Packed — Away I Go

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Espresso is looking bummed as I am all packed and ready to go. I think he has figured out that he isn't coming. This fall I had him fooled (he looked much happier).

I should be hitting the road around 5:30 a.m.

This will be my last daily post until Friday. I should be hiking up tomorrow to open the hut and then hiking down Thursday at the end of our shift. Weather permitting, we will have an airlift of supplies sometime during the week.

While I am gone the best place for updates will be my Twitter feed. You don't need an account, just go to www.twitter.com/meonmadison. For those who have never seen Twitter it can be a little confusing, but give it a shot, just look for the blurbs that are said by me (MeOnMadison). It's the easiest way for me to update as I can do it via text messages. They'll be short and sweet i.e. "Hiking up, clear weather." or "Airlifting today, woo hoo."

For the most accurate forecast you can check the Mount Washington Observatory website. The conditions and forecast are for the Summit of Washington, slightly more harsh but only a stone's throw away. It is the same forecast we get via radio at the hut. To get an idea of the temperature difference you can scroll down and look at the Auto Road vertical temperature profile for Mt. Washington.The hut is at 4800' on Mt. Madison, so our temps will be somewhere between the 5300' and 4300' readings.

To get visual idea of our conditions you can check the North view webcam from Mt. Washington. Often you'll only see clouds, but on a clear day you can see a deep dip in the in ridge, Madison Col. That is where I am at. The large peak on the right is Adams. Typically you can see Mt. Madison on the cam as well, but the camera has been spun to the left (west) slightly by wind and they have yet to turn it back.

Away I go again, same place, different journey. Onward.

Booked

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An essential piece of the packing process, stocking up on books to keep me occupied up at the hut. Last season it was Peter Matthiessen (The Snow Leopard and Killing Mister Watson) and Edward Abby (Desert Solitaire and the Monkey Wrench Gang). It was Abby who grabbed my interest as I read sitting at the kitchen after dinner, by the stove with my sheet up, or in my sleeping bag by headlamp. 

I shop for books by Author, I get hooked on a particular one, read a group of his books, stall and then move on.  First it was Rick Ridgeway, then Hunter S. Thompson, then Abby, whom my interest in has recently hit a wall. This spring at the hut its going to be Jack Kerouac (The Road, Big Sur and The Dharma Bums) and Kurt Vonnegut (Slaughterhouse Five). 

I am just as excited to get back and enjoy quiet reading time as I am to be in the mountains, go for after-dinner hikes and build a historic hut.

Packing Process Progress In Piles

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There is a "Here we go again," feeling that comes with repacking for Madison, but overall it feels much different this time. The nervous anticipation of the unknown has been replaced with excitement to see old friends. Instead of calling for necessary new-job details as I was 6-months ago, I am calling the office to track down Matt to see what he has in mind for hikes and to let him know I'll be crashing on his floor if I head to Pinkham Sunday night. 

Packing is similar to going on a hike as its a lot of the same stuff (backpack, sleeping bag, long johns) etc., but there are camping things I don't need (a stove, a water filter) and there are hut things I do need (a hammer, tape measure, cribbage board)

When I hike I make one big pile, sort through it, add a few things take away a few things and then jam it all, a precisely organized mess, into my pack. Done. Madison is different. I need to plan what I am packing up on my back, the essential clothing, bedding and other lightweight gear, what I need for the hike (crampons, snow shoes, gaiters) and what I am having flown up, the non-essential and heavy items, like  extra clothes, rain gear, insulated work clothing, tools, beer and skis. 

There is a margin for error since I'll be hiking up and down every week. Still, it's nice to use the helicopter while I have the chance and semi important to remember the essentials the first week. 

Today I began the process, but it was more throwing everything out of my storage bins, putting it in a big pile and calling it progress. 

Hey, its progress. 

Work is Done — Time to Pack

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As promised, Alex and I finished the back of the barn yesterday. All involved are pleased with the results, most importantly Pete who owns it, so that is good. Under budget and ahead of schedule. 

Now its time to really start packing for Madison. Little things. Making sure I have enough work gloves, and all the tools I am going to want. My skis. 

I spoke with Charles, the head of the AMC Construction Crew yesterday. Monday's weather is looking "Okay" for flying but Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday look "very promising." Tom hiked up last week to check things out and reports no major ice inside the hut but extreme snowdrifts outside. I can't wait to see. If we aren't flying on Monday, I'll probably hike up.

Phantom Ladder — Blog Update

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Which way is up?

Working in the snow apparently, Alex and I will finish residing the back of Pete's barn today. I'll have before-and-after pictures once (if) the sun comes back out. 

Tomorrow I'll start packing for Madison, again. I'll be down every weekend, so if I forget a thing or two, it isn't a big deal, but Id rather have it brought up on the helicopter than on my back hiking in snowshoes. I have two new batteries, a new bag and an 8GB memory card ordered for my camera, so I should be set  to continue taking pictures up on the mountain. 

So how am I going to do a daily photo blog while on top of a mountain? Magic. 

Actually, here's the plan: I am going to delay things a week. I can schedule posts, writing them on the weekend and setting them to pop up on here at set times. Next week I will not have any photos of the day. I will have some posts up, maybe some "Best of" bits linking to my favorite photos and writings from the first three months. Or perhaps a few of my favorite pictures that weren't photos of the day. The following week I will start posting the photos from the week prior. So a week from Monday will be my post from the Monday before, and so on throughout the week. Make sense? 

I'll also reorganize the blog a bit, putting more posts on the front page, so if you miss a a day you just need to scroll down. I'll also use Twitter (yes, Twitttttttter) more frequently because I can post updates quick and easy via text on my cell phone, i.e. "Clear weather today, airlifting... photos next week." Super interesting stuff like that. I'll give more instructions on that before I head up.

Hopefully I'll be bringing back some worthy photos and stories. This week has been pretty boring for me to blog. Living and working in the same place puts a limit on things. 

Antarctica interview today!

Light and Dark

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I think a lot. Too much? I've been told. Always trying to figure myself out—to be better. When things are good, I don't learn much. When less, I learn more. Regardless, I'm always trying.

Co-Work

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Meet Alex. He's doing the robot 15' up in the air in a snowstorm. Having a coworker makes everything easier. Misery is better shared, en fact, it can make it not miserable at all. Working alone on the backside of a barn, up in the air on a wet, cold and snowy day, would be miserable alone. Together, we had a pretty good time and got a ton done too. 

Note a good photo-of-the-day Day. Just a cell phone pic. Sorry. 

Soak Up The Sun

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It's amazing how hard it can be to find a place to sit on this earth. Out the back door, passed the bus, and into the field. First deep snow, then it a trace, showing long grass poking through, then wet bare patches of field and eventually real uncovered field, but too wet to sit. Finally, along the treeline, amidst the pine needles and cones, a dry place to sit, lay and soak up the sun.  

Peeking — And an Antarctica Update

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She's sneaky beautiful, the kind that doesn't need primping or makeup. One of my new favorite pictures. 

***

I promised an Antarctica update for today, so here it is, but before I get into it, a bit of a disclaimer. I am cautious about updating the process. It's new to me and I know little about it. Nothing is set in stone and being offered a job is far from a sure thing. I could be rejected merely because I have never had my wisdom teeth out. Like when I accepted the Madison job, but on a larger scale, it would be a difficult decision. I'm a homebody, and leaving, for four or so months, the smiling face pictured above, my pup who isn't getting any younger, and all else I hold dearly, would be decision to think long and hard about. That being said, living and working on Antarctica would be an opportunity of a lifetime. Despite my trepidation, I'll update the process here as needed. I want this blog to be a true representation of my year. Onward. 

I got a response from Raytheon Polar Services Friday regarding my applications for working in Antartica. My resume made it through the screening process for at least one of the various carpenter positions I applied. It's a minor step that sets the real application process in motion and begins to reveal more of what I should expect if I am offered and accept a position working on the ice.

For starters, here is a brief fact sheet regarding Antartica. It's a PDF, so it may take a minute to open. Here's a primer. 

"This continent is the highest, driest, coldest, windiest, and emptiest place on earth. An ice sheet covers approximately 98% of Antarctica. At its thickest point the ice sheet is 4,776 m (nearly 3 mi) deep. This ice is approximately 90% of all the world's ice (by volume) and is 70% of all the world’s fresh water. There are many penguins and abundant sea life along the coast – but there is little life on the continent, and there are no indigenous people."

And regarding the temperatures...

"The mean annual temperature at South Pole Station is minus 49°C (-56°F). During the austral summer, temperatures at McMurdo Station may reach as high as 10°C (50°F), while at South Pole Station, the summer temperature may reach minus 18°C (-0.4°F). Palmer Station has a milder climate, with summer temperatures reaching as high as 13°C (55°F)."

My first preference is to be at the South Pole station, with McMurdo being the other likely place. Palmer is less likely as it is a small station and more competitive to land a job at.

So what would I be doing there? I know several people who have worked on the ice, all connections I have made working for the AMC on Madison. From what I've gathered, as a carpenter I'd be supporting research programs and scientist, building whatever they need, such as mobile research stations that are set up away from the bases during the summer months. That's about all I know, and it may be totally wrong.

For now, I'll just plug away at the application process. Professional references and background checks are next. After that, peeing in a cup.

Espresso of the Weeds

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Old man Espresso, laying in the seaweed, soaking up the rays of the sunshine as the warm breeze blows through his fur.  Take him to any public space and he wants to wander, find every smell, leaving no stone unpissed on, but when he found his spot at the beach Saturday, he stayed. Content. 

I hope I age as gracefully as my pooch,' pushing 10 in human years. Nothing has changed between us except we know each other better. He's can be a grouch. We fight, literally. He clearly knows when he's done something wrong, and when he is doing something he isn't supposed to. Sometimes he'll listen and other times he'll defy. He's become more defiant in his old age. 

"Espresso, I've been telling you not to do this for years, but you're still doing it, when are you going to learn?" 

"Keith, you've been telling me not to do this for years, but I am still going to do it, when are you going to learn?"

Maybe I am a bad parent, justifying my child's actions and turning them into a positive, but a part of me can't help but smile. He's not a bad dog, he's an independent mind. He questions authority. He reminds me of someone I know.

Bonus Photos from the Day (click them):

Stacey and Char — Buggy Focus
Gull Liftoff
Nose to the Wind — Char's Eye View

Spring's Winning

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Let's all take a deep breath and exhale. Ahhhhhhh. Spring. 

Today felt like a collective sigh. St. Patrick's Day and the beginning of NCAA Tournament started—Pitt won—sure signs of spring. The sun warmed and the breeze was without a chill. Brown grass and mud are as common as snowbanks and ice and soon the latter will win out.

Winter had begun to feel like a rut. We were stuck, frozen, in it. The days were going by but there was no progress. Cold day after cold day monotony. Finally, we've snapped out of it. The stagnate doldrums of winter are gone. And my shovel is toast. 

It feels a little strange writing about spring when I know that I'll be driving away from it, North on Rt. 16 into Pinkham Notch, in a little over a week. Matt called me from Pinkham last night, although he might be exaggerating a little,  he said the snowbanks are 14' high. I'm not worried though. I'll enjoy the my bonus winter, just like I'll enjoy my drive back to spring every four days for my time off. 

Mountain Worthy Beer

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Wool clothes and good beer, two of my highest priorities. I'm hardly buying any new gear for the spring season at the Madison Hut. Maybe a new pair of wool long johns or a new wool hoody. Maybe a pair of wool pants. One thing is for sure though, I am bringing a new beer.

Baxter Brewing's Pamola Xtra Pale Ale wasn't available this passed fall, and until recently, although I had heard of it, I hadn't tried it. My Dad handed me a can of Pamola last Saturday. I light bulb came on as I popped the top—this is what I had been looking for.

For those who don't know, Pamola is a bird spirit in Abenaki Indian mythology, a bird spirit that causes cold weather. From Wikipedia:

"Specifically, according to the Penobscot Indians, Pamola inhabited Mt. Katahdin, the tallest mountain in Maine. Pamola is said to be the god of Thunder and protector of the mountain. The Indians described him as having the head of a moose, the body of a man and the wings and feet of an eagle. Pamola was both feared and respected by the Indians, and his presence was one of the main reasons that climbing the mountain was considered taboo."

For some reason, whether or not to accept the job with the AMC rebuilding the Madison Hut took some debate. It felt like a bit of a life change—although I've since realized it wasn't quite that big a deal.

Aside from being a part of a historic project, in an incredible location between my two favorite mountains, getting to live there four days at a time and having all my food and meals provided for me, there weren't many perks. I mean, the pay wasn't that great.

But there was one selling point from my interview that I couldn't shake. Beer. No, not free beer, but beer. I was told that if I got my gear, tools and other supplies to Camp Dodge before the first airlift, it would all be helicoptered up for me. And if I enjoyed a beer or two after work, to include it with my supplies, and it would get flown as well.

I had no illusions of getting hammered after a 10 hour work day on the hut, waking up, and doing it all over again. That's not my style. Beer is merely an accessory to kicking your feet up by the wood stove and relaxing after a hard day of pounding nails. I liked the thought of it. The fact that this detail was included in my "interview" told me all I needed about the laid back atmosphere I'd enjoy at the hut. Needless to say, I took the job.

There was one catch though. The beer had to be in a can. No bottles of Sierra Nevada, my usual preferences. I searched long and hard for good beer in a can. I tried to find my favorite caned beer from out West, Fat Tire IPA by New Belgium Brewing, a staple on river trips with my brother in Colorado, but came up empty. Unfortunately, it isn't available on the East coast. I was forced to settle on Harpoon IPA at the last minute. I wrapped the two 12-packs in duct tape, wrote my name all over them, and packed them in my duffel bag to be flown up.

They made it, safe and sound, aside from one casualty. Cutting the duct tape from the box shortly after the beer arrived, I lightly touched a can with my knife. The rapid elevation change and bumpy ride dangling in a net under a helicopter with 800lbs of other gear made for a beer grenade, touching it with the steel blade of my knife was pulling the pin.

While I enjoyed having beer at the hut, the Harpoon wasn't worthy. It didn't do the location justice, much less warrant an expensive helicopter ride. It wasn't meant for the mountains, maybe a whaling boat, but not the mountains. I didn't bother packing beer for the second airlift later that fall and settled on bumming PBR's and hiking up a bottle of Knob Creek, which created stories of its own. Still, I wanted beer. Good local beer.

Now I've found what I had been looking for. Beer worthy of those mountains—named after a mountain spirit and a mountain peak—in a can.

Distracted Driver

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Taking a picture a day has changed how I drive and not for the better. Everywhere I drive, I see photos to take. If I stopped for all of them, I'd get nowhere fast rear ended, and shooting while driving makes the pictures blurry is too dangerous. 

I-295 in Portland is my nemesis. Everyday I get the urge to stop on Tukey's Bridge to snap a picture of the old, perpetually open train bridge at the entrance to Back Bay. The way it reflects off the water during sunrise with the islands of Casco Bay in the background. The light is perfect during the morning rush, but being the highway, and a bridge with four lanes in each direction and no shoulder, stopping would be frowned upon. Google image hasn't even been able to get a picture of the bridge, I checked.

Everything's Ducky

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I stopped to shoot ducks again today, the third time in the last month. The first two times I missed, once so badly I shot my tire. My aim was better today but there were so many of them, how could I miss?

I'm starting to read again. This daily blog takes up so much of my literary time, I had to set down my book two weeks into posting daily.  I was reading Fools Progress, Edward Abby, but I sputtered and stalled. I'm going to let it idle for a bit.  I'm starting up Heyduke Lives, a spinoff of the Monkey Wrench Gang, and eccentric main character George Washington Heyduke, an Abby-fan favorite. 

I only kept my eyes open for a chapter last night, the day felt an hour short, but it got me excited about reading again like only a play-by-play of a desert tortoise being chased by a road-building bulldozer just doing its job can. 

"Something huge and yellow, blunt-nosed glass-eyes grilled faced with a mandible of shining steel, belching black jolts of smoke from a single nostril of seared metal, looms suddenly, gigantically behind the old desert turtle"

That's how I want to write and the first step is reading more. 

Stacey and Espresso — Having a Chat

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Stacey: Spressy, you're all wet and muddy!

Espresso: If you'd stop polluting the water with sticks, I wouldn't have to go get them. And you're one to talk, look at the bottom of you pants. Keith tried to tell you...

S: He's such a know it at all. I don't listen to him all the time like someone I know...

E: I don't listen to him all time. Did you see the trash can the other day? It was a master piece. He even took a picture! Man-oh-man you should'a seen his face. 

S: Yea? And how'd those chicken bones feel on the way out, old wise one?

E: <wincing> It was worth it. Every time its worth it. Could you leave more meat one the bones next time though?

S: Could you clean up the mess next time?

E: Train your goody-goody dog to do that.

...and scene.

We had another morning on the beach. This time we decided to bring Stacey and Charlotte. The photo light wasn't as great, hence my conversion to black and white. The tide was a bit lower though, which gave more room to run around and play. Weekend mornings on our little beach may become a routine. Good times.

Long Easy Mornings

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After a cluster-fuck of a week, the kind that leaves you wondering which way is up, I needed this morning.

With no alarm, we were awake at 5:30. Even the dogs were up, moving from one side of the bed to the other, seeing which of us would make our move—pulling back the covers, feet to floor—first. The morning was warm. It had rained for two days, but this morning you could feel the sun coming. 

Stacey got dressed for a run while I packed up my camera gear. I was anxious to test a new lens and filter in the morning sun. As jogged away with Charlotte, left out of the driveway, another left down Parsonage Rd, I jumped into the truck with Espresso, shifting into four-wheel drive to negotiate the mud, an early-spring right of passage. 

Espresso and I arrived to an empty beach and a tide rolling up the mouth of the Royal River. Birds scatter, taking flight or leaving the shallow rips for deeper, safer water. We sat quietly amongst the rocks, seaweed and puddles, all gleaming in the sunlight. The birds slowly returned, adjusting to our presence.

I sat watched nothing in particular. I was quite, thinking about nothing specific. Moments like these resynchronize me with life. They're a way of refocusing. Cleansing. 

My world has slowed again. I needed this morning.

Bonus Photos. No. 1 and No. 2.

Into The Fog

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I tend to be anxious amongst change.  Jobs, relationships, homes, they've come and gone. When it's time to move on, you know. It's the new beginnings that make me anxious. But what am I so worried about? The ends? You'd think I'd be used to them by now. 

I knew it was time to leave my old carpentry job. I didn't care anymore. I still took pride in my work, but I didn't take pride in my job. In the end, walking away was easy. "Do you have anything to say?" said the firer to the firee with a smirk, seemingly looking for a fight after handing me my last check. I, however, had no need to further justify my decisions. "Thank you for all the work," I said.

I sent a text saying I had been fired at 8:10 a.m. I received a text the next day at 3:36 p.m. saying a check, the one to buy the materials to start my next carpentry project, was in the mail. That's 31 hours and 26 minutes, probably a few seconds too, between losing the promise of one paycheck and regaining the certainty of another. 

I was never that worried. 

Now I am. And I need to get over it..

The path I am currently on will have obstacles, it might even end, but I've always managed to move onward. 

A few more pictures I liked today: This Old Dam and The Crossing Guard.

Sweet Horses

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The horses, Gizmo and Netty, helped make my day. Gray, slushy, muddy and drizzling, not insurmountable weather, but not prime weather to make your Birthday great. 

I strolled outside late in the morning to say "Hi" to the pair. After jumping the fence into the field, I started tapping my leg and talking to Gizmo. He was skeptical, as always, but let me approach and pet the side of his face before turning his head away. Before long he relaxed as we chatted and Netty came walking over to say "Hello" too. 

Gizmo took to sniffing and licking my hand while Netty had put her head on my shoulder, smelling my hair. I'd take out my phone to check the time, or to text Stacey to tell her how sweet her horses were being, and both would perk up with curiosity. One would sniff the phone while the other nudged it with its nose or licked it as Gizzy did on one occasion. If I put my hand back in my pocket, Giz would nudge my ribs or my hip until I took it back out. Netty would wiggle her nose and lips on my back. 

Gizmo can be a brat. He'll chase Netty away from the hay feeder and otherwise just be ornery—like me sometimes. Today he was a sweetheart, even to Netty, playfully moving his lips on her neck when I would step away. 

It's like they knew it was my birthday. 

More Pictures.

Grilled Cheese

Yesterday morning I woke up, 29-years old, and got ready for work. This morning I woke up, 30. I sat on the couch updated my blog. My boss gave me the day off. Make that my former boss. He gave me everyday hereafter off too.

29 years 364 days old. Fired for the first time.

I was set to give my two weeks notice on Friday—heading back to Madison after all. Now I get a little quasi-mini-not-so two week vacation.

Being fired feels weird, but fortunately I am not in a position to be ashamed. I am not going to air the dirty laundry here, but know this: I can walk away holding my head high. I worked hard and handled things the ways I thought were best. I'll learn from the experience. What else can you do?

As Forest Gump said, "That's all I have to say about that."

Onward?

By the end of the day, I had lined up—planned, estimated and wrote up the proposal—a carpentry project that would more than compensate for not having a real job over the next two weeks. I will hopefully be doing a project that a friend needs done, while working alongside another friend. It's good to have friends.

Onward.

How great is grilled cheese? You have a crazy day, 6 p.m. rolls onto the clock and you have no idea what's for dinner. But you're hungry. Bread, check, butter, check, cheese check. Add a can of soup and you have dinner. Add popcorn is its gourmet. Yesterday was a grilled cheese day. Dinner was great.

Dark Day or Bright Night?

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Okay, so the stars give it away. 

Big Clouds Little Sky

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Just a nice picture for today. No writing. Come back tomorrow.

Nice Flow

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My "cousin" Nick—he is related to me and younger so I call him a cousin—commented on a photo of me.

"nice flow" was all he said. 

Nick, being in college and enjoying all that comes with, is far cooler than I , who will be 30 on Thursday. I took his compliment as I compliment. 

According to the Urban Dictionary, Flow is:

"Long, curly or wavey hair. Mostly a hockey term. Hair that would flow out the back of someone's helmet and curl up around the back of the helmet. Someone can have a flow or be flowin'"

I'm flowin'

(It's a cool way of saying mullet)

The only other time I've sported long hair been flowin, I was a punk-ass 8th grader, trying to shed his dorky glasses, that-kid, image. No hair cuts and lots of Sun-In "hair dye" was my, attempted, solution. The results were debatable at best. Instead of my hair dying, it died, and I was pulling out clumps, roots and all, with little effort. I went with the buzz cut for the rest of my high school years. I was buzzin'.

I am enjoying the world of flow. When I accepted the gig on Madison this fall, my hair was getting long. I decided to go all in on the Mountain Man part and not cut my hair or shave my beard during the project. To my surprise, the untrimmed beard made it less than a month, but the hair lasted all fall and is flowin' into spring. 

Thanks Nick. 

Hat Trick

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I'm late posting this one—too busy writing for money.

I had my own personal hat trick yesterday. Three high school hockey games covered in 8 hours. A game in Lewiston at 2 p.m. (Story No. 1) and games in Portland at 5 p.m. (Story No. 2) and 8 p.m. (Story No. 3). It was the playoffs, which added some excitement, but no real games to write home about. The 5 p.m. game was my fourth playoff game of the season, and after it ended, teams I had been covering had been outscored by a combined 20-1. Fortunately, the 8 p.m. game featured two teams in my coverage area and a bit closer a contest.

I thoroughly enjoy high school hockey. I get to know a few teams each season and there is something about watching, up close, the dynamics of a team sport that intrigues me. I was a runner in high school. Sure, there is a team aspect—we even won a state title—but the success of one athlete never truly depends on his or her teammates, with relays being the one exception.

Team sports take a trust I was never able to find. As a runner, no one else can let you down. The problem is, you're always running.

Stars WIthout Stripes

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Tattered threads where its stripes once connected, blown out straight in the wind, pulling strong on the ropes laced through the eyelets that keep it tied to its poll. The flag flew strong, still proud, out tight, snapping with the wind.

Forget any political statements, "USA, USA," and all that—stuff.

Worn out and broken down—scars show where you've been. Be proud of what's been overcome.  Pull tight at those cords, but stay connected. Stare down the clouds. Find the blue sky beyond.

I like what this little fraction of a flag represents without any Old Glory symbolism. It's been out in the weather, its stripes literally blown off, but there it was, the square that remained flying better than ever. 

I didn't even see the flag at first. A sewer, a manhole, right on the edge of Casco Bay(photo) is what I had walked down to photograph. I had been waiting for a day with post-work sunshine to go take a picture. I had noticed the scene driving by a few days before. I walked down into the mud, sea grass and snow and moved around for a few different angles of the rusty circle of steel. I saw the flag, on a tall pole at the end of a dock, but thought nothing of it. It looked checkered, or like a small nautical flag. 

I took a few more shots, the ice and snow running out into the low-tide mudflats (photo) and walked down towards the dock. Then I noticed something was missing from the flag. Definitely my photo of the day. 

The White Elephant

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The White Elephant, he sits by the  covered in-ground pool in a middle-class neighborhood, covered in snow, cracked. His white paint peeling off to reveal elephant gray.

I knew there was a significance to white elephants, but I didn't know exactly what. Que Google and Wikipedia. They're a symbol of a possession you can't get rid of, but the cost to keep it outweighs its value. But you probably knew that already. It is often used to describe fruitlessly expensive government projects that end up being pointless, like a billion dollar submarine project that is never used, or a highway to nowhere.

The term comes from Southeast Asian tradition where a White Elephant (a real one) is a sign that a monarch was just and his kingdom was peaceful and prosperous. It is said that before the birth of the Buddha, his mother dreamt of receiving lotus flowers, a symbol of wisdom and purity, from a white elephant. White Elephants were an honor to receive as a gift, but had costly upkeep and could not be to much practical use because of their sacred and protected status.

So in Eastern tradition, a white elephant is a priceless symbol and a honor to receive, albeit expensive to feed. A symbol for honorable rule and a peaceful, prosperous land. Western tradition uses a white elephant as a symbol for fruitless government projects that costs a ton and don't result in enough military kills to justify their costs.

Something was missed in translation, but in a way, it seems appropriate. Value isn't always about dollars.

IRS

61/365

I hadn't been home in a few days and almost got stuck in the combination of icebergs and slush pulling into my driveway yesterday afternoon. Thankfully, my neighbors had at least shoveled out my mailbox so I had still been getting my mail....

A letter from the IRS? It's close to tax time. That seems reasonable. It's pretty thick though— a bill for $38, 255. I don't think I can put into words the number of double, triple and quadruple takes I did. 

Come to find out, I forgot to report the $84,000 a local newspaper had paid me for freelance reporting. That makes sense. That would mean I wrote 2,100 stories, or just under six stories a day for the entire year, at my current rate of $40 per story. Either that or someone at the Revenue Service forgot to key in a decimal point on the $840.00 I actually made. 

Fast forward to this morning. The propane heater in my apartment wont turn on. The electronic lighter doesn't want to lighter. Eventually, I go downstairs to turn up the heat in the main house (Pete's area). It's set on 54 since he is in California, but I figure bumping it up a few degrees will get a little more heat into my place. 

Good thing I checked. His place was 40 degrees. Out of oil. 

Now what am I going to burn for heat?

Note: Yes Mom, I am taking care of the IRS bill. I didn't burn all of it...

Tied Up...

60/365

So the day is almost done and am just getting my daily blog posted. Whoops.

I covered a pair of lopsided hockey games last night, worked all day today and came home and wrote the stories tonight. You could say I was a bit tied up...

See that? I just tied it all into the picture. Tied? Get it? A picture of bridals, halters, hackamores and lead ropes. Oh, any by the way, I don't know what half of those things are.