I must do a reading update before we get too far into May. Reading was more of a pleasure in April and I managed to read nine books, so we are still on track to read 100 by year's end. Here is the list:
27. Lark and Termite by Jayne Anne Phillips. Recommended by my sister Barbara, this was a very mystical sort of novel, which is Phillips' style. It takes place in the heat and humidity of summer, and in some ways it drags, just like summer. But here and there it's both heartbreaking and overwhelming. I've already recommended it to someone else.
28. Death's Half Acre by Margaret Maron. Another mystery.
29. The Lightning Thief by Rick Riordan. Recommended by our cleaning lady, this is a juvenile adventure story, first in a series, where the teenage main character is the son of a mortal woman and a Greek god. Percy Jackson is no Harry Potter, but his story is very entertaining.
30. The Everything Potty Training Book by Linda Sonna. Read for obvious reasons (sigh). A good explanation of the various methods.
31. Something Rotten by Jasper Fforde. Another Thursday Next mystery. I enjoyed it much more than the previous book in the series. The next one is already in my bedside pile.
32. Betraying Spinoza: The Renegade Jew Who Gave Us Modernity by Rebecca Goldstein. Someone told me I should read Spinoza in order to understand my own belief system better, so I looked around for a good analysis of his philosophy and found this book. Goldstein was raised in Orthodox Judaism, became a philosophy professor, then a novelist, won a MacArthur "genius" award... she's quite amazing and I trust her to explain things to me. This was a fascinating book, but I still don't understand Spinoza very well. I'm thinking in a few months I should read the whole thing all over again; maybe then I'd get it.
33. The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie by Alan Bradley. Another mystery (sort of) featuring an 11-year-old girl in 1950 England who likes to cook up poisons in her chemistry lab. Quite amusing -- I have the second book in the series on my library "request" list.
34. Shadow Tag by Louise Erdrich. My sister Nancy warned me this was depressing, and it was. A really bleak, frightening book about a marriage falling apart, but ultimately redemptive as well. Fascinating, because Erdrich is clearly playing around with the story of her own life and marriage. I can't get it out of my head. She's never been my favorite author, but now I have her previous novel in my bedside pile too.
35. Last Lessons of Summer by Margaret Maron. A really stupid mystery!
I've already finished my first May book, so onward we go.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Adventures at the Bakersfield zoo
Today we drove to Bakersfield to go to the zoo! Or, more specifically, the California Living Museum, which displays animals that are native to California and have been "rescued" -- injured or otherwise unable to live in the wild. I first heard about this little zoo a year ago from a woman who worked at the Ridgecrest library. Last month she turned up at the tortoise club meeting and asked me if we'd taken the twins there yet. Then she mailed me a coupon for $1 off the admission price. Enough already: we decided to go.
It's 109 miles from our house to the zoo and we made it in less than 2 hours. The zoo is just north of Bakersfield proper, kind of out in the middle of nowhere. It must be horribly hot in the summer, but today it was delightful -- just warm enough to skip the coats.
We had decided not to bring a stroller, figuring we could control the twins using their little backpack leashes. This turned out to be only somewhat true.
To enter the zoo, you walk through the gift shop, which sells mainly toy animals -- plastic, stuffed, etc. The babies began to exclaim and grab, but we hurried them through. I should note that they looked adorable today: red and yellow t-shirts, blue backpack leashes, green and tan sun hats. Everyone we passed noticed them. This proved useful later.
First stop was the reptile house ("reptile" loosely defined): lizards, toads, a tarantula, a bad by-du, and many many types of California snakes, most of which live right here in the Mojave desert. Last weekend when we were driving on the Garlock Road we saw two snakes; today, looking at the caged snakes, I was able to identify what we had seen. One was a king snake and I'm pretty sure the other was the deadly Mojave green rattlesnake. Lovely.
Next stop was the Desert Habitat: tortoises of course, but also an adorable and very friendly roadrunner. At the Children's Park we saw goats, bunnies, and a large male turkey. The bears in the bear exhibit were asleep, but the coyotes in the coyote exhibit were awake. At the Mammal Round I got so interested in the kit foxes and bobcats that I forgot to pay attention to the twins.
All of a sudden Rocket Boy said "where's Baby B?" We looked -- he was nowhere to be seen. We rushed out of the Round. The coyotes began to howl: for a terrible moment I thought Baby B had gotten into their exhibit and they were tearing him to pieces. But no. Here came a family we had seen earlier, and the large tattooed father was carrying Baby B! We fell on our bad boy with kisses and scoldings, thanking the family over and over for noticing him (those cute clothes!) and nabbing him.
We hurried through the next few exhibits, me holding Baby B's leash tightly, but as we left the raptor exhibit, he ran away from me. I didn't worry because he and I were headed for the zoo exit on two parallel paths. Baby A and Rocket Boy were maybe 50 feet behind him on his path.
Then Baby B's path went over a tiny bridge above a stream, and instead of crossing it, Baby B sat down on it, and then suddenly lowered himself into the water! RB and I both screamed and ran to snatch him out. He was soaked and filthy -- the water was muddy. And I hadn't brought any extra shoes and socks. I led him over to a grassy picnic area, pulling him on his leash instead of carrying him so I wouldn't get muddy, but I felt terrible because he was crying all the way. I stripped him down, wiped the mud off, and gave him a new diaper and new clothes. RB took his shoes and socks, washed them off in the restroom, and took them and him out to the car to dry off.
Baby A and I took our time walking back through the gift shop. They sold socks! So I bought some new clean ones for Baby B. Baby A also chose several toy animals which I obediently purchased (a mother whose son has just almost been lost AND drowned is not in her right mind). I would have bought several more but the woman at the counter said I could just give her whatever Baby A brought to me and she would put them back on the shelves later. So we came home with a frog, a skunk, and two tortoises, but not a squirrel, a horse, a bird, or a snake.
Eventually we pulled ourselves together and drove to old town Bakersfield where we had a delicious meal at a Basque restaurant called the Pyrenees Cafe. Baby B managed to cover himself with ravioli and meat sauce, necessitating yet another clothing change. And then we went to Trader Joe's and Radio Shack and then we drove all the way home to Ridgecrest, so very thankful that we were returning with TWO little boys, safe and sound.
It's 109 miles from our house to the zoo and we made it in less than 2 hours. The zoo is just north of Bakersfield proper, kind of out in the middle of nowhere. It must be horribly hot in the summer, but today it was delightful -- just warm enough to skip the coats.
We had decided not to bring a stroller, figuring we could control the twins using their little backpack leashes. This turned out to be only somewhat true.
To enter the zoo, you walk through the gift shop, which sells mainly toy animals -- plastic, stuffed, etc. The babies began to exclaim and grab, but we hurried them through. I should note that they looked adorable today: red and yellow t-shirts, blue backpack leashes, green and tan sun hats. Everyone we passed noticed them. This proved useful later.
First stop was the reptile house ("reptile" loosely defined): lizards, toads, a tarantula, a bad by-du, and many many types of California snakes, most of which live right here in the Mojave desert. Last weekend when we were driving on the Garlock Road we saw two snakes; today, looking at the caged snakes, I was able to identify what we had seen. One was a king snake and I'm pretty sure the other was the deadly Mojave green rattlesnake. Lovely.
Next stop was the Desert Habitat: tortoises of course, but also an adorable and very friendly roadrunner. At the Children's Park we saw goats, bunnies, and a large male turkey. The bears in the bear exhibit were asleep, but the coyotes in the coyote exhibit were awake. At the Mammal Round I got so interested in the kit foxes and bobcats that I forgot to pay attention to the twins.
All of a sudden Rocket Boy said "where's Baby B?" We looked -- he was nowhere to be seen. We rushed out of the Round. The coyotes began to howl: for a terrible moment I thought Baby B had gotten into their exhibit and they were tearing him to pieces. But no. Here came a family we had seen earlier, and the large tattooed father was carrying Baby B! We fell on our bad boy with kisses and scoldings, thanking the family over and over for noticing him (those cute clothes!) and nabbing him.
We hurried through the next few exhibits, me holding Baby B's leash tightly, but as we left the raptor exhibit, he ran away from me. I didn't worry because he and I were headed for the zoo exit on two parallel paths. Baby A and Rocket Boy were maybe 50 feet behind him on his path.
Then Baby B's path went over a tiny bridge above a stream, and instead of crossing it, Baby B sat down on it, and then suddenly lowered himself into the water! RB and I both screamed and ran to snatch him out. He was soaked and filthy -- the water was muddy. And I hadn't brought any extra shoes and socks. I led him over to a grassy picnic area, pulling him on his leash instead of carrying him so I wouldn't get muddy, but I felt terrible because he was crying all the way. I stripped him down, wiped the mud off, and gave him a new diaper and new clothes. RB took his shoes and socks, washed them off in the restroom, and took them and him out to the car to dry off.
Baby A and I took our time walking back through the gift shop. They sold socks! So I bought some new clean ones for Baby B. Baby A also chose several toy animals which I obediently purchased (a mother whose son has just almost been lost AND drowned is not in her right mind). I would have bought several more but the woman at the counter said I could just give her whatever Baby A brought to me and she would put them back on the shelves later. So we came home with a frog, a skunk, and two tortoises, but not a squirrel, a horse, a bird, or a snake.
Eventually we pulled ourselves together and drove to old town Bakersfield where we had a delicious meal at a Basque restaurant called the Pyrenees Cafe. Baby B managed to cover himself with ravioli and meat sauce, necessitating yet another clothing change. And then we went to Trader Joe's and Radio Shack and then we drove all the way home to Ridgecrest, so very thankful that we were returning with TWO little boys, safe and sound.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
The bad by-du
This morning I was standing at the kitchen counter fixing bowls of cereal for myself and the twins, when Baby A suddenly said "By-du!" A spider? I looked around. Baby A was pointing at my feet. My bare feet. I backed up and looked at where I'd been standing. There, hanging upside down from the bottom of the counter, inches or maybe not even that far from where my feet (my bare feet) had been, was a big black spider. Not as big as the one in the garage last weekend, but bigger than I like to see in the house. And worse, it had a particular look to it that I didn't like. It looked like the by-du that lives right outside our front door, and the by-du that lives on our patio, the by-dus that only come out at night.
I called for Rocket Boy but he was in the bathroom, getting ready to go to work. "Stay here with Mommy," I told the babies. "Don't touch the by-du. It's a bad by-du." I felt sad. They have no fear of spiders yet. They like to pick them up and play with them. I have tried hard not to transmit my own arachnophobia to them. But some by-dus ARE dangerous. Some by-dus can kill you, especially if you are only two.
The moment RB emerged from the bathroom I said "We need you!" and he came right in. "What's the problem?"
I pointed. "You need to get rid of that by-du."
He looked at the spider. "Is it a widow?"
"I don't know, but it doesn't look good."
RB captured the spider using two plastic cups, and then studied it through the plastic. Sure enough, there was the red hourglass. He took the bad by-du way out to the far side of the front lawn and released it.
A black widow spider in my kitchen! What is it eating? Cockroaches? Black widows usually stay outdoors. I've never worried about them in the house before. Guess now I have to worry.
The babies were very interested in the whole proceedings: the by-du itself, what Da-da did with it, and those cups he used.
Late in the afternoon, after their nap, they came out to the kitchen again. Baby A said "By-du!" I looked around nervously, but then realized he was pointing to the two plastic cups which RB had put back on the counter. "That's right, Daddy used those cups to catch the by-du," I said. "He put the by-du outside. That was a bad by-du. It needed to go outside."
The babies listened to me solemnly. "By-du," they murmured. Thus is innocence lost.
I called for Rocket Boy but he was in the bathroom, getting ready to go to work. "Stay here with Mommy," I told the babies. "Don't touch the by-du. It's a bad by-du." I felt sad. They have no fear of spiders yet. They like to pick them up and play with them. I have tried hard not to transmit my own arachnophobia to them. But some by-dus ARE dangerous. Some by-dus can kill you, especially if you are only two.
The moment RB emerged from the bathroom I said "We need you!" and he came right in. "What's the problem?"
I pointed. "You need to get rid of that by-du."
He looked at the spider. "Is it a widow?"
"I don't know, but it doesn't look good."
RB captured the spider using two plastic cups, and then studied it through the plastic. Sure enough, there was the red hourglass. He took the bad by-du way out to the far side of the front lawn and released it.
A black widow spider in my kitchen! What is it eating? Cockroaches? Black widows usually stay outdoors. I've never worried about them in the house before. Guess now I have to worry.
The babies were very interested in the whole proceedings: the by-du itself, what Da-da did with it, and those cups he used.
Late in the afternoon, after their nap, they came out to the kitchen again. Baby A said "By-du!" I looked around nervously, but then realized he was pointing to the two plastic cups which RB had put back on the counter. "That's right, Daddy used those cups to catch the by-du," I said. "He put the by-du outside. That was a bad by-du. It needed to go outside."
The babies listened to me solemnly. "By-du," they murmured. Thus is innocence lost.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Vocabulary development
First, for anyone who was worried, the nickels are gone -- that is, most of them vanished on their own, but I intentionally "vanished" all the ones I could find. The babies have temporarily forgotten about them (out of sight, out of mind), and maybe by the time they remember, they will have moved beyond the stage of putting everything in their mouths. We are really looking forward to that milestone!
Speaking of milestones, I think we may be starting to see that "language explosion" that was supposed to take place around 18 months (the boos are now 25, almost 26 months old). Almost every day we notice new words and phrases. Baby B, who doesn't have quite as much language as Baby A, has acquired a useful phrase: "I don't want that." He says it quite clearly. The problem is that he says it about everything, including things he wants. We don't know what he thinks it means.
Their collection of nouns is increasing too, and we are amused by what's being added to the list. The other day Baby A brought me one of their stuffed Audubon birds, a quail, and said to me "Kayu." Startled, I agreed that it was a quail. A day or so later I was holding him as we walked past a metal quail sculpture that we have, and he pointed to it and said "Kayu" again. So I have to accept that not only can he recognize a quail, he knows the word for it too. How many two-year-olds who don't even know their colors know the word for quail? Baby A also knows the word for crow: "Coh" -- but that's because we have a children's book called "A Crow's Journey." Confusingly, there aren't any crows in Ridgecrest, just ravens. I don't think he has a word for raven yet.
Another new word that both babies have is spider: "By-du." We thought this was mostly based on pictures of spiders in books, although we certainly do have spiders around here, oh yes we do. Today we went back to the Desert Tortoise Natural Area, and while we were taking a hike, Baby A pointed to a tiny scurrying thing and said "Bih by-du!" I said "that's not a spider, is it? isn't it an ant?" (The babies know about ants -- they call them "bees.") Rocket Boy and I peered with our aging eyes at the itsy-bitsy little thing. "By-du," Baby A repeated. Sure enough, it was a by-du, though not a bih by-du -- it was one of the tiniest by-dus I had ever seen. Somebody has very good eyes!
We had a real treat at the DTNA today -- there was an actual tortoise there! This was our third visit, but the first tortoise we had seen there. The ranger greeted us as old friends and took us right out to see the tortoise. He's in the photo at left (the tortoise, not the ranger), hiding under a spiny hop-sage bush. Later, after everyone stopped staring at him, he came out and walked down the trail. The babies have seen a number of tortoises recently and they both have a word for them, which sounds something like "tor-teel." They keep hearing people say both tortoise and turtle, and this is what they've worked out as a word for these creatures.
On Friday the babies and I visited the home of another tortoise club member to see how he's built pens for his adopted and foster tortoises. I studied the pens for a long time and took photos, so that RB and I can build similar pens in our yard. The babies were intensely interested in the tor-teels and their pens, and that night there was a lot of fighting over their two stuffed turtles and their one little plastic turtle.
On Saturday, during the babies' nap, RB and I laboriously built our first tortoise pen. This involved, among other things, getting some bricks out of the garage. Several by-dus were displaced in the process, including an absolutely enormous black one -- I think it was four inches long. When the babies got up from their nap, we took them outside to see our handiwork. They inspected the pen with great interest, then looked up at me questioningly. "Tor-teel?" said Baby A.
Stay tuned...
Speaking of milestones, I think we may be starting to see that "language explosion" that was supposed to take place around 18 months (the boos are now 25, almost 26 months old). Almost every day we notice new words and phrases. Baby B, who doesn't have quite as much language as Baby A, has acquired a useful phrase: "I don't want that." He says it quite clearly. The problem is that he says it about everything, including things he wants. We don't know what he thinks it means.
Their collection of nouns is increasing too, and we are amused by what's being added to the list. The other day Baby A brought me one of their stuffed Audubon birds, a quail, and said to me "Kayu." Startled, I agreed that it was a quail. A day or so later I was holding him as we walked past a metal quail sculpture that we have, and he pointed to it and said "Kayu" again. So I have to accept that not only can he recognize a quail, he knows the word for it too. How many two-year-olds who don't even know their colors know the word for quail? Baby A also knows the word for crow: "Coh" -- but that's because we have a children's book called "A Crow's Journey." Confusingly, there aren't any crows in Ridgecrest, just ravens. I don't think he has a word for raven yet.
Another new word that both babies have is spider: "By-du." We thought this was mostly based on pictures of spiders in books, although we certainly do have spiders around here, oh yes we do. Today we went back to the Desert Tortoise Natural Area, and while we were taking a hike, Baby A pointed to a tiny scurrying thing and said "Bih by-du!" I said "that's not a spider, is it? isn't it an ant?" (The babies know about ants -- they call them "bees.") Rocket Boy and I peered with our aging eyes at the itsy-bitsy little thing. "By-du," Baby A repeated. Sure enough, it was a by-du, though not a bih by-du -- it was one of the tiniest by-dus I had ever seen. Somebody has very good eyes!
We had a real treat at the DTNA today -- there was an actual tortoise there! This was our third visit, but the first tortoise we had seen there. The ranger greeted us as old friends and took us right out to see the tortoise. He's in the photo at left (the tortoise, not the ranger), hiding under a spiny hop-sage bush. Later, after everyone stopped staring at him, he came out and walked down the trail. The babies have seen a number of tortoises recently and they both have a word for them, which sounds something like "tor-teel." They keep hearing people say both tortoise and turtle, and this is what they've worked out as a word for these creatures.
On Friday the babies and I visited the home of another tortoise club member to see how he's built pens for his adopted and foster tortoises. I studied the pens for a long time and took photos, so that RB and I can build similar pens in our yard. The babies were intensely interested in the tor-teels and their pens, and that night there was a lot of fighting over their two stuffed turtles and their one little plastic turtle.
On Saturday, during the babies' nap, RB and I laboriously built our first tortoise pen. This involved, among other things, getting some bricks out of the garage. Several by-dus were displaced in the process, including an absolutely enormous black one -- I think it was four inches long. When the babies got up from their nap, we took them outside to see our handiwork. They inspected the pen with great interest, then looked up at me questioningly. "Tor-teel?" said Baby A.Stay tuned...
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Money
So we're still getting requests for our dear departed friend Clifford's money, several almost every day. And the requestors keep sending us trinkets, and notecards, and pictures "suitable for framing," and address labels by the thousands. And nickels. Nickels! Sometimes as many as 3 to an envelope! You're supposed to feel guilty and send them back, plus a contribution. I just take the nickels off and put the letters in the recycling bin. Thus we have a lot of nickels lying around.
Well, guess who in the household likes nickels? That's right, Baby A and Baby B. They like to put the nickels in their mouths and suck on them. This freaks me out, because I am afraid they're going to choke on the nickels. If I put 2 or 3 nickels in my mouth and went running through the house, I'd choke on them. "We don't eat money, spit it out!" I say, holding my palm underneath their mouths. They run away, furiously sucking on their money.
A few days ago, Rocket Boy and I were going to take the boys on an after-dinner stroller walk, but first I took away Baby B's nickels. He cried desperately: "money! money!" RB took him back in the house for a moment and when they returned, Baby B was suspiciously happy. I couldn't look at his mouth. "You gave him another nickel, didn't you?" I asked. "Sort of," RB said. I gave up.
The next day both babies had several nickels in circulation (from hand to mouth to floor to hand to mouth etc.). I had an idea: "Let's not eat money, let's find something to put your money in!" I said, rummaging through the cupboard. What I found were plastic snack bowls, which I usually give to them full of fruit or crackers. The irony of this did not hit me until I saw the boys spitting their nickels into the snack bowls, then scooping them out and eating them again.
At one point all the nickels had mysteriously vanished (I don't want to think about where), so I hypocritically got out my purse and gave them more nickels. What an awful little coin nickels are: so large and heavy. I'm secretly happy to get rid of them. But now the babies know that I have money in my purse, so they keep reaching for it, up on the counter, grabbing at the strap. Before, they were mildly interested in it because they knew it sometimes contained pens, and my car keys, plus the exciting clicker that makes the car go "beep-beep" and flash its lights. But those treasures are nothing compared to money. Cold hard nickels, that's all we want now.
On a somewhat related note, I went to a job fair at the base today. RB talked me into it; I didn't want to go. For one thing, I don't really want a job at the base. But it would be good for us financially if I had one. For another thing, I had nothing to wear. But the weather suddenly got cold this week, and I do have a cold-weather outfit that just barely "passes" for interviews, so there I was: no excuse.
The job fair was from 10 to 2. The babies and I got there around 11:15 and met RB, who came over from his office to babysit. "So we'll be over at the playground, and you think it'll be about an hour?" he asked. "Oh no, I don't think so, maybe 15 minutes," I said. Turned out it was more like 10 minutes. The space was packed. Most of the booths had long long lines of people waiting to talk to recruiters. I plastered a smile on my face and stopped by some of the booths without long lines (they were the ones not accepting resumes or doing interviews). Then I accidentally stopped by a booth that did have a long line. "Can I help you, miss?" the recruiter said, giving me a funny look. I noticed the line behind me. "Oh sorry," I said, blushing and getting out of there as fast as I could. My smile was starting to feel desperate, so I decided it was time to go.
I found RB and the boys at the playground. My happy little men were running back and forth on a jungle gym shaped like a ship. I'm glad no one choked on a nickel this week. I just need to do some more thinking about how we're going to provide an ongoing supply.
Well, guess who in the household likes nickels? That's right, Baby A and Baby B. They like to put the nickels in their mouths and suck on them. This freaks me out, because I am afraid they're going to choke on the nickels. If I put 2 or 3 nickels in my mouth and went running through the house, I'd choke on them. "We don't eat money, spit it out!" I say, holding my palm underneath their mouths. They run away, furiously sucking on their money.
A few days ago, Rocket Boy and I were going to take the boys on an after-dinner stroller walk, but first I took away Baby B's nickels. He cried desperately: "money! money!" RB took him back in the house for a moment and when they returned, Baby B was suspiciously happy. I couldn't look at his mouth. "You gave him another nickel, didn't you?" I asked. "Sort of," RB said. I gave up.
The next day both babies had several nickels in circulation (from hand to mouth to floor to hand to mouth etc.). I had an idea: "Let's not eat money, let's find something to put your money in!" I said, rummaging through the cupboard. What I found were plastic snack bowls, which I usually give to them full of fruit or crackers. The irony of this did not hit me until I saw the boys spitting their nickels into the snack bowls, then scooping them out and eating them again.
At one point all the nickels had mysteriously vanished (I don't want to think about where), so I hypocritically got out my purse and gave them more nickels. What an awful little coin nickels are: so large and heavy. I'm secretly happy to get rid of them. But now the babies know that I have money in my purse, so they keep reaching for it, up on the counter, grabbing at the strap. Before, they were mildly interested in it because they knew it sometimes contained pens, and my car keys, plus the exciting clicker that makes the car go "beep-beep" and flash its lights. But those treasures are nothing compared to money. Cold hard nickels, that's all we want now.
On a somewhat related note, I went to a job fair at the base today. RB talked me into it; I didn't want to go. For one thing, I don't really want a job at the base. But it would be good for us financially if I had one. For another thing, I had nothing to wear. But the weather suddenly got cold this week, and I do have a cold-weather outfit that just barely "passes" for interviews, so there I was: no excuse.
The job fair was from 10 to 2. The babies and I got there around 11:15 and met RB, who came over from his office to babysit. "So we'll be over at the playground, and you think it'll be about an hour?" he asked. "Oh no, I don't think so, maybe 15 minutes," I said. Turned out it was more like 10 minutes. The space was packed. Most of the booths had long long lines of people waiting to talk to recruiters. I plastered a smile on my face and stopped by some of the booths without long lines (they were the ones not accepting resumes or doing interviews). Then I accidentally stopped by a booth that did have a long line. "Can I help you, miss?" the recruiter said, giving me a funny look. I noticed the line behind me. "Oh sorry," I said, blushing and getting out of there as fast as I could. My smile was starting to feel desperate, so I decided it was time to go.
I found RB and the boys at the playground. My happy little men were running back and forth on a jungle gym shaped like a ship. I'm glad no one choked on a nickel this week. I just need to do some more thinking about how we're going to provide an ongoing supply.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Garden club tour
We're planning to make the trek to Los Angeles tomorrow, so today we stayed in Ridgecrest and partook of the local offerings, specifically the 48th annual garden club tour.
We went on the 47th annual tour last year and enjoyed it, so I was pleased when I saw the ad for this year's tour. I completely adore this sort of thing -- house tours, garden tours -- the chance to poke around in someone else's home, someone else's life. In Boulder around Halloween they used to have the Ghost Walk, which was essentially a house tour except that at each house, while you admired the lavender walls and granite countertops, a psychic told you about the ghosts that lived there.
That would probably be a bit much for Ridgecrest.
I bought our tickets ahead of time, and Friday night I read through the descriptions of the gardens, planning our route. Last year several gardens on the tour were within walking distance of each other, so we pushed the stroller from house to house. This year, unfortunately, almost none of the 9 gardens on the tour were close together. I mapquested it, and we COULD have walked from our house to 4 of the gardens and back again, but it would have been 6.5 miles. A bit much for us in our current out of shape state, and a whole lot too much for the young gentlemen who would have been sitting in the stroller.
So we had to drive. Oh well.
The garden description that really caught my eye was for a house on Wildflower Street. In bold letters it read: "Please be sure to close gates so the dogs and tortoises do not get out." Naturally that was our first stop. It was way out to the west of us, on an unpaved road. We parked in the dirt, got out of the car, and walked to the house. Opened the garden gate, went in, CLOSED the gate so no tortoises could get out, started walking around the house. No tortoises. Looked politely at the plantings and the rocks (rocks are important in desert gardens), walked further around the house. No tortoises.
Finally we got all the way around to the other side of the house, met the very pleasant owners and their two dogs, and Rocket Boy got up the courage to ask "Were there any tortoises here?" "Oh yes," said the man, "there are three of them. I saw Mojo out here earlier, now where is he?" We all looked for Mojo. And suddenly I saw him, walking across the patio. He was enormous! Twice, maybe three times the size of the desert tortoise I grew up with.
Nothing improves a garden like a desert tortoise.
A few gardens later we found ourselves on Willow Street. The house was modest, with an enormous garden. Toward the back of the yard was a big pond, and as we looked into it, we realized it was full of tadpoles. RB asked the owner about them. "Those Mojave toads just come right out of the desert if you put a pond in," he told us. In the summer, he said, the full-grown toads hide in the bushes and come out in the evenings to frolic on the lawn and in the pond. (OK, he didn't say frolic, but that was the general idea.) There were hundreds of tadpoles in the pond, but he said the birds would eat most of them -- maybe 50 would survive to frolic in the garden.
I wonder. If we put a pond in our yard, could we attract some of those desert toads?
It was about 80 degrees today, bright sunshine. All the gardens we saw were idyllic and tempting -- they made the desert seem very appealing. Almost made me want to settle down in Ridgecrest permanently.
Then I think of July, day after day over 110 degrees. Even the image of 50 desert toads coming out to frolic in the evenings can't quite fix that picture. And the tortoises would be estivating.
We went on the 47th annual tour last year and enjoyed it, so I was pleased when I saw the ad for this year's tour. I completely adore this sort of thing -- house tours, garden tours -- the chance to poke around in someone else's home, someone else's life. In Boulder around Halloween they used to have the Ghost Walk, which was essentially a house tour except that at each house, while you admired the lavender walls and granite countertops, a psychic told you about the ghosts that lived there.
That would probably be a bit much for Ridgecrest.
I bought our tickets ahead of time, and Friday night I read through the descriptions of the gardens, planning our route. Last year several gardens on the tour were within walking distance of each other, so we pushed the stroller from house to house. This year, unfortunately, almost none of the 9 gardens on the tour were close together. I mapquested it, and we COULD have walked from our house to 4 of the gardens and back again, but it would have been 6.5 miles. A bit much for us in our current out of shape state, and a whole lot too much for the young gentlemen who would have been sitting in the stroller.
So we had to drive. Oh well.
The garden description that really caught my eye was for a house on Wildflower Street. In bold letters it read: "Please be sure to close gates so the dogs and tortoises do not get out." Naturally that was our first stop. It was way out to the west of us, on an unpaved road. We parked in the dirt, got out of the car, and walked to the house. Opened the garden gate, went in, CLOSED the gate so no tortoises could get out, started walking around the house. No tortoises. Looked politely at the plantings and the rocks (rocks are important in desert gardens), walked further around the house. No tortoises.
Finally we got all the way around to the other side of the house, met the very pleasant owners and their two dogs, and Rocket Boy got up the courage to ask "Were there any tortoises here?" "Oh yes," said the man, "there are three of them. I saw Mojo out here earlier, now where is he?" We all looked for Mojo. And suddenly I saw him, walking across the patio. He was enormous! Twice, maybe three times the size of the desert tortoise I grew up with.
Nothing improves a garden like a desert tortoise.
A few gardens later we found ourselves on Willow Street. The house was modest, with an enormous garden. Toward the back of the yard was a big pond, and as we looked into it, we realized it was full of tadpoles. RB asked the owner about them. "Those Mojave toads just come right out of the desert if you put a pond in," he told us. In the summer, he said, the full-grown toads hide in the bushes and come out in the evenings to frolic on the lawn and in the pond. (OK, he didn't say frolic, but that was the general idea.) There were hundreds of tadpoles in the pond, but he said the birds would eat most of them -- maybe 50 would survive to frolic in the garden.
I wonder. If we put a pond in our yard, could we attract some of those desert toads?
It was about 80 degrees today, bright sunshine. All the gardens we saw were idyllic and tempting -- they made the desert seem very appealing. Almost made me want to settle down in Ridgecrest permanently.
Then I think of July, day after day over 110 degrees. Even the image of 50 desert toads coming out to frolic in the evenings can't quite fix that picture. And the tortoises would be estivating.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Death Valley in springtime
We've been meaning to take another trip to Death Valley, to view the wildflowers before it gets too hot. The weather didn't look good this weekend, but next weekend is busy, and by the weekend after that the flowers might be gone, so we decided to go while we could.
The forecast Sunday was for high winds, but they weren't going to start until after 10 am, so we thought: we'll get an early start! And we did, for us -- we managed to leave by 9:15. Of course then we had to get gas. But we were on the road by 9:30. Of course it takes about an hour to get to the park, so by then the winds had started. Oh well.
And we forgot the camera, so no lovely photos this time. Sorry! Rocket Boy and I had a heated discussion in the car about whose fault that was (it was mostly mine). By then we had driven 13 miles, so if we'd gone back and fetched it, that would have added 26 miles to the trip. By the end of the day we'd driven 334 miles, so would an extra 26 miles really have mattered? Probably should have gone back.
To get to Death Valley, we drive from our own Indian Wells Valley to Searles Valley (where Trona is) and thence into Death Valley. At that point we have two choices of roads. This time we took the road through Wildrose Canyon, which is narrow and not in very good shape. It leads to the road up to the Charcoal Kilns, which RB suggested we visit. I had not seen them before. They're fascinating: ten beehive-shaped structures in a row, built in 1877, each 25 feet tall and 30 feet in diameter. They are so perfectly symmetrical, so perfectly aligned, and so large and so old, that they are actually a bit creepy. Baby A was afraid of them, as was I. Baby B thought we were being silly, as did RB. Baby B ran from one to the other, stomping his feet inside each one to create an interesting echo. Baby A cried and insisted I carry him. I carried him back to the car and we had a snack.
From there we went on to Stovepipe Wells, where we had lunch, and then past Furnace Creek all the way to Badwater (don't you just love the names?). It was in the 50's at the Charcoal Kilns, which are at 6800 feet elevation, but the 70s and 80s elsewhere. But the wind was blowing at roughly 500 miles per hour, so it didn't really matter what the temperature was.
At Badwater, which is 282 feet below sea level, the lowest point in North America, we got out of the car, planning to push the boys in their stroller down to the boardwalk and out to the salt flats. But the wind! The boys wanted to wear their hats, but we couldn't let them -- anything that wasn't tied down blew away instantly. After a few minutes we realized this was crazy and we all got back in the car.
Our last stop was the Visitor Center and museum at Furnace Creek. We spent quite a bit of time there because it was inside and thus out of the wind. I pushed the boys in their stroller around the museum. At the desert tortoise exhibit I said "Look! Desert tortoise!" and Baby B said "Rock!" "No," I said, "desert tortoise!" "Rock!" insisted Baby B.
The wildflowers were nice. It's not a great year, we're told, but it's OK. We saw mostly Desert Gold, a yellow flower, Gravel Ghost, a white flower, and Notch-Leaved Phacelia, which is purple. Near the Charcoal Kilns we saw Desert Paintbrush, which is red. We had a wildflower guide, a pamphlet with good photos, and from time to time I would pull over to the side of the road, RB would open his door, and we would compare the flowers growing there to the pictures in the pamphlet. By the time we left the Valley we had memorized half a dozen wildflowers, but it was the sort of memorization you know won't last. Six months from now I'm not going to remember "notch-leaved phacelia." That's OK, I can always learn it again.
For some reason, all through the trip I was thinking about marriage and the compromises it entails. When two people marry, or enter into a similarly entangled relationship, they each make concessions in order to arrive at a settlement, i.e., married life. Often the two parties do not make an equal number of concessions. Sometimes the concessions appear to be quite detrimental to the people involved.
Rocket Boy and I have been married for 7 years and 8 months; we have two children. During our marriage I have given up many things and gained many things. Since our move to Ridgecrest I have been more aware of what I have given up.
When we take a trip like this one to Death Valley I am more aware of what I have gained: not only a family, but a partner who loves to explore, to take off at a moment's notice and go anywhere and do anything. It drives me crazy, yes, and it also feeds my soul.
The forecast Sunday was for high winds, but they weren't going to start until after 10 am, so we thought: we'll get an early start! And we did, for us -- we managed to leave by 9:15. Of course then we had to get gas. But we were on the road by 9:30. Of course it takes about an hour to get to the park, so by then the winds had started. Oh well.
And we forgot the camera, so no lovely photos this time. Sorry! Rocket Boy and I had a heated discussion in the car about whose fault that was (it was mostly mine). By then we had driven 13 miles, so if we'd gone back and fetched it, that would have added 26 miles to the trip. By the end of the day we'd driven 334 miles, so would an extra 26 miles really have mattered? Probably should have gone back.
To get to Death Valley, we drive from our own Indian Wells Valley to Searles Valley (where Trona is) and thence into Death Valley. At that point we have two choices of roads. This time we took the road through Wildrose Canyon, which is narrow and not in very good shape. It leads to the road up to the Charcoal Kilns, which RB suggested we visit. I had not seen them before. They're fascinating: ten beehive-shaped structures in a row, built in 1877, each 25 feet tall and 30 feet in diameter. They are so perfectly symmetrical, so perfectly aligned, and so large and so old, that they are actually a bit creepy. Baby A was afraid of them, as was I. Baby B thought we were being silly, as did RB. Baby B ran from one to the other, stomping his feet inside each one to create an interesting echo. Baby A cried and insisted I carry him. I carried him back to the car and we had a snack.
From there we went on to Stovepipe Wells, where we had lunch, and then past Furnace Creek all the way to Badwater (don't you just love the names?). It was in the 50's at the Charcoal Kilns, which are at 6800 feet elevation, but the 70s and 80s elsewhere. But the wind was blowing at roughly 500 miles per hour, so it didn't really matter what the temperature was.
At Badwater, which is 282 feet below sea level, the lowest point in North America, we got out of the car, planning to push the boys in their stroller down to the boardwalk and out to the salt flats. But the wind! The boys wanted to wear their hats, but we couldn't let them -- anything that wasn't tied down blew away instantly. After a few minutes we realized this was crazy and we all got back in the car.
Our last stop was the Visitor Center and museum at Furnace Creek. We spent quite a bit of time there because it was inside and thus out of the wind. I pushed the boys in their stroller around the museum. At the desert tortoise exhibit I said "Look! Desert tortoise!" and Baby B said "Rock!" "No," I said, "desert tortoise!" "Rock!" insisted Baby B.
The wildflowers were nice. It's not a great year, we're told, but it's OK. We saw mostly Desert Gold, a yellow flower, Gravel Ghost, a white flower, and Notch-Leaved Phacelia, which is purple. Near the Charcoal Kilns we saw Desert Paintbrush, which is red. We had a wildflower guide, a pamphlet with good photos, and from time to time I would pull over to the side of the road, RB would open his door, and we would compare the flowers growing there to the pictures in the pamphlet. By the time we left the Valley we had memorized half a dozen wildflowers, but it was the sort of memorization you know won't last. Six months from now I'm not going to remember "notch-leaved phacelia." That's OK, I can always learn it again.
For some reason, all through the trip I was thinking about marriage and the compromises it entails. When two people marry, or enter into a similarly entangled relationship, they each make concessions in order to arrive at a settlement, i.e., married life. Often the two parties do not make an equal number of concessions. Sometimes the concessions appear to be quite detrimental to the people involved.
Rocket Boy and I have been married for 7 years and 8 months; we have two children. During our marriage I have given up many things and gained many things. Since our move to Ridgecrest I have been more aware of what I have given up.
When we take a trip like this one to Death Valley I am more aware of what I have gained: not only a family, but a partner who loves to explore, to take off at a moment's notice and go anywhere and do anything. It drives me crazy, yes, and it also feeds my soul.
Friday, April 9, 2010
Springtime continues
To me, April is the quintessential spring month, yet in some of the places I've lived (Ann Arbor comes to mind, not to mention Boulder), it's still very wintery. Here in Ridgecrest we're right on the cusp of summer in early April. Today it's supposed to get to 81 degrees, which is summer in my book (though not in Ridgecrest's book). We're thinking about a Death Valley trip this weekend and it's already in the upper 80s there.
It's actually very pretty here right now. The big fields near us are full of wildflowers. (Can something be a "field" if it has no grass? My dictionary defines a field as "a broad, level, open expanse of land" so I guess so, but I think the quintessential field would have grass.)
Last Sunday of course was Easter, and some of our neighbors put up Easter decorations.
The big cross in the middle went up at Christmas and they left it up until Easter, when they added the other three symbols. I drove by the house today and noticed they'd taken everything down, unlike this house:
which keeps its cross up all year. No, this is not a church. The sign in the window is the Ten Commandments, in case anyone passing by needed a refresher course.
Ah, spring. Ah, Ridgecrest.
Just like last year, the weeds in our backyard are getting completely out of hand, but we are hoping to deal with them ourselves rather than hire someone to weed-whack the whole yard at great expense. This is probably unrealistic, seeing as how Rocket Boy has that broken elbow. I keep waiting for our foster tortoises to arrive, so they can eat the weeds, but I need to remember that a tortoise is not a goat.
Yesterday our neighbor to the rear of us was digging up his backyard using a backhoe (the babies found it fascinating of course) and he offered to pull up some of our dead trees. We have more dead trees in our yard than live ones -- there's something you probably wouldn't experience anywhere except the desert. I said sure, go ahead, so he managed to pull up two dead conifers (he just reached over the fence with the backhoe and grabbed them).
Some of our landlord's fruit trees died last summer too. We need to go through the little orchard and pull up the dead ones. We also managed to kill 2 or 3 rosebushes, so those need to come out. Our agreement with our landlord says that we will maintain the plantings, but since he won't fix the sprinkler system (or for that matter return any of our phone calls), we're not too concerned.
Sign at the Indian Wells Valley Water District office: Brown is Green. We're doing our part.
I saw quail in the arroyo almost every morning this week. No lizards yet. Spring is here.
It's actually very pretty here right now. The big fields near us are full of wildflowers. (Can something be a "field" if it has no grass? My dictionary defines a field as "a broad, level, open expanse of land" so I guess so, but I think the quintessential field would have grass.)
Last Sunday of course was Easter, and some of our neighbors put up Easter decorations.
The big cross in the middle went up at Christmas and they left it up until Easter, when they added the other three symbols. I drove by the house today and noticed they'd taken everything down, unlike this house:
which keeps its cross up all year. No, this is not a church. The sign in the window is the Ten Commandments, in case anyone passing by needed a refresher course.
Ah, spring. Ah, Ridgecrest.
Just like last year, the weeds in our backyard are getting completely out of hand, but we are hoping to deal with them ourselves rather than hire someone to weed-whack the whole yard at great expense. This is probably unrealistic, seeing as how Rocket Boy has that broken elbow. I keep waiting for our foster tortoises to arrive, so they can eat the weeds, but I need to remember that a tortoise is not a goat.
Yesterday our neighbor to the rear of us was digging up his backyard using a backhoe (the babies found it fascinating of course) and he offered to pull up some of our dead trees. We have more dead trees in our yard than live ones -- there's something you probably wouldn't experience anywhere except the desert. I said sure, go ahead, so he managed to pull up two dead conifers (he just reached over the fence with the backhoe and grabbed them).
Some of our landlord's fruit trees died last summer too. We need to go through the little orchard and pull up the dead ones. We also managed to kill 2 or 3 rosebushes, so those need to come out. Our agreement with our landlord says that we will maintain the plantings, but since he won't fix the sprinkler system (or for that matter return any of our phone calls), we're not too concerned.
Sign at the Indian Wells Valley Water District office: Brown is Green. We're doing our part.
I saw quail in the arroyo almost every morning this week. No lizards yet. Spring is here.
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Poppy Reserve
Spring is flying by and we feel like we aren't appreciating it. Spring is the beautiful season in the desert, spring is when you need to get out and look around. Spring is also, we have learned, the time when the winds blow something awful and if you do go out, you'll be blown to bits. But we're doing our best.
Another storm is blowing in on Easter Sunday -- and out here storms really do blow in -- they don't rain, they just blow. So we decided to make the most of today, even though the wind was already howling, and went to the Antelope Valley Poppy Reserve to see the hills and fields covered with California poppies.
The day got off to its usual inauspicious start. We left late (duh), around 10:15, and drove to Lancaster, getting off Highway 14 at Avenue I around 11:30. So then we had to think about lunch. Someday I am going to be the kind of mom who packs her family a delicious picnic lunch, not the kind of mom who drives around looking for a restaurant, but that is off in the distant future, around the time I also become the kind of mom who cleans her own house, makes salads out of heads of lettuce instead of expensive bagged lettuce, and gets her nails done instead of being a Bad Example by biting them.
We saw a Jack in the Box. No. We found a huge dreadful dying strip mall called the Lancaster Marketplace that had about 3 stores still open, including a Chinese buffet and a Mexican buffet, but Rocket Boy said No. We saw a McDonalds. No. We ended up at a restaurant called the Primo Cafe, sort of a cross between a Denny's -- and a Hookah Bar. I am still puzzled about this. Are hookah bars legal in California? How is that possible? What about the anti-smoking laws? The waitresses wore t-shirts that said on the front "Do you hookah?" and on the back "Come for the food... stay for the hookah." I did not smell tobacco, incense, or anything else that might have been from a hookah, so I'm still confused.
After a mediocre lunch accompanied by a lot of bad behavior from those in the party under 3 years of age, we drove another 15 miles to the Poppy Reserve. As we approached it, we started to see individual poppies, then patches of orange, then larger patches, and then off in the distance, hills covered with orange. And then, as we came around a corner, fields just drenched in poppies. People were pulling over, getting out of their cars, and plunging into the poppy fields. I kept thinking about the Wizard of Oz.
We didn't stop but drove on to the actual state park, where we paid $8 for the use of the parking lot (but that was OK with me, because the California State Parks need all the money they can get). The temperature was pleasant (maybe 65 degrees?) but the wind was blowing mightily, so we packed the babies into their BOB stroller and fastened down the weather shield. They like the weather shield -- it seems to make their stroller into a little tent, or cave, and protects them very well from either rain or wind.Then we pushed the stroller up and down some of the many trails in the park until the wind became too much for Rocket Boy and me (we didn't have weather shields).
We drove back to Highway 14 a different way, on back country roads, which involved passing numerous other poppy fields. In one gorgeous field, a young Asian woman in a filmy white dress was dancing and posing, while 5 or 6 Asian men photographed her.
In the actual reserve there were the usual rules and warnings: stay on the trail, don't pick the poppies, watch out for the Mojave Green Rattlesnake which is an important part of the ecosystem but will kill you. It was amusing to drive past these non-reserve poppy fields and see people sitting in them eating picnics.
Maybe next year we will skip the Primo Cafe, skip the state park, and just drive to a random field, sit down in the middle of it, and eat a delicious picnic that I stayed up all night preparing. We'll throw crumbs to the rattlesnakes.
It could happen.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
End of March reading update
So it's April 1st and I haven't played a trick on anyone or told a joke all day. The babies are a little young for jokes, I guess. We laugh a lot all day long, but just at life in general -- pictures of bees in books, or Whiskers sunning herself on a window ledge, or the joyful experience of climbing in and out of cribs.
Speaking of bees, "bee" seems to be their word for any sort of insect now. We're starting to have cockroaches again -- not the horrible infestation we had last year -- we hope -- but the occasional visitor. Today the babies found one in the family room and pointed it out to me: "Bee! Bee!" So I dealt with it in our usual manner, scooping it up with the broom and dustpan and then throwing it outside (you don't want them inside in the garbage -- even dead ones attract friends and relations). However, we have doves nesting right outside the front door and we don't like to disturb them, so I threw it in the backyard instead, and the babies saw where I threw it. A moment later here's Baby A back in the kitchen saying "Bee!" and guess what, he's got the cockroach in his hand, squished. "Oh, thank you," I said, getting the broom and dustpan again and throwing the now-dead cockroach in the backyard again. "OK, come on in now, it's time for lunch!"
So, how did my reading go in March? Not well, not well. I read only six books and that was a struggle. Here is the list:
21. Good Omens by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman. Some of the people I did NaNoWriMo with last November were very into scifi/fantasy and these were two authors they recommended, so I read the book they wrote together. It was enjoyable, but long. I'm just not a scifi/fantasy person and that's all there is to it.
22. Winter Child by Margaret Maron. A mystery, my basic filler book.
23. The Well of Lost Plots by Jasper Fforde. This series (Thursday Next) is getting worse book by book. I'm going to read one more to see if it gets any better. (Oh who am I kidding, I'm sure I'll read the whole series, complaining all the way.)
24. Hard Row by Margaret Maron. Another mystery.
25. Simplicity Parenting by Kim John Payne and Lisa M. Ross. This used up a lot of my time as I plodded through it, but I thought it was worthwhile. A parenting book based on Waldorf principles. Don't let your kids drown in toys, keep them away from TV until they're 7, set up schedules, observe rituals, don't involve them in your adult troubles -- stuff like that.
26. The Cleaner by Brett Battles. Mr. Battles is a former Ridgecrestian who spoke to the Ridge Writers group last month, so I had to read one of his books. It was a thriller, and though it was reasonably well written, the main character seemed completely unbelievable, so the book didn't work for me. I'm not going to look for the other books in the series. However, Mr. Battles has a new book coming out that is partly set in Ridgecrest -- that one I'm going to look for.
Just out of curiosity, I looked at the list of books I read in 1981, the only year in my life I managed to read 100 books, to see how many mysteries there were. It's a little hard to count because some of the titles don't mean anything to me anymore, but my best guess is 21. That means I read 79 non-mysteries in one year. Also, 5 of the mysteries were by Dashiell Hammett! That's practically like reading Shakespeare! I was an undergraduate at the time, so the books on the list include class readings: Morphology of the Folktale by V. Propp, The Prince by Machiavelli, and -- get this -- the Aeneid, by Virgil (obviously not in the original Latin). I read the Aeneid???? And, not for school, I read Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte for the first time.
Of course, I didn't have two-year-old twins then.
Speaking of bees, "bee" seems to be their word for any sort of insect now. We're starting to have cockroaches again -- not the horrible infestation we had last year -- we hope -- but the occasional visitor. Today the babies found one in the family room and pointed it out to me: "Bee! Bee!" So I dealt with it in our usual manner, scooping it up with the broom and dustpan and then throwing it outside (you don't want them inside in the garbage -- even dead ones attract friends and relations). However, we have doves nesting right outside the front door and we don't like to disturb them, so I threw it in the backyard instead, and the babies saw where I threw it. A moment later here's Baby A back in the kitchen saying "Bee!" and guess what, he's got the cockroach in his hand, squished. "Oh, thank you," I said, getting the broom and dustpan again and throwing the now-dead cockroach in the backyard again. "OK, come on in now, it's time for lunch!"
So, how did my reading go in March? Not well, not well. I read only six books and that was a struggle. Here is the list:
21. Good Omens by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman. Some of the people I did NaNoWriMo with last November were very into scifi/fantasy and these were two authors they recommended, so I read the book they wrote together. It was enjoyable, but long. I'm just not a scifi/fantasy person and that's all there is to it.
22. Winter Child by Margaret Maron. A mystery, my basic filler book.
23. The Well of Lost Plots by Jasper Fforde. This series (Thursday Next) is getting worse book by book. I'm going to read one more to see if it gets any better. (Oh who am I kidding, I'm sure I'll read the whole series, complaining all the way.)
24. Hard Row by Margaret Maron. Another mystery.
25. Simplicity Parenting by Kim John Payne and Lisa M. Ross. This used up a lot of my time as I plodded through it, but I thought it was worthwhile. A parenting book based on Waldorf principles. Don't let your kids drown in toys, keep them away from TV until they're 7, set up schedules, observe rituals, don't involve them in your adult troubles -- stuff like that.
26. The Cleaner by Brett Battles. Mr. Battles is a former Ridgecrestian who spoke to the Ridge Writers group last month, so I had to read one of his books. It was a thriller, and though it was reasonably well written, the main character seemed completely unbelievable, so the book didn't work for me. I'm not going to look for the other books in the series. However, Mr. Battles has a new book coming out that is partly set in Ridgecrest -- that one I'm going to look for.
Just out of curiosity, I looked at the list of books I read in 1981, the only year in my life I managed to read 100 books, to see how many mysteries there were. It's a little hard to count because some of the titles don't mean anything to me anymore, but my best guess is 21. That means I read 79 non-mysteries in one year. Also, 5 of the mysteries were by Dashiell Hammett! That's practically like reading Shakespeare! I was an undergraduate at the time, so the books on the list include class readings: Morphology of the Folktale by V. Propp, The Prince by Machiavelli, and -- get this -- the Aeneid, by Virgil (obviously not in the original Latin). I read the Aeneid???? And, not for school, I read Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte for the first time.
Of course, I didn't have two-year-old twins then.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Tortoises again
We paid another visit to the Desert Tortoise Natural Area (DTNA) today. We were last there on May 25, 2009, at the end of the spring season, right before the tortoises were going to go down in their burrows for the summer. It was hot and dry and we didn't see any tortoises.
Today it was sunny, a bit cool, and unfortunately windy, and we didn't see any tortoises. They don't like wind.
Last May we pushed the babies along the sketchy trails in their BOB stroller. Today we thought we'd just put them on their leashes and let them walk. This proved to be a mistake. Rocket Boy has one arm in a sling due to a broken elbow, so he can't really carry anybody, and Baby A has an ear infection, so even though he's been on antibiotics for a few days, he's a little fussy. So guess who got to carry Baby A on the entire hike? I put him down each time we stopped at a trail number, but when I would start to walk on he would scream and I'd have to pick him up again. The problem was that he also screamed when I held him. It wasn't a fun walk for me or for him. RB and Baby B had a better time.
Wildlife seen: two lizards, a large black beetle, and several birds. Also, the plants that had been just dried up husks last May were covered with green leaves and tiny flowers.
The trails began and ended at a cement shelter that functions as an Interpretive Center, with benches to sit on and panels showing the animals and plants that can be found at the DTNA. I ran the last few hundred feet of the trail, carrying Baby A, who was screaming. When we got to the shelter I set him down and collapsed onto a bench. Baby A immediately stopped screaming, walked over to a panel that had a photograph of a desert tortoise on it, and said clearly "What is dat?"
We decided the problem had been the sun and/or the wind. As long as he was under the shelter he was just fine. Sigh.
After our hike we went to the trailer that functions as a little museum and visited with the DTNA naturalist, who we had met last year. He's a student at the University of Arizona and particularly likes snakes. We remembered him from last year, but the odd thing was that he also remembered us. He remembered that we lived in Ridgecrest and didn't like it. I said, "we like it less the longer we live there." He said, "People say that about Tucson too, but I don't understand it, they have the whole Sonoran Desert right there to explore."
I felt bad. Here I am with the entire Mojave Desert to explore, what am I complaining about?
In the trailer there was a green balloon, part of a display illustrating how long various man-made items last. Baby B spent his time lunging for the balloon, shouting "Ball!" The naturalist brought down some tortoise shells, and Baby A examined them thoroughly. "You've got a budding scientist there," the naturalist said. "Ball!" said Baby B, lunging for it again. "And a budding balloon man," I added.
We asked the naturalist if he had a recommendation for a place to eat lunch in California City and he thought for a moment and then said "No." So we went to McDonalds. The babies had Happy Meals with chicken McNuggets, apple slices, milk, and plastic two-headed dinosaurs. "Apple" is one of their new words. "Apple!" said Baby B, thrilled at the sight. "Apple!" said Baby A, also thrilled. "Apple!" said Baby B. And so went lunch.
After lunch we went to Jawbone Station to visit Mr. Bob the 110-year-old tortoise who lives there, but the lady behind the counter said he hasn't come out of hibernation yet. I went in with just Baby B because RB had to stay in the car with Baby A who had fallen asleep, but the lady recognized me anyway. "Oh, you have another one the same age, don't you?" she said. "And you have such a nice husband."
Our cover blown, we drove back to Ridgecrest.
Today it was sunny, a bit cool, and unfortunately windy, and we didn't see any tortoises. They don't like wind.
Last May we pushed the babies along the sketchy trails in their BOB stroller. Today we thought we'd just put them on their leashes and let them walk. This proved to be a mistake. Rocket Boy has one arm in a sling due to a broken elbow, so he can't really carry anybody, and Baby A has an ear infection, so even though he's been on antibiotics for a few days, he's a little fussy. So guess who got to carry Baby A on the entire hike? I put him down each time we stopped at a trail number, but when I would start to walk on he would scream and I'd have to pick him up again. The problem was that he also screamed when I held him. It wasn't a fun walk for me or for him. RB and Baby B had a better time.
Wildlife seen: two lizards, a large black beetle, and several birds. Also, the plants that had been just dried up husks last May were covered with green leaves and tiny flowers.
We decided the problem had been the sun and/or the wind. As long as he was under the shelter he was just fine. Sigh.
After our hike we went to the trailer that functions as a little museum and visited with the DTNA naturalist, who we had met last year. He's a student at the University of Arizona and particularly likes snakes. We remembered him from last year, but the odd thing was that he also remembered us. He remembered that we lived in Ridgecrest and didn't like it. I said, "we like it less the longer we live there." He said, "People say that about Tucson too, but I don't understand it, they have the whole Sonoran Desert right there to explore."
I felt bad. Here I am with the entire Mojave Desert to explore, what am I complaining about?
In the trailer there was a green balloon, part of a display illustrating how long various man-made items last. Baby B spent his time lunging for the balloon, shouting "Ball!" The naturalist brought down some tortoise shells, and Baby A examined them thoroughly. "You've got a budding scientist there," the naturalist said. "Ball!" said Baby B, lunging for it again. "And a budding balloon man," I added.
We asked the naturalist if he had a recommendation for a place to eat lunch in California City and he thought for a moment and then said "No." So we went to McDonalds. The babies had Happy Meals with chicken McNuggets, apple slices, milk, and plastic two-headed dinosaurs. "Apple" is one of their new words. "Apple!" said Baby B, thrilled at the sight. "Apple!" said Baby A, also thrilled. "Apple!" said Baby B. And so went lunch.
After lunch we went to Jawbone Station to visit Mr. Bob the 110-year-old tortoise who lives there, but the lady behind the counter said he hasn't come out of hibernation yet. I went in with just Baby B because RB had to stay in the car with Baby A who had fallen asleep, but the lady recognized me anyway. "Oh, you have another one the same age, don't you?" she said. "And you have such a nice husband."
Our cover blown, we drove back to Ridgecrest.
Friday, March 19, 2010
Airports, big and small
I just got back from a quick trip to Boulder, BY MYSELF, no husband and no babies. First time I've been away from the boo bears overnight since they were born. It was quite something. I missed them desperately but even so, it was nice to be unencumbered, just for a couple of days.
On Tuesday I flew out of our own little Inyokern Airport, which was an experience in itself. Due to restrictions imposed by Edwards Air Force Base (which planes from Inyokern fly over), there are only 3 flights in and 3 flights out of the airport each day. They go to and from Los Angeles only. I decided to take the 5:07 AM flight, because it connected to the 7:18 flight from LAX to Denver, getting me in at 10:39. It hadn't occurred to me that I would have to get there by 4:00 AM, which meant I had to get up at 3:00 AM, which since the time change had occurred 2 days previously felt like 2:00 AM. But I made it. When I walked in the door at 4:00 AM, there were several people already sitting in the lobby.
It's a teeny tiny little airport. There's the ticket counter, and a rental car counter. There are maybe 4 rows of seats, maybe 6 seats per row? There's an x-ray machine and platform set-up for TSA. When I checked in, they told me to put my suitcase (which I was checking) over near the x-ray machine. Puzzled, I complied. Soon after, two TSA employees began hoisting suitcases up on the platform, opening them, and going through all the contents in full view of the dozen or so passengers. I was really glad my suitcase wasn't stuffed with pornography, contraband, or (more likely for me) chocolate.
After a while they announced that it was time to go to the airport annex, so we all got up and marched to another room where we had to go through security and then sit on more chairs until it was time to board. "Boarding" meant going out into absolute pitch blackness and walking quite a long way to the little airplane, with its brave little propellers. I wondered how many passengers they lose at that stage -- you could easily wander off in the dark and no one would know.
I had been looking forward to the view from the plane, but of course it was completely dark at 5:07 AM and all I could see was occasional lights when we flew over towns. We had a flight attendant, a man, and at one point he announced that he would be bringing a beverage cart around. I waited eagerly for this cart but never saw it, though I heard him rattling around in the back. As we approached Los Angeles he said he would be coming around to pick up people's trash, and he walked quickly down the aisle holding a large plastic bag which not one person threw anything in. Now I may have been dozing when he went down the aisle with his cart, but I'm suspicious that it never happened at all.
I successfully made my connection at LAX and flew to Denver with no problems. At Denver International Airport I collected my bag and got on the 11:15 bus to Boulder, all without incident.
Coming back two days later was something else again. My flight was supposed to leave Denver at 8:17 AM on Thursday, so I got up at 4:30 AM in order to catch the 5:27 AM bus (half a block from my house). That all worked well, but I was surprised to see so many people on the bus. Where were all these college students going? We arrived at DIA around 6:30 AM. I hurried to check my bag and then went to the security line. Denver is such an enormous airport, it is always smart to go through security as soon as possible because it can take quite a while. Well, that was particularly true this day. The line for security was so long, it stretched way back around the baggage carousels. I had seen it that bad only once before -- one Christmas when we'd had a lot of snow and everyone was told to go to the airport early. But what was going on this week?
Spring Break. A concept I'd almost forgotten about. All around me were obnoxious 18-22 year olds looking forward to a week of heavy drinking. Our plane to LA was enormous -- a 777 with 9 seats across. I was in row 38 (out of I think 40), in the exact middle of the 9-seat row. Oh well, I thought, it's only 2.5 hours. It turned out that our flight was delayed (mechanical problems), so it was 3.5 hours. But what a nice group of seatmates I had! No Spring Breakers whatsoever (although there were some in front of us, rudely reclining their seats into our faces). All five of us had a great time chatting, despite my worries that I would miss my connecting flight.
Then the horrors of the Los Angeles Airport. I did miss my connecting flight to Inyokern, and this was a problem because Rocket Boy was supposed to get on that plane and take it back to Los Angeles (on his way to Denver), so who would pick up the babies from daycare? The next flight to Inyokern would get me there at 8:00 PM; daycare closes at 6:00 PM and the twins were supposed to be picked up by 5:00 PM. I would have to drive instead.
So I called my secretary and told her to cancel my flight, then spent ONE HOUR in line waiting to talk to Customer Service (one very ill blond woman, coughing relentlessly) about the whereabouts of my suitcase. She sent me to Baggage Services to retrieve my suitcase. Baggage Services (one older Chinese woman) told me my suitcase would be sent on to Inyokern. "In 20 years I work here, always happen that way." On to Travelers Aid to ask where the car rental desks were. "Catch the shuttle out there!" an eager elderly Chinese man told me. When I told him I wanted to compare rental agencies, he directed me to a wall kiosk with phones that I could use to call the agencies. Inyokern only has two agencies -- Dollar and Avis -- so those were my choices. I could not reach Avis on the kiosk phone, so went with Dollar. Caught the shuttle, stood in line for half an hour, and finally rented a very small red car (a Chevy Aveo) which the high desert winds on Highway 14 blew around mercilessly.
Hours later I drove into the Inyokern Airport. It was 4:00 PM and the airport was closed. It closes every day from 1:00 to 5:30 PM. I parked my tiny red rental car in a Dollar spot, pulled out all the paperwork and my stuff and locked it. That was all I could do. There was no drop box outside the lobby. I retrieved my own red Subaru (parking is free at the Inyokern Airport, incidentally, and everyone can park within a few 100 yards of the lobby), dumped my stuff in it, and drove off to pick up the twins from daycare.
That evening, after dinner, the twins and I returned to the Inyokern Airport, which was open now. A small storm had kicked up out of nowhere and it was raining and blowing. I left the twins in the (locked) car and ran in to ask about my suitcase. The lobby was almost empty. I put the rental car keys and paperwork in the lobby dropbox and then explained about my suitcase. The woman behind the counter looked it up online and said "It's on the plane" (which was due at 8:00 PM, in 45 minutes). I said I would be back for it in the morning and went home to put the babies to bed.
Later that evening the woman called me to tell me my suitcase had arrived, and the next morning a different woman called me to tell me the same thing. I imagine those women behind the counter at the Inyokern Airport have a certain amount of free time.
The babies and I went back to the airport around 10:00 AM on Friday to get my suitcase, which the woman behind the counter happily fetched. I imagined that it had been opened and inspected a few more times since I'd last seen it, but I didn't mind. If people wanted to look at my dirty underwear to be sure it wasn't going to explode, that was OK with me. "Twins, huh?" said a young man standing nearby. "I'm a twin." "Oh, really?" I said, always interested to meet a twin. "Yeah, we had 3 sets in my family," he said. I wanted to say "Is your last name Duggar?" but resisted. Welcome to Ridgecrest. The babies and I took my suitcase and went back to our car. Baby A ran around a bit among the cars in the parking lot, but since none of them were moving I didn't worry about it. Eventually we all got in the car and went home and had snack.
On Tuesday I flew out of our own little Inyokern Airport, which was an experience in itself. Due to restrictions imposed by Edwards Air Force Base (which planes from Inyokern fly over), there are only 3 flights in and 3 flights out of the airport each day. They go to and from Los Angeles only. I decided to take the 5:07 AM flight, because it connected to the 7:18 flight from LAX to Denver, getting me in at 10:39. It hadn't occurred to me that I would have to get there by 4:00 AM, which meant I had to get up at 3:00 AM, which since the time change had occurred 2 days previously felt like 2:00 AM. But I made it. When I walked in the door at 4:00 AM, there were several people already sitting in the lobby.
It's a teeny tiny little airport. There's the ticket counter, and a rental car counter. There are maybe 4 rows of seats, maybe 6 seats per row? There's an x-ray machine and platform set-up for TSA. When I checked in, they told me to put my suitcase (which I was checking) over near the x-ray machine. Puzzled, I complied. Soon after, two TSA employees began hoisting suitcases up on the platform, opening them, and going through all the contents in full view of the dozen or so passengers. I was really glad my suitcase wasn't stuffed with pornography, contraband, or (more likely for me) chocolate.
After a while they announced that it was time to go to the airport annex, so we all got up and marched to another room where we had to go through security and then sit on more chairs until it was time to board. "Boarding" meant going out into absolute pitch blackness and walking quite a long way to the little airplane, with its brave little propellers. I wondered how many passengers they lose at that stage -- you could easily wander off in the dark and no one would know.
I had been looking forward to the view from the plane, but of course it was completely dark at 5:07 AM and all I could see was occasional lights when we flew over towns. We had a flight attendant, a man, and at one point he announced that he would be bringing a beverage cart around. I waited eagerly for this cart but never saw it, though I heard him rattling around in the back. As we approached Los Angeles he said he would be coming around to pick up people's trash, and he walked quickly down the aisle holding a large plastic bag which not one person threw anything in. Now I may have been dozing when he went down the aisle with his cart, but I'm suspicious that it never happened at all.
I successfully made my connection at LAX and flew to Denver with no problems. At Denver International Airport I collected my bag and got on the 11:15 bus to Boulder, all without incident.
Coming back two days later was something else again. My flight was supposed to leave Denver at 8:17 AM on Thursday, so I got up at 4:30 AM in order to catch the 5:27 AM bus (half a block from my house). That all worked well, but I was surprised to see so many people on the bus. Where were all these college students going? We arrived at DIA around 6:30 AM. I hurried to check my bag and then went to the security line. Denver is such an enormous airport, it is always smart to go through security as soon as possible because it can take quite a while. Well, that was particularly true this day. The line for security was so long, it stretched way back around the baggage carousels. I had seen it that bad only once before -- one Christmas when we'd had a lot of snow and everyone was told to go to the airport early. But what was going on this week?
Spring Break. A concept I'd almost forgotten about. All around me were obnoxious 18-22 year olds looking forward to a week of heavy drinking. Our plane to LA was enormous -- a 777 with 9 seats across. I was in row 38 (out of I think 40), in the exact middle of the 9-seat row. Oh well, I thought, it's only 2.5 hours. It turned out that our flight was delayed (mechanical problems), so it was 3.5 hours. But what a nice group of seatmates I had! No Spring Breakers whatsoever (although there were some in front of us, rudely reclining their seats into our faces). All five of us had a great time chatting, despite my worries that I would miss my connecting flight.
Then the horrors of the Los Angeles Airport. I did miss my connecting flight to Inyokern, and this was a problem because Rocket Boy was supposed to get on that plane and take it back to Los Angeles (on his way to Denver), so who would pick up the babies from daycare? The next flight to Inyokern would get me there at 8:00 PM; daycare closes at 6:00 PM and the twins were supposed to be picked up by 5:00 PM. I would have to drive instead.
So I called my secretary and told her to cancel my flight, then spent ONE HOUR in line waiting to talk to Customer Service (one very ill blond woman, coughing relentlessly) about the whereabouts of my suitcase. She sent me to Baggage Services to retrieve my suitcase. Baggage Services (one older Chinese woman) told me my suitcase would be sent on to Inyokern. "In 20 years I work here, always happen that way." On to Travelers Aid to ask where the car rental desks were. "Catch the shuttle out there!" an eager elderly Chinese man told me. When I told him I wanted to compare rental agencies, he directed me to a wall kiosk with phones that I could use to call the agencies. Inyokern only has two agencies -- Dollar and Avis -- so those were my choices. I could not reach Avis on the kiosk phone, so went with Dollar. Caught the shuttle, stood in line for half an hour, and finally rented a very small red car (a Chevy Aveo) which the high desert winds on Highway 14 blew around mercilessly.
Hours later I drove into the Inyokern Airport. It was 4:00 PM and the airport was closed. It closes every day from 1:00 to 5:30 PM. I parked my tiny red rental car in a Dollar spot, pulled out all the paperwork and my stuff and locked it. That was all I could do. There was no drop box outside the lobby. I retrieved my own red Subaru (parking is free at the Inyokern Airport, incidentally, and everyone can park within a few 100 yards of the lobby), dumped my stuff in it, and drove off to pick up the twins from daycare.
That evening, after dinner, the twins and I returned to the Inyokern Airport, which was open now. A small storm had kicked up out of nowhere and it was raining and blowing. I left the twins in the (locked) car and ran in to ask about my suitcase. The lobby was almost empty. I put the rental car keys and paperwork in the lobby dropbox and then explained about my suitcase. The woman behind the counter looked it up online and said "It's on the plane" (which was due at 8:00 PM, in 45 minutes). I said I would be back for it in the morning and went home to put the babies to bed.
Later that evening the woman called me to tell me my suitcase had arrived, and the next morning a different woman called me to tell me the same thing. I imagine those women behind the counter at the Inyokern Airport have a certain amount of free time.
The babies and I went back to the airport around 10:00 AM on Friday to get my suitcase, which the woman behind the counter happily fetched. I imagined that it had been opened and inspected a few more times since I'd last seen it, but I didn't mind. If people wanted to look at my dirty underwear to be sure it wasn't going to explode, that was OK with me. "Twins, huh?" said a young man standing nearby. "I'm a twin." "Oh, really?" I said, always interested to meet a twin. "Yeah, we had 3 sets in my family," he said. I wanted to say "Is your last name Duggar?" but resisted. Welcome to Ridgecrest. The babies and I took my suitcase and went back to our car. Baby A ran around a bit among the cars in the parking lot, but since none of them were moving I didn't worry about it. Eventually we all got in the car and went home and had snack.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Death of a conservative
I always read all the obituaries in our two local newspapers because I'm fascinated by people's life stories, especially in this area -- and by how those stories are reported by the families. But until this week I didn't know any of the people who had died. We're too new here, we don't know anybody.
This week, to our surprise, we saw a familiar name in the obituaries: Belva M. No, I can't say we really knew her, but we felt like we did because she was an inveterate letter writer. Letters to the Editor, that is. The woman wrote the most unbelievably right-wing nutter letters, worse than anyone. Rocket Boy and I read them with our mouths open. Her letters were works of art. I wish I'd saved them. I didn't realize she was about to die. I googled her just now and could only find a few of her letters online. The last was from October. I had just been thinking it had been a while since the last Belva letter and now there will be no more. Here's one I particularly enjoyed:
Our forefathers did not want any one religion (actually Christian denomination) to become the State Religion.
I promise you that they were not considering the possibility of any other religion being a challenge.
We were Christians or Jews, not Muslims or Buddhists or whatever.
As the great-grandparent of public school children, I’m reminded that having master teachers is not enough.
What are the teachers allowed to teach? Pick-pocketing?
Now the precious students are being taught to worship the president. How sad!
I, for one, would like to help Pres. Obama out...but impeachment isn’t easy.
He is leading our children too far to the left...they will all be “left” behind. Do what’s right!
We must get God back in the schools!! Or our children out of government schools. God help us!!!
Do Pray!!!
She particularly hated President Obama and often wrote about him. (Once, in an amusing exchange, an apparent friend of hers wrote in to the newspaper to complain about one of her letters, saying "Belva, show some respect, he is our president!") She also liked to reminisce about her teaching experiences. She was a big fan of corporal punishment and prayer in the schools. I'd love to meet someone in Ridgecrest who had her for a teacher way back when.
Reading her obituary, I was struck by what a nice person she appeared to have been. The photograph accompanying the story made her look so friendly and kind. She had a BA in English and a teaching credential, was married with children, children-in-the-Lord (whatever they are), grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. And of course: "Belva loved God with all her heart."
What is it about loving God that makes people into such crazy bigots? It should do the opposite. I will never understand.
Goodbye Belva, we will miss you.
This week, to our surprise, we saw a familiar name in the obituaries: Belva M. No, I can't say we really knew her, but we felt like we did because she was an inveterate letter writer. Letters to the Editor, that is. The woman wrote the most unbelievably right-wing nutter letters, worse than anyone. Rocket Boy and I read them with our mouths open. Her letters were works of art. I wish I'd saved them. I didn't realize she was about to die. I googled her just now and could only find a few of her letters online. The last was from October. I had just been thinking it had been a while since the last Belva letter and now there will be no more. Here's one I particularly enjoyed:
Our forefathers did not want any one religion (actually Christian denomination) to become the State Religion.
I promise you that they were not considering the possibility of any other religion being a challenge.
We were Christians or Jews, not Muslims or Buddhists or whatever.
As the great-grandparent of public school children, I’m reminded that having master teachers is not enough.
What are the teachers allowed to teach? Pick-pocketing?
Now the precious students are being taught to worship the president. How sad!
I, for one, would like to help Pres. Obama out...but impeachment isn’t easy.
He is leading our children too far to the left...they will all be “left” behind. Do what’s right!
We must get God back in the schools!! Or our children out of government schools. God help us!!!
Do Pray!!!
She particularly hated President Obama and often wrote about him. (Once, in an amusing exchange, an apparent friend of hers wrote in to the newspaper to complain about one of her letters, saying "Belva, show some respect, he is our president!") She also liked to reminisce about her teaching experiences. She was a big fan of corporal punishment and prayer in the schools. I'd love to meet someone in Ridgecrest who had her for a teacher way back when.
Reading her obituary, I was struck by what a nice person she appeared to have been. The photograph accompanying the story made her look so friendly and kind. She had a BA in English and a teaching credential, was married with children, children-in-the-Lord (whatever they are), grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. And of course: "Belva loved God with all her heart."
What is it about loving God that makes people into such crazy bigots? It should do the opposite. I will never understand.
Goodbye Belva, we will miss you.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Joshua Tree
We got back this afternoon from a weekend trip to Joshua Tree National Park, about 150 miles from where we live. Some old friends of Rocket Boy's drove up from Arizona to meet us there. They had to drive 485 miles, but without almost-two-year-old twins in the car, so we agreed it was a pretty fair division of driving!
Staying at the hotel with almost-two-year-old twins was challenging. Within minutes of our arrival, Baby A discovered the phone and pressed the button to call the front desk. A moment later he did it again. So we put that phone in the closet and unplugged the other one. The hotel provided 2 little cribs, which the boys immediately figured out how to climb in and out of (this is new). So then they wouldn't go to sleep. We dressed them in their PJs, read stories, put them in their cribs, said nighty-night, and a moment later Baby A was in Baby B's crib and a moment after that Baby B was on the floor. Our room had a little kitchen attached to it, and the second night we were there, the boys decided to bang the cupboard doors open and shut over and over. Then the phone in the closet rang: it was the front desk: someone had complained about the noise! At 8pm! This morning RB let them ride in the elevator (just for fun -- we were on the 1st floor) and Baby A pushed the emergency phone button which calls the fire department.
Joshua Tree is an attractive National Park. I liked it, what I saw of it. Would like to come back and explore it a little more, perhaps with older twins. Desert parks have special challenges for toddlers: notably cacti, as well as other painful plants.
We're walking along a trail, the boys are looking at everything, touching everything, picking up rocks, and all of a sudden there's a prickly pear -- whoops! Grab both babies, hurry them along, and keep eyes peeled for the next hazard. Attractions such as the Cholla Cactus Garden could be viewed only from the car.
Oddly, there are no services inside the park. Even the visitor centers are quite a ways outside it, and there are no restaurants and most of the campgrounds don't even have water. But, you know, every National Park is a little different. The second visit is always easier than the first.
We were early for wildflowers. The ranger at the Oasis Visitor Center told us we wouldn't see much of anything yet; he also said they didn't expect this to be a good year. But as we were driving along the road to the south entrance, we passed a field of ocotillo and many of them were in bloom. Ocotillo are a funny plant -- just a bunch of stems that can grow up to 20 feet tall. According to a guidebook I bought, ocotillo usually look dead, but whenever there is a good rain, their long stems become covered with tiny green leaves -- which then die as soon as the soil dries out. This can happen over and over again throughout the year. They only bloom once a year, with bright red flowers at the ends of their stems. We had never even seen any green ones before, and these were all green and many had red flowers. Quite a sight.
After we drove through the park, we went to the Salton Sea. I have a framed poster (hanging in our family room) of a photo of the Salton Sea by Richard Misrach. I've had it at least 20 years. So now I've finally seen the real thing, or at least a tiny corner of it. It was very beautiful, the only problem being all the dead tilapia everywhere. I wasn't clear on what causes the dead fish -- something about algae. The Salton Sea also has an extremely serious salinity problem. But it's still magnificent. As we walked along the beach, we kept passing dead fish and the babies kept trying to pick them up.
Today (Sunday) our friends headed back to Arizona and we made another quick trip through the park. We wanted to take another nature walk, but it was raining and we hadn't brought the hiking stroller with its special rain cover. Finally we gave up, left the park, and headed home to Ridgecrest.
Staying at the hotel with almost-two-year-old twins was challenging. Within minutes of our arrival, Baby A discovered the phone and pressed the button to call the front desk. A moment later he did it again. So we put that phone in the closet and unplugged the other one. The hotel provided 2 little cribs, which the boys immediately figured out how to climb in and out of (this is new). So then they wouldn't go to sleep. We dressed them in their PJs, read stories, put them in their cribs, said nighty-night, and a moment later Baby A was in Baby B's crib and a moment after that Baby B was on the floor. Our room had a little kitchen attached to it, and the second night we were there, the boys decided to bang the cupboard doors open and shut over and over. Then the phone in the closet rang: it was the front desk: someone had complained about the noise! At 8pm! This morning RB let them ride in the elevator (just for fun -- we were on the 1st floor) and Baby A pushed the emergency phone button which calls the fire department.
Joshua Tree is an attractive National Park. I liked it, what I saw of it. Would like to come back and explore it a little more, perhaps with older twins. Desert parks have special challenges for toddlers: notably cacti, as well as other painful plants.
Oddly, there are no services inside the park. Even the visitor centers are quite a ways outside it, and there are no restaurants and most of the campgrounds don't even have water. But, you know, every National Park is a little different. The second visit is always easier than the first.
After we drove through the park, we went to the Salton Sea. I have a framed poster (hanging in our family room) of a photo of the Salton Sea by Richard Misrach. I've had it at least 20 years. So now I've finally seen the real thing, or at least a tiny corner of it. It was very beautiful, the only problem being all the dead tilapia everywhere. I wasn't clear on what causes the dead fish -- something about algae. The Salton Sea also has an extremely serious salinity problem. But it's still magnificent. As we walked along the beach, we kept passing dead fish and the babies kept trying to pick them up.
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