I met Jesus today. He's about 3 feet tall, and I caught him climbing on the dragon in my library. To be fair, the dragon looks like a fancy playground piece, even though he was designed to hold and display books. Later his mom called him back from lapping the children's area, then from splashing out a complicated Morse code message using the drinking fountain. He just left, run/walking at a good clip down the aisle, elbows pumping energetically.
Yes, Jesus is an Hispanic three-year-old.
But how different was the real three-year-old Jesus? Traditionally he's painted as a serene, wise-beyond-his-years child, but that's later in childhood. I don't assume to know how God Made Man behaved through his Terrible Twos and Threes, but I'd like to think that he had some of the energy and high spirits of today's little Our Savior of the Dragon's Back.
And with millenia of Christianity all over the Western world, why is it that only Spanish-speaking countries name their children Jesus with any regularity? I'm sure it says something deep about cultural differences, but I can't devote the brain power to it tonight.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Random Public Library Moment
I've been on a little self-inflicted computer break this month, and rather than catch you up, gentle reader, with photos and tales from my lovely backpacking trip along the North Shore, I will go the lazy route: Cheap Laughs!
When learning a language, cognates are a beautiful thing. Even if I didn't study for that junior high German quiz, I could guess what an Autobus was and what Hans was supposed to do with it. Beware, however, of the false cognate. A classic example is the Spanish word embarazadas, which sure sounds a lot like "embarrassed," but actually means "pregnant."
False cognates can also mislead you if you're browsing through the Russian children's DVDs at the library. If you for some reason read the back of this box first, you would know that it's the story of a good Communist boy's magical adventures on a flying carpet, circa 1956. Read the title first, and you might have different expectations. I know did, although I must say my first reading of the title didn't quite jive with the prominence of the leering, bearded genie.
When learning a language, cognates are a beautiful thing. Even if I didn't study for that junior high German quiz, I could guess what an Autobus was and what Hans was supposed to do with it. Beware, however, of the false cognate. A classic example is the Spanish word embarazadas, which sure sounds a lot like "embarrassed," but actually means "pregnant."
False cognates can also mislead you if you're browsing through the Russian children's DVDs at the library. If you for some reason read the back of this box first, you would know that it's the story of a good Communist boy's magical adventures on a flying carpet, circa 1956. Read the title first, and you might have different expectations. I know did, although I must say my first reading of the title didn't quite jive with the prominence of the leering, bearded genie.
Sunday, August 3, 2008
well, I tried.
Some things are better than you remembered them as a child, like mustard. Or beer, not that I had extensive experience.
Some things are worse, like Nancy Drew books. Seriously, have you gone back and read any childhood favorites lately? It's a risky business. But that's another topic.
And some things are about the same. My biggest food hatred as a child was beets. I would sit at the table for hours, all alone in front of a fast-cooling plate of beets, rather than eat those accursed things. Hating beets is actually one of my earliest memories; I remember sitting at the table of a house we left when I was three, trying to work up the mental and gastronomic strength to take a few beet bites. Now I'm an adult, and I sometimes choose to eat various things I used to avoid: broccoli, for example. So when my CSA farm sent some beets this week, after the initial shudder I thought, sure, why not? I've hated and avoided beets for so long, maybe something has changed in the last 28 years or so. So on my sister's advice, I sauteed them in olive oil, salt and pepper along with some other fresh CSA goodies. And I ate them.
Verdict? Blech. Yuck yuck yuck. I declare my intense dislike of beets officially a lifelong trait. Sure, it's fun to pee magenta, but for me the thrill is not worth it.
Some things are worse, like Nancy Drew books. Seriously, have you gone back and read any childhood favorites lately? It's a risky business. But that's another topic.
And some things are about the same. My biggest food hatred as a child was beets. I would sit at the table for hours, all alone in front of a fast-cooling plate of beets, rather than eat those accursed things. Hating beets is actually one of my earliest memories; I remember sitting at the table of a house we left when I was three, trying to work up the mental and gastronomic strength to take a few beet bites. Now I'm an adult, and I sometimes choose to eat various things I used to avoid: broccoli, for example. So when my CSA farm sent some beets this week, after the initial shudder I thought, sure, why not? I've hated and avoided beets for so long, maybe something has changed in the last 28 years or so. So on my sister's advice, I sauteed them in olive oil, salt and pepper along with some other fresh CSA goodies. And I ate them.
Verdict? Blech. Yuck yuck yuck. I declare my intense dislike of beets officially a lifelong trait. Sure, it's fun to pee magenta, but for me the thrill is not worth it.
Friday, August 1, 2008
chalk up
Friday afternoon I joined a few workmates from REI and went climbing near Taylor's Falls at Interstate State Park. I used to think that the name looked out of place on the state park map, too much like infrastructure and pavement. But once I visited, I realized it's not interstate as in highway, it's interstate as in between states, since the park is on both sides of the St. Croix River. We were climbing on the Wisconsin side, for those in the know.
Hello, Minnesota!
At last, climbing on actual rocks! I've been gym climbing in the past, but not lately, and never in nature that I can remember. It was incredibly fun, not to mention satisfying when I hit the top. I'm afraid my new climbing shoes may gradually be followed by my own harness and other spendy gear. Major props to Jeff and Amanda for being such good climbers, teachers and belayers.
Shiny, happy climbers on a rock
Hello, Minnesota!
At last, climbing on actual rocks! I've been gym climbing in the past, but not lately, and never in nature that I can remember. It was incredibly fun, not to mention satisfying when I hit the top. I'm afraid my new climbing shoes may gradually be followed by my own harness and other spendy gear. Major props to Jeff and Amanda for being such good climbers, teachers and belayers.
Shiny, happy climbers on a rock
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Random Public Library Moment
I wish I had a camera handy for this one. But I didn't, so description will have to do.
We've got a bulletin board in the children's area of my library that we use for a kind of question of the month that kids can answer and post. For example, in April the bulletin board looked like a baseball field, and kids wrote their favorite position on a baseball. This month we have big, tall multi-scoop ice cream cones, each paper scoop bearing a favorite ice cream flavor.
As I was posting a few new entries, I noticed a smartass scoop that someone had snuck in. Their favorite ice cream flavor? "My Boobies".
See, that just doesn't make any sense. They should take a lesson in public smartassing from the person who added another one a few days later: "Bootilicious". At least that one is uses a hip-hop influenced reworking of flavor nomenclature. What that flavor would mean for Baskin Robbins, I shudder to think.
We've got a bulletin board in the children's area of my library that we use for a kind of question of the month that kids can answer and post. For example, in April the bulletin board looked like a baseball field, and kids wrote their favorite position on a baseball. This month we have big, tall multi-scoop ice cream cones, each paper scoop bearing a favorite ice cream flavor.
As I was posting a few new entries, I noticed a smartass scoop that someone had snuck in. Their favorite ice cream flavor? "My Boobies".
See, that just doesn't make any sense. They should take a lesson in public smartassing from the person who added another one a few days later: "Bootilicious". At least that one is uses a hip-hop influenced reworking of flavor nomenclature. What that flavor would mean for Baskin Robbins, I shudder to think.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Yes, I'll eat them in a park! Yes, I'll eat them close to dark!
My wandering gypsy friend Dawn is in town, and Friday we made plans for the evening. After a nice walk outside, we thought we'd try a random little Nigerian restaurant. Why? Well, why not, but also, Dawn is the undisputed Queen of the Happenings Book. And this little hole in the wall place was in the Good Book.
We arrived at around 7:45. It was an hour before the posted closing time, but we had to get takeout since the owner apparently had somewhere else to be. One menu item was Yams with fried egg, tomato, and onion.
Fried egg and yam?
As a matter of principle as a children's librarian, that's what I ordered. Plus, yams sounded good. And as it turned out, we didn't need to eat them in the car; there was a park complete with picnic benches not far away.
When I opened up the container, I was surprised to find a certain lack of...orange.
I had no idea that large, white, and mostly tasteless was an option for yams, but there they were. So no, Sam-I-am, I do not like Nigerian yams that much, but the rest was good. Apparently the local squirrel population isn't really down with big white yams either. A little beggar was loitering, so I threw him a small chunk. I had never before in my life seen a squirrel forcibly spit out food and run away. I'm serious. I think his bushy little tail was even flicking at me in disgust.
The bottled beverage you see is called Malta India, which our all-too-brief hostess described as "kind of like root beer." Yeah, not so much. If there's such a thing as malted molasses, we have now tasted it. Not horrible, but....hmm. Kind of what I imagine third-world sarsaparilla would taste like.
Our next stop, and really the goal for the evening, was a random little independent film festival, but by the time we got there the watching short films part was over, and a Q&A with the filmmakers just isn't quite as interesting when you have no idea what they're talking about. But on the upside, I did get to meet my favorite boozing robot in the entryway, so the trip wasn't wasted.
We arrived at around 7:45. It was an hour before the posted closing time, but we had to get takeout since the owner apparently had somewhere else to be. One menu item was Yams with fried egg, tomato, and onion.
Fried egg and yam?
Would I? Could I?
In a car?
Eat them! Eat them!
Here they are.
As a matter of principle as a children's librarian, that's what I ordered. Plus, yams sounded good. And as it turned out, we didn't need to eat them in the car; there was a park complete with picnic benches not far away.In a car?
Eat them! Eat them!
Here they are.
When I opened up the container, I was surprised to find a certain lack of...orange.
I had no idea that large, white, and mostly tasteless was an option for yams, but there they were. So no, Sam-I-am, I do not like Nigerian yams that much, but the rest was good. Apparently the local squirrel population isn't really down with big white yams either. A little beggar was loitering, so I threw him a small chunk. I had never before in my life seen a squirrel forcibly spit out food and run away. I'm serious. I think his bushy little tail was even flicking at me in disgust.
The bottled beverage you see is called Malta India, which our all-too-brief hostess described as "kind of like root beer." Yeah, not so much. If there's such a thing as malted molasses, we have now tasted it. Not horrible, but....hmm. Kind of what I imagine third-world sarsaparilla would taste like.
Our next stop, and really the goal for the evening, was a random little independent film festival, but by the time we got there the watching short films part was over, and a Q&A with the filmmakers just isn't quite as interesting when you have no idea what they're talking about. But on the upside, I did get to meet my favorite boozing robot in the entryway, so the trip wasn't wasted.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Pea pickin' and Canon crunchin'
A few weeks ago, Katie and the girls and I went up north of Alexandria to get out of town, to take the girls on their first overnight in a tent, and for the pea picking weekend at Ploughshare, our CSA farm. We had a great time picking oodles of delicious peas and sharing a pot luck lunch with other members, but then it started to rain. And rain, and rain, and rain. We decided to scrap the camping with one infant and one toddler with a cold and check into a hotel in Alexandria instead. I don't know if I've mentioned this here, but two-year-old Lucy has a steel-trap memory that puts the rest of the family to shame. About two thirds of the way back to Alex, she once again proved her superior recall: "Leesha's camera?" *gasp* Oh no! I think I left my camera on the roof of the car when I was buckling her in! Sure enough, it was nowhere to be found in the interior.
The next morning, we headed back to the farm for one last attempt to find it before heading back to the Cities. Neither we nor the quartet of blonde, tanned little farm brothers on bikes had any luck. Just as we were giving up and heading out, Katie spotted something on the turnoff to the "main" road.
Yes, she had found my camera. Most of it, anyway, spread along the side of a 50-foot stretch of country road. Alas, the memory card was not one of the pieces we found, so my cute pictures of pea pickin' were lost. And strangely enough, even my extended warranty did not cover encounters with the business side of multiple 4x4's. Obviously, I got a new one, because I've discovered that I really like having a camera handy. I won't say need, since that's a strong and overused word, but it's a priority. So Rest in Peace (Pieces) little Canon; you done right by me. I will try to remember the good times we had in Hawai'i, and not my final vision of you as road kill.
The next morning, we headed back to the farm for one last attempt to find it before heading back to the Cities. Neither we nor the quartet of blonde, tanned little farm brothers on bikes had any luck. Just as we were giving up and heading out, Katie spotted something on the turnoff to the "main" road.
Yes, she had found my camera. Most of it, anyway, spread along the side of a 50-foot stretch of country road. Alas, the memory card was not one of the pieces we found, so my cute pictures of pea pickin' were lost. And strangely enough, even my extended warranty did not cover encounters with the business side of multiple 4x4's. Obviously, I got a new one, because I've discovered that I really like having a camera handy. I won't say need, since that's a strong and overused word, but it's a priority. So Rest in Peace (Pieces) little Canon; you done right by me. I will try to remember the good times we had in Hawai'i, and not my final vision of you as road kill.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Big Island ending, abridged
All right, that's it. When a friend emails and asks where my new blog is, and can she see it, since I obviously have abandoned this one (that last part was unwritten but rightly implied), it's really, really time to do something.
Where were we? Oh yes: a sunny Wednesday in late March. Here's the quick and emphatic version of the remainder of my unblogged trip.
Petroglyphs. Cool! Too bad the carver caught someone on the commode.
Walk like an ancient Hawai'ian! do, dododo, do do dodo do do, dododo, do
Local beer sampler!
Sunset from halfway up Mauna Kea!
Look out!
Thursday:
White sand!
Black sand!
Tikis!
Turtle!
Yoga cabin!
Yoga chickens!
Cool lava is cool!
Hot lava is even cooler!
Friday:
Volcanoes National Park in the rain!
Kilauea spewing!
Sulphur protection or incompetent Wild West double stick up? You decide.
Flowers in a caldera!
Big slothy fern fiddleheads!
Lava tube!
Entrance to bonus lava tube with no lights!
Really dark!
Friday:
Lava trees!
Lava tree worship?
Lava attacks!
Sea arch!
Saturday:
Natural sauna cave!
Easier in than out!
Nut tour!
Chocolate tour!
Final packing and leaving!
Well, that's it. Good times, good times.
At last I've wrapped this up. In my next installment: the recent demise of my camera on a lonely country road north of Alexandria.
Where were we? Oh yes: a sunny Wednesday in late March. Here's the quick and emphatic version of the remainder of my unblogged trip.
Petroglyphs. Cool! Too bad the carver caught someone on the commode.
Walk like an ancient Hawai'ian! do, dododo, do do dodo do do, dododo, do
Local beer sampler!
Sunset from halfway up Mauna Kea!
Look out!
Thursday:
White sand!
Black sand!
Tikis!
Turtle!
Yoga cabin!
Yoga chickens!
Cool lava is cool!
Hot lava is even cooler!
Friday:
Volcanoes National Park in the rain!
Kilauea spewing!
Sulphur protection or incompetent Wild West double stick up? You decide.
Flowers in a caldera!
Big slothy fern fiddleheads!
Lava tube!
Entrance to bonus lava tube with no lights!
Really dark!
Friday:
Lava trees!
Lava tree worship?
Lava attacks!
Sea arch!
Saturday:
Natural sauna cave!
Easier in than out!
Nut tour!
Chocolate tour!
Final packing and leaving!
Well, that's it. Good times, good times.
At last I've wrapped this up. In my next installment: the recent demise of my camera on a lonely country road north of Alexandria.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Big Island, Big Fun, part III: Big Sky and Scrap Metal
Let this be a lesson in biting off more traveblog than you can chew. My grand plans to fully document my trip to Hawai'i ended up being the big slimy hairball in the flow of my blogging pipes. Here's an example of my personal dialogue on any 5 days out of 7 since April:
Me: I need to update my blog.
Me: Yes, you do. And you need to finish your Hawai'i entries and make them thorough, well-illustrated and entertaining before you move on to something else.
Me: Hmm. That's a lot of work. Maybe I'll update it tomorrow.
And so it went for the last 9 weeks. You may notice a switch to La-Z-Bloggr mode today. But then the hairball will be gone and I can move on with my online life.
* * * * *
As the tea was drunk and the smoothie gradually lost the battle of viscosity vs. suction (see Part II), we cut across the island towards the northwest corner. The scenery along the saddle road gave me a whole new perspective on Hawaiian landscape. Sure, there are the parts with the palm trees and the sand and the big pretty flowers, and then there's the leeward side of the Big Island:
Looks like Montana, no? Complete with barbed wire and paniolos (Hawaiian cowboys; not pictured).
We were heading for a few historic sites on the northern coast. One was the birthplace of Kamehameha, the warrior leader dude who united the Hawaiian islands.
Birthplace wall- or perhaps a recreation of one. Not sure.
The other place just next to it was the Mo'okini Heiau, a sort of holy place that was the site of thousands of human sacrifices.
Corner of the heiau wall
Kind of an unholy holy place, if you ask me. The 10,000 people sacrificed here against their will might agree.
Contrast that place with another heiau we visited later in the week, this one a place of refuge where people running for their lives could find safety; kind of a Hawai'an "ollie ollie oxen free!"
Pu'uhona O Honaunau- wouldn't have to twist my arm to take refuge here.
No description of our trip, no matter how abbreviated, would be complete without including the roadside modern art, as David Wilcox would call it. As we bumped and jolted our way along a very rutted and rocky (BIG rock rocky) dirt road, we followed the coast toward the Kamehameha birthplace. There was no signage anywhere at this point, and we were kind of going on faith that we weren't just driving ourselves off the edge of the northwest corner of Big Island. Then as the line of the cliff curved in front of us, we saw the glint of glass or metal in the distance. Oh good! we thought, there are other visitors' cars there. We must be on the right track. Then we eventually came around that corner to be greeted by this sight:
Waa! Sort of freaked us out, actually, given the very isolated setting and after reading in the guidebook about all that historical death and violence at the heiau. But wait, there's more:
So much for fellow tourists. Had we stumbled upon the Great Hawai'ian Car Graveyard by mistake?
Those were the first abandoned cars we came across on the trip, but certainly not the last. I say "abandoned," but that's grossly understating it. As you can see, the laid-back Hawai'i aloha attitude does NOT extend to derelict cars.
Glass smashed, tires sometimes gone, body attacked, and in one case:
I'm no CSI professional, but we think those are axe holes in the hood.
But we thankfully did not encounter the vehicle-hating axe-wielder and both us and our rental car made it there and back without losing any car or body parts.
Then we camped at a park on a beach.
All right, I need one more day. Darn you, Hawai'ian hairball! I still have high hopes of wrapping this up by Friday. If I have any MSR visitors left after breaking the cardinal rule of Publish or Perish, I'll be back soon. Really.
Me: I need to update my blog.
Me: Yes, you do. And you need to finish your Hawai'i entries and make them thorough, well-illustrated and entertaining before you move on to something else.
Me: Hmm. That's a lot of work. Maybe I'll update it tomorrow.
And so it went for the last 9 weeks. You may notice a switch to La-Z-Bloggr mode today. But then the hairball will be gone and I can move on with my online life.
* * * * *
As the tea was drunk and the smoothie gradually lost the battle of viscosity vs. suction (see Part II), we cut across the island towards the northwest corner. The scenery along the saddle road gave me a whole new perspective on Hawaiian landscape. Sure, there are the parts with the palm trees and the sand and the big pretty flowers, and then there's the leeward side of the Big Island:
Looks like Montana, no? Complete with barbed wire and paniolos (Hawaiian cowboys; not pictured).
We were heading for a few historic sites on the northern coast. One was the birthplace of Kamehameha, the warrior leader dude who united the Hawaiian islands.
Birthplace wall- or perhaps a recreation of one. Not sure.
The other place just next to it was the Mo'okini Heiau, a sort of holy place that was the site of thousands of human sacrifices.
Corner of the heiau wall
Kind of an unholy holy place, if you ask me. The 10,000 people sacrificed here against their will might agree.
Contrast that place with another heiau we visited later in the week, this one a place of refuge where people running for their lives could find safety; kind of a Hawai'an "ollie ollie oxen free!"
Pu'uhona O Honaunau- wouldn't have to twist my arm to take refuge here.
No description of our trip, no matter how abbreviated, would be complete without including the roadside modern art, as David Wilcox would call it. As we bumped and jolted our way along a very rutted and rocky (BIG rock rocky) dirt road, we followed the coast toward the Kamehameha birthplace. There was no signage anywhere at this point, and we were kind of going on faith that we weren't just driving ourselves off the edge of the northwest corner of Big Island. Then as the line of the cliff curved in front of us, we saw the glint of glass or metal in the distance. Oh good! we thought, there are other visitors' cars there. We must be on the right track. Then we eventually came around that corner to be greeted by this sight:
Waa! Sort of freaked us out, actually, given the very isolated setting and after reading in the guidebook about all that historical death and violence at the heiau. But wait, there's more:
So much for fellow tourists. Had we stumbled upon the Great Hawai'ian Car Graveyard by mistake?
Those were the first abandoned cars we came across on the trip, but certainly not the last. I say "abandoned," but that's grossly understating it. As you can see, the laid-back Hawai'i aloha attitude does NOT extend to derelict cars.
Glass smashed, tires sometimes gone, body attacked, and in one case:
I'm no CSI professional, but we think those are axe holes in the hood.
But we thankfully did not encounter the vehicle-hating axe-wielder and both us and our rental car made it there and back without losing any car or body parts.
Then we camped at a park on a beach.
All right, I need one more day. Darn you, Hawai'ian hairball! I still have high hopes of wrapping this up by Friday. If I have any MSR visitors left after breaking the cardinal rule of Publish or Perish, I'll be back soon. Really.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
