alabra-cadabra

Now that it's February I better recap some of the projects that I finished in January.

First, I sewed a curtain to cover the eggfoam that I nailed into the doorway between my apartment and the upstairs apartment. Although listening in on people's conversations is something I feel completely comfortable doing at, say, the coffee shop, it's rather intrusive and disquieting when it happens in one's home. So, since eggfoam isn't necessarily aesthetically pleasing and I don't care to have any associations with padded rooms in my flat, I figured that a curtain was the way to go.

I found some great Amy Butler fabric online at fabric.com. I've never had any trouble with the company before and there are great perks for buying from fabric.com, but this time they sent me the wrong color way of the fabric (I wanted a white and light blue scheme but received a cream and olive). However, once I unpacked it, I realized that the olive green was better with the deep rose wallpaper - much more of arts and crafts color scheme than the red and blue would have been. I also insulated the drape with a heavy cotton backing. Best thing was that I didn't have to cut anything (I'm a big fan of the opulent extra fabric at the bottom)! I just pinned everything together and hemmed. Please take note of how straight the pattern turned out (*pat on back).

Next up would be my second knitting project ever: a "kettle" handbag. I used Lambs Pride worsted gray wool that I knit on circular needles and then felted. The bag itself is rather lopsided, which I think was a matter of post-felting blocking issues and not doing even increases/decreases (I always slanted to one side of the bag instead of doing opposing slants). Siobhlogger sent me a link to MJTrim's website where I found loads of awesome lucite-ish handles. I picked out the faux horn handles and sewed them in. I then took the purse on a test run down to Anthropologie in South Windsor, CT, and found that it leant me that certain je ne sais quoi that made me feel like, although I can't afford anything at that store, I still belonged. And in fact, even with its asymmetry I could feel like I was not a poseur but the real deal - I AM artsy and don't need to pay $68 for a tshirt to prove it. I'd rather spend $68 on yarn and spend too many weeks toiling away over some stupid wooden sticks and probably ruin my eyesight in the process. I mean, what's art without a little suffering, right?


Finally, I got my bread on. I made the Italian Rosemary Raisin bread on Farmgirl Fare's blog. Two Januarys ago, my resolution was to work on being more patient, and I thought that learning to bake bread would be a great way to practice said virtue. I think it's safe to say that I've failed or at least have significantly faltered in that endeavor since I always do a cost benefit analysis at the grocery store in front of the artisanal bread display and throw a loaf in my basket.

However, I was inspired by the recipe and by a visit to H & J's house in Otis, Mass. where I was treated to homemade French rolls and was reminded that a) homemade bread is really far superior to storebought and b) if H can be baking her own bread while managing a household with two youngins', what excuse did I have? (Sure, my cat can get needy for attention, but I mean, really...)

So, the boule didn't rise as well as I would have liked. Perhaps a baking stone is in order. But, first, I think I'll try putting a cast iron skillet with water in it on the rack beneath my baking sheet next time. I should have also pulled the bread out of the oven perhaps 5 minutes before I did since it was a bit dry. And I wonder if using skim milk for my starter was a less than ideal choice (although you'd think there's just as much sugar in skim milk as whole milk, right? and that's what the yeast really cares about, right? hmm, I'll have to check out Alton Brown's website). But, anyway, it makes a great piece of toast for my afternoon tea break with a bit of goat cheese and honey, plain olive oil, or just butter and agave nectar (I've really got to get back to honey as I'm not a fan of the agave except in tequila form, and even then we're on shaky ground).

For February I have a jersey dress (fabric not state, although what would make a jersey dress a Jersey dress? discuss amongst yourselves) and a jersey wrap shirt (see a trend?) to sew, and a chocolate brown cardigan to knit. The first two would be an experiment in a more economical new clothes procurement strategy whilst the latter is miserably failing in that endeavor (although NOT having Malaysian children being forced to do my labor is certainly preferable). So, stay tuned to see what comes of it.

Or, call it half a year in pictures so that I can assuage all guilt for not keeping up with this blog in 2007. We'll do it in reverse chronological order...

Okay, current state of affairs with an oil painting I've been working on for M's apartment. It's of a scene from when we were sailing in an incoming storm (the marina even sent out a boat to check on us). The yellow orb in the foreground is an archaeological diving buoy - Lake Champlain has an underwater archaeology park. I forget what wreck was underneath us at the time, but that's a pretty neat feeling - sailing on top of a shipwreck. Or, is that a scary feeling? Anyway, Adirondacks in the background, some Canadian sail rental coming toward us (blue stripe on white sail) and cliffs coming out of North Beach (I think?) on left. First time playing with water, reflections and sky in oils.















Okay, these two pics were my attempts to break through some writer's block using a Chilton mode of brainstorming. This was in preparation for an hour long public lecture at Historic Deerfield (in October), and represented the only public presentation of my Simon's Rock thesis work (New England stone chambers, New Age, memory, etc.) after graduating. The topic is somewhat controversial and enjoying a revival, so I was really nervous. So, the left picture is me writing out all my ideas on post its. The right is my organization of those ideas. Horizontal rows followed some organizing logic as did the vertical columns. Groups that were separated were harder to work into the paper and so were dropped. This actually worked quite well! Thanks to Siobhlogger for the tips.
















So, this was me making an apple sheet tart for our Department's picnic back in December. I had decided to follow a recipe that called for 16 apples. But, I didn't have a peeler! I ran around everywhere looking for one, but to no avail. That night when I came home, there was a ups package from Ohio - my mom had sent me one out of the blue! Very very weird. So this is me gleefully peeling, slicing and coring my way through the apples. The tart was awesome, although messy (not so good for picnics). And I had a lot of leftovers (good for me).















This was M's birthday cake that I baked back in August. All summer he was on a big mojito kick, so I put together a few different recipes with my own twists to come up with this. I used two layers of vanilla cake that I soaked for many hours in a vanilla rum syrup (hence the glistening). I made a 7 minute vanilla frosting with a hint of mint and lime juice and applied generously. I then shaved lime zest (using the awesome microplane Mom got me) and topped with some mint leaves from my front mint garden. I had a lot of leftovers of this too.















Careful mojito mixing going on at my family's well-stocked poolside bar back in July. Big difference between M and me - I rarely measure.















That's my cousin, Nicole, doing some serious Little Mermaid hair adjusting. Looks like the Barbie boat is a bit landlocked. And then Nicole, Dad, Aunt Marilyn and Christina (in her Gwen Stefani sunglasses) hanging out on the deck. My Mom, who was probably inside doing dishes or something, is represented by all the beautiful flowers and gardening all around.

And now we're totally caught up!!

I almost titled this the wine leg but then realized that every leg of my trip involved wine. In fact, most days involve wine, so that's not even a trip-related feature. But for my birthday, wineries featured rather prominently. Because Capt Mac and I stayed at one. We had the room on the bottom floor to the far right - once the Music Room in the 19th century manor house called White Springs Manor.

Our room was two floors - we had a spiral staircase descending to a basement room with a bathroom and corner jacuzzi tub. Interestingly enough, there was no door on the bathroom. I suppose if you stay at the White Springs, you better be very comfortable with your roommate - or deaf and blind (although the stairs would be rather dangerous). There was also a full length mirror positioned rather surprisingly so as to give the spiral staircase descendant a full length view of the toilet dweller, and vice versa, but really, only one person comes out on top of that peepshow, um, maybe. In fact that sounds like it could be a lose lose. But I digress.

Before we even got to the manor though, we stopped at Ventosa Vineyard on the northeast tip of Seneca Lake for lunch. It just so happened that my birthday was the hottest day yet that summer (is that some kind of omen?), but we found that the Tuscan-style terrace overlooking the vineyard and the lake was breezy enough to be enjoyable. After tasting some wines, I settled for a glass (and then a bottle to take home) of the Tocai Friulano to have with my amazingly satisfying panini.

Official tasting notes for the wine: The first and only Finger Lakes grown Tocai Friulano is smooth, well-rounded and exciting. This premiere vintage expresses ruby red grapefruit and honeydew melon, with complex aroma of wildflower and citrus. My tasting notes: good on a hot day and fun to say.

After lunch we tried to visit the town of Geneva, but the bank sign said that it was over 100 degrees and the place was deserted - and rightfully so. We did the only thing that made sense - tasted more wines. This time we went to the winery we were staying at - Belhurst. Since we were guests of the hotel, we could taste as many wines as we wanted for free. Don't mind if I do...I can't quite remember how many I tasted - but I didn't spit any of them out. I even had a blush that tasted like watermelons. Capt Mac tasted a wine that warranted, to quote, "I never knew what they meant when they said an aroma like cat piss until now." To which the woman serving us suggested "grassy" as another qualifier. You say tomato...

I settled on a 2004 chardonnay that has made me completely rethink chardonnay. Granted, it is out of my usual price range, but wow, was it good. Here are their fancy notes:

Les Mange-Cailloux, the second wine from our Legends range which presents the finest wines, available only from exceptional harvests, means “The Stone Eaters.” The name honors vineyard workers who clear the many glacial rocks from our Finger Lakes vineyards. The color of this Chardonnay is bright golden, testimony of the long oak aging. The nose is stunning; very complex with some ripe fruit notes such as peaches, pineapples, figs and dates combined with the delicious aromas of cedar, almonds, vanilla, caramel and spices including cinnamon, cloves and white pepper. The complete dryness of the finish reveals the cream, nuts, smoke and spice characters. Pair this wine with your favorite creamy cheeses to emphasize the oak and
vanilla, or stronger, blue cheeses to reveal the dryness and richness of the fruit.
Any dish with nuts or cream will be a perfect companion.

I have to say, the finish of this wine is really incredible. Capt Mac and I both have bottles being saved for a special occasion. Since then I've been doing my own chardonnay tastings, and have really enjoyed a Clois du Bois, but so far nothing has really blown my mind.

All right, so wine, food, pretty surroundings - oh and jewelry. That was my birthday. Plus a Tim Horton's hangover brunch the next morning = classy with a K.

We then walked off all the wine calories at Niagara Falls, which Capt Mac had never visited. We parked on the US side and walked over to Canada, where Capt Mac (ever the shipman) pointed out the Scow barge that has been stuck at the top of the Horseshoe Falls since 1918 (it's the dot in the very center of the pic).

Now, take a look at how close that barge is to the falls - there were 2 men on board with 2 very different approaches to life:

While awaiting rescue, Loftberg, thinking safety tied himself to the barge. Harris, on the other hand tied a rope around himself with the other end tied to a barrel. Harris thought that if the barge broke free, he could jump clear and hope that the barrel got caught up on more rocks.

I wonder, am I a tie-myself-to-the-barge person or a f**k-it-I'm-going-over-in-a-barrel person? The Falls leads one to such reveries...

Either way - 1918 - pre-helicopter rescue! And damn if another rescue boat would get that close to the falls. The men were eventually rescued - a rescue involving ropes shot to the barge from guns mounted on the Toronto Power House and a famous daredevil who climbed the ropes to get to the men. Here's the story.

After making our way back to Checkpoint Rainbow Bridge (just doesn't have the same gravitas as Checkpoint Charlie...) - we prepared to be interrogated by INS. Surprisingly, he was more suspicious of me than Capt Mac! That would have never happened if the Capt still had his pirate dreads. I think the "grad student" label is what triggered the alert. But, it was quickly followed by a fun little, "I bet you get people making jokes about 'can you dig it?' all the time" to my explanation that archaeology was my field of study. At least he didn't ask whether I dig dinosaurs.

Which I don't for anyone still wondering.

I trekked up to Vermont to visit with the Labrador side of the family on the Fourth of July. Typical Vermont, the weather was colder than usual - it rained and was in the 50s-60s all week if I remember correctly. Not quite summertime bbq heaven.

But, that didn't stop us from eating too much - in addition to all the rotisseried animal, black beans, and fresh bread (which, by the way, we were all taught how to make during a filmed lesson by Grandma L. aka Paula Deen's biggest fan) we ate - a fabulous delivery from North Babylon arrived of 3 NY pizzas, 2 cheesecakes, dozens of hot dogs and 2 huge foil containers of steak. It was a big city delivery - one we had to keep secret from the neighboring Vermonters up on Woodchuck Hollow Road (does that road sound paved to you, dear reader?) lest we be seen as ostentatious - or worse yet, made out to be flatlanders!

On Friday, while the youngin's were at camp (2 as campers and 1 now as a counselor!), the [supposed] adults stole away to Franconia Notch in New Hampshire to hike up The Flume Gorge. Franconia Notch used to be home to the Old Man of the Mountain whose face fell off in 2003. But, you can still see him today on the NH State quarter, on all the road signs in NH, and pretty much anywhere else that mentions NH.

Speaking of coins, on our way to The Flume, we stopped at the Littleton Coin Company where the men could get us back for being dragged to the East Barre Antique Mall. Luckily, the showroom was tiny. I looked at the case of ancient coins for awhile - but, you know what they [should] say - once you've seen one denarius, you've seen them all.

Okay, so The Flume. In addition to being a beautiful natural site, it was also the only part of my trip that I took any pictures of. Why? Well, I'm not really much for taking pictures - I always feel intrusive and obtrusive when carrying a camera around and clicking pictures. Plus, I was surrounded by shutterbugs all week. The Labrador side of my family must have a genetic susceptibility for photography that somehow jumped my generation. If you look closely, the two figures in the left photo are taking pictures - Dad had his camera and Ken had his video camera. Up ahead of me was Aunt Cindy, Creative Memories mogul, who had her camera as well.

Aunt Cindy told me she took something like 1600 photos when visiting Italy. I can't even imagine. I think I took 300 when in Nicaragua - and that was spread out over 6 weeks (about 7 pics a day). Photos are afterthoughts for me - like, oh, I guess I should take a photo of this now, kind of an obligation. And hence the obligatory couple of photos of The Flume you see here.

But, the flume was beautiful and did offer a neat geologic lesson for me. I tried to identify the basalt dikes that had cooled against the granite before reaching the surface as lava. There was also the historic lesson about how the gorge was "discovered" (read, found by a white person) in 1808 by a 93 year old woman named Aunt Jess that I pictured as Granny from Beverly Hillbillies. The story of Aunt Jess finding the site while fishing and then trying to convince her family of its importance is also kind of like that story about a poor mountaineer, barely kept his family fed. Then one day he went shootin' for some food and up through the ground came some bubbling crude. Oil that is, Black gold, Texas tea.

But, alas, no Labrador discovery of oil out in Franconia Notch that day. And although it was raining too hard to go see the covered bridge, I did learn about some covered bridge trivia. Like, why the heck are bridges covered anyway? Because Clint Eastwood looks sexier against a backdrop of barnlike bridges? Perhaps, but also because animals were easily fooled into thinking they were entering a barn rather than crossing a rushing river. Sneaky.

The first leg of my trip was great fun. I especially liked our meager fireworks show that consisted of one firework - one of those spinning triangles that you mount on a post. The show was made ever more exciting since teenaged Cousin Nick mounted the device on Aunt Cindy's birdfeeder tree, and due to circumstances beyond his control, when the device failed to spin, we found that it was aimed directly at the suet bag. And so, the one firework, which did not spin, but did shoot off lots of flames in 3 stationary directions, offered an opportunity for all of us to hold our breaths as we waited for the rope of the suet bag to burn through and fall to the ground triumphantly (as cheers marked the fall). That kind of reminded me of watching those carnival games with the water gun, the clown head and the balloon being blown to popping. But I, characteristically, digress.

Growing up in Ohio, even in close proximity of Lake Erie, did not offer me a marine-friendly lifestyle. Trolling around on a motor boat was the closest I came to communing with the waves and fishes. But when M said he was getting a season pass to the Burlington Community Sailing Center on Lake Champlain and that he could take me out sailing one day, I of course jumped at the chance.

Romantic images of sailing boats, yachts and yacht clubs crossed my mind. Finally, I would have a suitable place to wear my Ralph Lauren navy blue dock shoes (so what if they were on sale at Marshalls). Oh, I imagined myself being able to lay out on the deck of the boat, getting some sun while Captain MacIntyre directed us gently over the waves and prevented too much spray from hitting me. My Jackie O fantasies were about to come true.

But, wait. What's this about flipping? Friday, Capt. Mac. and yours truly made our way up to the lakeshore only to find a red flag waving. Oh, so what, a little wind, boo hoo. But, alas, they were not letting anyone out on the lake. So, the good Capt. showed me what boat we would have sailed. Behold the 14' dinky vessel to the right. Oh, wait, I meant "dinghy." While pointing out all the little components and doo-hickeys onboard (a tour I half retained since we couldn't go out on the water anyway), he said of the weird plastic thing on top of the mast, "that's to prevent the boat from turtling." Huh?

Oh, Wikipedia, had I been automatically connected to you as soon as Capt. Mac. mentioned the term I would have learned: "Turtling is also a dinghy sailing term referring to when the boat is fully inverted ie the mast is pointing down to the seabed. This usually happens if a capsize is not righted fast enough."

Wait, I know that word capsize. That is not a good word. No one told me that word was part of sailing. And what of my dreams of laying out in the sun? Fat chance. I'd be working - not relaxing. Well, okay. How nice. I was relieved to be leaving the marina - and not so secretly happy that the red flag was flying. Oh, but time is a fast duller of fear, and the next day we decided that ditching out on Capt's highschool reunion and going sailing would be a better idea.

We arrived at the marina to find a yellow flag waving. Yes, like traffic lights, yellow is that weird inbetween stage of safety and disaster. Micum waved some little red book in front of their faces, which somehow is like the passport of sailing under windy conditions. While he got all the sails and whatnot together, I noticed one of the workers put up a green flag. Oh, thank goodness. This must mean calm water, right?

While the Capt. rigged the dinghy, I mustered up all my first (and only) mate prowess. Unfortunately, the only mate I know of is Bob Denver's Gilligan character. And we all know how helpful Gilligan was. And you know what, the Skipper was kind of a buffoon too. My morale was sinking somewhat quickly as the boat was towed down to the launch. I think it was sinking as quickly as the wind was blowing - which was surprisingly fast. The waves were also a little larger than I had expected for that nice green flag to be up.

Okay, but no backing down now. I was about to be the second in command on a two-person crew, and it looked as though it took 2 people to sail this contraption, so I better know what to do. Oh, but wait, what was I supposed to do. Hmmm, something about colored threads on the jib (that's the little front sail) and pulling on either side of the jib line. Wha? Oh, wait, we're off? Already?

The wind had filled both sails and we were rushing out into the breakwater fast. Like really fast. Like, I didn't know sailboats went this fast. And then the tipping began. WTF. It is counterintuitive to have one's dinky dinghy rolling so far over in the water and have that be a good thing. I of course, reasonably, may I add, presumed it was a bad thing and panicked. But, for the most part I panicked inwardly, because if I learned anything from Gilligan, it was to hide all the bad stuff going on until the very end of the episode - and especially hide it from the Skipper, who was always on the brink of a massive coronary and so any upsetting news, sounds, actions, or text might push him over (and then who would get us back to shore!?).

Meanwhile, Capt. Mac. who had uttered quite a few expletives while trying to dodge ships and the breakwater, seemed to be getting the hang of things even if I heard him saying things like, "Oh, shit, who has right of way? I can't remember!" We had a few scary tacks at first (that's where you turn the boat and catch the wind on the other side of your sails) followed by some rather scary moments where I remembered the word "capsize" but instead uttered the slang term for cow manure a couple of times.

But, then we were out in the open water and not around any boats or docks or large rocks (I was considering when we were barreling down on the restaurant dock how if we hit it I'd jump out and concoct a kidnapping story whilst ordering a rum, leaving the good Capt. on the rocks). Now, it was just us and the waves. Which were rather large. And, well, wet. I was soaked by this point and the boat had some water in it (don't worry, the marina supplies a nifty little Skymall worthy hand-powered bailing pump that looked a lot like a Tide detergent bottle with the bottom cut off). However, we were in open water and things felt much calmer.

An island loomed in the distance. "Oh, that's the island I was shipwrecked on!" cried the Capt. excitedly. Did I just hear him right? Did he just wait until we were out here to tell me about shipwrecking? Because I know that word too. And although Gilligan's Island was pretty cool, the prospects of spending the rest of my days on some island in Lake Champlain without the Professor, coconuts, or amazing lagoons, just did not sound appealing to me. After some later research, I've since learned that was Juniper Island, which has an old lighthouse on it (where the Capt. stayed overnight, wrapped in sails, whilst marooned as a child).

Suddenly, I had the urge to sing. The words that came to me..."So hoist up the john b's sail, See how the mainsail sets, Call for the captain ashore, Let me go home, let me go home, I wanna go home, yeah yeah, Well I feel so broke up, I wanna go home." Strangely, I couldn't remember the other verses except for something about someone eating all of my corn. So, I stuck with the "I wanna go home" refrain.

After tacking a few more times, we were able to head back to the marina, and after a botched attempt and a couple more expletives later, we literally crashed into the boat launch while managing to pin one of the land crew between our boat and the dock (he fell in while trying to stop us from crashing). Amazingly, the guy was totally nice about it. I marveled at how nice actually.

Sailing has always struck me as a hoity toity sport. I blame that stereotype on John Candy's Summer Rental, the 1980s story of a blue-collar father who just wants to give his family the best summer ever, but failing miserably in slapstick manner until he has the chance to redeem himself in the annual regatta, sailing the local fish shack's sloop that has sat moored in harbour, serving as a fish stick freezer chest for decades. A motley crew, John Candy was Skipper of (as pictured), and yet, they were able to beat the preppies and bring in a win. Oh, look, there's a Scotsman on John Candy's crew too!

Once in the car I realized how sore I was. I had lost all ability to grip anything, as I had been holding onto the jib's line for the couple hours we were out on the water - afraid to use the mechanical catch because what if I couldn't release it fast enough to slow us or tack. My legs were sore from bracing myself against opposite sides of the boat, and my back was sore from ducking beneath the boom the whole time. I can't believe people do this for pleasure and relaxation. Crazies!

But, I'm totally going out again next time I get the chance! The Capt. informs me that I'm a good first mate, and besides, when else can I really work on my sailor's mouth and feel so proud?

Well, back again, and I bet you thought I'd lead off my Sea World story with pictures of whales. Oh no. How else could I start off this story except with the Baywatch water ski show?? The Hoff and Pam had nothing on Ohio's version. Geauga Lake, a glacial lake about 50 feet deep, is always host of all kinds of lifeguard related crises. Come to think of it, only the Baywatch skiers ever went in the lake...hmm...


Speaking of the lake, I might as well relay the stupidest question that I got as a narrator at Sea World ever. I was working at the killer whale tank - oh, I mean "habitat,"
and a woman came up to me and asked where the tunnel was. Upon asking what tunnel she referred to, she looked at me like I was from Mars and said, well the one that connects this pool to the lake! Wha?! I'm not sure how I maintained composure, but I calmly explained to her things like freshwater versus saltwater, controlled environments, etc. It was amazing.

So, narrating. It was basically the best job in the park below the animal care and training staff. Oh, and the pearl divers, who were pretty much beautiful casino workers, collecting the buckets guests paid for and retrieving oysters from the bottom of their 30' deep pool. Supposedly 30' deep. How deep was that pool anyway?

Oh, right, narrating. While everyone else in the park got to wear polo shirts, we had to wear really crazy button down safari shirts that never did lose any of its starch for the whole summer. We each had our own microphone and traveled around the park to 8 different exhibits with 30min shifts at each exhibit. We were supposed to 1) lecture, 2) answer questions, and 3) babysit the visitors. For instance, take a look at this pic of the Bottlenose dolphin touch pool - good ol' Dolphin Cove. We had 2 stations here - one up on the rocks far away from the people, and another walking around among the guests. Each narrator had a microphone, and commonly we would play the audience like Sally Jesse Raphael (this was the 90s people - none of that crazy midget love triangles yet on tv) - asking and answering questions and commentating like we were hosting the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade. Anyway, take note of that photo - see all those arms extending out over the pool, I mean habitat? See sunglasses and hats and cameras about to fall into the water? Yup. See the dolphins' blowholes? Why the childhood penchant for wanting to always stick fingers in blowholes? Didn't the kids just listen to me talking about how that's how the dolphins breathe!? Would you want someone sticking their fingers up your nose, kid?

Oh, sorry, getting carried away. Well, in addition to fingers in blowholes, hands near teeth, and personal objects being snatched away by the dolphins, I learned that midwesterners sure love to throw pennies into pools of water. Every day a new penny would appear in the pool, and sure enough, Bailey, our favorite ADD afflicted dolphin troublemaker would pick that penny up, spot one of us (remember, crazy safari shirts=narrators and dolphins=smart), show us the penny on his tongue, make his cute little dolphin squeak and then jump back out of reach. Ah, the fun penny game. But, it had nothing on the early morning Star Spangled Banner game.

If you were lucky enough to be opening Dolphin Cove and got there before the park opened (which always opened right after playing the national anthem for some reason), you were in for a treat - a special game of hide and seek. You'd saunter over to the far edge of the pool where all the dolphins would be waiting, then you'd duck down and run across to the other end and pop back up - the dolphins would do the same (but, you know, swimming) and then splash you. Such fun!

In addition to killer whales (the largest member of the dolphin family) and bottlenose dolphins (who are trained by the military to seek out underwater mines and have worked, untrained, with fisherman for centuries to net fish), we also narrated the sea lion and seal tank, er, habitat. While the seals and sea lions were all rescue animals from Cali and Boston (and who we could hear barking back at our house), the stars of the Pirates of Pinniped show, Clyde and Seymour, make for a better picture. Even though Baywatch was up there, the sea lion, walrus and otter show was always my favorite.

Then there was the Penguin Encounter - a glassed in Antarctic environment with a people mover (yes, that's the proper word for those flat escalators at airports) and insane clown music. The penguins always prompted such thoughtful questions like, "Are they alive?" yes. "Are those robots?" no. "Why is it so dark in there?" because penguins live in the southern hemisphere, which means that it's winter when it's summer in Ohio, and because they're so close to the pole, the days are very short, and thus, the whole exhibit is in a night winter for our entire summer.

There were also temperate weather penguins (Galapagos) at the Patagonia Passage exhibit. Those always threw people for a loop: "Why are those penguins out here in the 80 degree heat?!"

The sharks were my favorite though. My absolute favorite. Why? Because people are captivated by sharks, don't know much about them but think they do, and because the exhibit was indoors and air conditioned. Here you can see one of the sharks in the exhibit. You can tell it's a fast moving shark because its second dorsal fin is much smaller than its first. Schools of fish were also in the tank and people were always curious why the sharks wouldn't eat the fish. Once, after I finished explaining why the sharks wouldn't eat the fish for the zillionth time, I looked behind me and saw one of the lemon sharks swipe a grouper and look right at me. Grrr.

Well, Sea World Ohio is no more, but fun times were definitely had - lots of drama among the narrators and between departments with brilliant summer love triangles and parties out in Kent. And some trainer swooning thrown in for good measure. It was my first taste of public education, and I want to thank Anheuser Busch for giving me that opportunity. Beer + whales + learning + embarrassing safari shirts = fun summers.

I remember when summer meant walking over to Geauga Lake with my season pass in hand and riding on the old wooden Big Dipper all day (seriously, we're talking at least a dozen times in a row). Today, let's just say no amusement parks for me. Well, I thought I'd dedicate this post to good ol' Geauga Lake - summertime playground for middle schoolers - and summer workplace for highschoolers.

Although Geauga Lake opened as a park in 1888, the Big Dipper (see pic), its first roller coaster, wasn't built until 1925. With a first hill of 65' and 2800' of track, it was the largest roller coaster of its time. A couple years later the park opened an Olympic sized swimming pool on the lake, followed by Willie Stribling's boxing camp and a race track (now home to Target and Home Depot!). Speaking of depots - this is a pic of the Geauga Lake depot that would bring wealthy Clevelanders out to the countryside for their holiday.

In 1926, a handcarved wooden carousel by MC Illions - the same one I would ride in my summers - replaced the steam powered carousel from 1889. Strangely enough there are only a few carousels of Illions remaining - and another one is located at the Six Flags here in Springfield, Mass. Hearkening back to my American folk art gallery days, during which I was introduced to the carousel enthusiasts' world, Illions was the famous master carver of Coney Island - and his horses were always detailed in lots of gold leaf and tons of rhinestones. A Liberace of carousel makers if you will.

During the Big Band era, Geauga Lake's ballroom hosted Guy Lombardo and Shep Fields, who I didn't know when I was in 6th grade, and still don't have any appreciation for. I guess at some point a bowling alley and skating rink was built too. But, it wasn't until the 1970s that the park started transforming into what I could recognize as my playground. The Merry Oldies car ride - basically Model Ts on a little concrete track with a center rail and come to think of it no brakes! Now, that couldn't have been historically correct. Oh, and the Gold Rush log ride. Nothing like riding around in a giant acrylic log and barreling down into a vat of water and leaving the ride looking like you just wet yourself.

I remember in the '80s a big addition being the Wave, which was a really sketchy pool with huge sides that would release a giant 6 foot wave every 5 minutes. No one left that pool with skin still attached to their shins. I think that the designers forgot that at the beach, soft, sandy ocean bottoms made riding waves fun. Chlorinated waves attacking 100s of swimmers in an enclosed box with a concrete bottom only spelled disaster. I was scared shitless of the Wave. I remember Turtle Beach was where the fun was at for my little sis - little wading pools with weird toadstools spitting water and coconuts dumping water on your head as you tubed around. That was cute and definitely more my speed. Oh, and what of the Stingray - the giant waterslide that broke peoples ankles and whatnot. I noticed that's not listed on Six Flag's timeline.

Well, my last trips to the park were at Octoberfest years ago - right when the Texas Twister was introduced. What's better than eating Bavarian treats and then going on a ride that marries the action of a back and forth swing with a rolling log that you sit in! Hilarity and vomit would no doubt ensue.

Today I don't recognize the park at all what with all the newfangled colored steel contraptions. But, the trip down memory lane sure was fun. I promise that a recalling of my days working across the lake at Sea World will soon follow - dolphins, hot male divers, sea lions dressed up as pirates, Capuchin monkeys, and awesome Safari shirts defined my later summers. Who knew Ohio would be home to such surreal summers. And now, back to the real world....