Meteorology

I've just re-read The Perfect Storm by Sebastian Junger (1997). It's extremely interesting, although it is about sailors and there is a bit of language. Oddly enough, the level of discourse drops only when sailors are quoted. Hmm. Let that be a warnin' to ye.

The author himself has a remarkable talent with words. In the following paragraph, he describes how the jet stream contributes to storms over the Atlantic ocean. Do you care about that? Neither did I, until Junger tossed in some fantastic active verbs and a great metaphor. Here goes:

"Ultimately, the engine behind all of this activity is the jet stream, a river of cold upper-level air that screams around the globe at thirty or forty thousand feet. Storms, cold fronts, short-wave troughs - they're all dragged eastward sooner or later by upper-level winds. The jet stream is not steady; it convulses like a loose firehose, careening off mountains, veering across plains. These irregularities create continent-sized eddies that come ballooning out of the Arctic as deep cold fronts. They are called anticyclones because the cold air in them flows outwards and clockwise, the opposite of a low. It is along the leading edge of these anticyclones that low-pressure waves sometimes develop; occasionally, one of these waves will intensify into a major storm. Why, and when, is still beyond the powers of science to predict. It typically happens over areas where a leg of the jet stream collides with subtropical air - the Great Lakes, the Gulf Stream off Hatteras, the southern Appalachians. Since air flows counterclockwise around these storms, the winds come out of the northeast as they move offshore. For that reason they're known as 'nor-easters.' Meteorologists have another name for them. They call them 'bombs.'"

The metaphor is easy to spot, but I'm counting at least seven great active verbs. I'm not counting the ordinary, everyday verbs.

Snow Photos

Snow is no big deal to most people, but around here it just isn't that common. Besides, we have an uncommon amount right now! It's beautiful, so here are some photos:


Bad tree hair.


Pine branches sagging over the driveway.

Our house today.

Our house three years ago!

What to do with boredom

Make space alien costumes.


Bake.


Make duffle-bag swings.


Read a gigantic book.

Cape Disappointment

Last week we spent a couple nights at Cape Disappointment in a borrowed RV (thanks much, DL, for the loan). The boys were very much in favor of the whole RV experience. We played in the sand, visited the Lewis & Clark Interpretive Center, and cooked two decent dinners on the teensey RV stove. I recommend the interpretive center. It's a beautiful facility that sits on a bluff overlooking the Columbia River Bar - one of the world's most treacherous river bars. You can watch boats, small and large, try to cross the bar. May I never.

En route home, we stopped at Dismal Nitch. You can read here about how the place got its name.

Struggles of the Somnolent

Out of the Mouths

Over the past several months, I've written down some of the droll, clever or downright bizarre things I hear from my family. Here we go.

R, from backyard: "MOM, I JUST NEED TO CUT SOME BRANCHES OUT OF THIS TREE TO MAKE ROOM FOR ALL THE BRICKS AND MORTAR I NEED FOR MY TREE HOUSE."

J, holding large moth between thumb and forefinger: "We can roast this."

R: "Mom, if you were a kid, you would do this all the time."

R (on bicycle): "This is called the Wheelie of the Kings."

R: "Mom, you are a demanding lady."

Me: "I have a surprise for you."
R: "I know what you're talking about."
Me: "What am I talking about?"
R: "I won't tell you."

J: (imitating someone?): "I already swept the floor this morning!"

Spouse: "Two boys are exponentially louder than one boy. It's not a linear equation. On a logarithmic scale it would be a straight line."

Odd Projects

There are a million things I should be doing this afternoon. Blogging does not top the list. So why am I sitting here?

Long Pause.

Things are getting done around here, and I have photographic evidence. The problem is, I am not responsible for any of this activity. These projects are not mine; they weren't even my idea. I stumbled upon them this week, usually in progress, but sometimes during the aftermath. Enjoy.


Trying to make Parachute Man surf in the bathroom sink.


Making sure the fish has company.


Cooking (note rat's expression of distress).


Freezing beetles in cups of water.

Grist Mill

Last week, the boys' science book discussed hydropower. We built a little water wheel with paper plates, egg carton cups and Tinker Toys. On Saturday, we rounded up Grandma, Grandpa and GG's (Great-Grandparents) and headed to the Cedar Creek grist mill.

Here's the sluice. No water wheel on this mill - rather an underwater turbine.


Whole wheat flour.


Mill and mossy trees.


Big maple leaves.

One More Poem

Weekend before last, a friend shared a poem with all of us at the Richland Harvest Party. Along with it, he gave us several Scriptures, including Philippians 3:8: "Yea doubtless, and I count all things but loss for the excellency of the knowledge of Christ Jesus, my Lord; for whom I have suffered the loss of all things, and do count them but refuse, that I may win Christ."

Considering all that's going on in the world, and considering my purpose (being a Christian, a wife, a mom), I have to ask myself if my attitude is like the apostle Paul's or Amy Carmicheal's.

(Apologies - this poem is written in three verses, but the server keeps squishing them together!)

MAKE ME THY FUEL

From prayer that asks that I may be

Sheltered from winds that blew on Thee,

From fearing when I should aspire,

From faltering when I should climb higher,

From silken self, O Captain, free

Thy soldier who would follow Thee.

From subtle love of softening things,

From easy choices, weakenings,

Not thus are spirits fortified,

Not this way went the Crucified,

From all that dims Thy Calvary,

O Lamb of God, deliver me.

Give me the love that leads the way,

The faith that nothing can dismay,

The hope no disappointments tire,

The passion that will burn like fire,

Let me not sink to be a clod:

Make me thy fuel, Flame of God.

Amy Carmichael

Semi-Appropriate Rain Poem

Rain Clouds

Along a road
Not built by man
There winds a silent
Caravan
Of camel-clouds
Whose humped gray backs
Are weighted down
With heavy packs
Of long-awaited,
Precious rain
To make the old earth
Young again,
And dress her shabby
Fields and hills
In green grass silk
With wild-flower frills.

Elizabeth-Ellen Long

Bugs & Birthday

First order of business: The Spouse's birthday is today! If my math is right, he's 39 years old now. He requested beef stew for his birthday meal, and German Chocolate Cake for dessert. His gifts are a new rain parka and a vice. He says he needs it to balance all his virtues.

Lately, life has been very insect-heavy. We hatched (pupated?) Painted Lady butterflies in a habitat (thanks, Grandma & Grandpa K). Actually, they pupated themselves and we watched. We've identified more beetles, moths, caterpillars and craneflies than I care to acknowledge on the property. We use Insects of the Pacific Northwest by Peter & Judy Haggard (thank you Auntie K, for the book money).

The most fun, though, is the praying mantis. We found one living in my daphne and if you put a cranefly near those front legs (praying, my eye), they go SNATCH with a terrible rustling of wings and bug parts, and he stuffs the fly in his mouth - at least all that will fit. The mantis has the cutest bug head I've ever seen; it swivels toward you and away, and his eyes are very bright.

West Crater

Recently the Spouse announced that our family has a goal: Visit, and climb if possible, all the volcanoes in Washington State. I told him he could climb Ranier himself, but otherwise I'll join the quest.

So last Saturday, we visited West Crater, the smallest volcano (that we know of) in the state. To get there from our house, you drive to Carson, WA and take county roads and forest roads. West Crater isn't a big, impressive cinder cone like Ranier, St. Helens or Adams. It's overgrown with trees and brush, but still impressive.

Projects

We started school two weeks ago (a week earlier than I wanted to), because when the curriculum arrived and R saw all the books in those boxes, he couldn't wait. I held him off for a week. The weather is so beautiful that we've been doing school at a card table on the front porch, and yesterday we took everything to the park and worked at a picnic table.

Other projects afoot: Blackberry freezer jam!

Our largest undertaking of late, however, is a replica of the Alaska Pipeline that the boys built throughout the house. I believe Prudhoe Bay is here, in the school room:

This looks to me like Thompson Pass. Our pipeline ends here. No Valdez.

You see, we watched a DVD about the building of the pipeline, and the boys felt compelled to make their own. Unfortunately, it was vandalized by a large, canine terrorist shortly after completion.

Fair Poetry

Tomorrow's the fair,
And I shall be there,
Stuffing my guts
With gingerbread nuts.
Anonymous

It's time for the county fair. The fairgrounds is a whopping four miles from our house, so we can see the glow from the midway, in the sky after the sun goes down. So last Friday we went, with Grandma & Grandpa, and watched the demolition derby and rode go-karts, the Twister and the Worm and ate caramel apples, cotton candy and an elephant ear.

We barely escaped the lure of the Presbyterian Church pie booth:

Pie Problem
If I eat one more piece of pie, I'll die!
If I can't have one more piece of pie, I'll die!
So since it's all decided that I must die,
I might as well have one more piece of pie.
MMMM-OOOH-MY!
Chomp-Gulp-'Bye!
Shel Silversein

We saw alpacas, rabbits, all manner of fowl, beef cattle, dairy cattle, sheep & goats, bees (!) and, last but not least, hogs:

Hog-Calling Competition

A bull-voiced young fellow of Pawling

Competes in the meets for hog-calling;

The people applaud,

And the judges are awed,

But the hogs find it simply appalling.

Morris Bishop

Big Blue

Long time no! We're back from western Michigan. Thanks to Pete & Doris (my in-laws) all 16 members of the Spouse's side of the family spent a week at house on Big Blue Lake. The boys swam and swam and swam, and R kneeboarded behind the jet ski. He woke up on the day we left and said, "This is the worst day of my life!" We redeemed the day, however, because en route to O'Hare we rode the Ferris Wheel at the Navy Pier in Chicago.

I won't write much today. Instead I'll share some trip photos below. Far below. I don't feel like figuring out this layout!

Fruit!

I've been busy dealing with cherries. Our four trees (two Rainier, one Bing and one pie) are feeding most of the European Starlings in the county. They start eating early in the morning. They carry half-eaten cherries all over the property. They make sinister noises while they eat, then all fly out of the trees at once with a big whirring wing-flapping noise. What the birds don't eat, our dog eats off the ground.

You can imagine how things go after a 90-pound Rhodesian Ridgeback spends an afternoon eating cherries. First, he walks into the house with a piece of mashed fruit lodged between his big foot-pads and tracks cherry juice through two rooms. Mistress of House follows him with a bucket of soapy water. Next, he naps, waking himself up occasionally with terrible dog gas. Mistress of House grosses out and sends dog back outside. Dog eats more cherries, scratches at back door until admitted to house, has more gas. Spouse, who usually finds dog gas mildly amusing, admits he's getting sick to his stomach.



I'm trying to get a few cherries for myself, using a stepladder. This gives me access to about one twentieth of the cherries on the trees. The cherries taste very nice. We leave for Michigan in a week; I'll try to post once more before then. Love to all.

Truck Stop Sandwich

Yesterday the Spouse and I returned home from Kirkland, where we attended the wedding reception of Eleanor and Rick Marshall. I forgot my camera, so I have no photos of the bride (gorgeous, radiant) and the groom (very, very happy man), or all the dear old friends I saw. It was a wonderful time; a real shot in the arm.

En route home yesterday, I got a bit hungry between exits 70 and 60, and it just so happened that we needed to cash in our 401k and buy a tank of gas. Fortunately, the 76 Food Mart had truck stop sandwiches (alternately called gas station sandwiches), which I happen to love. They keep them in a cooler, in triangle-shaped plastic containers. They're labeled Turkey Cheese or Beef Cheddar, and cost about $3.99. I had to have one.

These particular sandwiches were made in Spanaway, Washington, and I can say that until that point, I hadn't sampled the local cuisine of Spanaway. They were quite good. Like all truck stop sandwiches, they consisted of buttered wheat bread, cheese, and meat. Simple. Beautiful.
If you ever buy a one, don't be tempted by the sandwiches on rolls or Hoagie buns. The bread-to-filling ratio is all wrong.

The ideal dessert to follow this meal is (sigh):

what knot to kname your kid

Hi. I'll have you know I'm typing this instead of folding laundry.

Today you have the blessed privilege of enjoying one of my rollicking, bounding mental tangents. You see, this morning at breakfast, Karl and I laughed with each other about the name Kingsley. It's a slightly funny name, but it sounds completely disastrous when you add our last name to it.

I racked my brain over odd name combinations when I was pregnant with the boys. Some first names sound great with another, and some are linguistic train wrecks. "Sally Smith" is nice, don't you think? The identical consonants work well together. "Sissy Smith" is a different story. When you ssay it you ssound like a ssnake.

This is why I culled names like Nicholas and Victor right away. Before your kids can say their own names, you've got people running around calling them "Nick Keip." Do you see how that doesn't work?

In Linguistic terms, a "k" sound is called a voiceless velar plosive. To make the sound, you stop the flow of air out of your mouth by touching the back part of your tongue against your soft palate (the velum) without using your vocal cords. Try it a few times. Now say "Nick Keip" three or four times. You have to make two voiceless velar plosives in a row, and it sounds like you've got a salmon bone stuck in your throat.

Now, say my name (or my husbands) a few times. Better, eh? Almost poetic. Makes you want to cry for all the beauty. Our names are easier to say because the "K" sounds are separated by other vowels and blended consonants.

Here's another name that sounds hilarious with our last name: Cooper.

Aren't you glad you read all this?