Trebuchet

A year or so ago, a friend of ours took us out into his backyard to set off bottle rockets. He had built a launcher and then used 2 liter bottles as projectiles. We pumped up the pressure, pointed the rocket upward, and pulled the firing cord. The moment the first one launched I was in love. I believe I squealed and pleaded to do it again. I might have clapped in happiness too. Since then I've become fascinated with launching things. And my new favorite idea about launching things is a trebuchet. I want to build one.

A trebuchet is a form of catapult, a siege weapon designed to launch heavy objects at a significant distance with much force. What's not to love? The trebuchet uses a counterweight to send objects flying. So not only do you have the thrill of watching things fly but you add heavy weights to make the contraption even more dangerous. I have to imagine that full sized trebuchets injured more people in their operation than just with the projectiles they threw. But it doesn't matter, I'm going to build one. Although ours will probably only launch water balloons.

But in the meantime, Jeff and I decided to start small. We bought a ready-to-assemble trebuchet at Gen Con this weekend. We assembled it tonight and I have done little else but launch the balls that come with it, along with some dice, across the room towards our table. Currently it has a range of only a couple feet (think 6 to 8) but I think with some adjustment to the firing pin, I should be able to get much farther. The box says it could fire up to 25 feet away. It just takes some practice. Now to play with it and hopefully get some slow motion video of it working. I'm still going to build a big one, but in the meantime the little one makes me squeal with happiness. I'm such a geek.

How to Sabotage Yourself...in one easy step

I'm beginning to think that my brain hates me. Or perhaps that I'm just my own worst enemy. Thinking, and particularly overthinking, has been the bane of my existence. I've done more to sabotage me than anyone could ever do. The moment I decide on something, there is a tiny voice in the back of my mind that starts to ask questions like, "do you really think that's a good idea", or "do you even know how to do that", or even "why do you think anyone would be interested in that". 

This has affected my social interactions, my writing, my work life, and recently my blogging. I spend so much time thinking about doing something, and whether it's a good idea, that I do nothing. I sit paralyzed, listening to the voices in my head tear down my ideas. A decent story idea suddenly seems hackneyed. Then completely cliche. And then the voice likes to tell me that I'll never have any original ideas. That I'm not a good writer, friend, person. It's a horrible type of paralysis.  

After years of this I understand why so many writers and painters were alcoholics. They are drowning out those little voices. They are keeping them busy. I haven't gone that route yet, don't worry. I've found music instead. If I can listen to music (as I'm doing now) I can keep that little voice busy listening to lyrics while I type away. Of course this doesn't work well for social interactions but I'm working on that. 

I've read hundreds of self-help articles on how to get rid of these voices, or at least how to quiet them. They've suggested meditation, self-hypnosis, segmentation, even the music treatment I use. I've used free writing, self encouragement, and even mantras. One day I will learn a perfect solution to tune them out. Until then I have to do as Nike suggests and "just do it". Just do what you want to do and let time determine if something is good or not. More often then not, a bit of time and distance, makes things look clearer. 

"Don't think about making art, just get it done. Let everyone else decide if it's good or bad, whether they love it or hate it. While they're deciding, make even more art." --Andy Warhol

Songs of the Week

Over the last three days, I've listened to The National's "Sea of Love" at least two dozen times. In fact I'm listening to it right now, on repeat. That and "Demons", also by The National.

I have a tendency to become infatuated with songs. Two weeks ago I listened to "Nomenclature" by Andrew Bird until I was humming it in my sleep. I simply could not get enough of the song. This week, I've moved my affection to The National. I was introduced to the band years ago after watching this rather enjoyable animation using their song "Slow Show". Using YouTube I listened to most of their music then. And then this week, I became obsessed.

I was re-listening to "Sea of Love" and happened to notice that the Dessner brothers (the guitarists) look a bit like a friend of mine. So of course I had to look for more videos. And that reminded me of "Demons". Now I can't stop listening. I bought a bunch of The National's song but these are the one one repeat.

Eventually I'll get tired of them. Or a new song will come along. But until then, repeat is my best friend. And these songs just keep getting better with each listen.

Patriotism

With the fourth of July behind us I finally feel that I can admit something. It's not a popular thing to admit right now but I don't really care. It needs to be said.

I'm not much of a patriot. Or at least I don't care much for patriotism.

I like this country. There are a number of nice benefits of living here. It is certainly a better place to live than many country in the world. But do I believe that this is the greatest country ever? Do I believe that everything the US does is great? That's where my patriotism begins to get a little shaky. I was young when I started to notice how the word patriot was bandied around in debates. It was often meant to be a conversation stopper. I watched us go to war (for the first time in my lifetime) and the cracks started to appear in the "America is wonderful" veneer. I suddenly started wondering if we were just as flawed as the other countries.

I started to read more about the ways that our country slips: torture, espionage, war-mongering, etc.... And the more I read the more I realized that we're not a perfect country. That we do some of the things that we rail against other countries doing. We just try to do them quietly and covertly. Now I'm not expecting our country to be perfect. That would be silly. But I am tired of the patriotic rhetoric that goes around, that says we are. I'm tired of the flag waving and political speeches that seem to say that we can do no wrong.

I got into an argument on July 4th about Edward Snowden. There was passionate argument on either side about whether he was a traitor or a hero. And one of the debaters asked me if I loved my country. And I paused to think. And I honestly couldn't say one way or another. Like I said, I like this country. But I think I could just as comfortably live in Canada.

Quotes

I found an old photo of an apartment I shared with a friend in college. On the wall above my writing desk were two quotes that I had created with letters cut out of magazines. I thought I was so creative to do that. The two quotes were favorites at the time and still are, even though I'd forgotten they were up there.

The first:
"And not when I had come to die, discover that I had not lived." ~ Henry David Thoreau from Walden

And the second is one of my favorite inscriptions from Robert Service, a poet who I've loved for most of my life.

I have no doubt at all the devil grins,
as seas of ink I splatter.
Ye gods forgive my literary sins,
the other kind don't matter.

I might have to put that one up over my current writing desk.

Neil Gaiman!

For those of you who don't know, the man sitting at the table is Neil Gaiman. And the woman looking slightly faint while professing her undying love standing in front, is me. I've been that close to Neil "freakin" Gaiman! Even just saying that makes me giddy.

If you're a friend of mine on Facebook I'm sure you're tired of seeing pictures of this man. But it's not everyday that someone gets to meet one of their heroes. So pardon me if I'm a tad over-enthusiastic. I have loved many writers. I have a couple writers who I've read all of their books. Neil Gaiman is on the top of both of those lists. So when I heard that Neil Gaiman would be doing his last signing tour I knew I had to find a way to go. The closest stop was Minneapolis so I started making plans. A friend, graciously, went to the bookstore to pick up passes for me. Another friend, as big a Gaiman fan as I am, went with me to the signing. We listened to him talk and read and then read from his even newer book. And I applauded and cheered. And then we waited, and waited. Three hours we waited for the chance to have our books signed. Thanks to my friend Josh for making me stay. Because it was worth the three hours.

Because for 30 seconds I got the chance to talk to my hero. I stood in front of him and babbled something about how much I loved all of his work. And he said something gracious about how it was all so different and I babbled more about how he was an amazing storyteller. And he signed two books with a beautiful fountain pen and I couldn't stop smiling for the rest of the night. Every time I open my copy of his book I smile. He was so gracious and genuine. And I can't stop talking about it. So here you go. More pictures. More talking. I just have to say it. I love Neil Gaiman!

Recurrent Corneal Erosion

I can't believe I'm writing this, but I'm becoming fearful about falling asleep. Bad things happen when I fall asleep. I'm living on less than five hours a night lately. For the last three weeks I've been waking up every hour or every other hour and going back to sleep just praying that I get to the next wake-up. At least get to the next wake-up without pain.

Three times in the last two weeks I've woken up with severe pain, tearing, and the feeling that there is something in my eye. I know what it is. I know that it's not something in my eye but the explanation might be worse. Each time I wake up that way I'm hurting my cornea. I have Recurrent Corneal Erosion, which stems from my cut back in March. Knowing the damage that is being done actually makes it worse.

I've bought three different types of eye drops in the last three weeks and just broke down to buy an eye ointment this evening. The drops help a bit. But not every night. So I'll try the ointment tonight to see if that works. Each time I buy something I hope that it works and that I won't have to go back to the eye doctor to get further treatment. Mostly because so many of the treatments that are tried for RCE only occasionally work. I wore a contact for three weeks without luck. I'm sure I'll wear one again for longer with the hope that will work. I'd have to think long and hard about the surgery.

I'll go to see the doctor again soon. But I'm waiting until the end of the week when I have the days off. I know I'm not doing a lot of permanent damage to my eyes which means that it's not an emergency. Some people live with RCE for years. I just hope that it's not the case for me. Until then I hope that ointment will at least allow me to sleep without fear. I know the cause, and knowing helps in a way, but it doesn't help with the anxiety. Here's hoping for a good night sleep tonight and calm eyes this morning.

Earning My Calories

Over the weekend, Jeff and I broke down and bought a tablet. We had been discussing an iPad for over a year and finally the time seemed right (well maybe not right, but not wrong either). Right would have involved us not spending a couple grand on a new air conditioner. But the point is that we bought one. And so far I've been enjoying it for one aspect more than any other. The moment we brought the iPad home, I installed My FitnessPal on it.

About seven years ago, I managed to lose 60 pounds by tracking what I ate and walking more. I had used a printed food journal at the time and loved it. Now, in the age of digital, I'm using an electronic food tracker and am hopefully that I can repeat my results from the past. I have about 60 pounds to lose.

So far the program has helped me make some smarter decisions. Of course I've only been using it for  a couple days now. But I'm optimistic. I went for a long walk yesterday so I could eat a good dinner and still be under calories. Today I spent 5 hours shifting books at the library. The program tells me that I burned a ton of calories enough for a great dinner and plenty left over. It even allowed me a glass of wine. So if I use the iPad for nothing else, at least it might help me lose a bit of weight. And that would be worth it.

Now to work up the roommate agreement

My mother knows that I like The Big Bang Theory so when she was out shopping recently she bought me a present. My own little Sheldon. Or big Sheldon, if we go by head size. He's adorable.

I love the Funko figurines and this is the first one I've ever owned. He's going to sit up on my bookshelves in my library. For when I need some help with the sciences or maths. I'm sure he'd be willing to explain them to me. Perhaps ad nauseum.

Books!

My mother tells me that when I was less than a year old, I used to sit on the floor in the living room, pull a book off the well stocked shelves, and flip through the pages as if I were reading. Although I'm not sure I believe this completely, she tells me that I didn't even rip the pages. I do remember being six and pulling down the A book from the World Book to flip through. I was particularly fascinated with the page that showed the variety of apples. I spent most of my childhood flipping through those books. I still do when I'm over at my parent's house. I spent 60% of my childhood stretched out on the couch in my parent's living room reading. 

My parent's house is filled with books. There is not a single room in that home that doesn't have books. It was such a regular part of my childhood that upon entering a friend's house I was filled with a sense of unease. It was half way into my visit before I realized that there was not a single book in sight. If you walk into my living room right now you'd find: two books and a notebook on the couch, four library books stacked on the dining table, a bookcase filled with cookbooks, a stack of magazines and one lonely paperback on the coffee table, and at least a half dozen books on the stairs waiting to go up. And this isn't where I keep my collection. I keep the majority of my books in the library. But like my parents, you can't find a room in the house where you don't find reading material. 

I've been thinking about my passion recently. I want to find what makes me the happiest, what makes time fly. I want to figure out what I'm the most passionate about. Then I look around. And find myself surrounded by books. I realize that one of the things that bothers me the most about my job is that I'm not working with books regularly. I notice that I'm donating my time at the library. And that when I enter a library, a bookshop, or someone's personal library, time seems to slow down. I browse, running my fingers gently along the spines of books. I can spend hours glancing at titles, picking up books, copying quotes from books, collecting books, and of course reading books. I don't know about you, but that seems like the definition of a passion. I think I found it. My great passion is books. Now to find a way to make that my occupation. 

Jinxing Myself

I guess it's all a matter of what we pay attention to, but I keep noticing that this blog jinxes me. In December 2009, I wrote about how the moon on New Years Eve would not only be full but a blue moon. I wondered aloud if it was an omen. Two days later I was lying on my back in the emergency room, cradling a fractured ankle.

This past week I wrote an article about eyes, particularly the beauty of pupils. Today I'm sitting on the couch dealing with eye pain. I woke up on Monday morning with pain. I've had it on and off since I cut my eye in March. But the pain on Monday didn't go away like it normally does. So I went back to the eye doctor (third time since January) and he diagnosed the pain. Apparently my cut had never healed properly and I was doing regular damage to my cornea. He fitted me with a bandage contact lens and sent me home with antibiotics. I'll be wearing the lens for about a month.

The contact might be worse than the pain I was having before but I'm trying to be good. It's only been 28 hours I keep telling myself. But my lovely iris is covered and a tad cloudy behind the contact. The rest of my eye is bright red. And I just want it to stop being irritated. I'm whiny and unproductive. Poor Jeff has had to deal with me whining about my eyes since March. And so far it doesn't seem to be going away. But I guess I should count my blessings. It could be worse. But I'm not going to say how...just in case.

The Eyes Have It

In the last year I found a collection of photographs by Suren Manvelyan of animal eyes. These incredible macro shots showed both the incredibly diversity of eyes but more fascinating to me, the structure of the iris. I've always taken for granted that the iris was simply a solid color. But as I looked at the images I realized that there are gaps in the iris, there are color changes. Honestly there is nothing solid about them. 

Chimpanzee eye (very close to a human eye)

Since then I've become fascinated with my eyes. I've started checking out Jeff's eyes. I would be fascinated with other people's eyes but they might find it disconcerting when I get close enough to examine their irises in detail. And although I don't have the skills that Manvelyan has with macro shots, I've taken some images of both Jeff and my irises. 

These are mine. Note the gaps on the left side of the iris. Note the way each strand of iris goes into the dark pupil in the middle. It looks more like a hole than any solid structure.

This is Jeff's eye. Notice the color changes. Jeff has eyes that fluctuate between blue and green (at least in my mind). I love the center green surrounded by the light blue. I didn't do any color touching for this photo. 

This photo was something fun. I took a horrible shot of Jeff's eye. The flash was still on and the photo was too bright to be useful. Until I started playing with it in iPhoto. I changed the contrasts and what I have is more artistic. But even more interesting it really shows those gaps in the iris. They now show up as pure black against the white of the iris. And I love the odd color of the pupil 

Make sure you check out the rest of Suren Manvelyan's gallery here. I promise you these will be some of the most interesting and beautiful photographs that you'll see all week. I guarantee that you've never seen eyes like those photos before. They made me rethink how eyes work. I loved these last two the most (gecko above and llama below). 

Mondays

I'm sitting on the couch with my feet up, sinking further into the cushions. I'm surprised that I have the energy to type with how tired I am tonight. I'm feeling the exhaustion of a long productive day. My Mondays have become busy. And today was one of the busier ones.

Back in March I started volunteering with our main city library. My mother had found an ad in the local paper requesting volunteers and I contacted them about working on Mondays. On my day off, I go in at noon and work until 5. On my work Mondays I go in after work until close. I may only work one night a week but the volunteer position has made a marked difference in my stress levels. I'm feeling far more relaxed than I have in months. The librarians seem to like the work I do and I'm even starting to contribute some ideas of my own. I feel like I make a difference and I love the fact that I'm working in a library. The only downside is the busyness.

I worked my regular nine hours at my day job and then headed over the library right after work. The library is preparing for a major book sale and I've been working for many weeks to get things ready. Tonight I shifted at least four full book trucks worth of books. I also went through the children's collection to pull out certain subjects. I handled stacks and stacks of books. I left feeling exhausted, a little dizzy, and hungry (I hadn't had dinner). And proud.

So the exhaustion I feel is a good thing. My time on the couch seems like a reward for a job well done. I feel more proud of the 2 hours and 45 minutes I spent at the library, then I do for the nine hours I worked at my day job. I feel like I contributed more. And for me that is making all the difference. It may be another night away from home during the week but this type of busyness is right up my alley.

April Showers Bring...May Snow?

It snowed all day Thursday and Friday, May 2nd and 3rd. I've never seen snow in May. In all my years I don't remember a single day in May that had snow. Except this year. Most of the midwest got hit with snow. My poor brother and his family got socked with a full foot of snow. They lost their tree. For the first day it hardly collected. And the next day it wouldn't stop.

I covered my strawberries in the hope that they would survive the snow and cold, which they did. In fact they look better than I've ever seen them, big and tall and ready to send out berries. I improvised on the covering, (an old storage box) which worked beautifully. It was windy enough to blow the container away so I placed a frozen bottle of water on top for some added weight.

When the snow came I loved the way the grass looked. The bright green grass and the pure white snow was lovely. So I took pictures. And didn't mind the snow on Thursday. It was Friday that bothered me. I saw the results of a head-on collision on my way to the office that morning. Someone had been going too fast and wasn't able to keep traction on the curve. Both cars suffered but thankfully there didn't appear to be injuries.

It was slick going in that day. The pretty green grass was gone, under a blanket of white. The snow continued all day. The ground was slick and slushy, the snow was often intense, and the wind never let up the whole day. It was cold and horrible. And I just kept thinking how it was May, and it shouldn't be snowing. I called Jeff on my way home from work on Friday to complain, but he was in too good a mood for that. He laughed and told me he "made me something". But he wouldn't tell me what it was. It was only when I pulled in that I found this guy.

I guess it was perfect packing snow. It took Jeff 20 minutes to make him. I love the frown on his face. As soon as I saw him I lit up. I couldn't stop smiling. The embodiment of winter in the middle of May. He was gone by mid-day today. The rain has brought him low. But for a moment I was smiling and happy in the middle of the spring chill. Clearly Mr. Snowman was not.

Poetry Friday

Apparently I forgot that I had a blog. Sorry about that. My world has been a bit busy lately. Hopefully it will slow down soon. But for today, a poem. I found this on one of the other blogs I read. I have to read more of this man's work. Half-poem, half zen koan, I read this and am at peace. Now to find some woods.

The Peace of Wild Things
by Wendell Barry

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.