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2010-04-23T09:24:00.001-05:00

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What's for dinner?

2010-02-10T19:52:00.004-05:00

I've been meaning to blog but no subject was grabbing me -- apart from more whining about how hard things are (yep, still too much work and not enough money) and who has died (yep, people and pets are still inexplicably dying).

But then tonight I cooked dinner.

I know that doesn't sound like much. People all over the Upper Valley, nay all over the world, are cooking all the time. I cook far less than you would think possible. But tonight I had some chicken cutlets and brussels sprouts in the fridge that were destined for the garbage and compost pile respectively if someone did not take action soon. And a new issue of Cooks Illustrated had recently arrived in the mail.

You may wonder why someone who doesn't cook all the much has a subscription to Cooks Illustrated. It's my brother-in-law's fault. He gave me a subscription a few years ago and I love it. I don't mind cooking, but I really prefer to read about it. Just like I would rather read about travel to third world countries than actually get on a plane.

It is no small coincidence that I had chicken breasts in the fridge. When the magazine arrived, the first thing I noticed was the teaser "Better Pan-Seared Chicken Breasts" on the cover. I have been trying to figure out how to cook skinless chicken breasts since I first stepped into the kitchen with intent to produce edible meals (which didn't actually happen until I was well into my 30s). The best I've been able to accomplish to date is the Chinese technique of "velveting" the meat prior to stir-frying and, boy, that's a pain in the neck. So on Sunday, I stopped in the market on the way home from church and picked up some "Smart Chicken." I'm not sure what made this chicken smart. The fact that it was under plastic wrap and I wasn't gave me a bit of an edge over it in the IQ department, but it was the only choice at this particular store.

The Cooks Illustrated recipe worked well -- better than the velveting and stir-frying. It involved more steps than I normally consider reasonable, but the result was juicy, tender meat with lots of flavor. And the lemon/scallion sauce I made on the side turned out great too. Luckily Dave happened along when things were in full swing so I drafted him to deal with the brussels. He did a great job, never once having to consult any kind of recipe whatsoever. The side dish was reheated brown rice I had made earlier. (If you think you don't like brown rice, Cooks Illustrated has the answer to that, too. Really, you need a subscription.)

Season of Loss

2009-11-21T05:16:00.003-05:00

By November 1st even the birches in the front yard had lost all their leaves and the world outside my window appeared to be dead. I watched a small flock of robins perched in another tree, a species of wild cherry. They were picking off fruit, fueling up for the flight south. "You're late," I thought, "better hurry or you'll freeze."

What did our early ancestors think the first time they observed the onset of winter, the apparent death of the world? When did they realize it was part of a cycle of loss and renewal?

Death, which still seems the ultimate loss, was much on my mind that day. We were getting ready to sing a trio of songs about it for a chapel service commemorating the day of the dead. Oliver had prepared a short speech to describe the songs. The first "Absalom, My Son" was about the tragedy of early death; the second "Thou Knowest Lord the Secrets of Our Hearts" was a meditation on the fear of death; and the third "Never Weather Beaten Sail" was about death as a welcome event when a life has run its full course.

I was hoping my next blog post would be a little more cheerful than some of my more recent ones. Due to my complete inability to leave my office long enough to go to the grocery store, we recently suffered through a whole week of drinking Maxwell House coffee, the only brand at a nearby convenience store. I had some amusing thoughts about that, coffee snob that I am. But recently I've had news of three deaths and I'm bewildered by the piling up of loss upon loss.

Strictly speaking the passing of these three people is not my loss. The first was the son of a couple I once knew quite well but with whom I have fallen out of touch. I never met the son but I feel sorrow for my friends, especially in circumstances as tragic as these were.

The other two deaths are closer to home and yet it seems a little presumptuous to claim them as my loss. My ex-husband called a little over a week ago to tell me that his mother had died suddenly, heart failure. She was a good woman. My principal memory of her is she loved a good laugh. I remember long evenings at her dinner table with much good food and laughter.

I was sad to hear the news, sad for my ex to have lost her. We have had a long association and have remained friends. Throughout our marriage and divorce, his family treated me with love and kindness. My former father-in-law, Bob, was also much in my mind. He and Pat were childhood friends and had been together all their lives.

Then yesterday morning my ex called again with the news that Bob had died. He didn't give me any more information than that but I wonder if the cause was a broken heart.

The passing of Pat and Bob doesn't fit any of the songs we sang at that service. They were not young, except at heart where it really counts. Neither of them were fearful people and they were yet too young for their death to be a comfort to them or to anyone who loves them. I will mourn them whether I have a right to it or not.

Towards a Theology Based on Labrador Retrievers

2009-11-08T07:30:00.004-05:00

It has been almost a month since I let my dog "go gentle into that good night." Getting over it has been harder than I imagined; she was such a big part of my daily life. But bit by bit I am getting to the point where I do not expect to find her waiting for me when I come home.

I read the poem below on the Poetry Daily site years ago. It has consoled me these last days with images so closely resembling my memories of Cammy.

Towards a Theology Based on Labrador Retrievers
by Tina Kelley

I am arguing in the affirmative: that the Creator moves among us today
in Brooklyn, in the form of a black dog named Addie. Her benevolence is deeper
than the farthest foxhole, her gentleness thick as husky fur. Were she human,
she would sort and fold strangers' clothing at the laundromat. Were she only a dog,

she would not fetch without being asked. There is abundance in her, like the butterfly
laying its eggs midair. Bountiful and democratic is her spirit: she licks my hand
like a spa treatment, she sleeps, calm back flat by my flank, breathing like a separate sea.
She dreams of the squirrel's flicking, scolding tail, its visible neener neener neener.

Her vengeance is quick and awful. Yet love of fellowship runs in her blood,
her song like the bird's that is only heard among other birds. She has taught me
the help given to the soul by the mile-wide lawn dotted with trees, by the tossed scrap.
I believe in her greetings, in the wide-maple way she roams from one scent to another.

Bury me in this part of the park where the dogs run without leashes, mix my ashes
with hers. Shield us in our joy, o protector, o collar. Let her true heart be contagious.

Copyright Tina Kelley
Reprinted with permission
Http://www.word-press.com/Kelley.htm

Autumn Reflection

2009-09-23T22:35:00.002-05:00

(photo credit: Jason H. Clark)

Time tipped into a new season this week and summer was gone. It was a summer of waiting and unanswered questions.

First we waited for the rain to stop. Then we looked for signs of life in the economy. All the while, I watched my much loved dog slide further and further into incapacity, unsure about when it will be the right time to let go.

I've imagined the right time will be when she can no longer get up. When I come down to her in the morning (her days of climbing the stairs to sleep beside our bed are long gone), she isn't ready and waiting for me to feed her. She lifts her head and looks at me without recognition. But once awareness dawns, she still rises, slowly. I help her up and coax her to the kitchen. Her once-graceful tail now permanently curved down between her legs and bedraggled. I don't know if I can bear to see her lie down and stay there.

So many people have told me this summer that when the time comes, I will know. Instantly. The time hasn't come. It's autumn and I'm still waiting.

2009-08-10T09:57:00.000-05:00

Rest is not idleness, and to lie sometimes on the grass on a summer day listening to the murmur of water, or watching the clouds float across the sky, is hardly a waste of time. ~John Lubbock

I will

2009-08-05T06:03:00.003-05:00

And when at last I've found you
Your song will fill the air
Sing it loud so I can hear you
Make it easy to be near you
For the things you do
Endear you to me
Ah, you know I will
I will

- Lennon and McCartney

Full house and new music on the home page

2009-07-02T09:24:00.003-05:00

The Yellow House is full to capacity this week with a gathering of Clarks from all over the country. We were hoping to have outdoor jam sessions on the patio all week leading up to some big July 4th events this weekend but so far the weather hasn't co-operated. It's a good reminder to make the best of what we have to work with.

This week we are featuring new recordings of Wrensong in Fresh Tracks on the home page of the website. Wrensong is the acapella renaissance choral group Dave and I sing in along with Elizabeth Harley, Miriam Langner, Sue Neighbor, Oliver Goodenough, John Severinghaus, Frank Fields and Tyler Harwell.

Memorial Day

2009-05-25T12:40:00.006-05:00

We live across the street from a cemetery. Every spring, the flags appear in preparation for Memorial Day.

It's an old cemetery. The veterans there mostly fought in the American Revolution and the Civil War. A couple of years ago, when I was out walking one morning, I met two young men putting the flags in place. They were carefully studying each headstone, worried about missing one. We talked for a while and I learned that up until that year they had an older man working with them who knew exactly where all the flags had to be placed.

Shortly after I moved up here, we were walking in deep woods out past Barnard in early summer. There in a small clearing was a small cemetery. It had a forlorn, abandoned appearance and yet the grave of each veteran was marked with a flag. Just like across the street from my house. Just like at Arlington National Cemetery.

How I spent my three-day weekend (so far)

2009-05-24T09:26:00.008-05:00

I'm spending a lot of time this weekend on website redesign. I've made huge progress templatizing the new design and finding drop down menus that work (pure CSS, not JavaScript). Here's a sneak peek:

http://www.yellowhousemedia.com/yellow/

Only the home page is active right now. I have about 80 pages to convert to the new template, but once I do, new updates will be a lot faster and easier.

The next big hurdle is finding a good calendar solution for the events. We've been embedding the Airset calendar that Dave keeps updated but I find it slow and all around annoying.

I also need to write a lot of copy. The stuff on the home page is old and I need new filler stuff for the music page, etc. Also on each of the over 70 musician pages, I want to add a blurb and links to their sites. It's a big research project from that point of view, but it's the least I can do for these people who are so graciously letting us stream their original music.

Luckily it is grey and cool here so I don't feel like I'm missing out too much staying glued to my Mac.

(PS - the radio and "Fresh Tracks" feature on the new page work so enjoy!)

Update: the new site is live now!

"Yellow Chevy" on Car Talk

2009-05-09T05:45:00.005-05:00

Dave's song "Yellow Chevy" is going to be featured on Car Talk today. It should be on after the first 15 minutes of the first half hour, but if you miss it, you can listen to it here:

I should mention that that is the always awesome Rich Meijer on lead guitar ...

2009-04-23T05:58:00.004-05:00

There is a song running through my brain this morning that our friend Kerry brought to our attention last year. It is called "Trouble in the Fields" by Nanci Griffith and Rick West. It starts out:

"Baby, I know that we've got trouble in the fields
When the bankers swarm like locusts
out there turning away our yield."

The only recorded version I've heard of it is by Griffith and she sings it quickly and lightly. When Kerry sings it at the Acoustic Coalition, the sound is so much more soulful.

Dave and I sing it together, too, generally in private or for my mom (she and Dave share a love of the guitar). I can't match the richness of Kerry's voice. And I have this little problem where parts of it bring tears to my eyes.

I suppose I'm feeling sorry for myself. I haven't blogged much because I still feel there is just one topic -- that business is hard and getting harder. How many times can I say that without beginning to feel like I am creating it just by giving voice to it?

But there is a part of this song that gives me comfort and hope that we can work our way out of this. We're strong enough and we have the will to do it. It is in the refrain:

"And all this trouble in our fields,
If this rain can fall, these wounds can heal.
They'll never take our native soil.
But if we sell that new John Deere
Then we'll work this farm with sweat and tears.
You'll be the mule, I'll be the plow,
Come harvest time we'll work it out.
There's still a lot of love,
here in these troubled fields"

These are the images in my mind as I start my day -- images of working steadfastly together as best we can, with hope and love, sweat and tears.

New Year's Day horizon

2009-01-07T22:30:00.003-05:00

Chronologically I should have posted this photo a few days ago. I took it on my first walk of the new year. It is one of my favorite views looking out over the high meadow above Dewey Mills Pond.

I had to snap this one in a hurry just before sundown because the dog was pulling hard on her leash, being very eager to get home and eat. The meadow is much steeper than it appears, I know because I sometimes cross country ski there and it is a tough climb.

On the horizon about two-thirds of the way over from the left, you can see just a sliver of Mount Ascutney, the only monadnock in Southern Vermont and (strange trivia tidbit) eternal resting place of Charles Bronson.

To market, to market

2009-01-06T12:25:00.004-05:00

I woke up in a bad mood this morning because we are going to Dallas next week and I didn't have anyone lined up to take care of the dog. My parents have kindly offered to come stay with her, but the room they usually sleep in is in an area of the house now known as "Siberia" thanks to the wonders of multi-zone heating. I could heat it, but it would never be warm enough for my poor dad.

Dog care aside, I'm still not thrilled about going to Dallas. It isn't that there's anything particularly wrong with Dallas, apart from its being somewhat overwhelming for someone who drives almost exclusively on village or country roads. The problem I have with Dallas is the building in the photo above. It is the Dallas Market Center and when we are in town, it is our home. We get there in the early morning and leave at dusk.

It doesn't look like much in the photo, but it is 14 stories of windowless, airless fun. Next week is the International Lighting Market. In the past, market has been ok, but this year with everyone suffering from the terrible economy, I am feeling gloomy about the whole trip.

Side note - I took the photo a few years ago from the top of the market parking garage on our last day in town. As I was snapping a few shots, a car came up and drove right into the concrete Jersey barrier behind me.

My Year in Books: 3rd Anniversary Edition

2008-12-31T13:36:00.008-05:00

This was a good reading year for me. I exceeded my goal of 2 books per month, even if I didn't exactly read them at that rate. There has been a definitely slacking off these last two months, but here's how it all went down with the 31 books I read:

Chanel: A Woman of Her Own
By Axel Madsen

Coco Chanel was a hero of mine and still is in a way. But she definitely had issues and it seems she was incapable of working through them. It probably never occurred to her to try. Is trauma a prerequisite to success? It's clear success is no guarantee against loneliness.

The Maltese Falcon
By Dashiell Hammett

This was for the book discussion group at the library. Sam Spade is not nice. I had thought he was a loner with a distinct personal ethic, essentially hard-bitten detective with a heart of gold. Turns out he's wolfish, sleazy and slightly satanic. I think I must have been remembering some sanitized Hollywood version of the character.

Dog Days: Dispatches from Bedlam Farm
By Jon Katz

Heartening that this book has a note at the start:
"Professor Chernowitz, and other readers: No dogs die in this book."
After "Marley and Me" last year, I don't think I could have read it otherwise.

A Moveable Feast
By Ernest Hemingway

I first read this when I was in my 20s and living in Geneva. I loved it then and love it now. It makes me want to move back to Europe even if that place doesn't actually exist any more. Such is the magic of nostalgia.

Persuasion
By Jane Austen

My least favorite of Austen's novels holds on to its status.

Jane Eyre
By Charlotte Bronte

This was a childhood favorite that I had to revisit after reading Setterfield's "The Thirteenth Tale" last year. Just wonderful.

On Writing
By Stephen King

A writer on writing who doesn't try to discourage other people from writing. So rare. I like this guy even though I don't much care for his fiction.

Never Let Me Go
By Kazuo Ishiguro

This is a disturbing fantasy of a world divided into organ donors, transplant recipients, and caregivers. Unsettling and bizarre. I'm not quite sure why it was written, but it held my attention throughout.

The Art of Living and other stories
By John Gardner

Gardner was a terrific writer; sad that he died so young. This was another re-read from my 20s. I guess I really got on a nostalgia kick this year. Just full of intriguing character studies and observations.

Far From the Madding Crowd
By Thomas Hardy

Oh, no ... another favorite from my youth. When my parents took me and my brother on a summer tour of Switzerland in 1976, this was one of two books that I brought with me. (The other was Orwell's "1984".) I read them both obsessively for 6 weeks. Still great. Even at 16 I understood Bathsheba Everdene falling for Frank Troy, but I knew she belonged with Gabriel Oak.

Chilly Scenes of Winter
By Ann Beattie

This particular re-read was not as satisfying as the first time I read it. I wanted to shake these characters and say "Snap out of it!" It did remind me of how hopeless the 1970s seemed and how they actually ended and life went on pretty nicely from there. Until we hit this latest wall, of course.

The Art of Possibility
By Rosamund Stone Zander and Benjamin Zander

At last something new and nonfiction. I tried to read this book before. To tell you the truth, I think I bought it originally because of the bright yellow cover. This time it caught my attention and I finished it. I particularly like the chapter on "being a contribution." Instead of constantly judging yourself every day for success or failure ... "throw yourself into life as someone who makes a difference, accepting that you may not understand how or why." Also -- remember Rule #6.

One Hundred Years of Solitude
Gabriel Garcia Marquez

GGM wears me out. Does he have to give nearly every male character a variant of one of two names? And I'm not a big fan of "Magical Realism." I'm glad I read this, but I was a little relieved to be done with it.

Evening
By Susan Minot

I finished this and had an immediate impulse to read it again (which I didn't do). Is that good or bad? It was kind of "What the heck was that about? I think I liked it." It was a jumbled narrative about the ending of a life--and that whole life. How we aren't really ever known by another person however close they may seem.

The Namesake
By Jhumpa Lahiri

Loved it. I don't know why a book about Bengalese expatriates should resonate with me, but then I realized it is being an outsider in American society. Or somehow being part of it but not wholly. Outwardly I look like any other average white American, but in my soul I'm from another planet.

The Kite Runner
By Khaled Hosseini

Another good novel -- disturbing but good. I'd like to know if there really is/was a big kite flying culture in Afghanistan. Or am I just being ridiculously literal minded?

Welcome to Hard Times
By EL Doctorow

Also a book discussion read for a series on revenge. I don't like westerns, even when they are meant to demonstrate what's wrong with the genre. Bloody and no redemption here. I need a little more hope than that.

Selected Stories
By Andre Dubus

Also for the series on revenge. The discussion was only on one of the stories, but I read the whole thing. I confused Dubus with his son, Andre Dubus III, who wrote "The House of Sand and Fog." Both are gritty but I liked Dubus senior more.

The Sweet Hereafter
By Russell Banks

Also for the revenge series. The cover copy said it was a morality play and so it was. Not a lot of depth here.

Comfort Food
By Kate Jacobs

Just a snack, thanks. A bit formulaic, not terribly engaging.

Certain Girls
By Jennifer Weiner

I liked this one well enough in a summer-novel kind of way, but I'm having trouble remembering the details now. Maybe it's me, maybe it's the book.

The City of Falling Angels
By John Berendt

I relished this one. If you can't got to Venice, at least read this book. Vivid and engrossing.

Becoming Madame Mao
By Anchee Min

Apart from reading Fox Butterfield's "China: Alive in the Bitter Sea" and Pearl S. Buck's "The Good Earth," I haven't thought much about China and Chinese history, huge topics, of course. This fictionalized version of the life of Madame Mao was a good read and made me want to learn more.

The Sun Also Rises
By Ernest Hemingway

I must have read this short novel once, but I don't remember when. Certainly I'm familiar with the characters, but then Hemingway did tend to revisit certain types over and over so I might be thinking of a different novel. Good solid, descriptive writing.

Interpreter of Maladies
By Jhumpa Lahiri

Good short stories by a good writer. Isn't that the very definition of perfection?

Morningside Heights
Cheryl Mendelson

Another lightweight-ish novel. I read this after spending a weekend in NYC and enjoyed it for the big-city flavors. But I saw the end coming a mile off. Don't you hate that?

The Death of Vishnu
By Manil Suri

I heard Manil Suri speak on a book discussion panel while I was in NYC and was interested enough to get this book and read it. I liked it and plan to read his second novel, "The Age of Shiva" when I have the time.

Goldengrove
By Francine Prose

I liked Francine Prose's nonfiction "Reading Like a Writer" and still dip into it when I'm looking for a recommendation on something new to read. She didn't have the nerve to recommend her own fiction, which was probably the right call.

Here If You Need Me: A True Story
By Kate Braestrup

I heard Braestrup on NPR a year or so ago and made a mental note to check out her memoir. She makes no bones about having somewhat exploited the "plucky widow" angle, but still worth reading.

Brideshead Revisited
By Evelyn Waugh

How could I have lived so long and not read this one? Loved it. Now I can finally watch both the BBC miniseries and the new movie.

Stradivari's Genius: Five Violins, One Cello and Three Centuries of Enduring Perfection
By Tony Faber

Enjoyable history of both Stradivari and his instruments. I'm still not sure why his "Messiah" violin is considered so magnificent when it has hardly been played. Ever. I really do believe that a mediocre instrument can be played into greatness. Perhaps not by me, though.

In addition to the books I finished this year, I have some "in progress" and abandoned titles:

New and Selected Poems
By Mary Oliver

It's hard to sit down and read whole book of poems so I keep this one by the bed and dip into it when I need a fix. A lovely writer and observer of nature.

Nothing to Be Frightened of
By Julian Barnes

The library has been sending me emails reminding me to return this, but I've been stalled for a week. Julian Barnes has a problem with death. He seems to be dealing with this by turning from atheism to agnosticism.

Lady with Lapdog and other stories
By Anton Chekhov

Chekhov is credited with inventing the modern short story and for that I think him.

InDesign Production Cookbook
By Alistair Dabbs

Not sure you can really read this kind of book. My method is to wait until I have a problem doing something in InDesign and then I look in the index for a solution.

China: Alive in the Bitter Sea
By Fox Butterfield

"Madame Mao" got me thinking about this early 80s nonfiction book about China. I found it on Alibris and have been dropping in and out of it for a few months.

The Rough Guide to Costa Rica
By Jean McNeil

We are planning to go to Costa Rica next year so I'm reading this in preparation. We will be staying just south of Limon on the Caribbean side. My friend Carol describes it as the "hippie" part of the country. That might be her way of telling me not to expect any spa treatments.

Winter Solstice

2008-12-20T07:04:00.001-05:00

Tomorrow at 7:04 AM EST marks the solstice -- the beginning of winter in the Northern Hemisphere and summer in the Southern Hemisphere.

Here in the north, it is the shortest day, which means the darkest time is behind us; the days are going to start getting longer from here on out. I find that comforting.

It snowed most of yesterday and last night so this morning, the world outside my window is beautiful. The storm was not intense, just steady and gentle. We drove home at around midnight without feeling ourselves to be in any great danger.

This week, Dave and I have been singing in the Christmas Revels production with Revels North. We've been rehearsing every day for the past week and have six performances this weekend. The first two were Thursday and Friday. We still have two more today and two tomorrow.

There's something strongly pagan about the Revels tradition, even though the music draws heavily from the Christian canon. This particular show features French medieval music, which I love--more proof that I was born in the wrong century, though I'm sure there are parts of the 1400s I wouldn't have liked much. Plague comes to mind. And being some guy's chattel would probably have rankled.

My favorite part of the show is the reading of Susan Cooper's contemporary poem "The Shortest Day". It begins:

And so the Shortest Day came and the year died
And everywhere down the centuries of the snow-white world
Came people singing, dancing,
To drive the dark away ...

You can read the full poem on Susan Cooper's website.

Searching for Jimmy Buffett?

2008-11-14T10:05:00.004-05:00

We've been down on Ocracoke island in the outer banks of North Carolina this past week.

Rumor has it Jimmy Buffett was/is here, too. We were told he was dining at the same restaurant as us the other night. That shouldn't be too surprising. There aren't a lot of restaurants open here in the off-season so unless he was in the mood to fry up his own conch fritters, he didn't have a lot of other choices. If he was there when we were, I didn't notice him.

Bless the beasts and the children

2008-10-07T16:08:00.002-05:00

I happened to walk past the Cathedral of St. John Divine in NYC last Sunday while they were doing the blessing of the animals to celebrate the feast of St. Francis. I caught the action with my cell phone camera.

It isn't a great shot, but yes, that is a camel up there. I wasn't within spitting distance, fortunately.

Here Is New York

2008-10-05T20:17:00.006-05:00

"On any person who desires such queer prizes, New York will bestow the gift of loneliness and the gift of privacy." - E.B. White, "Here Is New York" (1948)

I've just spent the weekend in New York City. Dave had other commitments so I went down with a friend and had roughly two days of intense city atmosphere. It reminded me a little of who I am and where I've been.

Once upon a time, I was a happy loner. Today after two marriages of some duration, I am in the near constant company of my spouse. Although I love and cherish him, in some ways I've feared I had lost the ability to be on my own.

I can hardly claim to have been completely on my own this weekend, much of the trip was with a very capable former New Yorker, but I did have a taste of how I used to be and I'm relieved that I do still have the inner resources required to get by.

The end of the world as we know it

2008-10-03T06:30:00.005-05:00

It has been the end of the world as we know it nearly my whole life.

The economic news has been unsettling the past few weeks. I don't know what's going to happen and I worry about the future as much as anyone.

When I was a kid my parents did a pretty good job of filtering out the worst of the evening news so I lived through the Vietnam war era without it registering much, but I remember the rest of the 70s as one long decade of inflation, oil crisis and anxiety, capped by the taking of American hostages in Iran.

I lived in Europe in the 80s and people I worked with were actively worried that Reagan was going to do something to get us all blown up. During a particularly tense conflict with Libya, my friends and I had a pact to meet at a certain restaurant for one last good spaghetti carbonara if it appeared the end was nigh.

The 90s started out rocky. The large company I worked for at the start of the decade was gone by 1996 and although I landed on my feet, my confidence in the corporate life was irrevocably shaken.

By 2002 the "safe" corporation I worked for was also floundering and as one of a handful of telecommuters, I lost that job. They are struggling to this day so I'm pretty sure their problems are more related to general mismanagement than anything I was doing. Now that I've been a small business owner for a few years, I wonder how any large corporation can do it. Well, they need access to credit, I guess, and that's why we are currently reaching the end of the world.

I have a Post-It note on the wall next to my desk that reads "Don't Panic!" -- a quote from the book "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" by Douglas Adams. I glance at it throughout the day and remind myself to stay calm and that whatever happens next, the sun will still shine and we will find our way through it all. I have a lot of faith that we will grow stronger as a community as a result of these times.

Turn about is fair play

2008-09-12T06:54:00.003-05:00

A couple of years ago on my birthday, I received a flood of email messages wishing me the best on my day. It was astonishing. I heard from all sorts of people, old friends and new, many of whom I never imagined knew it was my birthday. I was surprised, I was flattered. I didn't think anyone had been paying that close attention.

Well, they weren't, actually. Dave had thrown me a virtual birthday party by giving everyone we knew the heads up that morning and asking them to send me a note. Did that cheapen it? Maybe, but it was still really fun to get all those good vibes.

Today is Dave's birthday so if you see this post, please send him your best wishes at dave @ yellowhousemedia.com.

Getting ready for winter

2008-08-30T22:16:00.009-05:00

"Every man looks at his woodpile with a kind of affection."
- Henry David Thoreau

Ralph L. delivered a couple of cords last week. He dumped the wood on the far side of the house where I couldn't see it, but plenty of people around town have been commenting to me that we have some work to do. This morning I woke up with just one goal in mind: stack wood. Fortunately, Dave was also motivated so we plugged the iPod into some speakers, stuck them on the back porch and got to work.

Thank you for kind comments from people who have noticed I haven't been writing lately (hi Jeff). Really I'm only abstaining to spare you from my constant whining. Business is still tough and it consumes so much of my energy that at the end of the day, I just turn off the computer and stare blankly into space.

No, I'm just kidding about the staring into space. I have been reading great quantities of books.

Business aside, it has been a lovely summer. We didn't take our usual week of vacation, but did get away to New York City for a weekend.

We ate a lot of good food, saw a show, and checked up on the construction work at ground zero, which was the principal view from our hotel room.

As I usually do when in an urban environment, I tried to make Dave walk absolutely everywhere, but he hailed a cab after the first 80 blocks or so. Something about a stabbing pain shooting up one leg and down the other.

The other way I've been torturing Dave lately is with the soundtrack from the movie "Mamma Mia." He is trying to find out if a fondness for ABBA's music is grounds for divorce.

There has been one cloud on the horizon this summer. In June my 13 year old Lab Retriever laid down and refused to get back up. For some time prior she had been having trouble walking, particularly going up and down stairs, but outright refusal to move was new. We took her to the vet, whom she loves with a passion normally reserved for raw steak. Once she realized where she was, she immediately got up and limped across the room to greet Chris.

Chris listened to our report, observed her stance and gait and told us she likely has Lumbar Spinal Stenosis or Degenerative Myelopathy. Or both. The former responds well to steroids and can be treated with surgery (though not necessarily recommended for a dog Cammy's age). The latter is generally just a downhill slide.

She has been on steroids ever since and although stairs are still a challenge, she is very nearly her old self. We're told she isn't suffering because the nature of the problem is that she has lost sensation in her feet and legs, but we've also been warned that this isn't going to go away, it will get worse, and we will have to decide at some point when to end her life.

I can't begin to deal with that diagnosis. She is so much a part of my day that she will haunt me forever when she is gone. But for now, I will enjoy her calm presence and do my best to stay in this moment with her. Right here. Right now.

Mother's Day

2008-05-11T06:41:00.007-05:00

Happy Mother's Day to my mom and to my sister, both among the best moms in the business. Their example of unconditional love encourages me to believe the world isn't such a bad place.

My sister in particular further inspires me with her preparedness in the face of all situations. Her car, for example, is better stocked with the necessities of life than my house. The only items you might reliably find in my car at any given moment are some old cassette tapes my brother recorded for me in the 80s and a dog leash.

Once when my niece was still small enough to be confined to a car seat, I was driving her somewhere in my car. As we were driving along, my niece suddenly looked around the bare, dusty car and said to me in her clear, sweet voice "Helen, where is the water?" It took a moment before I realized her mom's car always carries an ample supply of bottled water for drinking.

Ocracoke Island

2008-04-19T16:36:00.001-05:00

I haven't blogged in roughly forever, but we did get away for a few days to Ocracoke Island on North Carolina's Outer Banks. This photo was taken during an early evening walk on the beach after an amazing dinner at the Cafe Atlantic. If you go there, all I have to say is "Shrimp Tomatillo."

More snow

2008-02-27T09:00:00.002-05:00

"A few light taps upon the pane made him turn to the window. It had begun to snow again. He watched sleepily the flakes, silver and dark, falling obliquely against the lamplight. The time had come for him to set out on his journey westward. Yes, the newspapers were right: snow was general all over Ireland. It was falling on every part of the dark central plain, on the treeless hills, falling softly upon the Bog of Allen and, farther westward, softly falling into the dark mutinous Shannon waves. It was falling, too, upon every part of the lonely churchyard on the hill where Michael Furey lay buried. It lay thickly drifted on the crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the barren thorns. His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead."
- James Joyce, The Dead