October Snow

I think snow in October is a big deal. So when I got up this morning and saw white covering the ground, I did what any normal person would do: I went for a walk and took pictures. Funny, I hardly saw anyone out on the street. I don't know why.

The town looked quite pretty all in white, and I didn't even feel that cold. Granted, I was wearing two sweaters, a fleece and my ski jacket, but I only had on two pairs of non-wool socks and one pair of gloves. For once, the wind had stopped blowing, and the large flakes were drifting peacefully down from the grey sky. I enjoyed walking around the university in the quiet morning.



At first I thought that the blanket of snow made the T.Rex less frightening but then I wondered if he was just patiently waiting in his camoflauge for an unsuspecting person to walk by. I kept my eye on him, and he generously let me pass.


The contrast of the snow with the autumn yellows and reds really worked. Mother nature did a bang up job on this one.


Once the snow turned into a cold rain, I decided it was a good day to carve a pumpkin, drink a latte and eat chocolate-pumpkin bread. Mmmm. I chose to make a cat-o-lantern, because I just don't have enough cat-related stuff in my house.

The project took more time than I expected. I guess I am just a nerdy perfectionist, but I also have very little experience with knives. Those knife-throwing lessons just never took. It felt good to use my artistic abilities in a October-appropriate way, since the weather seemed more January-ish.

My cats were neither impressed nor scared.

May a Bird of Paradise Fly Up Your Nose

Okay, they may not be birds of paradise exactly--we got some sleet the other night which doesn't quite call up images of Eden--but you have to admit that this part of the world is very pretty.

Incidentally, I don't know the origin of that title. My Dad used to sing it when I was little. The next line went "May an elephant caress you with his toes", which I always found rather funny. I don't know the rest of the song, but I imagine it only gets sillier.

So far, no elephants have emerged from the wilderness and no birds have attacked me, which I take as a sign of good fortune. I decided to give thanks for my unpecked cranium by painting the portraits of some of the birds who have recently allowed me to see them.

All of these types of birds are apparently named after people, probably the devoted birdwatchers that identified their species. The brilliant blue, crested Steller's Jay does look quite stellar, so that name fits rather nicely.

These guys are crafty and naughty; they will steal food and chase other birds, and I wouldn't put it past one to try to fly up your nose if he thought it would do him some good. I like them.

The Clark's Nutcracker is a bit more dull, both in name and coloring, but the repeated letters of the name do work on a visual level (I am a fan of the "K", you remember). These birds are not boring to watch; they are great fliers, often swooping across a mountain trail immediately in front of you. When I visited the Grand Canyon, I saw a huge flock of these sizable birds diving for bugs, and the rustling sound of their quick maneuvers was unforgettable. I was very glad that they were diving for bugs and not my eyeballs, because they were very fast and my eyeballs are very sensitive.

The Wilson's Warbler gets points for alliteration, but these lovely yellow birds deserve better than a name that conjures up images of old men. These birds are extremely tiny--less than five inches tall, compared with thirteen for the jays--and I felt lucky just to see them. I saw them enjoying the berries in the tree in front of my house one day.

I think the name "Kizzik Warblers" would work better because it has both two "K's" and two "Z's" and is a palindrome. It does lose the alliteration, though, which can't be helped. Fizzy Kizzik has a nice ring. Maybe that's what I'll name my next cat.

Wyoming Autumn

I am enjoying the change that autumn has brought to my outdoor wanderings. I had missed having seasons in Florida (unless you count humid and less-humid as seasons), and I'm appreciating this opportunity to see the gradual slip into fall, where colors change leaf by leaf and temperatures creep downwards at night. The Wyoming sunshine has made autumn even more beautiful; the aspens seem to almost glow and the blue sky makes a brilliant backdrop.

Some trees even take it all upon themselves to provide the fall colors in one central location. I had to snap a picture of this obliging tree with green, yellow, orange and red all showing at once.

Hiking gains an extra element of excitement when the weather can turn in minutes from sunny and in the 70s to rain and blustery wind or even to sleet and snow. Soon after taking the photo below of a spectacular lake in Rocky Mountain National Park, the clouds rolled in darkly, the temperature dropped and the rain began to fall. By the time I dug out my rain gear and suited up, I could see blue sky over the mountains. Ten minutes later, the sun emerged to warm the day so much I had to take off not only my rain gear, but my jacket as well. To be prepared for such sudden changes, I sometimes feel like I'm carrying most of my closet in my pack!


My attention to the seasonal changes has led me to understand how quickly winter comes in such high elevations. I experienced my first Wyoming snow in the nearby mountains on September 24th! According to the calendar, that was the first day of fall, so snow was a big surprise. I had to break out my old wardrobe of sweaters and jackets and gloves. On my last alpine hike, I wore four layers! I was quite comfortable, but I wonder how many layers I will end up wearing by February.

No snow has fallen in town so far, though the temperature has dipped below freezing on some nights. The birds have mostly gone, the marmots are hibernating, and the kitties are growing thick coats and begging for fattening treats. According to some long-time residents, winter will arrive before the end of the month, and the kids will be trudging through snow drifts on Halloween.

The sun just went down. I need another sweater. And I wouldn't say no to a cup of tea and a fattening treat.

Llama Inspections

In my job at a vet clinic, I normally deal with cats and dogs. I'll occasionally see ferrets or rabbits or other small pets, and since starting work in Wyoming, I have handled the odd horse or two. Today, however, I got to play the part of Certified Llama Inspector.

Two llamas--both alike in dignity--needed health certificates to travel to a fair. Current on all appropriate vaccinations and not having any health problems, they ended up a low priority in a busy hospital. The doctors were involved with more crucial cases, and the technicians who normally dealt with large animals were out in the field assisting with the neutering of donkeys and the vaccinating of cattle. So I got the job.

Before today, I'd had very limited experience with llamas. I had passed them once or twice in the mountains carrying equipment for lazy picnickers or campers. I had seen them in fields being raised for their wool. I had once even laughed with glee as a llama at the zoo spit on a detested high school classmate.

Don’t chastise me; I’ve never claimed to be very nice. I did help her clean the goo out of her hair, so you can't say that I’m all bad. Granted, it was my fault that the llama got peeved (I was really bored because my Biology field trip was about at the fourth-grade level, so I danced around in front of the llama and sang to it a bit and pointed at it and taunted it-—I didn’t think it would really spit, but I learned a valuable Biology lesson that day after all). I did laugh the whole time we were attempting to remove the foul-smelling gunk from her clothes, but I didn’t just leave her, which was saying a lot because she had always been a nasty, catty girl to me.

As soon as I heard that the llama business was my responsibility today, I was a bit nervous that Karma might be planning to pay me back for my former wickedness. I, therefore, approached the llamas very slowly and respectfully. I became even more cautious and courteous when the young girl who owned the llamas brought the first one up to me saying, “Be careful around his hind end. He doesn’t really like people.”

I crooned reassuringly and scratched a fuzzy llama neck as I checked for eye infections and nasal discharge. Superficially, he looked quite good to my untrained eye. As I moved to check inside the his mouth, he snorted and stomped. Undeterred--after all, I figured that if I got spit on, I cosmically deserved it--I lifted his lip and opened his mouth anyway, which showed pink gums, grass-stained teeth and no ulcers.

“Nice creatures you’ve got here,” was my official, professional opinion, although I knew that that spotted one would have kicked me if I’d given him the chance.

Local Lingo

When I moved to Florida, I couldn’t get over the lizards that seemed to run every which way all over the sidewalks. Exclaiming “Look at that one!” revealed me to be a newcomer more quickly than ignorance of local restaurants and hangouts. I couldn't help it, though. I mean, I even found a gecko in work one time! How crazy!

Laramie has its own animal oddities. In addition to the ubiquitous pronghorn antelope that I giddily point out every time I see them, I've already mentioned the multitude of prairie dogs and other wild creatures that live nearby. I am excited by this wildlife, but I can tell that a native generally finds them merely a nuisance. I try to control my glee, therefore, and pretend that I find them only as exciting as cattle.

Besides local critters, I’ve found that sports teams and their details are one of the most important local peculiarities to master. In Florida, I admit to being perplexed that someone was looking forward to watching “The Bucks”. I’d never heard of a team with a deer mascot, but experience revealed that they were actually supporting “The Bucs” or the Buccaneers, the Tampa Bay football team. I soon learned that all things pirate were sacred in the Tampa area up to and including Gasparilla, the Pirate Parade which was some Mardi Gras kind of thing (I still have no idea why Pirates would throw beads at parade-goers, but I guess it beats walking the plank).

Here in Wyoming “Go Pokes!” hangs from the front of every local business now that school has started. I have deciphered its meaning as “Go Cowboys” or “Go Cowgirls”--the mascots of the University. I guess it’s a positive sign that they support both the male and female teams with the odd "pokes”, a word I don’t think I’ve ever used before. Even more odd, the local paper describes the high school sports teams as the Plainsmen and the Lady Plainsmen. Why wouldn’t the girls’ teams be the Plainswomen? One more of the mysteries of local life.

I’ve recently started a new job, and that always leads to lots of questions. All day long I ask what certain things mean, where items are located and how they want me to do various tasks. In addition to work-related things, though, I often am perplexed about local slang or colloquialisms.

My new manager came up to me one day and said, “Cherry, lime or strawberry?”

“Um, what?” I responded, totally lost.

“SODAS,” she answered as if I was five years old.

“Lime?” I said without conviction.

“Just lime?” she asked, dumfounded.

“Okay,” I said, with no idea what I was agreeing to. A lime soda sounded pretty weird, but maybe they meant Sprite or 7-up or something. About an hour later, giant cups from Sonic had appeared in the back room. They held about a liter of orange or red liquid and everyone was approaching them with obvious enthusiasm.

I pointed to the two different drinks and said, “What are they?”

One woman said, “Oh, the orange is cherry-lime and the red is strawberry-lime. I went ahead and ordered you a cherry-lime.”

I tentatively grabbed an orange drink and took a sip. The flavor wasn’t bad, but I felt like my teeth were going to rot away, it was so sweet. There was no way I could drink that entire giant cupful! I smiled and thanked the boss for his generosity (it was his treat, apparently), but I silently questioned who had ever thought of such a thing.

To cover my confusion, I mentioned that I had never been to a Sonic (which was probably obvious at this point). I thought that it was a fast food burger place and asked if that was indeed true.

“Yeah, but their drinks are better than their food,” was the answer I received (leading me to conclude that I probably wouldn’t be going to Sonic any time soon). “But their Conies are pretty good.”

Of course, I was stumped again. “Conies?”

“Foot-long hot dogs?”

Oh. I wouldn’t have expected Wyoming to have Coney Island hot dogs, but I guess I should have expected anything at this point.

Then they started talking about bow-hunting and changing the choke tubes in their shotguns and I gave it all up as a lost cause.

“Go Pokes!” I said cheerily as I left for the day.

Fall Scenes

Fall has arrived, and I am now back to work full time, but we're not going to talk about that. Instead, I will share the changes I've already seen taking place in the great outdoors. It's only the beginning of September, but the nights have become noticeably more chilly and the air has a bit of that crisp autumn freshness. Weather forecasters are predicting the first snow in the mountains, so snow could come at any time here in Laramie, which sits at an impressive 7200 feet.


The elk and deer are parading their beautiful antlers as breeding season nears. I'd never seen male elk and mule deer near each other before, but these guys seemed to be happily sharing the same meadow. Lucky for them, they found their dinner in Rocky Mountain National Park, for hunting season has arrived as well, and I'm sure their antlers would be of interest to those with guns outside protected wildlife boundaries.
To tell the truth, I'm more than a little wary of hunters. While I understand their necessity for deer population control in a land with too few large predators, I am intimidated by people with guns. I would hate to be target practice for some trigger-happy loon. If hunters all followed the law and held nature in the highest respect, I would be much more at ease, but I find it hard to believe that anti-poaching and "be sure of your target" signs are posted just for one near-sighted old guy.
I also think taxidermy is one of the creepiest ideas around, so I have a lot of problems with trophy hunting. Those eyes may be glass, but they still seem to follow you around with an accusatory stare. I remember seeing pronghorn heads as decorations when I was a kid, and I had no idea that there were any still around. I thought they had shot them all (and they nearly had). Like the bison, grizzlies, wolves, cougars, lynx....
Wow, this blog is taking a depressing turn (see what going back to work does to me)...on to brighter things...

Fall colors are sneaking their way into the green forests. The red, orange and yellow tints are starting quite slowly, but will soon overtake the landscape. I'm looking forward to seeing mountainsides of golden aspens before all the leaves are gone.



And of course I can't resist a few more photos of crazy mushrooms! Look at them! I keep finding ones in cool shapes and colors. The one below looks like a duck bill! No one can say I don't appreciate the little things...


Finally, I had to share this cool snake picture. It won't be long before he will be hidden away for the winter, but he is still enjoying the afternoon sunshine...and the lack of a snake hunting season in the Rockies.

Melvin in Paints

By now he is probably quite plump in preparation for his long winter's hibernation. I guess he would be quite surprised to find himself the subject of a painting (although I think my talents might have already peaked on the pronghorns). Poor Melvin looks more like a groundhog. Mind you, groundhogs can be pretty cute themselves. Have you seen the movie "Groundhog Day"? I find it hilarious, with the notable exception of Andie McDowell who can't act, speaks with a grating accent, and just generally irritates me.
To be fair (to myself, not Andie McDowell), the genus of the groundhog is "marmota", so I shouldn't feel too far off the mark. I guess the biggest difference between the two species is that there's no way a guy like Melvin (or his pals Barney and Mildred) will stick his nose out of his burrow anytime in February. That would just be ridiculous, when the snow isn't going anywhere until June.



I used to see groundhogs sometimes along the Rappahannock in Virginia, and I knew that they were also called woodchucks (as in how much wood could a woodchuck chuck?), but I recently learned that they are also called land beavers and whistlepigs in some parts of the country. I guess we could just lump them all in as ground squirrels and be done with it, but when I think of ground squirrels, I picture the much smaller variety.

Marmots are simple creatures who don't hold with having lots of nicknames. They are only called marmots. These guys are all yellow-bellied marmots. Hoary marmots also live in the U.S., but further north (I've seen them in Montana and Washington State).

By the way, you won't have met Mildred yet, so I've attached her photograph.

Tiptoe Through the Toadstools

Look at these great mountain mushrooms! The recent rains have caused them to spring forth in their poisonous glory with their warning colors of red and orange and their odd little bumps signifying rough times ahead for those foolish enough to bite in.

Not all mushrooms are poisonous, though, as shown by all the nibble marks I found in the less alarmingly-colored ones. I caught a squirrel enjoying his (her? I didn't ask) mushroom feast, and I found pocket gopher teeth marks in another place. I have become determined to hike the woods as a naturalist and wildlife tracker, so I spend a lot of time looking for signs of animals. Evidence of chewing is quite fun to find, not in the least because I can cry out, "Nibbles!". I also look at foot prints and scat (not as gross as it sounds, really). I saw a lynx print once, which was pretty cool.

The white mushrooms in my fridge look tame and boring by comparison. I had a pizza in Boulder on Saturday that had some pretty good mushrooms on it (thanks, old roomie). I also like Portabella mushroom sandwiches.

Curious Sights

I'm taking a break from the job search (yuck, yuck and more yuck) to think happy thoughts. What better way to cheer myself up than to review some of the interesting things I have seen and photographed in the last month or so? I'll try to write about something other than moose...
The National Parks provided some of the most fascinating parts of my summer. Besides my favorite alpine peaks, I've seen an amazing variety of landscapes in very short distances. Yellowstone provided the eerie scene of the first photo, which my sister-in-law described as an image fitting an album cover--probably alternative rock, I would think. 

The second photo is one of many natural arches from Arches National Park. Very hot and desert-like, it was worth braving the elements to hike to some of the more remote areas and see the beautiful power of erosion. 


Even more than the fabulous scenery, wildlife provided lots of viewing entertainment this summer. Never before have I experienced such an enjoyable traffic jam as the one caused by a giant bison in Yellowstone. I had such admiration for the massive beast; he felt like walking in the road, so no pesty cars were going to stop him. 

As he passed by my window, so close that I could have reached out and tugged his beard (goatee? buffalee?), his big, brown eye met mine for a second or two. I was certainly intimidated, and proud of the big guy for doing what he darn well pleased.
The man in the car behind him was filming with his camcorder the entire time. I bet his family is going to love watching his home videos. While seeing the bison in person was definitely an interesting experience, I can't imaging anyone enjoying ten minutes of footage of a buffalo rear end.

Other very fun animals include the fuzzy marmots, who live at or above the treeline in boulder-strewn meadows. They seem full of personality and are often more curious than frightened of passing hikers. This photogenic guy seemed like a grumpy old codger who did not want to have to bother moving off the trail, just because I happened to be coming up it (kind of like the stubborn bison in the end, and I do admire stubborn tenacity). I named him Melvin, because I thought it kind of fit.

Aside from the natural world, I've also seen some unique features in the human landscape. Seattle provided the first Lenin statue I've seen since Moscow, and I found the juxstiposition with the taco shop more than a little humerous. You don't have to even leave Wyoming, however, to find odd monuments. A short distance outside Laramie, a massive Mayan-inspired pyramid towers above the sagebrush, honoring some railroad pioneers (whose family apparently had a lot of money and pride).

I thought it best to capture some of these unique and memorable sights before the snows start to fly and everything just becomes blobs of white.

Maybe the winter won't be that bad, but I'm not taking any chances.

More Moose

I am astonished by the power of my blog. Not only have I been getting crazy comments about my paintings, but the moose have also responded to my emotional outcries. Not two days after seeing the mom and son combo up in the Snowy Range, I went backpacking in Rocky Mountain National Park and saw a young bull moose just off the trail. I now have proof of Colorado moose as well as Wyoming ones.
The last trip of the summer was a good one. Most agreeably, I did not encounter a single person on the trail the first day (excepting my excellent hiking companion). About six miles into the wilderness, I suddenly saw four brown legs on the hillside in front of me. A few steps further revealed a moosey face--staring at me, of course. I don't think it would be easy to sneak up on many woodland creatures.
Our remote campsite perch near a picturesque lake afforded excellent views of the Rocky peaks. After setting up camp, I climbed up above the tree line and discovered a large herd of elk settling in to a sheltered valley for the night. I was too high above them to cause them any alarm.
Though the night brought some scary lightning when protected by only a thin layer of synthentic material, the moon was luminous and the breeze brought the freshest air imaginable. Okay, the ground was cold and my freeze-dried dinner left a lot to be desired, but that only made my next morning's hot chocolate that much more enjoyable. Three mule deer watched us from a meadow as we strode by on the hike out, and the afternoon rain held off until we reached the shelter of the car nine miles or so later. It was a short but lovely last hurrah in a wonderful summer of freedom.
So, as a thank you to the obliging moose, I have attached my most recent moose painting and a photo of my polite forest friend.

Moose Myth Debunked!

Here I've been grousing all summer about the elusive Wyoming moose, and all I had to do to make them appear was to express my anger in writing. Moose used to be all over the place in Alaska, hanging around the house, chewing up trees, waving their antlers in greeting, and I missed seeing their cute, long faces. I kept reading about their presence in Wyoming, but it all seemed like a big legend (oh yeah, Bigfoot and Nessie probably live here, too, right?). So I blogged yesterday that I would refuse to paint them until they revealed themselves.
This morning I decided to go for a short hike in the mountains. The drive took about 45 minutes, during which I saw herds of prongs (and cattle, naturally) and numerous soaring hawks and crows. I looked for moose in moose-probable spots (meadows, marshes), but half-heartedly because I had given up hope of finding any. The hike started out pleasantly, with a hint of fall in the cool breeze. About a mile and a half in, I came across a sheltered meadow with a little stream. As I passed--to my utter surprise--I found a female moose staring at me. After snapping a few photos, I moved up the trail to allow her to get back to her lunch, and what did I see but another moose further up the meadow! This young bull had small nubs of antlers just starting to grow. He must have been a teenager who was still allowed to tag along with mom. He stared at me, too, until I continued up the trail.
Unfortunately for the grazing creatures, the trail crossed the stream and looped back on the other side of the meadow. It probably appeared to them that I was circling in for the kill, when I really just wanted to say hello. I wouldn't have turned down a hug and maybe a tug on a dewlap for luck, but I considering that they might have wanted to trample me in return, I kept my distance. They trotted the other direction and were soon hidden in the woods.
I guess I'd better get my paints out.

Picturesque Paintings of Prongs

I spent my Sunday afternoon painting the above picture, which was both fun and frustrating. I've been seeing lots of wildlife art recently, and I got tired of wondering whether I could possibly paint pretty pictures, too. So I tried some watercolors, because I had some lying around and they seemed a straightforward place to start with no training.

I painted with an old kiddie set of watercolors and some ancient brushes I've been hauling around since elementary school (when I used to actually think I could be an artist). I even dug out my old easel, which my parents bought me for Christmas one year when I kept watching Bob Ross and his happy little trees on PBS. It's amazing that I even held on to all of these old art supplies with all the moving I've been doing, but I guess I always hoped I'd have a chance to play around with them again. (Have I mentioned how great my summer has been?)

I'm going to go ahead and blame the poor paints for my pictures' lack of perfection. After painting these and a few other random animals (like a puma), I decided that I found this hobby interesting enough to go out and buy a small set of proper paints and some watercolor brushes--a profound difference!
I figured that pronghorn antelopes deserved to be my first subject of focus because they are the most unique species near my new home. Pronghorns are actually so unique they have their own genus as well (they are the only animals in existence that shed a branched horn on a yearly basis...). They are also the most willing to be seen when I am in the mood to view wildlife (which is pretty much anytime). My other favorite western animals are moose and mountain goats. I chose not to focus on moose, though, because I am currently angry with them. They refuse to show themselves even though I spend a good amount of time in the wilderness, and I am starting to feel that their presence in Wyoming is merely a myth.
Mountain goat painting will be a huge challenge because of their solid white coats. I may have to paint some that have just rolled in the mud. Otherwise I imagine it will look something like that old joke of a polar bear in a snowstorm.

I decided to post the progress of my painting, since I haven't come up with any exciting blog topics. Please have patience with my pathetic pictures (available for purchase for the proper price...).

I Dream of Jabba

Okay, so I've been slacking on the blog. I've been slacking on just about everything lately, and it feels good. My loyal readers have requested a new posting, however, so I must oblige, however much I'd rather pull up a bowl of chocolate ice cream and reread the entire Harry Potter series.

Okay, so I've already reread the first book. What was I supposed to do? I finished the last installment in two days and, while quite satisfied with the resolution (no spoilers here...my two most loyal blog readers still need to read book 6), I felt a bit deflated to no longer have a new novel to look forward to. I went to the library, desperately searching for a bit of inventive fiction that would draw me in, but no such luck. So, August will probably find me diving once more into the wizard world, savoring Rowling's wonderful detail and searching for hidden clues predicting the ending.

That's not to say that my visit to the library was unfruitful. I have been reading all sorts of fascinating non-fiction, based manly in Biology. I'm in the middle of a book explaining how various wild animals survive the winter. (I'm looking for hints for myself, too, besides wearing three pairs of socks and stocking up on hot chocolate.) I checked out an interesting-looking book on the search for grizzlies in the Colorado Rockies, thinking I might like to join in.

I also recently finished a book on the strange phenomena of the mind which set me on a new path: I've started keeping a dream notebook. I began recording my dreams a few weeks ago, mainly out of curiosity. Writing any memories or images you have in your mind right after you wake up helps you to remember your dreams more clearly so that you can look for patterns and try to figure them out.

So far I've discovered that I dream very vividly almost every night, sometime remembering as many as six or seven different scenes. Occasionally, I will wake up feeling that I didn't really rest because my mind kept me busy all night. Sometimes I can tell exactly what real-life conversation, situation or daily event my dreams are reflecting. Some dreams, for example, have incorporated my recent free time spent reading. I dreamed that one of my sweet little kitties had bitten great big chunks out of the thick cover of my mom's library book. Another time I was in my college music class reading a book about animals when the professor came over and I covered the book and tried to distract him with the bald lie, "I love learning about the lives of composers. It's so interesting."

Often in my dreams I am confused or annoyed. Or both. People get in my way. Heavy doors don't have handles. Former coworkers or strangers try to get me to do their work. Signs or clocks are difficult to decipher. People get my name wrong.

Some dreams have nightmarish qualities of injured or dead pets, scary men, car chases and plane crashes. I try not to remember these dreams too clearly.

Mostly, though, my dreams are weird enough to make me think I'm more than just a little fizzy in the head.

I dreamed I drove my car into a Texas post office (the door was open and somehow wide enough) and the floor was covered in vomit. Piles of it, all over the place. When the postman came back from lunch he didn't seem to notice anything strange, but just said that there was no mail for me.

I dreamed Jabba the Hutt captured me, but I tricked him into being angry at one of his lackeys instead, who he proceeded to gobble in one gulp while I escaped.

I dreamed that people I knew a long, long time ago (but in this galaxy) were running up and down dorm room halls wearing as many Elizabethan collars as they could around their necks and waists. (Not lacy Shakespeare ones, but the stiff plastic cones you put on dogs to keep them from licking their sutures.) They put some on me, too, and I laughed for a minute but then sneakily stashed them in someone else's room.

I dreamed my main man was eating tortilla chips but running each one through a credit card scanner first because he said it made them taste better.

I can't even begin to explain that one.

Three Little Words

Sometimes little incidents are enough to make your day brighter. A card from a friend in the mail nearly always improves my mood. I now have a postman who delivers the mail directly to my front door. I think this is absolutely fantastic. The sound of footsteps followed by the slight squeek of the mailbox door causes me to almost jump out of my seat in excitement. Of course, my enthusiasm is most often squashed by receiving merely a handful of circulars, credit card solicitations and bills, but occasionally, a most welcome letter or a postcard is hidden amidst the junk.

My blog so far sounds like the three little words might be "mail for you!" (I refuse to advertise internet providers or very bad movies by using a slightly different phrase), but they are not. I simply got distracted by the thought of mail. Since today is a holiday and there is no chance of receiving any, I would be wasting my energy anticipating it. I also am not following cliche by having my three little words be "I love you", even though those words are quite nice as well. No, the three little words that are in the forefront of my mind make an average day a bit more cheerful; they make you feel special and happy and lucky.

Free ice cream.

Get this: I have been given free ice cream two days in a row. Chocolate. In a cone. On hot, sunny days. Can you believe it?

Yesterday, I went for a long hike in the Snowy Range, walking almost continuously for seven hours and covering roughly thirteen miles of beautiful land. My peanut butter and jelly sandwich, granola bar and apple, while nourishing and providing ample energy to propel my legs, left me wanting something sweet. I had conveniently noticed a storefront sign in a town I drove through on the way to the mountains that advertised homemade ice cream, so I devised a plan to stop there on the way home. By my rationale, I had earned it due to my hearty exercise.

My father is probably to blame for my sense of entitlement concerning ice cream. He used to offer ice cream rewards for finishing various challenges, and I continue that tradition today, even though now I usually have to pay for my own ice cream.

Yesterday, however, I was given my ice cream cone "on the house" in the words of the shopkeeper, because the power was out at the time and she had no way of getting in the cash register. She could have refused to scoop out the ice cream, or asked before hand if I had exact change, but instead she was kind enough to give me the ice cream free of charge. Of course, now I will be a return customer, which was probably her intention, but she could just have easily said, "sorry, we're closed" instead of being nice.

Today, Independence Day, a celebration was held in a nearby park with music and food and family activities. I read in the paper that the League of Women Voters would have a booth there to register people to vote. As a new resident, I had need of that service, so I decided to walk by. After taking care of my constitutional right, I wandered around, smelling the corny dogs and watching the people until I stopped in my tracks. I had seen a most welcome sign: free ice cream. I stood in the line labelled "chocolate" and was handed a cone by a Mason. Apparently, it was a community service, and it was quite tasty.

I only wonder what tomorrow will bring!

Laramigos

I now have Wyoming license plates, so people are waving to me on the mountain roads instead of staring in disbelief at FLORIDA. I only have a temporary paper license, though, because I have to wait for the official one to come in the mail. I guess Laramie didn't spring for one of those laminated printer machines and decided to let Cheyenne deal with the hassle. How rustic!
I have to say, I can't remember dealing with more pleasant officials. There was no DMV as such; I had to go to a license department, the sheriff's department, the county clerk and the county treasurer, and everyone was smiling and pleasant and friendly. The county clerk even apologized for our "long wait" in line behind three people. The whole process took less than an hour and there was no take-a-number-and-take-a-seat-in-our-creepy,-crowded-waiting-area-with-the-weird-smell. I should know about DMVs; this is my sixth state license in ten years, and the process was never easier.

I think this part of the country is just mostly laid back and relaxed. I walked last night to a free municipal band concert in a local park and people were comfortably hanging around on blankets and lawn chairs, letting their dogs meet and enjoying the fresh air and music. Casual cyclists safely ride their bikes all over town and greet you when they pass by.

Downtown is quaint, but vibrant, with western touches in the architecture and decor. A sign on a marquis says "Welcome, Laramigos". Today I saw a bison on skis outside a sporting good shop and a happy bear welcoming me into a restaurant. Those kinds of touches make me laugh.





There's a difference in lifestyle a mere hour south in Fort Collins, Colorado. It's a town about four times larger than Laramie, so there's much more sprawl, traffic and crowds. Many people there drive with obvious aggression and agitation. I got so flustered I had to stop for a double latte.

Although I enjoy the ease with which I can escape to the mountains, I'm glad I live in a place where I can easily walk to grab a snack, or sit in a well-maintained park, or see a free museum of art or native plants or dinosaur bones. "Big Al" the allosaurus is a pretty fun neighbor and there are some cute cottontails nearby, too. Luckily Big Al is well past his bunny-eating days, but he still lurks in the shadows, hoping.

Wild Wyoming

Gone are the days of traffic jams and look-alike street corners plagued with identical Walgreens and CVS stores. Pronghorn counting and prairie dog dodging have become my new driving entertainment. I have happily traded billboards screaming "We bare all" and "Life begins at conception" for more tasteful signs like "Elevation 2 miles above sea level" and "Now crossing the Continental Divide".

Laramie, Wyoming has very little urban sprawl. Yes, there is a Wal-Mart, but even it has pretty views. Many roads simply end with no more warning than a white and orange wooden barrier indicating that it may be wise to apply the brakes. I'm not sure how excited I am about Outlaw Days, Jamborees and Rodeos, but then, festivals were never my thing to begin with. As long as no one forces me into a cowboy hat or makes me eat "barbeque", I can coexist peacefully with the country themes of local towns.

Laramie is pretty with its unique sandstone university, old west downtown and quiet tree-lined streets, but I find the beauty of Wyoming centered in its wilderness. Sparsely populated, it takes mere minutes to be in the midst of crazy rock formations, mountain lakes or scrubby pastures full of cattle and antelope. Colorado and its mountain vistas in places such as Rocky Mountain National Park are an hour or two away by car. I feel lucky to be so near such magnificent beauty.

I am excited by the variety of wildlife seen from the road and hiking trails. In ten days of exploring I've already seen more deer, elk, antelope and prairie dogs than I can count, not to mention big horn sheep and marmots. Okay, so I've also found mosquitos and ticks trying to attach themselves vampire-like to my skin, but I will put up with a few pests for experiences such as accidentally flushing a baby pronghorn from a brush thicket on a hike. We were both quite startled, but in the end I felt bad for scaring the poor little thing. I apologized, of course, but I'm not sure that made much of a difference. In the end, though, when confronted with nature I always find that politeness counts. I like to thank trees for their help with balancing over snow patches and streams. I regularly pat rocks in gratitude for providing a seat or acting as a step stool. "Please don't eat me Mr. Mountain Lion, good kitty" has also kept me safe thus far.

I am excited to be a Wyomingite. On a recent trip to a Laramie outdoor adventure store for some topo-maps, the clerk asked, "Local or tourist?"

I'm a local!

Better than a Badger

A film version of "The Golden Compass"--the first book in a series that I quite enjoyed--is slated for a December release. I find it fun (but sometimes difficult) to see a movie based on a good book, because the director's vision usually differs quite significantly my own.
Initially, I was a bit perturbed to see that Nicole Kidman had been cast in a leading role. I can't think of any film of hers that I have liked. "Moulin Rouge" was interesting, but that had more to do with the crazy directing style of Baz Luhrmann. Let's see...."Far and Away"? "Eyes Wide Shut"? Nope, I think she worked too much with Tom Cruise, who also hasn't made any good movies. Why are these people so famous?
Anyway, since her character is a silkily charming villian, it will probably work. Daniel Craig seems perfect for the part of Lord Asriel (I'm not a fan of the whole Bond franchise, but I think he made a good 007), and I only hope that the little girl in the starring role can act. A weak, stumbing heroine would ruin the whole thing. In recent years, though, other films in this vein like "Harry Potter" and "Narnia" have managed to exhibit some talented kids and become excellent adaptations of imaginative stories.
I went to the website The Golden Compass Movie to view the trailer, and stumbled upon another version of the "what animal are you?" quiz. All right, this one is supposed to reveal the incarnation of one's soul, a daemon, which takes a friendly animal form. I found this concept to be quite appealing when I read the novel. Who wouldn't want a constant buddy (and a cuddly one at that) with whom to face the world?
Although I don't agree with all the characteristics--I've never considered myself all that competitive--I ended up with a pretty cool animal. And it's a cat, naturally.

My Unsolicited Views

My lovely blog friend Feminist Chick has just returned from a much-deserved holiday in London and Paris. While I am quite jealous of her good fortune at such an opportunity (but much less jealous than I would have been had I not recently had the chance to spend 10 days in Italy, and much less jealous than I would be if I had to go to work today), I am excited to hear her impressions and see pictures. In the mean time, I decided to give my own opinions.

I am, and have been since a child, an Anglophile. I used to watch the BBC and affect an accent. I still sometimes buy loo paper and take the lift and put "u"s in the middle of words like neighbour and favourite. My favorite Monkee is Davy Jones. I majored in English Literature and totally enjoy Shakespeare. All things British appeal to me. Well, except blood pudding. And fox hunting. And those little pre-made packaged triangles of buttered white-bread sandwiches. But otherwise, I love the accents, the countryside, the humour.

The farther north you go, the more rugged and interesting the British Isles become. I chose to study abroad in Aberdeen, because that's about as far north of as I could get (although I did take a bus up to MacDuff and Banff just for kicks. I liked the names and wanted to see that northern coast. Wick was a little too hard to get to--but there's always next time). Scotland had even more appeal than the rest of the U.K. because of the brogue and the kilts and the lochs and the highland cattle. But I'm getting off the subject here: I was going to discuss London.

London is a strange place. The sites (locations....palaces, squares, parks) make for lots of nice sights (views from my eyeballs), but it's a busy, dirty, crowded, expensive place. It's all bustle and bankers and barristers and it's hard to find a nice cafe or spot to relax and watch the town go by. You have to join the crowd and go with it. I mean, in 2000, I saw the Olsen twins outside of Harrods. What on earth was I doing at a department store while on vacation? That doesn't sound like me. I'm definitely not posh enough for Knightsbridge (as made evident by the rich tv-star company), but it was one of those places you somehow end up because you can't find a quiet place to just sit and enjoy (except the Tower of London, which is cool despite the creepy history).

So while I am still a HUGE fan of the U.K., Paris certainly tops London for ambiance. You can spend hours at cafes, eating pan-au-chocolat with your coffee and people-watching. You can stroll and stroll and not run out of unique streets to explore. The food and wine are consistently good. I do have a language issue, since I've never been able to properly pronounce those French vowels or that tricky "r", but even so, I would not hesitate to go back in an instant.

Who am I kidding, though, really? Where in Western Europe would I decline to visit? Nothing comes to mind. Even if I did end up in a second-rate suburb somewhere, I could just hop on a train and easily get wherever I wanted instead (unlike an American suburb, where you would be totally lost without a car. Help me, I'm stuck in Manassas! When's the next train out of Wesley Chapel? Thonotosassa?) I currently have interest in Zurich (starts with a "Z", can't be bad) and Riga (why not visit exotic Latvia?) if anyone is offering free tickets.

Facial Blindness

I recently saw a report on a man who lacked the ability to recognize faces. He could not tell if a person walking up to him was a stranger or someone he'd known his entire life. Some brain abnormality made it impossible for him to pick out the face of even his mother. You can imagine the frustration and embarrassment such a disorder could bring.

When I first heard of this issue, I couldn't help but relate to it. Apparently, there is a broad spectrum of face blindness, with minor recognition troubles being more common than previously thought. People with mild face blindness may use clues like hairstyles, setting, clothing and voices to recognize people instead of instantly knowing the face. While I generally have no trouble recognizing my friends and family, I am easily thrown off when trying to locate them in a crowd. It often takes numerous encounters before I recognize a new face, and I have trouble picturing anyone's face in my mind.

I have a slight knack for drawing, but, no matter how hard I try, I have great difficulty drawing someone's likeness. I can draw a perfectly respectable picture of a face, but if I try to copy from a photo or a model, something doesn't add up. The face just does not match. If I sketch from another drawing or painting, however, in which the likeness has already been transferred from "real life", I am able to reproduce that certain combination that makes each face unique and recognizable.

I also occasionally have trouble figuring out who's who when watching a movie, a problem I've inherited from my mother. We find it especially hard when there is a large cast of white men who all have short brownish hair and wear boring clothes. The two of us recently tried to watch the film "The Good Shepherd" and could not keep track of the characters. It irritated me that Matt Damon's character wore glasses the entire time. I thought it was quite unfair that they gave a notable prop to the one actor whose face was most recognizable to me, and did nothing else to distinguish between the other guys. I mean, was an eye patch or a hideous scar asking too much?

I went online to do some research about this condition and found a very interesting website Faceblind.org which included some tests to assess the problem. Surprisingly, I did okay on the tests, especially the one recognizing famous faces. I guess I've seen too many "People" magazines in my lifetime to not know Brad Pitt on sight.

So my inquiries have just left me with more questions--which always seems to be the case. Whenever I start with just one question, I end up with exponential growth (but that's another issue altogether). So now I wonder if I have a mild brain abnormality (well, one of many, I guess), which would be genetically supported by my mother sharing the same difficulty. Or perhaps I just don't remember faces well due to lack of interest (it was quite a dull movie on a boring topic). That would transfer over to the real world, as well (not that I'm saying I encounter a lot of uninteresting people on a daily basis...). Maybe I don't remember faces on the first few meetings because I don't bother to look too closely. Perhaps if I just tried harder I would recognize loads of people and be quite friendly and social.

I'd rather just blame my brain.

Adventure Awaits

In the words of Tom Petty: "What lies ahead I have no way of knowing, but under my feet the grass is growing. It's time to move on, time to get going." My two years in this crazy place are drawing to an end, and just in time. Two years is a good length of time to live in one location; any shorter and you may miss some nuances that make a place unique, but any longer and you begin to overstay your welcome.
So now I will have a new state to explore and new adventures to write about. And of course, lots of new questions to research on Google. I've already looked up info on living at high elevations. My new home will be at more than 7000 feet elevation, by far the highest I've ever lived. My body will, apparently, make more red blood cells to deal with breathing in less oxygen. I will have to watch out for sunburn and dehydration (so no big change from Florida there). Best of all, I will get to use the alternate high-altitude directions for cake and brownie mixes.
This will be my first occasion to live in Mountain Time. I've lived in Eastern, Central, Pacific and Alaskan, so that rounds things out quite nicely (I will probably skip living in Hawaiian time, but you never can tell). I've also managed to live in GMT and the time zones +1 and +3 from there. Some day I will have to move to Riga or Istanbul in order to get the zone +2. Anyway, Mountain Time sounds cool, and it has the Continental Divide which is hard to beat.
I will no longer be hot all of the time, but I'll have to watch out for frostbite instead. I will miss the waterbirds, turtles, dolphins and manatees, but I should soon get to see pronghorn antelope, prairie dogs, moose and other western wildlife. I'll gladly give up the intercoastal waterway, scary grated bridges or people saying, "It's not the heat, it's the humidity".
I guess I'd better take a few more walks on the beach, since the nearest beach from my new home will be over a thousand miles away in the Pacific Northwest. The mountains, however, will be right out my back door.

Some honesty

I disagree, but I can see your point.

I'm listening, but I doubt that I have a response that you want to hear.

I would usually much rather walk.

I immediately delete most of what I write.

My dishes, although purchased in Amsterdam, were actually made in France.

I check the peep-hole before opening my front door.

I could tell you a lot of stories about interesting sights and places, but I probably won't.

I like simple things, but they had better be the right things.

Precious Friends

Chocolate is my precious friend. I have a chocolate brownie cake suprise in the oven as I type and I CAN'T WAIT!!!! until it is ready to eat. I will put a pot of green tea on and have a lovely evening snack with another precious friend, my man Tyrongle.

Other precious friends:
--My kitties. They pretend to be rivals for food and affection, but then I catch them snuggled up together in the warm laundry basket and I know their true feelings. I especially like it when they both try to fit in my lap together.
--My friend in Connecticut. She is coming to visit in a couple of weeks (no matter where I move she comes to see me!) and I look forward to her company. Maybe we will have some chocolate together (or ice cream...another precious friend!).
--My blog friend Feminist Chick. She was kind enough to think that my fizzy puzzle actually had some clever trick, when it was really just my nutso brain being silly.
--The internet pair Mick and Bashi. They really seem to care deeply for each other and respect each other's advice. They are also kind to kitties.
--My Viking friend. She reads my blog from across the pond (hello!) and sends encouragement and pictures of cool places like a cabin in the mountains.
--My super parents. They want to come visit me (regardless of the locale) and always offer to help me out with random things like driving cars long distances.
--My super parents-in-law. They always want me to come visit and play games and eat lots of good food (some with chocolate!).
--My vet friend who sometimes reads my blog although it makes no sense (and who is also kind to kitties). Please, please come back to work...
--My old roommate friend who is quite busy right now, but I'm still thinking of her!

My cake treat is ready. It's no prune cake, but it will have to do.

A Fizzy Puzzle

It will happen soon, in a galaxy close, very close...
things change quickly for strange minds.
It's time for some prune kake, but there's none to be found.
A kralageria is needed. Look above the tree line.

Stuck in Poggibonsi

In January 1996, I was flying back to college in Virginia from Christmas break at home in Amsterdam, when the "Blizzard of '96" hit. I was somewhere over the Atlantic, en route to JFK, when they decided to close all the airports on the east coast from Atlanta northward. The pilot alerted us that we would be landing in Orlando, Florida. I was travelling alone on a standby ticket, which meant no free hotel for me, and no telling when I would be able to get back to school.

I was fortunate to encounter a colleague of my father's working in the Orlando airport who snuck me into the employee lounge to let me avoid the chaos of stranded travellers. She later even took me home with her for a night. Soon after, I flew to Dallas to stay with family friends for the next days of airport closures and bad weather in the Northeast. Despite the good fortune of having kind people looking after me, I couldn't help but think that if I had been a tiny bit luckier, I could have been stuck in the fabulous city of Amsterdam for an extra week instead of the Orlando airport and the boring suburbs of Dallas.

Last week, my travel luck came through for me. After a lovely week's vacation in Italy, I arrived at the Milan airport on Saturday morning to discover that my flight home (via Philadephia) had been cancelled due to bad weather on the east coast of the US. Further, numerous other flights to other American cities had also been cancelled. I was informed that, due to the backlog, the earliest I could possibly get out of Milan was Tuesday morning. After the initial shock that I would be stuck in a foreign country for three more (expensive) days, my next reaction was relief and joy at being stuck in Italy rather than, say, Cleveland. I also had the good fortune of not having to spend those three days alone in the airport. My man and I simply hopped on a bus, a train, and another bus and got to visit the wonderful city of Siena.

Our extended holiday allowed us to see much more of Tuscany and to enjoy a few more days of vacation. We even managed to enjoy the random town of Poggibonsi. We intended to switch buses there on our way back from the medieval hill town of San Gimignano, but we realized too late that we had been reading the weekly bus schedule. It was Sunday. We were only stuck for about an hour and a half, and it became a bit of a joke that we'd much prefer be stuck in Poggibonsi--a town we knew nothing about--than in Philadelphia.