Summer is almost over. School doors are yawning wide, drawing children back in out of the sun and fun of what seems to be an ever diminishing Summer break. Willow starts school on Monday with a somewhat heavy heart because she didn't get her first choice of teachers, although her disappointment stems more from the fact that not all of her friends are in her class.

I've got a slight cold, which is unusual for me. I spent my early childhood eating dirt (and apparently anything else that wasn't nailed down) to build up my immune system, so as an adult, I rarely get sick. This just means that it's doubly irritating when I do.

There is one final week of summer camp, but I've decided not to work it. I made the decision early in the season, figuring that it would be nice to have an extra week free so I could engage in more spontaneous activities. Since we ended up taking a mini-vacation the week before last, I'll probably use the week to get things done. They may be fun things, or they may be necessary things, but whatever they may be, next week they'll get done. That's the plan, anyway.

The last week of summer camp flew by like they all have. The unusually cool summer has caused a notable shift in what kind of wildlife we've seen, as well as when we've seen it. This week was more typical, with the only snakes in evidence being Rattlesnakes. I had one of those Crocodile Hunter moments this week - I was standing in the midst of a pile of rocks when something started rattling very close to me. I stood still for a moment, and finally spotted the snake under a rock about 2 feet in front of me. It had just shed, and was sitting next to its old skin. Not one to leave nearby stones unturned, I decided to check the rock between me and the snake, and sure enough, there was another Rattlesnake under that one too. It had also just shed, so I waited for it to crawl away (I knew it would do so quickly, because I'd seen this particular snake enough times to know its personality) and then grabbed the old skin. Back at camp, we used the skin, some strips of paper, and a laminating machine to make some pretty cool bookmarks.

Night fell, and the corner of the building sneezed out bats into the woods. I hadn't noticed they'd been roosting in the attic. Every so often, I'd look up and see a few more shoot out over our heads. It makes me want to go up into the crawlspace.

The last night hike of the season went well, with only 25 kids in my group (Summer night hikes can have as many as 40 kids, but rarely do). We spotted a couple of big bucks early on, and quietly crept up the trail towards them. Every time the nearer one raised his head, we'd freeze. The head would go down, and we'd creep closer. We got within about 15 feet before they relocated to a more inaccessible area. Later, a Great Horned Owl flew over our heads, alighting somewhere up in a big Douglas Fir tree.

We could hear the music from the nearby Mountain Winery venue, which is located in the foothills to the north. As we silently sat in the chaparral, I pointed out the cricket song surrounding us, and then the human song (and sounds of cheering) from the concert. We discussed noise pollution and light pollution. We gazed at stars, contemplating time and distance. Then, we made our way back to camp, where marshmallows and a small fire awaited. Soon, full of marshmallows, the kids were in their sleeping bags.

It wasn't until the next morning that I found out that the music (a band called Swell Season was performing) we'd heard was destined to be a prelude to a tragedy. The night before, one coworker had noted that the concert seemed to end suddenly, and another had heard sirens. I hadn't noticed. Too busy listening to owls, maybe.

A man had climbed up onto the backdrop behind the stage, and jumped off it, hitting a monitor just feet from the band's singer. He died at the scene. Needless to say, it was a shocking end to the concert. It struck me that this kind of suicide (and suicide it most definitely was) was an act of selfishness and rage, because this man made a decision to kill himself in front of a large number of people, thus altering many of their lives forever, especially those of the children present. Killing oneself can be done in any number of ways or places away from the presence of a large audience. My thoughts on this were confirmed when just a little while ago, I read that the man was out on bail for domestic violence, false imprisonment, and assault with a firearm. I'm in no way trying to diminish whatever the man was going through, and I can't say I in any way understand it because I haven't walked a mile in his moccasins, but I just hated to hear that he chose such a public venue for his final act. I wonder if he thought he'd get his (posthumous)moment in the spotlight this way. In our media saturated society, it's almost odd that there aren't more public suicides. Let's hope there aren't copycats.

Here's a link to an article about the tragedy.

We're back from a quick roadtrip down to Anaheim, where Willow and I, along with Jeanine and her daughter Eva, spent a total of 27 hours inside the boundaries of Disneyland and the new(er) California Adventure park next door. Willow turns into a pumpkin at around 11:00 PM, I've discovered, but can be perked up by additional roller coaster riding, fireworks, or light shows of other kinds. We had a fine time hurtling around the parks, and I got to relive my childhood to a certain extent. There is just no beating the nostalgic smell of rides like Pirates of the Caribbean, and even the updating of said ride (to tie in with the movie franchise) proved to be subtle enough to leave its nostalgic power intact. Willow's only real dislikes were the Indiana Jones ride (too "freaky") and Splash Mountain. The latter might have been a better experience for her if we'd done it earlier in the day before she got tired out. As it was, the photo (taken as the boat plummets into the "briar patch" at the end) showed her with a look of abject terror on her face - a fact that somewhat embarrassed her as well. Of course, she loved Space Mountain, which is a high-speed roller coaster ride through a darkened building. Er, I mean space, of course. There is sometimes no telling what will disturb the young.

On the way back, we beach hopped and stopped at the Madonna Inn which, among other things, features a waterfall urinal in the men's bathroom. You can even buy a postcard of it, and I did, although at the moment I'm not sure where it is. Taking Highway 101 back north took longer than our trip down on I-5, but the scenery and beaches made it a worthwhile detour. The crescent moon seemed to be keeping pace with us off to the west, dragging its lower point along the black ridges of the coast range before slowly being swallowed by shadows. The sky turned orange before darkening to night, and by the time we got back into the Bay Area, it was nearly 11:00 and Willow was in dreamland.

We've even managed to make it to Santa Cruz and to the Winchester Mystery House this week, although the latter trip made Willow concerned about ghosts for some reason.

Speaking of ghosts, my mom's house is now virtually cleaned out. There is one small pile of belongings awaiting a final storage run, and for some reason, the broken microwave oven. The people my dad hired to take everything away were amazingly thorough, taking the washer and dryer, the refrigerator, and even some kitchen drawers and medicine cabinet shelves, but not the damn microwave. I wonder why they left that.

It is beyond strange to see the house empty, devoid of all the things that made it a home. There are still traces here and there, of course - the things I carved into walls, and the stickers on my old closet door, plus other tiny bits of personal detritus too small to amount to anything.

The rest is just dust and damage.

Looking back through my old posts, and then looking at the calendar, I have just noticed that I missed the 8 year anniversary of this blog. Time is a funny thing, and lately it just seems to be increasing in velocity. Summer is almost over, although this impression is bolstered by the fact that kids go back to school weeks earlier than I did as a child. Some kids start school this Monday. Willow starts in a couple of weeks. So much for having long, carefree summers.

We're going to try and pack in lots of fun over the next couple of weeks.

I just realized that we skipped dinner! Willow is laughing about it. Time to go eat now.

The waxing moon is framed both by my open sliding-glass door and by the dancing silhouettes of leafy tree branches. It is also partially obscured by encroaching overcast. It drew me outside for a few minutes, just so I could more fully experience this unusually cool and overcast July night. I'm back inside now, and I've paused in my reading to write for a few moments. Inspiration to write still hasn't been hitting me as often as I'd like, so I'm taking advantage of my current desire to type before it vanishes into the graveyard of unrealized intentions.

Summer camp has been in full swing for weeks, and the late Spring rains have made a big difference in the presence of local flora and fauna. The grasses and thistles are towering and thick, and I've found a greater variety of small animals than usual. The Summer temperatures have been relatively mild as well and, with the exception of a few hot days, one might think it was still Spring.

I've rented a storage space and I've been busy filling it with belongings that have been gathering webs and dust in my mom's garage. I've also been collecting and sorting my mom's stuff, deciding what to put in storage, what to give away, and what to simply dispose of. Her postage stamp collection is now gone, and several other items have been spoken for. Much remains. I got the bright idea to raffle off some of the stuff at our weekly Summer Camp raffle. So far, I've donated some ridiculously hard jigsaw puzzles and a framed self-portrait I drew in college. The self-portrait was raffled off, but returned because the parents of the camper thought it was "creepy", although I've heard that they now want it back. Strange. Perhaps our raffle needs some explanation: the raffle is a spectacle in which humorous crap, mostly of the flea market and garage sale variety, is bequeathed to young children. It is always highly entertaining and just the sort of place where things like self-portraits and impossible puzzles can be given away for a laugh. The puzzles are actually of good quality, and the humor in this case has to do with their extreme difficulty. For instance, one puzzle, entitled "Green Fog" has pieces which are all exactly the same shade of green. Another has the same image printed on both sides of the puzzle pieces, with one side being rotated 90 degrees. I like to think that my mom would have appreciated the humor of it all.

This week also brought with it the exciting discovery of a couple of creatures I hadn't seen around camp before. The first was a small, tan Praying Mantis in the meadow. It blended in perfectly with the dry grass, and I only saw it because it made the mistake of moving. The second was a Sharp-Tailed Snake, which I found curled up under a section of tree trunk near the front lawn. This was exciting to me because it's the last local snake species I had yet to encounter in the wild. Now I can cross it off my list. The snake itself was much less excited, and indicated its displeasure at being discovered by pooping on me.

It is nearly 10:30 PM, and still warm. Tomorrow ushers in the fourth week of summer camp (already???) and I have to get up early to make sure Willow is ready in time for us to go get the three older kids at their dad's house and drive up to camp in time for me to help out at the check-in table. The kids have a good time at camp, but I think they all wish they could sleep in.

Jeanine and I got nearly all of my mom's remaining books boxed up today, leaving only a few cookbooks and a series or two of natural science books for later boxing. Not to mention a few other odds and ends here and there, I'm sure. I continue to stumble across and set aside interesting relics of my childhood, and plan on finally renting a storage space later this week. I think that the act of removing all of the things I want from the house will make me feel like I'm closer to being done with the whole process. It's strange and sad seeing the empty shelves and bare sections of floor. A home is once more becoming a house.

Currently listening to: Susanne Roseberg, Christophe Deslignes, Jean-Lou Descamps, & Theirry Gomar "Out of Time and Country", and wondering why they didn't just think of a band name.

Summer is a time of coasting, at least for those of us whose jobs are tied in with the school year. I’ve been spending my time working at Summer camp, hiking dusty trails, splashing in the pond, baking under the Summer sun, amusing children, eating ice cream, and generally living the easy life. In fact, sometimes I think it’s too easy. I haven’t really been challenging myself this Summer, instead I’m choosing to fall back on tried and true activities from past years.

I haven’t really been taking the time to reflect much either. Visitors to this blog, if they haven’t jumped ship due to the lack of recent updates, will notice that I haven’t been posting as regularly. The same goes for my music blog. I just haven’t felt like writing and reflecting lately, and I haven’t been able to work out exactly why.

I’ve also not been putting much effort into looking for a teaching position, mostly because it is Summer, and it’s harder to think about that kind of thing during the time when school isn’t in session. In fact, the only area where I’m making progress is in my continuing efforts to clear out my mom’s house. Even so, I slacked off on doing that for a couple of months now, and it’s only because I now have a self-imposed deadline that work continues.

I’m going to try and get back on track with this blog now. The time feels right.

Currently listening to: Matt Elliott “Failed Songs”

Every time I travel, I bring a journal book along. For this trip, I only managed one entry, so most of this was written at home, meaning that some of the details may be fuzzier than they would otherwise be. Since this is both a personal and a music review, I’m cross posting it on both of my blogs.

06/01/10 Heathrow Airport
This, the morning of our departure for home, is the first time that all of the conditions needed for journal writing have been met. By this, I mean finding myself in a seated position while awake. I blame my inability to properly chronicle this trip on our decision to stay in a hostel. By the time we got back each night, at least some of the various people sharing our room were asleep, meaning that we couldn’t, in good conscience, turn on any lights. Not that this seemed to stop others, but then again the others in question were usually inebriated European teenagers.
We’re on the plane now, right smack in the middle of a Boeing 777 as overhead luggage compartments click shut around us and travelers jostle past each other to reach their assigned seats. I’m not sure how much sleep we got last night, but I know it wasn’t much because we stayed up late at Nidge’s place, talking, drinking tea, and listening to music. Nidge, much like David Tibet, is enthusiastic in his book recommendations, so I came away with some hastily scrawled authors’ names and book titles (note: I’ve since looked up some of the titles on ABEbooks, and am convinced that Nidge is trying to impoverish me). This morning, after a breakfast of tea and toast with lime marmalade, he drove us to Heathrow.
Of course, this trip began with a lack of sleep as well. Greg and I both got about 3 hours of sleep before waking to be shuttled to the relative ghost town of a 4:30 AM San Jose Airport. The flights were relatively uneventful (which is just how I like them), as was the first changeover in Denver. Next, we stopped in muggy Toronto, where the outside temperature was reported to be 85 degrees Fahrenheit. Out the windows, thunderclouds loomed, and soon a canned voice reported that there would be flight delays due to the weather. Luckily, our flight wasn’t for over 4 hours, so Greg called Toronto recordist William Davidson, who promptly hopped on public transit to rendezvous with us at the airport. In due time, we spotted him wandering around baggage claim. We sat and caught up for a bit, and before we had to go, he handed over a series of one-page comic books and some 3” cdrs. Pleased we were.

*End of actual journal writing – let the typing commence!*

The next leg of our journey was longer, and I made my way through most of Michael Slade’s Crucified, in which a great number of people meet their ends in the jaws of Catholic torture devices. At Heathrow, we waited in the great big line so we could get our passports stamped and enter the country. Then, it was onto the Piccadilly tube line into the city. Our hostel was slightly beyond spitting distance from the Bayswater tube station, and soon proved to be a haven for young travelers. As we entered, a young lad with a large Mohawk was exiting. The staff sort of looked like high schoolers, and the interior of the building brought to mind a college co-op. Our room had triple bunk beds, and the bathrooms were humorously tiny, so much so that one had to step over the toilet to close the door. We set our stuff down and emerged back into the muted London light.

The HMV Forum, where the concerts were to take place, wasn’t hard to get to, but nobody was around when we arrived. We meandered off, and got some coffee, if I remember right. We definitely wandered uselessly around Camden Town for awhile. The record store that I remember being there wasn’t in evidence, so eventually we ended up back at the Forum. After chatting with some folks at the back entrance, we got Colin Potter to emerge from the bowels of the space, only to find that the rest of Nurse With Wound was down in Camden Town so Steve could buy a vibrator to use on his guitar (ala Lips from Anvil?). We let Colin get back to the business of setting up. Coming back later, we went in and ran into Nidge Ince, Jose Pacheco, Joolie Wood, Simon Finn, Maja Elliott, David Tibet, and a few others. Hellos were said all around, to the tune of the soundchecking Nurse With Wound. Eventually Nidge wandered over with all access passes for everybody, and sometime later we all gravitated toward the lobby and the various merch tables set up there. Money changed hands. I met Darius, who had previously been only a name I saw online (Greg knew him from previous trips), and who was running the Nurse With Wound merch table. Time wore on. Eventually, the doors opened and people flooded in.
As the flood of people swamped the seats, Simon Finn, accompanied by Joolie Wood on violin and Maja Elliott on keyboards, started his set with a trio of songs from his 1970 release (40 years ago!) Pass The Distance. “Where’s Your Master Gone” segued into “Hiawatha”, and this was followed by “The Courtyard”. The addition of Maja on keyboards fleshed out the songs, making them sound more like the original recordings than they have on the other occasions I’ve seen Finn live. Of course, Joolie’s sublimely sad violin and beautiful backing vocals is always a treat as well. After “The Courtyard”, we were catapulted forward in time for “Rich Girl With No Trousers”, and then back again to the seventies for “What A Day”. Next, Finn played “En Passant”, which was to be the only song played from his newest CD, Mice Laugh And Rats Sing. The set was rounded out nicely by the sublime, fatalistic “Accidental Life” and what is perhaps his best known song, the rabid, frothing “Jerusalem”.

It has been around six years since I first saw Simon Finn on stage, and I remember my first impression is that he sounded a bit like Leonard Cohen. From my temporal vantage point in the year 2010, I’m not sure how I could have thought that. First impressions can sometimes be way off the mark, I guess. Time and repeated listens have convinced me that he simply sounds like Simon Finn. I find that I often really identify with his lyrics, especially when he touches on the subject of the alienating effects of societal reliance on technology.

Nurse With Wound was next, and started off in a relatively subdued manner. The line-up for the evening consisted of Steve Stapleton, Andrew Liles, Colin Potter, and Matt Waldron. Over the course of their set, they were joined on stage by Lynn Jackson, who sang some beautiful blues, and a trumpet player (named Rick, I believe), who trumpeted nicely. Steve spent the majority of the set bowing a guitar, and Matt was a little more restrained than usual, dispensing with his usual assortment of strange masks and visual props. Colin, behind his massive array of equipment, alchemically mixed and transformed sound in his usual wizardly fashion. From my vantage point at the back of the lower stalls, and due also to the relatively large size of the hall, the panning was especially effective, sending ghostly sounds swooping across the stage and into the ether. Andrew Liles occasionally got to rock out on guitar, especially toward the end where the atmosphere changed from drone to a chugging crescendo of noise. Then, like they did the last time I saw them in San Francisco, they ended their set with Steve taking the mic for a fun version of “Rock’N’Roll Station”.

In the lobby after their set, we ran into Joolie, Sam, and Sam’s girlfriend (whose name escapes me. Sorry). Sam, who I hadn’t seen since the last time I was in London (2002? 2003?) is now about 2 feet taller than I remember him. We pulled out cameras and commemorated the moment as people milled around us to buy more merch before Current 93 took the stage.

I hadn’t seen Current 93 in around 6 years, and things have changed a bit since then. The live line-up has morphed and massively expanded. Unfortunately, Joolie and Maja, (and Simon too, come to think of it) weren’t on stage. Baby Dee was handling keyboard duty, and William Breeze was playing viola (he’s good, but I still like Joolie and her violin better). The biggest change is that there are now drums, played by Alex Neilson. Oh, and a wall of guitars, played by James Blackshaw, Keith Wood, and Matthew Sweeney, with Andrew WK on bass. John Contreras and his cello were still present, and Andrew Liles was on hand to add his inimitable touch as well, punctuating the songs with altered sound. Perhaps the most interesting addition to the sound though was the oud playing of Elliott Bates, which really took over the newer songs.

The set was introduced in somewhat silly fashion by Sebastian Horsely, who was dressed like a dandified version of the Mad Hatter. Afterward, David appeared on stage with backup singer Sarah Dietrich, who soon proved to have a good voice but questionable dance moves. The first part of the set was given over to songs from Aleph at Hallucinatory Mountain and Black Ships Ate The Sky, as well as songs from the just released Baalstorm, Sing Omega. The oud was very noticable, standing out above the wall of guitars, and giving me the impression that the new album (which I hadn’t yet had a chance to listen to) was going to be a ferocious, oud driven affair (I’ve since listened to it, and discovered this not to be the case). I think this is the first time I’ve heard new songs live before I’ve had a chance to hear the studio recorded versions. Live, the newer songs definitely have more of a “rock” vibe to them, but in the usual skewed Current 93 way, which at times meant that the proceedings seemed more like some crazed tent revival meeting than a proper concert, with David as the preacher and Sarah Dietrich as the speaking-in-tongues woman crazily dancing in the aisle. The version of Black Ships Ate The Sky was interesting, being a much more jaunty affair, with a driving beat moving it along to the end.

Then, out of nowhere, Michael Cashmore (who has been notably absent from more recent Current 93 endeavors) appeared on stage, and the band dove into the back catalogue, starting with “Mary Waits In Silence”, and continuing with “In A Foreign Land…”, “In The Heart of the Wood and What I Found There”, “Whilst the Night Rejoices Profound and Still”, “Dormition and Dominion”, and finally, “Niemandswasser” (with coptic guru Stephen Emmel replacing Cashmore). It was wonderful to have Michael Cashmore up on stage, and it made me realize what the last couple of Current 93 CDs have been missing. It’s not that I don’t like the recent CDs – it’s just that Cashmore’s music and Tibet’s voice work so well together, and, in my opinion, the emotional power of the songs they created hasn’t yet been equaled by the current Current line-up (this despite the fact that there are a number of very accomplished musicians working with David. Also, it would have been nice to see a few more people up on stage – Joolie and Maja, for instance.

After the set was over, we ended up backstage, and got a chance to briefly chat with a few people, including Michael Cashmore, before realizing that we’d better head back to the hostel before tube service ended for a night. The first two legs of our journey were successful, but when we got to the station where we were to switch lines for the final leg, we discovered that the last train had departed 45 minutes previously. Luckily, all we had to do was emerge at ground level, cross the street, and catch a bus. Unfortunately, the bus wasn’t going all the way to where we needed to go. Fortunately, the bus driver told us he’d take us past his last stop and drop us within convenient walking distance of the hostel. At the last stop, he kicked the other (protesting) passengers out, turned off the interior lights, and drove us through the relatively silent London streets. We even got to see a fox cross the street in front of us, like a furry ghost in the night, looking like it was on a mission. We got dropped off at Notting Hill Gate, and walked back to the hostel, only realizing we’d missed our turn when we found ourselves at an unfamiliar tube station. In due time, with a small pause to photograph the moon, we found ourselves on familiar turf. Having forgotten to eat dinner, we fetched about looking for someplace to eat, but since it was nearly 2:00 AM we were stuck with a Subway sandwich shop (they really ARE everywhere, even in London). Due to some strange ordinance, they weren’t allowed to heat anything up after a certain time, so we sadly munched our cold sandwiches and made our way down the block to the hostel. Slipping silently into our room so as not to wake up the presumably sleeping occupants of the other bunks, we sweatily sank into our bunks and slept.

The next morning Greg woke up before me (like he did every morning we stayed there, I think) and woke me up to tell me that the time of free breakfast was ending. Once downstairs, we hurriedly ate soggy cereal, toast, and crappy instant coffee. Thus fortified, we started our second day in London. I called Andrew King and we arranged to meet up in nearby Notting Hill Gate. The day proved to be overcast and drizzly, which made us feel right at home. After getting there and doing some record shopping, we hung around the tube station, watching a tide of tube travelers ebb and flow through the turnstyles, until the frantic station employee got tired of shouting at people and decided the station was too crowded. Just as they were closing the station down and kicking people out, Andrew appeared with his girlfriend (I wish I wasn’t so bad at remembering names, because I’ve now forgotten her name as well). He took us to a nearby pub he liked, and we sat down and caught up a bit, with Greg and I opting for some very nice ginger beer, generously paid for by Andrew. I’d bought a CD from him online before the trip, so I collected that from him as well. The pub was quite nice, and also nearly empty. It filled up as we sat though, and by the time we left, there were quite a number of other people there.

After Andrew and his girlfriend had left to window shop at an antiquarian book faire, we ventured down the touristy marketplace chaos of Portabello Road, buying some old prints and detouring into Rough Trade to browse through records and CDs. Eventually, we ended up back on the tube and back in the general vicinity of the HMV Forum, once again having forgotten to eat dinner. We got in line to get in, but a Forum employee noticed our all access passes from the night before (still stuck to our jackets) and sent us around to the back entrance for new, different colored, passes. The benefit of this is that we could bring our bags and cameras in without a hassle. The benefit of actually having tickets in addition to the passes is that we had reserved seats in the lower stalls. The passes we ended up with identified us as members of the crew. Funny. I wish this kind of thing happened at all of the gigs I attend.

The show started early, with Rameses III kicking things of in subtle fashion. Other than a pre-trip Myspace listen, I hadn’t heard them before, and I quickly decided that I quite liked them. Their mixture of drones and delicate guitar work brought U.S. group Mountains to mind, and their set was a brief, yet blissful affair. I bought a pile of CDs from their merch booth.

Next up was Comus, who I was very excited about finally getting a chance to see. Like Amebix last year, Comus is a group that I thought I’d never get a chance to see performing. I had initially found out about them through David Tibet, first through Current 93’s cover of their song, “Diana”, and later when David played us songs from their classic release, First Utterance.

The reformed Comus features almost all of the original members, with the exception of the flautist/percussionist. They started out in fine form with “Song To Comus”, and followed that up with “Diana”, which, due to Current 93 having covered it, probably brought the most cheers from the audience. The first new song of the evening was “Out of the Coma”, which proved to be a fine return to form, with vocalist Bobbi Watson doing a stellar job of mimicking a ventilator. The frantic hand drums, soaring viola of Colin Pearson and crazed vocals of Roger Wootton were especially fun to experience. Next, they slowed things down a bit with “The Herald”, and then continued with two new songs; “The Sacrifice”, and “The Return”. They rounded out the set with the maniacal “Drip Drip”, and “The Prisoner”.

These New Puritans were next up, and like Rameses III, they were new to me. Unfortunately, unlike Rameses III, I found that they didn’t really appeal. There were interesting elements though. I like the fact that they had two bass clarinetists, and the pounding assault of two drummers, while nothing new, was quite solid. The vocals were virtually inaudible, and were, to my ears at least, rather pedestrian sounding.

Current 93 started the second night off with a truly blistering version of Comus’ Diana, with David snarling out the lines like a man possessed. This was followed by some new songs, including the crazed, carnivalesque organ driven “I Dance Narcoleptic” from Baalstorm, Sing Omega. The new songs came to an end with “Not Because The Fox Barks”, and then, once again, Michael Cashmore appeared on stage for a set of older songs, starting with “A Sadness Song”, and continuing with “A Gothic Love Song”. Following this, Bill Fay sauntered onto the stage, introduced himself and, accompanied by Michael Cashmore, gently sang his song, “My Eyes Open”. After the song ended, and the applause had ceased echoing though the venue, we were treated to “They Return to Their Earth” and “The Signs In The Stars”. For the encore, we got a massive, full band version of “Lucifer Over London”, which laid waste to the version I saw Current 93 end their show with the very first time I saw them perform back in 1996 in Nevers. The song ended with band members, one at a time, putting down their instruments and walking off, until only Sarah Dietrich was left, her acapella melody bringing the concert to a beautiful close.

The after party was in the venue, and once again it was one of those crowded affairs. We got a chance to say hi to Tony Wakeford and his wife, Rene, and spent some time chatting with John Contreras and a few others before saying our goodbyes. This time, Greg and I didn’t mess around with the tube trains. We walked out of the venue, immediately hailed a cab, and got back to the hostel in no time at all. Having had our fill of bad food, we persevered in our search for a restaurant and as a result our dinner was much better, thanks to a conveniently located Persian restaurant we’d missed seeing the night before.

The next morning, we found a cheap breakfast place and filled up on rather average fare. We wandered through London (and spotted some zombies in Trafalgar Square) before eventually meeting up with Matt, Colin, Joolie, Nidge, Jose, and a few others for lunch at a restaurant called The Stockpot. While eating, we were treated to a demonstration of a device called a Hopman Sound Transfer, which turned any surface it was placed on into a speaker, vastly amplifying sound. Kind of like having a portable P.A. system. Afterward, people went various directions, with one contingent rushing out to catch trains for homeward journeys, and Greg and I accompanying Matt and Colin down the street to window shop for effects boxes. We eventually ended up in a series of bookstores, including Foyles, which I note here because the next day Greg and I would find ourselves standing over chain founder William Foyle’s grave in Highgate Cemetery. Eventually, Colin and Matt left to catch a train, and Greg and I, after nearly going into shock at London movie prices ([Rec]2 will have to be seen another time) found ourselves down by the Thames, feeling somewhat touristy as we wandered near Big Ben, over London Bridge, and past the Millennium Wheel. After a dinner of very average Indian food, we crawled back into our bunks at the hostel.

The next day was mostly taken up with a journey up to Highgate Cemetery. I’d mis-remembered what tube station was nearest, but it worked out because we found a nice little bookstore, complete with a friendly proprietor with whom we discussed current events as we browsed, and who had helpful hints on how to best walk to Highgate. Our walk took us past Willow Road, and I added more photos to my collection of Willow signage (since it’s my daughter’s name). We then crossed Hampstead Heath, stopping to hobnob with some local wildlife activists. Once we made it to the cemetery, we paid to get in, and thanks to the fact that Greg was wearing one of their shirts, discovered that the woman selling tickets was a Sleepytime Gorilla Museum fan. Small world, especially when one considers that they’ve never played in England. Highgate Cemetery is divided into two halves, with the East side open to the general public, and the West side open only for tour groups. The cemetery just celebrated its 150th anniversary, and is so crowded that it is impossible to properly maintain all of the graves. Walking through the cemetery, especially on the west side, is like walking through a forest where a large proportion of the undergrowth is comprised of stone monuments to the dead. Ivy spills out of cracks and pours through the forest, covering smaller monuments entirely. Iron is pitted, rusted, and mummified in colorful lichen. The elements have weathered away sharp edges. The catacombs are full of rubble, and coffin nooks gape open, with the glass panes and velvet coffin coverings long gone. Outside the catacombs, the highest point in London has a mausoleum squatting on top of it, and its inhabitants have never been able to enjoy the view. The oldest grave sits anonymously in the midst of many others, so it was good we had a tour guide to point it out. On the East side, I took a photo of Greg standing next to Karl Marx’s monument, mostly because I have a picture of him holding hands with the large statue of Vladimir Lenin in Seattle. We’re just continuing the trend. Next up, Trotsky! Ha!

Afterward, we wandered down the hill and took the tube to Highbury/Islington, which happened to be right near the Union Chapel, where Matt, Greg, and I saw Current 93 way back in 1997, a gig which marked the first time we met Steve Stapleton - a meeting which eventually resulted in Matt becoming a member of Nurse With Wound.
We met Nidge and Joolie for dinner, and afterward, Joolie left and Nidge accompanied us back to retrieve our bags from the hostel. Bags retrieved, we tubed to Nidge’s place where we stayed up too late talking and drinking tea. Nidge, very much like David, is an enthusiastic book recommender, and Greg and I came away with lists of books to keep an eye out for (also some cdrs, an actual book or two, and some Rameses III CDs that Nidge had extra copies of. Yay!). Now, having looked for some of the books, I’ve found that only one of them can be purchased for under $100. Urgh.

In the morning, after we enjoyed a quick breakfast of tea and toast, Nidge drove us to the airport, where we mailed some postcards and I spent a few minutes writing in my journal. We spent the next 20 something hours traveling. On the local end, Jeanine picked us up at the airport, and we exhaustedly slumped off to our respective homes.

The good thing about these trips is that they tend to stay in my memory long after the fact. It’s an opportunity to step away from routines and responsibilities for a few days, and it gives one a chance to see, however briefly, old friends and foreign lands. I’m sure it enriches me in other ways as well, if not as much as I once thought would be the case. I used to attach an almost mystical importance to world travel, as if the experience would profoundly change me in some way. Now, being older, I take it as it comes, enjoy the experiences, and leave it at that. Change happens when we’re not looking for it. I for one am just grateful that I occasionally get to travel, experience sublime sounds, and spend time with friendly people. Who could ask for more? Well, maybe I could ask for more sleep. As far as I can figure out, I stayed awake for 35 hours at the beginning of the trip (on 3 hours of sleep), and for 24 hours at the end. More sleep would be nice.

Note: If you want to read this post with links and photos, go over to my music blog.

I'm in the middle of a week in the field with kids. Here are some of our recent encounters with the natural world:

Yesterday, we looked up and spotted three Crows divebombing a flying Raven, no doubt in an attempt to drive it away from their nest or nests. It was far enough away that the violence of the attack wasn't apparent, making the whole interaction seem more like an aerial ballet. The Raven headed for the higher hills, still caught up in a flurry of beaks and wings as the Crows continued to press their attack. Soon, they were mere dots on the wooded horizon, and then they were gone.

Today, lifting a favorite piece of corrugated siding from the ground, I discovered the expected Rattlesnake, and a quite unexpected Field Mouse. The two were sitting mere inches apart. The Field Mouse looked quite startled, as if caught consorting with the enemy. The Rattlesnake remained inscrutable.

A few hours ago, we nearly trod upon a tiny Rattlesnake. It was so well camouflaged that it wasn't until it started frantically heading for the high grass that one of the kids spotted it. I headed it off with a plastic cage, and quickly had it safely contained. The little fellow was right next to the driveway heading up to camp, so he had to be moved farther into the field, for the safety of the snake and the kids equally.

I love my job.

Time is a funny thing, especially in the Spring. The northern hemisphere is gearing up for Summer in an explosion of scents and colors. I've traded some of my night shifts for day shifts, gladly going back to hike with kids though the green blanketed hills. Newness awaits around every bend in every trail, and under every log and rock. The kids all have Spring fever, and the promise of summer hovers around us like a swarm of strangely appealing gnats.

This week I'm back working nights. I seem to get more done during the day when my weeks of night work are bracketed by weeks of daytime work. Limitless time lulls me into a kind of torpor. Switching up my schedule energizes me, mostly because daytime work really cuts into the time I have to get all of the little things done, like housework and errands. In a way, working nights has spoiled me. On the weeks I switch my schedule, I miss the free time made possible by my nocturnal work hours.

It has now been over three months since my mom died. I occasionally find myself thinking she's still alive. My dad has pretty much wrapped up her financial affairs, but the house is still very much full of decades of accumulated possessions. I feel like my initial momentum has sped off without me. There are lots of other things going on too, of course. Willow and I have been spending a lot of time with Jeanine and her daughter, and I couldn't be more happy with the way things are going. I also bought a new lizard, a Columbian Tegu, to use for reptile parties, and am doing another reptile party in the middle of the month.

I feel a need to reign myself in and plan for the future on all fronts. I've been in a bit of a free fall in that department, spending too much, eating more pizza than I should, and generally not acting in a disciplined way. For some reason, my personal life is cyclical, with bouts of excess offset by periods of responsibility. It's almost as if the changing seasons drive my every act. Wouldn't that be the ultimate cop-out? Blaming poor habits on the seasons. Ha!

Yesterday, I provided animals and entertainment for the birthday party of a five year old boy. This was the second year in a row that I have been the party entertainer for him. I had with me various reptiles, a couple of arachnids, and a pair of hissing cockroaches. Willow came along too, and acted as my assistant. My favorite moment was this:

Me (holding cockroach): This has six legs. What does that make it?

Little girl: FAST!

Kids tell it like it is.

The wind is picking up and the clouds are moving in beautifully. Willow was a bundle of energy at her softball game, so much so that I wonder if changing weather affects her the same way it affects me. I always feel a burst of energy whenever the dark clouds spread across the sky. It's almost as if the wind-tossed trees inspire me to similar movement.

One cute moment during the game was when a member of the opposing team stopped running toward first base so she could help the girl at first base retrieve the ball. I love it when young kids thumb their noses at the whole concept of competition and help each other out like that. Good for her!

In a purely tangential way, that reminds me of a brief interaction I witnessed at camp last week. I was talking to a boy outside the camp office when a girl came out of the nearby girls' bathroom. She had obviously just finished washing her hands, because she was shaking them dry as she approached us. "The toilet is clogged!", she exclaimed. The boy looked at her hands in horror.

"YOU PUT YOUR HANDS IN IT???"

This is one of the reasons I keep this blog. I'd never remember this stuff if I didn't write it down.

Currently listening to: irr.app.(ext.) "Josephine & Elsewhere"

Spring is definitely here, with warm days and mild nights replacing the moist greyness of late Winter. That said, I notice that it is supposed to rain over the next couple of days.

Nathan will be at science camp this week, and I'm actually working during the day, so I could be his field instructor. I worked the daytime shift a couple of weeks ago too, and will be doing three more weeks of days in May, all so a coworker of mine can work the nights and go to school during the day. I've been wanting to get back into the field, and he needs the money, so this benefits both of us.

I've just been showing Willow some of my blog posts from the year she was born. She is now old enough to appreciate them, and was especially amused by the fact that the first thing her sister did to her when she arrived home from the hospital was lick her. This is one of the many reasons I blog. It's an inorganic storage for the memories lost in my cerebral files.

We've been miniature golfing over the last couple of days, Friday night with Jeanine and her daughter, and yesterday by ourselves. Willow even got a couple of holes in one. She wants to go back and do it again today, but I think two days in a row is enough. Daytime golfing is more problematic anyway, because it seems to be a popular suburban pastime. Yesterday, we found ourselves stuck behind a group of five middle-aged, uniformly obese, potty-mouthed golfers. Finally, we just skipped a hole and played through. That's suburbia for you, I guess.

Today, a lazy Sunday stretches in front of us. We haven't decided what to fill it with yet, but I suppose it could be anything.

Here are some words I spoke at my mom's memorial:

I considered just getting up and speaking here without referring to any notes or script, but after thinking about it, I realized that reading something would be the perfect tribute to my mom, given her long standing love of the written word. On the same note, this has got to be the most fitting place in the whole world to hold her memorial, here in the library she loved, where she volunteered her services for hundreds, no, thousands, of hours over the years.
I could very well of spoken without a script, without even a single note to myself. I do it nearly every day to large audiences. Of course, the audiences I speak to are all in the 10 to 12 year old range, but that doesn’t make a difference. One thing I learned from my mom was that nobody, no matter what their age may be, should ever be talked down to. She taught this by example, by treating me and my brother with respect, and always allowing us to express ourselves, even when our methods of expression no doubt puzzled or annoyed her. I guess it’s a good thing she liked puzzles, the more annoying the better. In fact, puzzles were just the start of it. As I sort through her things, I’m reminded of her love of calligraphy, rubber stamps, postage stamps, cats, logic problems, humor, art, music, and so much more.
She also taught us the value of the written word, which is why I wrote some to share today. My brother and I both grew up to be readers and thinkers, and I feel we owe this to her. Of course, we’ve also inherited from her the tendency to chuckle at people who use poor grammar.
I have this image of my mom, spending a large part of her life stuffing her head with knowledge and stories, one book at a time. She gathered worlds of words under one roof, and was still in the process of transferring them all to her brain when she died. It is more than a lifetime’s worth of work, and now that task has truly been transferred to Greg and me. The reading will continue, both through us and her Granddaughter, Willow, who already shares not only her grandmother’s looks, but her love of a good story.
It’s strange how, when we end, our stories go on without us. Truth be told, they begin before we do as well. We just step into our own stories for awhile before bowing out again. My mom, her lines spoken, her part ended, has simply left the stage. Or maybe we should look at it as the last page being turned, and the book closing. I think my mom would appreciate the analogy.
My mom’s book closed in the heart of Winter, so this is the first Spring in 71 years that my mom isn’t here to enjoy. She can’t smell the blooming plant life, can’t hear the birds, can’t enjoy the warmer days. It doesn’t seem like a Silent Spring though. She lives on through those of us left behind, and I find myself appreciating the life she gave me with a little more care and a little more gratitude, as all around us the seasonal renewal sweeps us forward, continuing the cycle.

Happy Equinox! It seems like Jeanine and I were just standing on the hill watching the Winter Solstice sunrise, and now we're halfway to the Summer one.

Sophie is spending the night with Willow and me tonight, as she did last night as well. They're both passed out after a long day of running around. I love it when Sophie stays over, because I miss her.

With the Spring Equinox a day away, the temperature is verging on the uncomfortably warm. The contrast between today's walk to the post office, and the walk to the post office less than two weeks ago, was stark indeed. Today I was sweating as the sun slowly cooked me. The last time I did the same walk, on the way to the post office I could see ominous clouds to the north while the wind bit down with icy teeth. On the way back home, I was pelted by stinging hail to such an extent that I had to keep my face averted from the wind or risk damage.

Many people would think I'm crazy for preferring the hail.

This week, I've been listening to a couple of soundtracks by Carlos Ruiz Zafon. If it hadn't been for my mom, I would have been listening to something else. This is despite the fact that my mom didn't ever know that Carlos Ruiz Zafon wrote music. She only knew of him as an author, and at one point recommended him to me, and if memory serves, gave me his excellent novel "Shadow of the Wind". As I continue to sort through the books my mom left behind, I've come across this book again and again. I think I've found at least 3 or 4 copies of it so far, and 1 copy of his follow-up novel, "The Angel's Game", which I handed off to Greg. The words within have the power to transport the reader to a fictional Barcelona of a century ago, where anything is possible. Books and writing figure heavily into the plots of both novels, and the unifying element is a mysterious place called the Cemetery of Forgotten Books, where the right book will find its way into a visitor's hand at the right time. Or at the wrong time, depending on how you look at it. I can't help but think of my mom's house in a similar way. Many of the books are forgotten, resting there now in that transitory stage between owners. We've probably already donated a couple thousand of them back to the library, and given others away to friends. I've been hanging on to the Shadows of the Wind as I come across them, and handpicking who to give them to. Perhaps they'll fall into people's hands at exactly the right time.

Of course, I'm also hanging on to a lot of other books to keep for myself. I think my mom would have approved. She would have liked Mr. Zafon's music as well, especially given the fact that the music, which can be downloaded for free on his website, was composed to be soundtracks for the aforementioned books.

This Spring will be a bittersweet one, and it strikes me again and again that this is the first Spring in 71 years that my mom won't be around to enjoy. Still, other life begins anew all around us, and that is some solace, at least.

The nights are becoming warmer, and once again I find myself walking around camp at night looking for nocturnal life. The bats are back, flitting around outside the camp office, and the deer are keeping the lawn in check out front. Frogs inconspicuously dot the walkways, and the variety of moths around the lights is once again increasing. I relocated a beautiful Ceonothus Silk Moth from the walkway by the lodge last night, and at around 6:30 AM this morning, a camper brought me another one. He had found it in the bathroom, and even knew enough not to touch (and hence damage) the wings. He had coaxed it onto a paper towel so he could bring it to me, saying that he was afraid some of the other kids might freak out and try to kill it if they discovered it in the bathroom. Sadly, he was probably right about that. Thanking him, I got it to walk off the paper towel onto my finger, and relocated it to a less frequented area.

Currently listening to: Steve Von Till "If I Should Fall To The Field"

Sometimes I feel like I'm writing letters to my future self. I've been looking back through older entries in this blog, and reflecting on how much my life has changed over the last few years. My present self is reading these letters from my past self, and composing new letters for my future self to one day read. I wonder how much things will change over the next few years.

Jeanine and I went for a walk in the hills this morning, exactly six months after our first walk together. Spring is bursting out of the ground and singing in the air. A riot of flowers and butterflies greeted us around nearly every turn in the trail, and birds and bunnies ducked for cover as we passed. We paused at the highest peak in the open space area, and had a little trail lunch. On the way back to the van, a goose hissed at me, perhaps in an attempt to be more memorable than the flowers and butterflies.

Afterward, we went to a local coffee shop where Jeanine got a Chai and I bought a mystery drink which I think contained cinnamon, pepper, and nutmeg. I was quite good. I was happy to notice that the shop's sound system boasted a turntable, and that they were playing actual records. West African music. Very nice.

I'm going to a job fair on Saturday to try and land a teaching job, although I hear that districts are currently letting teachers go. We're also plugging away at the mountain of work to be done at my mom's house. More books have been boxed up, and more rooms have been at least partially cleared. There was one strange incident that happened while Jeanine and I were working in the family room. A crystal glass jumped off the top of a shelf and into a nearby chair. Neither of us were anywhere near it at the time, and when we looked at where it stood, we noticed that the base had cracked, leaving a crescent of crystal behind. Oddly though, the part of base that stayed on the shelf was the part nearest to the edge the rest of the glass had fallen off of. I can't remember if it had been cracked beforehand. We both investigated the remaining piece to see if it was somehow stuck to the shelf, but it wasn't. I joked that it was the work of a poltergeist, but then stopped and wondered... The glass was, after all, resting about ten feet from where my mother died.

It has been slightly over a month now since my mom died, and life goes on for the rest of us. Willow is now 7, her birthday being celebrated on different days at her house and mine, not to mention a party the weekend before. My dad came down this Saturday, and we spent time together in the house that neither of us have lived in for years, he going through old files, and me recycling and cleaning, and we had a nice time together, despite the circumstances. Greg came down the next day, and we loaded up my van with more than a thousand books, delivering them to the Cupertino library where my mom volunteered for a good percentage of her life. After dropping Greg off at the BART station in the afternoon, I returned to the house and was met there slightly later by Jeanine. We did some more sorting and cleaning together, and it's finally starting to look like work has been done. It's an overwhelming process, dealing with all of the things my mom accumulated after living in the same house for four decades, especially when one considers how many of the things have memories attached to them, and how many interesting books my mom had. One of the neighbors has been putting out the recycling and garbage bins every week, saving me from having to make extra trips. I'm grateful for that. For the past month, the recycling bin has been filled and refilled with magazines, mostly copies of New Yorker. I'm keeping the National Geographics.

At the moment, I'm at work. The kids are in bed, and the wind gives the occasional desultory gust. More clouds are moving in, and rain is expected to moisten this corner of the world sometime before dawn. Every other day feels like Spring, but Winter isn't done with us yet. I feel like I'm getting the best of both worlds.

A startled doe leaping toward me over a low fence, side-lit by camp lights. Hooves clopping down on pebbled cement in a brief flash of sparks. The staccato sound of its passage. Disappearing into darkness.

The darkness is already filled with Spring. The frogs know it. The air smells of it. I can feel it on my skin. Despite this, it is still cold at night. The wind still howls. At times, the rain pelts down. The moon blinks on and off behind the clouds. The world heals in green. The green heals the rest of us.

It is time, as always, to think of cycles. Of endings. Of beginnings.

Occasionally I'll spend time looking through my old blog posts. It can be fun to revisit what was going through my head on the same day during previous years. Recently, I rediscovered a blow-by-blow account of a day three years ago. The day was posted on February 22nd (although it was actually the 21st that I wrote about, so I've just realized I'm one day off. Oh well), so yesterday I spent the whole day paying attention to the details of my day, writing little notes down throughout. A lot has changed in the last three years, and it is interesting (for me, at least) to compare the days. So, without further ado, here is yesterday:

6:55- I wake up and realize it's not even 7 yet, and promptly go back to sleep.

8:45- That's more like it. I wake up again, and microwave some veggie bacon and make cinnamon toast. I pour out the coffee that has been sitting in the pot since before I went to Chicago. Make new coffee. I check e-mail while having breakfast, sending e-mails to Jen (letting her know I'll pick Willow up from softball practice) and Jeanine. I also read an update from David Tibet about the upcoming Current 93 shows in London, and decide I want to go. I follow a link to the Myspace page for Lili Refrain, and decide I want to get her cd. I pause to reflect on the hidden costs of the internet.

9:30- Gather materials to pack and mail the Anathema "We Are The Bible" 7" to a guy named Ross in Australia. This will probably be the last Ebay item I sell in awhile. I think I've made over $600.00 on Ebay over the last couple of months.

9:44- Unpack, looking for receipts from the trip so I can balance my checkbook.

10:00- Sitting in front of a pile of receipts, preparing to tally them.

10:16- Checkbook balanced. $165.00 left for the month. Time for a shower.

10:41- Getting dressed.

10:50- Stopped in the middle of getting dressed to crop photos and upload them to Flickr.

10:55- Decide to just crop and choose photos now, and upload later. Back to getting dressed.

11:00- Putting away clean dishes.

11:05- I return a call to Gabriel, who is the father of one of Willow's friends from preschool. We discuss potential playdate dates for the girls. I mention elephant seals, and Gabriel relates a story about how he went to see them but was turned back by some mysterious, awful stench - he describes it as potentially lethal.

11:20- Finish getting dressed.

11:30- Leave to walk to the library, Post Office, and grocery store.

11:40- Standing in front of the library, I discover that it opens at 2:00 PM on Mondays. Walk to the post office across the street.

11:45- At the post office, discover that there are no flat rate envelopes in the usual place, and wait in line with my unpackaged record to get an envelope from an employee.

11:55- I get an envelope, stuff the record inside, hurriedly address it, and mail it. On the way out, I drop a check for my car insurance in the proper slot.

12:00- Walk across parking lot to grocery store. Buy $40 worth of groceries, including bread, burrito supplies, hummus ingredients, and ice cream for Willow's birthday.

12:12- Walk home.

12:22- Put groceries away.

12:25- Make hummus and listen to the news on my radio/I-pod dock.

12:39- Eat hummus with bread, reflecting as I do that perhaps I put in too much yogurt or not enough garbanzo beans. It's too runny to make a sandwich out of, so I simply dip the bread into it. While dipping, I check e-mail.

1:00- Digest. Do dishes.

1:11- Start uploading photos to Flickr and editing remaining photos from trip.

2:26- Decide to stop editing/uploading photos, and walk to library to straighten out current difficulties (historical note: around a month ago, 9 items that I didn't check out appeared on my account, and the library wants to charge me late fees and replacement costs) and then on to nearby store to buy Willow some birthday presents.

2:35- Talk to librarian.

2:37- Talk to librarian's supervisor. She hems and haws for a bit, first trying to give me the number of somebody at the main branch in downtown San Jose, but finally relenting and waiving the fees (due, in part, to the fact that the missing items, being in Spanish, are very dissimilar to what I usually check out). I feel a weight lifted off of me, and depart with a spring in my step to round up some birthday loot for Willow.

2:40- Walk to nearby store.

3:04 - $40 later, emerge from store with doll clothes for Willow, and a new razor for me. Walk home.

3:11- Check mail. Nothing.

3:12- Hide presents on top of closet. Sit down and contemplate having a cup of coffee. Wait for photos to finish uploading (52% complete).

3:33- Finish choosing which photos to upload next.

4:01- Still uploading and naming photos. Perhaps now I will have some coffee.

4:03- Coffee from this morning is still warm enough to drink without microwaving. Yay! I drink it black to help preserve remaining warmth.

4:20- Tallying up how much I spent today. Sadly balancing checkbook.

4:30- $93.81

4:36- Drinking water and eating dried fruit mix. Blogging (transferring travel journal to blog).

5:00- Save blog without publishing, and name some more uploaded photos.

5:10- E-mail Jeanine.

5:20- More journal transferring.

5:30- More photo uploading.

5:48- Leave to get Willow from softball practice. Listening to Sheila Chandra "Abonecronedrone" as I drive. It is a promo cassette that I've had for nearly two decades, I think. My converter that allows me to listen to my I-pod and/or cd player in the van no longer works, but I'm enjoying listening to old cassettes for the time being.

6:00- I arrive at the softball field (at Willow's school) in time for the after-practice parent meeting. Jen is there, as is Nathan. Willow has a new haircut, and it looks very cute. She can hardly contain her energy as she listens to the coach talk to the parents. Nathan comes over to me and tells me what a good job Willow did during practice.

6:15- Jen hadn't realized that I was taking Willow for dinner (in part, due to the fact that me being gone threw off our schedule a bit, and in part due to the fact that she evidently didn't read the e-mail I sent earlier) but it's fine with her. Initially, Willow wants to go home with her mom because that's where all of her new birthday presents are (her birthday isn't until Thursday, but she had a party this weekend). I tell her I brought her things from Chicago, and that more or less changes her mind. Going to Jen's van to get Willow's street shoes, we run into Sophie. Sophie wants to come to my place too, so I leave with both girls in tow. Willow tells me about her birthday party as we drive.

6:33- Arrive home.

6:40- Make quesadillas for girls and show them some pictures from my trip. Break the news that it's no TV week, and that this includes DVDs. Make quesadilla for myself, with added hot sauce.

6:45- Eat, and get frozen peas out for the girls.

6:55- Attempt to prevent Sophie from smashing frozen peas into the linoleum.

7:10- Figure out how to pull a long stream of colored paper, magician style, out of my mouth (a giveaway from the convention). Watch girls play with the paper and try to stuff it into their mouths to emulate me. I inform them it is a one-use product.

7:15- Prevent girls from watching a DVD. Listen to Sophie make up funny insults. Girls' talk degenerates into discussions and demonstrations of farting.

7:20- We put Willow's blooming rock (a rock that grows crystals when submerged in vinegar) into a bowl full of white vinegar. I explain to the girls that it doesn't bloom immediately. Sophie asks if she can drink the vinegar. I let the girls smell it. They make disgusted faces.

7:22- I give Sophie the 5 olives she asks for.

7:30- Tickle fight!

7:35- Turn off laptop.

7:38- Sweep frozen peas off floor. Notice that there are still 4 olives in Sophie's bowl. I tell her to eat them. She ignores me.

7:40- Drink a half cup of coffee.

7:46- Finish coffee. Leave to drop of girls at their mom's house.

8:00- Drop off girls. Admire picture that Sophie painted for Willow. Head for work, still listening to Abonecronedrone.

8:20- Arrive at work.

8:25 Turn on heater to boys' cabins, and grab Night Talk board (a large foam board with explicit instructions for getting ready for bed - a visual aid for the students)to bring down to the amphitheater where the students are loudly enjoying the campfire program.

8:30- Play tarka and sing "Bats Eat Bugs" with Jellyfish, Bunny, and Falcon, then lead the cabin leaders away to have a quick meeting with them. I introduce myself and give them general advice about the nighttime routine, and give them a step by step description of what happens after the campfire programs ends. I answer some questions as well, and then we all return to the campfire.

8:50- Sing "Humble", the mellow closing song, with my aforementioned coworkers, then start the night talk. I give instructions for getting ready for bed, general advice, and answer questions. One student wants to know what would happen if an escaped robber appeares on the premises in the middle of the night. I move on from that one quickly, so other students don't start worrying about robbers too.

9:15- I dismiss students by cabin group and douse campfire with nearby hose. I arrive back at The Hub (camp office) and use the mic to remind students to walk. I realize I forgot to tell anybody about the second set of bathrooms. I use the mic to remedy this. Then, I walk around playing the tarka, using the mic tucked under my arm to amplify it.

9:25- I talk with 3 girls who got in trouble for "looking in windows", and then with a little homesick girl. After awhile, she seems to feel better, so I tell her to go get ready for bed.

9:50- I ring the 5-minute warning bell, and talk with the teachers who are signed up to do night patrol (walking around to make sure cabin lights are off and students are quiet). The homesick girl reappears and wants to talk with her teacher. They go off to talk somewhere.

9:55- I ring the final bell and wish the camp goodnight over the mic. I turn off the mic, and the teachers start the night patrol.

10:00- I plug in my alarm clock and my laptop, then meet with the teachers, introducing myself to the new ones. I recognize about half of them from last year. I then post the hopper (meal server) schedule for tomorrow's breakfast and lunch. Then, I show the teachers where the switch for the heater is located, and wish them goodnight.

10:05- Pour a steaming cup of herbal tea and check e-mail.

10:17- Upload more photos.

10:29- Two girls peek their heads in the door to ask if they can go to the bathroom. I tell them they can.

10:30- Finish uploading for now (80 more photos) and prepare to go check Riker cotton (cotton squares used for a leaf-mounting activity done later in the week) levels.

10:31- As I'm about to walk out the door, a cabin leader brings over a weeping, homesick boy. I give the boy a quick pep talk and send him back to bed.

10:38- Somebody has left the door to the old dining hall open. I go in, pick up the trash can that Raccoons have dumped, and check Riker cotton. There is enough so that I don't have to cut new squares tonight.

10:42- E-mail Jeanine.

11:13- Just spent a half hour monkeying around on the internet. I'll now go dig out my sleeping bag and prepare my place (dubbed "Crow's Nest") on the top bunk in the Hub.

11:28- Sleeping bag, pillow and blankets in place, I go out to walk around camp. I hear Raccoon noises.

11:33- Back in. There are a few frogs singing out in the darkness, and a half moon playing behind a thin layer of clouds. It is cold, although nowhere near as cold as the -51 degrees Fahrenheit reported by the broken weather gauge outside. Almost done uploading photos. Next, I'll name them.

11:37- Check online weather forecast. Rain over the next two days! Yes!

11:38- Start naming photos.

11:56- Done naming photos. Start uploading last batch.

11:58- Another walk outside while photos are uploading.

12:00- Turn off heaters to cabins (to be turned on again at 6:00 AM).

12:12- Naming photos as they upload.

12:18- Creating Twist & Shout photo set.

12:28- Done creating set. A male Great Horned Owl is hooting outside. I'm going to go out and listen to him. It's very cold outside.

12:35- I surprised a Raccoon in the process of sneaking toward the trash. He ran off. The owl is still hooting.

12:36- Turn off computer and go to bed. The heater in the Hub isn't working, so I keep my sweat jacket on. I'm still cold, but quickly warm up once under the blankets.

For the last fifteen years, nearly every time I've traveled, I've brought along a travel journal and written in it. I've just gotten back from spending the better part of a week in Chicago with Jeanine, and despite the fact that it would have been easier to bring along my laptop and just blog as I went, I stuck with tradition and brought along a travel journal instead, taking advantage of the occasional downtime to record my thoughts and impressions. Now, in the interest of making more work for myself, I'm transferring it to my blog:

2/15/10
This is the first time in roughly four and a half years that I've written in a travel journal, the last time being on the occasion of the irr.app.(ext.) shows in Seattle and Portland in September, 2005.

I'm not currently traveling, but rather sitting in my chair at home, listening to Flanders & Swann while attempting, for the umpteenth time, to download some old releases by The Stalin.

Tomorrow I'll be traveling. Jeanine and I, on separate flights (thanks to me booking my flight months after she booked hers), are both heading for the Twist & Shout balloon convention in Chicago. I'm getting up at 4am for a flight that leaves at 6:30. Jeanine's flight leaves at 6.

2/16/10 5:40am
The San Jose airport seems to be in a constant state of flux. Every time I find myself there, it is as if I'm visiting it for the first time. New fees are constantly being added as well. Passengers are now charged $20 to check bags. I tried to change flights so Jeanine and I could travel together, but was told it would be an extra $50 to do so. So much for customer service.

Now, there seems to be some confusion about the gate number, so I'm moving. So far, I've heard exit alarms go off on at least 3 occasions, and been given the wrong gate number once. I am filled with confidence.

I got up a little before 4 this morning, and Jeanine arrived to get me at 4:15. It was gloriously foggy on the drive to the airport. Now, it's getting close to 6. Jeanine has already boarded and I'm waiting for my own flight.

Some time later...

We walked across the tarmac, old school style, to board the plane. It was foggy and dark, with haloed points of light glittering around us.

On the plane, I discovered that my row was the only one with empty seats. Two of them! I quickly moved from my assigned seat to the window seat, and somebody else just as quickly moved from a nearby middle seat to the now vacant aisle seat. Nature abhores a vacuum, and passengers abhore being stuck between other passengers.

There is some sort of sports team aboard, or perhaps teen fashion has narrowed in scope to the point where they all dress exactly alike. Or maybe the pod people are starting to take over and are still figuring out how to effectively assimilate.

The orange splash of sunlight was beautiful, and I loved watching the light and fog interact as the plane started to swing to the northeast.

1pm Minneapolis

The pedestrian walkway, like a huge, angular caterpillar, has rolled forward, attached its artificial lips to the doorway of the plane, and firmly sucked out all of the passengers, pooping us out into the terminal.

I'm waiting for my connecting flight to Chicago. The ground here is sleeping under a dirty white blanket. I can feel the outside chill from my seat in the waiting area.

2/19/10

There was plenty of time to write on the plane, but this is the first time I've had the time and energy to write since arriving in Chicago

Actually, we're in Oak Brook, a suburb of Chicago, at the Marriott Hotel, where the 2010 Twist & Shout convention is being held. Our room is on the fifth floor, and there is a nice view the snow-covered golf course adjacent to the hotel, and also a nice view of the sunset. I watched the orange disc of the sun wink out beyond the horizon last night, painting the sky above as it vanished. It's strange to not be surrounded by hills, like we are at home. Today, I spent a little time walking around on the golf course while Jeanine was in a class, and discovered that the majority of what we thought were human footprints in the snow are actually goose footprints. Off in the distance, the silhouettes of geese could be seen, and the incongruous sound of their doleful honking filled the chilly air. I guess I'd be doleful too if I was standing barefooted in the snow. I tried to get closer, but my presence inspired a mass goose exodus to the other side of the course.


Inside, Jeanine has introduced me to more people than I can remember. Everybody is really friendly, and most of the attendees are very creative, funny, and/or bizarre in some way. There are balloon sculptures everywhere, including an old-fashioned car being driven by gangsters through the lobby, and a 46 foot Spinosaurus in one of the conference rooms. We've been spending most of our time in the so-called Jam Room, where boxes and boxes of balloons have been set out by the balloon manufacturers sponsoring the event. Jeanine knows just about everybody, and is a bit of a celebrity in this world. I, being a rank amateur, have been fiddling around, picking up techniques, and making giant, sloppy balloon invertebrates. I've made a few other things as well, drawing faces on creations abandoned by others.

Other highlights of the week so far include finding a pizza place where the pizza rivals Zachary's Pizza in Berkeley (my absolute favorite pizza place) and our train trip to downtown Chicago to visit the Art Institute.

To get to the train station, we got a ride in the hotel shuttle. Round trip train tickets were $8.00, and the temperature hovered around freezing. The train ride took about 50 minutes, and we passed through quiet, snow covered communities. I'm fascinated by the snow, and the subtle architectural differences between Chicago and the Bay Area. The most obvious difference is the wanton use of bricks. That would never fly in earthquake-ridden California.

The walk from the train station to the Art Institute was probably about a mile, and took us past the Sears Tower, plus countless "watch for falling ice" signs. Dirty piles of snow covered patches of cement around poles and against buildings, looking like giant, ghostly heaps of dung.

Upon arriving at the Art Institute, we discovered that admission is free in February, which saved us $18.00 each. We happily entered, and the first painting we found ourselves in front of was White Shell With Red, painted by Georgia O'keeffe during the year my mom was born. Staring at the hypnotizing spiral of the shell, I reflected that the most recent art print I can recall my mom acquiring was of an O'keeffe painting. Strange coincidence. Slightly later, Jeanine got a call from a woman named Durga, right before we passed an ancient statue of her namesake. Ha.

The Institute contains an overwhelming amount of artwork, including a great number of world famous paintings - such as the Monet haystacks, American Gothic, works by Van Gogh (the self-portrait is beautiful - prints don't do it justice), Renoir, Matisse, Magritte, etc. If I had to pick favorites, I'd have to say Georgia O'keeffe, Goya's etchings, Joan Miro, Dali, Francis Bacon, and other individual pieces painted by artists previously unknown to me (paintings by George Grosz and Margherita Manzelli spring to mind). Also on display is the Song Of The Lark (1884) by Jules-Adolphe Breton, a print of which graced a wall at home when I was young.

On the way back, we stopped to get some sandwiches and sculpt a strange little animal out of toothpicks, apple core, onion, and a pepper. Afterward, it was back on the train. Just as the train was leaving the station, it dawned on me that we'd gotten on an express train, which would bypass our stop. We got off at the next opportunity, and waited for the right train.

Once we got to our stop, we decided to walk the 3 or so miles back to the hotel. It was nice, and there were some impressive icicles outside the library. Near the hotel though, the unshoveled sidewalk made walking more difficult. No harm done though.

Now, it's Friday afternoon and sunny. I'm in the hotel room while Jeanine is in a class. I didn't bring my laptop along, but have been keeping up with e-mail through Jeanine's computer. This is out of step with my usual habit of being incommunicado while on vacation. In some ways, I like being cut off from the internet better, but it's nice to be able to e-mail Willow.

I think I'll wander back down to the Jam Room now.

2/20, 2:25pm

I'm definitely getting spoiled this week, getting to spend all of this time with Jeanine, not to mention sleeping on an actual bed. My bed at home is a futon, and the bed at work is a bunk bed with institution-grade mattresses.

This morning we saw a Coyote (or perhaps a mangy, emaciated dog - it was hard to tell at a distance) wandering across the snow covered golf course, perhaps looking for geese. I took some pictures from our fifth floor window.

Last night, we were treated to some balloon-related skits and magic acts. Some of them were really impressive, especially the balloon dance piece put together by a guy named Jack. He had created four life-sized balloon people, and tied them to a series of plastic poles, which ran horizontal to the stage so that the balloon people were standing upright in a line, connected at strategic points to the poles. Jack was strapped to the center position, and as he danced to music, the balloon people danced with him. It was very effective, despite the fact that the two balloon people stage left literally lost their heads. The balloon magic of Willie Monroe was another standout.

After the stage show, everybody wandered over to view the contest entries. There were three categories, small, medium, and large, the largest of which was the aforementioned Spinosaurus. In amongst the inflated entries were a number of uninflated balloon art pieces, some of which appeared to have been lacquered. The most impressive of these was the balloon pointilism copy of a Seurat painting. The pointilism effect was achieved using thousands of rolled balloons.

I've made a few more inconsequential things in the Jam Room too, including a large lobster hat. Still making large, ungainly invertebrates.

Now, I'm taking a quick break while Jeanine is taking a class.

2/21, at 2:21pm

I'm sitting at O'hare, covered in garlic powder from the pretzel I just ate, and no doubt reeking of garlic. I can see luggage carts crossing the tarmac outside, looking like lines of ants in the distance. Beyond the runways, the world becomes an indistinct, gray haze. Snow is in the forecast, but not until after my 4:10pm flight is scheduled to leave.

Jeanine left a half hour ago, but she has to change planes in Atlanta, so she'll actually arrive in San Jose a half hour later than me.

Last night was the gala banquet, which included announcements of contest winners, balloon clothing, and balloons flying everywhere. The vegetarian option was some sort of lasagna-quiche hybrid, wrapped in spinach pasta. It was very good. Bob Rumba got up and did some ventriloquism, using members of the audience as ventriloquist dummies as he told the story of Goldilocks. Very clever. He also did a hilarious bit with a small pink rabbit puppet (named "Pinky", if I remember right).

Afterward, we went back to the Jam Room (where else?) and played until around 3am. I've mastered the flat weave now, and used this new skill to create some sort of Precambrian invertebrate, which I later left on a decorative table near the elevators on the fifth floor.

We didn't get to sleep until well after 4am, and I'm now feeling like I could nap.

This morning, drawn to the window by distant honking, I watched a pair of geese slowly cross the snowy golf course. They stopped dejectedly next to an iced-over pond, as if confused by the solid water. When I looked again a few minutes later, they had vanished, perhaps to fly south like proper birds.

After saying our goodbyes, we shuttled to the airport around noon. Apparently, Illinois shuttle drivers prefer to lurk anonymously in their unmarked vehicles rather than announce that they are there to pick you up. Due to this mystifying behavior, we all waited in front of the hotel for an extra 20 minutes. We still managed to get to the airport with time to spare though, despite the lengthy security line.

I went and picked up my mom's ashes today, hugging to my chest the velvet bag holding the container as I walked back to my van. I even seat belted it in place as I drove home. Intellectually, I know that the ashes are just that. Ashes. This is the way I forced myself to view her body as well. This is not the woman who raised and loved me. This is not the mother I loved. This is just what she left behind, like a husk left as a reminder of a sudden, lonely metamorphosis.

What else can you do, how else can you think and feel, when you see your mom lying dead on the floor? And how else can you view a neatly packaged container of ashes?

Still, it was a strangely profound moment for me, hugging those ashes. After the maudlin confines of the waiting room at the Neptune Society, walking with her remains back to the van felt like taking her home one last time. Or not quite a last time, because eventually her ashes will be scattered out to sea, where she will intermingle with countless others, including my friend Sea Turtle, who died in 2008, and Dr. Seuss, who died in 1991. Also, since all oceans are connected, she'll be out there with Gandhi, and countless others. Sure, they're just ashes, but I'm comforted by the fact that all of those ashes are returning to the womb of the world and mixing together. Who knows where they will end up?

On the other side of me, generationally speaking, is Willow. I'm proud of her for the way she handled the news. Sure, she quietly cried for a time, but then she asked to go to the park. At the park, she walked right past the playground and made a beeline for a grove of trees she refers to as "the rain forest". Once there, she requested to be put up in one of the trees, and after I obliged, she talked with my brother and I about life and death, even going to far as to note that being at the park was helping her. I'm especially happy that she so obviously takes comfort in trees.

What would we do without trees?

Currently listening to: Philip Glass "Orion", which made its way here from my mom's collection. Let the music be heard and the books be read!

Judith Elaine Arnold Scharpen
Born 9/27/38, died 1/26/10
Rest In Peace

A week ago, almost to the minute, I got a phone call informing me that my mother had died. She died suddenly at home, surrounded by walls of books. Books have been a passion of hers for as far back as I can remember, and my brother, dad, and I have decided that a fitting tribute to her would be to donate the majority of her bookstore-sized collection back to the Cupertino Library, where she spent years working as a volunteer.

I'm still processing the fact that she is gone, and no doubt will be continuing to do so for quite some time.

I owe her my very existence, of course, and a lot of who I am today can also be credited to her. I will write more over the coming weeks, as things sink in and the process of wrestling with this new void in our lives unfolds. This is a time of sadness, but also of love and reflection.

I love you, mom. The world is not the same without you.

Working as a night host at a science camp is sort of like working as a security guard. Most of the time, it's a pretty uneventful job. I sometimes joke about feeling guilty for getting paid, because I have hours and hours to do pretty much what I want to do - read, write, stargaze, look for frogs, and generally just relax. Every once in awhile a kid will come into the camp office at night, usually brought there either by homesickness or actual sickness. Sometimes, though, I'll get a visitor who doesn't fit into either of these categories.

Take, for instance, the boy who came in last week. He pointed down at his socks, and asked, "What is this?". I looked down at his strangely patterned socks and replied, "uh, it's a sock." He kept pointing and asking the question, so I turned on a brighter light. What I had taken for a pattern was diarrhea, and it soon became obvious that his whole lower body was also covered in it. I reevaluated my earlier supposition, and told him, "it's poo." To this, he responded, "am I taking a shower now?". The answer, of course, was, "yes!".

I found two frogs while leading him over to the shower room. Nature works in mysterious ways.

Last night, a boy visited me a little before 2am. He looked sad and cold, so I asked him what was wrong. He replied in a shaky little voice, "I lost my sleeping bag". Long story short, it had fallen off his bunk and he couldn't find it in the dark. I think this is the first time a kid has actually lost a sleeping bag while supposedly sleeping in it. It does indeed boggle the mind. He was very grateful when I found it for him though.

Another job well done. Ha.

This has been a week of very satisfying thunderstorms, and similarly satisfying snuggling inside while listening to the rain on the roof and watching old Hitchcock films (or film, I should say, because we only watched Sabotage). Today, the rain has relented for the time being, and right now it is gray and chilly outside.

Earlier, a bit of wind caused the neighbor's wind chimes to sing and I found myself thinking, I should get some wind chimes like that. Then it occurred to me how stupid the thought was. The neighbor's wind chimes are a mere 6 or 7 feet away from my patio, and sound travels. I can listen to her wind chimes for free.

Consumer culture is insidious. It is important to maintain constant vigilance against senseless purchasing of unneeded items.

Currently listening to: Black Tape For A Blue Girl "As One Aflame Laid Bare By Desire"

Happy Martin Luther King Day! I'm sure that because of this holiday, at least a few lives will be saved by the mere fact that a lot of people don't have to drive to work. I base this on the fact that it has been raining all morning, and knowledge of how to safely drive in the rain is an elusive thing. The radio is already full of reports of collisions and other rain-related incidents. If it were a bucket, the traffic reports would be spilling over onto the floor and entangling my feet as I walk across the kitchen.

As I hovered on the border between sleep and wakefulness this morning, I judged by the light coming through the window that it must be around 7am. When I fully opened my eyes, the glowing red numbers on the clock told me that it was well after 10. The rain sounds like pebbles bouncing off the roof, and the radio is spitting public advisories about intense thunderstorms. I think it's the first time I've heard the Emergency Broadcast System in something other than test mode. In fact, it fooled the radio announcer too, who said it was a test, and then hurriedly backtracked after it was over. Ha! It's supposed to rain all week too, which makes me happy. Beyond the fact that rain is needed, I love this kind of weather. I love watching the trees dance and the sky boil over with black and grey. I love how the wind paper-maches the ground with a colorful hodgepodge of leaves and branches, and how the rain softens the edges of the world.

I just wish that people would slow down a bit. No need to hurry.

Under cloudy skies, Jeanine and I walked for over nine miles yesterday (she estimates 9.3 miles) along the San Tomas Aquino Creek, through a couple of suburban parks, and down neighborhood streets. The squirrels and crows were out in force, often seen dining on acorns together. At one house we passed, there was a cookie sheet full of bird seed (or something similar) set out for the local wildlife. At the end of the walk, which included picking up Jeanine's daughter at school, my feet hurt. I think I need some new shoes. A warm bath took all of the soreness away though.

This got me to thinking about the concept of a walkshed again - mapping out walking-distance destinations in the neighborhood. I'm in easy walking reach of just about everything I need in my neighborhood - park, library, post office, grocery store, convenience stores, restaurants, etc. On the other end of the spectrum are people who get in their giant SUVs to drive half a block. Why?

I'm looking forward to the rain that is supposed to start later today. The forecast calls for it to last for most of the week. Yes! Our watershed needs it.

Currently listening to: Kirile Loo "Lullabies For Husbands"

Last night was ushered in by howling wind and a spattering of rain. I had planned to spend the night at home reading, but a phone call from a coworker sent me out into the night. It seems that, for the first time ever, one of our four-day camp programs started on a Monday instead of a Tuesday. That means I get Thursday night off work this week, not Monday. It sure would have been nice to know that in advance. That's what I get for never going to the meetings. Lest I sound like a slacker, I'm not required to go to the meetings - it's just that I often find myself out of the loop because of this.

I got to work and settled in for the night. I read. I listened to the wind blow things across camp. Not much different from being home, really.

Speaking of work, I threw my hat into the substitute teacher ring today. I'm not sure how often I can expect to be called, but my name is on the list, for one district at least. We'll see how it goes. I'm continuing to trim the fat from my morbidly obese music collection as well, selling a few items on ebay. I'm occasionally shocked at what people are willing to pay for certain items. I'm still trying to recover financially from the holiday season though, so I'm glad some people can't see the bottoms of their wallets.

Spendthrift playtime is over for the time being. Time to be thrifty and watch what I spend.

It seems like I looked behind me while I was walking through the week, and before I could face forward again, I tripped over Friday and fell into the weekend. The week was that fast. It might have had something to do with the fact that I didn't really start my work week until Tuesday night. Only working three night shifts (during which I sleep about half the time) tends to make the week disappear in a blink.

The week was interesting because I worked at our other site, nestled in the hills above Cupertino. The job is the same, but a lot of the little details aren't, so I actually had to think about what I was doing a few times. Ha. The only real difference though, was the fact that I slept on a floor mat in the dining hall instead of a bunk in the camp office, and I had to go around and knock on cabin doors to wake kids up rather than using my I-tunes and large speakers to get the job done.

Like I said though, it seemed to be over before it started. The next two weeks are the same, with no camp on Monday. They're at our main site though, so it's back to the familiar routine.

The new year is a few days old now. So far, I like it. I meet this year happy yet impoverished. I'm down to counting pennies already this month, but I've got a few more cds up on Ebay, and plan to get on some substitute lists in some of the local school districts so I can start doing a little daytime work. Of course, due to the night job, I won't be able to work before around 9am, so that limits me somewhat. No matter, I've had a number of teachers already tell me they like taking afternoons off sometimes. Ha ha.

The last couple of days, I've spent some quality time with Jeanine. We've been on a couple of walks, stumbled across yet another dvd rental place going out of business ($3 dvds!), ambled through a bookstore, and generally had a nice time together. Today, I'm home listening to music and doing little tasks around the apartment. I don't go back to work until Tuesday night, and it's at our second site, where I've never worked the night shift. As a matter of fact, I don't think I've been there since Alex was at camp in the fifth grade. He's in the seventh grade now. The way I look at it though, it's good to start the new year with a change in routine. Keeps me on my toes.

Currently listening to: Arvo Part/Philip Glass/Vladimir Martynov "Silencio"