Culturally, my family didn't fish. I'm not really sure why. I have a vague recollection of trying to fish in the surf at Westmoreland Beach (okay...there was a bit of a surf, which Westmoreland doesn't really have, so maybe we were somewhere else?) and my sister catching my grandmother's cheek with a hook on a wild cast. That pretty much did in any attempt to have the kids fish. Ever, apparently. And in that memory, I'm fairly sure it was my grandmother doing the 'teaching'. I remember when I was a teenager, my dad went sport fishing in the Outer Banks once...Dad had major seasickness issues. The trip got cut short due to bad weather, and he wasn't upset about it. That's it. Any other familial familiarity with fish comes directly from the seafood department of the local grocery store--we're not even talking a fish-market here. Safeway. Giant. A&P. Not exactly the wild kingdom.
So, I head into this "teach the kids to fish" escapade with a knowledge base of roughly ZERO. Our Fourth of July destination offers fishing at its lake. Okay...we'll try it without the Cub Scout dads to provide the bait (some worms--ick, corn, and some artificial bead things that stank to high heaven and came in neon colors), thread the string, etc. It's the 21st century...moms can do this stuff too.
I recalled I do actually own a fishing rod. When we first got married, a local hardware store was going out of business, and almost as a joke, my husband and I picked up a kid's Snoopy Fishing Rod. Sure enough, some 16 years later, its still in its package in the basement in the closet with the rakes and shovels. Hoping its not a collectors piece that should stay in the original plastic, I open it up, am thrilled to see it has string, and read the back of the package to get the basics of use. First direction: attach float and hook.
Darn.
A trip to Gander Mountain gets sandwiched in between packing the cooler and heading off for the fireworks. I've seen the signs for fishing stuff at Gander Mountain; I'm sure they'll have what I need.
Hm. Gander Mountain is kind of intimidating when you don't know what you're doing. *sigh*
If you've never been to one, approximately 1/4 of the really big store is "fishing stuff". After repeatedly telling the kids not to touch the $250+ fishing poles sticking up everywhere (yes, I know they're cool. And BIG.), I head to the hooks. Multiple sections of the store are devoted to hooks. Rack after rack after rack after bin. Okay, even I know I don't want $9 hooks with fancy flies already on them. And no, the kids can't touch those either, even if they ARE pretty. And no, we don't want the one that looks like it should be featured on an episode of SpongeBob and could probably support the weight of both kids. And no, I'm not paying over $20 for a pack of fishing hooks.
I give up and ask for help with some "basic fishing questions". The first guy I approach apologizes, but he's from a different department and unless I want help with shooting supplies, he's not the one to talk to. This reminds me that my son has issues with loud noises, so while I'm there I also want ear protection for him for the evening fireworks, so ask about that. He's happy to direct me to the right place, but eyes me oddly. Apparently ear protection and fishing is not a usual combination.
Find a more helpful young man who asks what my fishing questions are. I explain I'm trying to teach the kids to fish and need hooks and a bobber-thingy...uh, I mean, float. Floats are no problem--get a bag of them for 99 cents. His first question on hooks--"What are you fishing for?"
Damn. It just sounds so girly to say, "Fish?" so I go with, "Whatever's in the lake." How do I know what's in the water?? About then I realize I'm probably supposed to. *sigh*
He goes for tactful: "Are you looking for something small? Perch? Sunfish?"
My son, of course, helpfully provides, "I want to catch REALLY BIG FISH!"
I try to quietly point out that so far, they haven't actually gotten anything on a hook yet, so I'm looking more for a bait-holder than anything fish-specific.
He directs me to a hook about 5 times bigger than the one that came with the gifted rod, but next to it is a packet of smallish hooks that look useable by a 7 and 9 year old, and are $2.00 for the packet.
My daughter helpfully reminds me we need BAIT. The employee asks what we want. I say "artificial" as my son announces with relish, "worms!" My daughter haughtily replies that "Mommy is scared of worms, so we'll have to get fake ones." Hey! I am NOT scared of worms, I just chose not to chop up little squirmy living things and stick hooks through them. Yuck. The guy tries to sell me a carry-out styrofoam container of live worms. Then he looks into my eyes again and realizes I'm actually serious about not using them. (Forget putting them on the hook--we don't need worms as pets between fishing trips!) He then tries to sell me fake worms. These are bigger than the fish I expected to be catching. Unless we were going for a lasso effect of humane catching, I didn't think these were going to be useful. I request something smaller...perhaps those neon colored smelly bead things? He heads towards a locked case. Hm. NOPE. I'll nip that one in the bud...the scout troop lost innumerable floats, hooks, bait, and nearly two rods during the fishing lesson last month. I'm not messing with anything as bait that looks like it needs to be insured. I claim to be out of time and head for check out. I figure if burgers and corn worked for the scouts, it will work for us.
I was kind of relieved when events at the 4th of July celebration like the long line for the moon bounce prevented us from actually fishing. This gives me more time to figure out things like what kind of knot you need to tie the hook onto the line (HA! I knew I'd think of the right word!!) and better yet, how to get the float attached. I'm still feeling like a girl about the whole thing, but thank heavens for the Web. I'm going to be doing some surfing soon...
My son decided he wanted his fishing belt loop for Cub Scouts. Even better, the Cub Scout leader said there'd be an opportunity to learn at the end-of-the-year campout. Well...kinda. In the end, we all muddled through and both kids learned to fish with a borrowed rod that was given to my son at the end of the day. *whew*
The bad news, IMHO, is they both loved it. They want to do it again.
Culturally, my family didn't fish. I'm not really sure why. I have a vague recollection of trying to fish in the surf at Westmoreland Beach (okay...there was a bit of a surf, which Westmoreland doesn't really have, so maybe we were somewhere else?) and my sister catching my grandmother's cheek with a hook on a wild cast. That pretty much did in any attempt to have the kids fish. Ever, apparently. And in that memory, I'm fairly sure it was my grandmother doing the 'teaching'. I remember when I was a teenager, my dad went sport fishing in the Outer Banks once...Dad had major seasickness issues. The trip got cut short due to bad weather, and he wasn't upset about it. That's it. Any other familial familiarity with fish comes directly from the seafood department of the local grocery store--we're not even talking a fish-market here. Safeway. Giant. A&P. Not exactly the wild kingdom.
So, I head into this "teach the kids to fish" escapade with a knowledge base of roughly ZERO. Our Fourth of July destination offers fishing at its lake. Okay...we'll try it without the Cub Scout dads to provide the bait (some worms--ick, corn, and some artificial bead things that stank to high heaven and came in neon colors), thread the string, etc. It's the 21st century...moms can do this stuff too.
I recalled I do actually own a fishing rod. When we first got married, a local hardware store was going out of business, and almost as a joke, my husband and I picked up a kid's Snoopy Fishing Rod. Sure enough, some 16 years later, its still in its package in the basement in the closet with the rakes and shovels. Hoping its not a collectors piece that should stay in the original plastic, I open it up, am thrilled to see it has string, and read the back of the package to get the basics of use. First direction: attach float and hook.
Darn.
A trip to Gander Mountain gets sandwiched in between packing the cooler and heading off for the fireworks. I've seen the signs for fishing stuff at Gander Mountain; I'm sure they'll have what I need.
Hm. Gander Mountain is kind of intimidating when you don't know what you're doing. *sigh*
If you've never been to one, approximately 1/4 of the really big store is "fishing stuff". After repeatedly telling the kids not to touch the $250+ fishing poles sticking up everywhere (yes, I know they're cool. And BIG.), I head to the hooks. Multiple sections of the store are devoted to hooks. Rack after rack after rack after bin. Okay, even I know I don't want $9 hooks with fancy flies already on them. And no, the kids can't touch those either, even if they ARE pretty. And no, we don't want the one that looks like it should be featured on an episode of SpongeBob and could probably support the weight of both kids. And no, I'm not paying over $20 for a pack of fishing hooks.
I give up and ask for help with some "basic fishing questions". The first guy I approach apologizes, but he's from a different department and unless I want help with shooting supplies, he's not the one to talk to. This reminds me that my son has issues with loud noises, so while I'm there I also want ear protection for him for the evening fireworks, so ask about that. He's happy to direct me to the right place, but eyes me oddly. Apparently ear protection and fishing is not a usual combination.
Find a more helpful young man who asks what my fishing questions are. I explain I'm trying to teach the kids to fish and need hooks and a bobber-thingy...uh, I mean, float. Floats are no problem--get a bag of them for 99 cents. His first question on hooks--"What are you fishing for?"
Damn. It just sounds so girly to say, "Fish?" so I go with, "Whatever's in the lake." How do I know what's in the water?? About then I realize I'm probably supposed to. *sigh*
He goes for tactful: "Are you looking for something small? Perch? Sunfish?"
My son, of course, helpfully provides, "I want to catch REALLY BIG FISH!"
I try to quietly point out that so far, they haven't actually gotten anything on a hook yet, so I'm looking more for a bait-holder than anything fish-specific.
He directs me to a hook about 5 times bigger than the one that came with the gifted rod, but next to it is a packet of smallish hooks that look useable by a 7 and 9 year old, and are $2.00 for the packet.
My daughter helpfully reminds me we need BAIT. The employee asks what we want. I say "artificial" as my son announces with relish, "worms!" My daughter haughtily replies that "Mommy is scared of worms, so we'll have to get fake ones." Hey! I am NOT scared of worms, I just chose not to chop up little squirmy living things and stick hooks through them. Yuck. The guy tries to sell me a carry-out styrofoam container of live worms. Then he looks into my eyes again and realizes I'm actually serious about not using them. (Forget putting them on the hook--we don't need worms as pets between fishing trips!) He then tries to sell me fake worms. These are bigger than the fish I expected to be catching. Unless we were going for a lasso effect of humane catching, I didn't think these were going to be useful. I request something smaller...perhaps those neon colored smelly bead things? He heads towards a locked case. Hm. NOPE. I'll nip that one in the bud...the scout troop lost innumerable floats, hooks, bait, and nearly two rods during the fishing lesson last month. I'm not messing with anything as bait that looks like it needs to be insured. I claim to be out of time and head for check out. I figure if burgers and corn worked for the scouts, it will work for us.
I was kind of relieved when events at the 4th of July celebration like the long line for the moon bounce prevented us from actually fishing. This gives me more time to figure out things like what kind of knot you need to tie the hook onto the line (HA! I knew I'd think of the right word!!) and better yet, how to get the float attached. I'm still feeling like a girl about the whole thing, but thank heavens for the Web. I'm going to be doing some surfing soon...
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Circling history--example 2--Plastic bottles vs. the Dishwasher
Anyone else remember the ads in the 70s and 80s promoting bottled water and plastic cups? "Use plastic and stop wasting water!" All the statistics pouring out of everywhere about how using disposable cups saved millions of gallons of water and jillions of kilowatts of power by not forcing us to run the dishwasher sanitizing those nasty glasses (which were probably dangerous anyway because if you dropped them, they'd shatter).
Then in the 80s and 90s, it was all the studies talking about how plastic bottles of water were the way to go because they were soooooo much more sanitary than plastic glasses. All the ads showing the convenience of using disposable plastic bottles and recycling them in the lovely green barrels located along any bike or walking path rather than hauling around thermoses or reusable bottles that had to be dishwashed.
And now I'm watching ads for water filters featuring slogans like, "40 minutes on an exercise bike, forever in a landfill." Huh. Thought those bottles were supposed to be recyclable? Earth friendly. Time savers.
It makes me wonder what they're going to try to be selling me tomorrow.
Then in the 80s and 90s, it was all the studies talking about how plastic bottles of water were the way to go because they were soooooo much more sanitary than plastic glasses. All the ads showing the convenience of using disposable plastic bottles and recycling them in the lovely green barrels located along any bike or walking path rather than hauling around thermoses or reusable bottles that had to be dishwashed.
And now I'm watching ads for water filters featuring slogans like, "40 minutes on an exercise bike, forever in a landfill." Huh. Thought those bottles were supposed to be recyclable? Earth friendly. Time savers.
It makes me wonder what they're going to try to be selling me tomorrow.
History circles around again--does anyone notice?
The latest thing here in the greater D.C. area is that the city government just passed a law charging five cents "tax" for using a plastic bag. My response? First, don't shop in the city unless its critical, and second, make sure I always get something small enough to just carry out.
I remember as a child watching my grandmothers rummage through their huge purses for their net grocery bags. Heavy-duty macrame'd bags that collapsed down into nothing to store in a purse or pocket. One of my grandmothers had a large canvas bag she kept in the car. Honestly, we thought it was a little weird and old fashioned--what was next, us girls getting pretty wicker baskets to tote to market? Sorry--that's a little too Little Red Riding Hood or Little House on the Prairie for us. We just chuckled about how all these years after the Depression, they were still trapped in that mentality and never even realized that all the stores had paper bags readily available.
And then came the late 70s and 80s. The advent of that marvelous invention, the PLASTIC grocery bag. At first, they were too flimsy. "No one" would trust their groceries--especially eggs--to a plastic bag! What were people thinking??!! But, soon, sturdiness caught up with efficiency, and suddenly only evil tree killers were still using old fashioned PAPER bags! Ha! Billions of trees were dying for every bit of brown paper bag, while plastic bags were The Only Answer. They were 100% man made--no natural resources destroyed! Not only that, they were recyclable! Not only could you reuse them around the house for transporting wet swimsuits, lining the cat box, or whatever, when you were done with reusing them a few times, you could toss them in the recycler (soon to be standard everywhere) and they'd be melted down and reformed into brand new clean plastic bags...or toys!...or part of your new car!! Suddenly, doing kid craft projects like building puppets out of bags were passe, because no one wanted to be caught using a tree-wasting paper bag.
Now, plastic is evil--and not so recyclable as we were told twenty years ago--and apparently plastic bags are wandering off on their own to go on murderous sprees destroying local wildlife or something. So...its back to paper, or even better--bring your own canvas bag (complete with the 21st century twist--or we'll tax you more!). Huh. I think my grandmothers might be laughing at us right about now.
I remember as a child watching my grandmothers rummage through their huge purses for their net grocery bags. Heavy-duty macrame'd bags that collapsed down into nothing to store in a purse or pocket. One of my grandmothers had a large canvas bag she kept in the car. Honestly, we thought it was a little weird and old fashioned--what was next, us girls getting pretty wicker baskets to tote to market? Sorry--that's a little too Little Red Riding Hood or Little House on the Prairie for us. We just chuckled about how all these years after the Depression, they were still trapped in that mentality and never even realized that all the stores had paper bags readily available.
And then came the late 70s and 80s. The advent of that marvelous invention, the PLASTIC grocery bag. At first, they were too flimsy. "No one" would trust their groceries--especially eggs--to a plastic bag! What were people thinking??!! But, soon, sturdiness caught up with efficiency, and suddenly only evil tree killers were still using old fashioned PAPER bags! Ha! Billions of trees were dying for every bit of brown paper bag, while plastic bags were The Only Answer. They were 100% man made--no natural resources destroyed! Not only that, they were recyclable! Not only could you reuse them around the house for transporting wet swimsuits, lining the cat box, or whatever, when you were done with reusing them a few times, you could toss them in the recycler (soon to be standard everywhere) and they'd be melted down and reformed into brand new clean plastic bags...or toys!...or part of your new car!! Suddenly, doing kid craft projects like building puppets out of bags were passe, because no one wanted to be caught using a tree-wasting paper bag.
Now, plastic is evil--and not so recyclable as we were told twenty years ago--and apparently plastic bags are wandering off on their own to go on murderous sprees destroying local wildlife or something. So...its back to paper, or even better--bring your own canvas bag (complete with the 21st century twist--or we'll tax you more!). Huh. I think my grandmothers might be laughing at us right about now.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Time travelling on the morning commute
I looked around me on the metro this morning, and wondered when I had flashed back to the 80s. People around me were all engrossed in their reading materials--Breakfast of Champions by Kurt Vonnegut (okay, that's 60s, but everyone I knew was reading it the 80s); Ride a Pale Horse by Helen MacInnes; and another one I'm blanking on at the moment but was a classic of the era. [When I think of it, I'll edit it in.]
I just find it odd that everyone with those books were all in the same metro car at the same time. I find those coincidences fascinating--the afternoon I saw three people with guide dogs, two on the same metro train. The day there were probably 8 or more people with broken arms in slings making their way around town...I've gone months without seeing a single cast on an arm or leg, then suddenly see 8? It just seems unlikely.
I just find it odd that everyone with those books were all in the same metro car at the same time. I find those coincidences fascinating--the afternoon I saw three people with guide dogs, two on the same metro train. The day there were probably 8 or more people with broken arms in slings making their way around town...I've gone months without seeing a single cast on an arm or leg, then suddenly see 8? It just seems unlikely.
Friday, June 5, 2009
Umbrellas and Amelia Earhart...the Mysterious workings of kids' brains
Its been raining here in Virginia for eons. 5-7 inches in the last three days. Any thoughts of getting some gardening done have slowly shifted to the logistics of building an ark. *sigh* Today, I finally gave in and sent my son to school with an umbrella. (He has the family sword fixation--previous attempts to allow him to take an umbrella anywhere have failed before reaching the car, as he immediately turned the umbrella into a weapon.)
Who knew proper umbrella usage wasn't instinctive? *sigh* I showed him how to push it all the way open so it wasn't folded around his head like a mushroom cap and the button to push to put it down, but it never occurred to me that he'd try to get in the car with it still open. Or try to open it in the car so "it would be ready" when he wanted to get out. I did "remind" him there would be NO umbrella-opening on the school bus, which I don't think was as unnecessary as I would have hoped.
Meanwhile, I discovered his sister's umbrella droops down on one side like a bent pie tin. I asked her what happened, and she cheerfully responded, "I have no idea. Its just like this now. That's okay." I checked, and two or three of the spokes are broken. This apparently happened magically at night with no human intervention.
***
With the new movie, Night at the Museum: Battle for the Smithsonian coming out, we re-learn the dangers of allowing pop culture to teach history as my daughter asks, "So, mommy--did Amelia Earhart really fly the Wright Flyer?" Since daddy works at the Wright Brothers National Monument at Kitty Hawk, this is the type of question that makes the blood run cold. I explained that she did NOT actually fly in the Wright Flyer, though she had known Wilber Wright. Next question: "Who was she, anyway?" I explained that she was one of the first women pilots, and she had disappeared back before World War II on a flight around the world and had never been heard from again. My daughter looked thoughtful. "You know what I think? I think she's probably dead." Considering Earhart would be 112 if she did turn up unexpectedly at this point, I agreed with my daughter's theory.
Who knew proper umbrella usage wasn't instinctive? *sigh* I showed him how to push it all the way open so it wasn't folded around his head like a mushroom cap and the button to push to put it down, but it never occurred to me that he'd try to get in the car with it still open. Or try to open it in the car so "it would be ready" when he wanted to get out. I did "remind" him there would be NO umbrella-opening on the school bus, which I don't think was as unnecessary as I would have hoped.
Meanwhile, I discovered his sister's umbrella droops down on one side like a bent pie tin. I asked her what happened, and she cheerfully responded, "I have no idea. Its just like this now. That's okay." I checked, and two or three of the spokes are broken. This apparently happened magically at night with no human intervention.
***
With the new movie, Night at the Museum: Battle for the Smithsonian coming out, we re-learn the dangers of allowing pop culture to teach history as my daughter asks, "So, mommy--did Amelia Earhart really fly the Wright Flyer?" Since daddy works at the Wright Brothers National Monument at Kitty Hawk, this is the type of question that makes the blood run cold. I explained that she did NOT actually fly in the Wright Flyer, though she had known Wilber Wright. Next question: "Who was she, anyway?" I explained that she was one of the first women pilots, and she had disappeared back before World War II on a flight around the world and had never been heard from again. My daughter looked thoughtful. "You know what I think? I think she's probably dead." Considering Earhart would be 112 if she did turn up unexpectedly at this point, I agreed with my daughter's theory.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Kid Recipes--Peanutbutter and jelly, the RIGHT way
This is an older story, but as I had to make sandwiches for lunches today, I was reminiscing.
A couple of years ago, my son came home from daycare raving about peanutbutter and jelly sandwiches. I was surprised, as I had never been able to get him to eat them. I figured tastes change as kids get older, and went out and bought peanutbutter and jelly.
No dice. "These don't taste right!"
Tried a different make of peanutbutter. A different type of jelly. Nope. "YUK! You're making them wrong!"
I surrendered, jokingly (okay, sarcastically) suggested he find out from daycare what I'm doing wrong, and forgot about it for a while.
A week or so later, he comes home saying he now knows the right way to make peanutbutter and jelly sandwiches, so on Saturday, we pull out the jars and bread and he directs:
"First, you need two slices of bread. Put the JELLY on this slice, and the PEANUTBUTTER on the other slice." (Good news--so far, I haven't failed cooking school...this really was how I made the other, failed sandwiches...) "NOW, you FOLD the peanutbutter slice in half--and give that part to Andy."
I stop. "Andy?"
"Yes. My friend Andy from daycare what likes peanutbutter."
"'Cuz you still DON'T actually like peanutbutter."
"Right. So I eat THIS part," he says cheerfully as he folds the jelly half of the sandwich and starts munching. "and its really tasty. I can take Andy his sandwich on Monday."
"Or...daddy can eat it." *sigh*
But I had to ask--"WHY didn't you just ask for a JELLY SANDWICH?"
"That just sounds stupid."
To this day, I serve him "peanutbutter and jelly sandwiches without the peanutbutter."
A couple of years ago, my son came home from daycare raving about peanutbutter and jelly sandwiches. I was surprised, as I had never been able to get him to eat them. I figured tastes change as kids get older, and went out and bought peanutbutter and jelly.
No dice. "These don't taste right!"
Tried a different make of peanutbutter. A different type of jelly. Nope. "YUK! You're making them wrong!"
I surrendered, jokingly (okay, sarcastically) suggested he find out from daycare what I'm doing wrong, and forgot about it for a while.
A week or so later, he comes home saying he now knows the right way to make peanutbutter and jelly sandwiches, so on Saturday, we pull out the jars and bread and he directs:
"First, you need two slices of bread. Put the JELLY on this slice, and the PEANUTBUTTER on the other slice." (Good news--so far, I haven't failed cooking school...this really was how I made the other, failed sandwiches...) "NOW, you FOLD the peanutbutter slice in half--and give that part to Andy."
I stop. "Andy?"
"Yes. My friend Andy from daycare what likes peanutbutter."
"'Cuz you still DON'T actually like peanutbutter."
"Right. So I eat THIS part," he says cheerfully as he folds the jelly half of the sandwich and starts munching. "and its really tasty. I can take Andy his sandwich on Monday."
"Or...daddy can eat it." *sigh*
But I had to ask--"WHY didn't you just ask for a JELLY SANDWICH?"
"That just sounds stupid."
To this day, I serve him "peanutbutter and jelly sandwiches without the peanutbutter."
Sun block whine
Welcome to summer. I've now come across TWO recent articles promoting the proper use of sun block. And frankly, I am now both annoyed and confused as a consumer and a mom.
1. "They" say to apply sunscreen at least ONE HOUR before going out into the sun--because it takes that long for it to "start working". Okay--theory, meet reality...with kids under 12, this doesn't happen. Ever. And yet, my kids don't get sunburned.
2. "They" say water resistant products should be reapplied every 40 minutes. Hm. See Number 1. This means it should be reapplied before ever leaving the house? If it doesn't start working for 60 minutes...reapplying it won't matter, will it?? Seems kinda stupid. Second point. This means "water resistant" sunscreen doesn't last from the top of the hour until the adult swim whistle blows or even through a one-hour jog. Maybe hard-core runners out can there answer the question: How many times do you stop and reapply sunscreen during your run??
3. Finally...some good news! Water proof products only need to be reapplied every 80 minutes. That's an hour and 10 minutes. For "waterproof". So...if you take the kids to the pool for two hours, you only have to apply sunscreen...three or four times?
I firmly believe they make this stuff up as they go along. This sounds to me like a marketer's scheme to have consumers use up a bottle of suntan lotion--ack! can't say that any more!!--sunscreen in a week.
Absurd.
1. "They" say to apply sunscreen at least ONE HOUR before going out into the sun--because it takes that long for it to "start working". Okay--theory, meet reality...with kids under 12, this doesn't happen. Ever. And yet, my kids don't get sunburned.
2. "They" say water resistant products should be reapplied every 40 minutes. Hm. See Number 1. This means it should be reapplied before ever leaving the house? If it doesn't start working for 60 minutes...reapplying it won't matter, will it?? Seems kinda stupid. Second point. This means "water resistant" sunscreen doesn't last from the top of the hour until the adult swim whistle blows or even through a one-hour jog. Maybe hard-core runners out can there answer the question: How many times do you stop and reapply sunscreen during your run??
3. Finally...some good news! Water proof products only need to be reapplied every 80 minutes. That's an hour and 10 minutes. For "waterproof". So...if you take the kids to the pool for two hours, you only have to apply sunscreen...three or four times?
I firmly believe they make this stuff up as they go along. This sounds to me like a marketer's scheme to have consumers use up a bottle of suntan lotion--ack! can't say that any more!!--sunscreen in a week.
Absurd.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Chihuly Glass at the Desert Botanical Gardens
I'm as much of an art fan as I am a garden/plant fan, though modern stuff is less appealing to me in general. But, enough people said the Chihuly Glass exhibit at the Phoenix/Scottsdale Desert Botanical Gardens couldn't be missed that I decided to give it a look.
Boy, were they right.
My hosts assured me that going to an outdoor garden exhibit at night was not as absurd as it sounded--apparently, they lit the glass up at night. What I didn't realize until I got there was that in many cases that meant "like a light bulb", not just a spotlight on the chunk'o'glass. The exhibit was spectacular. It might have helped a lot that I'm a huge fan of science fiction, and frankly, most of it looked like the artist was going for renditions of the latest alien landscape...especially when put against the backdrop of the amazing cacti specimens the botanical garden has on display. We got there at dusk, and stayed until they started roping off the footpaths.
And this was just a cool shot of a cactus (no glass) that I took as it started to rain:
And here's some of the other stuff we enjoyed [more to follow...this takes a LOOONG time to upload images]:
Boy, were they right.
My hosts assured me that going to an outdoor garden exhibit at night was not as absurd as it sounded--apparently, they lit the glass up at night. What I didn't realize until I got there was that in many cases that meant "like a light bulb", not just a spotlight on the chunk'o'glass. The exhibit was spectacular. It might have helped a lot that I'm a huge fan of science fiction, and frankly, most of it looked like the artist was going for renditions of the latest alien landscape...especially when put against the backdrop of the amazing cacti specimens the botanical garden has on display. We got there at dusk, and stayed until they started roping off the footpaths.
In many cases, the "art" was almost indistinguishable from some of the plants--here's a daytime/nighttime shot of the same piece as an example:
And this was just a cool shot of a cactus (no glass) that I took as it started to rain:
And here's some of the other stuff we enjoyed [more to follow...this takes a LOOONG time to upload images]:
Kids and Goal-setting
But...I thought it was GOOD for kids to have step-by-step goals for achievements in their life? And plans for the future...?This evening, my daughter (age 9) came out to the kitchen and announced, "If I were taking over the world, I'd start small. With the town. THEN the county. Then the state, the region, and then the whole country. THEN I'd move on to another continent, and do like six of them, and get them under control. THEN go and get the seventh."
The mom in me was conflicted. It was great easy-to-achieve planning steps for a kid to have broken down from a major project. BUT...my darling daughter is plotting world domination?!?! And, if I say so myself, plotting it Well. THAT could be an issue...
So, I said, "That would probably be the best way to do it, break it down into smaller, more manageable pieces. ARE you planning to take over the world?""No. But the bad guy in the cartoon started with trying to take over the WHOLE WORLD at once, and they stopped him. He should have started smaller. Can I have dessert?"
Dessert, yes; Belgium, no...not yet, anyway...
Friday, May 22, 2009
The Aerial View
Had a window seat for the first time in ages on my flight back from Phoenix. I'm not the best flyer these days, so I haven't really missed it. Besides...lately, I usually sleep as much as I can, so don't see much anyway.
This time, however, I woke up about 45 minutes out from Reagan National Airport, and flipped up the window shade. Lush green terrain spread out below. Trees. Mountains. Valleys. I tried to guess about where we were, and started looking around for landmarks. A minute later, I stared down at the ground. There was a large, white, circular structure waayyyyyy below me. The pilot announces that we're starting into our final approach, and coming down from 26,000 feet--so I KNOW we're wayyy up there. I stare harder.
Below me is the Green Bank Telescope--the huge radiotelescope in West Virginia. I can't believe its that clear from the air. I try to convince myself I'm wrong--if it were the GBT, then there'd be another smaller dish just...to...the... Yup. That little circular dot would be a smaller (much smaller), older radiotelescope dish. Sure enough, I recognize the entire facility--the line of various sized telescope dishes, the business and dorm buildings, etc. I look back as the plane flies on, and the structure of the GBT becomes REALLY visible--it is definitely the GBT. It was too far away to show up on my camera (I tried), but I'll post a photo from my meeting at Green Bank. I still can't believe how clear it was from that high up. TOTALLY identifiable. VERY cool stuff. I'm glad I had a window seat. I also can't believe its less than 40 minutes by flight from National Airport--that was a loooonnnngggg 4+ hour drive from home, on narrow, windy scary mountain roads. Ah, some days I wish for a real gryffin...
Then, when we came in for a landing, we came right down the Potomac, over Georgetown University's stadium and buildings, past Georgetown itself, saw the Kennedy Center, the Lincoln Memorial, the Jefferson Memorial, the Washington Monument, the Capitol building...everything. It was like a postcard view of Washington, D.C.--and followed by a very smooth touch-down. All in all, a nice trip home.
Travel tip #1--Art Appreciation is in the eye of the beholder
I try to be careful on flights and follow all the rules. As a meeting planner, that whole "no Xacto knives" thing is harder for me than your standard business traveller, but I cope. When possible, I ship most stuff out ahead with the meeting boxes to avoid hauling a lot of crud through the airport, and so on.
BUT...when on travel, I try to buy something for the kids. This time, in Scottsdale, Arizona, I managed to find some cute little "southwestern style" pottery statues--a medicine bear for my son, and a running horse for my daughter. Kinda fragile, so they went into my carry on. Which then went through the security scanner. And through the security scanner. And through the security scanner. Other large security guys were called to the station, and it went back through the security scanner. I'm standing there wracking my brains thinking, "no...all the scissors and box cutters are in the box at the hotel getting shipped back to the office", and coming up with NOTHING for possiblities of trouble.
Sure enough...they pull me over to a table on the side and start unpacking the carry on. Luckily, not much was in it. They come to the wrapped/bubblewrapped/taped statues--and wipe them down with one of those explosive testing swabs. Negative. Then the unwrapping starts. No problem with the bear...then he opens the horse. The running horse. The running horse who's movement is signified by the LONG SWIGGLY COPPER WIRES used to form the flowing, wind-blown mane and tail. I just flinched when I realized what it must have looked like on the X-Ray picture. *sigh*
BAD pony. Bad!
I guess that means I have a clean conscious, cuz it NEVER occurred to me what it could look like when I was carefully packing it in my carryon.
BUT...when on travel, I try to buy something for the kids. This time, in Scottsdale, Arizona, I managed to find some cute little "southwestern style" pottery statues--a medicine bear for my son, and a running horse for my daughter. Kinda fragile, so they went into my carry on. Which then went through the security scanner. And through the security scanner. And through the security scanner. Other large security guys were called to the station, and it went back through the security scanner. I'm standing there wracking my brains thinking, "no...all the scissors and box cutters are in the box at the hotel getting shipped back to the office", and coming up with NOTHING for possiblities of trouble.
Sure enough...they pull me over to a table on the side and start unpacking the carry on. Luckily, not much was in it. They come to the wrapped/bubblewrapped/taped statues--and wipe them down with one of those explosive testing swabs. Negative. Then the unwrapping starts. No problem with the bear...then he opens the horse. The running horse. The running horse who's movement is signified by the LONG SWIGGLY COPPER WIRES used to form the flowing, wind-blown mane and tail. I just flinched when I realized what it must have looked like on the X-Ray picture. *sigh*
BAD pony. Bad!
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Easter, kids, and religion
I took the occasion of Easter to try to impart a bit of religion to the kids since we don't attend church/Sunday school regularly. (That might need to change soon.) I explained that, beyond the Bunny and chocolate, Easter was all about the day that Jesus rose from the dead. My darling 9-year-old daughter tilted her head to the side.
"He came back from the dead?"
"Yes."
"That's pretty unusual. I mean, that just doesn't happen a lot."
"Right. That doesn't happen. That's why its special, and why we celebrate."
"So. How'd he do it?"
"He's Jesus. He's God's son. That made him very special."
"You know, people say 'we're all God's children'..."
"No. We can't all come back from the dead...well...never mind." I cleverly decided NOT to debate religious theory with a 9-year-old--she might win.
I told this story to my sister, who related her own version. She had taken the same opportunity to explain that Easter was actually a bigger holy day than Christmas. Her 13-year-old had doubts. Christmas seemed like it was more largely celebrated. My sister tried again to explain that, while that may be, the death and resurrection was actually a bigger story than the birth.
"And we celebrate that at Easter?"
"Yes."
"Why? It seems a much more Halloweeny thing. All that coming-back-from-the-dead and stuff. Why not do it then?"
About this time, her 7-year-old sister added in a helpfully spooky (and front-toothless) voice, "People wwwiiise fwom the dead at midnight!"
I think I'll stick with the baskets, and leave the significant stuff to the trained professionals...
"He came back from the dead?"
"Yes."
"That's pretty unusual. I mean, that just doesn't happen a lot."
"Right. That doesn't happen. That's why its special, and why we celebrate."
"So. How'd he do it?"
"He's Jesus. He's God's son. That made him very special."
"You know, people say 'we're all God's children'..."
"No. We can't all come back from the dead...well...never mind." I cleverly decided NOT to debate religious theory with a 9-year-old--she might win.
I told this story to my sister, who related her own version. She had taken the same opportunity to explain that Easter was actually a bigger holy day than Christmas. Her 13-year-old had doubts. Christmas seemed like it was more largely celebrated. My sister tried again to explain that, while that may be, the death and resurrection was actually a bigger story than the birth.
"And we celebrate that at Easter?"
"Yes."
"Why? It seems a much more Halloweeny thing. All that coming-back-from-the-dead and stuff. Why not do it then?"
About this time, her 7-year-old sister added in a helpfully spooky (and front-toothless) voice, "People wwwiiise fwom the dead at midnight!"
I think I'll stick with the baskets, and leave the significant stuff to the trained professionals...
Blogging--the down side
Okay, so work interferes with life. We knew that already. But I hadn't realized it had been that long since I posted something.
Ooops. Mea culpa, and all that.
I'll try to do better. Really.
Ooops. Mea culpa, and all that.
I'll try to do better. Really.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Preliminary Jewelry Post
Whoo hoo! It works! Heh. This is the first of my necklaces. Purple mother-of-pearl disks, bronze pearls, square hematite, and pink glass beads.
Okay. This is officially cool. Of course, I'm not quite sure how many I can squeeeeeze into one post.
But, this will do for an experiment. : )
This blogging thing takes some thought
Who knew? *sigh* Not only do I need to post stuff, it has to be quality stuff. What did I find? Most of my photos that I wanted to add here aren't quite in focus. I now have a lot more admiration for anyone who photographs jewelry professionally. Getting it right--not too dark, not too bright, no reflections (just forget the flash option), the right background...and, oh, yeah, in focus--is much harder than it should be in these days of digital cameras.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
The start of something...
...the question is, how will that sentence complete. The start of something good, I hope. Useful. Interesting. Something perhaps not a time-sink. Well, we can always hope. Now...
I'm starting a blog. People have been saying I should for a while. We'll see how it goes. And just what I can do with it. With luck, this will make things easier in the long run. A central place to put things like photos. News. Gripes. Things to share. Yeah...gonna have to check on limits there.
The universe awaits...
I'm starting a blog. People have been saying I should for a while. We'll see how it goes. And just what I can do with it. With luck, this will make things easier in the long run. A central place to put things like photos. News. Gripes. Things to share. Yeah...gonna have to check on limits there.
The universe awaits...
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