Requiem for a Friend

Five years ago I returned from the dark side, leaving the PC fold to re-enter the Macintosh flock. My first Mac upon return was a 700mhz iBook g3. It was a fine computer, though a little slow. (I bought at the low-end of the spectrum — not the best idea under normal circumstances, and even a little less advisable with Macs.)

My little iBook was a good and faithful servant. It did develop a problem with its screen just outside the warranty, but I could work around that. For years, this site was maintained on the iBook.

With time, however, I got other Macs. My iBook took a backseat. I dragged it out under those rare circumstances in which I needed a backup laptop. But mostly it gathered dust.

Talking with Tiffany recently, she mentioned that her old PC laptop was on its last legs. “I’m thinking about getting a Mac,” she told me.

“I have a Mac!” I told her. “You can have it.” I was glad to have a new home for my little friend, the iBook.

On Friday night, I went over to Tiff’s and installed a spare wireless router I’d been saving. We got the iBook set up and ready to go. Things were good.

Today, though, Tiffany went to download the latest software updates and the computer froze. Macs don’t freeze. (Well, they do, but rarely, and not like this.) She turned the computer off and attempted to restart it with the power button. No luck. She called me and in a small voice said, “I broke your computer.”

Having worked with computers for over a decade, I found it unlikely that she’d broken anything. “Bring it over,” I said, and so she did.

I spent half an hour taking the thing apart, testing various pieces. No luck. My little iBook is well and truly dead. Poor little iBook. It was a good friend. Now, however, it’s destined for the computer graveyard…

Queen of the Night

Kris and I have owned cats for fifteen years now. (Or maybe I should say that cats have owned us.) For fifteen years, we’ve struggled to get a good night’s sleep.

Tintin wasn’t so bad. He wasn’t much of a bed sleeper. But when he did sleep on the bed, he was a nuisance. He had “pokey paws”. When he stood on you, it was as if he were channeling all of his mass into four very sharp points.

When Toto came along, she was an immediate nuisance. We slept on a futon at the time, and that little black kitten would crawl on us at night, cuddling up under our chins to suckle on the fringe of one of our blankets. When I couldn’t take her sucking, purring, and kneading anymore, I’d hurl her to the foot of the bed. But she’d march right back up to suck on the fringe some more.

As she grew older, the fringe sucking stopped. But she developed other bad habits. She began to paw paw paw Kris’ hair in the middle of the night. While this sounds cute, it has always kept Kris awake. And Kris, in her infinite wisdom, sees fit to then wake me to tell me that she can’t sleep. Ugh.

Toto has always loved the bed, but this has become even more pronounced since we moved to the new house. She sleeps there all day. She sleeps there all night. It’s her throne. She’s the Queen of the Night.

Lately, our three boys have become bed monsters, too.

Simon isn’t so bad. He sleeps at Kris’ feet and is relatively still. He’s just a dead weight.

Nemo, however, is a nuisance. He has some of the same pokey paws that Tintin used to have, but more of a problem is that he picks some inconvenient spot at about waist level and plants himself there. He’s immovable. Immovable, that is, until Toto realizes he’s there and begins hissing and growling at him. Then he skitters away with a squeak.

Max, on the other hand, sleeps at my feet. Or with my feet. Or something. Basically, he waits for me to move my toes, and then he chomps. It’s not too painful — just annoying.

The real problem, though, is that when all four cats are on the bed at once, there isn’t any room for the humans. This makes the humans cranky!

In fact, Kris has been so cranky about the cats lately that she’s banned them from the bedroom. Oh, Toto can still have the bed during the day (Queen of the Light!), but when bedtime comes, she’s moved to the futon in the TV room. She wasn’t happy at first (nor were her brothers), but she’s learned to accept this, I think. I’m glad. Now, for the first time in fifteen years, we’re starting to get sound nights of sleep.

State of the Blogs

For some reason it gives me a bigger thrill to know that I have 34 e-mail subscribers at Animal Intelligence than to know that I have 3400 e-mail subscribers at Get Rich Slowly. Why is that?

I think part of it is that I put very little effort into Animal Intelligence. It’s a topic about which I am very passionate (and let me tell you: I heartily appreciate all the links you folks send me, especially Dave and Nicole), but that blog has become marginalized since GRS took off. (All my blogs have, really.)

Yet despite the fact that I neglect AI, the readership has slowly grown. It’s tiny — about 100 RSS readers (including the 34 e-mail subscribers I mentioned earlier) — and maybe 4,000 visitors a month, but that’s fine. The site isn’t meant to have a huge audience. You should have seen me beam at earning $17.73 from AI last month. That meant more to me than the fact that GRS can now support me for a living.

Anyhow, as the day approaches that I’m going to officially cut back at Custom Box (instead of my current unofficial cutback), I’ll begin focusing more on my ancillary sites, including this one. I know it seems like I abandon foldedspace from time-to-time, but I never do in my mind. I love this place, and I love the fact that you guys have stuck with me for so long. I hope to reward your patience in the future. I just need to figure out how to make the transition to full-time professional blogger, you know?

As I was saying: I’m starting to pay more attention to my non-GRS sites. Animal Intelligence is going to get a quick face lift today. I’ve installed Visual Basic on my Mac and will work to write a script that can parse the old foldedspace files and convert them into something that WordPress can import. (I’m referring to the really old foldedspace files, the ones from before the crash.) Kris has also convinced me to attempt to convert my old foldedspace template — the one you all know and love — into a WordPress theme. This will take a little work, and I’m not going to return to a “one post on the front page” format, but I think it can be done.

Anyhow — stay tuned. With any luck, you’ll start to see more interesting stuff around here again. And lots more of my cats.

The Snowflake Method

The snowflake method for writing a novel seems needlessly complex. In general, I think elaborate mind-mapping systems for writing are counter-productive. When I write a story, I have a clear picture of who my characters are — I don’t need to write pages of notes about what they eat for breakfast. At the same time, however, the method fascinates me. While I think a novel might break it, perhaps I could use it for a short story.

Cats Like Birds

I was pleased this afternoon to come home and remember that I was supposed to do prep work for dinner. I took out the chicken breasts, cleaned them, and cut them into chunks. Kris had asked me to put the chicken pieces into a bowl, and so I did.

I was nearly finished with my task when I was distracted by the zhoop of a chat window opening in the other room. It was my “imaginary colleague” Leo from Zen Habits. We chatted for a few minutes, discussing possible guest posts.

When we’d finished, I came back to the kitchen to finish my work. What did I find? My three hairy sons on the counter, clustered around the bowl of chicken. “A feast!” they sang. “Dad left us a feast!” They saw me come in. “Thanks, Dad! We always did like you better than Mom.”

Their praise was short-lived. I clapped my hands and shouted, sending the two younger boys in various directions. Simon, however, took this as an invitation to choose the choicest piece.

When I tried to take his prize from him (after snapping this photo, of course), Simon growled his low, nasty growl. “I hate you, Dad,” he said. “I always did like Mom better.”

I guess our chicken dinner will have tooth marks. We’ll give those pieces to Tiffany.

Meanwhile, as I’ve sat here in the kitchen typing this story, all three boys have returned to the counter, eagerly searching for the delicious treasure that was there only moments before. (They glare at me from time-to-time — they know I’m responsible for spoiling their fun.)

Anyone want to come over for dinner tonight?

A Chip Off the Old Block

Several weeks ago, I drove to Brownsville to purchase a chipper from my cousin Mart. It was a long drive. I left early from work, taking the van through the scenic Willamette Valley highways. I was intentionally trying to avoid the freeway.

After nearly two hours of driving, I reached Mart’s house. I chatted with him and Elizabeth for a bit, and then we loaded the chipper into the van. I wanted to set it on its side, but when I did, it leaked gasoline. We managed to tied it to one of the van’s inside walls.

At this point I might have returned to the freeway. Instead, I decided to take the same scenic highways home. Things went well at first, but then I reached Lebanon and got lost. I went around and around in circles for twenty minutes (seriously), before saying “to hell with it” and striking north on the first road I could find. Much to my dismay, this road wound through country, eventually leading southwest, almost to the point where I had started. Meanwhile the stench from the leaked gasoline was making me woozy. I was not happy.

I tried a couple of other routes across the valley, navigating by dead reckoning, but after an hour and only a few miles of northward progress, I gave up. I found the freeway and zoomed home.

When I went to start the chipper a few weeks later, I was concerned. The pull cord was jammed. It didn’t take long, however, to discover that a single thickish twig was lodged between the blades. Simple to fix, yes? No. Chippers are dangerous. Because of this, they’re designed so that it’s almost impossible for a person to reach the blades. Even when I laid the chipper on the ground (letting it leak gasoline), I couldn’t reach the jam. Eventually I had to find a long stick, which I used to whack on the twig in question until it came loose.

In the 3-1/2 years since we moved to Rosings Park, we’ve become accustomed to dealing with yard debris. We ship most of it off in the yard waste container, but the big stuff just won’t fit. To make matters worse, we’d really need two or three containers to transport the waste we generate. As a result, we’ve accumulated a huge pile of branches and twigs (and, in some cases, entire trees) underneath the redwood.

Two weekends ago, Kris and I began our quest to eliminate this pile.

For three hours, Kris cut branches into smaller pieces. She made stacks next to the chipper, and I fed the wood into the hoppers. The chipper did it’s thing, grinding things to mulch, and spitting it into a bag. We produced about six wheelbarrows full of mulch, which we spread around the base of our blueberries. Eventually, however, the dust and fumes became too much — I developed a splitting headache and began to sneeze uncontrollably. I called it a day.

This weekend, we decided to try to finish the job. Though it was cold, the sun was shining and the birds were singing. It was nice weather for yardwork. Again, Kris made stacks for me, and I fed the wood into the chipper. We managed to work our way through most of the pile, until all that was left was nasty little twiggy twisty branches that don’t fit well into the chipper. I’m not sure how we’re going to get rid of these. I’d like to burn them, but Kris is convinced that we can’t. I’m not so sure. (Anyone know what the law is for unincorporated Clackamas County?)

Next we decided to tackle the oak leaves. The chipper makes short work of leaves. The problem comes, however, when you also feed acorns and twigs in with the leaves. The leaf hopper isn’t designed to take twigs, and even small pieces can cause big problems. We were nearly finished when the chipper jammed to a halt.

Ugh.

Suddenly I was transported to that strange, unfamiliar world: the world in which I’m required to be Mr. Handyman. I spent an hour banging on the chipper, opening various access points, searching for a jam. Eventually I found it. Two twigs had independently become stuck between blades. I had to use a screwdriver and rubber mallet to free things, but eventually I did get the machine working.

I’d had enough, though.

It’s nice to have a chipper — it makes short work of a lousy chore — but the beast has been a burden. I put it away for the winter. Maybe we’ll finish chipping next spring.

New Themes

Here’s the thing — as much as I love the theme I’ve been using at foldedspace, it gets in the way of things. It’s not appropriate for this site. I did pay $59 for it, so it’s going to get used somewhere. Just not here. Instead, I’m going to spend the next couple weeks playing with other WordPress themes until I find one I like.

Sure, it’d be nice to do something custom, but I don’t have the time or the inclination. Instead, I’ll just find an out-of-the box template I like.

Weekend Getaway

When Mac and Pam called to invite us to spend the weekend at a family beach house, we jumped at the chance. It’s been a long time since we’ve been able to get away and relax. It’s been an even longer time since we did so with the Proffitt-Smiths.

Kris and I had intended to leave early on Friday afternoon, but various delays — including a disastrous “short cut” through Tigard/Sherwood/McMinnville — found us just three minutes ahead of Mac and Pam on the highway to Lincoln City. Our hosts humored me by agreeing to meet for dinner at Mo’s, an Oregon landmark.

Mo’s is where I first learned to eat clam chowder. It was the summer after my senior year in high school, and somebody — perhaps Stan Oyer, though I cannot recall exactly — convinced me to give the stuff a try. I liked it. It tasted like Dad’s potato soup. I have many fond memories of the place. I haven’t been to Mo’s for many, many years, however, and I must confess the place is disappointing. The chowder is average at best. I did enjoy my chicken-fried steak, but that’s mainly because the breading was crispy and delicious. (Sometimes I just get in a chicken-fried steak mood, you know?)

After dinner we stopped for ice cream before heading the beach house belonging to Mac’s aunt. After the Liam and Megan went to bed, the four adults spent some time chatting. Very nice.

On Saturday, we spent a lot of time on the beach. I made use of my little camera’s video capabilities:

I spent some time wading in the cold, cold ocean waters. My toes and legs were numb! In the afternoon, we watched the Oregon Ducks defeat the USC Trojans 24-17, and then spent some more time on the beach.

I would have liked to stay one more night, but Kris and I decided we needed to get things done on Sunday, so we drove home. Instead of heading home through Salem, I decided to head north. But in Tillamook, I had a moment of doubt: drive to Forest Grove on Highway 6 or head north to Highway 26? I made a Bad Choice, heading north. After an extra hour of driving, we finally cut over to 26 on Highway 53, a nasty, twisty little road. We arrived home an hour later than we should have.

We did some yard work on Sunday, though my efforts were cut short when I managed to mow over the metal edging around Kris’ rose garden. The mower blade cut into the edging and then bent as it tried to continue spinning. Ugh.

In the evening, we joined the MNF group at Jeremy and Jennifer’s for pumpkin carving. Kris and I were both out of sorts, though; we were both beginning to come down with colds. We woke this morning feeling crummier, so we both stayed home from work. Kris has slept most of the day. I’ve spent a lot of my day in the bathtub (surprise!) reading Gone With the Wind.

In all, it was a relaxing weekend. Just what I needed!

Autumn at Rosings Park

The past two Sundays have been lovely here in Oak Grove: cool and grey and damp. Last week Kris called me downstairs to look at the dew-covered spider webs, like tiny crystal structures hanging from the house, from the roses, from the camellias. I grabbed my camera to make a quick video tour of the place.

The unexpurgated edition of this video features 20 seconds of Kris playing Dance Dance Revolution, but she has exercised spousal privilege and prohibited me from posting it. If you’d like to see the full thing, let me know in person.

The rain has been falling thick and heavy lately. We’ve had nearly 1-1/2 inches of rain in the past three days. I know that’s not a huge total, but it’s seemed to come in downpours rather than our constant Oregon drizzle. (Of course, we’ve had a month of that constant Oregon drizzle, so maybe a change of pace is welcome.)