Holy cow - where to begin? How about the beginning:
Janneke got up absurdly early - 6:23 or so. I stayed abed until well after seven, then quickly ate, walked the dog, and then herded the kids outside to the car. (Q woke up fresh as a daisy, no sign of fever or nausea. And T had been hyper-psyched for days, mostly about the hot dog we had ordered for her for her included mid-day lunch.) We were on our way to Jiminy by 8:15 or so, and headed off to the Skiwee area. It was really very well run - they have this set of stairs the kids walk up so the workers can access their feet without having to bend over, a sizing machine, and bajillions of bright red ski boots and tiny little skis. Down the other side of the stairs, and off to a holding area where - I am not exaggerating - probably sixty young ski instructors awaited in their matching parkas, ready to impart onto the young their wisdom in the sliding arts. We had one moment of wondering what to do, when suddenly all the instructors began to file out the back door, and we milled out with them and when they came to a general halt, we did too. Within three minutes, a tall young man had come up to T and said, "What's your name? How old are you? Have you ever skied before? No? Great! Come on, let's get started!" And off she trundled, with nary a look back. Just about precisely the same thing happened to Q not twenty seconds later, and that was it! They were off, to be cared for and instructed until 3:00.
Janneke and I looked at each other, as if things couldn't possibly be that simple. But it was! We were on our own! Off to the rental counter, where the speed and efficiency of the Skiwee counter was duplicated, only on an adult scale. (They even had the stairs up to the counter.) We put on the boots and headed to the lockers, where we dumped our stuff, and then hit the snow.
Those boots are weird. They're great when you're skiing, but there's just no damn way to comfortably walk in them. Most of you know this, probably, but I didn't. And walking with the skis on isn't much easier - if there's no hill to slide down, you're left to flounder and thrash your way in whichever direction circumstances dictate. And there's just no way to do it. Janneke can do it, but she's cheating somehow. Because nothing she does works for me. If you calculate the calories expended per meter of actual self-transportation on a flat surface, Janneke is probably fifty times as efficient as I am. I think she has a jet pack around her waist.
She took me down the pee-wee hill where Q and T were about the begin their lessons, for a quick lesson of my own. I did the snowplow, the pizza slice, or however you prefer to call it, to the bottom, and then took the kiddie-speed chairlift up the hill. And we took one more run; then we were ready for the novice slope.
The long and the short of it is this: I did not fall down. I plowed and slipped and snurked my way down, and came to a halt not far from where we had begun. Janneke was tickled with my success, as was I, and we went up again. And down again.
I did not fall down.
We took the chairlift up again, slid downhill and across the hill some fifty yards to another chairlift, which we took to its terminus. And then we skied from that point back down to the point from which we had originally begun.
I did not fall down.
We did some variation of this up until 11:45 or so. Up and down, up and down. My skis went more and more parallel; my turns began to take on a distinctly un-snowplow-like caharacter; my speed increased; I skittered across ice and over bumps; swarms of oblivious mothers and children wove around me at not nearly safe enough a remove; physics conspired to make the snowplow, even in desperation, insufficient to keep me from colliding with a skier below, forcing me to turn desperately to the right, which made me go far too fast for my liking, necessating a desperate turn to the left and more and more snowplowing, hoping to keep this momentum-building snowball from leaving dozens and dozens of broken innocents in my wake. But I did not run them down.
And I did not fall down.
Over the course of the entire day, skiing from around 10:00 to around 3:00, with a forty-minute break for lunch, I did not fall down.
While skiing.
Without distractions.
OK, so I fell down three times - but each was very exceptional. The first was when we were down visiting Q and T, catching some film of them as they got their lessons, and I quick went to the top in the chair lift - Q was ahead of me on the lift, and Janneke had wanted me to alert her when Q was coming down. I saw him about to start, and said to myself, "I'm a natural at this - I'll use the momentum of the lift, swoop down around the novices at the top of the bunny slope, and zoom to the bottom and alert Janneke." But in trying to negotiate the turn at a near-complete stop, with toddlers and moms shooting their skis out near me, I decided I was unprepared for the circumstances. And I decided this because trying to turn slowly is a lot different from turning fast, which I found out because I tried to turn, and down I went. I remember thinking that it was surprising, but should not have been - that I had done something stupid. But I was miffed, because I had begun to think how cool it would be to say I never fell down. Rats.
The second time, Janneke had dared me - well, asked me - to try following exactly in her path. But in trying to stay close enough to keep exact track of her path before the marks were lost in the snow (I had been following some thirty yards behind her), and having to keep an eye on her and her tracks at the same time, I got discombobulated, caught an edge, and went down. Had I not been trying to do that particularly nifty and unnecessary little maneuver, I feel very confident that I would not have fallen.
Because I never did again.
Except at the end of the day, when, having skied the entire length of the mountain, Janneke and I tried to go uphill on our skis to the top of the bunny hill and visit the kids, and the uphill flounder turned out to be too much for me. It really was pretty spectacular - it took me a good minute and a half to stand up, right myself, and get my skis off. It was the first time all day I felt embarrassed, and the first time anything on me hurt except for fatigued muscles. I had been at one point face-down, with the skis pointed out and 100% parallel with the ground, which added up to some difficult angles for the ol' tendons and ligaments. But I did recover, and with that, ended my day of skiing. So, to recap:
I did not fall in the course of an entire day of regular, high-speed, non-dare, downhill skiing.
Janneke did great, too. It was amazing to see her zishing and shooshing ahead of me, balanced and graceful and perfectly confident. I can't know, never having seen myself ski, but I get the feeling I was much more tight and hunched and tentative. But, hey, I feel super about it. What a great way to spend the day.
And the kids went bonkers over the experience. "Te gustO?", I asked Q. "No. Me encantO!", he said. He advanced all the way up to "Racoon", and is on the verge of being a "Black Bear". He came away well-indoctrinated to be a skier and not a snowboarder. "SLOW-boarder," he corrected me when I asked him about it. Oh - and his ski instructor turned out to be Chilean! Although he told us that Q hadn't told him until their very last run together that he spoke Spanish. (Come to think of it, we heard a lot of Spanish up there today - it was practically the only language other than English that we heard. Q's instructor told us there were a few Chileans, a few Argentines, and a Peruvian there working. Nice gig - snow instructor here in this part of the year, and then in Chile in the other part of the year.) Here are the categories Q whupped through in his first day of skiing, thanks to his Chilean instructor:
CHIPMUNK:
Can identify, carry, and put on equipment
Get up unassisted
Can walk and step around on skis
Can side-step or duckwalk uphill
Can balance while sliding on gentle incline
MOOSE:
Can make a wedge
Can descend holding a wedge
Can stop and control speed in a wedge
Can descend varying the size of the wedge
RACCOON:
Can wedge turn in both directions
Can ride a chairlift
Can control speed and direction
T, meanwhile, got up to "Raccoon", and on her next day of lessons, that is where she will start.
She was just as thrilled as Q with the whole day. At one point, we (Janneke and I) skied over to check on their progress, and quickly found Q, about to enter the chairlift, which was a big surprise. We climbed into line behind him, giggling as we watched him - and we looked and looked for T, but couldn't find her - until suddenly, Janneke said "LOOK!" - and T was climbing onto the chairlift with him! With Q's instructor, who hoisted her into place. We were shocked that she could advance that fast. And if I can get on my horse here this evening, you may even see the evidence of it in filmic form.
A long, hot bath awaits, however. If it's a choice between getting a film up and getting the bath in, I have to tell you...You're going to have to wait.
Knee-slappers from the day:
Janneke had never used parabolic skis before today, and never quite could recall just what they were called. At different points she referred to them as "hyperbolic" ("THESE ARE THE BEST SKIS EVER CREATED IN THE HISTORY OF ALL MANKIND! I HAVE NEVER HAD SO MUCH FUN IN MY ENTIRE LIFE!!!") and "bipolar" ("The right ski's awesome. The left one sucks."). We had some good yucks.
And here's the damn video.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Quick Quote
T, coming home in the car from a skiing-related shopping trip, and feeling thirsty:
"Does anybody have a water bottle, or a glass of soda, or a beer?"
I got a million of 'em.
So here's the deal with things: Skittles has finished a ten-day stint on anti-parasitical goo, and the vet called today to say the latest present i brought over from her was critter-free. In the first two weeks we had her, she emptied the self-feeder once. And in the past week, she's emptied it again. She is growing like mad - she seems to go for a while getting heavier and looser of skin, and then she stretches. She's in a stretching phase now, and her skin's not as loose. She runs up and down the stairs all day, eating away, and shows every day just how much of a Maine Coon she is. Personality-wise, all the earmarks are there - the way she really doesn't like to sit in your lap, but will sit beside you and purr as you pet her for ever; the way she prefers to be with us, but not necessarily on us, parking under the table during supper to sit there and quietly snooze and purr...She has been such a great addition. I think I'll give her some tuna tomorrow. Go ahead, try to stop me. I dare you.
So, yeah: Skiing. We're going to go on Monday. The kids are scheduled for a day of lessons that will go from 9:00 to 3:00, with lunch served in the middle, and in the meantime, Janneke and I will zish down the slopes. She'll zish, probably - I'll do more of a "wuh-wuh-wuh-boom, shish-a-shis-a-crunch", until my pelvis finally splits or I brain myself on a tree. At which point I'll make other noises: moans, wheezes, assorted gurgles. I have never downhill skied, you see. Not once. In my life.
And Janneke hasn't done it since I've known her, so I'm about to be amazed by her in an entirely new way. So she and I bought some ski pants, and I got some mittens, and Q got some goggles. The rest, they should be able to make do with using the snow clothing they already have. I'm excited, and kind of nervous - though it looks pretty straightforward...
God help me.
"Does anybody have a water bottle, or a glass of soda, or a beer?"
I got a million of 'em.
So here's the deal with things: Skittles has finished a ten-day stint on anti-parasitical goo, and the vet called today to say the latest present i brought over from her was critter-free. In the first two weeks we had her, she emptied the self-feeder once. And in the past week, she's emptied it again. She is growing like mad - she seems to go for a while getting heavier and looser of skin, and then she stretches. She's in a stretching phase now, and her skin's not as loose. She runs up and down the stairs all day, eating away, and shows every day just how much of a Maine Coon she is. Personality-wise, all the earmarks are there - the way she really doesn't like to sit in your lap, but will sit beside you and purr as you pet her for ever; the way she prefers to be with us, but not necessarily on us, parking under the table during supper to sit there and quietly snooze and purr...She has been such a great addition. I think I'll give her some tuna tomorrow. Go ahead, try to stop me. I dare you.
So, yeah: Skiing. We're going to go on Monday. The kids are scheduled for a day of lessons that will go from 9:00 to 3:00, with lunch served in the middle, and in the meantime, Janneke and I will zish down the slopes. She'll zish, probably - I'll do more of a "wuh-wuh-wuh-boom, shish-a-shis-a-crunch", until my pelvis finally splits or I brain myself on a tree. At which point I'll make other noises: moans, wheezes, assorted gurgles. I have never downhill skied, you see. Not once. In my life.
And Janneke hasn't done it since I've known her, so I'm about to be amazed by her in an entirely new way. So she and I bought some ski pants, and I got some mittens, and Q got some goggles. The rest, they should be able to make do with using the snow clothing they already have. I'm excited, and kind of nervous - though it looks pretty straightforward...
God help me.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Confirmation
Snow day! Meaning that I had nothing but time on my hands, and that I could take Skittles to her complimentary vet checkup, which comes with every adoption from the Eleanor Sonsini Municipal Animal Shelter.
And the vet read her medical history much more clearly than I did, and told me that when she was given to the shelter, she had ear mites, fleas, and a pretty severe case of emaciation. Her back end didn't work that well, and she was lethargic; she got a B12 injection and just three weeks later, she was in our home.
She weighs 3.5 pounds, big for 3 months old (though not huge - after another week with us, I suspect she'd jump up another notch), and no signs of any back-end trouble or lameness. She had a microbial parasite, which she's getting meds for, and she got her shots against rabies and some other dang thing. All in all, a clean bill of health. We're all relieved, and enjoy it even more when we watch her scamper downstairs for some high-quality kitty kibble whenever she damn well pleases. Her skin gets looser and her fur gets thicker every ten minutes. The vet said she'll probably be a 12-to-14-pound cat. Let's just see what happens when I follow my sister's advice and start hitting her with the tuna. (Feeding it to her, I mean.) (The cat, I mean.)
I also took advantage of the snow day to finally put that shrinky film over the windows in the bedrooms and on the picture window in the living room. Not sure why it took me so long this year - perhaps since we mostly heat with the wood stove, it hadn't seemed as urgent. But now we're better-protected. I did put in a message with the National Office of the Passive House Institute, though, to see if they can tell me whether that might be workable - retrofitting this house so that it heats itself passively and doesn't need a furnace. Probably a pipe dream, though - such things are not free.
In other news, we went sledding the other day (there is some pretty cool footage to cook up into a movie for you), and Q, after marching all the way back up the hill, accidentally let his sled fall out of his hands and watched it slide, empty, back to the bottom of the hill. Which is pretty big.
He then said, clear as day:
"Fuck."
I blinked from where I stood at the bottom with T. "What did you say?"
"Fuck," he repeated.
"What?!"
He looked at me in ever-increasing puzzlement. "How could he not get this?", he seemed to be thinking. "The 'F' word," he clarified.
I gave him a short lecture and let him go unpunished, secretly pleased, just like with the "Rat shit" story. Some attitude is a good thing, I must always remind myself.
And the vet read her medical history much more clearly than I did, and told me that when she was given to the shelter, she had ear mites, fleas, and a pretty severe case of emaciation. Her back end didn't work that well, and she was lethargic; she got a B12 injection and just three weeks later, she was in our home.
She weighs 3.5 pounds, big for 3 months old (though not huge - after another week with us, I suspect she'd jump up another notch), and no signs of any back-end trouble or lameness. She had a microbial parasite, which she's getting meds for, and she got her shots against rabies and some other dang thing. All in all, a clean bill of health. We're all relieved, and enjoy it even more when we watch her scamper downstairs for some high-quality kitty kibble whenever she damn well pleases. Her skin gets looser and her fur gets thicker every ten minutes. The vet said she'll probably be a 12-to-14-pound cat. Let's just see what happens when I follow my sister's advice and start hitting her with the tuna. (Feeding it to her, I mean.) (The cat, I mean.)
I also took advantage of the snow day to finally put that shrinky film over the windows in the bedrooms and on the picture window in the living room. Not sure why it took me so long this year - perhaps since we mostly heat with the wood stove, it hadn't seemed as urgent. But now we're better-protected. I did put in a message with the National Office of the Passive House Institute, though, to see if they can tell me whether that might be workable - retrofitting this house so that it heats itself passively and doesn't need a furnace. Probably a pipe dream, though - such things are not free.
In other news, we went sledding the other day (there is some pretty cool footage to cook up into a movie for you), and Q, after marching all the way back up the hill, accidentally let his sled fall out of his hands and watched it slide, empty, back to the bottom of the hill. Which is pretty big.
He then said, clear as day:
"Fuck."
I blinked from where I stood at the bottom with T. "What did you say?"
"Fuck," he repeated.
"What?!"
He looked at me in ever-increasing puzzlement. "How could he not get this?", he seemed to be thinking. "The 'F' word," he clarified.
I gave him a short lecture and let him go unpunished, secretly pleased, just like with the "Rat shit" story. Some attitude is a good thing, I must always remind myself.
Monday, January 5, 2009
Suspicions...
Hey, folks - Just a little update on Skittles. She is going gangbusters - scampering and prancing like there's no tomorrow, continually trying to involve Hobie in play (Hobie remains essentially blind to her), responding favorably to the kids' overtures for snugglin' at every turn, using the litterboxes (yes, plural - we caved and put one upstairs to avoid any future accidents)...Just great.
And gaining weight like crazy - I'll get a picture soon and put it up, but she looks like a different cat. Much more energetic than when she got here - visibly bigger, more filled out.
And in hindsight... Of all the kittens we looked at at the pet store (which was hosting adoptions from the humane society - she's not from a kitty mill), she was the thinnest. I mean, her belly didn't sag at all. I did notice it at the time - I could feel her ribs. But she seemed so happy. And when we got her home, her hips were so bony - I didn't know whether that was just the way she was, or what. But now, a little more than a week later, the pointy tips of her pelvic bones are difficult to find under her now-pliant and loose skin; her ribs are hard to detect; her coat seems shinier...And I wonder: Was she neglected, either at the animal shelter, or at her foster mother's, or at her original home...?
Back to school today.
And that is all I will say about that.
And gaining weight like crazy - I'll get a picture soon and put it up, but she looks like a different cat. Much more energetic than when she got here - visibly bigger, more filled out.
And in hindsight... Of all the kittens we looked at at the pet store (which was hosting adoptions from the humane society - she's not from a kitty mill), she was the thinnest. I mean, her belly didn't sag at all. I did notice it at the time - I could feel her ribs. But she seemed so happy. And when we got her home, her hips were so bony - I didn't know whether that was just the way she was, or what. But now, a little more than a week later, the pointy tips of her pelvic bones are difficult to find under her now-pliant and loose skin; her ribs are hard to detect; her coat seems shinier...And I wonder: Was she neglected, either at the animal shelter, or at her foster mother's, or at her original home...?
Back to school today.
And that is all I will say about that.
Friday, January 2, 2009
Another bag of Skittles
As our merry vacation chugs to its inevitable conclusion, I realize that I have been remiss. Since the early episodes, in which I offered up the efforts of hours and hours of video editing, I have been pretty tenaciously recreating with the family, and have neglected to keep my readers (both of you) in ye olde Loope. So here are some updates.
Twice in two days now we have gone skating at the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Skating Rink in North Adams. They redid the place over the past year - new insulation on the ceiling, new boards and benches surrounding the ice, new vending machines, a surface that no longer has a marked slope toward the south. And it's very nice. It has a sort of "if you build it, they will come" vibe - because the people who go there seem different. There were absolutely no rowdy thirteen-year-olds either day, no hockey dads encouraging their thuggish kids to play tag, no crazy people...Just families out for a skate. It was super, super pleasant.
And T! Oh, my goodness - that kid can downright skate. I mean, just skate - all the way around the rink, without falling, gliding for four, five feet at a time, picking up some speed...It's been amazing. Though both days, we have forgotten to bring the camera! Strange. So I can offer no proof. But believe me, that is a graceful little tyke on the ice. I hope she doesn't go in for figure skating, though - the Russian-looking woman who comes there (she's still there - the renovation didn't scare her off) gives me the willies. She stands at rinkside in an ankle-length fur coat and a fur hat - I'm serious - and calls our pointers to her seven or eight-year-old daughter, who spins and twirls while the rest of us amateurs glide past, feeling a little weird about "interrupting" their lesson by skating counterclockwise in an orderly fashion during open skating. I mean, I just don't want anything to do with a long fur coat. I'd look fabulous, don't get me wrong. But the whole situation seems less than completely healthy. Lovely little girl, though, and she can really skate. No, I see T more in the speed skating circuit. There is a speed skating club in Pittsfield - found out about it a couple of years ago. If she gets my thighs and her mom's calves, she's going to be lifting Cadillacs by the third grade.
And Q! He's bigger and faster than last year. I mean, he's not a hockey player (that is by design), so it's not like he looks like he lives on the ice, but he has really taken to it. Yesterday I discovered that I went a lot faster if I concentrated on pushing off with my heels, and told Q about it, and zoom! He looked back at me with his eyes big, and was thus kept interested for the next forty-five minutes. They really love to skate, and so do we, though Janneke's feet got pinched and cold both days.
We had our New year's bash, which was considerably smaller and quieter and ended much earlier than last year. Lots of previous guests were out of town, but we got a nice number together and enjoyed ourselves. At one point we were all playing...Oh, what's the name of that game - it's an electronic screen with several buttons on a disk, and you pass it around and new words pop up on the screen that you have to get your team to say. And Q kicked a$$ on this thing. His left hand would work itself into the most bizarre contortions, his face would take on such bright, liquid, guileless excitement, and he would stretch and strain his vocabulary (which turns out to be HUGE!) and his image-making capacity (also impressive) to get his teammates to say whatever had just popped up. I gained so much knowledge of his being from that game - it was a side of him I never see, this competitive, giddy, nervous, creative jitterbug of a guy that I didn't even know I was raising. And T sat on my lap throughout, and whenever the beeping would end with a buzzer and the machine was in my hands (OK, I'll be honest: that never happened), or Q's, or Janneke's, T would throw out a lower lip and begin to softly cry. "I don't like it when someone in our family loses!", she sobbed to me by way of explanation. Mercifully, she soon fell asleep, and I was able to slide out from under her and enjoy the game a bit more...Q stayed up for his very first ball-dropping ceremony, which went really well, and right afterwards we turned on the TV. (Badump-bump.) He was actually pretty freaked out by Dick Clark, who, I again assert, must be, at this point, purely animatronic. Good time had by all.
And Skittles. What can I say? That little critter has been absolutely everything we hoped she would be. Q went to bed tonight, sad because of a bit of a scolding he'd just gotten for a couple of things, and Skittles trotted into his room after him. I went in to say goodnight later on, and found her there, on the floor - and some time after that we went looking for her, and found her in bed with him. We suspected Q was not allowing her to leave, but after a while he came out because his head hurt, adn Skittles trotted out after him - and when he went back to his room, she trotted back down the hall. Then, around 10:30, Janneke went to look for her again (there have been some piddling issues, and we get nervous whenever she's been AWOL for a while), and came back to report that Q was sound asleep, and Skittles was curled up next to his head, purring loudly. Not because she was being stroked or fed or anything - She was NEXT to him as he SLEPT, and this inspired her to PURR! What a cat. We hit the jackpot. (And I hereby knock on wood.)
And so I bring you some more photos of her. With us. In different positions.
There is video in the works as well...
OK, the Skittles photo doesn't want to upload, so here are some others. Also holiday-related, also gorgeous.
These are the madelines that Janneke made for Santa Claus. As good as they look, they tasted better.
We caught Hobie up where he shouldn't be when we came back from Mark and Ronadh's house, banging the door and singing as we came in. So when we saw him, we turned on some lights and went and got the camera and banged some cymbals together and lit some firecrackers and then took this picture. That is one old, deaf dog.
T in front of the Christmas tree, with her ballerina outfit. Why? Because we can.
Q reads to T. No kidding, straight-up reading to her. It's a magical time, when one can read and the other can't, and they get along, and you only have to prod them a little bit to get them to do it long enough to take a picture.
Twice in two days now we have gone skating at the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Skating Rink in North Adams. They redid the place over the past year - new insulation on the ceiling, new boards and benches surrounding the ice, new vending machines, a surface that no longer has a marked slope toward the south. And it's very nice. It has a sort of "if you build it, they will come" vibe - because the people who go there seem different. There were absolutely no rowdy thirteen-year-olds either day, no hockey dads encouraging their thuggish kids to play tag, no crazy people...Just families out for a skate. It was super, super pleasant.
And T! Oh, my goodness - that kid can downright skate. I mean, just skate - all the way around the rink, without falling, gliding for four, five feet at a time, picking up some speed...It's been amazing. Though both days, we have forgotten to bring the camera! Strange. So I can offer no proof. But believe me, that is a graceful little tyke on the ice. I hope she doesn't go in for figure skating, though - the Russian-looking woman who comes there (she's still there - the renovation didn't scare her off) gives me the willies. She stands at rinkside in an ankle-length fur coat and a fur hat - I'm serious - and calls our pointers to her seven or eight-year-old daughter, who spins and twirls while the rest of us amateurs glide past, feeling a little weird about "interrupting" their lesson by skating counterclockwise in an orderly fashion during open skating. I mean, I just don't want anything to do with a long fur coat. I'd look fabulous, don't get me wrong. But the whole situation seems less than completely healthy. Lovely little girl, though, and she can really skate. No, I see T more in the speed skating circuit. There is a speed skating club in Pittsfield - found out about it a couple of years ago. If she gets my thighs and her mom's calves, she's going to be lifting Cadillacs by the third grade.
And Q! He's bigger and faster than last year. I mean, he's not a hockey player (that is by design), so it's not like he looks like he lives on the ice, but he has really taken to it. Yesterday I discovered that I went a lot faster if I concentrated on pushing off with my heels, and told Q about it, and zoom! He looked back at me with his eyes big, and was thus kept interested for the next forty-five minutes. They really love to skate, and so do we, though Janneke's feet got pinched and cold both days.
We had our New year's bash, which was considerably smaller and quieter and ended much earlier than last year. Lots of previous guests were out of town, but we got a nice number together and enjoyed ourselves. At one point we were all playing...Oh, what's the name of that game - it's an electronic screen with several buttons on a disk, and you pass it around and new words pop up on the screen that you have to get your team to say. And Q kicked a$$ on this thing. His left hand would work itself into the most bizarre contortions, his face would take on such bright, liquid, guileless excitement, and he would stretch and strain his vocabulary (which turns out to be HUGE!) and his image-making capacity (also impressive) to get his teammates to say whatever had just popped up. I gained so much knowledge of his being from that game - it was a side of him I never see, this competitive, giddy, nervous, creative jitterbug of a guy that I didn't even know I was raising. And T sat on my lap throughout, and whenever the beeping would end with a buzzer and the machine was in my hands (OK, I'll be honest: that never happened), or Q's, or Janneke's, T would throw out a lower lip and begin to softly cry. "I don't like it when someone in our family loses!", she sobbed to me by way of explanation. Mercifully, she soon fell asleep, and I was able to slide out from under her and enjoy the game a bit more...Q stayed up for his very first ball-dropping ceremony, which went really well, and right afterwards we turned on the TV. (Badump-bump.) He was actually pretty freaked out by Dick Clark, who, I again assert, must be, at this point, purely animatronic. Good time had by all.
And Skittles. What can I say? That little critter has been absolutely everything we hoped she would be. Q went to bed tonight, sad because of a bit of a scolding he'd just gotten for a couple of things, and Skittles trotted into his room after him. I went in to say goodnight later on, and found her there, on the floor - and some time after that we went looking for her, and found her in bed with him. We suspected Q was not allowing her to leave, but after a while he came out because his head hurt, adn Skittles trotted out after him - and when he went back to his room, she trotted back down the hall. Then, around 10:30, Janneke went to look for her again (there have been some piddling issues, and we get nervous whenever she's been AWOL for a while), and came back to report that Q was sound asleep, and Skittles was curled up next to his head, purring loudly. Not because she was being stroked or fed or anything - She was NEXT to him as he SLEPT, and this inspired her to PURR! What a cat. We hit the jackpot. (And I hereby knock on wood.)
And so I bring you some more photos of her. With us. In different positions.
There is video in the works as well...
OK, the Skittles photo doesn't want to upload, so here are some others. Also holiday-related, also gorgeous.
These are the madelines that Janneke made for Santa Claus. As good as they look, they tasted better.
We caught Hobie up where he shouldn't be when we came back from Mark and Ronadh's house, banging the door and singing as we came in. So when we saw him, we turned on some lights and went and got the camera and banged some cymbals together and lit some firecrackers and then took this picture. That is one old, deaf dog.
T in front of the Christmas tree, with her ballerina outfit. Why? Because we can.
Q reads to T. No kidding, straight-up reading to her. It's a magical time, when one can read and the other can't, and they get along, and you only have to prod them a little bit to get them to do it long enough to take a picture.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
1000 words
Here they are - the thousand words, I mean:
Yep, we are cat owners. I think what put us over the edge was an incident the other week, when Q saw me petting Hobie and came to see if he could piggy-back on it and pet Hobie too. Hobie will put up with being petted by them if Janneke or myself has him pretty well smothered in adult attention. But this time, as Q's hand approached, Hobie gave him a snarl, and Q collapsed against me and cried. Janneke and I looked at each other and pretty well decided, "They need a nice animal."
But Janneke doesn't want two dogs yet. So we compromised.
We didn't let the kids in on the idea until we were actually in the pet store in Pittsfield where the municipal animal shelter does adoptions on Saturdays. We had sold them on the story that we needed to get more food for Hobie (which was true), and that this was the reason we were in the store. And we just happened to wander back to the cat area and start pulling them out of the cages and playing with them in the little fenced-in area.
This cat really had no competition. She was friendly, if not desperate for attention, and active and playful, while just about all the others were sullen and preferred to hide under the bench. Never got a purr out of any of them but this one. We weren't in love, exactly - she was a long-haired cat, which we weren't crazy about, and our friends Brad and Betsy had just gotten a cat that was such a love-sponge that even our animal-love-starved kids eventually gave up on cuddling him and wandered off to do other things. That's really what we were looking for, and this one wasn't it.
But there was something we liked a lot - she seemed so wholesome and confident, and absolutely beautiful. I loved her little black ear tufts. And so we filled out the forms and by the time we got home, we had a message saying we had been approved.
I went on line last night to do some investigating about what to do with long-haired cats, whether one can effectively trim them, etc. And knowing that this was a semi-long-haired cat, I did an image search for such a thing, and came up with this:
And, I mean, whoah. That's the same cat. Here's another picture of ours - her eyes look a little glazed in this one, so I didn't want it to be your first impression, but it is more detailed, and the resemblance gets harder and harder to deny:
And the image was from a website that sells Maine Coon cats.
So I read about them, and found out that they're huuuuuge. The longest cat ever measured, apparently, was a Maine coon. And they're above-average in intelligence, and they're affectionate, but not clingy (bingo). And they are rumored to have bobcat somewhere in their genes - hence the ear-tufts. (Not sure I buy that.) But, I thought, why would this cat have no other bidders on it, if it's obviously of some fancy breed? Why would a breed kitten wind up being given away at the animal shelter?
Some of these questions were answered today when I went in to pick up the little gal. For starters, she had only just had her fixing surgery on the 22nd, so this was her first foray into being adoptable. And she wasn't found on the street - she was brought to the shelter by someone who had received her as a gift, and had turned out to be allergic. I asked, "Is she a Maine Coon?"
The woman at the shelter said, "Well, maybe she has some in her."
And then she picked her up and remarked, "Well, for 3 months old, she is pretty darn big. And she's really long."
I nodded. "I heard last night that the longest cat every measured was a Maine coon."
So I have no papers, but I'm just about sure: That's what we have. Here's what they look like when they get big:
I can't wait. But of course I can - she's been perfect so far. We bought her a cat tower, to which she took immediately. She's had two naps there so far today. She's used her litterbox and eaten out of her cat dish, and gets on perfectly well with Hobie, who pretty much ignores her. And right now she's on the floor with Q, frolicking. She is just great.
OOPS! - I forgot to tell you her name! Janneke came up with it. She's sunny and happy, and has lots of different colors. So that can only lead to...
"Skittles."
Bienvenida!
Yep, we are cat owners. I think what put us over the edge was an incident the other week, when Q saw me petting Hobie and came to see if he could piggy-back on it and pet Hobie too. Hobie will put up with being petted by them if Janneke or myself has him pretty well smothered in adult attention. But this time, as Q's hand approached, Hobie gave him a snarl, and Q collapsed against me and cried. Janneke and I looked at each other and pretty well decided, "They need a nice animal."
But Janneke doesn't want two dogs yet. So we compromised.
We didn't let the kids in on the idea until we were actually in the pet store in Pittsfield where the municipal animal shelter does adoptions on Saturdays. We had sold them on the story that we needed to get more food for Hobie (which was true), and that this was the reason we were in the store. And we just happened to wander back to the cat area and start pulling them out of the cages and playing with them in the little fenced-in area.
This cat really had no competition. She was friendly, if not desperate for attention, and active and playful, while just about all the others were sullen and preferred to hide under the bench. Never got a purr out of any of them but this one. We weren't in love, exactly - she was a long-haired cat, which we weren't crazy about, and our friends Brad and Betsy had just gotten a cat that was such a love-sponge that even our animal-love-starved kids eventually gave up on cuddling him and wandered off to do other things. That's really what we were looking for, and this one wasn't it.
But there was something we liked a lot - she seemed so wholesome and confident, and absolutely beautiful. I loved her little black ear tufts. And so we filled out the forms and by the time we got home, we had a message saying we had been approved.
I went on line last night to do some investigating about what to do with long-haired cats, whether one can effectively trim them, etc. And knowing that this was a semi-long-haired cat, I did an image search for such a thing, and came up with this:
And, I mean, whoah. That's the same cat. Here's another picture of ours - her eyes look a little glazed in this one, so I didn't want it to be your first impression, but it is more detailed, and the resemblance gets harder and harder to deny:
And the image was from a website that sells Maine Coon cats.
So I read about them, and found out that they're huuuuuge. The longest cat ever measured, apparently, was a Maine coon. And they're above-average in intelligence, and they're affectionate, but not clingy (bingo). And they are rumored to have bobcat somewhere in their genes - hence the ear-tufts. (Not sure I buy that.) But, I thought, why would this cat have no other bidders on it, if it's obviously of some fancy breed? Why would a breed kitten wind up being given away at the animal shelter?
Some of these questions were answered today when I went in to pick up the little gal. For starters, she had only just had her fixing surgery on the 22nd, so this was her first foray into being adoptable. And she wasn't found on the street - she was brought to the shelter by someone who had received her as a gift, and had turned out to be allergic. I asked, "Is she a Maine Coon?"
The woman at the shelter said, "Well, maybe she has some in her."
And then she picked her up and remarked, "Well, for 3 months old, she is pretty darn big. And she's really long."
I nodded. "I heard last night that the longest cat every measured was a Maine coon."
So I have no papers, but I'm just about sure: That's what we have. Here's what they look like when they get big:
I can't wait. But of course I can - she's been perfect so far. We bought her a cat tower, to which she took immediately. She's had two naps there so far today. She's used her litterbox and eaten out of her cat dish, and gets on perfectly well with Hobie, who pretty much ignores her. And right now she's on the floor with Q, frolicking. She is just great.
OOPS! - I forgot to tell you her name! Janneke came up with it. She's sunny and happy, and has lots of different colors. So that can only lead to...
"Skittles."
Bienvenida!
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Snow Day Video
Howdy, fearless defenders of the faith! I bestow unto you herewith a moving daguerrotype depicting the way in which we here in the wilds of Western Massachusetts survive in the deepest and darkest of winters. Behold!, we are brave and strong:
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