MontlakeBlog

Entries as of Tuesday, February 09, 2010
 Saturday, 6 February 2010  |  Winter at Colonial Williamsburg

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It is a sometimes-realized dream to go to Colonial Williamsburg during the winter. I think that I came to this understanding after experiencing the place during the summer (it's hot and humid in this part of the country, and if anyone's going to Williamsburg, they're probably doing it at this time), plus the fact that I like cold weather. I'd like to say that I make it each year but I don't.

Part of the dream is to hit it on a day when it snows. One of the few folks sharing my inn this time noted that she has been going to Williamsburg 2-3 times a year (from West Virginia) since 1974 and had never encountered snow. Until this time.

I was ill prepared for this trip. I've been living with flu (and, perhaps, pneumonia) for a few weeks now, and the week before I left (on a Friday) I felt I had to work a full day because I had the opportunity for a week's worth of very rare training. The result of this was not only did I not get the rest I needed but didn't have the energy to plan anything. But I lucked into a couple good choices, anyway.

Snow was predicted for that weekend even before I left. I pondered for days whether to rent a car (my usual mode of Williamsburg transportation) or take the train. As the certainty of snow increased, I leaned toward the train. My only hesitation had been that I've traveled there via train twice before, and it is boring. It would be one thing if it took the scheduled three hours, but the five hours of this trip is more typical. On the plus side, if airplanes could be as comfortable as Business Class on an Amtrak train, then the airlines would go out of business. You can almost make a seat into a bed, and still not disturb the person sitting in back of you!

The train eventually did arrive, and I wearily (due to my physical condition) hoisted my backpack and computer onto my shoulders and set off for wherever I was to check in. Aiming for the Visitor Center, I almost didn't recognize it when I reached it, because there wasn't anyone there! Oh, my goodness. I'm used to busloads and crowds of folks. I was directed to the fancy hotel that handles Colonial Housing (I don't know why I thought this might have changed), and trekked another half-mile to that.

My room (four-poster bed and a fireplace) was the reason I scheduled my trip for that weekend. It was not available earlier in the week when I'd planned to make the trip. I settled in, and reached the prone stillness I had been seeking, as I finished the incredibly exciting thriller I'd begun reading on the trian—Darkness Under Heaven (by J.F. Chase), a China-based thriller that absolutely nails the Chinese nature. There are a lot of bodies on the ground by the time this one ends and—who knows, I'm not saying—maybe a world war or two. In addition to the truly remarkable understanding of the Chinese people, Chase's man-woman dialog and resulting relationship is top-notch.

No snow yet, and I made a reservation for dinner at Shield's Tavern, the only inn open during winter months. That was terrific (but reading a Kindle by a single candle light is challenging), and I retired with one of the DVDs I'd purchased at the Visitor Center (they have a small collection of 1940s stuff). It was late, so I didn't summon the requisite Housekeeper to light my fire. Hmmm. That sounds more interesting than it was.

That night, the snow began and it fell all day Saturday. Absolutely gorgeous, of course. I had worn the only boot-like shoes I own, and they took me around the neighborhood where I eventually learned that most Colonial Williamsburg folks had not come to work, and that the inn would not be serving lunch or dinner that day, no one having come to work to prepare them. OK. Fortunately, Colonial Williamsburg is across the street from the College of William and Mary, so there is enough "young pressure" to have coffee-shop-type places open, and I had a good meal at Aroma's. And back for the next 1940s movie. Still snowing. I had checked, and no other businesses (including the movie theater) had opened that day and evening). Didn't bother with Housekeeping, again that evening, knowing that no one would be there.

Next day, full sun and a deeply snow-covered wonderland from the 18th century. I walked around taking more pictures, and had a fine lunch at the now-open tavern. These are hefty meals, so I decided not to book a dinner (which I ended up having at the coffee shop), and found a nice collection of BBC drama DVDs at the college bookstore. Settled into my room early enough to justify a call to Housekeeping but, alas, no one answered. Oh, well. Next year (or whenever). So, Rosemary, Thyme, and I spent a few hours together before I fell asleep.

Walking (first, to check out, then to the train station) was tough, as the snow had by this time been replaced by sheets of ice (it warming enough during daylight hours to melt the top snow), but I gave myself plenty of time. I needn't have bothered, because the train ended up being an hour late arriving (from Newport News). But choosing the Monday over a more normal Sunday return had been a lucky choice. Joining me waiting for the train were the would-be passengers from Saturday and Sunday, when the train had not run at all!

So, all in all a fine trip. An adventure, truly. The rare, rare snowfall on Williamsburg balanced the inconveniences of disrupted or non-existent business services, and I won't soon forget that three-night stay.

By the way, I'm writing this as the next Mid-Atlantic storm dumps several inches on Virginia.

Williamsburg snow photographs
posted at 12:41 PM | | |

 Sunday, 24 January 2010  |  Recovering from flu, 2010

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A friend at work responded, when I reported that I wouldn't be going in that day—again, that she remembered I'd had the flu about a year ago. I think I was still claiming that I have just a cold, at that time, and I really thought so. On Thursday, I became very aware it wasn't a cold, and Friday and Saturday were miserable days with all the true respiratory flu symptoms.

This morning, I went looking for any blog entries about having the flu a year ago and, sure enough, there are a couple. I'm simply amazed at the difference in symptoms.

As you can read, in that earlier incident the symptoms were all dramatically apparent, both coming and going. This time, nothing of the sort. I'd convinced myself I had a cold, only taking off the time from work because I had it available. By Friday, I couldn't have gone to work, anyway. And the whole fever thing was different. Last year, it was dramatic and constant until it broke. This year, it came and went as it felt like, sometimes not staying for more than a couple minutes. Now, on Sunday, I feel pretty good but not perfect, and will spend the day with guiltless entertainment.

You see, when you're sick, you have few obligations. If you're conscious enough to read or watch a screen, then you can choose whatever you want. For sure, I didn't have the power of concentration that any of my several subjects of study would have required, so I pigged out on pure couch-fare. Here are some of the things I encountered.

I went through a Julie London phase a couple years ago (probably documented in this blog), and looked for any of her films that might be available on DVD. Poor pickings, but I found a couple. A week or so ago, I wrote to a friend with a quotation from Julie London about her voice ("just a thimble-full," she wrote), and he responded with the incredible coincidence that he had just watched a Western on TV in which she starred! [Man of the West, with Gary Cooper] Oh, my gosh. So I looked it up and saw that not only is it now available (and wasn't when I had my first Julie London moment) but that it had rave reviews both in its first release (1958) and in citizen reviews on Amazon. No brainer, and it had arrived as I was starting my time-off. I even got the second Western she did that year (Saddle the Wind), another wide-screen, full-color extravaganza. As a kid who grew up in the 1950s, watching Westerns during the day was the big plus of being sick. Man of the West greatly rewarded my viewing. The only thing in the film that didn't work well was the action sequences—mostly fights, I guess. Gary appeared to be in great shape (at 57), but it just wasn't there. Everything about the film is special, and I gave back the star I took away for action sequences, when I realized afterward that it is one of the few 1950s Westerns you can watch in the 21st century. Saddle the Wind didn't fare so well, and does in fact seem like a 1950s Western.

And I read a wonderful novel by John Crowley called Four Freedoms, 2009. Although I see that his reputation is in the fantasy world, this book is about the homeland experience during World War II, primarily about plant workers during the incredible civilian industrial transformation in the United States during that time.

By Saturday, I was looking for a long uninterrupted entertainment experience for that afternoon, and found it among my DVD collection of mini-series. This one, the 1995 BBC production of Pride and Prejudice that I've already seen a jillion times. Wonderful, and by the time it was over, the extreme effects of this flu incident were over. I'm still somewhat tired and still discharging that stuff from my head that flu so efficiently produces, but it looks as if I'll survive another bout. And I've still got a couple Westerns in my collection to see me through the rest of the day...
posted at 06:07 AM | | [1] |

 Thursday, 7 January 2010  |  The title of my next book

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My bus driver and I got to talking about taxes, this morning, trading stories about our encounters with the IRS and other financial woes.

"If we don't watch it," I said, "we're going to be out on the street together."

"Yeah," he said. "Standing in the same soup line. You watching my back, I yours. Two spoons, please, and one big bowl."
posted at 06:46 AM | | |

 Sunday, 3 January 2010  |  Now, he's a recording engineer

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I have written of my first encounter with the writing of Lord Dunsany, an experience that is now forty years ago. When I took up reading his work again (after a couple decades), I realized that one problem with a modern appreciation of his writing is that it requires a somewhat "slower" reading than I think we're currently used to. Much of his work is simply prose poetry. As Neil Gaiman has written about Dunsany's work: "So trust the book. Trust the poetry and the strangeness, and the magic of the ink, and drink it slowly." When I began this blog, I played with a couple ways to slow down our reading, and provided links to the experiments:

Why the Milkman Shudders When He Perceives the Dawn
Charon
Flying to Mars
How the Office of Postman Fell Vacant in Otford-Under-the-Wold

At some point at least ten years ago, I had another idea. If his work was available in audio form, the slowing of its perception could be dictated by the reader. I remember contacting an audio production engineer who was a friend of a friend. "Well, just record on to your computer," he suggested when he'd heard the very modest goals I had. Good idea, I thought, and cheap! So I obtained some sort of microphone and gave it a shot.

In those days, you plugged a microphone into your computer sound card. It must be do-able, but I spent more than a couple years playing with this technique, and I remember that the only sound I ever recorded was a horribly distorted rumble after turning the various volume controls WAY UP. At least it was something.

I acquired various pieces of audio recording equipment, as the years went by. One, purchased when I had several extra bucks, was a Tascam digital recording studio. I studied the manual diligently, but it was easy to see that only by doing would one have any idea how it worked. I must have managed to get some sort of sound on it, because when one of my early wives agreed to record her mother and aunt discussing their very interesting early lives, I spent the weekend writing out a couple pages on how to use the device, and then sent it on to her. Miraculously, she managed to make the recording, probably without looking at my instructions, and then I had to figure out how to get the result off the device. Apparently, I succeeded, because I have the wonderful recordings on my computer. But when I soon thereafter had the opportunity to record my sister's recollections of her life (which would soon end), I opted for an even newer device that I had obtained, and succeeded to record directly into a laptop (how many years had that taken?).

I had a lot of experience over the past couple years digitizing various audio media, so when I recently read some blog item about how more efficient USB microphones are in use with computers as compared to using a microphone that plugs into a sound card, I quickly bought an Audio-Technica that does that very thing, and made plans for Dunsany.

A couple weeks ago, I recorded his novel Don Rodriguez: Chronicles of Shadow Valley, and this weekend have finally finished editing the recording (the toughest thing is being both the talent and also the engineer!). I'm making these available (as MP3 files) for any folks who listen to audio books. [By the way, if you listen to part of, say, Chronicle 1 and would like to listen to the whole thing on, say, a CD, let me know, and if you know me then I'll fix something up for you.]

At that same web site, I include a brief introduction to the novel and I also include some reading notes. That is a good story in itself.

In 1998, I used the fairly new Internet to discover a copy of Dunsany's Rodriguez novel (I wanted an original, to digitize via scanner). Looking around on what we used to called "lists" (group discussions), I found a couple references out there in the world to Dunsany. One was from a woman who had asked someone a question about Dunsany but for which there was no answer. In those days, you could put your email address in your question, because spam hadn't started yet, and I used the address to ask the woman whether she'd gotten an answer. That led to my discovery that she was (is?) a professor at a university in Uruguay. When I had told her of my plan to digitize the novel, I asked whether she would like to join me in reading it, exchanging notes on our readings with each chapter. Sounded good to her, and so began my first (and only, so far) Internet study project with another person.

Far more qualified than I (she taught Spanish literature, and was a Borges scholar, Dunsany having been an early influence on Borges), I had the advantage of native competency in English. It was really fun, and when we had finished, I gathered up all our notes into a single document, and sent them to her. As part of the "support site" for the Rodriguez recording I've just made, I'm including those reading notes, not for any particular academic reasons, but as a momento of that remarkable event more than ten years ago [1998]. There is a link to this site among the links at the site on which I've placed the recordings.
posted at 11:43 AM | | |

 Saturday, 19 December 2009  |  It's snowing!

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I went looking through my blog for snow stories, as I sit here occasionally looking out the window on what will be the snow storm of the century here in the Washington, DC area. Now, of course we're only a few years into the century, but it sounds good to say so.

The story I was looking for isn't there (and so I'll write it, although I know I have already—somewhere), but I did come across a gorgeous poem I quoted a couple years ago. Even if you don't like poetry, give this one a try.

In just the few times I've scanned the view outside my window, I've seen:
- Some workers from southern climes paid to clear our sidewalk. They began just as the snow storm began in earnest, and although they did a fine job, by the time they had finished the sidewalk on this side of the building, it was nearly covered again. I haven't seen them since.
- Someone across the street evidently felt he just had to go somewhere, and spent about a half-hour digging his car out from the drifts around it.
- On a more alarming note, my neighborhood is home to a few wheelchair-bound folks who have whichever of the diseases makes you unable to speak or walk or do much of anything but control a lever on your wheelchair that makes you go forward, left, right, and, I presume, backward. By the time I looked out the window, one of them had ventured beyond the covering of his apartment building, and was stuck in deep snow just feet away from said building. Four or five guys had gathered with a couple shovels, and were digging out a way for him to get back but, oh my god, what was he trying to do?

About 25 years ago, Shira and I were living in our Aloha St house in Seattle, having recently left our 8th Ave NE house, then occupied by Shira's brother and sister-in-law. I see now via Bing Maps that the distance is 8.5 miles.

We had moved pretty much everything out of the 8th Ave house, but on this day of which I write, I discovered that I hadn't bothered with the car chains. We were beginning what was predicted to be a goodly snow storm, and experience had shown us that the little Honda did best in snow when it was wearing chains. The city had already closed our street to traffic (its slope resembles a ski run, and was used as such by hardy folk), so I left the car at the house, and that morning accompanied Shira to her bus, which normally took her the approximately two miles to the university, where she was still a student.

We waited on the street up from our house, at the bus stop near Aloha. After a certain amount of time, we realized that there weren't going to be any busses.

So, I walked with her to the university, figuring I'd pick up a bus from the U district, which is much flatter than our neighborhood. And that proved the case. I boarded my northbound bus, as the snow continued to fall and in good quantity. The bus got about two blocks before it came to stop. Not only was it one of the few busses running, but it had been fitted with a kind of chain as it left the bus barn. Maybe not well-fitted, however, because the chains had come off. One of the male passengers and I got off and put the chains back on, to the best of our ability. And so the bus and its frantic passengers (not many) made its way north along 15th Ave NE. At the stop nearest to our old house, I got off and made my way through a little forest to the old neighborhood, where I retrieved the chains (which I draped around my body), and walked the few blocks back to the bus stop. A middle-aged woman sat on the bench, and a black gentleman about my age stood nearby. He was amazingly similarly configured to me. We both had on military field jackets (which have a built-in hood), and we both had chains draped over us. Turned out, we were both Vietnam veterans, too (the source of the field jackets), and both had similar stories about what we were doing so far from home on a very inauspicious day.

I had seen the bus make its return trip and pass that bus stop two blocks before I reached the stop, and after a half-hour or more, we three realized that there would be no busses today. In fact, that troubled bus I had boarded in the U district was the last on the road for a couple days (Seattle had no snow removal equipment).

We had learned that the woman was only going a half-mile or so down the road, so we offered to escort her. Having no other obvious alternative, she took us up on the offer, and we succeeded without incident. My new buddy and I both had at least 7 miles yet to go, but we were young and despite the snow, I don't recall it being especially cold, so the whole trip bacame an adventure. We would walk a block or two, help someone get his or her car back on track, and then walk another block and repeat the experience.

As we walked, we traded stories. And the snow continued.

When that 7 miles was up, our paths diverged, and I think we both knew we'd had quite an adventure. Although we never saw each other again (perhaps never even exchanged names), there's a very special bonding that happens when two or more folks find themselves in adversity and discover that the experience is easier because each is not alone.

That was probably the winter that part of Shira's family was coming to Seattle for some holiday, and I do remember hauling a car-full of people around on the snow. Thanks to my chain-equipped Honda.
posted at 03:25 PM | | [1] |

 Friday, 4 December 2009  |  Connections--they're not just James Burke anymore

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It must have been last weekend that I was surfing, looking for a theme to research. Something made me think of the Sheridan family. Here's how I came to know of them.

When I got back from Ireland in the fall of 2001, I was high on Irish, and I soon noticed that a film festival at Kennedy Center was featuring European films, two or three of which were Irish. I went to see them. The star of both was a young performer making his first films—Cillian Murphy. The one that really knocked me out was called Disco Pigs. Wow. Murphy and Elaine Cassidy were stupendous, but it was the film that was so dramatically unusual.

In trying to get a copy, I chanced upon the play script for the two person club routine (by Enda Walsh) that someone had seen and thought might make a good film. I bought it. It is nearly incomprehensible. Written in city of Cork dialect (and, evidently, intended for performance only there), it is almost impossible to see a connection with the film. But the film script was also done by Walsh, so the vision was secure. And the film was made by first-time director Kirsten Sheridan. It was done as a true indie, filmed in Dublin wherever they could find some space, probably for just a few thousand dollars.

In researching Ms Sheridan, I noticed that her dad ('da', in the brogue) is Jim Sheridan, a somewhat known film maker about my age. So, it was in the family.

It took forever to get a copy of Disco Pigs, finally buying one from London (and having to convert my equipment to all-world in the process—thanks!). Eventually, it was released in the US, and I sent my UK copy to an Irish correspondent who knew of Cillian Murphy.

Then, in 2002 Sheridan released his made-in-America film—In America—to rave reviews, and he and his daughters (co-writers) were nominated for that year's Academy Award for screen writing.

You might know Sheridan, too, as the director of the well reviewed film Brothers, currently playing.

But I hadn't heard much if anything about Kirsten during the past several years, and I focused on her during my little surf session last weekend. And I was rewarded with the discovery that she had released a film—as director—in 2007, August Rush. Unfortunately, Roger Ebert hadn't reviewed it, but because of our connection (too bad Kirsten doesn't know about it), I bought a copy.

The Amazon citizen reviews were generally quite good, but it was pretty clear that it tended toward a degree of melodrama that everyone around the world loves except for Americans.

Tonight was August Rush night, and oh my gosh, it is good. Plenty of melodrama, but in that Irish mystical, fantasy sense that has plenty of examples in addition to Ms Sheridan's film. And it is so wonderfully made I was bursting with pride. And we don't even know each other. Does she even know I discovered her?

The acting is wonderful, and this is no indie film as far as budget is concerned. Even Robin Williams has a small part (in his best type of role, dirty old man). You will know the stars much better than I. Their names ring slightly familiar, but for all I know they're big stars. A couple of the truly young roles were played by actors who are simply frighteningly good—you don't want to know how they got that way.

American viewers might find it odd that although half the cast is American, the other half (the rough male half) is Irish. She put her foot down for her people, the money people bought it, and it works! But of course I'm prejudiced.

My little surf session yielded a couple other films. I was investigating the two little girls of In America, and saw that both have been active in the intervening years. And growing up, of course. I think the older girl plays teen roles now, but her sister—Emma Bolger—plays young girls in the couple films she made. I bought Heidi, as much because of the citizen reviews as for our connection (unknown to her).

If you're a young(er) person, I suspect you will like August Rush. Older folks might need to have the sort of familiarity with Ms Sheridan that I claim, to get enough out of it. But who knows.

Gosh, I love connections...
posted at 09:14 PM | | |