Mountain Drama

Day 90: There is more drama than that of politics associated with Mount Rainier today, beautiful in nature, if perhaps somewhat foreboding. Clouds mount a nebulous assault from the north, lifting over the summit in ragged lenticular formation, fighting vainly against an unseasonably warm upslope wind. The Mountain makes its own weather, according to its mood; dangerous at times, kindly at others, but never without an undercurrent which warns that changes may come on a whim, with little to announce their imminent arrival. Experienced climbers know this; the foolish ones trust to luck. Most of us, regardless of our camp, survive more or less intact, living out our days in the foothills when our bodies cannot meet the demands of the sport. That said, our hearts are on the Mountain, even in bad weather. Don't let the allegory bite you on the bum.

Best U.S. Gov't.

Day 119: I need a new set of keys, one in keeping with current events, i.e., keys which are engraved with the words "Worst U.S. Gov't. Do not duplicate."

Anyone with half a brain knows that procrastination only makes matters worse, so why not work on the budget before it becomes a critical issue? Why doesn't Congress do the damn job we-the-taxpayers are paying them to do? They expect us to have our work done on time and our bills paid. Why can't we expect the same of them?

Okay, the shutdown was done and undone while I slept, which if you think about it, is a rather stupid way to conduct business. That said, it disturbed my sleep even though I don't draw a wage. The headaches simply back up in my email as we wait for somebody to turn the lights back on, and then I'm pressured with how to get my work done in a timely manner. I'm not asking for the "Best U.S. Gov't." I'm just asking for one with a little functionality, one which doesn't screw up my life and the lives of my friends.

Techno-Baroque

Day 76: For as many years as I've been alone for Christmas, it has been my tradition to buy myself a present. Okay, I haven't always bought it in December, but when I made the purchase, it was designated "Christmas present to self" regardless of the month. This year, I decided to forgo the custom and instead made a substantial contribution to my favourite non-profit. On Christmas Day, I had dinner with my fishing buddy's family and somehow got roped into playing carols on an electronic keyboard. I faltered badly due to the fact that I haven't played in a long time, and it made me realize just how much I'd missed my old upright piano. I'd sold the beast a year or so ago to free up space in my living room, an idea which was great in theory but in practice, not as effective as I'd hoped.

Over the last several days, I've been looking at electronic keyboards on line. What I wanted and the cost I could justify were dreadfully out of alignment. Nor did I like the idea of making a purchase without actually playing the instrument, so today when I went in town, I hit one of the region's best-known music stores. I came out with exactly what I had wanted...no, even more than I had wanted!...for a very reasonable price thanks to a close-out sale. This model has more keys than many I've reviewed, plus it has pressure-sensitive volume and half-weighted keys which make it feel more like a real piano. As for what all those buttons are for, I'm sure I'll find out eventually. Right now, I'm enjoying the sound of techno-baroque on the most basic settings.

Takeover

Day 130: "The Daleks have taken over Lichenopolis. The human will be exterminated! Exterminate! Exterminate!"

I am glad that I was not a child when the Daleks made their debut. I had enough trouble with the robot from "The Day the Earth Stood Still" plaguing my dreams. The Daleks would have sent me into permanent hiding. Even now, I find them one of the most menacing villains of the sci-fi genre. Many Whovians will argue that the Weeping Angels are more fearsome, but I do not find them so. A Dalek wouldn't even give you time to blink before wiping you from the pages of time.

Boulder

Day 105: I've only managed to walk the Bud Blancher Trail once this year to date, largely because I don't feel like hiking in the rain and we've had very few decent days in January. It seems like my schedule and weather work at odds with each other, invariably a commitment falling on the same day as sunshine. That said, this nice walking route nearly always turns up something of interest, whether it's fungi, lichens, frogs or even a lonesome boulder on the bank of the fishing pond in Smallwood Park. I like rocks with personality, and this old fellow seemed to be waiting for derby day and the hordes of young anglers who turn out for the event. For now, though, he has no one to keep him company except the strolling photographer who thanked him quietly for posing before leaving him to his private thoughts.

Beloved Villains

Day 91: Having exhausted Netflix's library of modern "Doctor Who" episodes, I jumped in the TARDIS and took a trip back to the William Hartnell years for a look at the very first Doctor. I have to say I'm enjoying the old stories immensely despite their lack of sophisticated special effects. My greatest delight, however, is in seeing the original Daleks. Remarkably, they have changed very little over the years. Their ship is another matter. When they first invaded Earth, they travelled from Skaro in a pie tin, the "flying saucer" so popular in 60s culture. That said, the Daleks were just as malevolent in those days as they are now...the most-loved villains of all time.

Heralding A Good Year

Day 80: If I believed in omens and portents, I'd say 2016 was going to be a good year. It's off to a good start, anyway. Of course we're paying for the scenery by turning up our thermostats and buying new winter woollies, but for my nickel, I'd say it's worth it. The only problem is that I want to be Up There, and the snow is keeping me Down Here unless I'm working. I don't like to drive on icy roads, not even to get to a trailhead. All that aside, I do hope to get out snowshoeing this winter. The Mountain is calling, and I can never resist that for long.

Foothills Trail Walk

Day 107: The town of Orting lies in the path of prediction: sooner or later, Mount Rainier is going to turn loose a lahar which inundates the valley. When it will happen is anyone's guess, but as the climate grows warmer and warmer, the likelihood of the event increases. However, given a sixty-degree January day, who could pass up the opportunity to walk or ride the Foothills Trail? I elected to go by foot from downtown to the wetland interpretive site 4.5 miles east in the full knowledge that I could never outrun a mudflow if the Mountain chose to send one down the Carbon River. It's not that I am in denial of the hazard; it has not happened in my lifetime, so I'm playing the odds. That it could happen is never far from my mind, but that it would happen "on my shift" is a chance I'm willing to take. Like the residents of this valley, I just don't believe it will be today.

Warped

Day 71: The project currently on my loom has been there since Christmas 2013, and I have no excuse for having largely ignored it for the better part of the last year. I would occasionally sit down at the bench and make a few nominal throws, once even completing six inches in a half-hour marathon of weaving, then again letting the shuttles go idle for another two or three months. I enjoy weaving, and perhaps my flagging energies in that direction were due to the project being a simple over-and-under tabby. I had warped for a birds-eye design, but the weft should have been heavier to do it justice; in lieu of making another trip to Seattle, I reverted to the simpler weave.

Recently, I sent my piano to a new home with the thought of moving the loom into the living room. Although I don't think that's actually going to happen, it was sufficient motivation to set the shuttles flying once again. As I considered the logistics of moving the loom, I realized I'd have to get the project off the beams in order to dismantle it so it would pass through the doorway. In two days' time, I've woven three towels/placemats and only have one to go (I'd warped for seven).

Weaving in and of itself is repetitive work. You raise a shed, pass the shuttle through, then change sheds and pass the shuttle the opposite direction. The pattern is determined beforehand as the threads are sequenced through the heddles. The weaver's art lies in the accurate threading of hundreds of "eyes." Any error will be apparent when the weaving is begun and will require some very tedious undoing to set to rights.

Train To Shanghai

Day 184: My mother used to say that if there were two ways of doing something, she would invariably try the hard way first. I seem to have inherited the gene.

In addition to my regular photography, I "play" in a few photo groups on line. One of our assignments for this month was to create a black-and-white movie poster in the style used in the 1940-1950 era, so not having any other model, I dragged out a wig and the theatrical makeup and got myself all kitted up to fit the period. Then and only then did I think about what to wear. I managed to get out of my tight-necked t-shirt without ruining the makeup, but the wig had to come off temporarily. Then, naked from the waist up, I started searching for a particular mediaeval costume which had wide fur trim around the hem, thinking to drape it around my shoulders like a stole. After twenty minutes, I gave up the hunt for faux mink. In a last desperate move, I settled on a velour bathrobe which at least had a collar consistent with the style of the era.

You might think I'd have set the camera up beforehand, but no, that's not in keeping with the Hard Way Approach. In costume and trying to preserve the Garboesque hair style, I was wiping acrylic hair out of my mouth and eyes with one hand while dragging furniture around the living room with the other to create a space where I could use the drapes as a backdrop. Well before I'd processed the image and made the poster, the bedtime hour slipped past me unnoticed. Ah, how we must suffer for our Art!

In My Element

Day 152: I am becoming one with the lichens, and I don't mean to imply any metaphysical connection but rather a purely physical one. During this fitness challenge, I have put in a couple of hundred miles walking in the rain. Oh, I've been wetter in my career as an outdoors person. My mom and I spent six weeks backpacking in what felt like a continuous downpour, returning from one trip just long enough to swap out sodden clothes for dry ones before launching on another adventure. We were tenting at Blue Glacier in the Olympics on a night when four inches of precipitation fell, the humidity so high that it "rained" inside the tent and left us sleeping in a pool on the tent floor. I've done my time in the rain, and I swore I wasn't going to walk in it for the challenge, but here I am, and lichens, moss and fungi are beginning to sprout on various portions of my anatomy.

Rain is a fact of life in the Pacific Northwest. If you're a native, you accept it and go about your business in Goretex and coated nylon. You grouse and grumble and expect sympathy from people who live in drier climates, but you don't let it keep you from enjoying yourself. The only time rain upsets you is when it stops...stops just as you arrive home from a walk in a drencher.

I missed most (but not all) of the downpour this morning on my trip up to the Big Bridge on the horse trail. It sprinkled, it drizzled, it rained, and only hosed down for about fifteen minutes, but it was never dry, not until I closed the front door behind me, stripped off my dripping jacket and trousers and hung them in the shower. Then it stopped. Then a faint light emerged, not quite strong enough to cast shadows, but sufficient to dispel any rumours of the non-existence of old Sol. The grass took on a yellow cast and mist began rising between the ridges. It was and is tempting to go out for another walk, but I know how this works. In the time it takes to suit up for the inevitable possibility of more rain, it would start falling just as I stepped over the threshold.