Barry Clark's Blog
Visit to Bogata, Texas
Went off to visit Betty & Jeff over Easter weekend. Found them doing very well, with energy for driving around and working in the yard, etc. They have a very nice house. (I am reminded of the Polynesian islands, where all the young girls are married to old men, because the young men can't afford the bride price, and have to marry old widows. Only people who don't need a lot of house can afford to buy it.) They have a very large yard, approaching too large.

The town is Bogata (population 1200), pronounced buh-GO-dah. Jeff claims it has always been thus, and that 'Bogata' is the result of an orthographic catastrophe at some time in the distant past. (The town was named after the city in Colombia, which is, however, pronounced bo-go-TAH.) There is independent support for this legend. It turns out that Shirley Sylvester, wife of the NM Tech professor, also originated in Bogata, and transmitted the same story to Martha Hatch.

Well, it rained a little. About three inches in a day and a half. The creeks were out of their banks, but only just, and not making a real nuisance of themselves. I rather enjoyed it. I've learned not to refer to rain as being bad weather. Bright and sunny weather when I arrived, and it turned bright and sunny again to see me off. A little cool while it was raining, but I never got uncomfortably cold, despite having decided not to take a coat. Brings back memories of when we used to go visit Mom over Easter. Then, too, I always dithered about whether to take a coat, and usually made the wrong choice.

Saturday night we went to the Bogata community chorus concert, which was entertaining. Spirituals Betty called it. Not quite what I'm used to thinking of as spirituals, more what I would call camp meeting songs, or just gospel music. Anyway, the community chorus comprises a large sample of the population, several percent of the population of Bogata. (But not a representative sample - 100% white, about 75% over 60. But Jeff maintains that Bogata is really a retirement community, with no industry, small farming, and precious little commerce.) The group holds three unified rehearsals, and then does the concert. So the music is not very fancy - almost all sung in unison - but with a great deal of spirit. And some of the soloists had quite nice voices. I enjoyed the evening especially because of my fondness for archetypes - this is surely the quintessential community chorus.

Went to the Bogata Methodist Church for Easter morning services. Church is about the size of Socorro's, maybe just a hair larger. (Methodists seem to do better competing against the Texas Baptists than against the New Mexico Catholics.) They had their crosses and their stained glass windows draped in black for Lent, and by a bit of fortunate timing, when the moment came for the undraping, the sun was beaming through a hole in the clouds - very dramatic. I brought home the order of service to prove to Pastor Judy that I wasn't just playing hookey.

Dog was ecstatic to see me when I got home. I rather think she missed me more than I was expecting.


Chupadera Trail
Finally got around to walking the Chupadera trail yesterday. Turns out that where we got to with Jasper was about half way, in time, rather more than that in distance. The top part of the trail does get a bit steeper, up to the cannonical 12% I think. Very nice view from on top, as nice as Polvadera Peak, which is several hundred feet higher. Much later in the year would be intolerably hot, I think.

Rehydrated afterward by mixing up a half gallon of some pinkish Crystalite stuff, and drinking it down. Apparently a persistent dye - later in the evening, I peed purple - rather startling.

I was a little tired when we got home, but recovered quickly, but Doggie says she's stiff this morning.


Organ Mountains
It appears I have nothing to say these days except about taking a walk. I guess nothing else ever happens to me.

So Doggie and I want on a walk Saturday, in the Organ Mountains. Back in our swim team days, I always admired the sere ruggedness of these mountains whenever we went to Las Cruces, and wondered if there were ways to get up there. So I picked out the Rabbit Ears Canyon Trail, which heads right into the heart of the Organs. But it turns out that Rabbit Ears Canyon is choked with boulders, which are more or less OK for people, but pretty much Hell for short legged doggies with a fear of heights. Every few hundred yards there was a boulder that Doggie had to be boosted over, which she greatly hates. When we got to the third one of these, I decided that the route wasn't improving, and gave up.

So when we got back down we moved to the next trail to the north, the Baylor Pass Trail, which is a major superhighway of a trail that passes between the main massif of the Organs and a more modest peak to the north. Even this required a bit of negociation; Doggie said, "Hey. The deal has always been that when we get back to the car, that's it for the day, even if it *is* ten o'clock in the morning." But I insisted, and we walked up to the pass, three and a bit miles on a big, wide trail with a grade never exceeding about 10%. The pass was a major funnel for the wind, which was blowing rather a gale, fortunately uphill. I walked 50 yards down the other side for a better view, and thought I was going to have to crawl back, uphill and against the wind.

On the way down, Doggie started to limp a little; I suspect more from the morning's excercise in rocky Rabbit Ears Canyon than due to the current superhighway. So I stopped and put her shoes on. She promptly removed two of them, but seemed rather happier afterwards. However, I suspect more of the improvement in mood was due to her laughing at my efforts as canine farrier than to greater comfort. About three quarters of a mile from the car, we came out of the mouth of a canyon onto a straight shot at the car. When she realized what that was glittering in the distance, she said "The heck with companionship," and proceeded carward at speed. When I arrived, about five minutes after she did, she was lying under a neighboring pickup, and only wearing one shoe.

So, withall, just for the record, I actually got home *earlier* than expected, for once. Early enough, in fact, for me to finish my rehydration with dinner and a couple of pints at the local brew pub. And, in good enough shape, that after that I drove the four blocks home. (My chief complaint about the design of the human brain is the lack of a self check circuit. There ought to be a mental button you could push, and get an answer something like: "Due to enervation and alcohol, your effective IQ is reduced to 79. Making major decisions at this time is contraindicated; operating motor vehicles is OK but marginal.")

My other flirting with the DUI statute occured last week when I was out to lunch and decided to buy a bottle of sherry (hey, I got to drink something, and Rini keeps telling me that coffee and diet Pepsi are bad for me). I left it in the car when I went back to work. It apparently got hot enough that it popped its cork. Fortunately, it was lying the right way on the slope of the front seat, so that not much came out, and almost all of that went onto the day's newspaper, which I had tossed in the car. So my crossword puzzle smelled like a wino, but not my auto. So anyway, I declined to dump the offending bottle into the parking lot, and drove home in flagrant (and fragrant) violation of the open container law.

Went to hear the Tech Chamber Choir yesterday. They did excerts from a piece by Gian Carlo Menotti entitled "The unicorn, the gorgon, and the manticore." It was hilarious. It almost makes me want to forgive him for "Amahl and the night visitors", which is bor!ing.


Santa Fe Opera: La Clemenza de Tito
I never thought I'd see a Mozart opera that I didn't like, but La Clemenza de Tito comes close. The heroine is Vittelia, or more properly the anti-heroine. She is, to put it succintly, a bitch on wheels. She plotted a rebellion and assasination of the Roman emperor Titus, more or less because she felt she was not getting the proper respect due her noble birth. Much of the audience seemed to feel she was such a bitch that she was funny, but I was not amused. And the rest of the cast were so ruddy noble that I had no sympathy for them either. (Am I being sexist when I can laugh at Don Giovanni, but not at Vittelia?)

And the opera was much too talky, full of long recitatifs intended to hustle through a lot of plot. Yes, there were some nice moments, especially in the ensembles, but they were too far apart.

So in the end it came down to enjoying the staging, which was, as almost always at the Santa Fe Opera, superb. They burned the Roman Capital right in front of us.

On another note, I bought some beautiful green chile, the first pretty stuff I've seen this summer. But I might have known by the price that it wouldn't taste very good. You never get good chile at $1.07 per pound. At $0.55 per pound it's usually good, and when it gets down to $0.35, excellent. And those years it gets down to $0.16, euphorious. But I did, at the same time, buy a cantaloupe at $0.19 per pound, which tastes like cantaloupe, instead of like orange polyfoam which they do if you are so misguided as to buy them at $0.68 per pound.


Visit to Brownswood
I've either had extraordinary luck in finding both sister's families reasonably hale, after hearing the tales of woe from the respective neices, or else things just look different when viewed from the frosty side of 60. True, both Jack and Jeff have to work the levers for a few seconds before actually getting up from a chair, but hey, who doesn't. (Note that that last sentence doesn't end in even a rhetorical question mark - I don't want any smart alec answers here.) True, Jack takes some pretty serious drugs every day, but again, after a while, who doesn't. Charlotte, on the other hand, suffers from a serious addiction - one which I occasionally have to fight myself - computer games.

It was a pleasant visit, and I enjoyed myself considerably, seeing how they live. But I like the Socorro climate better than Brownwood. I went for a half hour walk before sunrise, and came back sweaty. That's too high a price to pay for green plants in the yard.

Charlotte has cats. Cats mostly seem to just appear at her house and get fed. (Jack feeds the deer, but they don't hang around the property.) The cats are classified, in order of increasing wildness, as house cat (note the singular), patio cats, and cat shed cats. Charlotte can actually pick up the patio cats, but they don't much cotton to strangers. (I was rather startled once, when the ivy exploded beside me, driven by a departing patio cat.) Cat shed cats I saw only at a distance, going down to the pond for a drink.

Based on the recent visits to my sisters, and on observing my own conditions, I propose a new government program to benefit the aged (oops - "senior citizens" - sorry). Every year, starting at age 60, the government should confiscate 10% of our yards.


Visit to Hong Kong
Well, I wandered off and visited Ted in Hong Kong. He's threatening to move back to the US next summer, and I thought I'd take the opportunity to see Hong Kong as well as visiting the grandchildren. He said to come soon, as the weather gets hot and soggy in the summer.

So. Hong Kong makes Ithaca look flat. It's a very hilly place. And people just seem to ignore the hills. The various places we went to went up and down in a wild and random way, and the direction signs gave no hint that where you are going might be a hundred meters above where you are now. Other than that, it is a big city. Big cities are OK to visit (great, in fact) but I wouldn't want to live in one.

Ted lives a good way out in the New Territory, in Ko Tong village, in the Sai Kung Country Park. The village is a couple of streets of houses in a wildly verdant and hilly countryside. Sai Kung itself is a quarter of an hour drive away, and is the location of the grocery store and restaurants. Public transport is very good. A bus stops a block from Ted's house (every half hour), drops you in Sai Kung, where you can take another bus (frequent) to Kowloon, where you catch the subway to get most anywhere. (I love riding busses and subways, once I figure out the system. Hong Kong is particularly easy, in that all busses and subways seem to accept the same smart card - you just load it with money every now and then and then use it for everything.)

Eliza is a very solid girl, and gets a lot of chores of shepherding around the younger kids and visiting grandfathers. It even seems possible that she might make it into her teens without going crazy. (I had hoped that that route might be taken by Elizabeth, because when Emily and Michael squabbled she always tried to make peace. But it was not to be. Like all the other girls in the family, she has chosen to go crazy.) Matthew is a sweet little boy, just learning to read, and doing very well for a five-year-old. Three letter words of consonant-vowel-consonant pattern are his meat. Other patterns, and especially polysylables, still give him a little trouble. His chief weakness seems to be that when he gets tired or otherwise stressed, his ears turn off. This is not the usual in-one-ear-and-out-the-other that all children suffer from. It appears that the words never get past the eardrums. Emerald is a pretty tough little two-year-old. As do many twos, she believes she can do anything, and do anything she wants.

The visit seems to have revolved around amusement parks. One day Eliza took Matthew and me to Ocean Park, which is sort of Disneyland with more junk shops and a couple of midway-type areas full of game booths. Matthew and I let Eliza go on the roller coaster, while we went on more sedate rides. We all went on the Ferris wheel, and on the cable car, and went through the aquarium (quite a nice one) together. The wildest thing I went on was the boat ride (frequently called a log ride in the US). Matthew ducked down in the boat during the scary part. The ride had a nice touch - an automatic camera took your picture on the steep part. So Eliza had her mouth open, squealing, and there is visible the little white lump of Matthew's back, barely visible.

The other amusement park, or rather theme park, was in China. Well, Hong Kong is in China. But it is a Special Autonomous Region, and it operates much as it did as a British colony. Abutting Hong Kong is Shenzhen Special Economic Area, which was created to be a transition region between Hong Kong and the rest of China. It really looks about as prosperous and First World as Hong Kong itself, with superhighways, a subway under construction, lots of big new apartment buildings, and several WalMarts. And outside Shenzhen is something called "Window on the world." Its specialty is reduced size reproductions of world landmarks. Usually, the smaller the scale, the worse things looked. The 1/20 scale US Capitol looked OK, I think because we never got very close to it (been there, done that). But the 1/20 scale Notre Dame was pretty silly looking, and the 1/20 scale Vasily Cathedral was a toy; I especially resented that, because it is one of my very favorite buildings in all the world. The 1/5 scale Piazza San Marco was not too bad (but wasn't crowded enough). We managed to stay far enough from Versailles that it didn't look too bad, and the Peterbourg Winter Palace is not that great a building anyway. The only thing I found entirely satisfactory was the full sized Lion Gate from the House of Atreus at Mycenae (but then I've never seen the original). On the amusement park side there was a jungle ride with a little car running at high speed down a stainless steel track through a jungle. The track was about a half circle, the car had no obvious wheels and carried a fairly humongous trolley. I rather suspect it was a maglev with a linear motor, which I find intriguing if true. Their version of the log ride, which we didn't ride, has the interesting twist that located next to one stretch of track there were some coin-operated hoses, so that for a yuan or two you can make sure your friends get sufficiently wet if you don't think the ride itself is doing a good enough job.

Got back Friday night thoroughly jetlagged. Had to stop for a 10 minute nap in Belen when I realized my driving was not as safe as it might have been. Went to bed at 11 PM mountain, which is 2 PM Hong Kong, and slept for 12 hours straight.

Went to a peace demonstration tonight; first time I've done that in a few decades.


Kidney Stone
Another kidney stone. I was in severe pain for a dozen or so hours, starting yesterday at 5 AM. As they took their time diagnosing and prognosticating, I was actually reduced to begging for opiates about 1 PM. Then last night the stone apparently assumed a position where it no longer interferes with the kidney operation, and the pain went away.

They say this stone is pretty large, and will probably need lithotrypsy, which none of the previous ones have. They made me an appointment with a urologist for next week, apologizing about the long lead time. They said "If you are in continuous severe pain for more than 24 hours, come in again, and we will see if we can't expedite that." They have a pretty good handle on my enthusiasm for seeing doctors.

So, at the moment I am pain-free, but fully expect that next week I shall be subjected to arrangements that will change that.


Kidney Stone (continued)
Went to ABQ Friday for lithotripsy on my kidney stone. Came out of the proceedure feeling great. Thought "Piece o' cake." Then about 9 PM, it started to hurt. Hurt considerable. They do a telephone followup on the proceedure, so the nurse gave me a ring at 8 AM Monday morning. She said, "Are you drinking, eating, and peeing? Can you manage the pain?" I said, "Only just, in all categories." That was apparently good enough for them and she didn't propose to do anything about it. But I am feeling better. I have hopes of being back to the status quo ante by tomorrow or the next day. I'm even thinking about walking the dog this evening.


Fourth of July
Just back from holiday. Went to Pittsfield and spent 4th of July with Margaret and Barry and Michelle. Margaret seems to get along pretty well, Barry is about the same as ever, and Michelle is an asset to the family. Barry & Michelle had been living at her place, but the bulding was sold, so they are, for the nonce, moving in with Margaret.

While rummaging through the moving stuff, Barry came across some decades old firecrackers, which he set off to celebrate the fourth (they apparently were undiminished by age), nearly sending Margaret into orbit - she thought the house was exploding (after the initial startle, I thought "oh, that's just Barry.")

Next day took the Amtrak to Syracuse where Rini picked me up. She was just back from a week with the Kulbergs in Washington.

Time with Rini quickly developed into a routine - Get up; Eat; Hang around; Eat; Go for a *short* walk; Eat; Hang around; Go to bed.

Jasper was off to a day camp (or rather a half day camp, mornings), and Thea spent the morning at her daycare. One day our short walk included a swimming hole on Six Mile Creek. Jasper found and caught a turtle, which he considers a handsome and entertaining pet, replacing the deer mouse, which had been found and caught by the cats. (Rini was grumping about cleaning his cage, and talked Jasper into releasing him back into the wild instead.)

Lulu is a three month old cairn terrier. She is an entertaining little creature. She has a thing about people, and anytime she gets near a stranger she goes into a truly remarkable "Look at me, I'm so cute" routine. As with most puppies, she has a manic phase in which she endeavors to sink her puppy fangs into your anatomy. But mostly a pleasant pup, and good with the kids (that is, no more likely to fang them than anybody else).

I got my email occasionally at Rini's, but I'm not sure why. As of a week and a day of absence, I had 430 messages, of which I thought it useful to reply to three.

Really messed up my eating habits on the way back. Friday morning, had a substantial breakfast. Then at about 1:30, at the Dinosaur Barbecue in Syracuse, had an enourmous pile of barbecued pork, which was exacerbated by Larry, who had an even more enormous combination plate and ended up passing out miscellaneous slices of stuff. So then I waddled onto the train to Albany. My supper that night consisted of two diet Pepsis. The next morning I had an early flight, and subsisted on minor snacks provided by the hotel and Southwest Airlines (the grand entree was Ritz crackers with cheese). So I was really hungry when I got to Albuquerque, and went to the Olive Garden, had my usual calorific stuffed canneloni, with two servings of salad and then dessert (not your usual enough-calories- to-feed-Bangladesh dessert, just berries and custard, but still dessert). So once more thoroughly stuffed.

I had saad baag for supper last night. Whenever I'm in Albuquerque and can spare a few minutes, I like to stop by Wild Oats market, and get something outre from their deli. Saad Baag is cold curried spinach with tofu. It was pretty good, and made a nice supper. The stilton with lemon zest was less successful. It would have been better without the lemon zest.

Dog was happy to see me, and wants to know when we go walking again. After a week with Lulu, I conclude that Artemis is 1) huge, 2) sedate, and 3) badly in need of a haircut.


Ten thousand steps
The Surgeon General says that if we walked for 10,000 steps a day we'd be a heck of a lot healthier. So I used my new pedometer. 
Before work:  600
At work:     2000
Walk dog:    6000
Other:        700
             ----
            9,300

I'm surprised I was that active at work. And that's one of the longer dog walks. And I don't walk the dog every day. But still, getting closer than I would have imagined.

Dog was badly in need of a haircut. Groomer was taking her down to her usual summer cut, and discovered the shank of a fishhook, with the rest of the hook embedded in her leg. Surprise to me. She did limp a bit a month ago, but I just thought she pulled a muscle or something, and she stopped limping after a few of days. Vet recommended general anesthesia to get it out; I said to clean her teeth while she was under. Here she thought she was going in for a pleasant grooming, and people did all sorts of cruel things to her. She was in a most grumpy mood the rest of the day. Partly compensated by the fact that the vet gave her some antibiotic pills, which I give her wrapped in a piece of cheese. She *loves* cheese, even given the fact that I'm using some Kraft Singles that I bought a year ago to experiment (need I say unsuccessfully) with melting over the top of an omelet.

Curious incident this weekend. Half of one of my Junipers burned down. I had been in the front yard about nine in the morning, and I should have thought that if it were not OK then I'd have noticed. Then was inside or in the back yard until about five, and when I went out then, half of the juniper was burned up. There were no live coals, and no sign that anybody had extinguished the fire. Just half a juniper, and a couple of withered leaves on the catalpa next to it. I guess I could believe somebody flipping a cigarette out of a car onto the juniper, but I'm amazed that there could be a fire in that stuff without the whole front yard going up in a whoosh of flames. I don't know what's going on here.


Blue Man Group
Blue Man Group is famous for their invented instruments. Their real workhorse instrument is a collection of PVC pipes of varying lengths, with a microphone in them to amplify the sound. They are beaten with, I rather think, padded drumsticks, so the sound is the resonance of the tube being beaten, without a click of wood on PVC. The effect is rather like a xylophone. This is, by no means their only PVC instrument. There are several others, one with a slide, played rather like a two man trombone, with one man supplying the sound, by beating it with drumsticks, and the other setting the note by running the slide in and out.

The overall effect is not displeasing. Their music tends toward classical harmony, without the gratuitous dissonance of many rock groups.

Their light show is bright and entertaining, and, I thought, rather better integrated with the music than most light shows I have seen. It was clearly an accompaniment to the music, and not a thing in itself, with a little music incidental to the light show.

And all the time they were having a rock concert, they were doing a most outrageous parody and mockery of the concept of rock concerts. Having a rock group that do not take themselves seriously is almost unheard of, and a delight.

The Blue Men themselves are also interesting. They are, as near as one can tell, anonymous. They appear on stage with their faces and hands dyed blue, wearing black coveralls, so that no non-blue flesh is visible. They never speak. One suspects that they model themselves as space aliens, though they never explicitly say they are doing this. Their stage personae follow this line. They portray themselves as serious musicians who happen to have a liking for odd instruments. They appear to have an instantaneous and invisible raport among themselves, but appear to not quite get how to communicate with the rest of the world. In particular, they affect to not quite understand the concept of a rock concert.

All in all, the group seems dedicated to seeing that the audience has a good time, and has no particular agenda of their own. They pursue that goal with skill and vast resources. (I can only imagine the effort that went into the seemingly effortless light show effects and musical transitions. From what I could see, being a Blue Man calls for a vast amount of both physical and mental labor.)

I saw a couple of other people who might have been my age. But clearly, I was in at least the 98th percentile, agewise. And that's a pity, because I quite enjoyed myself, and I'm sure many of my more uptight compeers would have done the same if they had given themselves the chance.


Wheeler Wilderness
I haven't fallen down for over a year, and I was beginning to worry that I should give it up entirely due to an advanced state of brittleness. Not to worry. My foot slipped on loose gravel, and slid over the edge of the trail - this was one of those trails traversing horizontally across quite a steep slope - and took me with it. Fortunately, I intercepted a tree only a few feet down, and even more fortunately, the force of the interception was absorbed by my pack, not by my head. So it was simply a matter of flipping over so that my feet were lower than my head (the local gravity was more than willing to assist in this operation), standing up, and walking back up to the trail. For a few minutes the muscle in my left thigh thought about staging a major protest, but I pointed out to it that it would be very embarrasing if it didn't help carry my body back to the car, some four miles away. So after a couple of token yelps it consented. Only other obvious damage was a tiny scratch on my little finger, which for some reason obstinately refused to stop bleeding. By the time I finally got it suppressed, my handkerchief was sufficiently besmirched with gore that a kindly passing mountain biker stopped and asked if I needed to be rescued.

However, given a few hours to set up in the car on the way home, the left leg exacted its revenge. I have a pronounced Igor lurch. (Igor, with a long I as in "Young Frankenstein"; I have joined his "Please walk this way" joke.)

But the real worry is that the Igor imitation is not due to the fall, but is just my arthritic knee protesting at being forced to go on a fifteen mile hike. 

> Barry,
> Seems sort of dangerous to be out there all alone.  Was 
> the dog with you this time?

Doggie discovered that in Northern New Mexico at high elevations it is actually cool. She was ecstatic.

Actually, this trail was busier than most I walk, although mostly on the first four or five miles, up to Lost Lake. Besides the mountain bikers I mentioned, there were a couple of guys trying to look like serious trekkers (with the long metal alpenstocks), and at least three parties of day-hikers up to lost lake. There were, I guess, 20 people (and at least one dog) from at least three parties spending the night at Lost Lake Saturday night. And, about a mile from the bottom of the trail, I met a party of 'shroomers, including one lady, a bit apart from the rest, who told me she was looking for Amanita muscaria, and that they could be safely eaten, in small quantities, after parboiling. (I still feel rather guilty that I admitted I'd seen several, but that was before she told me she wanted to eat them.) See? In one narrative I've demonstrated both that I was not out of touch with humanity, and that there are people out there even more in need of supervision than I am.

Early in the summer, there was a note in the Albuquerque paper about a 75 year old lady gone missing, and a few days later another note that her body had been found in the Sandias, seven miles from her car, where she had apparently died of natural causes. My reaction was not to take a salutary object lesson, but to think "Seven miles? That's pretty good for 75, especially since she probably planned to return."


A little walk
Walked the 'Six Mile Loop' Saturday. It gets its name from going through Six Mile Canyon (it's actually seven or eight miles long). I suspect Six Mile Canyon gets its name from the fact that it debouches into the valley about six miles from Socorro. First bad thing was that they have the road to Langmuir Lab closed for repairs. (I knew they were going to do that, but I didn't think it was quite yet.) So an extra mile and three quarters walk up to the trailhead. Second bad thing was that the trail from South Canyon into Six Mile Canyon is in abominable shape - poorly marked on the slopes (at one point I was reduced to casting back and forth across the slope two or three times until I finally saw a blaze), and proceeding down the stream course in the canyon, littered with loose rocks, brush, and trash, making for hard walking. Third bad thing was that I had only been looking at maps without contours. Six Mile Canyon slopes up about 1,500 feet before the trail breaks over into Water Canyon. Ugh. Lost the trail again near the top of the canyon, said the heck with it, and just followed the GPS back to the road. Probably shorter, but a little more strenuous, than the trail. Got back to town about 8:30, missing a concert at Macey center that I thought sure I'd make (and would have had the road been open).

But, withall, a nice day. Reasonably cool. For once I took the right amount of water. Totally by myself once I left the road. (Fairly fresh looking tracks, though; made the day before, I should think.) Before I left the road, I got to say "Hi" to the heavy equipment operators, which was fun. Much of the way walking through lovely forests of fir and cedar and a few ponderosa pines. Streams flowing in the little canyon leading down into Six Mile, intermittently in Six Mile Canyon, and much of the way in Water Canyon. Fungi and flowers out in force. One section of the canyon is apparently a black bear latrine - interesting if not especially delightful. Found a deer antler, which I fancied to take home as a knick-knack. (Dog was a little puzzled by this - she inspected it closely several times, trying to figure out why I thought it worth toting.)

An interesting perceptual illusion. I had been walking through forests all day, getting back to the car just as it was getting dark. As I drove home, I kept having the feeling that I was driving through the pines with the trees just outside the headlight beams, despite knowing full well that I was driving across the usual desert.


Getting old 
>       I hear second hand that Charlotte is thinking of movimg closer to Dena. 
> Charlotte never writes. It will be nice if you should move to Utah closer to 
> your innumerable Mormon relatives. Will you stay indefinitely alone in your 
> big house in Socorro?


No plans to leave as long as I can take care of myself. And if I decide to pack it in, I might not choose Utah. I enjoy visiting Ted, but having him next door might be a little much. 

>       I enjoy Alison's children. They are gone camping this week and I like 
> that too. Maybe it will soon suit me better to give up householding and do 
> nothing but cook my own food and watch the news.


Watching the news is overrated. I don't do it much any more. Newspapers suit me better.

And I eat out about half the time. I run out of ideas about what to cook.

My principal activity is walking. As long as my knees hold out, I'm content with living in Socorro and occasionally puttering with astronomy. 

>       I have seen George Bush say that he will not tolerate nucear weapons 
> in Korea or Persia. Will a partial blockade qualify as nontoleration or is 
> he committed to war? How are you betting?


I think Mr. Bush is smart enough to appreciate the lessons he has been receiving about the limits of power. I think things will be pretty quiet for a couple of years. But no bets for 2006.


Food
I was in a hurry as I stopped by the grocery store this evening, and thought "Grab something from the produce section, something from meat for dinner tonight." It wasn't until I got into checkout that it occurred to me that perhaps I might have given a bit of thought to the meal, rather than just to what happened to look good on the shelf. Acorn squash and liverwurst are not necessarily a very compatible pair. So I resorted to cooks desperation - when all else fails, make soup. I can't say I expect squash and liverwurst soup to show up as the soup of the day at your local Denny's, but it's not as bad as it might be.


Fall
Socorro is not reknown for fall colors, but this year is exceptional. The cottonwoods in the bosque are of a yellowness that dazzles the eye. Even the hated salt cedar is an interesting rust color.

But we are still dry, dry, dry. (But the weather people say we just think it's dry, because the last 30 years have been exceptionally wet.)

First time this year it's been cool enough to go out to the Quebradas. Went on my favorite walk. Since the last time I took the walk I have learned that the name of the place is Cerritos del Coyote. A half hour walk from the road takes you to a saddle with three fairly steep hills rising above it, and you can tackle zero, one, two, or all three at about 30-40 minutes round trip per peak. I did all three this time, which is pretty rare. It's amazing how much higher and steeper the third one gets while you're ignoring it in favor of the first two. Doggie said it was OK, but would have preferred a little cooler yet. I was on the edge of getting a sunburn, which shouldn't happen at this lattitude in November, it says here.

People keep dropping things on my desk saying "Read, comment." I don't seem to be able to do any actual work these days, just read things. (But then, this may be a conspiracy to keep me from doing actual harm. Oh, well.)


Rain
Rained yesterday, in a fashion most unusual for Socorro - an all day drizzle. Had minor consequences come time to walk the dog. It had stopped raining by evening, but only just. I took one of my favorite walks which involves walking down the side of a drainage channel, a concrete slope at 30 degrees, or maybe even 35 (Doree knows this walk). I put one foot on the slope, and heard a skkrrrrick as the wet sand clinging to the bottom of my shoe rolled a bit before the sole hit bottom. I decided a different, less entertaining, route was in order. (I am careful to document the times I chicken out, in hopes of fostering the impression that I still have an instinct for self preservation.) Another effect came when I walked down a place were they had been doing road work. (I'm not sure "road work" is the right term, but anyway they had been rearranging the dirt in a long linear strip.) Three months ago, this stretch was like walking through a few inches of flour. Two weeks ago, it was very nice; the ground yielded pleasantly to the foot but didn't splash. Last night, it stuck to the sole. I had high heels and three pound shoes for a few hundred yards. A third effect was just that, as usual, a small dog, now with muddy feet, concluded that the fastest and best way to get out of the car was across my lap.


Thanksgiving
The Provo Clarks were here for Thanksgiving. So dinner at Martha's. For some reason, both Martha and Catherine have the notion that I am entertained by board games. But I was most entertained by Patty's husband Terry, an art historian. I don't get enough opportunity to associate with intellectuals who aren't scientists.

Tried to take Michael, Elizabeth, and Eliza for a walk. Eliza runs out of steam rather easily, and it was too cold to sit around & wait for her to get up a new head. So we turned around about a third the way up Magdalena ridge. Then Michael & I continued a couple hours above San Lorenzo canyon (including violating a Sevilleta Refuge "closed area").

Karen left her dog with me. Turns out the two dogs did not get along all that well, so I ended up putting one inside and one outside, and doing a dog exchange every few hours.

The Utah lot went home Friday; took me Sat and Sun (with the occasional dog exchange) to recover.

Found a new nice walk in the Quebradas, called Loma de las Caņas. The caņas in question appear to be Ocotillo. It seems to like nice steep slopes. So steep in fact, that I felt compelled to concentrate all my attention on my footing, which, a couple of times, resulted in a sudden stop with a cane of thorns in my face.


Millet to Matisse December 2003
Went to an exhibit at the Museum of Albuquerque of turn of the century French painting. It had been more than thirty years since I had seen a van Gogh painting eye to eye. This is too long. There were two van Goghs. One was a Paris landscape he did as a teenager, and was merely competent. The other was a portrait of Alexander Reid. This also dates from fairly early in his career, but is a painting of substance, done by a man of talent, though he has not yet accumulated the power he had at Arles, when a mere touch of the brush can recruit the attendants of Hell to darken the skies in the guise of crows. This picture was, at first, thought to be a self portrait - the coloring and beard look much like van Gogh himself. However, the real self portraits, at least the ones done later, always seem to convey a hint of madness, which this one does not. It is a remarkably pleasant and conventional treatment. It is done in a quasi-pointilist style. But van Gogh, with his preoccupation with texture, couldn't use classic pointilism. To get control of the texture, painting only with points of color, the painting would have had to be ten feet tall, and viewed from thirty feet away. His studio wasn't that big. In this painting, as in pointilist doctrine, pigments are applied as pure colors and blended by the eye. But the colors are dashes, instead of dots, to provide better control of the texture.

Alexander Reid was hung on the back wall of a room, and on the side wall right next to it was a Mary Cassat portrait of two little girls that was the second star of the exhibit. I like this better than any other of hers that I've seen. It has the remarkable property that viewed from three feet away, the girls have expressions of repose, possibly slightly bored. From ten feet away, the girls have expressions of ineffable sadness and unhappiness.

I went on Friday, because I had some other errands in Albuquerque that needed a weekday. So there were a lot of school field trip groups. This has good and bad points; I think it was a net positive. The kids were pretty well behaved, and the art teachers enthusiastic. I'm not above being instructed by a grade school teacher. So there were quite a few people in the museum, and always a crowd in front of the van Gogh and Cassat. There were two rather good Monets, but they didn't have the drawing power of van Gogh and Cassat. They had the curious property that they looked their best from ten or fifteen feet away. I say curious, because artists are always trying to think of ways to suck you into the painting, rather than trying to push you back a few yards.

There was also an early (pre Blue) Picasso, which was perhaps a bit better than competent, but not in the company of van Gogh, Cassat, and Monet.

There was an instructive pair of painting by some guy whose name I'm not sure I'd heard before, and which I do not remember now. The first was a landscape in the pointilist style. Somehow, I seem to have missed seeing any of the great pointilist masterpieces in the flesh, so this struck me as being an impressive example of the style. Hanging next to it was a painting by the same guy, painted five years later in post-impressionist style. It was an object lesson in trying to identify painters by their work. I'd have never guessed it was the same guy.