Balls and Walnuts
more than you ever wanted to know
Category Archives: Mishpucha (mi familia)
The Distaff Meme, second attempt
Thanks, Darla. I’m wiped out, so this is about the best I could manage anyway.
The basic facts:
Who is your significant other? Karen
How long have you been together? Since early 1983. Married, June 1984
Dating/Engaged/Married? Married. Didn’t I just say that?
How old is your S.O.? 45
Which one?
Who eats more? I do.
Who says “I love you” first? I do, usually. But not always.
Who weighs more? I have her beat 2:1.
Who sings better? I do. And that speaks volumes for the truly horrific nature of Karen’s singing voice.
Who’s older? Me, by seven months.
Who’s smarter? Karen. Nothing like going through college together to establish THAT fact.
Whose temper is worse? I get p.o.’d at my son easier than she does. She gets p.o.’d at me easier than I get p.o.’d at her.
Who does the laundry? Me.
Who does the dishes? Me.
Who sleeps on the right side of the bed? Karen. Why do you ask?
Whose feet are bigger? Mine, duh!
Whose hair is longer? Karen’s.
Who’s better with the computer? For most things, Karen.
Who mows the lawn? Our gardener.
Who pays the bills? Karen, always.
Who cooks dinner? I do.
Who drives when you are together? That’s about 50:50.
Who pays when you go out to dinner? I do.
Who’s the most stubborn? Karen, of course!
Who is the first one to admit when they’re he’s wrong? Yo.
Whose parents do you see more? I think we see Karen’s mom a bit more than we see my parents.
Who named your ferret? I named Zappa. Karen named Harmonica.
Who kisses who first? That would be me.
Who asked who out? I passed her a note in p-chem lab. Don’t you read my blog?
Who’s more sensitive? I am.
Who’s taller? Me again. Better be, if I outweigh her 2:1.
Who has more friends? Oh, probably me, thanks to the blog.
Who has more siblings? We each have one brother and one sister.
Who wears the pants in the relationship? Karen.
To see who I tag . . . read the next post. Hopefully, I’ll have something more substantial for you tomorrow. G’night!
D.
Before and after
Have I pissed and moaned about our remodel? I must have at one time or another, so I’ll keep it brief here. We had a big remodel done a few years ago. We ran out of money (oh, something about our contractor going about 100% over-budget). As a result, for the last few years we’ve had plywood floors, plywood counter tops, mix-and-match exterior siding, and a variety of other weird problems — like the LEAKS. Leaks and leaks and more leaks, the main reason we remodeled when we did, rather than wait until we had enough money to do it all at once. And did the first contractor fix the leaks? Noooo.
In the last several weeks, we’ve taken a few giant steps forward. Our new contractor has replaced all of our leaky doors and caulked here and there, and the leaks are far better than they were. We won’t know until the next big storm whether all of the leaks are better, but based on the last storm, more than half of them are gone.
But the big deal, from my point of view: NEW COUNTER TOPS! WOOT! No more plywood. We’ve gone granite.
Pix below the cut.
The Filial Thirteen
My son is twelve. TWELVE! ALMOST A TEENAGER! And so I got this brilliant idea to do a Thirteen all for him. Trouble is, I did it last year, too. So much for originality. Can I come up with thirteen more memories about my son?
You betcha.
Pity me.
I spent the day immersed in scenery like this.
We’re looking out across the Smith River Valley at the Siskiyou Mountains in the distance. Looking down from our trail, we can see the South Fork of the Smith River:
This looks out of focus to me, confirming I am Teh Suxx0r at photography. Must. Take. Class. (On the other hand, some photos can be blurry as hell and they still rawk.) Trust me, the Smith is so clear, you can count the stones.
Two miles hike in, two miles out, with nothing to do at our destination but soak our tootsies in one of the nation’s few unspoiled rivers . . .
Of Billy Goats and Heart Attacks,
Of cabbages and kings.
Good thing Jake and I went to the beach yesterday, because today, it looks like this:
It rained last night. Rained! If we’d gone out today rather than yesterday, I wouldn’t have this farmer tan, and undoubtedly Jake would have had any number of streams to dam up. Still, I can’t complain about yesterday’s weather — a true summer’s day, without the heat the rest of y’all have had to endure.
Pix below the cut . . .
Klondike
Yesterday, Dean wrote about his dad splitting wood, and I was sorely tempted to hijack his comment thread. Because it’s a funny thing, the actions we associate with our parents. Memory’s a fickle beast.
Right now, my dad is likely doing the same thing he’s doing in this photo from forty years ago: playing Klondike. I can hear him shuffle, spread, and turn cards as clearly as I can hear myself tapping the keyboard keys. When I think of my dad, he’s shuffling, spreading, turning cards. Dean thinks of his dad chopping wood; I think of mine playing solitaire.
Back then, my father could have chopped wood. He’s short, like me (though not as short as me), and used to be muscular, powerfully built. I don’t know how he kept in shape — he shunned exercise. But when I was a kid, those biceps scared the crap out of me.
I’d rather remember him chopping wood, but there he is, shuffling again. “You pay fifty-two dollars for the deck,” he says. “Aces go up, and you build upward in suit. For every card up here, you get five dollars back.” He keeps score on the back of an envelope, and he never finishes in the red.
If you asked me to give you a second memory, a second common association, it would be of the man sitting in his chair, reading a paperback or working a crossword puzzle. Yup, real dynamic. He taught high school math for many years, and by all accounts was a superb teacher. I’m sure he’d prefer to be thought of that way, but I never saw him teach. He came home tired, like all us fathers do, and to unwind, he read books, worked a crossword puzzle, or played Klondike.
I wonder what memory Jake will associate with me? I’d prefer if he remembered me scrambling around in the kitchen, fixing dinner, but he doesn’t often watch me. Maybe he’ll remember me climbing rocks with him at the beach — that would be nice, maybe even as nice as splitting wood. You know, I might even like being remembered as a doctor.
But I have a bad feeling he’ll remember me as I am right now, sitting in this chair, my legs tucked under me, futzing at my blog.
D.
Cin Cin
According to the Urban Dictionary, “Cin Cin” is Italian for “Cheers!” It “derives from the sound of the glasses clinking together.”
It also fails to transcend cultural boundaries:
Years ago I toasted my Mother not with the usual “Kampai!” but with my new uber-cool “Cin Cin” picked up from South American friends.
Mom blanched. Who knew cin cin is Japanese slang for penis?
More to the point, Cin Cin (Vancouver, BC) has a deeper meaning for me and my family because it provided ONLY THE BEST MEAL WE’VE HAD since Hoppe’s in 1996, okay?
Follow me below the fold for food, glorious food.
Richard Avedon, I’m not
Dean has posted more photos of the b’stila. I love this guy cuz he makes my food look AMAZING.
Speaking of photography: of the 41 shots I took on this vacation, perhaps six are keepers. What is my problem? Why do I have such a fascination with the backs of people’s heads?
In the days to come, I’ll subject you to a few of the nicer photos. Let’s start with Jake at the Vancouver Aquarium:
Now, if you’re one of those people who don’t give a damn about other people’s kids, you can appreciate the crisp blue sky, the feathery clouds, and the funky Pacific Northwest First American sculpture. But if you can indulge a proud papa, follow me below the fold . . .
Itinerary
Itinerary is from 1432, from L.L. itinerarium “account of a journey,” from noun use of neut. of itinerarius “of a journey,” from L. itineris.
— From the Online Etymology Dictionary
Ithyphallic:
1614, “poem in ithyphallic meter,” from Gk. ithys “straight” + phallos “erect penis” (see phallus). The meter was that of the Bacchic hymns, which were sung in the rites during which such phalluses were carried. Thus, in Victorian times, the word also meant “grossly indecent” (1864).
— also from the Online Etymology Dictionary, on the same page as “itinerary.” Included in this post for no other reason than it made me grin.
***
On July 4, we’re flying to Seattle, where we’ll be staying at the Embassy Suites near the airport. If all goes well, we’ll be dining out with protected static and his gang.
On July 5, we’ll drive up to Vancouver. I’m not sure whether my family will want to do anything in Seattle first; we went to the aquarium last year and had a great time, but it may be too soon to repeat. Similarly, I have an unquenchable desire for Pike’s Place Market, but I think I’m the only one.
So, yeah, right. Vancouver. I’ve decided we’ll stay at the Sylvia Hotel. If we drive up early, we should be able to hit Science World or the Vancouver Aquarium. Dinner in Chinatown sounds nice . . . it’s been an age since we had authentic Chinese cuisine.
Cool slide show I liberated from the Vancouver Aquarium website:
On Friday, July 6, we’ll do more of the Vancouver thing, and then we’ll be meeting with Dean and SxKitten for dinner. From there, a ferry ride to Mayne Island and SxKitten’s parents’ cabin!
From July 6 until our departure on July 8, I anticipate much merriment and endangerment of small children. I’m told that if I want to cook for my hosts, I’ll have to import the necessities from Vancouver. Since my best dish requires a pasta maker, I’ll need to do some hard thinking to figure out my second-best dish. Hey, SxKitten, do they sell phyllo dough on Mayne Island?
Then it’s back to Vancouver the evening of the 8th, back to Seattle on the 9th, and back home on the 10th. Back to work on the 11th — boooo! hisssssss!
I’ll be Blackberrying it all the way, of course. This will be somewhat easier than usual thanks to my Father’s Day present, a detachable Blackberry keyboard. But no pix, sorry to say, until we get home.
Wish us luck!
D.