Marsha and Matt go to Sweden

aurora#6blog
The aurora over Mt. Nuolja and the Aurora Sky Station

In January, as a blizzard was bearing down on Washington D.C., Matt and I flew away from the two feet of snow that was on the way and headed to Sweden to see the Northern lights.  Seeing the Northern Lights is not an easy thing.  Seeing any natural phenomenon is very hard and planning a vacation around an attempt to see a phenomenon can be risky.

So I did what every modern dreamer does.  I searched the internet  for the best places to see the aurora.  A place in Sweden, Abisko National Park, kept coming up.  Sweden?  Not Norway or Iceland?  No.  Abisko.  Why?  The theory is that Abisko is located in an area with a microclimate that creates a very good chance of clear skies. Abisko is also in Swedish Lapland, far north of the Arctic Circle and very near Sweden’s northern border with Norway.  So we were pretty sure it was going to be dark and cold.

I bought it.  So I started obsessing about taking a trip to Sweden.  I called my sister Michele and said, let’s go.  She said, sure, why not?  So off we went.

We started in Stockholm of course, where the weather went from freezing cold, a bit of snow and then rain from day-to-day.

Stockholm#1blog

We took in the sites including the ABBA Museum and I am here to say that it is utterly ridiculous that there is a museum dedicated to ABBA but people sure were paying to get in, including us because my husband is a devotee.  But they had some stuff that was completely campy too, so you just had to go with it.

Abba museum#2
The clothes were really ridiculous then, weren’t they?

 

Abba museum#1
Matt singing along with the group in the sound booth

Matt will never forgive me if I do not mention that we made a pilgrimage to the brewery opened in conjunction with Brooklyn Brewery, Nya Carnegiebryggeriet (Carnegie Brewery I think).  They had some good beer, good atmosphere and good food.

But Stockholm did not detain us long because we had to go north to the Lapland frontier.

We stayed in Bjorkliden, a resort in the middle of nowhere.  There was nothing there but the hotel we were staying in, but it was a beautiful spot.

bjork#7blog
The view from our hotel room at around noon.

The sun was coming up for about five hours.  All of that night time atmosphere just made us want to sleep all the time  We were fighting off the need to hibernate and not really doing a very good job.  Our goal was to be awake at night to see the auroras so it was actually okay for us to sleep.

Our first attempt to see the aurora was a visit to the Abisko Sky Station.  That is the tiny dot of light at the top of the mountain in the opening picture to this blog.  We opted for the dinner and stars package.  They have a small restaurant at the top and it serves a very fine gourmet meal to help with the energy needed to sit and wait for an aurora.  The trip to the sky station was by ski lift, a mile long ride up the mountain in the fresh air  Remember, it is night time above the Arctic Circle in January.   They gave us survival suits to wear and none of us said no.  I am glad because it was COLD on that ski lift.  Holy smokes.  It was so cold and we were moving so fast, neither of us got out the cameras.  I was afraid I was going to drop it because of frozen fingers.

At the top we found–clouds.  Yep.  Clouds on the one place that the internet guaranteed their would be good weather.  Stupid internet. The weather changes on a dime, we are told, and maybe, just maybe, the sky would clear. So we went inside for a lovely dinner with about 50 strangers.  All of the meal preparations are brought up on the lift as well.  And given that it was all prepared and brought up in lift chairs a little at a time, it was an amazing dinner.

It started with smoked Arctic char, then mushroom soup with pork belly, an entree of roast moose with a sea buckthorn berry sauce and for dessert, vanilla pana cotta with cloudberry sauce.  Yes, that was very yummy.  We had a drink selection of local schnapps, beer, wine and a dessert wine.  Yikes, the beer was not really very good.  The schnapps, homemade with a sing-along, went down fine.

But that great meal did not change the weather and after a short wait, we headed back down the mountain, disappointed the Gods did not favor us with a solar flare.

But we had another chance that we almost gave up on.  We woke the next day to find that it was snowing and would probably snow all day.  We went snowmobiling in the morning and spent a few hours watching a herd of reindeer.  We had scheduled to go on another aurora photo safari and we figured we might as well just bag it.  But we could not cancel without eating the entire cost of the tour.

Then a miracle happened.  We had gone back to take a nap and I saw a glint of sunlight peaking over the mountain.  This made me re-think it.  We flipped a Kroner a few times–heads we go, tails we don’t–and it kept telling us to go.  I told my sister the Kroner had spoken so we got ready for a night in the cold.

At a small park that served as an interpretive center to the Sami people, we waited.  The photo guide had an app that told her when coronal flares were being shot off the sun and when they would arrive in Swedish airspace.  Too cool.  But there was nothing.  We were allowed to use the hut (really a tepee) to keep warm.  We sat on the reindeer skins  in front of a fire and had a spot of hot toddy of some sort (warmed lingonberry juice) while we waited.

tepeeblog

And we waited and waited and waited some more.  It was very, very cold.  I can’t tell you the temperature because if they said it, they gave it to us in Celsius and I am an American so that is meaningless.  But it was probably in the teens.  It was so cold that after more than an hour my toes and fingers were in distress.  But we soldiered on.

Matt and I were standing in the field waiting behind our camera tripods and we could hear the others talking about packing up.  We had to walk back to the van waiting to pick us up.  And suddenly, there it was.  The green curtain, dancing in the sky.  We were yelling, there it is! We went into emergency mode, just snapping and snapping away until the guide insisted that we leave.  We did reluctantly.

But a funny thing happened.  When we saw our pictures on the computer, they were blurry.  Why?  It was so cold that the cameras were covered with frost.  At some point, the guide wiped off my lens cover.  Unfortunately, she left behind spots that are crystal clear in the picture,  The lens focused on the spot.  Oh well.  We saw it anyway.  Some of the  pictures are here:

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Mission accomplished.  Lesson we have learned again and again. Never question the toss of the coin. When the coin speaks, follow.

On to the Ice Hotel.  We were in the far north and not far from the Ice Hotel so we took the opportunity to visit. No, we did not sleep in an ice room.  I am a sensible person and I have no intention of sleeping on a block of ice covered only with reindeer skins.  We stayed in the warm rooms.  We did go to the Ice Bar and drank way too much out of ice glasses that were shaped out of water from the clean Torne River.  We kept the glasses and we drank the melted water the next day.

Another slide show:

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

The Ice Hotel rooms are designed each year by artists who enter into a competition to give each room a theme or personality. For example, the elephant was a gorgeous sculpture in one of the rooms, that I believe was about memory.  Another room had the arches, another the peacock.  And yes, it is all sculpted from ice.  The Hallway was beautiful, like an ice castle you would imagine in a fantasy.  A chandelier and vases and columns all glowing white and blue.

Now for the review.  Nice hotel, very unpleasant staff.  We travelled to a lot of places in Sweden and this hotel by far had some of the rudest people we came across.  We could not figure out why.  They seemed either bored and really could not be bothered.  Or so harried that they just did not care.

We ate at the Ice Hotel restaurant, Jukkasjorin.  When the chef found out there were Americans there, he came to our table and talked and talked.  He had worked in the U.S. and loved it.  We had the Ice tasting menu which included bleak roe, salmon, and a smoked ptarmigan with porcini consumme, which bowl licking good.  Gosh, that one was good.  Smoked right on premises, the bird was cut into small pieces which were presented in a jar.  Opening the jar let out a waft of smoke and the flavor permeated the nostrils.  Into the soup and viola, heaven.  Then finally, reindeer with chocolate sauce and lingonberries.  For dessert brambleberry gelato.  Holy smokes, that was good too.  But it was way too much food.  The serving sizes were too large and we were absolutely stuffed.

We did not stay long at the hotel.  It was time to head back.  Off to Stockholm we went for another trip around the city, touring the things we had missed.  The Nobel Museum was surprisingly interesting.  Shopping in the Old Town led me to some wonderful sheep inspired gifts.  We had an early dinner at Den Gyldene Freden. This was going to be our truly traditional Swedish meal–herring, meatballs, and homemade schnapps, and they did not disappoint.    We tried all of the herring–traditional, mustard and herb.  The homemade schnapps was crisp and went perfectly with the fish.  The meatballs were flavorful and substantial and they came with mashed potatoes so it was hard to complain.

A short mention of the food.  We ate well everywhere we went.  For the record, we ate reindeer–both steaks and uncooked carpaccio, moose, ptarmigan, artic char, herring, cloudberries, brambleberries, sea buckthorn, lots of smoked salmon.   The Swedes have something called Fika, the Swedish coffee break.  But I would think of it as similar to a traditional afternoon tea but they have it any time they want.  There are cakes and cookies and sandwiches involved, but they drink coffee instead of tea.  You can find afternoon tea too, but fika is the tradition.  We liked fika.  How can you not like an elaborate coffee break?

I had one last Swedish goal–to have a sauna and then jump into cold water.  We searched and consulted and the only place where they opened a hole in a frozen lake for a plunge was too far from town.  Instead we went to the spa a the Grand Hotel.  They had a cold water pool.  Yes, I was going to do this.

The spa separated the ladies from the men for some of the activities.  The sauna and cold bath were in the segregated areas.  We signed up for a  massage and then parted into the changing rooms.  I said to Matt as he walked away, “You better jump into that cold water!” He assured me he would.  I know I did.  I steamed myself for a few minutes and then took the plunge.  Gaahhh!!!!.  After that steam, it was cold!  And while I tried to ease myself in, it really is not worth it.  Like tearing off a bandage, you just have to fall in.  So I did.  I did this about four times–sauna then another jump into the cold pool.  Needless to say, I was the only person in the changing room doing this.  Then I went for my massage.  The masseuse told me not to jump into the cold water after she worked on me.  But I did anyway.  It was invigorating.  When we met again, Matt said he had gone into the cold water too.  I have to believe him.

And that was our trip to Sweden.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rocky

It was an off-day in the hockey playoffs so we had time to watch a movie.  Matt wanted to watch Creed and I said, sure, why not?  You know about Creed, the sort of sequel, or some kind of sequential installment in the Rocky saga, that features a young boxer, Adonis, the son of Apollo Creed, who is trained by Rocky Balboa for a championship fight of his life.  Sound familiar?

Yeah, here is the thing.  I could not remember a thing about the Rocky movies.  Any of them.  Not even the first one. None of it resonated with me.  The original Rocky came out in 1976.  It was the year of the bicentennial, Jimmy Carter was running for President and I was 16 years old, going to high school and generally hanging out with my friends, drinking beer.

I am sure I saw Rocky.  Who didn’t?  I remembered that it was about boxing, that was easy.  And I remembered the song.  But for the life of me I really could not remember the details of the story.  This fascinated me.  Here was a movie that was so inspirational to so many.  It won the Best Picture at the Academy Awards.  Yet, it had long since departed my brain probably because I had not seen it for 40 years.  I also assume I saw Rocky II, but again, zero recollection of that movie either.  I highly doubt I went in for the other movies but who is to say.  Because if the first movie did not even make it into a long forgotten corner of my brain there is no way that I have some pieces of the other movies hanging around.

After watching Creed, Matt thought he might have to go on a Rocky binge.  I was not about to do that.  But I did agree to watch the first Rocky again.  I had to know if it was still a good movie.  Would I even remember it?

Nope.  The movie was completely unfamiliar to me.  Except for one scene.  I remembered him drinking the eggs.  Now that is a memory that sticks in the neurons.  But other than sloshing egg yolks, the movie was like new.  And boy, was it annoying.

In Creed, Sylvester Stallone’s words were so garbled, there were times I needed sub-titles. He talked like he had rocks in his mouth, and not in a good way.  But he was not exactly comprehensible in the original Rocky either.  What goes on in the six inches between his ears?  Anything?  It must, because he sure has been able to sell himself as a star.  But one does have to wonder, given his mannerisms, whether he is cooking with gas.

The movie dialogue was okay but not all that scintillating and the characters seemed very stereo-typed and formulaic.  Rocky was not really an interesting guy.  He was a dope more than anything.  But yet, we were persuaded to believe that this dope could experience this dream.  We were persuaded to believe in him because we like the idea that he believes in himself.  That is the American Dream.  If we believe in ourselves enough, we can succeed.  Rocky’s belief was unwavering.

Looking back, it all seems absurd.  Is it because times have change so much?  When I see movies or shows from the pre-9/11, pre-Great Recession world so many of them seem so simple and innocent.  The world was not a scary place.  There were no terrorists, or us and them.  There was no fear that the economy was slipping away and that the American Dream is a myth.  In those days, the American Dream still existed.  We all still believed life could be good and free and that redemption is at the end of the road.  I am not sure many of us believe that now.  Or at least we have our doubts.  Life has become ambiguous and tentative.

But not for Rocky.  Rocky has nothing but he believes in himself just the same. Rocky was living in a roach-infested dump and seemed to be a high school drop out.  Rocky did not have good genes.  He was a mutt.  Then good fortune shines. He is a lucky guy that Apollo Creed picks out of a book of fighters and Rocky is on his way.  He does not win the fight, but he proves his belief in himself is not misplaced.  Woohoo.  It is the absolute embodiment of the American Dream and we all accepted it was possible.  Today, well, I am not so sure we are willing to accept that, if we just try, success will be there for us.

Creed tried to evoke that idea but honestly, I was not buying it.  This was not an American Dream movie.  Creed’s son Adonis was raised by his rich step-mother and he had a proper education.  As Creed’s son, Adonis had good genes. Creed was about a son living in the shadow of his father and trying to make it on his own. Unlike Rocky, he does not believe in himself.  He fears that he will be compared to his father and he wants to make it on his own. But he also fears he will never live up to his father’s glory. Creed was not about getting a shot at success but at coming to  believe you are entitled to it.   It may be a drama that some young adults experience, but that is not an American Dream story.

Was the story line written in this way because we are so jaded that we can not even accept the American dream as a movie premise?  Or are we all navel gazers now, wanting to find a way to believe in ourselves but we can’t. So we want to see an inspirational story where someone comes to believe in themselves, overcoming their own mental impediments.

In the end, I did not find Creed inspirational.  Entertaining, but not inspirational.  Neither was Rocky but I think that is because the willingness to believe those kinds of tales has long since left me.

Swarming Bees

swarm #1

We started keeping bees last year.  We only have one little hive because we really do not have time to devote to the care of farm animals.

Bees are funny.  They have an entire routine that beekeepers have been keeping track of for years.  Here is how it goes.  You have a queen bee, she mates and carries around thousands upon thousands of eggs.  She deposits them into the comb and they grow into bees.  The drones are male and do nothing.  The females do all the work–that isn’t really news is it?–and are known as worker bees.  Worker bees forage for nectar and pollen and bring it back to the hive to ferment into honey and protein.  They take care of the eggs, they take care of the queen, they keep the hive clean, they defend the hive from invaders.

If you have a really strong hive, the queen just keeps producing and producing.  The hive is getting mighty full with bees.  Also, after a while the queen does weaken, she can’t live forever.  When the bees sense that the equilibrium is off, they start working on producing another queen. In one case, with a weakening queen, they stick around and produce a new queen to replace the old one.  In a very full hive, they produce queens for swarming so they can get out of the hive and on to a new life.

In beekeeping you are supposed to stop a swarm for two reasons, lost bees are valuable and you will lose honey production.  But if you prevent swarming, you have to create more colonies and we just do not want a bunch of hives.  Nor do we care that much about selling honey.  In fact, we have no intention of selling honey.  We just like watching the activity.  It’s a hobby.  We had always said if the bees swarm, it is natural and we did not really want to stop them.  We had seen some queen cells being formed and it was either supercedure or swarming.  We were not sure.  We thought there was plenty of room in the hive.  We were wrong.

The weather here has been absolutely miserable.  Bees don’t like cold and rainy weather.  If it is too cold, they stay inside huddled together.  Rain makes them cranky.  They love sun.  Last Saturday, the sun came out briefly and there was enough impetus for the bees in our hive to swarm.

We were lucky to witness it.

 

 

I looked out the back door and all I could see were thousands of bees flying like mad.  They flew in a cloud seemingly without a direction but they knew what they were doing.  They all alighted onto a branch far up in the cypress tree.  We had not expected them to stick around if they swarmed but there they were, hanging in a cluster with their queen, about 20 feet off the ground, maybe more.  They were way up there.

swarm #2

So what do we do?  We figured they would fly off soon enough and we went about our business.  Bees don’t bother me so I was working in the yard while they hovered over my head.  Honestly, a bee has no interest in you unless they think you want to hurt the hive or the queen.  They might fly around you and even land on you.  But stinging you will kill them so they really do not do that lightly.  It has to be a defensive act.

The next day we went out and they were still there.  Probably a little cold and tired since they survived an overnight storm and cold, pounding rain.  It was chilly out.  It occurred to me that when they are cold and wet, they are lethargic so maybe we could catch them.  The question was, how do we get up there?  The idea is to cut the branch and let it fall into a container.  Then you can move them into a hive box.  We pondered and considered and finally I had an aha moment.  Let’s get the tree loppers and see if we can reach it.  We have a Little Giant ladder, a pretty tall one even when it is in the inverted V position.  The plan was that I would pull back branches while Matt went up the ladder and put the branch off with the lopper.  The branch would fall into the hive box below.

We put the box on a table just to raise it up a little so the fall was not so far.  I pulled and Matt lopped.  The branch came down.  But alas, the cluster broke in two and there was still a ball of bees in the tree.

Catching a swarm does not work if you do not get the queen.  They follow her so you have to get her.  If she was still in the tree, we were sunk.  Well, yeah, the next day, the bees were all back in the tree.  We did not get her.

So a few days later, the bees still hanging in the tree, we tried again.  This time they were much lower.  So I pulled out my trusty butterfly net that I use to capture frogs and snakes.  I went up the ladder, carefully put the net around the swarm and Matt cut the branch.  Bloody swarm split again.  Half of it went into the net, half remained in the tree.  Damn it! I put the net up again and tried to shake them into it.  I got a lot more.  We poured them into the hive and hoped for the best.

But yeah, it didn’t work.  There were still bees in the tree regrouping.  Unless we could get that queen, they would stay in there until they decide to fly off.

So we gave it one last try.  This time I went up the ladder with a 32 gallon garbage can so I could catch the entire branch in a lump and put a lid on them immediately.  It worked.  Matt clipped and into the deep can they fell.

Third try#1

 

We closed it up and walked it over to the hive boxes.

 

We poured it in and mother of mercy, they all started marching in order right into the box. When they do that the queen is there.

third try #5
to signal the queen is here, the bees put emit pheromones.  They lift their rears and flap their wings to spread the scent.  
third try #4
Marching into the hive

 

That was just too cool.  So we have a new hive.

But funny thing, our original hive swarmed again with another queen (we had a few cells).  We found a very small swarm in the cherry tree.  But it was so small it was almost not worth trying to catch.  We might have acted differently had we known then what we know now– we do not think there is a queen in the original hive.  With this terrible weather we have been having, queens have a hard time mating.  Remember, they do not want to go out when the weather is bad.  So we think maybe there is a virgin there that has not gotten out yet, or there is no queen left.  This is a bad situation that we are trying to rectify.

You can buy queens.  People raise them.  But if we don’t get one in there pretty quickly we will have big trouble ahead.  We are working on it.  More later.

 

 

 

 

Go Pens!

I must admit, I was curled up in a fetal position during the third period of Game Six against the Caps.  That was utterly nerve wracking.  I made Matt turn off the sound so I did not have to listen.  But they did it, Thank God and we are here watching the Caps fans wonder what the hell happened.  No, we did not go to see the Pens Caps play here in DC.  It was way too expensive even for us.  We are saving our money for the Stanley Cup Finals.

Prince

 

I cannot get oPrince Concert 2015ver the fact that Prince is dead. It really does not seem possible.  The last time we saw Prince was in 2015 on his Hit n Run tour. That is the sign behind us.  He put the tickets on sale two days before he showed up (get it–hit n run) so we had to scramble like mad to get seats.  Cameras of all kinds were strictly forbidden and would be confiscated so this was all we have as a record of the event.   It was at the Warner theater and we had pretty close seats.  He was great of course.

We have seen him many times.  We’ve been up close and personal in the third row, we’ve been in nose bleeds, we’ve seen him in small theaters and arenas.  No matter where the performance, he always gave us nearly three hours of spectacular fun.  Then we would wake up the next morning disappointed to learn that after the show he went to a small club and played for hours more. If we were 20 we would have known that.  But hey, we have jobs.

He really was probably the best guitar player I have ever seen. (And yes, I have seen Clapton and Santana and Jerry Garcia and David Gilmore  every other guitar player you can think of including Muddy Waters.) He had a way of playing with exuberance and because he mixed up funk and soul and rock, you never quire knew what was going to come out next.  When he jammed, he played his music, then covers and odd music references and then back into his own music.  It was a musical tour in one song.

I remember Prince from college, when 1999  and Little Red Corvette were the hits.  But I did not follow him as intensely as Matt who has loved him forever I think.  Matt has, I am going to guess, over a thousand Prince songs in his collection, probably more.  So we have been listening to him non-stop.  Years ago we took a vacation in Minneapolis and we made the pilgrimage to his club, Glam Slam.  It was the first time we had ever seen those photos booth where you stand in front of a backdrop and take a picture of your cool time.  So we took a picture.  It was kind of goofy.  I am not sure where that picture is now.  Time to go and tear the house apart to find it.

Man, there is going to be one heck of a memorial concert and we are going to attend even if we have to move heaven and earth to get there.  Minneapolis here we come.

Reliving My College Days

Apparently I agreed to go to a Duran Duran concert with Matt.  He tells me I agreed because Chic would be opening and I wanted to see them.  I have no recollection of this conversation but there I was at this concert.

A Duran Duran concert crowd is made up mostly of Gen Xers, which I am perplexed to report  are now middle-aged and sharing in the nostalgia tour phenomenon with the rest of us geezers.  I remember Duran Duran from the beginning of MTV but after the first two songs I lost interest in them and, frankly, in MTV.  This meant that I was not familiar with any of the music.  Watching people go crazy for songs that you don’t know is kind of weird.

But I did know Chic because they were part of my college youth.  When “The Freak” came out, we danced in freak lines, boy-girl-boy-girl rubbing up against each other.  The young boys loved it, of course, and we thought it was great fun to tease them with a lewd dance.  Television crews taped the lines of dancing, drinking teens and the reporters opined about how it was the end of Western civilization as we know it.  If only they could see the future and the even worse lewd dancing that goes on today.  Maybe there has always been lewd dancing and the times when it did not exist, I am talking to you Victorian Era, was an anomaly.

But I digress.  So there is Niles Rodgers, the only living member of Chic, going through his hits.  We Are Family, Good Times, Freak Out, Let’s Dance, honestly, the list goes on and on.   He has written dozens of hits.   The man has got to have a very large fortune.  Just the Pittsburgh Pirates playing “We Are Family” must keep him in a pretty mansion.  So that was all very enjoyable.

Then Duran Duran came on.  I knew three songs and that was it.  Not a memory came to mind but Matt loved it so I guess that is something.  Sometimes spouses have to do things like that, indulge a loved one.

Go Pens!!!

You know I am following the Penguins, soon to be winners of the 2016 Stanley Cup.  We were not able to get to Pittsburgh for a game this year so we decided to see them play the Capitals here on April 7th.  We found some pretty reasonably priced tickets in the third row right behind the Penguins bench and right next to the players tunnel.  It is not the best spot to see a game, a lot of the rink was obscured, but it sure was fun and interesting to watch the players come and go and talk and laugh and have a good time.   When you are that close the players are giants on skates and the speed is almost exhausting.

I love the new coach, Mike Sullivan, God bless that man for turning this team around.  I made a sign that said “Sullivan is my coach of the year.  Go Pens!”  I put the sign up against the glass and waited for him to get to the bench.  He walked toward me and I’m smiling and waving.  He sees the sign and kind of smiles and then gets real serious.  Yay!!!  I was so pumped.  I got a hint of a smile out of him.  He deserves to be named coach of he year.  The man is a freaking genius.

Then the Pens beat the Caps yet again.  Oh, the joy!  I never have so much fun as watching the Penguins beat the Caps.  There are always lots of Pens fans at these games and when the game was over people were running up and down the street yelling “Go Pens!”  Good times.

The Borification* of Cars

(*copyright)

Lately I have been traveling a lot for work and I find myself in a rental car about twice a month, driving up and down interstates.  Renting cars gives me the opportunity to sample the universe of car options.  During long drives I also have plenty of time to look other at cars on the road too.

I have come to one mind-numbing conclusions—cars are really boring.  It has been this way for a while but it really hit home with me when I realized that if you removed the grill and the lights from any of today’s sedans, leaving only the body, you would be hard pressed to tell the difference between any of them.  Is it any wonder that Americans are losing their love of driving?  Half of the fun was touring around in a really cool car.

Long gone are the days of fun cars that make you stop and say, I want one.  Think about it.  When was the last time you stopped in the street just to watch a car drive by.  The last time I was wowed was when Volkswagon brought back the Beetle in a new form, color and shape.  It was fun, it was candy.  That was a very long time ago.

Cars have become so boring that any car with something a little different will turn heads.  There is not anything all that interesting about a Mini-Cooper, except that it is small and cute.  But it stands out enough to be noticed because it isn’t a safe, gas-saving sedan with four doors in the broad selections of colors–silver, black or white.

How sad is that? They even made colors boring.  When I was in high school I had the most beautiful royal blue Oldsmobile with white leather seats, a hand me down from my dad.  Back then you could get a car in fire engine red, bright yellow, burnt orange, light aqua, and even purple.  Every car had a personality with its own lines and style.  You were not going to mistake a Mustang for a Charger.  No way.  From masculine muscle cars to feminine convertibles, from station wagons to town cars, from four door sedans to two-door coupes.  Each one had its own elan and the car you drove spoke volumes about your personality.

Todays cars tell us how much you care about reliability and gas mileage.  Some car companies try to sell a car as a fun ride but seriously, we know that the days of driving with a rocket under the hood are pretty much over for the average American.

Then there is the disappearance of the muscle car.  Muscle cars had a useless macho appeal—they were meant to show how fast a guy could go and they were girl magnets.  Now men prefer the pick up truck that is Ram tough rather than a low slung car that purrs or roars depending on the car.  The siren call for trucks eludes me.  Pick up trucks are utilitarian vehicles.  The sales pitch appeals to a man’s need for a big vehicle so he can do all the down and dirty things he does like towing and hauling and off-road wheeling.  Seriously, how many guys do you know fit that description?  Maybe it’s my zip code but I see a lot of pickup trucks that don’t do anything more than haul some tools and maybe move lawn mowers.

More importantly, how does a truck get the girl?   You never see a guy in a truck commercial trying to appeal to a woman so I guess that is not the goal.  Do women now prefer men with pick ups? Man, maybe it really is my zip code because that possibility makes no sense to me.  A woman being wowed by a pick up?  I’m lost.  And bored.

 

 

Snake Wrangler

Important Notice:  Do not read this if you are in any way afraid of snakes.  Pictures of snakes will follow:

This year I became a snake wrangler.  Not a Steve Irwin kind of snake wrangler, I am not that crazy, but your suburban snake-under-my-house kind of wrangler.

We have always had snakes at this house.  In our first summer, I found a very long and intact snake skin in my peonies.  Even the head was in place, empty holes where the eyes had been.  I was so excited I put it in a jar to show everyone who came by.

Last year we had a snake in our garage.  It was a pretty big rat snake.

snake#1
This snake was easily three feet long.

Not poisonous but it can have a bad attitude and try to bite.  I removed it by grabbing it with one of those grabber tools and tossing it in a lawn bag.  I marched it down to the woods and let it go, singing Born Free.  It was easy to catch because it had just eaten, a large lump could be clearly seen halfway down its long body.  Apparently when a snake has eaten, they can’t really do anything more than digest.

This year was really a banner year.  The snakes were everywhere.  The first sign was a snake skin hanging in a bush out back about four feet off the ground.  A snake had climbed a tree and shed its skin along the way.  That was crazy.  I have never seen a snake in a tree here but there was no denying that skin.

snake in tree

One day I was out working in the yard and I noticed what looked like a large black rubber hose in the blueberry bush.  I went to check it out and found another very big rat snake, maybe three feet long, that had become entangled in the bird netting I use to protect the blueberries.  It was straining against the mesh, its body taut and pulled up, trying to push through.  This one had me stumped.  I had no idea how I was going to get that snake out of the netting.  So I took the snake, netting and all, and put it in a bag.  Then I called animal control.  They will actually rescue snakes.

A nice young woman came to our house and we showed her the snake in the bag.  She pulled the snake right out and started to unravel it.  I am pretty sure I would not be able to do this.  The snake was writhing all over and trying to wrap itself around her arm.

snake rescue
Another three footer caught in netting

She just wrestled it, while she worked to cut the mesh away.  She was not wearing any gloves. I asked her if she had ever been bit by a rat snake and she said she had.  It hurt, she admitted, but no big deal.  After about a half hour of cutting and pulling, she finally got the snake free.  It lay on the ground a little stunned, then it took off and hid under the grill.  We left it alone.

Then came the snakes in the window wells.  Our basement has three windows, about two feet below ground, so they are encircled with corrugated steel.  I rescue frogs and toads from them all summer long.  One spring there were two baby bunnies huddled in the corner.

bunnies
You have to admit, that is adorable.

The cats were beside themselves.  They stared at them all day and night until I went out and rescued them with my long handled spaghetti strainer, my go to device for saving animals.

But on this Saturday afternoon, something very different was in the window.  A snake head was bobbing back and forth as if a snake charmer was playing a tune.

snake in window

It appeared to be trying to reach the sun.  I looked out into the window, I was very close, and when it sensed I was there, it slithered away into a small drain pipe.  I ran outside but it was long gone.

It did not disappear though.  A few hours later it was sunning itself again, right on the window ledge.  I got a picture of it this time.  But I failed to get it out of the well.  It eluded my grabbers and slithered into the pipe again. It was a big one, tan and brown patterned.  I checked the snake book and it appeared to be a very large Eastern Garter snake.

I thought and thought.  How can I catch that thing?  I really did not want a snake hanging out that close to my house.  I have nightmares that I will  open a toilet lid to find a snake staring at me.  You laugh, but I have found two frogs in my bathroom on the toiler seat.  I am not sure if they think it is a small pond or they just like the atmosphere.

Then I remembered the butterfly net I had bought to use in case I had to catch baby bunnies again.

I kept checking the window wells and sure enough, a few days later, there it was.  It had used the drain pipe to travel to the next window, they are all connected, and it had eaten!  It had a huge bulge in its mid-section.  It probably had munched on a frog or toad.  It was a total lump, just like dad on Thanksgiving.

snake#3
see the bulge.  

I knew I had it this time.  I ran to the garage to grab the butterfly net and the grabber.  I coaxed it into the bag and it was caught.

snake in net

I marched it to the woods and let it go.  Thank goodness.

Here is another look.  It really was a gorgeous snake:

snake #4

Except for one small problem. The next day another head had popped up in the window.  It had babies!  This one was much smaller but it was also drawn to the alluring sunshine.

baby snake

I grabbed the butterfly net and caught it easily.  Down to the woods we went.  Okay, that was fine.  But if it had babies, how many were there?  For the next few days, I checked the window and it did not take long for another small snake appear.  He went to the woods, too.  Then, after a week of observation, I concluded we had the all clear.

I caught three snakes in one week.  I was feeling pretty heady.  Am I not a snake wrangler?  I said, yahoo.  You bet.  But the worst encounter was yet to come.

When the exterminator came to work on the ants that seem determined to turn my yard into an any hill, I told him about the snakes, which he is dreadfully afraid of.  I tried to explain to him that snakes are our friends.  But he really is frightened of them. Which explains why he came running in saying he had seen a snake in the bushes.  Could that have been the tree snake I have never seen? He swore it was green and it was staring at him from the rhododendron. I checked my snake book and we do have tree snakes in this area.  But I did not see it and it could have been his paranoia.

As he was doing his work, I was doing other things and I did not focus on the fact that he had placed glue traps in my garage.  I also have a very big problem with centipedes, which is another story, and I think his intention was to trap them.  He caught something alright but it was not a bug.

About a week later I noticed a long, black curled hose in the corner on the glue trap.  I was not sure what it was, but I had a bad feeling.  A black rat snake had become stuck in the glue trap.  I was furious.  All of the work I had done all summer to save snakes and here was one dying for no good reason.  After all of my lectures about how good snakes are, he put out a trap that would kill them.

I don’t know how long the snake had been there.  It was alive, although terribly emaciated. I tried to pull the it off, but the glue was too much and there was no way I would get it loose.  It was suffering so I did what I had to do.  I pulled down the hatchet, stood over it and in one swing chopped its head off, crying loudly, tears streaming down my face through the entire ordeal.  I gave it another chop to be sure it was completely severed.  Then I wrapped it up and threw it away.

I cussed at myself for not paying attention to the traps.  I cussed at the exterminator and vowed when he returned I was going to give him a good talking to.  I have never personally killed an animal to stop it from suffering.  I was glad I did it, but it made me sick and I hope I never have to do it again.  I lived that moment, swinging that hatchet, for days after.

For now, the window wells are clear, the garage has had no visitors.  It is winter and the snakes are hibernating.  I am sure I will see them next year.

Beekeeping

Bees

 

In January Matt and I took a class with the local beekeeper’s association.  Slides presentations and talks but not exactly hands on since bees don’t come out in the winter.  They like to huddle in the hive to keep warm.  There were over 100 people taking the class.  Beekeeping has become the trendy hobby.

After we graduated, I started to have second thoughts.  This seemed like a lot of work and, as Matt says, around here it is very much survival of the fittest.  If you can’t survive on your own, good luck, because I have been known to forget to feed the cats, water the plants and generally ignore my duties.  If the bees were not able to fend for themselves, it could get ugly pretty quick.

What do bees need?  Feeding mostly.  Spring is great.  For a month or two, they can feed off the land until the dearth comes.  In about July when it gets hot and nothing is really blooming, they get mighty testy because they get hungry.  So they need to be fed sugar syrup, a mixture of sugar and water of varying proportions depending on the time of year.  A sated bee is a happy bee.

As you have all heard, bees are also very fragile because of various pests that can kill them, primarily varroa mites.  To counter it, the hives need to be treated with fumigants to chase the bugs away. There are other diseases as well.  But the mites are the big killer.  They can kill off a hive in a matter of weeks.

Then there is the queen.  She also needs to be happy or there will be no bees to keep the hive alive.  If she fails, she needs to be replaced by the beekeeper buying and introducing a new queen to the existing hive, or, if you have patience, by letting the bees take care of it by producing a new queen.  They know how to do this but some people do want to wait for them to figure it out.  If the hive is too large or just wants to move with the queen, they split and swarm looking for a new place to hang out.  A lot of beekeepers try to prevent this.  Some chase down swarms to add to their colonies.

Honey harvesting occurs during a very intense period in June when they are just storing nectar like crazy.

Other beekeepers do a lot more but these are the basics.  We talked to a lot of beekeepers and some of them are very hands on.  Others really just let the bees do their thing.   We were assured that if we took off on vacation for weeks, the bees would figure it out.  I still hesitated.  If we took them, then they were our responsibility and I am not big on that either.  The cats are the most I can tolerate on the caring-for-animals front.  I don’t even want to be burdened with a dog to walk.

We went to some hands on classes in the spring for me to get a little more used to the idea of bees and to see if I really wanted to do this.  To determine if we could remain calm and find joy in bees, as every beekeeper does, we went to a bee yard and just followed a beekeeper around as he opened up boxes and showed us bees on the frames.  There is nothing quite like standing in a cloud of bees.  The noise and energy is quite exhilarating.  But I felt pretty confident.  I had the protective gear, bee jacket with protective hat and veil, and gloves.  And I have been stung by a bee so I knew what to expect if it happened.

The most important thing to remember with bees, and indeed with any animal, is that they sense your feelings.  So if you are in a tizzy, they will be too.  With bees, you have to go into Zen mode.  Calm and quiet.  Slow movements.  They get riled up after a while but you can keep them fairly calm if you don’t get too excited yourself.

There is also smoke.  We learned how to use a smoker.  The smoke keeps the bees calm by making it difficult for them to smell the alarm pheromones being emitted by the bees who are guarding the hive.  I could write a completely different post about bee behavior but basically the most important thing to a bee is to protect the queen and the honey stores.  They will die stinging someone to protect their hive.  So they take it pretty seriously when a beekeeper opens up the hive for any reasons.

After the visit to the bee yard, I said to heck with it.  Let’s do it.  They can take care of themselves for the most part.  We just check on them and do a little maintenance.  By the time I made this decision, it was May and that is very late to start a hive.  But we bought some bees anyway and hoped for the best.

What is it like to drive bees home in the back of your car?  Kind of weird but the beekeeper told us the box was quite safe and they could not escape.  We had bought all the equipment we needed—things like wooden boxes, frames for the bees to build up wax comb and store the honey.  We were as ready as we ever could be I guess.  So we took our little nucleus of bees, moved the frames into the hive boxes and hoped for the best.

Beekeepers are an odd bunch.  You know, bees sting and that sting hurts, don’t let anyone tell you different.  But for some reason there is this macho code that beekeepers can wear a veil and maybe a jacket but never gloves.  Beekeepers don’t wear gloves.  I could not understand this but they swear that it is better to work with bees if you can feel what you are doing.  Hey, if you get stung, so what?  I have seen pictures of beekeepers wearing shorts, short sleeves and no veil at all.  I think they are idiotic.

I decided to compromise and buy a pair of leather gloves but cut off the finger tips so I could still have some feeling of what I was doing.  Matt said, no way, I’m wearing gloves.

On the second visit to the hive, a bee stung my exposed knuckle and the finger blew up.  It turned a lovely shade of red and resembled a small sausage.  It also hurt.  A lot.  It itched too.  It took about a week for it to clear up but I moved on.  Then I was stung again and I said, okay, forget it.  I’m wearing gloves.  I’m no lemming.

The beekeeper group really let us down in terms of giving us a mentor so we ended up having to read and read and read to learn what to do.  We also watched some videos.  At this point we are kind of muddling through.  We have a strong hive and the bees seem happy because we keep them fed.  We treated them for mites and now we have to see if they will make it through the winter.  That is the big test.  Then we will need to figure out how to harvest the honey.  We have the winter to figure it out.

This Baby Boomer is not moving to the city any time soon.

ground hog and izzy
The ground hog bids Izzy good morning. Izzy wonders where this giant squirrel came from.

An article in the Washington Post recently reported that baby boomers are selling their suburban homes and moving to the city.  They want to be rid of their yards and the work of keeping a house. Have fun I say.  If anything I am moving further away close enough to access it if I need to but far enough away that my back yard is my haven.

There is  Sophia snuffling through the fallen leaves, searching for acorns.  Groundhogs have superhero senses and she finds one easily.  She rears up on her hind legs, her front paws holding the tasty brown morsel and begins to chew.  It seems pretty yummy.  She tosses away the shell and continues her search, rustling the leaves.  Startled by a sound, she runs for cover keeping low to the ground, her huge gray body bouncing like fat on a sumo wrestler.  Later the male, we named him Estanzio, will waddle in and dine on similar delights.

The view from my home office includes these kinds of nature breaks from the insistence of my computer.  Out here in the outer suburbs, a half acre of land is enough to bring in the wildlife.  There are deer, of course.  They really are a nuisance.  The goldfinch, robins, blue jays, cardinals, chickadee, wrens, and more come to the feeder to give me a show.  As I sit at my desk, a shadow like a B-52 bomber may pass the window.  It is the red tailed hawk hunting the feeder.  He seems pretty successful judging by the feathers I find in the yard.  The squirrels dance and chase, chipmunks scurry, the rabbits do their own form of snuffling, preferring the vegetarian meal of clover and the parsley in my garden.  The hummingbird feeder is busy all summer as the ruby throated hummingbirds stock up on the syrup we provide.  This year we even added a small bee hive because they need love too.

At night, the fox makes its rounds.  Sometimes I hear an owl hooting in the distance. Startled frogs and toads jump from our step when we take out the garbage.  Lying in bed, I listen to the  mesmerizing frog song.  In the middle of summer, lightening bugs blink and sparkle, sending their message of love and lust.  And even snakes are find their way here.  I have caught and moved three in the past month, trying to get them to make their home away from the house.

When I read about baby boomers eager to sell their suburban homes to move to the city, saying goodbye to all the yard work, I wonder why they are willing to give this up.  I am doing just the opposite.  The older I have gotten the more land I want, the more I want to have a park in my back yard.  When I was in my 20’s, I was city oriented.  The I moved to a close-in suburb, then a little farther out, now a little farther still.  The moves were motivated for many reasons, but a big one was the desire to have a yard worth having, not a postage stamp. I wanted real wildlife, not the city animals like squirrels and pigeons and the random rat.

Perhaps the folks longing for a condo in the city never had the time to enjoy their backyard, maybe they never even paid attention.  But I would bet that once they move to the city they will seek out parks to walk in, just to get a little closer to nature, the nature they left behind.  I am lucky enough to have nature right at my back door.  Sometimes it comes right up to my patio door and peeks inside as my cats can attest.  I cannot image moving to the city any time soon.  I could not give this up.  I’d miss Estanzio and Sophia.

If I do move, it is going to be closer to nature than I am now, maybe the next thing I need to watch is ocean waves, dolphins and sea gulls.

It’s All About the Pants

A while back, the actress Kaley Cuoco-Sweeting told a magazine that she was not a feminist.  A minor brouhaha ensued.  She said she wanted to be a traditional wife who cooks dinner for her husband and makes him happy by serving him.  (They are now getting a divorce.  So much for the traditional wife thing.)  I tried to shrug this off but there is such a fundamental lack of understanding in her statement that I cannot seem to let it go.  It is frustrating to me when younger women remain blissfully ignorant of what has come before.

Starting with the obvious, young women who assert they want to be traditional wives seem to have very little knowledge of what that actually meant at the time. Making dinner for your family and “serving” your husband did not a traditional wife make.  One only needs to visit any 1950’s or 60’s family sitcom or romantic comedy movie starring Doris Day or Paula Prentiss to learn about the societal construct that had been imposed on women. Here is how it worked back then:  A single girl worked in a traditional woman’s profession, as a secretary or maybe a shop girl, until she could land a man.  Then she settled down and became a housewife staying at home, taking care of the house and raising the kids.  She didn’t have a name of her own.  She was forever known as Mrs. Fabulous Husband, her identity melded into and dependent on his.  She never worried about money and she never, ever had to think about something as awful as work.  That is, so long as she held up her end of the bargain.  All she had to do was run the house and the family, make sure that dinner was ready when her loving husband came home from a hard day’s work, and clean up after.

So, to any young woman with the idea that they would like to be a “traditional wife,” you need to understand what that means–you don’t get a hyphenated name, you don’t get to work and bring home the paycheck, in fact, hand over the finances to your husband at once, and most of all, you certainly get no options.  In the world of June Cleaver and Laura Petrie, you do not even have a choice to become a traditional wife or to define what that means.  The societal construct is there and your role is to conform to it.  It does not matter if you are smart or ambitious or just want to live independently.  While there were always outliers and pioneers of working women or women who just refused to play along, most women were judged by family, friends, and just about everyone she came into contact with by the man she landed, the marriage they made, and the kind of housewife they became.

Feminism erupted against this societal construct.  It really came down to women wanting to have options and choices.

By the time I was heading to college in the late 1970’s, the traditional, wifely role was crumbling.  Women wanted careers.  But we would still find our choices restricted and societal views imposed.  Dress codes were important when I began my career.  One of the options I wanted was to wear pants to work.  It seems dumb looking back, and I am sure there are some who would find it hard to believe that there was ever a time when women were not permitted to wear pants to work.  To put it in perspective, it was not until 1993, 22 years ago, that women were permitted to wear pants on the Senate floor.  That year, Senators Barbara Mikulski and Carol Moseley Braun flouted the rule and wore pants.  The rule was changed not long after.

When I started my legal career in the mid-1980’s, women attorneys were pretty much forbidden from wearing pants.  The uniform was set–a modest skirt and suit jacket with blouse, nylons and pumps.   Certainly, women in many professions were slowly trying out pantsuits.  But in the law, that was just not going to work.  There were stories about judges refusing to let women appear in court if they were not in a skirt or ruling against any woman who dared to flout convention.  This bothered me.  Why can’t I wear pants to work?

So I went to see the senior partner. I did not want to upset anyone and I figured the best way to handle it was to just raise it outright.  Yes, I had to ask permission to wear pants.  My boss was very nice about it and said he saw no problem with it at all so long as I looked professional.  Of course, if he had been rude about it and said no, I probably would have done it anyway in defiance, just like the women in the Senate.  But he was enlightened enough to let it go.

Elated I called a friend who worked at a big corporate firm and told her the news.  She could not believe it.  In her office, they would never let her wear pants and she sure was not going to ask.  At the time, it was a very risky position.  Of course, over the years, it has now become routine.  I am not sure when I finally had the nerve to wear pants in a courtroom, but at this point, I don’t even own a skirt.

It is clear that, while they claim to appreciate what feminists did for equal rights, younger women don’t see this entire picture.  “Equal rights” seems so abstract.  When a young woman says she is not a feminist, or dismisses it by saying she wants to be traditional, I hope she can think about this:  I had to ask a man’s permission to wear pants to work.  When women can understand that this is where we were, even as recently as 25 years ago, then they might understand that these little victories for options and choices that are now taken so much for granted are what we were and are working at every day.  I am not the only one with these kinds of stories.  Every woman has them.  Just ask.

 

 

How I Spent My Summer – Music

This has been a pretty slow summer for concerts. Nine Inch Nails was playing in Virginia so we skipped that one. I value my time. In July we saw Queens of the Stone Age at Merriweather Post and I engaged in lots of air guitar playing and head banging. St. Vincent opened. While she appears to be an avante garde froo frau, she played a mean guitar. I thought her music was more along the lines of art rock. She was very engaging.

Things picked up by the end of summer  and  we went on a bit of a concert binge.

Gclinton

In August, we went to see George Clinton and family P Funk at the 9:30 Club. What a party. He may be 73 years old but he knows how to get the groove out of his band. Getting down and getting funky. We saw him once before and the structure was the same—there was none apparent. While the music is rehearsed, there is a spontaneity to it, with plenty of jamming. The members of the band change by song. We saw at least two drummers, a few different guitar players, different back-up singers, different horns. It all adds up to what appears to be controlled chaos with George keeping them in line. And by golly, that old man outlasted us again! The last time we saw him, we gave up. We ran out of energy and time. This concert was no different. The show started around nine. At around 11 pm, George said, “Hey we’re just getting started. We’re not going nowhere.” And he meant it. We stayed for almost three hours but at 11:45 a.m. we gave up and left. Matt had to get up early. They were still going strong when we exited. One day we will see him on a night where we are rested and ready to party all night long. We can’t let that senior citizen out party us. And by the way, George cut off his rainbow dreads. Well, I guess he is entitled.

willie

We saw Willie Nelson. We had never seen him so we figured why not. We knew a lot of his songs.

Pitbull1

We saw Pitbull because I just love that man. You may say, but Marsha he sings about boobs and bootie and sex. Isn’t that a bit much for someone like you? Don’t you object? Honestly, with most anyone else, I probably would. But it is so obvious that he loves women, and he absolutely loves and honors his mother. Plus, he really makes me laugh. His music is singable, danceable, bawdy, fun and infectious. It all seems in such good fun. I don’t ever get the sense that he is a woman hater. No, he loves women and not in a bad way. I would say he is okay with powerful women.   I am not alone. To my surprise, I was not the only older woman in the arena. Inexplicably, he was actually opening for Enrique Iglesias. We left when Pitbull was done. Enrique who?

We saw Erasure because Matt likes them. Honestly, I don’t know who they are.  I do not know their songs but the Gen Xers seemed to like it.  All I saw was a middle aged man dancing around in sequin hot pants and a too tight t-shirt like I assume he did 25 years ago.  He needs to take a look in the mirror because, oh, that is something I can never unsee.

To round out the concert going, we saw Lykki Li.

lykki li

The concert started out kind of slow and I thought, uh oh, this is going to be boring. But it picked up as she appeared to get more comfortable with the crowd. She was dressed in a long black robe and I wondered why she was dressed for Hogwarts. Matt thought she just needed a cap and tassel. She danced around and as I think back, it all looked pretty silly.  Some kind of Goth goddess of sorrow dancing around on a black stage.  The whole thing was kind of odd but I like her music.  Played live,  the music was even more drum-oriented and I always like a good drummer. Her drummer was fantastic.

I think we are done for a while.

How I spent my Summer – Books and Movies and a Play

Have you seen the white whale? Aye, and the pure devil he was. Oh, what fun! I finished reading Moby Dick. Oh, scoff if you like, but I love Herman Melville. A friend of mine once observed that Moby Dick was really a biology/environmental treatise about whales. True. It is also a significant sociological study of the whaling tradition. If you take away all of Melville’s writing about whales and whaling in general, and just left the tale about Moby Dick, you’d have a novella at best. The Ahab story is about the all-consuming nature of Ahab’s need for revenge, wrapped in a religious fanaticism that makes Ahab believe that he and only he can and should be allowed to deal a death blow to the devil that is the white whale.

It is easy to understand why scholars study this work for a lifetime. The text is layered with meaning. Not being a bible scholar, or even a bible reader, I could not follow all of the biblical references. The love story between Ishmael and Queequeg is probably my favorite part of the book. I call it a love story because at one point, as they share a room in Nantucket waiting for a boat, Ishmael describes their talking in bed like a husband and wife. He really loved that tattooed madman with the goofy idol for a God.

The ultimate lesson is that fanaticism can only lead to destruction. In the case of Ahab, he destroyed everyone around him but not the white whale, the angel of death, and not Ishmael who is saved by Queequeg’s coffin.

Moving on to a documentary “The Act of Killing” is an unblinking study of the baseness of human nature. A group of Indonesian men acted as a death squad killing “communists” during a more brutal time in Indonesia’s history in the 1960’s and 1970’s. http://theactofkilling.com/synops/   The filmmaker discovered that this militia was so proud of their killing exploits, and they were so well-known and admired in their thuggery, that the men were willing to talk openly about their acts of killing.

The men claim to have based many of their methods on the movies. Almost as an homage to old gangster films, the movie director gets them to reenact some of their favorite moments of death. Demonstrations of the more simple acts of murder like cutting off a guy’s head with wire, to the more dramatic such as the reenactment of the burning of a village including random killing of the villagers, some rapes, and small children crying hysterically as they watched, brought these men back to their days of glory.

At one point, the men are interviewed on a television talk show where they proudly proclaim they protected the country from these subversives. It is hard to know who they were actually killing but the audience clapped and cheered as they told how many dozens of men they had killed for the sake of their country. In fact, it becomes clear that these men were a gang of thugs, enforcers who liked being in control.

Probably the most redeeming moment is when, Angwar—the focus of the movie and the best known killer of them all—comes to regret what he did. As he reenact, as he relives, he looks back at first with pride. Then he seems to crack. When he plays one of the victims in a reenactment, he becomes unnerved and at that moment comes to understand what it must have been like to be on the other side of the knife. He seems to comprehend, uncomfortably so, that it was wrong. During these reenactments they learn that they killed the father of one of their extras. Angwar listens to the young man cry as he tells of his father’s murder. Importantly, he seems to realize that he has lived with the horror of his actions for years without allowing himself to feel the humanity of it. He has been so proud of himself for being the best assassin the country has seen. By the end he comes to understand what he did was truly evil. In the last frame, he walks off and we hear no more.

It is a tough movie to watch but if you can stomach it, the study of what humans are capable of is stunning. This movie will stay with me for a very long time.

We have also been watching the Ip Man trilogy. Ip Man is considered to be the greatest martial artist in China. He practiced a form that was not well known and he had to prove himself. In the first movie he takes on the Japanese invaders. In the second movie he has moved to Hong Kong and he takes on the Brits. At the end of the movie, a young student shows up at his school. It is Bruce Lee. We are trying to pace and we have not yet seen the third.

Thanks to “Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon,” I have come to appreciate martial arts movies. If you want to see a beautiful movie, try “The Grandmaster.” Gorgeous in detail and cinematography, it is an epic drama about Ip Man. Not all martial arts movies are as good as these two examples, and certainly the Ip Man trilogy is not in at this level of sophistication. But the action is interesting, certainly far better than any Hollywood blow ‘em up car crash movies and if the movie is well made, it can be beautiful to watch.

On a lighter note, we watched “Celestine and Ernest,” the animated movie about a mouse and a bear. It was a simply adorable, feel good movie.

We also got out to the theater to see the play “Avenue Q” at Olney Theater. Hilarious. A musical with muppets controlled by actors and those muppets go where no muppet has gone before. A story about a neighborhood (read Sesame Street) and life for a guy and girl just out of school and how they fall in love. The story line and lyrics were pretty hysterical and oddly familiar. Bawdy, goofy, yet very insightful. I wondered about it. Yep, just as I thought—created by the same guy who wrote “Book of Mormon,” which if you have not seen it, what are you waiting for?

 

How I spent my Summer – Baseball

Orioles#1

The Orioles were good this year and Matt got into baseball. So we went to several games including the 60th Anniversary extravaganza.

 

We also went to see the Pirates play the Nationals. Jim and Todd met us and we feasted on Ben’s Chili Bowl half smokes. Unfortunately, we lost.

pirates#1