Wire Hangers

I've been cleaning out the house and getting rid of clutter.  I've emptied closets and sifted through things.  I have so many wire hangers it's freaking ridiculous.  We've lived here, what, 20 years?  I think the house was empty of hangers when we moved in.  Where are they call coming from.  I don't recall buying any hangers.  We seldom  used a dry cleaners.  How is it possible that I am still finding another 50 empty wire hangers?  How?  The only plausible explanation is that the wire hangers are reproducing in the dark closets.  Male wire hangers hook up with female wire hangers and baby wire hangers are born or hatched and they jump up on the wooden closet rods and hang there in wire hanger family groups.  Anybody want some wire hangers?

Scythe

I confess.  I was snooping the barn.  The barn holds so many cool things.  I found a scythe and took it out to the sunshine to take some photos.  The handle is wooden with a metal blade and a metal grip half way down the handle.  I have so many questions.  Who bought it?  How much did it cost?  On what crops was it used?  Who used it?  When was the last time it was used?  This scythe has a history to it I just know it.

The Martian Chronicles

Ray Bradbury wrote The Martian Chronicles which is a series of slightly connected short stories rather than a novel.  The stories are science fiction and are set on Mars.  On Bradbury's Mars, humans can breathe the air safely but it's thin, as if Mars were set at 10,000 feet above Earth.  The first third of the book are short stories about humans trying to land and colonize Mars while the Martians stop them.  The middle third regards the  humans settling on Mars because most of the Martians have been killed by a germ brought to their planet.  The final third is the devastation brought by an inter-global nuclear war.  I found it interesting that even though Bradbury wrote these stories in the 1940's, the conflicts and issues he brings up are current events.  In the middle section, there was one story I found very thought provoking.  A minister was trying to convert the Martians. He tried to create religious icons that looked like Martians. At this time, most Martians had died and the few that were left looked like glowing blue globes.  His fellow ministers scoffed, saying Martians are not human and cannot be converted.  They said you can't convert a paramecium because they don't have limbs and are incapable of committing a sin.  The Martians, appearing as blue globes, also don't have limbs and therefore can't commit a sin.  It's not every book that has me contemplating the nature of sin. I'm not a huge science fiction fan anymore, but this was a really good book. 

The Light In The Forest

I walked through the library and saw a book on display under the word, "Classic."  I had never seen it before.  I picked it up.  The book was short, had illustrations, and was written in 1953-a very good year.  So I borrowed it, read it, and am here to tell you this is a great book; a first rate American historical fiction.  The main character is John/True Son, a boy born in Pennsylvania and kidnapped by Indians at age 4 and reluctantly returned to his white family at age 11.  The boy spent his formative years with the Indians and he believes he is an Indian.  He finds living with his birth family extremely uncomfortable especially because his uncle is a white supremest.  He runs away to live with his Indian family but finds he doesn't fit in that world either.  Both white and Indian, he is neither white nor Indian.  Tough spot to be in for anyone but especially an 11 year old boy.  Conrad Richter takes no sides on the racial issues.  He writes  succinct and non-judgemental chapters that work for children as well as adults.  A Disney movie was made of this story (starring Fess Parker.  I always have liked Fess Parker).  I should put in in my Netflix queue.

Greg Brown Concert

A friend took me to the Greg Brown concert last Friday at the Cedar Cultural Center in Minneapolis.  He is a folksinger.  He has a low voice.  Think of the lowest note you can imagine.  He's lower than that.  Oh, so manly a voice.  He plays at small venues.  I've seen him at the State Fair and at the Minnesota Zoo.  The concert, once it got started, was great.  I don't like how we paying customers are expected to wait a half hour for the warm up act and another forty minutes for the main act.  Greg didn't start until 9:40 and the concert started (or actually didn't start but was supposed to start) at 8.  I get up at 6 in the morning.  Many nights I am asleep by 9:40.  Once Greg started singing, all was forgiven.  My favorite songs are very irreverant.  One is about Inabelle's funeral.  I thought about loading a youtube video of that song on this page but youtube really didn't show how great a song it really is.  Another song I liked was the "Fat Boy Blues."  That Greg.  He may look like a full fledged adult male but I like that he lets his eight year old self show through.  Before the show we ate at the Weinery, a restaurant just a few doors down from the Cedar.  The Weinery, contrary to it's carnivorous name, offers many fine vegetarian options.  I had a seitan Philly cheese sandwich.  It was so delicious that when I went to pay, I asked the cook how he prepared it.  Great dinner.  Great concert.  Great evening.  So tired!

Bird Class

We had another bird class on Monday.  this time we went to Emerald Pond in Ramsey.  We saw mallards, red winged blackbirds, robins, grackles, starlings, blue winged teal, coots, Canadian geese, wood ducks, a bald eagle, a great blue heron, yellow rumped warblers, and a kingfisher.  The kingfisher is my favorite.  A starling was chasing it for some reason and they zoomed by right in front of us several times.  They zigged and zagged fast-it was like watching a Star Wars action shot.  The kingfisher gave out a rattling call, "Leave me alone!"

Job Done

I took Monday and Tuesday off work.  These were two of my vacation days.  I could have spent them any way I wanted.  My plan was to paint my bedroom including the ceiling and inside the closet.  Despite the siren call of the sunny weather and the lilac scented breezes, I did the mature and responsible thing of focusing on my task of painting.  I could have been out riding my motorcycle.  I could have been out boating in the new kayak I just bought.  Ooooh, I was sorely tempted this morning to head outside.  But no, I was up and down the ladder, reaching up to the ceiling, and laying down on the floor to get the paint close to but not on the baseboard.  The painting is finished.  I haven't put the room back together yet but at least the painting part is finished.  Note to self-paint no more than one room per year.