Saturday, I spent so much time searching every game shop in town for something called “Walk It Out”, which I’d seen favorably reviewed by another WW forum user (she said she walked for 70 minutes and barely noticed the time go by). Folks, Eugene is Sold Out of this game. Best Buy had never even heard of it – even though, when I called to ask them, they said Yes, sure, we have that. When I got there, however, it was a different story completely. “You want what? I’ve never even heard of that. Let me check our web site to see if we even carry it.” (Note: as of this writing, they don’t.)

I finally gave up and went home for a late lunch. Thanks to the providence of Diane asking me an unrelated question about tickets, I recalled at 5 that we had tickets to the Hult Center to see Play! A Video Game Symphony at 7:30. We quickly threw on something that would pass for “dressed-up, Eugene style” and headed out for dinner and theater.

The symphony was wonderful. There’s just something about hearing Super Mario from a full orchestra. And it was intriguing to me that the games I’ve never played (*cough*Oblivion*cough*) meant so little to me, even though the music was beautiful. As I pointed out to my Spouse Creature on the way back to the car, it was like watching Peter and the Wolf all over again – each instrument or instrument type tended to represent certain things. High-tech things like robots and spaceships? Kettle drums and Tubas. Wild animals? Flute. Green, verdant scenery? Strings. And so on.

Super Mario Theme – Play Symphony

Sunday, we had breakfast together and then I packed up to leave. I drove down to Medford for the Oregon Nonprofit Leaders’ Conference. To listen to, I picked up an audiobook copy of “Rapt”, by Winifred Gallagher, about the ways in which we pay attention (or don’t) and what it means for our quality of life. Really, really recommend this book – it’s a good summary of research in the area. Not much in the way of how-to ideas or fixes, except for a comment in chapter 5(?) that Buddhist monks who meditate regularly show wildly different MRI scans and tend to be significantly more well than the average, untrained Joe. Reminds me that I do feel better when I meditate regularly, so I”ll have to look at scheduling that in somehow.

Book
Review: ‘Rapt’ by Winifred Gallagher – washingtonpost.com

Spending
an hour doing just one thing — such as reading a book or practicing a
musical instrument — may soon be the equivalent of wearing spats. This
would probably be a bad thing. As Gallagher puts it, if you grow up
processing information at a superficial level, “when you’re finally
forced to confront intellectually demanding situations in high school or
college, you may find that you’ve traded depth of knowledge for breadth
and stunted your capacity for serious thought.”

The conference was good, I met lots of people that I’ve spoken to on the phone who do a lot of good work down in Southern Oregon. I gave a short talk on where to begin and technology planning, and even if all anyone got out of it was to evaluate new technological tools like blogs, facebook, laptops, web-enabled phones, etc etc etc, in terms of whether or not the tools will meet their goals, I’ve succeeded. I got several compliments afterwards, which made me feel a whole lot better, and then I sat in as an assistant on the social media talk afterwards before I left. They hardly needed any help, though, so I settled for tweeting main points from the talk.

I found the “Walk It Out” disk I was looking for in the mall in Medford, and  more audiobook on the way home, (still interesting!). Chapter 6 was all about how we say that our families and our home life are Ever So Important, and then we barely make any effort to Be Here Now when we’re home and spending time with these very important people. Gave me some food for thought. Got to give my new game a try (Phew! Fast stepping) before bed.

In February of 2008, the combined Casper-Lochridge clan (all 6 of us) travelled to The Mayan Riveria for a week of ruins, sand, and exotic animals.
Photographs by Franz and Poppy Lochridge

Music by Nyghtowll Music

Spencer Park is a vast, forested park in the centre of Vancouver, within which the aquarium stands. After several wrong turns, we managed to locate the parking lot for the aquarium – 20 minutes after opening time – and drove. And drove. And finally found a place to store the car while we were inside. We lugged ourselves out and paid our admission fees to enter.

I’ve always been impressed by the Vancouver aquarium. When we stepped outdoors to look at the larger exhibits, they were just finishing up the dolphin show. The aquarium was busy, but not crowded, and the animals were delightful. The dolphins danced in the water, then swam off with defeated huffs, as if to complain about the lack of audience. The belugas showed us their headstand prowess – I’m sure there’s something evolutionary about the ability to “stand” vertically in the water, placing their tail above. Simulating trees, perhaps, for the benefit of half-blind whalers. The sea otters were a busy exhibit, as they rolled and played and generally harassed each other. And the sea lion and the pair of seals that occupied the same exhibit seemed to have no concern for the two-legged ape-like creatures watching them.

Seeing all of the exhibits took a couple of hours, and we considered whether to stay and try to get a seat for the next dolphin show. The dolphin pool was fairly busy already, though, with all of the people trying to get a good seat for the show, and we were getting hungry. We opted to leave, explore the rest of the park, and perhaps get some lunch.

We found a lovely place for lunch on the other side of the park. It being noon on a Sunday, they were still serving items off of the brunch menu, from which I ordered corned beef hash and eggs so good, if I’d had room, I would have ordered another. After we ate, we rolled our stuffed selves over to a park bench to sit and watch the bay. After a bit, we thought we’d go over and take a look at the totem poles standing at the head of the park.

We awoke on day two in a single story house outside just of Seattle. We got up, showered and dressed, and helped my uncle make breakfast. As we finished eating, my aunt rose and joined us. We took a quick morning trip to a nearby park which they like for bird watching. Most of the birds had already left for the day – we saw some scattered (what were those little yellow birds again? Golden somethings?), a few ducks, a hunting osprey, and a very still heron. We had a great time with it, but had to head on our way.

Following the highway north was a breeze. We turned the audio cd back on when we’d passed the bulk of the Seattle area, and passed through Everett and Bellingham lost to the words. We hit the border with no trouble, and probably should have realized that something was up.

Luckily, we had received our passports a week before the trip – a full 6 weeks earlier than expected. We handed them over dutifully at the border, answered some basic questions about our marital status, intentions in Canada, and occupations. The businesslike lady at the booth, who clearly became a border guard after a stint in some airline at the check-in counter, directed us to pull across the border, turn to the left, park, and speak with someone in immigrations.

We did as directed. A burly man took our passports, asked us the whole barrage of questions again, and told us to sit down in the row of 5 seats which comprised the waiting area for immigrations. He left the counter, returned in a few minutes, handed us our passports, and told us to be on our way.

We did. With a mere stop at the information center just inside the border to look for an the ATM they claimed to have (a cruel hoax) and to exchange the cash that hadn’t yet burned holes in our pockets, we were on our way. The trip to Vancouver was short as we tried to work out just how many kilometres are in a mile and other such oddities.

And then we reached Vancouver. I must break in here to note that the last time I visited this region, I was 15, and certainly not tasked with navigation or any other vital role. My role was merely to sit in the front, eread my book, growl a bit about the embarrassment of being on VACATION with my PARENTS, and harangue my brother.

So when I proposed going to Vancouver, it was with the Impression that this was a city about the size of Portland. As I navigate Portland with minimal trouble the three times a year that I choose to do so, I expected very little trouble in Vancouver.

My expectations were completely and thoroughly dashed. The route which we had mapped through Vancouver to our hotel was not, as it appeared on the map, a limited-access freeway, but rather a highway which wound through city streets. After sitting in endless traffic in downtown Vancouver and getting detoured down some other street entirely to avoid a crane standing in the middle of the street holding up part of a building, we finally made it to Lionsgate Bridge. And found yet more traffic. Bridge traffic, at least, was navigable. No-one tried to walk out in front of the car, no one tried to cut into the lane in ¾ of an inch – it simply moved very slowly across the bridge. We finally made it to our hotel, checked in, and sat down with a huge sigh of relief.

EDIT TO ADD:
A couple of hours later, after resting up and reviewing our dining options for the evening, a matter which required no less than three phone books and two maps, we headed out for our first stop: the Van Dusen Gardens in downtown Vancouver. Armed with directions from the web site and a local city map, we navigated through evening traffic – an hour long process – and arrived at the garden gate. A lone sign swung from the gate: CLOSED. Stuck next to it on a sheet of paper was a notice indicating that the gardens were temporarily closed due to labor negotiations.

I gnashed my teeth, rent my garments, and pulled my hair, but no management of any level mysteriously appeared to harangue for neglecting to update the website with a notice regarding the situation. I left a note in the suggestion box suggesting that perhaps updating the website with future unexpected closings would prevent other visitors from navigating the hour long hurdle that is Vancouver traffic in vain. It dawned on me later that perhaps the webmaster was among the striking workers, and with this kind of management, who can blame them?

On the zig zag path we had been forced to take to avoid various road construction, we had passed the Elizabeth Gardens, where they have a lovely conservatory of exotic flowers. Or so I’m told; sadly, the same combination of sign and notice dangled from a much busier glass door on the conservatory. Some harried worker had crossed out the words “labor dispute” on the notice and replaced them with “management intransigence”, which indicates, I suppose, that the gardens will not be open to the public in the immediate future.

The rest of the Elizabeth Garden was pleasant, we had a quiet little stroll and took some portraits of each other in the gardens. I headed down to a nice shady little spot, arriving just seconds before an entire wedding party looking for a place for formal portraits. The bride’s mother wore a beautiful turquoise traditional kimono while her father and the rest of the group wore traditional Western garb – tuxedos, a long white gown for the bride, etc. We stepped back to let them have the area, and continued our saunter around the grounds.

When we left, we were much calmer of mind and less likely to be unnerved by the unexpected closure of two of the places we had looked forward to seeing in Canada. We drove to a pleasant waterfront restaurant – which I had previously jotted down directions to – for dinner. The neighborhood looked a bit off – the blocks surrounding the restaurant were dark and filled with looming warehouses – but the restaurant was quite classy and the food quite good.

A short drive back to our hotel and an exhausted end to Day #2.

We made a couple of foolish stops on the way – a stop at the electronics store to look at laptop mice, a stop at the furniture mecca to buy the pillows which we had intended to pack, but alas, had quite forgotten. We had actually, once we realized we’d forgotten the pillows (which, thankfully, was before arriving at our campsite and attempting to sleep), intended to stop at the department store at which Mr. Photo’s sister-in-law works, but sadly, about two exits too far down the freeway, we realized we had, in fact, gone too far.

For our trip, we took my brother’s advice, and invested some cds into audiobooks. Thus, the entire way north, we have been listening to the pleasant timbre of Douglas Adams’ voice telling us the slightly sad, but all too amusing, tale of Dirk Gently and the Long Lost Tea-time of the Soul.

After leaving the brand new Ikea in Portland clutching our pillows at 3 PM, we realized that making it to Seattle on schedule was going to be a bit challenging. My aunt and uncle were expecting us, and likely by 6 PM. Still, we made a valiant attempt at challenging traffic, which, on the whole, was not the misery we had expected. There was the usual slow-down, shifted about 20 miles south for reasons only the gods might understand. It seems that ordinary Washington motorists feel leery about travelling past both the Army and the Air Force bases at anything faster than the racing pace of a snail, which is to say that traffic moved at approximately 20 miles per hour past those regions, only to pick up speed once we made it into Tacoma.

We stopped in Tacoma to fill the tank and trade off driving – I am the better navigator, and so needed to provide direction for our trip as something other than “Oh, I think we wanted that exit back there.” We did arrive at our destination at 7 PM, just in time for dinner, and spent some hours with my aunt, uncle, and cousin – and his fiance and their daughter, who is a toddler, just coming out of her shy phase and starting to warm up to actual people rather than plastic toys. All in all, a pleasant evening and much fun to prepare us for the next day.

I haven’t written to you much because life has become quite busy
these last weeks of summer.

I’ve been finishing up a couple of
projects at work, and just when I think I’ve got them done,
another thing pops up. It’s a little bit like trying to fit an
octopus into a shoebox – sure, it will go, as soon as you get all
of the arms in the box.

Still finding it hard to adjust to being so independent. That’s
kind of a sad thing, really, that I’m so used to someone telling
me what to do that it’s hard finding things to do on my own.

I not only entered three images in the fair again this year (as I
have for the past couple of years), I also arranged to be at “Shoot
the Fair” night with EPS, and volunteered to staff the photo
exhibit and answer questions about the club. Two of my three
pictures won “Honorable Mention” in their category – there was some
strong competition – and one of those two also received a special
award which I have yet to use.

And then there’s the fun stuff – I’ve been learning portrait
photography, and have found that I’m fairly good at it. That’s a
lovely thing, and with a little bit of practice, maybe I can start
taking people up on it when they suggest that their
third-cousin-once-removed needs engagement shots. It’s a bit of a
surprise when I try a shot or a pose that seems interesting, and
the group I’m with – all photographers at least as experienced as
I am – all tell me how creative that is. I’m working up a
portfolio/gallery of images to go here soon – perhaps with the long
weekend coming up, I might be able to find some time to work on it
then. I’m still thinking about pricing – whether to offer a per
hour price or a per-image price that covers the time. Or a
combination, which might make the most sense.

We had our last practice session last night, with the daughters of
another club member as our models. They were great to work with,
and we got some great images. However, on our way back to the car,
I must have smiled wrong or something, because out of nowhere comes
this pissed off yellow jacket, who landed on my nose, held on for
dear life (causing a fair amount of pain, I might add), allowed
itself to be chased to my hair, and finally left. Thankfully, the
quick intervention of some ice and some anti-histimines seems to
have prevented my nose from swelling up like a clown. I think I
begin to understand what the late Douglas Adams was trying to
express with the hunting of Arthur by whatever it was that had been
the bowl of geraniums. I’m forced to believe that this wasp had
been a bowl of geraniums in a former life, and was convinced that I
was responsible for its demise via whale. Or something like that.
Perhaps my nose offended it. Who knows?

It started out well – aside from not sleeping until 4 hours before I needed to be up. I made it there right on time, we had a good-sized group of people (at 5:15 in the morning, more than 3 people is a good-sized group), and my boots actually fit reasonably well over my jeans. Oh, and the jacket that I dug out of the closet – the Mister’s old camoflauge uniform jacket – fit me perfectly, and I looked almost like I knew what I was doing trying to stalk animals.

And then there was the boring section. Once there, everyone more or less split up. The dragonflies which we had hoped to find hadn’t arrived. The only wildlife I saw was a fabulous red-winged blackbird – who flew away as soon as I moved the camera.

One loop back around the pond, and I started wondering if everyone had left already. Caught up with a couple of folks just as Sondra was shooting a wee little newt, who seemed to like the attention and held still while we fussed with her tripod to get the camera almost up the little guy’s nose. And then we spent some time hiding in the tall grasses while watching a full day-care equivalent of geese – some of the goslings nearly had their full markings. And the younger goslings found that the grass was taller than they were, and made some sort of hopping motion trying to reach the grass tips.

What I did get, however, was a chance to be proud of my ability and willingness to get the shot. We fairly casually met up with some of the other folks from EPS, who had been chatting over email about trying to get some shots at the festival. When the bagpipes started, off I went (lickety-split, as Burgess would have written) to see what was up. And found myself almost perfectly positioned to catch the beginnings of the [human] parade going from one end of the festival to the other. When the line approached me, I managed for the second time every to actually run still encumbered with camera and bag. And snapped off some more shots, eventually grabbing a tolerable shot of the young anthem singer at her microphone.

We’ve been talking about more field trips and group events – the festival was just a quickie little idea that someone threw out there just for a place to go that didn’t require too much investment (with gas prices what they are, who wants to drive 40-60 miles with a risk of getting rained out??) It turned out pretty darn good, all things considered. We had fun, no-one expected award-winning photos, so no-one was disappointed, AND I finally found out why the only Scottish clan I can even half-heartedly claim is so reviled. (I’ve gone 4 generations back on that branch of the family tree, and still haven’t found my Campbell emigrant, so who knows how far from the clan I really am?) And I managed to get my grandmother a lovely tartan scarf for the next gift-giving occasion.

A group of Pagans in Albemarle County, Va., was recently given permission to advertise their multi-cultural holiday program to public school children – and they have the Rev. Jerry Falwell to thank for it

Evidently, one of the parent’s in the district lobbied (with the help of Falwell’s legal group, Liberty Counsel) to allow religious fliers to be distributed to students.

And the local Unitarian church, not wanting to be left out, followed suit with a flier advertisting a seminar on Winter Holiday Traditions followed by a pagan Yule ritual.

Suddenly, parents start wondering if allowing religious materials to be distributed at school was really that good of an idea……

Vacation Notes Below the Cut:

It’s been an unusual vacation week…. often, when I have time to spare, I renovate and update my website, add more pictures, at least dust off the cobwebs. This last week, I spent more time resting even away from the computer than I expected. Overall, it’s been good. I lost another 2.5 pounds during the week – not without a struggle as I spent the first few days out of the house for long stretches at a time, which meant eating out more than usual. And on Thursday – the 4-year anniversary of the day Kyrie and I met, we packed up for a special little day-trip together.

So, to recap: I’m rested. I accomplished all of my holiday shopping in the first half of the week. I cooked dinner on Sunday night for 6 people – us, my parents, and my brother and his wife. I managed to wrap all of the gifts. I listened to holiday music, which I wasn’t too over-stressed to enjoy. I baked cookies. I exercised – Wed-Friday, I walked 3 miles in the morning with my mother. In so doing, I discovered that my ankle/peroneal muscle/tendon group has healed enough that, provided I stretch properly first, I can walk a 20 minute mile for the first time in over 10 years. And I’ve spent the last couple of days basking in the best company my family has to offer.

Oh, and I found a copy of the Lost Skeleton of Cadavra just sitting, alone and lonely, on a shelf at Frys

This is the song, of course, that the “other” RHPS cast in Boston used to perform as a pre-show. And it made me realize something aside from distracting me from my overwhelming dislike and desire to shove prickly cactuses up the sphincters of several managers: I miss doing pre-shows.

See, pre-shows are the only place you can really get creative with something like Rocky. You don’t get much leeway (although we took every inch of leeway we could get!) with the movie itself – it’s all pretty much scripted out already. But pre-shows, on the other hand, were entertaining. We started with a piece of music, a song from the radio, and built on it, casting people in roles that occasionally made sense (I still remember the night I had to go from “scary goth chick” in the first song straight to “restrictive momma” in the second with no time for a costume/make-up change). For songs that didn’t have a strong plot, we added one; for those that did, we built on it to add character to the roles. It was creative; it was teamwork; it was fun. Probably the most fun we ever had with half of our clothes on :p