News from the road
Dec. 27th, 2006 03:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pecuniumIt seems the familial tradition is to get, one way, or another, to Sebasatapol, and visit with Pat's brother, and his wife.
This works well enough because Willis and Jennifer are their kids, and Sola and Michael head up to Humbolt to visit his family, so this is a happy medium.
But it is internet hell. DSL is not to be had, the modem is 28.8 and the only option for fast internet is cable, which they don't want (it would be for nought but the net, and they don't use it enough to justify the $50 a month or so it would run. They can afford it, but why?).
So, through the miracles of technology, Willis' education, Gary's phone, and some smidgeon of expertise; in a limited way, with building networks; taught me by the Army so I could set things up in Iraq (information is what we do, and it's gotta flow), we have a fairly fast connection.
Really, Gary got a Sprint package (which they no longer offer) about three years ago which let him get internet (of a limited sort) on his phone. He's since upgraded the phone; and the internet it gets is the whole thing. So with a bit of fiddling, his phone is the connection, and his computer is the router. Yesterday we had four machines surfing along.
Maia and I had a god time at Dickens (zhaneel69 don't feel badly about missing it, the place was packed... knees and elbows to get anywhere). I like Christmas, the bonhomie, the hope, the Neverland aspect of it (because how many of us manage to be like Scrooge at the end of the story, and keep Christmas in our hearts all the year?... which is why that commercial this year, which had him being generous, and then stealing pennies irked me).
And Dickens captures that aspect of it. The clothes, the manners (a man in a tophat looks serene, and when he doffs it to make a greeting, he seems sincere, in a way that hearty claps on the back don't manage).
But what I really like is the songs. Maia hates them. She refuses to let me rehearse them before the first of December (though I insist I ought to be allowed, come the first Sunday in Advent). We were talking about it and she said something which set me to listening to them afresh. She said they were all depressing.
So I listened, as I played them, and heard what she was saying. Being reared a Catholic (and holding to much of it; it's dyed in the wool, and some of it, even were I to become an atheist, would linger to my grave) I don't think I'd taken real notice of it (though I do wonder, when "What child it this" starts, "Will they sing the fourth verse?", they never do).
And all of the songs I really like, have an air of melancholy. Easter, and the whiff of the grave is in them.
Which seems fitting, to a festival about surviving the dark of the year.
Dickens closes with carols. As the customers file out, a host is lining the streets, singing. I revelled in it. Carols I like, which suffer when I play them to myself, or listen to an album, are alive. One of my favorites, "Good King Wencelas" is only worth doing in a choir. We did it. The men reachhing as far down as they can manage to get the warm power of the King's part, the women, and boys, trilling to the page, and the unisons ringing the rafters.
"Silent Night" brings tears to my eyes.
And then we went to supper in SF, Sam Wo's in Chinatown. The food was good, the company fine (we live too far away to see many of our friends). Maia had her corchet, and the woman who ran the dumbwaiter, and took orders came to look at it. She spoke very little english, but she took the work out of Maia's hands, and tried it, getting most of the stitch right (it's Maia's favorite, single double... "moss stitch" I think. I could never figure crochet out, all I got was hideous tangles. I used to be able to knit), so Maia showed her the bits she wasn't seeing.
For the whimsical note of dinner: Maia ordered the vegetarian chow-fun. I ordered a roast pork with noodles. I had more, and a greater variety of vegetables.
Christmas Eve we opened presents (not my tradition, but what has grown up here) after we had sushi for breakfast, and ham for supper. No one was abed before midnight. Maia gave me two books, one of which I already have... so I looked about, and with great fanfare, put it back in the bag from whence it came (not much for fancy wrapping are we) and delivered it to her mother. I knew Pat didn't have a copy of Coming into the Country by John McPhee.
The re-gifting was greeted with glee, all around, and Pat was glad of it.
The other book in my bag was all about christmas, Norman Rockwell illustrations (he is much underappreciated, and not all of the pictures were sacharine) and stories (inlcuding Gift of the Magi which I greatly dislike) and music to Christmas carols.
I gave out strawberry jam, and we delivered wines we got from Web, for the express purpose of gifting to people, we left with a case, and are going homw with three bottles.
Then came the rain, and Maia and Pat went down the road a piece and collected some manure from a woman who'd forgotten to order a tractor to come get it. This was doable because Pat bought a hinged skip-loader (of the smallish sort, it weighs about a ton, and has a vertical hinge right below the seat) up to level, and grade, some of Glenn's yard.
Today we went and got some more, and I spent time side-dressing some of Glenn's vines (he has about 2/3rd of an acre in Zin, and about 30 P. Syrah vines, which aren't bearing yet). So I shoveled about 2 cu. yards of wet horse shit, into and out of, a wheel-barrow. When that started to raise blisters, I stopped.
Tonight we go to Santa Rosa to a party, and tomorrow we head to San Mateo to see a friend from SLO (she was in Maia's class). Then to SLO, where I'll visit the dojo, we'll sleep at Webs (and probably get more wine, delivering some of Glenn's to him. Glenn is getting the hang of it, the 2003 was in the barrel for 3 years, and is in the appassiamento style, not bad) and home to the dogs, the L.A. Christmas and New Year's parties.
This is what the world looked like out the north east of Glenn's place this morning.
This works well enough because Willis and Jennifer are their kids, and Sola and Michael head up to Humbolt to visit his family, so this is a happy medium.
But it is internet hell. DSL is not to be had, the modem is 28.8 and the only option for fast internet is cable, which they don't want (it would be for nought but the net, and they don't use it enough to justify the $50 a month or so it would run. They can afford it, but why?).
So, through the miracles of technology, Willis' education, Gary's phone, and some smidgeon of expertise; in a limited way, with building networks; taught me by the Army so I could set things up in Iraq (information is what we do, and it's gotta flow), we have a fairly fast connection.
Really, Gary got a Sprint package (which they no longer offer) about three years ago which let him get internet (of a limited sort) on his phone. He's since upgraded the phone; and the internet it gets is the whole thing. So with a bit of fiddling, his phone is the connection, and his computer is the router. Yesterday we had four machines surfing along.
Maia and I had a god time at Dickens (
zhaneel69 don't feel badly about missing it, the place was packed... knees and elbows to get anywhere). I like Christmas, the bonhomie, the hope, the Neverland aspect of it (because how many of us manage to be like Scrooge at the end of the story, and keep Christmas in our hearts all the year?... which is why that commercial this year, which had him being generous, and then stealing pennies irked me).And Dickens captures that aspect of it. The clothes, the manners (a man in a tophat looks serene, and when he doffs it to make a greeting, he seems sincere, in a way that hearty claps on the back don't manage).
But what I really like is the songs. Maia hates them. She refuses to let me rehearse them before the first of December (though I insist I ought to be allowed, come the first Sunday in Advent). We were talking about it and she said something which set me to listening to them afresh. She said they were all depressing.
So I listened, as I played them, and heard what she was saying. Being reared a Catholic (and holding to much of it; it's dyed in the wool, and some of it, even were I to become an atheist, would linger to my grave) I don't think I'd taken real notice of it (though I do wonder, when "What child it this" starts, "Will they sing the fourth verse?", they never do).
And all of the songs I really like, have an air of melancholy. Easter, and the whiff of the grave is in them.
Which seems fitting, to a festival about surviving the dark of the year.
Dickens closes with carols. As the customers file out, a host is lining the streets, singing. I revelled in it. Carols I like, which suffer when I play them to myself, or listen to an album, are alive. One of my favorites, "Good King Wencelas" is only worth doing in a choir. We did it. The men reachhing as far down as they can manage to get the warm power of the King's part, the women, and boys, trilling to the page, and the unisons ringing the rafters.
"Silent Night" brings tears to my eyes.
And then we went to supper in SF, Sam Wo's in Chinatown. The food was good, the company fine (we live too far away to see many of our friends). Maia had her corchet, and the woman who ran the dumbwaiter, and took orders came to look at it. She spoke very little english, but she took the work out of Maia's hands, and tried it, getting most of the stitch right (it's Maia's favorite, single double... "moss stitch" I think. I could never figure crochet out, all I got was hideous tangles. I used to be able to knit), so Maia showed her the bits she wasn't seeing.
For the whimsical note of dinner: Maia ordered the vegetarian chow-fun. I ordered a roast pork with noodles. I had more, and a greater variety of vegetables.
Christmas Eve we opened presents (not my tradition, but what has grown up here) after we had sushi for breakfast, and ham for supper. No one was abed before midnight. Maia gave me two books, one of which I already have... so I looked about, and with great fanfare, put it back in the bag from whence it came (not much for fancy wrapping are we) and delivered it to her mother. I knew Pat didn't have a copy of Coming into the Country by John McPhee.
The re-gifting was greeted with glee, all around, and Pat was glad of it.
The other book in my bag was all about christmas, Norman Rockwell illustrations (he is much underappreciated, and not all of the pictures were sacharine) and stories (inlcuding Gift of the Magi which I greatly dislike) and music to Christmas carols.
I gave out strawberry jam, and we delivered wines we got from Web, for the express purpose of gifting to people, we left with a case, and are going homw with three bottles.
Then came the rain, and Maia and Pat went down the road a piece and collected some manure from a woman who'd forgotten to order a tractor to come get it. This was doable because Pat bought a hinged skip-loader (of the smallish sort, it weighs about a ton, and has a vertical hinge right below the seat) up to level, and grade, some of Glenn's yard.
Today we went and got some more, and I spent time side-dressing some of Glenn's vines (he has about 2/3rd of an acre in Zin, and about 30 P. Syrah vines, which aren't bearing yet). So I shoveled about 2 cu. yards of wet horse shit, into and out of, a wheel-barrow. When that started to raise blisters, I stopped.
Tonight we go to Santa Rosa to a party, and tomorrow we head to San Mateo to see a friend from SLO (she was in Maia's class). Then to SLO, where I'll visit the dojo, we'll sleep at Webs (and probably get more wine, delivering some of Glenn's to him. Glenn is getting the hang of it, the 2003 was in the barrel for 3 years, and is in the appassiamento style, not bad) and home to the dogs, the L.A. Christmas and New Year's parties.
This is what the world looked like out the north east of Glenn's place this morning.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-12-28 12:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-28 12:43 am (UTC)I got pork, carrots, cabbage, celery and bean sprouts.
TK
no subject
Date: 2006-12-28 03:44 am (UTC)Your post sent me brooding about the uses of ritual in human interactions. When I was a child, I thought all the rituals were invented by adults for arcane purposes. Now I see the children around me inventing their own rituals, and I know that these rituals work to maintain familiarity, to simplify complex people enough that we can deal comfortably with one another. I wish the rituals of my childhood had done that better for me, and I wonder what these children will carry away from these rituals, these childhoods.
no subject
Date: 2006-12-28 06:54 am (UTC)TK
no subject
Date: 2006-12-28 06:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-28 06:51 am (UTC)What I wonder at is the memories my children (come the day) will form of the things we do together.
In those fragile moments, to which I can, in no wise shape, will live my perpetuity.
TK