This week I mourned the loss of my 4th generation, 60GB iPod (AKA iPod with color display or the iPod with photo). My sister-in-law gave me a white nano for our Christmas gift exchange in 2005. I immediately upgraded to a black 60GB to compliment my husband's white 60GB.
What genius minds work at Apple! How wonderful to have one's music collection at one's fingertips - literally! It took many hours to load our CD collection onto the computer. Thank goodness Apple's technology forsaw the library sharing between a few iPod's. I don't think either one of us could have handled loading everything twice. That library grew as we accumulated more CD's and added songs from college and high school, albums and cassette tapes via iTunes. Our music library now has 8,055 songs on it - including holiday, children and classical music.
Music defines my life. Music is my love. To paraphrase Ewan McGregor's song in Moulin Rouge: "(Music) lifts us up where we belong, (music) is a many splendored thing, without (music) we are nothing."
What caused my iPod's demise? During our latest vacation, it laid under a damp napkin overnight in the Pacific Coastal Mexico's high humidity. The next morning it showed condensation on the screen. When I returned home, it took about 5 hours just to recharge the low battery. I reset and restored it twice - only to find we could no longer hear the music as it is playing; either with the headphones or the sound-dock station.
In its honor, I held an Irish Wake. For more information on that, check out this web-site: http://www.bellaonline.com/articles/art42808.asp . Since my iPod doesn't drink, I thought something rich and sweet would honor it nicely: a bowl of Breyer's natural vanilla ice cream topped with melted chocolate chips. (Too bad I no longer have my music to get my exercise jumping as I'm going to need it after that!)
And now I'm eyeing a new updated iPod with movies.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Golfing in the Mist
Last night, the girls called me while I was watching my son's tee-ball game.
"Come join us," they commanded. I waited for the game to finish. My husband left me (!) during the last inning to exercise. I had no babysitter.
I took the kids, ball glove, hat and ice cooler filled with that night's extra game treats and returned home.
I had the kids change clothes, walked the dog, bar-b-qued chicken and microwaved frozen green beens for dinner.
I noticed the garage door was open. My husband had returned home, but was visiting with our yard gurus.
"Hey!" I called. "I've been waiting for you. I'm going out for a drink with the girls."
"What?!" he said, astonished. (It's a long time since I joined the girls on Wednesday night.) When he walked into the kitchen, he said he smelled "charred chicken."
I glared at him, "This is NOT funny. They kids ate. Your dinner is ready. Good-bye."
I grabbed my keys and skipped down the stairs.
I fled my responsibilities. (hee hee, he can put the kids to bed)
Calling the girls on route to the course (which was accomplished via many missed calls, etc.), I found they skipped dinner in favor of an impromptu 18-hole 4-lady scramble. They were only on hole 13.
I called ahead to the Pro Shop. Mr. R. answered after the third attempt. He loaded my clubs on a cart so I could catch them when I arrived.
First I stepped into the club bar to pick up some Coronas for the course. I then realized I'd left my locker key at home (I thought we were dining, not golfing). I was wearing my Merrills, thus, was not wearing "proper golf (shoe) attire."
One of my girlfriends (who is a Great Golfer) was preparing to dine with her husband. She graciously lent me new socks (as in tear off the plastic part holding them together) as well as a pair of spikes. "Which color would you prefer with your outfit?" she generously asked.
I then convinced her to ditch her spouse and join us on the course.
The 4-lady scramble became 6. We joined the 4-some on hole 14.
The weather was perfect! The sun was setting, thus, the temperature had cooled. The result was a heavy mist rising off the grounds, giving the empty course a fairy-tale setting. B. still wore her work clothes, so removed her heels to putt. She soaked the hem of her cream-colored pants with dew.
Halfway through hole 14, I wondered why I joined them. Once again, I am over-my-head in athletic competition. Three of the six women played 18 holes in the first part of our Club Championship that morning. #5 didn't play, but could have bested them all. #6 worked out-of-town that day. She'd returned 15 minutes prior to my dragging her away from her husband.
This scramble was a lot of teasing and betting - female-style.
A. complained her father wouldn't give her an iPhone. She also said she wanted to see a hole-in-one on #17 - a Par-3. Club tradition holds that a hole-in-one person opens the bar for everybody present - free cocktails for all! I told her, "If I make a hole-in-one, (my spouse) would give (her) an iPhone, but the bar is closed." (Please note I am the worst player present. These women score less in 18 holes than I do in 9.)
My drive landed about one foot (12 inches) in front of the pin. It was the closest drive from all six women present.
After that the sun sank fast. We left balls in the grass if they were hit out of the fairway. We surreptitiously dropped balls, then hit others if people were talking too much. (ha ha) Expletives peppered the damp air. We congratulated one another on our fluency.
It was a great time with nature, the weather and, especially, a golf course to ourselves.
Reality hit when B. had the foresight to remember the kitchen closed at 9:00 pm. She called ahead. The staff graciously offered to wait for us to arrive to place our dinner order.
But for a few hours, we forgot who we were. We were no longer mothers, or employers, or employees, or students.
We were simply females with clubs and nature, stretching back time to our forebears.
For those few hours: we were the game.
"Come join us," they commanded. I waited for the game to finish. My husband left me (!) during the last inning to exercise. I had no babysitter.
I took the kids, ball glove, hat and ice cooler filled with that night's extra game treats and returned home.
I had the kids change clothes, walked the dog, bar-b-qued chicken and microwaved frozen green beens for dinner.
I noticed the garage door was open. My husband had returned home, but was visiting with our yard gurus.
"Hey!" I called. "I've been waiting for you. I'm going out for a drink with the girls."
"What?!" he said, astonished. (It's a long time since I joined the girls on Wednesday night.) When he walked into the kitchen, he said he smelled "charred chicken."
I glared at him, "This is NOT funny. They kids ate. Your dinner is ready. Good-bye."
I grabbed my keys and skipped down the stairs.
I fled my responsibilities. (hee hee, he can put the kids to bed)
Calling the girls on route to the course (which was accomplished via many missed calls, etc.), I found they skipped dinner in favor of an impromptu 18-hole 4-lady scramble. They were only on hole 13.
I called ahead to the Pro Shop. Mr. R. answered after the third attempt. He loaded my clubs on a cart so I could catch them when I arrived.
First I stepped into the club bar to pick up some Coronas for the course. I then realized I'd left my locker key at home (I thought we were dining, not golfing). I was wearing my Merrills, thus, was not wearing "proper golf (shoe) attire."
One of my girlfriends (who is a Great Golfer) was preparing to dine with her husband. She graciously lent me new socks (as in tear off the plastic part holding them together) as well as a pair of spikes. "Which color would you prefer with your outfit?" she generously asked.
I then convinced her to ditch her spouse and join us on the course.
The 4-lady scramble became 6. We joined the 4-some on hole 14.
The weather was perfect! The sun was setting, thus, the temperature had cooled. The result was a heavy mist rising off the grounds, giving the empty course a fairy-tale setting. B. still wore her work clothes, so removed her heels to putt. She soaked the hem of her cream-colored pants with dew.
Halfway through hole 14, I wondered why I joined them. Once again, I am over-my-head in athletic competition. Three of the six women played 18 holes in the first part of our Club Championship that morning. #5 didn't play, but could have bested them all. #6 worked out-of-town that day. She'd returned 15 minutes prior to my dragging her away from her husband.
This scramble was a lot of teasing and betting - female-style.
A. complained her father wouldn't give her an iPhone. She also said she wanted to see a hole-in-one on #17 - a Par-3. Club tradition holds that a hole-in-one person opens the bar for everybody present - free cocktails for all! I told her, "If I make a hole-in-one, (my spouse) would give (her) an iPhone, but the bar is closed." (Please note I am the worst player present. These women score less in 18 holes than I do in 9.)
My drive landed about one foot (12 inches) in front of the pin. It was the closest drive from all six women present.
After that the sun sank fast. We left balls in the grass if they were hit out of the fairway. We surreptitiously dropped balls, then hit others if people were talking too much. (ha ha) Expletives peppered the damp air. We congratulated one another on our fluency.
It was a great time with nature, the weather and, especially, a golf course to ourselves.
Reality hit when B. had the foresight to remember the kitchen closed at 9:00 pm. She called ahead. The staff graciously offered to wait for us to arrive to place our dinner order.
But for a few hours, we forgot who we were. We were no longer mothers, or employers, or employees, or students.
We were simply females with clubs and nature, stretching back time to our forebears.
For those few hours: we were the game.
Monday, July 7, 2008
Wild Horses...keep draggin me away
We just returned home last night from the Sutherland (NE) Rodeo - celebrating its 71st year - as part of a mini-family reunion. Though I grew up in Omaha, Nebraska, I didn't set foot on a farm, err, ranch until I was 22-years-old. I thoroughly enjoyed myself as usual. The kids had fun. My youngest said, "Look Mom! Cowboys!" One of my forgettable comments upon seeing a bull refuse to corrall after bucking off his rider: "Oh, look! That bull doesn't want to kennel."
The rodeo ends with the Wild Horse race. Teams of three men (women are too smart to waste time with this one) capture a wild horse out of the shoot, throw a halter on it, put on a saddle, ride it around two barrels, take off the saddle and halter and finally race to the finish line. It sounds easy, but it's not. Of course, the horses are scared - heck, they're wild. Also one of the tricks to getting the horse to stand still while the saddle gear is thrown on him, is to have one team member hold the halter and bite the horses's ear.
17 years ago, many of the guys we knew who did it were drunk. I'm not so certain any more as competition was good and quite fierce this year. Three teams competed the first night, which was disappointing. Usually all shoots are full. We had a tie the second night.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Flooding Thoughts
Our levees have broken. The river is seeping into the freshly-planted fields. One of my dear friends commented this morning, "You'd think it would gush and come in with a huge flood. Instead, it just quietly seeps. A few hours later and parts of the field have little lakes." She also later said, "You just sit there and watch your year's income soak away." Her husband is a commissioner with the Lima Lake Drainage District. That levee failed at 1 am today. He came home at 3:30 am and left again at 6:30 am within the past 18 hours. These pictures were taken with my camera phone atop a bluff in Riverview Park about 7 am today. We heard on WGEM-AM radio that the Indian Graves Drainage District levee failed at 6 am. It's thought that the levee break is a quarter-mile wide. National media has shown videos of that break throughout the day.
When we returned from vacation last Saturday, we were shocked by how high the river was. The national media wasn't doing anything with coverage. We had no clue how bad it was. Apparently sand-bagging started in earnest Friday, June 13. Officials closed our oldest Mississippi River bridge at midnight on Saturday, June 14. The approach is rather low. Our other bridge was built from Illinois levee to Missouri levee. However, if the Missouri levee breaks, then the bridge is of no use for that road is not above flood stage. Ironic, huh? But we would not be completely cut off from the world - after all, this is western Illinois. There's a road network to the north, east and south.
My 6-year-old was concerned the flood was going to "hurt us" and "carry us away." I had a difficult time calming him. I reminded him again and again that our town sits high on the bluffs; that the river is only spilling over little breaks into the low ground beside it. I need to find out how high the bluffs are. He was also concerned that the crest will be 32.2 feet (ties the 1993 flood record). He's only 54 inches.
There are different reports about when the "crest" will arrive. The crest is the highest point the water level will be (in simple terms). You can follow the crest as it passes through official water level markers along the Mississippi River. On Monday it was reported we'd get a crest of 31.9 feet on Friday, June 20. Tuesday, the crest forecast was 32 feet on Thursday, June 19. Today the prediction is 32.2 feet on Thursday, June 19. The height would tie the 1993 record set. Ironically, with a levee break, pressure is taken off other levees. It also drops the river's water level. Overnight our town's river level dropped from 30.8 feet to 30.4 feet.
During the 1993 Flood, I threw sandbags on the Sny Levee in southern Adams county. It was hot, sweaty, buggy work - nasty flies and gnats. This time the weather is cooler, but, I have young children. Though I know I'm doing the right thing keeping them occupied, I still have guilty-pangs about doing more. The older child might actually enjoy helping, but the 3-year-old is a handful. He'd only get in the way. One of my friends took her 3-year-old, 5-year-old and 7-year-old to fill sandbags. She said the 3-year-old was running all over the place; playing King of the Mountain on the big sand dunes from which they get the sand to shovel in the bags. I was told this morning they've asked people with little children to please stay away from the bagging sites. My husband and his friends went down and sandbagged for a few hours after work today until the site closed.
It wasn't until Cedar Rapids, Iowa, flooded that it seemed the national media diverted its attention to the Mississippi River. Now our town is crawling with helicopters, small planes, plus lots of rental cars from St. Louis, Missouri, etc.
The funny thing is the comments we're getting from friends not in the area: "Wow the National Guard is in your town. Does this mean you're in trouble?" "How close is it?" Luckily most of them remember what we told them 15 years ago (about the town is high on the bluff). This time, however, officials are really concerned about the city's water treatment plant, which is at the river's edge. It remained unscathed during the last flood. They are praying it stays for this one, too. A large sandbag pile has been built to protect it. Officials are cautioning people to stock a little water, just in case.
Furthermore, law enforcement officials are now guarding the levees for unintentional or potential sabotage. I can't believe some idiots are actually toiling around walking around on top of the levees "sight-seeing." Come on people! Don't add more stress to the poor earthen mounds topped with white plastic sandbags.
When we returned from vacation last Saturday, we were shocked by how high the river was. The national media wasn't doing anything with coverage. We had no clue how bad it was. Apparently sand-bagging started in earnest Friday, June 13. Officials closed our oldest Mississippi River bridge at midnight on Saturday, June 14. The approach is rather low. Our other bridge was built from Illinois levee to Missouri levee. However, if the Missouri levee breaks, then the bridge is of no use for that road is not above flood stage. Ironic, huh? But we would not be completely cut off from the world - after all, this is western Illinois. There's a road network to the north, east and south.
My 6-year-old was concerned the flood was going to "hurt us" and "carry us away." I had a difficult time calming him. I reminded him again and again that our town sits high on the bluffs; that the river is only spilling over little breaks into the low ground beside it. I need to find out how high the bluffs are. He was also concerned that the crest will be 32.2 feet (ties the 1993 flood record). He's only 54 inches.
There are different reports about when the "crest" will arrive. The crest is the highest point the water level will be (in simple terms). You can follow the crest as it passes through official water level markers along the Mississippi River. On Monday it was reported we'd get a crest of 31.9 feet on Friday, June 20. Tuesday, the crest forecast was 32 feet on Thursday, June 19. Today the prediction is 32.2 feet on Thursday, June 19. The height would tie the 1993 record set. Ironically, with a levee break, pressure is taken off other levees. It also drops the river's water level. Overnight our town's river level dropped from 30.8 feet to 30.4 feet.
During the 1993 Flood, I threw sandbags on the Sny Levee in southern Adams county. It was hot, sweaty, buggy work - nasty flies and gnats. This time the weather is cooler, but, I have young children. Though I know I'm doing the right thing keeping them occupied, I still have guilty-pangs about doing more. The older child might actually enjoy helping, but the 3-year-old is a handful. He'd only get in the way. One of my friends took her 3-year-old, 5-year-old and 7-year-old to fill sandbags. She said the 3-year-old was running all over the place; playing King of the Mountain on the big sand dunes from which they get the sand to shovel in the bags. I was told this morning they've asked people with little children to please stay away from the bagging sites. My husband and his friends went down and sandbagged for a few hours after work today until the site closed.
It wasn't until Cedar Rapids, Iowa, flooded that it seemed the national media diverted its attention to the Mississippi River. Now our town is crawling with helicopters, small planes, plus lots of rental cars from St. Louis, Missouri, etc.
The funny thing is the comments we're getting from friends not in the area: "Wow the National Guard is in your town. Does this mean you're in trouble?" "How close is it?" Luckily most of them remember what we told them 15 years ago (about the town is high on the bluff). This time, however, officials are really concerned about the city's water treatment plant, which is at the river's edge. It remained unscathed during the last flood. They are praying it stays for this one, too. A large sandbag pile has been built to protect it. Officials are cautioning people to stock a little water, just in case.
Furthermore, law enforcement officials are now guarding the levees for unintentional or potential sabotage. I can't believe some idiots are actually toiling around walking around on top of the levees "sight-seeing." Come on people! Don't add more stress to the poor earthen mounds topped with white plastic sandbags.
There's many good volunteers helping in addition to sandbagging. The Salvation Army is feeding and providing water for the volunteers. The Quincy Humane Society has opened extra branches to shelter people's pets (and I think some livestock) when people are evacuated from their homes.
And then there's the icky, smelly, mucky clean-up...but that's for another time.
**I apologize for any inaccuracies. If you find some, please tell me.
And then there's the icky, smelly, mucky clean-up...but that's for another time.
**I apologize for any inaccuracies. If you find some, please tell me.
Friday, June 13, 2008
Disneyland in June
Went to Disneyland yesterday. Of the five other times I've been there, this was the most crowded: many school field trips and grandparents with grandchildren. Naturally the little one didn't want to ride in the rented stroller we obtained to help his stamina for the day. The older one rode in it to show him a stroller is cool. He didn't buy it. He wouldn't meet any of the characters after the Main Street Parade. Instead he stood to the side with his arms folded over his chest, pouting. The older one was slapping high five's with the characters.
After riding the Matterhorn, the oldest told me, "That's not much of a roller coaster, Mom." I thought the younger one would pass out after riding the swirling tea-cups. We lunched at Pizza Port, just missing Buzz Lightyear. Captain Nemo's submarine adventure has been updated to include scenes from the movie "Finding Nemo." The kids enjoyed driving at Autotopia. The younger one, however, informed me that the "NASCAR track at Legoland is better."
We spent a lot of time in Toon-town. The boys patiently waited in line to meet Mickey Mouse. I was amazed some of the parents' rudeness. Disney allows line-cutting for handicapped people. I think that is a wonderful practice. Since Mickey Mouse's house is handicapped accessible, line-cutting is not allowed here. At least two families left angrily saying, "This is not worth our time." Would it really hurt them to stay in line for a little bit. Please note there were other wheel-chair bound people in line who thought it worth the wait.
We wandered around the park on our way to our favorite ride, Pirates of the Caribbean. It, too, has changed a little - adding more movie characters and voices.
We were trying to decide what to do next when we arrived at the Indiana Jones ride. Since the younger one was too short to ride, the operator gave us a switch pass, even though there wasn't a long line (ahh, Disney, master of line trickery - Dad and older son waited 20 minutes - but it could have been 60 minutes without the pass).
While we waited, the Indiana Jones actor finished his outside exhibit. As he was running toward his stage for his next show, I told the youngest, "Ian, turn around and look." The actor stopped and patted Ian's head, saying, "Hi Ian. Are you having fun?"
Talk about missed camera shots! They were too close to my lens for a proper photo! However, it totally changed Ian's demeanor. Like a chameleon, he went from moody, pouty, tired toddler to star-struck fan. "Mom, Indiana patted my head!" he said dreamily. The rest of the day was heavenly thanks to that pat from Ian's new hero.
After we arrived home, when people asked Ian who he saw at Disneyland, he would say, "I saw Indiana Jones...oh and Mickey, too."
After riding the Matterhorn, the oldest told me, "That's not much of a roller coaster, Mom." I thought the younger one would pass out after riding the swirling tea-cups. We lunched at Pizza Port, just missing Buzz Lightyear. Captain Nemo's submarine adventure has been updated to include scenes from the movie "Finding Nemo." The kids enjoyed driving at Autotopia. The younger one, however, informed me that the "NASCAR track at Legoland is better."
We spent a lot of time in Toon-town. The boys patiently waited in line to meet Mickey Mouse. I was amazed some of the parents' rudeness. Disney allows line-cutting for handicapped people. I think that is a wonderful practice. Since Mickey Mouse's house is handicapped accessible, line-cutting is not allowed here. At least two families left angrily saying, "This is not worth our time." Would it really hurt them to stay in line for a little bit. Please note there were other wheel-chair bound people in line who thought it worth the wait.
We wandered around the park on our way to our favorite ride, Pirates of the Caribbean. It, too, has changed a little - adding more movie characters and voices.
We were trying to decide what to do next when we arrived at the Indiana Jones ride. Since the younger one was too short to ride, the operator gave us a switch pass, even though there wasn't a long line (ahh, Disney, master of line trickery - Dad and older son waited 20 minutes - but it could have been 60 minutes without the pass).
While we waited, the Indiana Jones actor finished his outside exhibit. As he was running toward his stage for his next show, I told the youngest, "Ian, turn around and look." The actor stopped and patted Ian's head, saying, "Hi Ian. Are you having fun?"
Talk about missed camera shots! They were too close to my lens for a proper photo! However, it totally changed Ian's demeanor. Like a chameleon, he went from moody, pouty, tired toddler to star-struck fan. "Mom, Indiana patted my head!" he said dreamily. The rest of the day was heavenly thanks to that pat from Ian's new hero.
After we arrived home, when people asked Ian who he saw at Disneyland, he would say, "I saw Indiana Jones...oh and Mickey, too."
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Weather IQ
Last night we had some horrible storms - lightning, hail, wind. I dreamt I heard the tornado sirens about 2 am. I slightly opened my eyes, listened sharply; then decided it was just high winds whirling around the house. I turned over my pillow and went back to sleep. Today I found out it was, indeed, the tornado sirens. The sirens alert people that a tornado has been spotted and to take shelter in the lowest part of the basement immediately.
I've been away from Tornado Alley for far too long.
I've been away from Tornado Alley for far too long.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
