Look! Up in the sky! (and into the fence row)

Here's a lovely before and after grouping of photos. The before is the white tent that has adjoined our shed for several months. This tent has been through a winter with us. It has been a staging area for construction materials, boxes of belongings that fit nowhere else, tools that do not fit in the shed beside it, and generally a safe haven from people who want to talk when I am completely out of listen. Not long ago I removed the panel closest to the shed, in hopes that there would be less resistance and a place for prevailing winds to go unhindered. This worked extremely well, provided the winds prevailed on the yard side of the tent.

Guess where hurricane winds prevail from? You are correct. Hurricanes are all about coming from the other side. When that happens, a ceiling and three walls lack only a mast to be recognized for their true utility. That  is why I've entitled the following photograph "BoxKite."

The bit that looks like the head of Joseph in a church play produced on a shoestring is purportedly fine china. The mushroom effect is created by bunching a plastic tarp, covering it with a canvas tarp, then tying it off with 1/4-inch polyester rope. Somewhere beneath that hasty preventative measure I'm betting there is one dry box. However, three or four very wet boxes are supporting it. One advantage of a thorough soaking is that the boxes will be very easy to open. I'm thinking one long fingernail should about do the trick.

As already discussed on Facebook, the overstuffed pink chair could probably have done without an impromptu rinse cycle. Oddly, despite some sustained winds last night, most things stayed in situ. Including, things I would have happily apologized for as I collected them from neighbors' yards and pronounced them dustbin fodder.

Today, I collected the tent canvas, poles, and removed all the bungee tie-downs before spreading the panels in the yard. I'll need to turn them to get the other side rinsed. Soon, they'll be ready to fold and store and I can dismantle the pallets-and-plywood flooring of the temporary structure that we'd still be using, were it not for our overnight guest blowing things about. I'm looking at this as one of those "life nudges" convincing me that we've tarried far too long in dealing with surplus belongings. I'm pretty sure we've been belonging to the things.

The very nice thing about moving into a living space just over one-quarter of the size one is moving from is that necessity quickly becomes apparent. Few things qualify. The space we have is more than adequate. I've seen people happily living with so much less. It's just that our space is crowded by things we've inherited, things we're storing for others, and things we no longer need. Our heartfelt thanks to Sandy for making this even more clear than we could have on our own. It's time to let go.

Spelling Snob

For my bride's birthday, she received a gift of tickets for the entire family to Medieval Times. I'd never been. In fact, I'd successfully dodged several opportunities to go. There was no escaping this, so I graciously participated and ... you're ahead of me, aren't you? Yes, I enjoyed it. Just like the castles of yore it had a killer sound booth, uber-powerful PA speakers, and booming subwoofers, as well as impressive lighting and a fog machine. If you doubt this is period-appropriate stuff, watch nearly any movie that includes a castle. Somewhere in there, you'll likely see a shot with fog wafting ominously over the flagstones. Uh-huh. Told you so. This place had all that. Plus, fair maidens who actually asked that we address them as "Wench (insert maiden's name here)". In our case this was Wench Holly, who wore mascara, eye shadow, and foundation, just like in the olden days. She had a charming smile, which she formed with all her teeth, so it may not have been totally true to the period, but she treated us well.

The spelling snob part comes in here. I tried to be all technologically savvy and share with all my Facebook friends where I was. This is critical because all my Facebook friends sit around their homes on a Friday evening wondering, "Darn it, what is Dave up to?" just like I would have been doing for them if we hadn't made these plans. So I whipped out my iPhone 3G, pressed the magic buttons on the screen and waited the requisite 4.25 minutes for the screen to load. It was embarrassing, because my sister-in-law, who made this excursion possible, wanted to use my phone as a flashlight and I couldn't give it to her because the screen hadn't come up yet. When it did, I duly pressed the Check In button so my friends could exhale, having received the answer to their pressing question. Here's what appeared as an option: Midevil Times.

Yeah. That's what I thought. Never mind that 892 people had selected that option before me. I mean, by that time the minefield is pretty well cleared, right? There are nearly 900 people out there who either a) are illiterate, or b) give not one rodent's backside about spelling and diligently allayed the fears of their friends as to their whereabouts. Folks, I couldn't do it. If you're one of the friends who was wondering, I apologize for keeping you in suspense. I'm okay. We enjoyed the show and made it home safely. We had a good time. Thanks for asking. But I couldn't press the button that would lead you to believe I would take in a show at Midevil Times. Nope.

I don't even know what Midevil Times would be. Something between Pure Times and Dreadfully Evil Times, I suppose. Or maybe Olde English for "My Devil Times," which might correspond with some mood swings I may have been on the receiving end of a time or two but you'll never hear me swear publicly to it and no this does not constitute that. In this phase of my career I'm more than an editor, but I pretty much was and always will have been an editor first, so I am admittedly something of a snob. Therefore, I am not number 893 on the Check In list.

When you go to the Baltimore/Washington, D.C. Medieval Times, which you'll find in Hanover, Maryland, by the way, I plead with you. Fight the urge. Please go. Enjoy the show. Eat with your hands. Despair that a single napkin will be inadequate for your aggressive eating style. But, post your plans on Facebook before you go so we don't worry about you. Don't yield to haphazard spelling. Check out before you're tempted to Check In. Thank you.

An Evening Well Spent

This evening I spent time staring into a fire. I find that almost hypnotic, don't you? It's little wonder humankind has spent so many years focusing on firelight.

We have a metal fire pit from a local big box hardware store. It spent the winter covered, but outdoors. Two weeks ago, the cover was solemnly discarded after a valiant, but ultimately fatal bout with a lawnmower. The screen of the lid apparently was never intended to withstand intense heat, and I'm man enough to admit that the best fire is a big fire. You can deduce from that statement that the screen may have been exposed to more heat than is strictly necessary for patio pyrotechnics. The fire pit is a balanced set. The holes in the screen are matched by holes in the bowl. I suspect that the bowl was not intended for Wicker Man-type fires either.

Despite the degraded equipment we are using to contain everything, I still enjoy making and watching a fire. The sunset was just finishing when I got home and started things. In little time at all, we had a fire going. In little more time at all, I had a chilled beverage in one hand and a fistful of lightly salted peanuts in the other. It was time for staring to commence.

I think the magic of flames is that it is so difficult to focus on one point. The flicker, the color variation, and the movement of the flame, not to mention the ever-changing embers, lulls me into a state of detachment. I disengage. Another benefit is that we choose to do this activity outdoors. Since not one of our fireplaces is functional, I figure we're only good for one indoor fire. And it's likely to be memorable. Until then, we're outside and I can listen to the night noises and meld with nature.

Tonight was enjoyable because my iPhone was on shuffle. It's dicey going from Ave Maria to What Would You Say? But that's how I roll. So, there was music. The basement people came up and joined me. So, there was family. A friend dropped by and helped ensure I didn't go all wacko with the chilled beverages and peanuts. So, there was sharing and camaraderie. And our guests returned from a dinner with friends. So, there was even more family. As a result there was conversation and catching up, and communal fire staring. Most of all, there was the accompanying sense of peace that comes from stopping doing and starting being. And that's an evening well spent.

Color

A week ago, I doubted we would see any noteworthy foliage this year. Autumn leaf colors along the roads I regularly travel were muted or not changing at all. On Wednesday, I drove just a little north of here and discovered hidden beauty. Even on that trip, the main road had little to show me. However, on the way home I took some back roads and saw more and more spots of vibrant colors.

The treasures we seek aren't always found along easy routes. In this case, the pretty trees seem to have been held in reserve, tucked away in the wrinkles and folds of a mischievous landscape and only allowed to emerge to play peek-a-boo or preen as the setting sun ignited their finery.

Whatever was at play here, reticence or bashfulness, the trees seem to have gotten over it and even the boulevard brethren have joined the party. Trees everywhere are adding pizzazz to their wardrobes and making the most of blue skies and sunny days to show off a bit. Some favor reds and some go for yellows. It's a spectacle to be sure. I'm enjoying it while it's here.

Fortunately, I've seen this show before. I don't want to spoil it for anybody, but the next act is more somber and bittersweet. Still good. Don't get me wrong. And possibly my favorite. The sensory experience just shifts from the eyes to the other senses. Get ready for some great aromas, a snap and crunch for the ears, and the cool crumble of brown, grounded gliders in your hands as you roll them around to create all-natural confetti.

You're gonna love it.