Grr! Arg!

That's 'Merry Christmas' in crazy Christmas monster language.

The funniest thing is, she wasn't even going for monster. To get her to smile for pictures, we say "show us your teeth," which gets varied results.

When librarians sing carols...

...we sing 'em Old School. At Saturday's LNO Ho Ho Ho (Librarian's Night Out, a semi-regular social gathering of Twin Cities area librarians, this one a Christmas party), our awesome hostess not only had the good sense to own a baby grand piano, she had also checked out assorted Christmas music from the library's collection. One book included a variety of modern (read: '80's) Christmas favorites, including this one:


That's right, not only has George Lucas been unable to erase the Star Wars Christmas Special from our collective memory, there actually exists sheet music for "R2D2, We Wish You a Merry Christmas," released two years after the infamous Special. Truly a Christmas miracle! I've included someone's YouTube puppet music video at the bottom here in case you need to hear this thing- which you do. I think my favorite lyrics are from the second verse: "And if the snow's too deep / Just give a little peep / We'll gather 'round the fire / And warm your little wires." Read the interesting trivia near the bottom of the Wikipedia article linked above to learn who made their recording debut on this song. Considering the source, I double-checked the facts like a good little librarian, and it's true. Just goes to show, everyone has to start somewhere.

It's an Olive!

We have baby!

Olive Allyne Fischer was born Saturday, December 15, at 11:10 a.m. She was born underwater- a little Fisch from the start. Being there for the home birth was truly an amazing and humbling experience.

In the movies when a woman goes into labor, the joke is always, "Somebody boil some water! Get warm towels!", even though none of the characters knows why. We had a birthing tub to keep warm, and some of the midwife's instruments needed to be sterilized, so I didn't blink an eye at all the water we were boiling. Then after Olive was born, they wanted to warm her up some more. Maureen, the midwife, asked me to put some clean towels in the dryer for a little while. I couldn't believe it- I was running for boiling water *and* warm towels! So now you know. It's not just a standing joke; it's home birth in action.

Mama, papa, baby, and big sister are all doing well. Various grandparents, aunts and uncles are happy and proud.

Babywatch 07

The Ander-Fischer clan is currently on babywatch. It's now officially Olive's due date, and we're at T+1 hour in the countdown. Bags are packed and at the door, and aunts and grammies are ready to back up the mama for home birthing action. Stay tuned!

new ways to ROCK!

Knowing my Guitar Hero addiction like he does (actually, he started it), my cousin invited me over last night to play with his newest toy, Rock Band. Boy, does it ever- rock, I mean. Fun fun fun! It was 7:30 p.m., then it was instantly 9:00, and next thing I knew it was 2:30 a.m. Dangerous to have around, actually, if anything else needs to get done. I was trying out the drums for most of the time, and I can see how a person could actually get better at drum set playing this game. I've always had trouble with the whole foot pedal coordination element when I've messed around on other people's drum sets, but by the end of the night, I actually felt marginally improved. Sorry there are no visuals, but I was having too much fun and didn't think to capture the moment.

We covered guitar and drums, but there's also room on stage for a bass player and a singer. How fun would that be? Here's a screen shot:


When you create your character, you choose everything from their physical build to their clothing look to their hair and tattoos- you can even design the tats and face paint yourself if you want. After all, what's an up-and-coming rock band without a Look? Can you see how 8 hours of my life just sort of disappeared?

when you're an adult, you have to make your own recess

After two respectable snowfalls, it was time to walk the dog, nordic-style.

No leash, no tennis ball to obsessively fetch. Just me, my snowshoes, Brynn, and a big open playfield to frolic in. We both had fun, although the actual frolicking was mostly credited to her. As you can see by the trail, mine was a much straighter and less frolicsome path. I also buried my nose in the snow a lot less.

duckie checkmate

A few months back, a friend and I played a running, unspoken game. Every time he used my bathroom, he moved at least one of my 3 rubber "duckies" to a new location (they're not all ducks). Then at some point, I would move another one, so that they were gradually migrating all over the bathroom. It was like one of those ongoing chess games people (other than me) sometimes play, except with only three pieces. And without the strategy. He checked me when all three duckies appeared in a line on the back of the toilet, dressed up in elaborate little costumes. I couldn't top that, so I just left them. Well, he hadn't been by in a while, but he recently topped himself by setting the following scene:



I have only one response to that:

Well played.

Trigger the imaginary cat

As I mentioned earlier, I have a co-worker with an imaginary cat. I don't think this counts as an RPLM, because his randomness is not tied to our work as librarians. At least, not directly. Although I won't deny that there is a higher-than-average correlation between librarians and crazy cat people. My co-worker, whom I will refer to as "George" to half-heartedly protect his anonymity, is evidence that not only are there crazy cat ladies, and crazy cat men, there are also crazy imaginary cat men. George is a very mild-mannered guy, but he has a friend who drives him crazy. George's friend is a retired crazy cat man. I mean, he's retired from working. The cat thing is in full swing. George can't talk to him on the phone w/o Crazy Cat Friend referring to, talking to, or talking about the cats, and often trying to convince the cats to "say hi" to George.

George was sick of their conversations being dominated by creatures with no capacity for language, so in an attempt to level the playing field, he invented his own cat. Now when his friend talks to and about his cats while on the phone, George talks to and about "Trigger." He asked me if I knew where he could find a recording of a cat meowing so he could have a more convincing imaginary phone cat. I suggested that he plunk randomly on his piano and say it was Trigger. George was excited about this idea. A little too excited for a mild-mannered, sane, reality-based person, if you ask me. Not that I don't think it's hilarious, but I never would've guessed George had it in him. But his Crazy Cat Friend brings out the crazy in him, too. If I ever get that way about my dog, I hope one of you out there cares enough to do a save-the-single-person-with-pet-from-herself intervention. Deal?

Now that I've waxed on about the dangers of pet obsession, here are some gratuitous shots of Brynn breaking Rule #1: Do Not Taunt Happy Fun Ball.

...and what kind of doting aunt would I be...

...if I didn't use my new camera to post pictures of Lucy? Her hair is getting long enough for a little ponytail, kind of 2/3's of the way to a Bam Bam 'do.


Only a few more weeks until she's a big sister!

back at it

I broke down and bought a new camera today. Pretty snow and Christmas fun to be captured, after all.

Ah yes, the snow continues to fall. How quickly the seasons change! There are still wind-blown leaves in my garage, and now this:


My balcony railing doesn't know what season it's helping me celebrate anymore.

and a blessed Leon to you, too

The world seems out to amuse me today. I'll get into my co-worker's imaginary cat later, but for today there is the house on the edge of my parents' neighborhood. They put up a fair-to-moderate amount of Christmas lights every year, and this year is no exception. I haven't driven by to see for myself yet, so this observation comes care of my sister. As we were getting off the phone, she had a request. "If you call Mom tomorrow, will you ask her if she knows why the house on the corner has "LEON" spelled in lights?" Why, indeed. It's not like they put the NOEL sign up backwards by mistake, because the letters are facing the right way. Is it supposed to be a joke? A grinchy anti-Christmas message? An homage to a friend named Leon? Some kind of misguided attempt at Christmas light back-masking? I almost don't want to know. The imagining is more fun. If I find me a working camera soon, I'll add visuals.

pocket archaeology

Last night, the weather took a nose-dive from the mid-40's down to -5 windchill, so I broke out the Dewey coat. This is an old U.S. Air Force parka from the 60's or 70's that I rescued from my grandparents' attic; it belonged to my Uncle Dewey back in the day. It's enormous on me, but what a great coat! Warm and comfy with huge pockets. And not that I advocate harvesting this material today, but have you ever felt real wolf fur trim? Best. Hood. Ever.


Anyway, I hadn't used it since before I moved to Washington- because really, who needs that much parka when it's constantly 45 degrees in the winter? When I reached into a pocket, I found a list I wrote some time during grad school, with reminders for friends' birthdays, a voice recital, and a semi-cryptic line about "change money." Into what? I don't remember.

As I delved deeper into the Dewey Parka Pockets, layers of my life were revealed in strata of folded paper and assorted detritus. The tour itinerary for my trip with Ole Choir to the ACDA National Convention in Chicago, 1999 (playing English horn in the accompanying chamber orchestra, mind you); a freebie Chicago Symphony Orchestra/ACDA pen; an invitation to a Philharmonia pizza party, with chocolate heart still taped to it; three cough drops; St. Olaf January Music Calendar, 1998-1999; a receipt for gas at $1.39 a gallon; grade report card for English 399: Major Seminar (I got an A-; no idea what class that was); a carefully folded piece of notebook paper w/ nothing on it; half a peanut.

What does all this tell me, archaeologist of my former self? First of all, I was a pocket pack rat. Moving cross-country a few times has lessened that quite a bit. What else? Studying and playing music was a huge part of my everyday life. Playing still has some part in my life, but the more valuable thing I gained from all that college music majorism was the friendships- people like the ones I spent last Saturday night with, playing Mexican train dominoes and catching up (hi girls!!). What else does the DewPock tell me? I liked peanuts. Still do. I think the blank paper was just in case I had something to write, but I never used it. Looking down into the pockets of my past, I should have. I should have used those cough drops, and eaten the chocolate, and filled the paper up with thoughts and random quotes and doodles, instead of saving them for Just In Case. I should have eaten that peanut.

snow snow snow snow yaaaaaay!!!

Okay, it's not a lot of snow, but the dusting has been happening for hours now, and it's actually sticking. And it gives me hope that maybe my snowshoes will not languish in the closet until March again like last year! Why is snow so happy-making? It just is. Add it to my thankful list. I just realized that I just used a hyphenated language construction I got from a teen sci-fi book. Way to go, Scott Westerfeld, for such plausible and catchy world-building!

today's RPLM

Today's Random Public Library Moment gives you a peek into the strange, and sometimes frightening, world of cataloging.

Recognizing that people are much more comfortable with a video store model of finding DVD's by topic or genre (drama, comedy, home improvement, etc.) rather than by fiddling with those pesky Dewey Decimal numbers, that's how my library organizes them. This is a big improvement over filing every single feature film in the system- several thousand of them- under one number. And library geek points to the person who can Name That Dewey Decimal Number! (see below for answer) Poor Melvil- he didn't have these crazy moving pictures around to mess up his decimals back in the day.

Anyway, it's still not a perfect system, partly because we have the same categories for adult and children's DVD's. Which results in things like this:

This is Once Upon a Potty for him, a potty training video. And the category?
Easy DVD- Personal Growth

As far as personal growth goes, it seems like kind of a gimme to me. But I guess toddlers need to have something to talk about in their support/play groups, too.




Answer to geek bonus question: 791.4372

depends on your definition of "coffee"

This is the Aster Cafe:

It's in an old converted warehouse in the St. Anthony Main district of Minneapolis, on the East Bank. I bet that some of you didn't know that Minneapolis has an East and West Bank. Que magnifique!

Aster is a comfortable, unpretentious cafe with rough wooden beams for a ceiling- not the clean, shellacked kind chosen by an architect to give a newly built location that classic look (what? who said Caribou?), but actual old wood, the kind that collects a fuzzy combination of cobwebs and dust that seems to have a symbiotic relationship with rough wooden beams. Although what the beams get out of it, I don't know.

This is an exchange I overheard during a Saturday lunch rush:

Impatient Customer: Do you have wireless internet?

Teenage Barista: No, we don't.

Customer: (Now slightly confused and annoyed) So you're not a coffee shop anymore?

Restrainedly Polite Teenage Barista: (refrains from glancing at the large chalk board behind her bearing the coffee menu and prices) We are a coffee shop. We just don't have wireless.


Might I also point out that the white signboard out front says "Coffee" in big letters. That whole wired-coffee/wired-technology double meaning has long been exploited by the coffee shop marketing people, but this is taking it a little far. I'm imagining a future world in which caffeine and wireless signals interact in the human body in some inextricable way.

polka-dotted deep truths

A recent issue of The Horn Book included a tiny little short story by M.T. Anderson as part of their special "Boys and Girls" issue. (Horn Book is about books for children and young adults.) At the risk of breaking copyright laws, I'm going to quote the story here- a lot of it, if you know what I mean.

Coloring Dinosaurs

By M. T. Anderson

One morning in the second grade, our assignment was to color dinosaurs. A girl in my class came over and asked me what color a Diplodocus was. Suddenly, all of the things that usually made me an outsider—I was pale, weird, vacuously dreamy, and read a lot of books—made me appear to be an authority.

I did know about dinosaurs. So I tried to explain to Shirley that really, no one knew what color dinosaurs were.

As I talked, I watched my fleeting authority evaporate in her cute button-eyes.

So I quickly amended, “But the Diplodocus, yeah, he was green with a brown head.”

“Okay,” she said. “Tyrannosaurus?”

I made something up.

One of her friends said to her, “You’re listening to something Tobey says?”

“Only about how the dinosaurs were colored,” said Shirley, confidently crayoning one of the most ferocious of the earth’s carnivores pink with green spots.

If only I had been man enough to realize it, here, laid bare before me, was the One Great Secret of Masculine Authority:

If you don’t know the answer, bray about the subject loudly and confidently, and maybe no one will realize that you’re a complete idiot. People would rather hear a really stupid answer than believe there’s no answer at all.

In case you didn't know, I looooove M.T. Anderson. See previous post for more info. But I digress.

It's a great, compact piece of writing, but it's his final kicker of a sentence that really got me thinking. As a Christian, I don't believe there's anything that won't be answered in time. However, accepting that the answer is basically unknowable this side of glory is almost as hard. The idea that we have no control over when or how some answers come can really bug us- or maybe it's just me. So we accept, and sometimes vehemently defend, our polka-dotted dinosaurs without really testing them, just so we have something to call our own, a fast food sack in the hand because we can't wait for the Thanksgiving feast, or maybe we fear it'll never come. I'm all for polka-dots and star-gazing, as long as I remember which things I really know, and which ones I'm making up.

I've had an apostrophe

The thing is...I kind of hate MySpace. There are a lot of people on MySpace, which makes it very successful for its purpose of social networking, but I don't like it. It's messy, and ugly, and not user-friendly, and I can't believe it's gotten as far as it has. Maybe I'll try Facebook, maybe not. I may give the newish site Virb a whirl. But if you're one of the people I keep in touch w/ over MySpace, be warned. My time there may be limited. Tom, no offense, you've always been there for me. But it's time to move on.

Ukrainian dance party

I just went outside to walk the dog and saw some crazy flashing lights in my Ukrainian next-door neighbors' window. All the lights are out except for a home version of one of those colored light ball things, sitting on what looks like a dresser by the window. Looks like a party, but sounds silent. What in the name of borscht are they doing over there??

amazing, indeed

The final song in worship this morning was "Amazing Grace," in a slightly updated style, but mostly the same as the original. My church is the kind of place where people sit or stand during worship, whatever they feel like doing. There was an older lady sitting behind me, and from what I've observed in the past, she's enough of a traditionalist that she doesn't usually stand unless someone says "please stand" from the front. But the first few words of the first line were still resonating when she got directly to her feet.

I understand exactly how she feels. Of all the meaningful songs in my life, this one still has the power to choke me up, at least a little, every single time I sing it. What is it about "Amazing Grace"? The lyrics, the music, the combination, or some inexplainable third element that makes it greater than the sum of its parts? A friend in grad school was on an ongoing quest to find as many melodies as he could that scanned well with the poetry of AG. His favorite success was the theme song to Gilligan's Island. Go ahead, try it. You know you want to. Same powerful words? Yes. The choke-up factor of that version? Not so high. I've never heard alternate lyrics to the AG melody, so I have no experience with reversing the experiment.

Whatever the reason, I'm thankful for it. The world is a better place with this song in it. And, of course, with the availability of said amazing grace. Nothing like the ring of incredible truth to make the meaning more, well, meaningful.

these are the places in my neighborhood

What's with you, man? You been eatin' at the Crazy Buffet?

(sorry about the camera phone-quality photo)

arming the primates

I was out in my car a couple days ago when I ended up behind this guy:




Yes, Mom, the car was safely stopped at a light when I took this picture.

In case you can't read that plate (I've been reduced to using my camera phone), it says "CHMPGN". Despite the fact that I lived in the city of Champaign for nigh on 3 years, this was not the first word that came to mind. Rather, I thought, "CHIMP GUN? What's that supposed to mean?" Other options might include CHAMP GONE, for a veiled Simon & Garfunkel, "where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio" kind of reference, or maybe CHOMP GOON. Or CHUMP GIN. In any case, putting an alcoholic beverage on your license plate seems like a gutsy move. It reminds me of a guy on the "Before We Go" blurb on the local news a few years back who used his initials: DWI. Of course, if the owner of this car gets pulled over, they could always claim it says CHIMP GUN. Because that's a much less conspicuous thing to say.

Best use ever of future perfect tense

Because it made me laugh, and because it's a good solid piece of satire, here's a recent Onion News Network segment:


Preemptive Memorial Honors Future Victims Of Imminent Dam Disaster


My favorite line: What will I have done?

like singing in the shower, but shushier

So I ended up working at the library last Sunday, which I kind of hate doing, but that's another story. I was helping someone in the children's fiction section when I heard this indistinct but vaguely tonal sound filling my area. I thought maybe some kid was singing in the bathroom, but they'd have to really be belting it out since the bathroom wasn't close. As I walked back to my desk, I realized that the sound was coming from a young girl in the glass study room. She didn't look like she was singing, just sitting there with her head down, reading some manga, but it had to be her. Kids often make the mistake of thinking that room is soundproof, instead of the echo chamber that it is. Kind of like a big shower stall, without the water. Or the privacy.

I needed to cut this little jam session short- it is a library, after all- but the shape of her tuneless tune felt a little familiar, and the music history major, listening test-taking student in me felt compelled to identify it first. Thank you, Alice Hanson!

Then it struck me: she was singing the Hallelujah Chorus. Only the first four bars, and in a made-for-TV, based-on-an-actual-song kind of way, but there it was. Unexpected, but okay, I'll buy it. After all, it was Sunday afternoon.

This has been another Random Public Library Moment (TM).

Mr. Ed's Choice Award

I think I found the stickiest peanut butter in the world. It's Trader Joe's Organic Creamy Peanut Butter. If my camera worked, I'd show you (grrr....). For a brief, exhilarating, terrifying moment, I truly feared for the future of my mouth as a functional, multi-part mechanism capable of chewing, rather than a gooey mass of connected tissue. I feel I can safely make this a world-wide distinction. I don't do a lot of flag-waving, but anyone who's tried to find peanut butter abroad knows that what the rest of the world knows about making pb could fit in one tiny jar, a jar filled with a grainy, strangely mis-flavored mockery of the real thing.

What makes this particular brand so sticky? I don't know! It only has the usual natural peanut butter ingredients of peanuts and salt. They do make a big deal about using Valencia peanuts. Is that region of California known for its adhesive qualities?

Anyone can make an animal talk on screen; if you want it to talk in slow motion, look no further. If there are other kinds that belong in the Sticky Hall of Fame, speak up! Inquiring pb lovers want to know.

one third of my allotted time

This is getting to be old news now, but once again I've been hobbled by lack of visuals. Last Tuesday my library system and my local NBC affiliate were brave/foolhardy enough to put me on live daytime TV for 5 minutes to talk about Teen Read Month and show off a handful of books. It was on Showcase Minnesota, the local show you end up watching if you don't bother changing the channel for the hour between the Today Show and Today Show: Hour 4 (sounds like a hostage situation to me). Here's the blurb on their website; don't skim, you'll miss it.

Besides taking an amount of time and energy to prepare which seems out of balance with the shortness of the actual airtime, I had a lot of fun. Got to see the studio, experience the behind-the-scenes world of local (but big market) TV, and schmoozed with the stars. Okay, I sat in the green room with a slightly cantankerous salon entrepreneur named Rocco, but that's enough Tuesday morning excitement for me.

Until I manage to get a YouTube-compatible file in my hands, here's a link to the clip that a friend kindly recorded for me. Thanks, Winston!

Showcase Minnesota- 9 October 2007- Teen Read Month segment

So does that make me a pretty big nerd, or a really big nerd?

My latest behind-the-times show fixation is Heroes, season 1. When George Takei showed up as a guest star, the first thing I noticed was that the plates on his car matched the registry number of the U.S.S. Enterprise: NCC-1701. Cute touch on their part? Definitely. Sad that I noticed? Maybe, but I wasn't alone.
Exhibit One: how easy it was to find a screen capture of said trivia detail online:

I don't know, which one's frencher?

Last night I had a lovely evening of Minnesota Orchestra and dinner with my friend Peter and his parents. We went to Vincent's, a French restaurant in downtown Minneapolis. First of all, the meal brought to mind such overused food and wine critic words as "exquisite" and "sublime"; "delicious" didn't quite cover it. Wowza.

A friend of mine used to gauge whether a restaurant was really as upscale as the decorating implied by whether or not they had cloth napkins. Well Nick, if you're out there, here's a new level entirely; see what you make of it. White cloth napkins were artfully folded at each place setting. As we sat down, our waiter asked each of Peter's parents if they would prefer a black napkin. What?? This is not an option I have ever encountered before. Does anybody know what that's all about? I completely forgot to ask the waiter before we left.

The Universal Language of Muzak

If you've ever called a Hennepin County Library and been put on hold, you're familiar with our hold music. More accurately, our hold song. We only have one. No matter what time of day or what library you call, the hold song is always exactly the same: about 1 minute long on a continuous loop, sounding like the bastard love child of two timeless classics: "Guy at Bloomingdale's Playing Piano Under the Escalator at Christmas" and "The Song That Never Ends." I see-saw between hating it and loving it deeply and ironically. For all the time and money we invest in being on the cutting edge of technology in our field- Library 2.0 is the latest buzz term- couldn't we at least offer our customers, I don't know, *two* hold songs? Add a little excitement and unpredicability to the phone call? It's just a thought. But for now, we just have the one hold song, and I had started to think of it as all ours; after all, I'd never heard it anywhere else.

Until today.

I've spent quite a bit of time the past few days on the phone with the nice tech support folks in New Delhi. (I just went wireless. Where am I blogging from right now? My living room? My kitchen? The bedroom closet? Only I know! How's that for excitement and unpredictability?) They put me on hold, and over thousands of miles of wireless aether, I heard a familiar strain. It was a remix of the HCL hold song! I couldn't believe it. Instead of solo piano, it was sort of a Light (make that Lite) Rock version with an even slower tempo, but the banal melody, the barely distinguishable A and B sections, the short loop- it was all there.

Is this Cisco's theme song, to be found universally in all their phone systems? I wonder how many other versions are out there? Is there sheet music available? If/when I get a piano, I am going to teach myself this song. It'll only ever be useful as a one-hit joke at library staff parties where there's a piano available, but someday, someday that scenario will come true, and I'll be ready.

big crush and broken heart, all in one weekend

Hello, gentle reader. Have I been busy lately, or just a lazy blogger? The world may never know.

Sometime in September, a Netflix DVD arrived in the mail: Ballykissangel, disc 1.


I wasn't sure how it got in my queue; probably a Netflix recommendation based on my enduring love for the BBC. A week or so later I got around to watching it. And kept watching it. And then watched it some more. The first two series (seasons) were short and went down quick. If you haven't seen it, think Northern Exposure in Ireland. If you haven't seen Northern Exposure, for shame. Rural town full of quirky characters; enter new guy. In this case, Father Peter Clifford, an outsider in the form of an English priest. And of course, enter Assumpta, the feisty, clergy-hating love interest, which for Father Clifford adds an extra-crunchy layer of complication. As a good Lutheran girl I've never had a crush on a priest before, but if it's got to happen, he may as well be fictitious.

I couldn't wait the interminable two-day turnaround time for Netflix to send me series 3, so I did something I never do: I sought out spoilers on the internet to find out what happened. And I'm glad I did. It gave me time to recover from the shock and then grieve before I saw the episodes for real. They ended the Peter/Assumpta era of the show in such a shocking, unexpected way, I actually felt like something tragic had happened in my life. I'm still not ready to move on to the last 3 series they made. I suppose it's a sign of good acting and good writing that I got so enamored with the characters so quickly, but I still feel a bit betrayed by the creators.

It may be possible that these TV series binges are not good for my mental health (confession time: last winter I watched all 5 seasons of Alias in less than a month). But hey, it's better than crack. That's a valid rationalization, right?

blog slacker

Sorry about the lack of newness here at MSR lately. I've been partly busy, partly taking a little break, and partly lacking the visuals I'd like since my camera insists it has a Card Error and won't take any more pictures. Poo. I suppose I might post some backpacking pictures tomorrow, if I get around to it. How's that for decisive? I hope all of you out there have a wonderful Labor Day with as little actual labor as possible.

turning over & heading north

On my way home from work tonight, my dear Subaru reached a milestone:

Many happy, reliable returns, loyal friend!

I'll be packing on even more miles tomorrow, when I head for the North Shore for a much-needed backpacking excursion along the Superior Hiking Trail. Nothing too intense or long, maybe 20 miles total, but in the woods and just the thing to unwind from a busy busy summer.

The meteorological community at large seems to agree that it will be beautiful, near perfect weather this weekend. Hooray! But even if it rains for 72 hours straight, I still intend to enjoy myself. Photos to come...

more fall fashions

Sort of a "Nanook of the North has a day at the beach" look.

gazing fondly at my sweaters

Don't get me wrong: I like summer. I even like my crazy summers at the library. But I'm ready to be done now. Done with the much-too-frequent 90-degree days, and trying to exercise my furry dog without giving her heat exhaustion (seriously- she falls down), and with said craziness at work. I'm sort of counting down to Friday, the last official day of our Summer Reading Program and the beginning of a little breather.

Then maybe the weather will get cooler, and I can pull out the warm clothes. Or buy some of the new fall stuff that's started coming in at work. REI, that is. The library currently doesn't have a women's casual wear section.

For the sake of visuals, here's a random comic I found online:

fun ways to call the kids in for dinner

Have I mentioned that my sister is having a baby? Yes, Lucy will be a big sister in December. Little Fisch #2 is a girl, and the plan is to name her Olive. Which means that together, their nicknames will be Ollie-Lu. In the event of a third child, does anyone have ideas for a name that would shorten to something resembling "ya"? Then they could have a complete set: Ollie-Lu-Ya. We haven't come up with anything yet. And no, Yahweh is not a viable option.

Speaking of Lucy, I haven't featured her on here in a while. Here' s a fun arms-back flying pose that morphed into some kind of grand ballet bow:

unexpected connection

When the list of the eight people still missing after the bridge collapse was released a few days ago, I was shocked to recognize one of the names. Scott Sathers was in my high school graduating class. We were never more than passing acquaintances at most, and I had no idea what had become of him after high school. Still, of 10,000+ people who crossed that bridge every day and the 13 who probably lost their lives, actually knowing one of them is a little surreal. Scott was a nice guy from what I remember, a bit of a class clown in a preppy kind of way. Good-natured, not cruel or mean. Played hockey, which I never would have remembered without looking at our senior yearbook. I haven't had a chance to visit the site yet, but when I do it'll seem that much more real- or maybe unreal, I'm not sure yet. Because now I have a face to go with my respects and prayers, even if it is 12 years out of date.

Scott is on the left

Objects of My Affection II: The Complete Harry Potter Collection, UK editions

And now they are complete:


I bought the first three Harry Potter books when I was living in England in 2001, back when they were thinner and more packable, because I liked the alternate covers and the shorter, friendlier size, and because that was their country of origin and it seemed appropriate. Of course, once I started down that path, I felt compelled to make the set match. Fortunately for me, international mail and the online mega-power of Amazon.com made that not only possible, but easy and affordable. Sure, I got them each about a week after they were released, but that small show of delayed gratification has paid off with a complete set that makes the concrete-sequential and anglophilic chunks of my soul smile.

Here are the covers:

I like how the cover styles, like the contents, get older as the books progress. There are 5 different artists altogether. I do like the American GrandPre covers, but I like these better. And when I take the dust jacket off to keep it safe, the illustration is printed on the actual cover as well, so it's still pretty. Plus even the doorstop-sized middle books rest nicely in one hand while you're reading, and you can turn pages with the other hand. It's the little things, you know?

"We'd like to thank Hormel a lot..."

"...for their generous support of Spam...alot."

That was the introduction, and it just got funnier from there.

Spamalot. A hit Broadway musical based on a cult classic movie. A movie with no real ending, just sort of the end of the reel. And yet, let Eric Idle and Friends take another crack at it, mix in a few other Monty Python jokes and songs at random, and you've got yourself a hi-laaarious evening of entertainment. It was fun to see the scenes I've had memorized since high school enacted on stage, but I think the new or slightly altered bits were my favorite. Like how Dennis the Constitutional Peasant is actually Dennis Galahad, who joins the quest after being talked into it by the Lady of the Lake and her part ethereal water nymph, part cheerleader "Laker girls." Alas, I didn't see the Curry/Pierce/Azaria cast (I'm salivating at the very thought), but the touring guys did a fine job. I think I may have to acquire the original cast recording so that I can add the show to my "you big nerd, how much Monty Python do you really need to memorize?" repertoire.

And isn't this where the show really belongs, here in Minnesota, the cradle of Spam itself?

My other favorite thing: the stage bill. Analogous to the Holy Grail opening credits in quasi-Swedish, there is a title page in quasi-Finnish:

And that fits in Minnesota, too! I needed look no further than the person sitting next to me to find a Finnish last name with an abundance of oddly-arranged vowels. And I mean that in the nicest possible way. Finland, Finland, Finland, the country where I want to be...

kettles and sandstone, and a Bridges-R-Us product recall

I had the day off today, and I escaped north into the woods with my dog. Brynn and I spent the day hiking, rolling in mud (her), and snapping photos (me) in Banning State Park just outside of Sandstone, Minn., about 90 miles north of the Twin Cities.


Like you might guess, the area was developed as a sandstone quarry back in the 1890's or so. The forest has since reasserted itself, and all that's left of the old quarry are piles of conspicuously square-edged rock slabs, holes in the ground, and the occasional ruins, mostly with trees sticking out of them.


I'm a sucker for self-guided trails, so I done some learnin' about quarries and local history. I also learned that the Kettle River along which the ruins stand got its name from the round holes and formations, or "kettles," carved in the sandstone by the water. The accepted geological term for them is actually "potholes," which sounds much more scientific. I have dubbed the uncanny formation below the Eye of God for obvious reasons (photographed from below):


And what stretch of the river is God keeping an eye on? Devil's Gate. As He should.

Maybe someone should kick it in the butt.

It's a lovely park, and it was a beautiful day for a hike; the sort of day I love in the north woods, when you walk through shade into a sunny patch, and the smell of sun-warmed pine needles is present there as if it were part of the sunlight. There's nothing else like it.

I put more photos from Banning on Flickr if anyone's interested.

In one of those "small world" moments, I crossed a bridge in Sandstone that was under construction. I would barely notice usually, but today I noticed. Then I realized there was no construction: it was an inspection.

Look a little familiar? It turns out I had ended up on one of four bridges in the state that have similar construction to the 35W bridge, and the governor had ordered an immediate inspection of all of them. If the state could recall those bridges like cars or harmful-if-swallowed baby toys, they'd be back at the big bridge factory right now, but as it is, Pawlenty had to send the inspectors to them. Whether it was for safety reasons or to search for clues to what happened on Wednesday, I don't know. But two guys were in a basket taking a good look at the trusses. The yellow vehicle on the left is some sort of reverse cherry picker (clam digger?) that dips down over the side instead of lifting up. Very interesting to see. Sandstone is straight up I-35, and on the drive home, the sign warning that 35W is closed south of Highway 280 was the first real-world driving evidence I've seen that it really happened.

And since these coincidences usually seem to come in threes, here's another bridge I encountered today:

I've got your 'structurally deficient' right here!

me and mine are fine

I didn't have my TV or radio on after work today. I found out about the collapse of the 35W bridge (see news sites) through a text from a friend, then another text as a friend told me she was okay, then from a call from a friend in Olympia, who was watching TV and heard about it before I did. Me and my family are all fine. Please keep the missing, injured, dead, and their families in your prayers as the recovery efforts continue. This was a major thoroughfare, and getting back to normal will literally take years.

As it happens, I was on my way to church for a meeting, but it was the perfect place to be. We were able to pray and intercede together, and what else can we really do besides watch the same news clips over and over again?

So...you're not a Tampa Bay fan, then?

Working in a public library, I regularly experience irregular things. It's part of why I like my line of work so much. These Random Public Library Moments (RPLM's) could come from any source, for any reason, at any time. After all, it's not only a public building, but the kind of public building that draws a wide variety of people for an even wider variety of reasons, and sometimes for no discernible reason at all. My favorite RPLM's to date were my interactions with a lady at the Centralia Timberland Library who thought she was Mrs. Hugh Hefner. Did you know that he's the real Elephant Man? It's true. Did you see Mask? That was him. Ask Cher, she'll tell you. And it only got better from there.

My favorite RPLM last week was much less elaborate, but still entertaining. We have a little survey question posted at the Children's Info Desk that changes every so often. Kids can take a little piece of paper and write down their answer, and we tack them up on the bulletin board. Currently, the question is: If you were a pro baseball player, what position would you play? Any guesses on the most popular answer so far? (See below) In the "less common response" category falls this one:



Excellent sentiment? Yes. Odd placement? Um, yeah. Unless it's a deeply masked jab at the Tampa Bay Devil Rays, but I'm really stretching here.

The most common answer is pitcher.

The phone books are here! The phone books are here!

Like Steve Martin in The Jerk, I am giddy with excitement over the arrival on my doorstep of three brand-new phone books! Yellow *and* white, just for me? Plus the little mini-sized regional one? Oh heavenly day!!

Oh yeah, and some other book came as well, Henry somebody-or-other...

What I did on my summer vacation, pt. 1

Just in case I don't get around to part 2, I'm going to start with the highlight of my trip to Colorado, which was hiking to the top of Eagle Peak. There were other great things, but at approx. 12,200 ft., Eagle Peak was the literal high point, so I'll go with that first.

No wait, first I'll give a nod and long distance hug to my college roommate and all-around great gal Leigh, along w/ hubby Zach and little pre-born Colin. The whole vanload of us stopped at their house for lunch in Littleton, and she had an awesome spread ready for us. This despite the fact that she'd had a very rough morning, one that culminated in her mother reviving her with a garden hose. But it was great to see her, even though I wish we had longer. Thanks again, Leigh, O Hostess with the Mostest!


Now for the climbing. Rainbow Trail is in the Sangre de Christo mountain range in the southern Rockies, west of Pueblo. Eagle Peak is the nearest peak to the camp. Here it is as seen from the porch of the main building:


See the pointier-looking part on the right? That's the false peak. Liar! Liaaar! That's the side we ascended, so the closer false peak was as far as we could see for most of the hike. Were we motivated by a lie, or only given as much as we could handle? There's a good metaphor in there somewhere.

The hike was certainly uphill, but not bad up until Rainbow Lake, which had a very high water level thanks to all the melted snow from Colorado's ridiculous number of huge snowstorms last winter.


By the way, my brother-in-law proposed to my sister (the first time) in this lake; not at, in.

After heading on up from the lake, things got hairier. First there was the section known among the staff as the Trail of Tears. Then came the really tough part.

That toughest part is The Meadow (not to be mistaken for The Meadows, also in Colorado, the well-known secret meeting place of The Pentaverate). Doesn't a meadow sound lovely, like you should sit down and have a picnic, or maybe frolic? Well, it's not that kind of meadow. I did wish I could sit down, but not much frolicking happened on my part.

(we're actually heading down in this picture, but you get the idea.)

It's steep, stingy on the oxygen, and seemingly interminable. One of those stretches of hike where the end never seems to get any closer, until eventually, somehow, miraculously, you've arrived. In this case we had arrived at the base of basically a pile of large rocks we had to scramble up. Scrambling was okay with me, because my legs had had enough, and now my arms could help out.


In the "glass is half-full" category, there was some lovely, hearty flora on the meadow:


We got to the top of the pile only to discover it wasn't quite the top of the pile (liaaar!), but after a not-too-uphill jaunt across a ridge in the pile, then we had summited. Yay!


Yes, that is a golden retriever behind me. She's a camp dog who invited herself along, and I was especially impressed with her rock-climbing abilities. Altogether, there were 19 people and one dog, 14 miles round trip, about a mile of elevation gain, and we all made it, the first group of the summer to have the conditions and guts to summit. The weather was clear and beautiful (at that point), and the view unbeatable.



On the way back down, we spent the last hour or two hiking through the only rainstorm we got all week, but what a payoff when we finally got back:


Rainbow Trail, indeed. That's even the building we were heading for, the dining hall. Since we returned at the tail end of dinner time, the whole camp waited for us and gave us a big hero's welcome as we hauled our soggy selves in. It was really a great moment, very warm and fuzzy despite being personally wet and stinky.

I took it easy by comparison for the rest of the week. That was a good hike.