Joining the Heavens: fun

Showing posts with label fun. Show all posts

Sunday, March 4, 2012

Introducing Mr. Squeaky

My pocket is a worm home.

At least, that's what my nephew, Jack, decided when I was visiting last week. My pocket was just the right size and shape and height to make a home for his small, blue, plastic worm. It had the additional perk of also containing chap-stick, so he could alternate putting in and taking out the worm and the chap-stick. Who knew a pocket could be so much fun?!

One morning at breakfast he snuck the worm into my pocket. I was already at the school where my brother works (watching him for the day) when I realized Jack had never removed the worm from my pocket. And thus began the adventures of Mr. Squeaky, the small, blue, plastic worm.

When he first got to school he hung out with the teachers for a while, sharing some bagels and cream cheese. (As everyone knows, blue plastic worms prefer blueberry bagels.)

Then he went to class and learned about Geometry and how to do constructions.

Having mastered Geometry he moved on to Analytic Geometry (aka Calculus) and quickly mastered that as well.

He decided to expand his horizons beyond math and looked into science. Science Olympiad seemed like just the thing.

First he test drove a mouse-trap car.

Then he helped Jack's dad saw some wood.

He wanted to ride the trebuchet, but it wasn't quite ready.

Tired out from the day, he tried to blend in with a stained glass window so a bird wouldn't try to eat him as he napped.

Finally he headed home where he was happily reunited with his owner Jack, and they both lived happily ever after. :)

Saturday, February 18, 2012

Lessons from the Children's Museum

For those of you who have not been to the Children's Museum here in town, you simply must go. Of course, you probably should have a child to accompany you, or you'll be considered a total creeper. If you don't have a child of your own, find some way to beg, borrow, or steal a child before planning your museum visit. (Please don't actually steal a child. That's what real creepers do. Don't.) Once you have your child in hand, you may proceed to the museum.

I was fortunate enough to borrow a child of a friend last night (a.k.a. I was babysitting) and we visited the museum. I must say that I learned some very important lessons.

1. If I had some of these toys at home I would be playing with them ALL THE TIME. I mean, honestly? Just think of all the possibilities with this one:

So cool. Your child will be fine with leaving the toys there. You will want to take them home. Resist that urge.

2. If you are female, you may want to make sure that your shirt has a very high neckline. Otherwise, when your small child has a handful of flax seed, he may find a happy hole to drop it down...and you will be finding flax seeds on your person for a week. (Yes, this happened, no not to me.)

3. Puppet shows are fun for all ages! Especially when the walls and LIGHT SWITCHES are mirrored so you can see yourself perform.

And now I absolutely want a mirrored light switch.

4. Jenga is much easier when you use pieces of wood that are shorter and broader...and you lay them out 5x5.

And for all that I still lost to a 5-year-old. Twice.

So go to the Children's Museum. Enjoy yourself! And try not to cry when it's time to go home.

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

That one difference

One of the joys of traveling is seeing all the different ways of thinking and doing things other people in other places have. It can be interesting, frustrating, terrifying, or hilarious - or a combination of all those. These are some of those "one things" that struck me this spring in Greece and Turkey.

One of the most frustrating things about Greece (and possibly one of the things we found most humorous) was the fact that every site of interest (to tourists) was closed every Monday and after 3pm the rest of the week. And when they said they were closed at 3, that really meant that they wouldn't allow anyone to enter after 2:30. Now, I can understand wanting to have a day off, and I can understand the desire for a siesta... But considering how huge tourism is in their economy, I feel like it would make sense to hire a couple more people for each site, so they could be open Mondays and maybe a little later in the afternoons. The general (half-serious) consensus was that if Greece bothered to be a little more accommodating to its tourists, maybe it wouldn't be in quite so much economic trouble.

One thing that really struck me is how much of an international language English really is. We met people from all over Europe, Asia, and the Americas, and English was always the common language used. It struck me even more when people would ask where I was from. The fact that I spoke English was not a dead give-away (and apparently to non-native speakers, accents aren't as readily distinguishable). Sometimes in Turkey men wanting attention for their shop or restaurant would inquire as to our country of origin and then begin offering guesses. To my surprise, some of the most common guesses were Irish or Australian. We didn't usually bother to correct them. It was a pleasant surprise to not be immediately tagged as American.

One of the funniest (and most annoying) parts of Turkey was their election process. Here in America we vote for the guy who can sling the most mud at his opponent. Apparently, in Turkey, they vote for the guy who can blare the loudest music from vans making their rounds of the larger cities. Yes. I know it sounds weird, but it's true. Everywhere we went (Kushadasi, Istanbul, and Ankara, where we were when the election took place) we would see vans, plastered with the face of their candidate, blasting loud music as they made their rounds. Once we even saw an armada: dozens of boats draped with flags and posters, rounding the Golden Horn. Yes. I will vote for you because you have boats. And I like your music better. Okay, I have to admit, I don't get it (and I didn't care for the loud music). But really, it might be an improvement over a mud-slinging competition.

One occurrance that would never been seen in America took place when we were walking down by the Bosporus. There was a bit of a traffic jam, probably caused by unruly election vehicles. Traffic was at a stand still when we saw one man get out of his car, pop the trunk, grab a beer, and get back in the car. (Apparently he then handed the beer to his companion, but still!) I think I burst out laughing at that.

One word must, of course, be said about the call to prayer. It was not a new experience for me to hear it five times a day. However, the calls in Turkey were, in general, much more attractive than the calls I had heard in Israel. Much more melodic. There were, however, what we dubbed, "The Dueling Muezzins." As one of the most famous mosques in the world, I suppose that muezzin of the Blue Mosque would want to stand out. And, of course, in that area of Istanbul, there are several mosques in ear-shot of each other. The Blue Mosque would start out, "Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar." Except it would be more like "Allaaaaaaahuuuuuuu Ikbaaaaaah-aaah-aaar, Aaaaaaaah-aaaah-llaaaah-aaaaaaaaahu Ikbaaah-aaaah-aaah-ah-ah-ah-aaaaar!" But longer. Once that first line was completed, that muezzin would pause and the muezzin from the nearest mosque would reply with the same line, but with more musical improvisation. Back and forth they would echo. Too loud to attempt to hold any sort of conversation. Fortunately, they usually kept the total time to under ten minutes. That was still quite long enough. It got a little ridiculous. Kind of like some worship bands in America.

One of the most randomly fun things was the birds that would fly above the Blue Mosque after dark (and to a lesser extent above Hagia Sophia). I loved to sit and watch them circle in the lights. It was a sad night when there was a power outage and the walk home past the Blue Mosque provided no circling birds.

One food that deserves a special mention is, I think, durum cig kofte. (Forgive the lack of accent marks and the like.) From my understanding, this dish used to be made from finely chopped raw meat, but that practice has become more rare. Now it seems to be made mainly from bulgar and maybe lentils or potatoes. Totally vegetarian. One night we were out wandering when we were approached by a vendor with some street food we hadn't seen before: some sort of wrap. We asked him what it was and he said, "chicken." We figured later that was probably the only English word he knew that would fit at all. At any rate, we bought some and tried it out, delighted to find it rather spicy (a flavor distinctly lacking from Greek foods.) It was, however, clearly NOT chicken. We ran into it several more times on our trip, and eventually figured out what it was that we tried that night. It even became one of our favorite cheap foods - a welcome change from doner.

One thing is certain: many more "one things" could be pointed out, but to sum up, "It was quite an experience."

Sunday, August 7, 2011

Tubing

The first shock of cold hits your toes and shoots up your spine to your brain, making you start to wonder if you'll make it through this ordeal with all your phalanges and limbs intact. By the time you are in to your knees you think that you might just escape with a sever case of hypothermia. You search your mind for possible excuses to leave: "Uh, hey guys, I just forgot, I left the iron on. I gotta go!" *dash out of the river and down the road back to your warm cabin and bed* Unfortunately, such excuses are not to be found, and peer pressure is such that you continue to wade deeper. And then you sit down on your tube and know: you are going to die. This river is SO COLD that you will be lucky if you escape with your life.

The river pulls you along as it plunges over and between huge boulders. It's not called the Boulder River for nothing. If you are lucky, you avoid falling off your tube and escape banging body parts against rocks and tree branches reaching into the water. If your are unlucky, the waters around you, just fresh from the snow packs on the mountains, will keep the wounded areas numbed until you leave their embrace.

You paddle wildly with your hands, in an attempt to avoid the scarier looking parts of the river, while at the same time trying to keep your hands out of the searingly cold water. It doesn't work very well. In spite of your best efforts you are almost certain to hit some rocks and go over some rapids that are a little intense for an inter-tube. However, if you are lucky, you may see some ducks shooting the rapids with you.

The only sounds you hear over the roar of the river are the whoops and hollers of people freezing, banging into rocks, and going over rapids. And the delighted and slightly terrified laughter: "I don't know what I was thinking, but this is awesome!"

Once your whole body is almost entirely numb, you will reach the point where you emerge from the river and sprint to the 88 degree pool. Dropping your tubes and stripping off your life jacket you leap into the life-giving warmth of the pool. Ahhhhh.

That may have just been the best part of the summer.

Wednesday, October 20, 2010

Sacajawea and Fairies

Today, for the first time since I was four, I climbed to the top of Sacajawea Peak. Obviously, if a four-year-old Alana can make the climb, it's not too intense. Nevertheless, it is a mountain. More specifically, it's a mountain that I've been meaning to climb for a couple years now, and just have never had the time/energy/good weather for it. However, with the beautiful fall we've been having, I finally managed to fit it in.

My legs started out in the lead. They still believe that they should be my primary source of transportation and are a little bitter about the whole car thing. They started off at a brisk pace, shouting encouragement to other parts of my body, "Come on guys! This is great! Only a couple miles!"

"Wait for us!" shouted the heart and lungs, which, I think, are still not used to the altitude. (Well, at least, it makes a good excuse.)

Some times when they needed a break, the lungs would start talking to the eyes: "Hey, do you see how beautiful it is? You should convince the legs that you need to stop and take a picture."

"See? Sooo pretty!"

However, the legs would often reply, "It looks about the same as it did when we stopped 10 minutes ago! Plus, we'll see the same stuff on the way down. You can stop then, if you still want."

So then the lungs would talk to the brain: "Hey, ya know, aren't we feeling a little dehydrated? Tell the legs they'll work better if we stop for water." *pant, pant*

Of course, whenever the legs were convinced to stop, they realized that, hey, they were a little tired too. Then the brain would have to kick in and say: "Our goal is the top! Keep going! Further up, further in!" and the legs would comply.

Eventually the body started cooperating better as the legs began to realize that they weren't quite used to this whole always-up-hill thing. (Israel has a lot of hills...but none of them are quite this long...)

There was snow, of course, and, of course, most of it was on the trail, probably by virtue of the trail being more sheltered from the wind and sun. Or because people had trampled it to ice when it was fresh.

I wasn't complaining, though. I think this is the first snow I've seen (except from a distance) or touched in well over a year. Pretty exciting.

The last stretch was brutal as the slope increased and endurance lagged...but with the top in sight, who could stop to rest?

And the view was worth it. Many of my favorite mountain ranges, all visible in one glorious panorama.
The Spanish Peaks and Hyalite:

The Crazies:

And, of course, the long ridge line of the Bridgers. (Speaking of Ridge Routes...)

At the bottom I paused at Fairy Lake, a place which lives up to its name. It's easy to imagine the fairies coming out to play, teasing the fish in that still, green pool.

Saturday, September 4, 2010

Tales from the road

This weekend I spent about a day and a half road-tripping around Montana, which led to a number of unrelated humorous incidents.

1. Bull Mountains
You ever wonder how places get their names? My sister and I were driving along, passing from a flatter area into a slightly more hilly area when we passed a sign: "Bull Mountains."

Yes. As you see. Larissa and I looked around and thought, "Mountains? What mountains? That's just Bull Do-do! ....Oh...." And then all was clear.

2. Mecca Bar
Fairly shortly after that we passed a bar. The Mecca Bar. I still can't quite believe that is the actual name, but I double checked the sign... I am sure that people make pilgrimages there from all over Montana for their world-famous beer. Ironic, since any actual Meccan beer is bound to be terrible.

3. Oh Deer!
Deer in Montana are notorious for being on the road at the wrong place at the wrong time. The one below is one of the smarter ones we saw - no where near a road.

Roundup, however, apparently has very well trained deer. As we drove down the street we noticed a group of three deer on the side walk, the one in front intently studying the street in search of cars. As soon as we had passed we could just about hear her say, "Ok guys, it's all clear now! Let's go!" And I watched them cross in my rear-view mirror.

4. Animals Dead Ahead
Of course, anywhere you go, when you see a bunch of bird circling around an area some ways in front of you, it's always a sign that there are animals dead ahead! (And sure enough, when we got closer, a less intelligent deer was dead on the side of the road.)

5. Mount Tabor? Jordan?
As always, I miss Israel. This hill reminded me of Mount Tabor.