remembering

In honor of Grandma Cox

Alzheimer's Diagnosis

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Thanks, Dreama, for tweeting/blogging about this.

trifecta

If you're still catching up, click here to see Episode One. Click here to see Episode Two. And now, for your viewing pleasure and general enlightenment, I give you Episode Three.



Joy Nash rocks.

bob explains poetry

“It is absurd to think that the only way to tell if a poem is lasting is to wait and see if it lasts. The right reader of a good poem can tell the moment it strikes him that he has taken an immortal wound -- that he will never get over it. That is to say, permanence in poetry, as in love, is perceived instantly. It hasn’t to await the test of time. The proof of a poem is not that we have never forgotten it, but we knew at sight we never could forget it."

- Robert Frost

numbing

You know how some people drink to ease the pain? Here's my drug of choice tonight.

“Variations on a Fragment by Trumbull Stickney”
by John Hollander

I hear a river thro’ the valley wander
Whose water runs, the song alone remaining.
A rainbow stands and summer passes under,

Flowing like silence in the light of wonder.
In the near distances it is still raining
Where now the valley fills again with thunder,

Where now the river in her wide meander,
Losing at each loop what she had been gaining,
Moves into what one might as well call yonder.

The way of the dark water is to ponder
The way the light sings as of something waning.
The far-off waterfall can sound asunder.

Stillness of distances, as if in blunder,
Tumbling over the rim of all explaining.
Water proves nothing, but can only maunder.

Shadows show nothing, but can only launder
The lovely land that sunset had been staining,
Long fields of which the falling light grows fonder.

Here summer stands while all its songs pass under,
A riverbank still time runs by, remaining.
I will remember rainbows as I wander.

Like when your blood is drawn at the doctor's office, and the technician encourages you to look at the picture across the room and tells you a story about a lovely boat trip so you don't focus on the sharpened steel piercing your skin, puncturing your vein, and sucking out your life force. The pain is still there, but the distraction makes it less noticeable.

I've loved this poem for years. Its complexity catches me up for long hours. It's easy to get lost in it. Just what I need.

new restaurant

The new Agave Mexican Bistro just opened in town last weekend, so Ted took me there for dinner tonight. It is safe to say that this was the highest end Mexican restaurant we've ever patronized. Maybe it's the introduction of the word "Bistro" as opposed to "Roadhouse," "Restaurante," (or just plain "Restaurant"), or "Bell."

Renovation of the classic building is stunning. Every detail is beautiful, and the layout covers numerous turns and nooks on two floors. There's a section with huge windows that open for a near-sidewalk cafe feel, though without the bugs (thanks to screens). There's a waterfall on the back wall of the upstairs bar. There's a fireplace in the back on the first floor. There's huge leather seats, wrought iron light fixtures, deep wooden window sills, and a universally friendly staff.

And then there's the food.

We started with the Queso Fundido, which is a fondue-like dish of cheese and ground chorizo sausage served in a hot stone bowl with flour tortillas. The concoction bubbled until we ate the last bit of it. Wow.

Then I had the Carne Asada Burrito. Though this is a fairly common dish available even at places that aren't called "Bistro," I'd never had one before. It was grilled steak in a flour tortilla with the usual burrito trappings (re-fried beans, lettuce, tomato, cheese, and onions), served with a drizzle of sour cream on top and delicious salsa verde. There was also rice with more beans on the side. Heavenly. And easily two meals. I was assured by our eager waiter, Josh, that it reheats well. It came home with us and will be my lunch tomorrow.

Ted enjoyed a combination called Tres Compadres, which was a mix of grilled steak, chicken, and shrimp with sauteed veggies, rice, and avocado. Although he's currently unavailable to tell me his assessment of the meal, I'll go out on a limb and say he enjoyed it. I base my assumption on two factors. First, he didn't offer me a single bite. Very unusual. And second, the only thing left of the plate when he was done was the avocado (he doesn't like it, but I do so it went into the doggie bag with my leftovers).

We each had margaritas -- he a traditional lime one, me a new-fangled orange one.

OK.

I had two.

But it was so good.

We also happened to notice some nearby patrons being served fresh guacamole. And I mean fresh. The waiter was combining the ingredients at the table and mixing them with a mortar and pestle!

All around, a rave review from us. A tad on the expensive side. About $100 for the two of us. But the three drinks alone were about $30, I'm getting a third meal out of it, and we left a 20%+ tip. (Do you think I've justified it enough to go again?)

Afterwards, we waddled walked around town a bit, past Strawbery Banke and into Prescott Park. Somehow, we found a garden we hadn't managed to walk through in previous jaunts. It was just wonderful. Three fountains, low craggy trees, a modest picket fence, benches, and flowers everywhere. The entrance was graced by one of the biggest Rhodies I've seen since Rhododendron Glen at the Arboretum in Seattle. We sat on the brick edge of the center fountain, and I dangled my feet in the cool water. We waddled wandered back to our car and headed home.

circles

A virtual friend of mine tweets that the song "Poison" by Bell Biv DeVoe has commandeered his consciousness, and it sets about this weird cascade of music stuff for me.

Step 1: The songs instantly wows to life in my head, and there it's been ever since.

Step 2: I add it to my "Video of the Day" widget on my blog.

Step 3: I chuckle that the title of the video I'm replacing is "I Don't Feel So Well" (which would make sense if one were poisoned).

Step 4: I remember that the Muzak at our store has been repeatedly playing "Mr. Telephone Man" over the last couple weeks (and it's as stupid and insidious now as it was in 1984).

Step 5: When I want to ensure that "insidious" is precisely the word I want to use, the online definition gives me, "a subtle poison."

Step 6: The song in my head gets louder.

Thanks, Paul! That was actually kinda' fun.

who needs to fly 6000 miles?

UPDATE: MSNBC reviews this product

Originally posted 2/21/2008

what not to do on a hot day

(Oh well.)

what to do on a hot day

mmm... warm

superheroes and caponiers

It has been a lovely weekend, though weekends are a construct for which I currently have no reference point (i.e. I'm unemployed). Interestingly, despite having worked a minimum of seven hours on each of the last two days, Ted still feels like he's had a "good weekend." That speaks to the quality of leisure activities, I guess, when they effectively make a full-time workday disappear.

Saturday, we went to the open house of a home for sale in Dover. We don't particularly want to live in Dover and we're not currently in a position to buy anything (see above mention of unemployment), but still, we look. This one in particular was interesting because it's listed at a price where smaller houses in Portsmouth are just starting to come down to. But because it's in Dover, it's a larger house with a number of desirable features that aren't typically found in Portsmouth for this price range.

That said, if we're going to consider Dover, I would far prefer this house for a mere $25,000 more because it's brand new, way prettier, with a 2-car garage, and geothermal heating/cooling. All moot points: we're not buying today.

So, we walked through the 60-year old house, and it was nice. It's easy to point out the things we liked (huge mudroom, first floor laundry room, great porch, quiet neighborhood), and the things we didn't like (weirdly sloped plot with driveway at bottom of hill and uneven granite steps up to house, narrow stairs both up to second floor and down to basement, original kitchen cabinets). Even though we're not seriously considering this house, this process helps us create the list of things we really want and -- as importantly -- don't want in our future home.

We then went to a movie. Desperately trying to make amends for my last movie choice (the only- marginally- funny- in- spots- and- disappointing- for- the- Judd- Apatow- machine "Forgetting Sarah Marshall," which Ted now describes as two hours of his life he'll never get back), I picked "Iron Man," which I've been eager to see since first hearing about it a year ago. Luckily, I redeemed myself. We both loved it. I seriously super loved it. I'm already thinking about going back to the theater to see it again, which I do rarely (I'm more inclined to overwatch a movie once it's in my possession, rather than repeatedly going to the theater).

I would like to restate for the record that I think Robert Downey, Jr. is truly a great actor. And I'm thrilled to pieces that he's the lead in a blockbuster movie, which will not only give him the opportunity for at least one I.M. sequel, but also the opportunity for more of any movie he wants.

After the movie, we went across the parking lot to Longhorn for dinner. Despite the fact that we've lived here now for what is approaching one year, we had yet to try this restaurant. It was quite good. I had warm bread with a crisp crust, tangy Caesar salad, and the Big Sky Bleu Filet (steak with melted bleu cheese and red-wine glazed portabella mushrooms). Mmmmm, yummy.

After dinner, we returned home and caught up on a couple episodes of Eureka's second season -- in eager anticipation of Season 3 starting July 29th.

Sunday's docket was slightly different but equally fun and interesting. After his stint at the store, we went to our favorite cafe for brunch (brunch = an excuse to eat breakfast at 1:00 o'clock in the afternoon). I had their always reliable sweet pea omelet, and Ted had the French toast. Then we decided to chart a course to York, Maine. Now, we've been to York a number of times and can easily get there and back without benefit of any sort of map. The difference this time is that we wanted to write specific directions with landmarks that we can hand out to customers who ask how to get there. OK, it was an excuse to wander around a beautiful seacoast town in Maine on a Sunday afternoon. We squeezed through the streets of Short Sands before heading over to Long Sands, eventually wending our way back down Route 1A.

Once back into Kittery, on a whim, we went into to Fort McClary, which was incredible. Even without the fascinating military history, it's a huge spread of grassiness on a rocky cliff overlooking the ocean. On an incredible sunny day with that ocean breeze, it was easy to imagine setting up camp and hanging out for a whole day. In fact, we saw several families who appeared to have done just that with folding chairs, beach toys, and picnic baskets. One couple brought along their pet billy goat. I overheard them telling one group of curious onlookers that he's a great pet and has never chased the mailman. Later, we found the three of them resting on the grass -- the billy goat on his own blanket.

We stopped for dipped cones at Dairy Queen then headed back home, where we did a little more Eureka catch-up and had red grapes and rice crackers for dinner (hearty brunch, ice cream... we weren't in the mood for a full meal). We turned on the ceiling fan to create our own summer breeze, and watched the cats alternately chasing sleep and each other. All in all, a lovely weekend. Did I say that already? Bears repeating.

Before I sign off at this ridiculously late hour, I found these two funny YouTube videos while searching for "Iron Man" stuff online. Rated PG, but funny. Enjoy.

#1


#2

eleventh hour

In the past, I've blogged extensively about American Idol. Just last week, I mentioned that I'd avoided discussing the show at all this season (in this blog, that is) or even casting a single vote -- despite having watched every single episode and definitely having opinions on the contestants.

So, if I tell you today that two months ago I predicted a top two consisting of David Archuleta and David Cook, you could go, "oh yeah, sure you did, Kelly," because I have no concrete, public evidence to back it up. You'll just have to trust me.

We generally watch the show one day late, courtesy of TiVo and a bizarre life schedule. This is half the reason I didn't vote this year: I was always too late. Given how hard it was to avoid next day spoilers throughout the season, I thought it best to watch the final results show on the night of the actual finale (i.e. tonight).

Ted and I watched Tuesday's show first. We had a discussion as to who we thought would win and who we hoped would win. Again, I have no proof to back this up, but we generally agreed that Mr. Cook would likely win for two reasons, one valid and one a bit stupid. Before explaining those two reasons, it must first be said that they are based on the premise that both Davids are talented and equally deserving of a win even though their styles differ significantly.

• Reason #1: Because 25-year-old Mr. Cook shows more confidence, polish, and willingness to take risks (that usually succeed) in his performances than young Mr. Archuleta.
  
  
• Reason #2: Because Chris Daughtry didn't win in Season 5. Seriously. Like the Academy Awards giving an Oscar to a great director for a mediocre movie: because they failed to appropriately acknowledge a superior achievement the first time around. Get it?

Anyway, we watched the show and, although David A. certainly brought his game and was, as Randy Jackson says, "in it to win it," our opinion that David C. would win remained intact.

So, Ted heads off to bed (you know, up before the freakin' crack of dawn), and I install Firefox* on my computer and poke around for a bit. I decide around 9:30pm to start watching the results show (using the TV Ears so as not to disturb my sleeping husband). This will allow me to fast forward through all the commercials (although I did manage to catch the Guitar Hero one with D.A. in it).

I watch nearly all of the show, fast forwarding only through one or two bits I couldn't quite tolerate. I wonder how Syesha gets to be so lucky as to sing with Seal. I feel for Amanda who looks hacked off to be singing Donna Summer songs and stepping along to cheesy choreography. I puzzle over the presence of ZZ Top, even though David Cook completely pulls off "Sharp Dressed Man." I stare intently at Bryan Adams, examining the rugged terrain of his face. I'm impressed by Carrie Underwood's stage presence and fabulous outfit.

The end nears, and the Top 12 are group-singing "Faith" -- a catchy pop song of the highest order from my neck of the woods (i.e. the 80s). As soon as they segue into "Father Figure," a grin of anticipation takes over my face as the apparently slow realization dawns on me that George Michael is going to show up any minute now. Say what you will about tabloid scandals and professional absences, outsized talent such as his more than compensates for personal peccadilloes (this is true for other entertainers I admire like Robert Downey, Jr., who also appeared on the show).

George descends the stage stairs and sings "Praying For Time." Aside from a case of the sniffles and sunglasses that should only be found on the face of a 70-year old woman, I found his performance riveting. Entrenched in nearly two hours of fanfare and this last number, I find myself eagerly thrust into the final results!

The official Official hands Ryan an envelope. There is visible anxiety and talk of nearly a hundred million votes. He opens the envelope, and says...

"The winner of American Idol 2008 is..."

Dramatic pause.

"David..."

Dramatic pause.

DING!

The recording is over, and TiVo wants to know if it should delete the show. In the span of a mere moment, I process the following facts:

• TiVo sometimes misses the end of a show because it's run longer than scheduled. This is not an uncommon occurrence.
  
• I specifically made it a point to watch this show tonight so I would know who won.
  
• If the two finalists didn't have the same first name, and if Mr. Seacrest didn't have a flair for dramatic pauses, I might have actually known who won without seeing the end of the show.

Data entered and processed, I start laughing hysterically. Uncontrollably, actually. I try to be quiet so as not to awaken Ted. I fail. After muttering through the fog of sleep, asking what happened, he too begins to laugh at the situation. This only encourages me more. I laugh harder. And louder. And tears start to fall as my sides literally start to hurt. This went on for ten minutes. I couldn't stop. After all that effort, and I still didn't know who won!

Reason enough to blog. Now, I've spent far too much time here, digging up links and graphics, and fighting with Firefox. It crashed once while mid-Blogger. Hopefully it's not indicative of the type of behavior I'll get from it. If so, I'll hitch a ride back to the IE Express.

Time to go to bed. Argh. 1:50am! Good night. And congratulations, David Cook. ROTFLMAO

* To my reader(s) viewing this site on Firefox, my apologies. I had no idea that some of the graphics are blocky and overlapping in spots. Believe me when I say it always looked fine in IE, or I would have changed it to look fine. Now, if I continue using Firefox, I'll have to check both places, and hope that I'm capable of fixing it!