unicorn quest

Don't Come Knockin' Update

2006-04-11T07:22:00.000-07:00

Don't Come Knockin', the movie that I participated in as an extra back in the summer of 04, the movie shot here in Butte Montana, starring Sam Shepard and Jessica Lang, finally premiered in Butte. I was unable to go as I had to attend a funeral, but have heard that director Wim Wenders had some sad news: "I will have to dissapoint some 30 ladies in Butte--the beauty convention scenes have been cut. They will be on the DVD in the director's cut, though."

Rats! I and the other girl extras will just have to wait for the DVD.

Of course I went to see the movie anyway. Even if I hadn't been in it, just the fact that it was made in Butte, my adopted town, and by Wim Wenders too, whose movie Wings of Desire is one of my all time favorites, dictated that I'd be seeing it for sure.

And I was not disappointed. The beginning of the movie takes place on a movie set, and is very humorously sarcastic about the film biz. Fully half of the movie takes place in Butte, and everyone here in town agrees the cinematography is excellent, and that Wenders has captured the atmosphere of Butte perfectly. There's even an appearance by the famed mirrored car--look for it.

The story itself is simple and spare, like a short story. A Western star leaves his movie set abruptly and discovers he has a son he never knew about. He comes to Butte, where he'd had an affair with a woman many years ago, to meet with her and the son he never realized existed.

The Butte setting is perfect for evoking the lonely feeling inherent in the story, and the impression of missed opportunities.

I urge all my friends, relatives and acquaintances to go see this movie and see why I moved to Butte, and why German director Wenders calls it his "favorite city in America."

An added plus for me was the punky music, reminiscent of the Nick Cave songs on the soundtrack of Wings of Desire.

In one scene a stray dog befriends Shepard's character, and at the screening I attended an audience member shouted out "that's Butte!" It's true--stray dogs are notorious for roaming our streets at will, sometimes in packs. It was obvious to me that Wenders has visited Butte multiple times. He said in an interview that it reminded him of his hometown in Germany, also a small mining town.

Again, for those who missed my posts on the filming itself and my experience as an extra, check out the July August and Sept 2004 posts. There are also some posts on Evel Kneivel days under summer of 04. March of 05 contains posts on Butte's infamous St Patrick's Day celebration, which I hear is now listed as one of the top St Pat's Days in the country.

Go see the movie, and feel free to comment here on how you liked it!

2005-10-27T10:14:00.000-07:00

Happy Fall

Childhood Halloween

2005-10-27T09:44:00.000-07:00

Why did I love Halloween so much as a child?

Let me tell you, it wasn't just the candy.

Like all kids, I loved the chance to stay up late, I loved to be scared, but safe at the same time, with my mom and my little sister close by. I loved dressing up.

But strangely enough, one of my favorite parts of the holiday was the chance to peek inside other people's houses. All year long I'd walk to school, play in the neighborhood, look at the outsides of these houses and wonder what went on inside, what kind of furniture they had, what pets. (Can you tell that even then I was a budding writer???)

One of my favorite encounters was with the neighborhood "witch." She was an old lady with bushy grey hair who lived in a pink stucco house at the end of the street. Because she didn't come out much, and probably because when she did, she didn't comb her hair, we kids decided she had to be a witch. We'd take the long way around her house, and kind of duck down to avoid being seen. If our ball fell into her yard, we'd make a running foray to grab it and then run away just as fast as possible. She had only loose, dry sand, and straggly cactuses growing in her yard, further discouraging kids from coming around.

One Halloween we were brave enough to knock on her door--with our mom along of course. The inside of her house turned out to be well-lit, and decorated with colorful knick-knacks of the 1960s variety, such as giant plastic grapes on the coffee table, and harlequins hanging in the kitchen. She beamed at us, and instead of candy, gave us giant shellacked red and black cutouts of sleeping Mexicans in sombreros, which we promptly took home and put up on our bedroom walls.

The next day, while trading candy and telling tales of our adventures with all the other kids, we made the big announcement that the lady at the end of the block was not, in fact, a witch. Some refused to believe it, but some vowed to go trick or treating to her house next year.

Hope you all make some spooky new friends this year!

I will be hitting the costume and karaoke parties in town, possibly with a band of boy and girl pirates in tow.

More Halloween adventures coming soon! Boo!

2005-10-22T08:43:00.000-07:00

Let's Go!

unicorn quest

2005-10-22T08:33:00.000-07:00

BUTTE'S NEW CHAMPION
October 20 is Levi Leipheimer Day
By Bill Schneider, 10-11-05

It’s still a two-wheeled deal, but now Butte, Motnana has a new hero. Move over Evel Knievel and your motorcycles. Make way for Levi Leipheimer and his muscle-powered bikes. On October 20, the Mining City will honor a hometown hero Levi Leipheimer who has become a leader in the cycling world.

Leipheimer, a Butte native who raced throughout Montana and surrounding states during his junior years, is coming off an impressive year. He placed sixth in the biggest cycling event of them all, the Tour de France, and won the 2005 Tour de Germany. Leipheimer is currently team leader of a pro team sponsored by Gerolsteiner, a Gernan bottled water company.

At 1:00 pm, a bicycle parade, for cyclists of all ages and abilities, will start at the Butte Plaza Mall along Harrison Avenue and end at the Butte Civic Center. “We are encouraging everyone who loves to ride to join Levi for this special ride,” says local cycling promoter John Coulthard, “and every child who attends will receive a free raffle ticket to win one of several special top-of-the-line bikes.”

Following the parade, an official ceremony with festive music, free snacks and beverages, will be held at the Butte Civic Center Annex and will include Montana state officials and local dignitaries. Coulthard said Leipheimer will speak with local young people about his personal journey. “His message of hard work, perseverance, and staying drug-free will be just part of his uplifting message.”

Coulthard also encouraged local school children to wear their school colors for the parade, noting that public schools will be closed for teacher conferences.

By Bill Schneider, 10-11-05 | add comment | email this story | read more like this

Why I missed Levi Leipheimer Day

Yes, I the bicycling fiend had to read about it in the paper and hear from Uptown friends about the cool bicycle parade. Why? Because they aimed the event at children--we adults were stuck at work as it happened Thursday during the day.

Still, I'm glad they did it. I'm glad Levi was overwhelmed. And I'm glad his hometown is finally honoring him.

Now if they could just make it as splashy an event in the future as they do for Evel Kneivel (reputedly not a very nice guy)--

But that may be too much to hope for. There's no potential for beer sales involved with a Tour de France contender. Maybe bicycling just isn't considered as "cool" yet as motorcycle jumping.

But maybe someday...

2005-09-24T08:04:00.000-07:00

Hang in there Texas!

New Orleans VS Rodney King

2005-09-24T07:45:00.000-07:00

What just happened in New Orleans really didn't surprise me. I was headed for New Orleans via Amtrack some 8 years ago, when we got the unhappy news that a hurricane was headed straight for it, and the city may be destroyed. We all lamented our soon-to-be-ruined vacations as the train chugged along. As it turned out, the hurricane veered that time and destroyed the island of Antigua instead...

I was in LA during the Rodney King riots. The government response was similarly slow and inefficient. We had curfews, rioting, snipers, food riots, lots of looting, fires, and every kind of mayhem. Meanwhile, the national guard did not even arrive for 3 days. It might be amusing or interesting to watch on tv, but let me tell you, if you're in the middle of it, it's scary. LA is a 24-hr city, and when you see all the gas stations and convenience stores shut down at dusk, you think the Apocalypse has arrived.

My cousin Janice gave me a first-hand account of the 9-11 evacuation procedures. She works in the Maybelline building, about 50 blocks from ground zero. They rounded up everyone in the area and herded them "like cattle" into football stadiums, and there they sat for a very long day without food or water, feeling like sitting ducks for the next terrorist attack.

My question--how many times does this have to happen before our elected officials come up with a decent evacuation/emergency plan?

Next time it could be YOUR city!

2005-08-16T22:13:00.000-07:00

Why I Love Montana

Recent Bicycle Adventures

2005-08-16T21:39:00.000-07:00

At this moment in time I am working a very stressful, unsatisfying job, just so I can collect a paycheck and pay bills. My solution to this stress problem is not beer, chocolate or robbing banks.

The last couple weekends I've been hopping on my bicycle, bigtime.

I was riding in the Deer Lodge National Forest a couple weeks ago when I came upon a female moose, chewing avidly on a bush. I turned my head and saw a baby moose standing beside her, regarding me soulfully, as if to say "what are you?" I got off the bike and stared, having never seen a real live moose before, let alone two. Their fur was wonderfully velvety and chocolatey brown. Momma moose suddenly stopped chewing and began giving me the evil eye.

Visions of all those "When Animals Attack" shows began flashing through my head, and I got back on the bike and took off at top speed.

I told this story to several native Montanans and they all said I'd been smart to leave in a hurry. "Some old guy got mauled by a mother moose," my 19 year old co-worker Brandi shared. "Those female mooses can be vicious. You did the right thing," Adrian said.

The next weekend I decided to go over Pipestone pass, and then turn around and coast down. But the weather was so lovely, like fall, the roads so quiet, and the forest so enticing, that I ended up riding 40 miles round trip, halfway to Whitehall, and almost didn't make it back to Butte before sundown! The road will do that to you--it hypnotizes you, so that you just want to keep going. It took me 2 hours to go 7 miles up the steep grade back towards town, and then a mere 20 minutes to coast all the way down, at probably 40 miles an hour. It's exhilarating to be going as fast as a motorized vehicle on a bicycle!

This trip I saw two young male deer with short horns, with the velvet still on them. I was alerted to their presence by the thunk of their hooves on the rocks. On the edge of the forest I saw three very young deer, with orange-brown hides, wide innocent eyes, and white spots on their backs.

Last night I said to Adrian, "don't forget--find out what I need to do to get a hunting license--do I need a Montana i.d. card???"

Yes, I'm still coasting on my Oregon i.d. Maybe it's time to switch.

2005-07-02T22:16:00.000-07:00

Adrian and Car

2005-06-29T06:39:00.000-07:00

The Big Sky

Get out of Town!

2005-06-29T06:12:00.000-07:00

The other night I started out on a short after dinner joyride, and decided to just keep going.

Keep in mind the facts that a)my bicycle needs a tune-up badly, b)I was out without tools, a patch kit, water, or money and c)the sun was low on the horizon.

I had just spent 8 hours helping two friends move from a basement apartment to an upstairs apartment in the same building, which sounds like a piece of cake, but it wasn’t. They are both teachers, and own a ton of books. They are newlyweds, and own a lot of appliances and fancy food serving platters. Last and worst, they inherited some extremely heavy hundred-year-old furniture, worthy of the “Antiques Road Show”.

I have not been really, truly out of town on my bike since two summers ago, when I still had my camping gear, and my partner who knows how to fix things! So, the other night I was taking a real risk, knowing full well I might be hiking miles back to town.
It was worth it.

I rode past the airport, past the RV repair places, one of which my sweetie works at by day, past the BLM offices. Pretty soon the road narrowed to two lanes. One of the roads turned to dirt, and a sign announced “road ends in five miles; no truck turnaround.” I took the other road.

Before long I was back in the enchanted land of rolling green hills, tumbledown wooden barns, and cows. Every half hour or so I’d see a pickup truck, but other than that, there was no traffic. The downhill climbs were steep enough to propel me to the tops of the next hills.

I got off the bike for a moment and looked back. I could see Butte in the distance, like the Emerald City, and a toy plane landing. Seeing Butte tiny and off in the distance made me happy.

I came to a crossroad sign which warned “school bus stop ahead.” The sun was beginning to set, and it was time for me to turn around. Of course my gears locked up on a down hill, and I had to pop the chain back into place, leaving me with black grease all over my fingers.

It was wonderful to get a taste of the open road again!

2005-06-17T21:07:00.000-07:00

I shot this bullet box!

Sure as Shootin'

2005-06-17T20:55:00.000-07:00

I haven’t shot any kind of a gun since I was 12 years old or thereabouts. I used to enjoy archery, bb guns, and pellet guns. My sister Val and I used to love target practice at camp, and in the backyard of our elderly friend Dewey. He was kind of like a surrogate grandpa, and would let us do target practice, as well as goof around in his garage/shop, where he tumbled rocks and let us loose amongst all kinds of fun saws, hammers, clamps, and other tools.

So, try to imagine how I felt when my new guy-friend Adrian suggested we go target shooting at the range behind Montana Tech! He had just taken a hunter’s gun safety refresher course, so he made a perfect teacher for me, in how to keep the gun pointed in a safe direction, keep the safety on until you are ready to shoot, and so on.

The hard part for me was learning how to use the scope. I’d never used one before. I found you have to have your eye in just the right place, or it looks dark, like a telescope that is not aimed at the stars correctly.

But once I got the hang of it, look out! My old skills came right back like riding a bicycle, and soon I was hitting cans and bottles from 20 yards away.

Adrian’s comment: “Good shooting Tex. What are you doing for hunting season?”

My reaction: “Hunting season?!?” You see, I used to be a vegetarian and a Buddhist, and while I am now semi-Christian and eating meat again, the thought of shooting Bambi’s mother, not to mention darling little gophers that look just like the pet hamsters I used to have sends an arrow of horror down my spine.

On the other hand. . .this IS Montana–everyone hunts. I have eaten plenty of wild game since I got here (even since I hit Idaho 2 ½ years ago). People manage to sneak deer or elk or moose meat into everything from burgers to spaghetti sauce to burritos. Yes, my first night in Idaho I was chomping on a burrito up near the Seven Devils wilderness area, listening to faraway wolf howls, and thinking–hmm, this beef tastes kind of strange. It was deer, of course.

I felt a little flare of pride–I haven’t lost my eye–and can’t help wondering what it would be like to bring down a deer, and have meat for the rest of the winter, that I’d bagged for myself. Meat does come from somewhere, after all, and someone does have to kill it.

On a side note, my friend Christina keeps threatening to bring me to her relatives’ ranch in Dillon to participate in a cattle branding.

I think Montana is starting to rub off on me, and rub away some of the “city slicker.”

2005-06-08T06:15:00.000-07:00

Adam Graduates--a near-miracle!

Cheers for the Grads

2005-06-08T05:57:00.000-07:00

High School Graduation hasn't changed a bit since I walked down the aisle, many moons ago.

I went to a friend's last night, held in the local civic center. After processing to their seats, decked out in bright purple caps and gowns, the kids began to throw brightly colored super balls up into the air, giving the whole proceedings the flavor of a rock concert. Teachers, impressive in suits, patrolled up and down the aisles shaking threatening fingers--but what could they do??? Give it up. Those kids are out of here! As Alice Cooper once said, "school's out for the summer--school's out forever!"

When I graduated, we baked on bleachers in a field out in the 90 degree sun, and blew bubbles.

My friend Clarisse said when she graduated about 40 years ago, they threw paper airplanes.

As the grads were about to walk across the stage, the principal made a little speech asking everyone to refrain from shouting, cheering, blowing air horns after people's names were called. He might as well have saved his breath.

There were more air horns than at a parade or sporting event. Half the town was in there, shouting themselves raw, some of them cheering in sections, or just tooting horns continuously during the whole ceremony.

And then that breathtaking moment, like hot air balloons bobbling into flight, when the kids swept off their caps and sent them airborn. The mad scramble to hug and to find the parents and friends, who, bearing flowers and cameras, came surging out of the stands.

Nope, hasn't changed one bit.

2005-05-29T22:49:00.000-07:00

New/Old Me

Back in the Saddle

2005-05-29T22:31:00.000-07:00

I hid out and licked my wounds in the winter, but now I'm back in the saddle again!

It was hard breaking up and moving out at Christmas, but now I'm actually enjoying my independence. Markus always loved my prematurely grey hair, but I was so ready to get it colored. Well, this month I did.

He never wanted to go anywhere unless it was to the Eagles' Lodge. Well, I've been out karaokeing and dancing again, and am having a blast.

And I'm outlining my next (hopefully last) draft of my novel. And a friend is getting ready to put me in touch with publishers who need freelance editors and proofreaders.

I've done some decent bike rides around town, and to the next town of Rocker. The other day I went screaming down some steep hills at possibly 40 miles an hour.

I'm starting to feel like myself again!

2005-05-03T07:48:00.000-07:00

Leave it to Beaver

TV Turnoff Week Results

2005-05-03T07:25:00.000-07:00

I participated in National TV Turnoff Week last week. I felt that it was good timing. I'd been unemployed for a few months, and consequently was watching far too much junky tv (what else is there when you don't have cable and there are only two local channels?)

The result was, I read more, went for more and longer bike rides, and played with the cat more. My muscles are coming out of their winter hibernation,my brain is moving, and the cat is a lot happier. A good thing!

By some coincidence of the universe, this tv turnoff week also coincided with Eastern Orthodox Christianity's Holy Week! So I felt even better about not watching tv.

I could've turned it on yesterday, but I did not. I left the white paper taped over the screen, and the remote hidden.

I'm not going to watch again until I really feel like it--and then I am going to turn it off again as soon as the program I wanted to see is over.

I don't miss those commercial images floating through my head constantly. It's bad enough at work, where they have the radio on all day --a good thing, as music helps you work--however, it seems every five minutes there is an ad for Taco John's (a Montana-Wyoming version of fast food Mexican) and even in my dreams I hear the announcer's cry: "ride, Whiplash, ride!" (For those not having this commercial inflicted on them 1,000 times a day, Whiplash is a spider monkey dressed as a cowboy, riding on a dog. I kid you not.)

I seem a bit less frantic, less distracted. I think those constantly flashing ads do something to our sense of time.

Yes, I do think tv, like junk food, is ok in small doses--but don't make a daily all-you-can-eat buffet out of it!

Fantasy Worth Reading

2005-04-05T13:00:00.000-07:00

Fantastical Forest

Are you one of those people who has seen the Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter movies but never reads fantasy literature? Maybe you liked fantasy as a young teenager, but became disappointed with the quality of fantasy books being written in the last 20 years.

Well, this column is for you. I am a very, very picky reader. I love fantasy, but also love literature, leaning towards Dickens, the Brontes, Jane Austen, Poe, and Hawthorne. Here’s a recommendation for you:

Robin Hobb’s Liveship Traders trilogy, consisting of Ship of Magic, Mad Ship and Ship of Destiny, has everything many fantasy series lack. The characters are believable and multi-dimensional, the basic situation is original and provocative, and the plot is a page-turner.

In her world, certain special ships come to life and steer themselves, talking to their owners through their figureheads (the carved wooden figures at the bows of the ships.) Just imagine if such a ship, owned over generations by a trading family, fell into the wrong hands–say those of a pirate?

I put this question to you: did you enjoy Peter Pan, the Oz books, and the Princess Bride? Well, put a few weekends aside and prepare to enjoy this wonderful trilogy.

For more information visit Robin Hobb’s own spare, but informative website at http://www.robinhobb.com

Right now I’m salivating over the first book of her new trilogy, Fool’s Errand. I’m saving it for a rainy day, because I know from experience that once I get sucked in, it’s going to be days before I surface. .

2005-03-31T10:58:00.000-08:00

Gertie Sleeps In

Early Morning

2005-03-31T10:21:00.000-08:00
This morning I woke up at the crack of dawn: 6 am. Why? Maybe because I've had a cold and have been sleeping a lot. I paced around, looking at the sunrise over the snowy mountains, wondering what to do with these precious hours.

Then I called my local bakery. "What time do you open?" "6 am." "What time do you have cinnamon rolls baked?" "In about 20 minutes."

I grabbed my novel portfolio, pens, yellow stickies, and was out the door.

When I got there, Trent was loudly clanging the bell, similar to a ship's bell, and shouting that the cinnamon rolls were out of the oven.

This is what a real writer does: when she pops awake early, she does not watch tv, soak in the bathtub, or start catching up on email. (Believe me, I've done all of the above.) Ideally, she writes.

I've met an awful lot of people who want to write a book someday. One person's mother told me he'd written the prologue to his book, but nothing else. "It's a beautiful prologue," she said.

Another person who wanted to write a science fiction novel told me he had the first sentence. He recited it for me. It was an intriguing opening sentence. Alas, that's as far as he ever got.

A dear friend of mine, an excellent writer, who makes her living hashing out articles for a retirement community paper ( sample headline--Duck Crisis on the Golf Course!) has actually finished two books in manuscript form, but refuses to send them out.

A "real" writer not only gets to type "the end", which I did after page 550, but revises the book until it is ready for publication, writes a synopsis, cover letter, pitch, and whatever else is needed, and actually sends it out to the publisher.

Having had poems published by literary journals, I can tell you there is no greater joy than opening an envelope to find the words "Acceptance Letter" at the top of the page. The first time it happened, my sister and I jumped up and down in our livingroom as if we'd just won a game show!

To all you aspiring writers out there--don't give up--just get up earlier!

2005-03-24T09:18:00.000-08:00

Edmonton Bagpipers

Snowy St Pat's in Butte

2005-03-24T09:11:00.000-08:00
Slushy snow fell this St Patrick's Day in Butte, but it didn't dampen anyone's enthusiasm. This is my second year in Butte, and in my opinion the local celebration is like a cross between Mardi Gras and Spring Break.

Historic Uptown was the scene for the parade, and for much frolicking by kids and adults decked out in every kind of glittery, wild and crazy outfit. There were kids sporting green hair, green wigs, loads of green shiny beads, dogs dressed in green scarves, college students wearing giant beer mug hats, and even a moose with a green lei.

The high spots of the parade and the day were of course the performances by the Edmonton Pipers. As they put it in an interview, they save their pennies all year long to come here, and in Butte they are treated "like rock stars." I caught them at the Gold Rush, and it was so crowded the drummers could barely lift their arms. The drummer nearest me had red white and blue sticks, in honor of this yearly visit.

I have to admit I myself was wearing a plastic green hat with a "halo," made of glittery green shamrocks and streams of ribbons, and I also had plenty of the green and gold beads around my neck.

I wound down the evening with a traditional corned beef and cabbage dinner at a friend's house, and then karaoke at the Eagles Lodge. The college students who'd visited us last year were back, karaokeing with a vengeance, and as one of them said, "we brought reinforcements." One of their number wore a camouflage patterned kilt, and they all sported neon flashing buttons shaped like male and female genitalia.

Long live St Pat's in Butte!

2005-03-24T08:53:00.000-08:00

Anaconda Bagpipers

2005-03-24T08:50:00.000-08:00

Moose on the Loose

2005-03-24T08:47:00.000-08:00

Festive Step Dancers

2005-03-24T08:44:00.000-08:00

St Patrick's Elf

Coffee Tasting and Espresso Pouring Contest

2005-02-26T15:42:00.001-08:00
Pictures Below--story follows

2005-02-26T15:42:00.000-08:00

Coffee Tasting

2005-02-26T15:39:00.000-08:00

Artful Cappucino by Glen

2005-02-26T15:36:00.000-08:00

Jessica pouring espresso

2005-02-26T15:33:00.000-08:00

carmel macchiato

2005-02-26T15:31:00.000-08:00

Venus Rising/Arts Center

2005-02-26T15:29:00.000-08:00

Glen Bodish of Arts Center

Espresso Pouring Contest

2005-02-26T15:21:00.000-08:00
I’ll bet you didn’t know that espresso pouring can be a spectator sport. Today at noon at the Venus Rising Coffeehouse barristas, coffee drinkers, and the press gathered to watch how the pros do it.

The Venus Rising and Silverbow Arts Center, reopened November of ‘03 after a devastating fire, hosts many cultural events, such as the monthly open mic night, and art and creative writing workshops, but this was the first coffee tasting and espresso pouring contest.

Glen Bodish, one of the driving forces behind Butte’s arts revival and head of the Silverbow Arts Center and Art Chateau Museum, was the first to pour.

The result was a cappuccino which was beautiful to look at, and pronounced delicious by the judges.

The challenger was Jessica of local chain Java Junction, who brought a contingent of supporters and fellow Java Junction barristas with her.

She produced a lovely carmel macchiato, which your humble reporter drank and vastly enjoyed. It tasted like ice cream all the way down until I reached the bottom–a pool of espresso.

The Blue Venus Coffeehouse is open every day and located at 124 S Main St, Butte, MT. Call 406-723-7600 for information on future events.

Open Mic nights are the first Friday of every month.

During the espresso contest an impromptu jam broke out, using the open mic equipment.

Until next time, coffee lovers, ciao!

2005-02-25T06:56:00.000-08:00

Portrait of Gertie kitty

2005-02-25T04:59:00.000-08:00

Goodbye

Everyday Traumas

2005-02-25T04:46:00.000-08:00
This has been a week of several traumatic experiences, on a small scale. Several Twilight Zone- level nightmares. Here’s one of them:

I got invited to a friend’s mom’s wake. At first I wasn’t going to go. Now, there are many people who go to these things all the time, but I hadn’t set foot in a funeral parlor since I was 18 years old. That time it was the funeral of my high school boyfriend, David.

Why did I think it over and end up deciding to do it this time? I think because I’d been hearing about Catherine’s illness for much of the two years I’ve been here in Butte. I’m very fond of Judy, her daughter, who was one of the main sufferers during Catherine’s decline. “My life is in Washington,” Judy would say, “but I’m here for mom.” The whole family had come together to take care of her.

And I was fond of Catherine herself. She’d come in her wheelchair to every big Bingo we put on at the Eagles lodge, escorted by her son James. She was notorious for swearing like a sailor at every player sitting near her who was doing better than she. “That #$@ stole my bingo! Cheater!”

Markus and I had attended one of her last birthday parties. The whole family, from her contemporaries to tiny babies, were there. Her favorite presents were not the fancy bath and body sets (bathing for her, as for most invalids, was accomplished via bathing chairs, sponge baths, hose downs.) No, her favorite presents were simple ones, like the one we gave: candy.

This year, early as it is in ‘05, seems to be one of facing fears for me. I feared the funeral home smell of paint, flowers, weird chemicals used to preserve the body. I feared the wax-figure look of the body in an open casket. But I went anyway.

My friend Jackie and I signed the book, walked in the doorway, and I stepped back abruptly. It was open casket. And she did look like a wax figure, heavy and immobile. Jackie stepped right up to it and kneeled at the casket. I sat down in a fancy white padded folding chair, shaken.

Then Shawn, one of the grandsons, movie-star handsome, came over to shake hands with us. I relaxed and began to look around.

This is a Cree Indian family. Pow-wow music, complete with chanting and drums, was streaming softly through the speakers. Big framed sets of photos were displayed on easels. On her casket was draped a beautiful handmade starburst quilt in orange and red. A feather shield hung beside her.

Jackie sniffed the air. “What’s that smell.”

“A smudge stick,” Shawn told her. It’s sage, to purify, to get rid of any evil spirits.

I smiled. No horrible body-preservative smell here!

As it turned out Judy was at home resting, and arrived at the funeral parlor just after we left, but we were able to leave cards, visit with some of the other relatives, and say goodbye to a feisty, brave lady.

And I don’t feel like a frightened, traumatized teen anymore.

2005-02-19T12:27:00.000-08:00

Here I am!

Single and Available

2005-02-19T12:09:00.000-08:00
I’m single and available for the first time in 6 years and I can’t say I’m real happy about it.

I’ve never been into “the dating scene.” First dates are interesting in the sense that you get to learn a lot about new people–something I as a writer enjoy. (Fuel for those future novels and short stories!)

But I have to admit it is hard trying to steel myself for all the rejection, disappointment, evening and weekend lonely blues.

There is a cute actor in town who I am slightly acquainted with, and who has acted kind of friendly in the past. Well, last night I dropped into his place of work and overheard this conversation with his co-workers:

Co-worker: So are you guys going out?

Him: I don’t know what we’re doing. She’s attractive, but I’m not attracted to her. I tried to break it off, but then last night she came over and we– (smothered talk, whispers, giggles and yelps from him and co-worker.)

Co-worker: Well why don’t you just, you know, go with the flow and–

Him: I can’t do that kind of thing anymore. I’m not your age.

***Of course my heart sank a little upon hearing all this, both because it spelled out to me that he is not interested, not available, and apparently has more on his plate than he can deal with anyway!

Whatever problems I had with my now ex, one thing I never had to worry about was his loyalty. He’d never even dream of doing anything behind my back, thought me very attractive and sexy, and was a wonderful intellectual companion.

Believe me, that wasn’t always the case with past relationships. There had been a lot of cheating, a lot of “why don’t you lose weight, why not straighten or dye your hair, get contact lenses, learn to drive, wear some makeup,” and the list goes on.

Here I am, 41, suddenly single again after six years, never married, never had a kid, and frankly wishing for both. Older, wiser, a little sadder, and definitely not about to put up with any bull!

It sure was wonderful not having to try to put on a front, to lounge around in my sweats on a weekend, not having taken a shower for a couple of days, and still be told I was sexy. Not to have to make small talk, not to have to try to figure out if someone was available or not.

That had backfired in the past too: a couple of times guys told me they were single and it turned out they had just broken up with someone, sort of, but were sort of still together, or in one case, had a girlfriend living at home the whole time they were dating me!

Yes, my bull detector is set on full blast. All I want is someone who’s honest, who knows who he is, and doesn’t mind letting me be me.

2005-02-18T08:25:00.000-08:00

My fowl friends

Enjoying Unemployment

2005-02-18T08:08:00.000-08:00
While being unemployed is worrisome, it’s also kind of fun.

Take yesterday for example. I set out to collect applications from several places that were not hiring at the moment, but were rumored to be hiring soon. The first was Wetona’s, a café with a good reputation around town that I hadn’t visited yet, in my almost 2 years in Butte.

I was very pleased. They have wonderful dark coffee, unlimited refills, and friendly staff. I got my application and settled in with my journal to write. The walls are covered with quilt blocks and quilts of all sizes, some with the traditional old stars and patterns, some more modern, covered with hearts or rainbows of color. I asked the counter lady about the sign above the cash register, which read “rowdy quilters”.

“That’s a whole story in and of itself,” she said. “A woman in town was trying to turn her house into a quilter’s retreat, where they could get together for long weekends and quilt, drink tea, have a kind of spa and quilting vacation away from husbands, kids and tv. Well, the city wanted to deny her the permits for the business because she wanted a few extra parking spaces. They claimed all those people together in a residential district would make too much noise! Well, they ran an article in the paper, and of course there was a big furor, and a few days later she got her permits. But that’s how we got the sign ‘rowdy quilters.’ Thanks for noticing!”

I settled in to write, thinking “this would be a great place to hold a writer’s group,” when who walked in but two of my best buddies from church, Leanne and Lisa K. It turned out they were meeting there to celebrate Lisa’s birthday (really her 32nd, but she’s sworn not to get any older than 27 forever), and also to celebrate her new job. She’s begun working as a “drug runner,” she tells everyone with a big grin. She’s actually running medical supplies and legal drugs to hospitals and pharmacies in small towns.

We had a great conversation, and I was thinking, hey, isn’t this great to live in a small town where you can actually run into people you know?

I went on from there to the walking path, the stream, and the ducks. My stale bread had a date with these hungry waterfowl. The stream was partly frozen, and the ducks were walking on the frozen parts as if they were wooden docks. At first they ignored me, and then when they realized I was throwing bread, something they mostly enjoy in the summer, they all came swimming over.

Then a knot of 5 geese came over, squeaking like rusty hinges, trumpeting like elephants, and furling and coiling their necks like water hoses. Three of them were white with orange bills and big orange bumps on their noses, and two were white with soft mouse brown bodies and stripes on their necks and heads. Only one was brave enough to eat out of my hand.

There were a few walkers, bundled up, with mittens and hats, walking briskly and purposefully. In this weather, with snow and ice on the ground, even the dogs are wearing sweaters.

I collected a few more applications and went to the park, to stare at the playground equipment all covered with snow, and the kids riding their bikes, slipping and sliding on the ice. A few weekends ago I watched kids play “baseball” in the snow with a few sticks for bats and a pinecone for a ball, and it actually worked.

Being unemployed isn’t all bad.

2005-02-12T06:13:00.000-08:00

Hi Mom

My Mom's Birthday

2005-02-12T05:42:00.000-08:00
Today would have been my mom’s 65th birthday. She died in 1975 at age 35. I was 11 and my sister was 9. I am now 41, six years older than she ever got to be, and it feels funny.

She was born in Germany around the beginning of WWII, and there are Nazi seals on her birth certificate. As you can imagine, life for her growing up, and for her parents trying to provide for a family of ten kids in these times, was not easy.

When she came to America she found out that her birthday fell on Lincoln’s birthday, a holiday they didn’t celebrate in Germany. She thought that was a neat surprise. It made it easy for people in America to remember her birthday, and she admired Lincoln.

What kind of person was she? None of my friends or boyfriends over the years got to meet her, so I always end up telling stories. The only person who knew her was Heidi, who’s been our friend since she was 5 and I was 9 and my sister Val was 7.

Well, she was the kind of mom who would take in any kid in the neighborhood, any time, for any reason. If they wanted a snack or some kool-aid, needed a knee bandaged, or wanted to talk about why none of the other kids didn’t like them, or why they didn’t get along with their parents, she was there, as much for them as for us. I was proud of her and thought she was the coolest.

She taught us to like and understand everybody, to value everybody, and to respect everybody, not only by words, but by example. I ended up usually sticking up for the one person in class who was being bullied by the rest. It wasn’t easy, but I always had my mom to go home to and talk things over.

She was a serious person, but not all the time. She wasn’t above kids’ games, such as chasing us down the sidewalk or breaking into a spontaneous game of hide and seek.

The scariest dream I ever had as a kid, which I have always remembered, involved this chasing and hiding game, and at one point I was separated from mom and Val, and was calling and calling for them, and then a train came around the corner at me, and then froze, like a freeze frame in a movie, and I woke up, heart pounding.

Losing her was the hardest thing ever, worse than any breakup from a boyfriend, because she was the first person I loved, the one I knew I could always count on, and my main teacher.

I’m lighting a big beeswax candle in church today, and saying Hi mom! I miss you, but I know I will be seeing you sometime.

I had a dream maybe eight years ago in which I was a small child with my mom, looking down out of a window at oceans of gorgeous blue water, such a pure, untainted blue, like nothing I’ve ever seen. When I woke up I told my friend Greg about it, and he had a funny look on his face and said, “It was probably Heaven.”

2005-02-09T09:39:00.000-08:00

Quest for the Grail!

The Holy Grail

2005-02-09T08:59:00.000-08:00
Finishing my novel, which I first conceived at age 12, feels like the quest for the Holy Grail.

I had a very childish version of it when I was in High School. I laid it aside for many years, and really started to formulate a more adult version right before I left L.A, around 1992.

I began the actual first draft when I was in Portland Oregon. While doing lots of research on Medieval and Renaissance life, new characters began to present themselves. I was learning the nitty gritty–what did people eat for breakfast? How did they do their laundry? What about toilets? Of course, this is a fantasy novel set in an imaginary Renaissance, so it will not be completely historically accurate, but the research helped me ground it, so that it wouldn’t take place in some airy-fairy improbable world where everyone waves a magic wand to get from point a to point b.

I stumbled my way along to about page 150. I joined a writer’s group. The group consisted of guys in their 50s, none of whom had ever read (or really wanted to read) fantasy. We met at a wonderful Chinese restaurant, hashed over each other’s manuscripts late into the night, and I received a lot of irrelevant criticism, such as “maybe there should be a fight here–it’s kinda slow–maybe some action would help.” I also received some helpful criticism, like which parts were intriguing, which questions about the characters and situations I hadn’t answered.

How did I finally complete the first draft? My friend Greg basically dared/shamed me into it. “Do you want to still be toiling away on this when you’re old?” I burst into tears. Then I made myself a firm schedule and stuck to it for a year. I wrote for a few hours each morning, before I even got dressed. Then I ate lunch and went to work (at my “real “ job). I turned down invitations to go out for coffee, to go to the movies, to go for a walk in the park.

It was hard. I felt as if I were in college again, with “homework” hanging over my head. At least there weren’t any finals to study for.

I sped through the last part, resolving everything the best I could, and finally typed “the end.” Then I celebrated.

What happened next?

I got into a relationship.

I did rewrite the entire beginning of the novel, with a completely different slant, starting several weeks earlier in the timeline than the original manuscript.

I went on a bicycle trip across the country and started a book about that experience.

But. . .what about your novel, that book you’ve been working on and cherishing for so long?

Mind you, since I really seriously got started on it in ‘92, and typed “the end” around November of ‘98, and wrote the whole new beginning for it, the Harry Potter books have come out, the Lord of the Rings movies have come to the screen and since gone to video.

So I ask all of you–why is finishing that first novel (or Master’s Thesis, Doctoral Dissertation, plug in whatever it is that means the world to you and you haven’t finished yet)–like finding the Holy Grail?

Is it that so many hopes and fears are encompassed in that project? “This could make or break me?”

The idea of all that work? That it has to be “perfect” before it can go out into the world?

Or maybe the idea that that’s just the beginning–if you finish your book and get it published, you are now a writer and will be doing it again! If you finish that Thesis you will be a teacher, lawyer, or whatever you are studying to be.

Well. . .I know that I got all the way through that first draft, so obviously I can polish it, rewrite, and send it to the publisher.

I also know that like many of you out there, I am the arch procrastinator. In school I was up in the middle of the night typing papers every time, napping on the couch, getting up to type some more.

I think what I need to do is make a schedule with deadlines, mark number of pages completed on the calendar, and basically treat it like any other job that has to be done. I do well under pressure, so maybe I should create some for myself.

And when that one’s done, there are several other half completed ones waiting in the wings.

What long-term projects do you have, and how do you get yourself to complete them?

I'm Back in Black

2005-01-29T08:25:00.000-08:00
Hello and Happy New Year. After a two month's absense, I am back in black. Why black you ask? Well, I am in mourning, but also celebrating new possiblities. In a nutshell, I split up with my fiancee and partner of 6 years and moved out on New Year's day.

Things had been going badly awry for over a year. I won't go into the gory details in public, but let's just say this change was not something I wanted, but something I had to do for my own sanity.

So now I am out on my own again. I am contemplating all kinds of possiblities, including of course finally finishing my 550 page fantasy novel and sending it out to the publishers. Yes, that book contains the unicorn quest for which this blog was titled.

I am thinking about dusting off my passport photo, brushing up on my Italian and French, and finally going to Europe, as I had originally intended right before September 11th struck. (This would not be right away, but maybe in a couple of years.)

While doing the research for that intended trip, I'd found out that because my grandma was born in Italy, if I were to reside in Italy for 2 years as a visitor, I would then be eligible for citizenship. And once I had citizenship, I'd be part of the European Union and able to travel freely or work in any Euro Union country.

So, here's my tip--check into it! If you have a near relative born in Europe, you may have your passport to living abroad!

I have been reading the blogs of two women who acquired French citizenship through marriage, Petit Anglais, and Vivienfrance. I will share their web addresses on a later post, but, let me add this further tip--while the US does not technically allow dual citizenship, many people have it, simply by not telling the US that they are also citizens of another country. For example, an old friend of mine was born in England, and also has US citizenship, thus giving him great travel freedom.

So, though I am sad and in mourning, I am also beginning to feel excited about my newly regained freedom.

My new place is over 100 years old, roomy, with big picture windows. I can see the mountains without stirring out of my chair. Also there's lots of room to spread out when I want to lay out pages I am revising, and lots of room for Gertie the cat to gallop around in.

Happy New Year Everyone!

2004-11-29T09:03:00.000-08:00

Cold bath anyone?

Snow What

2004-11-29T08:41:00.000-08:00
This is only my second winter in Montana, so I am still constantly surprised by the many wild and way-out permutations of the snow.

The other day Jack Frost had left pictures on all the car windows. And I do mean pictures. Whole landscapes of trees, sky, mountains. I would’ve gone back for my camera, but it was my day to work a day shift as well as a night shift; by the time I got back, the pictures had melted away, like sand paintings in the wind.

I stupidly walked outside last week with wet hair, not realizing the temperature had been dipping. Well, by the time I got up the hill to Montana Tech, my hair had frozen into lovely Victorian ringlets. I tried to brush it back from my face, and it wouldn’t budge. It was stiffer than any hairspray could get it. So my new beauty tip for those with unmanageable hair–freeze it into place. But be aware it may melt when you enter a warm building, much like Cinderella’s dress at midnight.

Any park lawn or football field that has been mowed in a circular pattern looks great when a light snow falls. Suddenly it transforms into a white frosted cake that’s been combed into swirls. (I used to be a baker, and that’s how they get those nice swirls into the frosting–with a cake comb. It’s metal and looks like a tiny chainsaw.)

Let’s not forget rogue icicles. I don’t mean those small dainty ones all in a row, such as those that always appear on our neighbor Bill’s roof. No. For some reason, giant, crazy, standalone “rogue” icicles like to form on our back porch. I always think of them as unicorn horns or maybe Finnish spears. Look out below!

I know by now those of you in California or even Oregon are shivering, while those of you in cold states or countries probably have your own stories of weird snow phenomena.

What's Jack Frost doing in your neighborhood?

2004-11-22T11:07:00.000-08:00

Thanksgiving Snow

Christmas List Salute

2004-11-22T10:42:00.000-08:00
I read recently that fewer and fewer people are sending Christmas cards these days. (I mean REAL cards, not ecards. Fun as those are, you can't take them out of a box 20 years later and read a letter scrawled by your 6 year old cousin, who is now married and a college grad!)

You also can't take out of that box the dear, familiar handwriting of someone who has just passed away. No--ecards disappear in 30 days. Letters last forever--sometimes centuries.

When I was a little kid in the late 60s, we'd get anywhere from 30-50 Christmas cards a year--enough to fill the entire back of the front door. That was our tradition--stick them on the back of the door and peel them off after New Year's. Postage was just a few cents, and so we'd get them from every distant relative, every co-worker of my dad's. We'd have so many wonderful cards to make crafts out of next year.

Nowadays I'm lucky to get 5-10 cards. . .

I still send out about 40.

The really sad part is that my list keeps shrinking. All of my uncles on my mom's side of the family have passed away, and most of my dad's relatives too. We lost my dad 2 years ago around Easter.

I'm really glad I've still got some of those letters in a box, in my sister's closet.

I currently know a lot of elderly people here in Butte, many struggling with cancer or chronic ailments, and I try to remember each time I see them, that I might not see them again. I try to give them all a hug at each get-together, and be glad for another day together.

Merry Christmas, Happy Hannukah, and don't forget your old friends, and your lonely distant relatives!

We just got some sparkly snow on the ground, and here in Montana Elk Hunting season is in full swing.

How's things in your neck of the woods?

Dam'd if you do, Dam'd if you don't

2004-11-15T07:51:00.000-08:00
GREENSBURG, La. - Beavers found a bag of bills stolen from a casino, tore it open and wove the money into the sticks and brush of their dam on a creek near Baton Rouge.

"They hadn't torn the bills up. They were still whole," said Maj. Michael Martin of the East Feliciana Parish Sheriff's Office.

The money was part of at least $70,000 taken last week from the Lucky Dollar Casino in Greensburg, about 30 miles northeast of Baton Rouge.

I can so believe this story, because something similar happened with my hamster!

I'd bought myself a new pair of satin underwear. They were beautiful, never worn by me, and I happened to put them down only a few inches away from the hamster's cage, which was in my bedroom.

Several hours later I came back, and peered into the cage to see what the hamster was up to.

He was asleep in a gorgeous, fluffy nest. Aww, how cute, I thought. And then I realized what the nest was made out of--my new underwear! He'd shredded and artfully woven it into a lovely new nest for himself.

For one second I was upset, and then I just laughed. He looked so blissful.

Lucky for the casino people, the beavers left the money intact!

2004-11-01T07:53:00.000-08:00

Dressed for the Weather!

Halloween Surprises

2004-11-01T07:20:00.000-08:00
This year Halloween was full of surprises.

First was the snow. Last year it was cold but dry, and we had some Trick or Treaters. This year it snowed the first good, sticking snow of the year, and the only Tricksters we had were three teenagers in thick coats and monster face makeup who said they’d been helping at the local haunted house. The just held their hands out for candy and put it in their pockets, since they didn’t have a treat bag.

I got a worried call from our Canadian friend Dwayne, who lives a few blocks away.
“I’ve got a big bowl of Kit Kats here, and no Trick or Treaters.”
“I’ve got a big bowl of Tootsie Rolls and Smarties and no Trick or Treaters here either,” I said to him.

That candy wasn’t all I had.

I’d come home from work in the late afternoon (we had wrapped up our shift early because of Halloween) only to find Mark asleep on the couch with a little cat on his lap! The cat perked up and meowed at me three times eagerly when I walked in. A cat!

Mark had been threatening to borrow a friend’s cat for a little while, because of the sudden appearance of mice in our house, as you’ve read on previous posts.

It turned out, this cat was lost and shivering in the snow, just like in a James Herriott All Creatures Great and Small story. She looks to be about 9 months old, a half grown kitten, white with black and grey splotches on her, and pink paw pads.

We fed her some tuna fish and chicken as we had no cat food, and put out a plastic box with some dirt from the garden. She sat in it right away and did her business. What a good cat!

After only a few hours we discovered this little skinny, lost, no longer cold and shivering cat loves to nestle, sit in laps, loves to play with a crumpled up piece of paper tied to a piece of string, and loves to chase mice!

Yes, one of the infamous mice darted across the floor before I got home from work, and Gertie Maxine went streaking in hot pursuit. She sniffed at every place the mice had been hiding: behind the fridge, behind the stove, under the couch. We saw no sign of any mice the rest of the evening. I think the mice are down in the basement huddled together packing their bags and leaving for a nice barn or garage in the neighborhood. Gertie smells the mice, and I am sure they smell her now.

Gertie also found the lost rubber bathtub plug. Mark was shaving this morning and gulping his coffee, and noticed her batting a small object across the floor. “Hey, it’s the plug you were looking for, Honey!” Gert then picked it up by the metal handle with her mouth and brought it to him and laid it at his feet, wagging her tail.

So, we decided she’s another “dog-cat” like our friends Dave and Ali’s cat Fergus. Fergus comes to the door to greet you, fetches, wags his tail, and is in general very loving and nothing like the aloof cat stereotype.

I hadn’t wanted to get a cat, thinking that we might take another long bike trip, and then where would the cat be?

But of course we couldn’t leave a hungry kitty out in the snow, and it only took her about 2 minutes flat to worm her way into my heart.

I told Mark this morning that she’s my birthday present. Back when I was 7 years old I asked for a cat for my birthday, and my mom said she’d try. My dad was allergic, the apartment building we lived in frowned on animals, but she’d try. On my birthday I opened up a present, and it was a little yellow stuffed cat. My mom wasn’t able to do it, and offered the toy cat as a substitute. Of course I was disappointed.

I am turning 41 in a week, and have never had my own cat or dog, having lived in animal unfriendly apartments all my life.

Gertie needed a home, and we needed a mouser.

I don’t think we adopted her–I think she adopted US!

Bed Races!

2004-10-16T13:38:00.000-07:00

Riding in style on a chopper bed built for two

As a prelude to the Homecoming game, Montana Tech's clubs and student groups hold the annual wacky bed races. As you'll see the students got especially creative this year.

Many of the racing beds consisted of mattresses with bicycle parts welded onto them. How are they powered, you may ask? Well, they start at the top of a hill, with as many people as they can get pushing them, and coast down, hopefully ending up in one piece at the bottom. Of course, this did not always happen.

Much like the cars in the old Tony Curtis-Jack Lemmon movie The Great Race, some of them failed to start, some fell apart halfway down the hill, some crashed into the other beds, and some, like the nursing student's hospital bed, did a Keystone Kops number.

The nursing bed had no steering mechanism, and began to veer dangerously toward the curb, the watching crowd, and worst of all, a local tv station's heavy tripod and video camera! All these blue-smocked arms began waving frantically, everyone screamed, and the camera woman was forced to jerk up her heavy tripod and camera and just run for it! Fortunately no one was injured.

Some of the guys in another bed began to bounce up and down on the mattress, and their trick worked, adding speed and crowning them the winners of their race.

A couple of the beds had their own parachutes, made of camping tarps and ropes, which unfurled dramatically at the bottom of the hill, helping to slow them down.

Even when the hour-long bed races were over, they really weren't quite over. I was walking home when I heard loud screams and a whooshing sound. It was 5 guys riding one of the winning beds straight down Park street, in the slow lane, right into traffic! Good thing the police weren't around. On the day of the Homecoming game I saw another bed being taken out for a downhill plunge.

I guess after all their hours of welding and ingenuity they didn't want the fun to be done with!

2004-10-16T12:36:00.000-07:00

The nursing students had no steering. . .

2004-10-16T12:34:00.000-07:00

Down the street goes the teetering bunk bed. . .

2004-10-16T12:32:00.000-07:00

Future Halliburton employees' vehicle--a children's bunk bed!

2004-10-16T12:31:00.000-07:00

Future Halliburton employees (you know, the company Dick Cheney used to be CEO of)

2004-10-16T12:29:00.000-07:00

Pirates have more fun

2004-10-16T12:28:00.000-07:00

Pirates in paper hats ready to sail down the street on a mattress

2004-10-16T12:27:00.000-07:00

The nursing students' patient, along for the ride

2004-10-16T12:26:00.000-07:00

The nursing students' hospital bed, complete with IV drip

2004-10-16T12:24:00.000-07:00

Fancy bed with pink boa

2004-10-16T12:23:00.000-07:00

A hybrid bed and bicycle

2004-10-16T12:21:00.000-07:00

A One-Man racing bed!

2004-10-12T08:31:00.000-07:00

Read on for the story's end. . .

The Mouse II

2004-10-12T07:34:00.000-07:00
As you read a couple of weeks ago, we temporarily outwitted the mouse by taping up the kitchen cabinet.

But then he returned. I opened a drawer in the kitchen and found a fun-size Baby Ruth candy bar open and half eaten. At first I thought maybe Mark had a snack attack in the middle of the night. Then I saw another candy bar with small round holes gnawed into the wrapper. He's BAAAAACK!

We decided not to put any snacks a mouse might like in that drawer, since obviously he was able to get into it from the basement.

Then a day or two later we smelled an unusual, unpleasant smell. Could it be dirty socks? We looked under the coffee table. Rotting food in the fridge?

I went off to the laundromat with stacks of laundry I hadn't been able to do while sick as a dog for a week with stomach flu. On my return, Markus had some sad news.

"I found the mouse dead under the couch cushion! He must've been crawling around in there, and I sat down on him and crunch!"

We both burst out laughing, then shivered. What a way to go, even for a mouse.

But we kept our vow--no traps, no poisons.

I'm still planning to keep the Halloween candy in a metal tin!

Freedom

2004-10-08T17:43:00.000-07:00

Ain't Fall Grand

I'm celebrating the fact that today for the first time this week, I've experienced freedom. Freedom to walk outside and enjoy the fall colors, freedom to breathe fresh air, freedom to eat whatever I like. Am I Martha Stewart??? No.

I've had a horrible stomach flu all week, causing me to vomit every two hours for one day, and then disallowing me from normal activities like eating, staying awake, and concentrating on anything for more than five seconds!

Being very sick for a week makes me celebrate the fact that I'm not an elderly sick shut in, a person in prison, or a full time student.

Enjoy your freedom everyone and be well!

2004-10-03T21:44:00.000-07:00

Fall into Fall!

Ode to Harriet Carter

2004-10-03T21:04:00.000-07:00
With the arrival of Fall comes a dose of wacky fun in the form of the Harriet Carter catalog. For those not familiar with this gem, which touts itself as offering "distinctive gifts since 1958", well, let’s just say it’s not the Sears-Roebuck wishbook.

Along with all kinds of semi-useless items "as seen on tv", such as the Batter Pro, basically a Tupperware type container with holes in it, so you can shake up your chicken in crumbs without soiling your dainty little hands (or brawny masculine hands as the case may be), there are some truly Dada, fascinatingly strange items.

For example, there’s the "Flameless Wax Candle." How could this be possible? You ask. As you read the caption, you discover it is flameless because it contains a battery operated light inside of it! To quote from Harriett herself, "enjoy the romantic glow of candlelight without the worry of a dangerous flame, messy melted wax, or irritating wind!" True, you won’t burn the house down, but doesn’t the idea of a light bulb inside the candle kind of detract from the romance?

Also in the romantic atmosphere line is the Plush "Bear Skin" Rug. This consists of a teddy bear which lies out flat on the floor, creating the atmosphere of a nursery, not a cabin with a fireplace!

Less romantic, but even wackier, is the "Toilet Golf "set, which lets you "practice your putting on the potty." For a mere $17.98 you get a carpet that looks like a putting green, balls and a putter.

There are "Farting Slippers" that break wind as you walk. A "Truck Alarm Clock" that looks and sounds like a big rig. (Somehow that doesn’t sound like a pleasant way to way up. . .)

On the supposedly practical side, there’s a "Gift Wrap Cutter" for $7.98 (myself, I always thought scissors were sufficient.) Or perhaps you need a" Long Reach Lotion" applicator, a gizmo with a long handle and "19 rotating balls on its surface." Instead of using high technology, I just make my husband rub lotion on my back, what about you?

Just who is this Harriet Carter, you may ask? I suspect she’s like Betty Crocker; an invented character who serves as mascot of this kookie company. Her "photo" looks suspiciously like a painting, and she herself looks to be about 40 years old. Wouldn’t she have to be a lot older if she’d started the company back in ‘58?

If you’ve never had the pleasure and amusement of browsing through Harriet’s catalogue, just go to www.harrietcarter.com

I’m sure you’ll be glad you did.

Hello Fall my good Friend

2004-10-01T01:00:00.000-07:00

Welcome to Fall

As I mentioned a mere week ago, we were having snow.

Well, the weather, (like Senator Kerry's positions, according to Bush) has flip-flopped.

It's been 70 degrees F all week, suddenly the trees are gloriously gold and red, the pea plants in our garden are springing up, and kids are out playing frisbee and eating ice cream cones again. I even put on shorts--and this after wearing wool gloves and hat last week.

Well, if we think we in Montana are confused, at least we're not in Florida.

A friend of mine flew to California to escape hurricane #3, then flew back home only to be met by #4.

We have the technology to control the temperature in our houses and cars, but we can't control the weather!

Much as we don't like to admit it, some things are bigger than us.

Outwitting the Mouse

2004-09-26T23:24:00.000-07:00
With the arrival of frost came a furry visitor to our house. A mouse.

He first appeared in the kitchen. All I saw of him were his furry grey body and long tail, rapidly disappearing under the table.

Then he became a regular. There were mouse sightings early in the morning, as he’d go streaking across the kitchen floor. Then he began darting under the couch. Once or twice he was so bold as to peer in at the doorway of the computer room in the dead of night. Markus, typing away, paused to give him a stern look, and he faded into the background.

Then he began scratching around under the stove for a prolonged period of time. This had the sound of nest-building, moving in, taking up residence, bringing the wife and kids. "Building a mouse condo, eh?" Mark said. We discouraged him by hitting the stove with hammers and kicking it with our shoes. The scratching noises stopped.

Things progressed to where I was spotting him twice a day, mornings and evenings, and he was running across the floor a bit slowly and lazily–not even intimidated by us anymore.
He had developed a regular route: from under the couch, to behind the heater, under the kitchen table to the crack in the potato cupboard. That was how he was coming up from the basement, Mark deduced. All we had to do, he claimed, was shut it up snugly with duct tape. "Just wait until you’ve seen him go in, then tape it up," Markus, an old hand with field mice, coached me.

The next day I saw the mouse under the kitchen table and ASSUMED he’d gone on ahead through the crack to the basement. So I taped it up.

That evening I was sitting on the john, when who did I see come streaking along the far wall of the bathroom but our friend the mouse. I yelled out in surprise, and this caused the mouse to panic and run in a jagged pattern to the darkness underneath the claw foot bathtub.
"Great! Now he has no way to go back to the basement. I’ll have to un-tape the crack," Mark said.

We decided to try again.

This time, Mark was to do the taping.
He taped the crack across the side and bottom.

Unfortunately for all concerned, the mouse was still in the kitchen at the time.
Mark was soon treated to the sight of the mouse stuck to the tape that lay across the bottom of the cupboard, butt and back legs wiggling frantically in midair, caught like a fly in flypaper.
At last the mouse managed to free himself and disappeared into the cupboard.
Mark applied more layers of tape, and the mouse hasn’t been seen since.

During this whole indoor rodent episode, I spotted a tiny, pear-shaped velvety brown mouse in our garden, dreamily nibbling at a snack, oblivious to my pointing and stares and exclamations to Mark of "oh, look at the darling little Disney creature."

Traps were never even in this equation. You see, I used to have pet hamsters.

However, no mouse is going to strut around like it owns our place!

Mouse–0 Us–1

2004-09-19T19:17:00.000-07:00

No Football Today :)

Snow in September

2004-09-19T18:45:00.000-07:00
Mark and I just looked out the back porch and discovered the nearby hills are powdered with white! Last year we didn't see snow until just after Halloween. But we've been warned that snow can fly anytime--even the 4th of July--in Montana.

The only other time in my life that I've seen snow in September was during my 7th grade year, when I was living with my cousins in Alberta. We were all sitting in class listening to the teacher when there was a sudden murmer, and a mad scramble for the window. Snow! I marvelled that these kids, who'd lived here their whole lives, were excited each year by snow's first appearance.

I'm originally from LA, and the only white Christmas I'd ever had prior to last year was that Christmas in Canada.

Mark and I love the winter: for us it's not a bother, but a wonderful invitation to get cozy, drink hot chocolate or coffee, and get creative, writing, crocheting, doing crossword puzzles. I'm hoping to finally finish my novel this winter. I've spent 10 years working on it.

Winter as a whole is like the hush that descends on a city when the snow falls deep into the night. Traffic becomes a soft swish, people's footsteps are muffled, and often the only sound is the occasional scrape of a neighbor shoveling the walk. It's like Jack Frost unplugged the phone, the tv, the radio, and beckoned you to step back in time, to bank up the fire and sharpen your quill pen, and look into your heart and write.

the Bicycle Thief

2004-09-18T03:28:00.000-07:00
Bike lock can be picked with pen
By Theo Emery Associated Press writer - 09/17/20
BOSTON — You don't have to be the Man of Steel to open a Kryptonite bike lock.
Faster than a speeding bullet, word is spreading across the Internet, through cyclist hangouts and into bike shops that all it takes to open a circular-key lock, like the one on the famousU-shaped Kryptonite-brand lock, is a ballpoint pen.

My first reaction to this article, and that of everyone else I know who read it, was: Gee, thanks so much for telling bike thieves of the world how to pick our locks!!!

But upon further reading, it appears the Kryptonite company is now on the job redesigning the lock, one step ahead of thieves.

I’ve heard that in Holland everyone rides bikes the way we drive cars here, and that people fully expect their bike to be stolen several times a year.

I’ve always ridden bikes that look like thrashed beaters but contain hidden features apparent only to bike experts, and I’ve never had mine stolen yet!
Full article: Bike Lock

2004-09-16T07:13:00.000-07:00

Fairy Tale Unicorn

The Lady and the Unicorn

2004-09-16T07:00:00.000-07:00
As many of you know, I’m writing a novel set in the Renaissance that deals with unicorns whose horns have healing powers.

So imagine how excited I was to run across a new historical novel about the Lady and the Unicorn tapestries!

The author, Tracy Chevalier, is familiar to many due to The Girl With the Pearl Earring, which was recently made into a movie. All of her books deal with history, art, and the real, human story behind famous art pieces.

In The Lady and the Unicorn, a court artist, Nicholas des Innocents, is invited to the home of Paris patron of the arts Jean le Viste. Once there he encounters Jean’s beautiful, witty, young daughter Claude, and the erotic antics that ensue rival those in Chaucer, or Shakespeare’s comedies.

Part two of the book takes place in Brussels, in the workshop of the weavers. In a clever plot twist, Nicholas the lascivious is sent there to assist with the tapestry designs, and of course the sparks fly between him and the weaver’s daughter.

This is history at its liveliest. The "story behind the story" of this famous tapestry should keep you in stitches!

Tracy Chevalier's official site: http://www.tchevalier.com/

My Day as a Movie Extra II

2004-09-07T08:37:00.000-07:00
We were escorted into the lobby of the hotel to find it transformed down to the last detail into a manicurists’ convention! Two of the extras, wearing identical polyester 1960s airline stewardess style dresses, were asked to sit behind the desk and play the receptionists. They had feathery pens to write with, nametags to distribute, and piles of nail polish and totebags with fluffy tissue paper pluming out of the tops.

I was surprised to find out just how hot and glaring the lights of Hollywood were. It felt like a hot summer day, even though it was a cold evening, and the lights were as bright as sunshine. Little train tracks had been set up for the huge camera to run on, and the cinematographer took a practice ride before the shot was fully set up.

We extras were expertly positioned by Uri, our handler. Women were spread out evenly in front of the hotel registration desk, and I and several others were told to stand in line in front of the "convention" registration desk.

When we were all in position, Wim Wenders himself walked into the room! I recognized him right away from his picture in the paper. He has thick, dark hair and eyebrows, and wore a vest and cargo pants with lots of pockets. A few times he said to us "Ok guys," and then chuckled and said, "I mean ladies." He and a lot of the crew members had German accents.

We were told the story of the scene: we would all be talking and laughing to our friends, and then Sam Shepard would come in and walk through the crowd of women. We’d talk and point at him, as he was the only male in the room, and then it would gradually dawn on us that he was a famous, retired cowboy actor, and we’d exclaim over that. We were to talk without making a single sound, ie in pantomime, and we were absolutely forbidden to look into the camera!

All this is harder than it sounds. Especially when they ask you to perform the same improvised actions, from the same exact spot where you were standing the last time, over and over again! We were told to listen for our cues: Sound, they’d call, Speed, and then Background Action! That meant us!

We rehearsed the scene a few times (yes, even extras have to rehearse), and then they gave the call to "invite Mr. Shepard to the set!"
He arrived with a battered satchel, looking just like in the movies, only maybe a bit older and more tired. Like everyone else had so far, he broke into a grin upon seeing our flock of red, pink and orange sherbet-clad girls in swinging 60s wear.

I felt really self-conscious the first take or two, as the camera barreled right in amongst us. Several girls were asked to do "crosses", ie walk right in front of the camera, to make the scene look more natural. They had to watch their feet and not trip over the little railroad tracks.

I’d heard moviemaking was a slow process; now I was witnessing just how slow!
After doing this scene umpteen times, they finally declared us ready for a break while they set up the next scene. We all milled around tiredly in our extras' holding room. "Boy, I sure wish there was some coffee," several of us piped up.

"There’s coffee on the Craft Services truck," Tina Buckingham told us. (She was the extras recruiter.) We all trooped out the back door excitedly, almost running for the catering truck planted in the back parking lot. As it turned out, they were fresh out of coffee, but had an incredible array of treats to snack on: fresh guacamole, Trader Joe’s tea (both of which I hadn’t enjoyed since leaving Oregon), bottles of ginseng, candy, almonds and dried fruits. The list goes on. We were also surprised to see as many medicines as a drug store–bottles and bottles of asprin, cold medicine, band aids, pms meds, enough things to stock a small town–which is what a movie set resembles!

More and more I was feeling like I’d been invited to a very special all-girl slumber and pig out party!

Our next scene was a lot more raucous than the last. It was set later in the day. The party was getting out of control. We manicurists were drinking champagne, talking and laughing, and then Sam Shepard came down to the phone booth to call his long-lost son. First the girl dressed in the skimpy, fringed western outfit went up to the glass wall of the booth where he was standing and kissed it. Then two crazy fans went up to it and took their tops off!

I was positioned in a small circle of women, and we were to talk and laugh raucously. Right in front of us was another small group with a champagne bottle. One girl was to shake up the champagne and then let her finger off the top, causing it to shoot up in the air. Well, each take when she did this, the champagne shot straight up and hit the ceiling, and then landed on my head! So I was not faking or acting when I’d shriek during each take, from cold champagne hitting me. Does that qualify as method acting I wonder?

The girls who were near the "breast baring" action of course had to shriek and point.

Well, after shooting the scene over and over from the one angle, they reconfigured the scene, and placed me and an Asian girl named Malu right next to the main action!
We were to talk and hug, move aside to let two swaying, "tipsy" girls through, watch the girl kiss the glass, and then be shocked when the girls bared their breasts. Let me tell you, I did not have to pretend to be shocked! I jumped each time they did it.

We didn’t get through until 2 Am. One girl told me she’d been an extra before, and they hadn’t wrapped shooting until 6 Am. After being there, I can understand why. It takes so long to set everything up and get everyone in place that they have to just keep plugging away until they are done. I can now understand how many hours of work it takes to make one minute or less of a movie.

I have to say that everyone, from the crew, to the star and the director, were kind and friendly to we extras. We were not treated like cattle, but like important participants.

As Uri explained to us, the final shot of the day, the one that will be kept and printed, is called "the martini shot."

My final memory: driving off into the lights of Butte with stars in my eyes, with a great story to tell my co-workers, relatives and friends.

And you’d better believe there were a lot of people who were kicking themselves the next morning that they hadn’t gone to the audition! One of my friends remarked, "maybe I’d better start reading the paper. . ."

Bicyclists Take Over the World!

2004-08-28T08:20:00.000-07:00
I just couldn't resist bringing this little gem to everyone's attention:

NEW YORK (Reuters) - Thousands of cyclists snarled traffic in New York on Friday night and police said they arrested more than 250 people and confiscated their bicycles in the first significant protest against President Bush before the Republican convention.

Police said they arrested 264 people and seized their bicycles in the protest mounted by a group called Critical Mass, which wants to boost the rights of cyclists in traffic-clogged city streets. It stages rides in cities around the world on the last Friday of each month.

The New York Police Department said in a statement that about 5,000 cyclists gathered at Union Square in Manhattan for the ride and that officers warned cyclists about breaking traffic laws.

Oh boy, normally pacifist, "you take the highway, I'll take the road shoulder" cyclists are up in arms!

And seizing a person's bicycle is definitely a few cuts lower than stepping on their blue suede shoes.

I'm going to be looking for this on the tv news--the image of bicyclists happily weaving in and out of gridlocked traffic delights me.

As the pennyfarthing bicycling Prisoner used to say on the old tv series, "I am not a number. I'm a free man!"

And yes, stay tuned for the rest of the saga of My Day as a Movie Extra!

My Day as a Movie Extra Part I

2004-08-17T06:12:00.000-07:00
This posting was delayed because last week was so busy: I attended a wedding (my third this summer), an all-day picnic with volleyball, and then the day of the film shoot ended up being almost a 24 hour day for me. I got up at 6 am to write in this blog, worked my normal shift, came home for half an hour to change, and went straight to the film shoot, which didn’t wrap until 2am. It has taken me this long to recover!
For those who hadn’t heard, I auditioned in early July to be an extra in the movie Don’t Come Knocking, starring Sam Shepard and Jessica Lang, and directed by Wim Wenders, director of Paris, Texas, the Buena Vista Social Club, and one of my all time favorite movies, Wings of Desire.
So imagine how excited I was when they called me in for the last day of shooting in Butte! My Canadian friend Dwayne gets a special Oscar for driving me down to the location in the last minute. We pulled up in front of the Copper King Inn, the only swanky hotel that Butte, Mt possesses, located right across from the airport. Dwayne said, "hey, look at that cool car!" It was a sky blue classic car, one that had been spotted in the old Uptown district. "That’s the movie car," I told him. It was the one Sam Shepard’s character was driving. Dwayne exclaimed over all the equipment, cameras, metal stands in piles. "Well, at least we know this is the right place."
I ran into the lobby with my bags of clothes the casting person had asked me to bring. I stopped and looked around, laughing. They’d hinted we’d be playing beauticians at a convention. Well, there was a giant arch made of pink, orange and red balloons. A giant banner proclaiming "Welcome Manicurists." The stuffed bighorn sheep that always decorated the lobby was draped with orange, pink and red streamers. The stuffed bear had a bouquet of pink fake flowers coming out of his mouth.
I was directed to a meeting room that was labeled "Background/Holding." I walked in to see crowded chaos: forty or fifty women, mostly very young and pretty, some older, milling around, all carrying bags of clothes. At the front of the room were two young women with a big rack of clothes, wardrobing the extras who’d gotten a call time earlier than mine.
A young guy with a shock of black hair sat at a table at the front of the room and handed out forms and pens. He reminded me a bit of Speed Racer; young and handsome and slightly Italian looking. The forms marked CAPS were our pay forms. The young man, whose name was Yuri, told us he was in charge of us Extras or Background people, and this was our holding area. They needed to keep us together, out of the way of the current shooting, and ready to work.
We spent the next few hours talking amongst ourselves and trying on clothes. The wardrobe ladies didn’t like any that I had brought, and told me to sit back down while they found me something. All around me were the strong smells of nail polish, hairspray, and perfume, as all these young women primped with a vengeance. Some of them were from surrounding towns like Bozeman, some were acting students, and some were actually in real life manicurists or beauticians! Some had been called the day before, like me, and some had been called early that morning.
Sitting near me was an older woman with thick makeup, poufed up bleached blond hair, a low neckline, and a slow, drugged way of talking. She reminded me quite a bit of Anna Nicole Smith! Fortunately or unfortunately she got up and left after a couple of hours.
Yuri leaned back in his chair and sighed happily. "What a job! I get to sit around and watch pretty girls all day." We asked where he lived. "I'm not sure. My girlfriend threw me out right before we left California to begin filming."
Yuri brought in a whole trash barrel full of bottles of water and a Sharpie pen, and asked everyone to write their initials on the cap. I started getting to know a 36 year old lady named Roberta, who offered to lend me some of her orange and red tops to wear. After a few go-rounds, I ended up in red Capri pants that were patterned like a bandana, a red heart bracelet, and an orange shirt with red sweater over it. I felt like a hairdresser from Florida or Peg Bundy from Married With Children. Meanwhile, Roberta and I were surrounded by 20 year old girls in outrageous retro 60s fashions. One of the craziest was a girl in a low-cut red top with white fringes, tight pants, and cowboy boots. She was frustrated with her costume as the cloth pad in the bra area kept popping out. "This is so embarrassing. I never dress like this. I always wear sweat pants and a t-shirt." She looked like a rodeo queen from a porno film!
Meanwhile, a small film crew with a mike on a long pole was filming and recording our every move. We were told later they were doing a "making of" documentary that would be packaged in on the DVD and might even be released separately too.
Yuri and helpers brought in a load of snacks: chips, cookies, nuts, and crackers, boxes and boxes of them, like a convenience store. We munched and talked, as if we were at a giant girls-only slumber party, for hours.
I’d arrived at 3:30, and it took until 5:30 to get everyone wardrobed. We talked for another hour, and then Yuri announced it was dinner time. As at a grade school field trip, we all were to walk single-file and quietly out to the back parking lot to the catering truck. We filed out into the hall, greeted by pointing fingers and giggles from the crew, who were viewing us for the first time. And no wonder! We looked like a giant 1960s sherbet, all of us in pink, orange and red, floating down the hall in revealing outfits!
Once outside, we lined up for our food, which turned out to be lasagna, garlic bread, and a really delicious salad. After dinner we were paraded out into the hall and told to stand quietly while still photos were taken. Many, many photos. We were told these were for publicity, and also for continuity, in case things had to be touched up in the editing phase.
We were starting to feel like minor celebrities after all this attention from the documentary crew, and now the still photo people. "They like me, they really like me!" (Sorry Sally Fields, I couldn’t resist.)
We sat around in our holding room until 8 o’clock pm eating cookies and watermelon. Some girls complained they were bored and wanted to go home. I was thrilled to be getting paid for 5 hours of eating, chatting, and trying on clothes. A much easier way to make money than waiting tables!
At last the call came: they were ready to start filming our scenes!
Stay tuned for the next episode of My Day as a Movie Extra!

Hollywood Comes Knocking!

2004-08-11T06:44:00.000-07:00
Well, it finally happened. I had just gotten home from work, and was sitting in the easy chair munching on franks and beans, watching Leave it to Beaver, when the phone rang. Markus talked to the caller for a moment and then excitedly shoved the phone in my face. It took me a moment to comprehend what was going on, as the lady had a thick British accent.

"Are you available to come to the film shoot tomorrow?" At first my heart sank. "I have to work tomorrow." "Well, it doesn't start until 3:30." I raced over to the calendar. Joy! I'd be getting off at 2:30!

(Truly the movie gods are smiling on me. Usually I don't get off work until 3:30 or 4.)

The lady went on to ask me to bring light colored pants, black pants, and black skirt, and also a red, an orange, and a fuscia pink top.

When I auditioned to be an extra in this movie they'd told us we'd be wearing our own clothes, and that we'd be asked to bring several changes of clothes. We were also told to bring a book to read, maybe a deck of cards. Movie making is apparently a slow process. Each day's shoot may last as long as 12 hours.

Here's the really funny and ironic part: I grew up in North Hollywood, went to school with kids whose fathers were directors and cinematographers, and have never been an extra before or been in a movie in any way shape or form! Yet now that I live in the small, old town of Butte, Montana, I'm about to participate in a film starring two of my favorite actors, Jessica Lang and Sam Shepard, and directed by one of my favorite directors, Wim Wenders.

In Hollywood, everyone wants to be an extra or bit player. "Cattle Calls" draw thousands. Yet when this major production, "Don't Come Knocking," put out ads for extras here in Butte, only about a hundred people showed up! The crew will have to draw from the neighboring college towns, Bozeman and Missoula, just to meet their needs.

This whole area, Montana, Wyoming, Idaho, is like that. Low population, (Wyoming has only about 500,000 in the whole state, Montana less than a million), independent attitude, and tendency to not be impressed by money or flash. When Ted Turner moved to Montana and bought up a huge amount of ranch land, people here were not pleased.

But Butte is happy in a quiet, low-key way to be the main location for Wim Wenders' new film. And I am quite vocally ecstatic to have had my door knocked on!

Stay tuned for all the latest gossip from the movie set!

More Evel Knievel Days

2004-08-08T07:53:00.000-07:00

This is Geoff Aaron. . .

This is. . .

2004-08-08T07:52:00.000-07:00

This is Geoff Aaron jumping over giant cans. . .any questions?

Giant cans were not the only things brave Geoff jumped over. He jumped on top of a truck. He jumped over several intrepid audience members, who obligingly lay down in a row on the ground.

He moved as if the motorcycle were an extension of his body. I wish! Even my own body often fails to perform as I command. I was clumsier as a kid, though. Ballet, a little fencing, and more recently a 4,000 mile bicycle trip acros the country helped some

But I doubt if I'll ever be bouncing up and down off of trucks, giant cans, and over people, as relaxed as a kid riding his Big Wheel. . .

http://www.gasgas.com/Pages/News-new/geoff-pr-3-01.html for more on Geoff's brilliant career.

Spanky Lands

2004-08-03T07:41:00.000-07:00

A moment after the Jump: is Spanky ok?

Spanky landed in the huge air mattress and everyone held their breath while assistants and paramedics frantically grabbed at the caved-in center of the landing pad. And then, there he was, smiling, standing on his feet, and everyone screamed in relief. It was the kind of jump where you'd expect a person to break his neck, but of course, this man knows how to fall. . . http://www.spankyspangler.com/

Butte, Montana is Evel Knievel's hometown, and on Evel days, he brings his old stuntman and stuntrider friends to town to celebrate. Some are old hands, like Spanky Spangler and Reckless Rex. Some are very young, like Matt Buyten and others, who are just stopping here to jump their motorcycles on their way to the X games.

This year they showed a tv movie about Evel's life on TNT during the weekend. I missed it, but have heard plenty of rumors around town, that Evel left huge bar tabs he never paid, that he beat his wife, etc. etc. People who grew up with him seem to either love him or hate him.

All I know is, many of my friends and relatives, girls and boys, worshipped him in the 70s when we were grade school kids. My cousin Oliver used to play with an Evel Knievel stunt bike action figure set.

For Butte, Mt, it's like having Santa Claus come to town riding a Harley. It's a real shot in the arm to the slow local economy, and a chance for people all over the west to see a real wild west town in action!

I'll be doing more entries on Evel Knievel days throughout the week.

Wavering in the Sky

2004-08-03T07:40:00.000-07:00

Poised for the Jump

What could he be thinking? What would cause a person to voluntarily jump many stories into a large air mattress? Myself, I'm so chicken that I've never been able to jump off the diving platform at the swimming pool. I climb the ladder, take one look down, think uh oh, bellyflop, feel a little sick, and sheepishly go back down the ladder.

On the other hand, sailing down an 8 percent grade at Lolo Pass, Montana, on my bicycle, gripping the brakes at times so hard my hand cramps, which is something most people would probably call crazy, to me feels like flying without a hang glider!

Spanky was dressed in a red, white, and blue silk jumpsuit, like a superhero. He stood on the edge of the platform for a moment, then flipped over into a big swan dive in the sky, and fell astonishingly quickly.

Spanky readies for his Jump

2004-08-03T07:38:00.000-07:00

Stuntman Spanky Spangler lifted high in the air while crowd watches from rooftops

In my town of Butte, Montana, Evel Knievel days is a big deal, and Spanky Spangler's Big Stunt is a really big deal. This year's Evel days were bigger than ever--it was downright crowded, which rarely happens in our laid back little town, but with this, the third annual Evel days, I think the word is starting to get out. http://www.knievelweek.com/

Not only was the town flooded with bikers from states like California and Arizona, many wearing Sturgis shirts, but families from all over came to enjoy the circus-like atmosphere. (For those who don't know, Sturgis in the Dakotas is one of the country's biggest biker gatherings. We ran into a lot of bikers who were Sturgis-bound on our cross country bicycle trip.)

Spanky Spangler is an experienced stuntman who's been in the movies, but even so, everyone was a bit nervous watching him ascend higher than our tallest old hotel, the Finlen, where presidents like JFK stayed once upon a time.

My Big Fat Ethnic Wedding

2004-07-30T16:00:00.000-07:00

Folksy Folkdancers

I just saw My Big Fat Greek Wedding for the first time on cable tv last night. My favorite scene was the one in which the fiancee is baptized in a blow up child's wading pool. I probably laughed louder than the average theater-goer because I had just last weekend asked a visiting priest how the Orthodox perform adult baptisms. He said, "for my mother, they got a horse trough." So the movie is only barely exaggerating! Why, you may ask, don't they just sprinkle some water on the person's forehead, like normal people? They do a full dunking because it symbolizes death and rebirth.

The Greek family reminded me a lot of my Italian relatives, minus the singing and dancing. The pinching of cheeks and constant eating, the nagging and guilt, all that rang true.

The movie was welcome relief from the unrelenting presence of the Democratic convention. Markus and I were far more interested in the clips from past conventions on C Span. We caught glimpses of Ike, JFK, and even Jimmy Carter's 1976 acceptance of the nomination speech, which last I'd watched as a 12 year old.

It's funny how all the candidates claim to be men of the people, yet they're all filthy rich. Where's My Big Fat Humble Poor Candidate?

Outsourcing Comes Home to Roost

2004-07-28T17:41:00.000-07:00
I just finished reading an article in the July 5th issue of the New Yorker about outsourcing. In the article people in India do all kinds of office and phone gruntwork for huge corporations in America. (Good news for people in India who need jobs; bad news for Americans who are now losing their jobs.) The Indians get paid about a tenth of what the Americans would be paid, so naturally the corporations are thrilled with the deal.

Well, eerily enough, when I called Earthlink's customer service 800 number today, I got a young woman with a thick Indian accent! I began to think about it, and remembered that when I first set up the service, and each time I called with questions, a person with an Indian accent got the call started.   When they'd transfer me to some other department to do something more intricate, like resolving a billing issue, I'd suddenly be talking to someone with an American accent. Obviously I'm starting to wonder if Earthlink could also be guilty of the dreaded outsourcing.

Well, I guess being replaced by people in India is better than being replaced by the Pod People!

The Folkdancers have Landed!

2004-07-26T20:24:00.000-07:00

Folkdancers!

These folkdancers jumped up and down in their layered costumes in the hot sun; I call that dedication. A sweet older Serbian lady informed me that in the old days, you could tell what county someone came from just by their costume.

During the dancers' evening performance, a little baby in a high chair clapped her hands and rocked back and forth furiously. I told her mom that she might have a future folkdancer there, and the mom said, "Well, when the choir was singing, my baby was conducting."

The Bishop

2004-07-26T20:23:00.000-07:00

The Bishop gives communion

This weekend I attended the Holy Trinity Serbian Orthodox church's 100th anniversary. In this picture, Bishop Longin, the bishop for all the western states, gives communion. There were a total of three bishops present, including one from Alaska. As I remarked to my honey, I was a Catholic for the first 11 years of my life, and never once saw a bishop. . .

I spent a lot of the weekend in the kitchen, chopping things. Things that sting, like onions and lemons, and also more benign things like parsley. The women in the kitchen were hilarious. They had me taste a baklava-like pastry which was loaded with poppy seeds and then warned "you'd better not try to pass a drug test after that."

The lady who was lord and mistress of the kitchen was 82, had been cooking there for 60 years, and swore like Popeye the sailor's father. My friend and I were shocked to hear her mutter "Jesus Christ!" Or "What the hell???" This lady is an excellent cook, and great at quality control. If we, her busy assistants, didn't do something just right, she'd go back and do it over.

At one point two of the ladies and I got to eat fancy shrimp cocktail and catfish that were meant for the bishops because their planes were hours late and they didn't want the food to go to waste!

Surrealistic Wedding Cake

2004-07-26T20:21:00.000-07:00

I loved this wedding cake!

As my friend commented, the flowers look like cartoon flowers. They also look like they'd be very much at home at a 60s love-in. One of the high points of the reception, in my opinion, was when everyone, children and adults, danced the hoky-poky. When the music asked for everyone to "circle to the left" the circle got kind of bunched up, but hey, that's part of the fun. It was also funny seeing the bride, groom, and elderly ladies doing the "YMCA", complete with arm actions.

Medieval Splendor

2004-07-26T20:19:00.000-07:00

Inside the Serbian Orthodox church

Last weekend I attended a wedding at the Serbian Orthodox church. It was hard to take good pictures, because it was kind of dark inside, but at least you can get a feel for the Medieval splendor of the icons and frescoes. An interesting part of the ceremony was when the bride and groom were crowned, in this case with a wreath of flowers.

Hollywood comes to Montana

2004-07-26T20:09:00.000-07:00

Filming of Jessica Lang and Sam Shepard movie

German director Wim Wenders is currently directing his new movie, "Don't Come Knocking," in my town in Montana! As you can see in the picture, it had just rained, and so the cameras are swathed in plastic and tarps, and they moved the filming inside. They have spent the past week filming inside the fabulous, 110 year old M&M cafe. Prior to this year, it was closed only once, for 24 hours, during Prohibition! I applied to be an extra in the movie; so far they have not called me. Maybe the movie's title is prophetic. . .

Neighbors

2004-07-23T06:15:00.000-07:00
John Berger (author of Little Big Man) wrote a darkly comic book called Neighbors about the worst neighbors in the world. There was also a movie version starring John Belushi. With that intro, guess what I'm going to talk about: the new neighbors!

I've been having trouble sleeping due to the extreme heat anyway, so the other night only added fuel to the fire. I woke tossing and turning several times during the night, groggily unsure of what was causing this, only to realize exactly what the problem was--a giant party going on somewhere in the near vicinity!

I took a glance at the clock and saw that it was 3:30 am. I threw on some clothes and stepped out to investigate. The noise was coming from next door. I saw trucks and cars parked all over, young guys sitting on the steps of the next door building. I marched over and informed them I was considering calling the cops. One of them replied, "Oh, well, I'll tell him," pointing to the house.

I knocked on the door and a young guys' head peered out confusedly. I explained that I couldn't sleep and had to go to work in the morning, and was thinking of calling the cops. "We didn't realize you could hear anything," he said groggily. He'd cracked the door to talk to me, and music as loud as a disco dance floor came surging out like a slap in the face with a wet towel. Then he thanked me for coming over and shook hands and introduced himself.

I turned to go, and one of his friends on the doorstep held out his glass to me. "Want a drink? Uhhh. . ." His hand turned to jello and in slow motion the glass sagged and the drink spilled on the sidewalk in a big plop, like a water balloon shattering.

Let me tell you, this is normally a VERY quiet neighborhood.

It's all working people, grandmas with grandkids visiting. . .usually the only sound during the day is lawnmowers humming and kids playing. At night it is completely silent.

We have some interesting neighbors of long standing (as opposed to these brand-new, Animal House kids. . .)

In the cream brick house beside us we have S, an organic gardening, composting Lesbian who lives with her partner and big cuddly dog. Her yard is a festival of wildflowers on one side, tomatos and veggies on the other. She never smiles, talks in three word sentences, like some kind of laconic hippie cowboy, but she shovels half the neighborhood's walks early in the morning in winter.

Behind and kitty corner to us we have B, a divorced dad who gets weeklong custody visits with his two grade school age boys. When we first moved in here a year ago, we used to watch him stand in his kitchen in his bathrobe, opening and closing his refrigerator, leaving, coming back, and doing this again, usually late at night.   We wondered. Insomnia? We found out he works as a nurse at a rest home, and that is why he goes to work at 4 am, and stands around in his kitchen in his robe at 3 am.

Across the street we have L, who decorates elaborately for every holiday, and has her grandkids over visiting every afternoon during the school year, and all day during the summer. There's always a tent made of tarps draped over chairs on the front lawn, or a giant blow up kiddie pool, or little ramps for trick riding with bicycles. We sit on our porch and watch the action.

And then there's us. The neighborhood kids came in a body and welcomed us to the neighborhood the first week we moved in. That was heartwarming. Markus, being a grandpa himself at only 49, spoils all kids with candy, popsicles, toys, and anything fun we might have lying around. I think we confused people at first. Six year old Zack asked if we had a job, I answered no (at the time I didn't) and he asked, "Don't you like to work?" I explained we were trying to get a business going on the computer. He seemed confused. He thought work meant getting dressed and leaving the house. The kids were also puzzled by our lack of a car. Six year old Ellie (Zack's best friend) postulated maybe we didn't have enough money for a car. We explained we simply didn't like cars, and told them about our cross-country bicycle trip. At that they giggled, and couldn't stop giggling.

I think overall the neighbors have accepted us. L, the grandma, told us we are much nicer than the family that used to live across the street. "They were like the Adams family. Kind of lurking in there. A little frightening."

There's no form of flattery sweeter than being told you are better to have around than the Adams family. . .

2004-07-21T07:52:00.000-07:00

Me on computer.

Richard Brautigan, blogs, and memoir

2004-07-21T06:03:00.000-07:00
This entry is dedicated to VQ, one of the world's biggest Brautigan fans

How is Richard Brautigan's book the Abortion like a blog? Well, let me tell you. In the Abortion, the title character is a librarian at a very strange library that is open 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. People of every age come in with books they have written themselves on every topic, from how to grow plants to "my new toy truck" by a small child. Some are in crayon, some typed, and one is even a set of blank pages. The librarian lovingly catalogues and shelves each book.   Is this starting to sound familiar?

I've finally gotten my hands on a copy of You Can't Catch Death by Brautigan's daughter Ianthe. Three years ago I saw her give a talk on her then brand-new book. This was in Portland, Oregon, where I was still living at the time. I was struck right away by how much she looks like her dad. And of course anyone who has read his works in their older editions has seen many, many pictures of him. She told some great stories, including one about her dad standing in the kitchen in his robe and cowboy boots one morning spontaneously breaking into a tap dance.

I'm just in the early chapters of her book, but am really enjoying her child's-eye description of her dad's San Francisco apartment in the 60s, Digger Dollars, mink covered Bible and all.

Just a few weeks ago I saw Hjortsberg read here in Montana, and he promised his Brautigan biography, which he's been working on for over 10 years, will be done soon. Hjortsberg knew Brautigan for 10 years, and seems a good choice for biographer, being one of B's peers and not a critic or professor from the ivory tower.

I first read Brautigan's books from the alien environment of Los Angeles, and now, having lived in Oregon for 10 years, and currently Montana, I'll be re-reading them with a fresh eye. So many of his books take place in the Pacific Northwest.

Ianthe Brautigan reveals in her book that Richard's ranch, which was where he committed suicide,  was close to Bozeman Montana. Having ridden my bicycle in that area, I can safely agree with her that Montana probably kept him alive a bit longer.

Sunshine Saturday

2004-07-18T07:00:00.000-07:00
We went to Saturday Market for veggies and fruits and again encountered the aggressive sales tactics of the Hutterites. I get the impression they are similar to the Amish--they wear clothes more suited to the 19th century, live on a farm/colony a few hundred miles away, yet freely use 20th century salesmanship. "How about some homemade sauerkraut. Cauliflower? Broccoli? We've got some great rolls here. . ."

Speaking of anomolies. . . at the restaurant yesterday we had a whole little league team, their parents, and their coach, filling every booth, and they left us a $2 tip! And this after we gave the boys free candy and cookies! While a mother and her two daughters who were killing time before their haircut, having a light lunch and some ice cream, left us $7! Crazy!

Well, the wedding is tonight, and if I can get the picture posting working, hopefully you'll be greeted soon with a visual feast!

Have fun all and stay cool!