Schadenfreude

Schadenfreude: (German Noun. Pronounced Sh-ad-en-fr-oid) The taking of joy in someone else's sorrow or misfortune.

Tonight, Nathaniel and I watched PBS's "Antiques Roadshow". We've been fans for years: when we lived in North Carolina, Saturday afternoons were often spent with pizza or sushi, a cold beverage (beer for N and a glass or red wine for me - not chilled!) and a new episode of "Antiques Roadshow." It became tradition, as Nathaniel would spend the morning reading, doing work around the house, and listening to NPR, while I would usually be finishing a workout of some sorts. By mid afternoon we were ready to relax together, and so watching Roadshow became "the norm" (this was pre-cable...we hardly watched TV anyways, but sort of fell in love with Roadshow).

As I walked through the door this evening, I was pleasantly surprised to find Nathaniel studying with the Roadshow on in the background.

He winked at me and said, "Watch with me! One lady got told that her painting - which she thought was worth a lot of money, was hardly worth anything! It's great!" He sounded so enthusiastic, and I couldn't help but laugh.

And that, sports fans, is one of the key reasons we watch Roadshow.

It sounds awful, and I hate to admit it. But... it's pretty funny watching people's responses when they learn that their previously-thought-of-priceless-treasures are in fact, priceless. Not worth a bit. Nada. ZipZeroZilch!

Appraiser: "And what do we have here?"

Lady-Full-Of-Herself (LFOH) (with puffed-up hair, flaring nostrils that she looks down the appraiser at - even though she's shorter than he is - bright red lipstick, penciled eyes, lots of gold jewelry, and wearing a Mumu): "This here antique wardrobe chest was passed down through generations. When we moved across country, this came with us. One relative saved it from a fire, while another relative polished it daily with a soft-damp cloth. My Great-great-great-great-(insert-your-own-word-here)-Grandfather bought this at an antique store that was owned by Martha Washington's second cousin's daughter's best friend. We LOVE it, and would NEVER sell it, but we want to know how much an antique heirloom like this is worth. For INSURANCE purposes, of course." She winks.

Marit's thoughts: Insurance purposes, my butt. Humbug. She wants to know how much the darned thing is worth, so she can sell it and get her grubby little fingers on lots and lots of money.

Appraiser (nervously, with trepidation): "Well, then, ah - I'm glad to hear this, er, wardrobe has a lot of sentimental value for your family ---"

Marit's thoughts: There it goes, the "S" word. Sentimental. Oh boy! This should be good!

LFOH (takes a small step towards the appraiser and raises her voice. Affronted): "Well of course is has 'sentimental value'! It's been in our family for years. We can trace our relatives back to the founding fathers of this country, and we ALL had noble lineage from Europe. In fact, my Great-great-(insert-your-own-word-here)-Uncle Hubert refinished and varnished the wardrobe himself. He added years to it - years, I tell you."

Marit's thoughts: Ha! She said the "R" and "V" words. Refinished and Varnished. Something that ANY good antiquer knows they CANNOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES do. If it needs work, NEVER do it yourself. Take it to the professional. Come on Lady! You wouldn't have your pampered son fix your car just because it's a Jag and you've got a 'noble' family! Think!! Duh.

Appraiser (fidgets and is nervous, but determined to make his point): "Madam - while we here at Antiques Roadshow appreciate all of the hard work you and your plethora of relations have made to restore this wardrobe, I want you to focus on the, er, 'Sentimental Value' it holds for you and your loved ones." (speaks with more conviction, stronger, louder) "I've discussed your item with my colleagues, and while we appreciate the effort you took to bring your lovely piece to our show, we feel that it's worth more as firewood than as an 'Antique Wardrobe'."

LFOH: Audible Gasp. Brings her hands to her throat, affronted.

Marit's thoughts: Hurrah! She's getting what she deserves! (Thinking that "she's ALL that" just because she has some gaudy makeup to match her gaudy wardrobe!).

LFOH: Silent. Speechless. (A producer is seen hovering in the background, in case she stops breathing. They are used to this - they see these reactions all the time, from people who believe THEIR items are priceless heirlooms, only to discover that they are worth nothing but "sentimental values").

Appraiser (plows on, unscathed by her reaction. Nods, and winks. Seems jovial, oddly happy by the turn of events and LFOH's reaction): "But you hold onto the Wardrobe. Don't sell it and definitely don't burn it. It obviously means alot to your, ahem, family, and has evidently been in, ahem, your family for decades. Even though the wood is less than 50 years old and can be traced to a pine grove in Connecticut. But because it evidently has so much meaning for you and your priceless family, you should hold onto those beliefs. Don't bother insuring it, as you really NEVER CAN PUT A PRICE ON these types of heirlooms. Ahem." (clears through, coughs, and gives a small smile which goes unnoticed to LFOH).

Marit's thoughts: HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!

LFOH (shocked. Has turned pale. Lipstick seems not as red. Hair seems less puffy. Even gaudy jewelry doesn't gleam quite so much. Mumu is deflated. But lips quiver, stiff, and she is ready to fight back): "Well, honey!" (jabs her finger at Appraiser). "Honestly that doesn't make one itty-bitty-bit of difference. We've always contended that this Wardrobe will forever stay in the family. In our hearts we KNOW the TRUE value of this Wardrobe is priceless, and we don't need some show to tell us otherwise." (gives a cold smile).

Marit't thoughts: LFOH has just lost the battle.

Appraiser (LFOH has just lost the battle! But decides to be nice. This will, of course be on TV. He needs to be polite, but works hard at hiding his smile): "Thank you for sharing this, er - lovely piece. This is the classic example of what not to bring next time. Our viewers will certainly be grateful." (thinks to himself that he and HIS colleagues are grateful. Because now they'll have a lot to joke about off-camera.)

Marit's thoughts: Hee Hee Hee Hee Hee Hee!

LFOH: (Shocked. Speechless. Gives a half-smile towards the camera, tries to think of something "witty" to say, but can't think of anything).

CUT AWAY CAMERA - segment is over.

I know, I know. I'm horrible. We're horrible. But half the reason Nathaniel and I watch Antiques Roadshow is for the people and their reactions. The other half is, naturally, for the antiques (we've learned a lot). People watching AND learning about neat, historic, old stuff. Or in some cases, cheap imitations.

And we have a great time together, joking and laughing. Can't be beat.

Nathaniel always quotes the speech and dialogue in "Indiana Jones: And the Last Crusade" when Sean Connery's character, Dr. Jones Sr., is heartbroken at the thought of a broken, priceless, Ming Dynasty Vase. "It breaks the heart," he sorrowfully comments.

"And the head." Dr. Jones Junior aka Harrison Ford comments, as he rubs the back of his neck where his father cracked the vase.

FYI - it was a fake. The vase, that is.

But Antiques Roadshow is a lot of fun. Yes, we enjoy seeing the different reactions from people, when they learn the value of what they brought. Some are happy, some are upset, some are surprised, others are just plain overjoyed. I assume that there are those - like the lady above - who go to Antiques Roadshow with the sole purpose of stoking her already overly-inflated ego. Others just want to go and find out a little more about their things, their prized possessions.

The map in the study, an old teddy bear, a lump of clay, an old cane.

They all have stories. They are all antiques, are all precious to someone. Yes, even the Wardrobe.

And if I was in the same spot, what would I do? Who am I to judge? Knowing me, I would probably bring one of my favorite things. A bunch of worthless junk to some poeple, but totally priceless to me. No replacement value, because nothing can replace it - to me she is one of a kind. I would talk about sentimental value, discuss traveling the world with her, and bring along a tattered journal and a few photographs to document our journeys.

Appraiser: "What do we have here?"

Marit: "Priceless, well-loved, well-used artifact, circa 2004. Manufactured in France? Or the US. Somewhere of the sort. It had to be made by someone, right? The 51 means something...perhaps the size?"

Appraiser: "Well, it's obviously been well used. The wheels look well worn - see, you can tell by the spokes that aren't trued, and wear on the rubber of the tires. It's a little dirty, but a good, professional cleaning could do it wonders. Make sure you take it to someonw who knows what they're doing, as this means so much to you. You may want to get a few of the parts replaced, as they tend to break down and stretch with wear. You do realize this would be worth a lot more if you didn't use it so much, right."

Marit: "But I love my bike. Why in the world wouldn't I use her? I appreciate your recommendations, but I'll do what I'm supposed to do with it. And I think I'll start by riding her home. Thanks a lot, I appreciate the opportunity to share my bike with your audience!"

Appraiser: "Thank you. Remember, next time you get one, be sure to keep it in the original wrapping. That way it'll be worth more 50 years from now."

Marit: Is already riding off into the distance, oblivious to what the Appraiser is saying.

So there you have it. Antiques Roadshow is lot of fun to watch, to learn from, to make fun of, to laugh with, to observe. But mostly, I just like meeting Nathaniel's eyes and hearing him do his best Sean Connery impression. That holds a lot of sentimental value for me.

Priceless!

Oatmeal at 8 (pm)

sometimes your day is so busy and so hectic with lots and lots of rushing and running around with no end in site and all you want to do is sit back and relax but you cant because there is so much left to do and traffic is bad and drivers are rude but its all good because your really happy and whats the rush and whats the big deal but still all you want is to go home and relax but you still have another workout to do and then a meeting after the workout and after the meeting is over traffic is even worse and the city planners have no idea in you-know-where how to program the lights so what is normally a ten minute drive becomes thirty but its all okay because your listening to the relaxing music of aaron lewis on your ipod that your wonderful husband got for you to make your workouts easier which is great becuase they seem really really long at this point because your training for ironman and all you want to do is go home and crash but when you get home your wonderful loving husband wants to go over emergency proceedure cards for his helicopter and you figure its better to help him learn is proceedures than crash the helicopter because after all he would do the same for you if you flew helicopters and then he notices how tired you are and suggests that you NOT make dinner and your happy because now you get to eat breakfast for dinner and who really cares anyway?

So

Tonight

I

Ate

Oatmeal

(and brown sugar!)

For

Dinner

At

8

PM

While

Sitting

On

The

Futon

Infront

OF

the

TV

With

Mixed

Veggies

A

Diet

Cherry

Coke

And

Bag

Of

Beef

Jerkey

(Hickory)

Flavor.

And that's how my day was. But it was great: I got everything done that I needed to, the workouts were wonderful, meetings went well, traffic was not fun (but then again, when is it?).

And now I'm (finally) oh-so-relaxed.

After all - who doesen't love eating breakfast for dinner?

Return of an Old Friend

One of my New Year's resolutions was to bring back my road bike. Not that she ever went anywhere, per se... But for the past (and I hate to admit this) 3 years or so, she's been hanging out in the closet.

After taking her into Truly Spokin' of Pensacola, my favorite bike guru Victor (husband of massage therapist extraordinaire, Shelly), restored her to her original glory. And in doing so, my Steffi (after Steffi Graf) came home! And today, we had our first ride together in a long time.

I got Steffi a few years ago, 6 - to be exact. I was still at Madison, finishing up my junior year of college. Madison - many of you know it as IMMOO - is a very large campus, and I used my trusty, 20-year old Trek road bike to get around. The Trek was my mode of transportation, to class, to events, to meetings, to Nathaniel... I rode that bike everywhere.

One day, my bike was stolen. Not only is UW-Madison a great campus, one of the top public universities in the nation, but it also takes the cake as the bike-theft-capitol-of-the-world. Great. And my bike was just another casualty. In fact, annually there are so many stolen bikes, that the Madison police department created a separate division for bicycle theft. Nice.

After a police report, and sad phone call to Mom and Dad, my mood was pretty down. I was not only minus a great bike (remember: I form emotional attachments to items), but had no transportation on campus. Sure, I could use the bus, but let's face it: nothing beats a well-loved bike.

However, after a few phone calls between my Mom and my parent's insurance company, it was worked out that I could get a new bike under Mom and Dad's home owner's insurance policy. I was SO HAPPY! A new bike!!!

George, a friend of mine and Nathaniel's, who was training for IMMOO, mentioned that he would be happy to take me out looking for a new bike. As my Trek was 20 years old, I really had no idea about modern bikes, what to look for, what to get, etc. (Or even, how to bike - as I later found out after attempting a group ride for the first time). George was happy to help, and before I knew it, we had visited a handful of stores across Madison. I was grateful for his patience, knowledge, support, and kindness. He was awesome! (And he did great at his first IM - we cheered him on as he ran by us on Observatory Drive).

I tried several different kinds, but when I sat on Steffi, I was sold. She was a Giant OCR-1, and beautiful! I loved the feeling of flying down the road, of the soft whirrrrr of the wheels, the click of the gears, the smooth sensation of the ride, and the lack of noise!

Let's remember: my Trek was 20 years old. It was a bit rusty, it squeaked, was in desperate need of a tune-up, and made odd clicking noises on a regular basis. Nathaniel once commented that he could hear me coming before I arrived.

Fantastic!

Over the next few years, I rode Steffi more and more. From the rural countryside of Wisconsin, down to the flats of Eastern North Carolina, I fell in love with biking and with triathlon on that bike. Steffi was my escape from studying, from dealing with the stress of school. She was always there for me when Nathaniel was deployed, and she provided a great outlet for me to stay active and in shape.

We weren't always the fastest ones out there, but our hearts were pure. Slow and steady - we pedaled along, enjoying the scenery, views, and time together.

A year or so after I started competing in triathlons, I got my current bike Sjofin. She's wonderful, everything I could have ever wanted in a tri bike. And slowly, Sjofin became my ride of choice, and Steffi stayed in the closet or back room.

But she was okay with that, being the "older" of the two bikes.

And faithfully she remained, ready and waiting for the next ride.

A few weeks ago, I decided that it was about time that I got my trusty road bike out. I've been riding my tri bike for so long, and was looking for an opportunity to build my road biking. It was suggested to me by many many many people, that I do some training on a road bike.

So out Steffi came, was turned over to Victor, who took great care of her, and I picked her up yesterday.

She looked as good as new, only cleaner, happier - with new bar tape and a new big ring, rear cog, chain, and a few other things that had never been replaced (in 3 years of riding... see, I really didn't know what I was doing...). After a few power tests to determine the most ideal position, Victor had me all set. We played around with the seat position, bar tilt, and seat height. After taking a few measurements, Victor gave me the "all clear" sign, and I was set.

And today - well, today we had our first ride in 3+ years!

Nothing too big, nothing too grand. In fact, it was on the trainer - as I had to do it later in the evening. But it was wonderful, although a bit awkward. The workout itself was pretty fun: a lot of max cadence sets and rpm work. So that wasn't a big deal.

But there were a few things that I couldn't get over.

First - the front end looks naked! There's NOTHING in front of you except for the handlebars. NO AEROBARS!! Yikes! (Victor - a true roadie - joked that it was "clean"...).

Second - there are wires everywhere. On my tri bike, everything is tucked in, whereas with Steffi, all the cables and wires are on the outside of the frame

Third - the water bottle cadges are on the down tube, not behind me. Instead of reaching behind me, I'll have to reach between my legs for water. Great! (No peeing in the saddle... not that that's ever happened).

Fourth - I've got 3 rings: a little one, middle one, and big one. ON the tri bike, I've got two. Still can't tell you what they are or what the gears mean, but I'm learning...

Fifth - The reach to the handlebars is SO LONG. The top tube is long, and I don't quite know what to make of all the extra space. Victor mentioned that I needed to keep my elbows slightly bent... to prevent my upper back and shoulders from tweaking and getting tense. All I can say is we'll see!

But it's wonderful having her home again. Not that she was ever really gone, but now she's been tuned up, cleaned, has new parts, and is ready to ride.

I'll still have Sjofin for intense pieces and time trial stuff, but for the longer stuff, my new best friend will be Steffi. Welcome home!

Hovering

Today, Nathaniel - wonderful husband, best friend, number-1-supporter, biggest-fan, and all those cheesy-other-things - hovered a helicopter. No, he didn't fly, he didn't take-off, he didn't land, he simply hovered.

And in doing so, he took another big step to making his dream of being a Marine Corps Helicopter Pilot come true.

I am SO PROUD!

It was about 4 years ago, that Nathaniel mentioned he wanted to apply for the Marine Corps flight program (Field Accession Program or FAP). He had a dream of flying helicopters, and wanted to make the switch from a Marine-on-the-Ground to Marine-in-the-Sky. The FAP was very selective, and extremely challenging to get accepted into. The year Nathaniel made it (2006), he was the ONLY one approved for the pilot program out of the entire pool of applicants. Additionally, he needed to get special permission to delay his entry, because at the time he was in Iraq.

I was blown away, but ecstatic (and no, it didn't mean he got to come home early. He finished his tour with the 22 MEU, Marine Expiditionary Unit). I knew this had been his dream for a long, long, long time - so much, so that he bought a pair of pilot's wings and carried them faithfully around every day. When he would think about flying, when his squadron/ground work was frustrating, when he was deployed, when he was happy, when he was sad, when he wanted to be elsewhere, when he was doing his job, when he saw airplanes and helicopters screaming by overhead - he would remind himself of his dream and clasp those wings. So much, so that a little bit of the gold varnish wore off. (I didn't find out about this until later).

He told me it would be a long road and that in all likelihood, he wouldn't get into the program because it was so competitive. Additionally, making the switch from one MOS (Military Occupation Specialty) to another MOS was hard. Especially in lieu of the fact that he was a ground guy, and there happened to be a shortage of Marines in his specific field.

But in February of 2006, I found out through our neighbor - another Marine Pilot stationed at Cherry Point, NC - that Nate got into the program. I jumped up and down, sent Nathaniel an email titled *IMPORTANT*, and opened a bottle of wine in celebration. In the meantime, he had found out about 30 min before I did, and was trying to get in contact with people on the Board - to let them know he wanted the slot, but that he was deployed with very little communication...

I was beyond excited. I knew how much this meant to him... How hard he worked, all the hours of studying he put in, all the interviews, the BS, the medical exams, and everything in-between. There was no easy way to make his dream come true, but he pushed through, he "dreamt big", hung around for the long haul, and eventually we moved down to Pensacola, FL for Nathaniel's flight training.

After completing IFS (Introductory Flight Stimulus) for 2 months, API (Aerial Pre-Flight Indoctrination) for 6 weeks, and Primary School (where Student Naval Aviators learn how to fly the T-34 aircraft for the purpose of becoming a fighter pilot) for 7 months, Nathaniel has finally started helicopter training. The past 14 months or so (Nate started IFS in September of 2006), have been the most intense, most difficult, most studious of Nathaniel's entire life. Even more so than college. He jokes that if he studied at Wisconsin the way he does now, he would have had a 4.0 GPA.

He would spend 10 hours a day in class, and then study for another 6 or 8 when he got home. EP cards (Emergency Procedures), chair flying (he sits in the ugly green recliner and goes through the motions of flying the aircraft - same chair that he and Tabbitha fight over), "walking the landing pattern" - all became the norm. Times were tough for the two of us, and more often than not, Tabbitha and I did our own thing, and didn't see much of Nate. I did a lot of races on my own (this was pre-blogging days... so at least when I go to races now, hopefully I'll know some people... yea!!!), helped Nathaniel in any way possible, and for the most part, felt a bit lonley.

We were like two ships, passing in the night. We wanted to be there for each other, and were in as many ways possible. But it was still very trying, very frustrating at times. But we both knew that this is what it would take to make Nate's dream a reality. And more than anything, I wanted him to be happy (and safe... remeber I've got a fear of flying...fear of crashing).

We both realized this was part of the deal, part of what flight school was about. Even though it was hard on both of us (and the cat!), our relationship eventually grew stronger. And we learned to enjoy the precious time we had together. Saturday's became "our day", as Nathaniel flat-out refused to study. WE looked forward to that day each and every week.

It took a long time, as many dreams do, but finally Nathaniel has arrived.

Through all of the "blood, sweat, and tears", Nathaniel made it, completed all of the courses before helicopter training, and is now well on his way to flying the helicopter.

AND I AM SO PROUD OF HIM!!!

You can imagine my surprise, when after his "big day" (first time controlling the helicopter), he said that all he had done was hover.

Hover?

Nathaniel explained that "hovering" was the most difficult thing to do in a helicopter. Remaining stationary, while the pitch of the blades, the rotor, the updrafts, downdrafts, side drafts, and just about everything else are all counter-balancing and whatnot - is damn near impossible. His IP (Instructor Pilot) flew him out to one of the OLFs (Outlying Landing Fields), and demonstrated the hovering technique. The IP managed to hold the helicopter - in this case the TH-57 - steady, with about a 1 foot give either way (meaning the helo only shifted about 12 inches in any direction... front, back, left, right, up, down...).

Then Nathaniel took the controls... And almost grounded the thing (apparently, because of some physics thing or another, the helo is top-heavy, and Nate swung the frame, not the rotor blades, forward - so that the tail rotor pitched towards the ground, while the cockpit pitched upwards. Think of a big pendulum). Thankfully, there's an EP for that, and Nate knew it. Also, he was only 10 feet off the ground, and the IP was right next to him (sort of like training wheels...).

After a few tries, Nathaniel became more confident in his hovering skills, and his technique improved tremendously. He had a feel of the aircraft, and was steadily becoming more familiar with its demands. But it wasn't anywhere near what the IP could do. Nate said that he had a lot of "drift" - meaning that when he controlled the helicopter, it would drift side-to-side, back-and-forth, and whatnot. Not 12 inches, more like 5 or 10 feet.

"Practice makes perfect," was my response.

He grinned at me and replied, "And I can't wait to do it again tomorrow!"

Nathaniel's helicopter "hovering" prompted me to contemplate triathlon, and life in general. Hovering, in essence, is breaking down more complicated skills needed to fly a helicopter, and bringing it "back to the basics." By breaking down the hard stuff into manageable bits, we are able to build a solid foundation. With that foundation, our actions become ingrained, what seemed hard becomes easier, and we move forward with greater proficiency because the skills we took time to develop become second-nature.

I suppose we could all use a little "hovering" practice.

And to a large extent, we do.

Every time we practice swim drills, bike drills, run drills, transition drills, drills up-the-wazoo, we refine our technique, we bring our training "back-to-the-basics", and we contribute to our own foundation. True, we may not go as fast, may not seem quite so speedy as our counterparts who are streaking by us over and over again; but we are putting in the work to make what we do second nature and ingrained habits.

And that, my friends, means that when we are given the green-light to fly, we'll already have laid a solid foundation. Our fluid movements, our refined techniques, our "hovering", will make what we do simply an extension of ourselves and our bodies. We'll be fluid in the water, have a steady and smooth cadence on the bike, and our run turnover will promote effective energy expenditure.

And all because we took the time to establish our foundation, go back to basics. To hover.

Crawl before walking, walk before running, and, well, you get the point.

Not only do I connect "hovering" to triathlon training, but what makes me really sit back and think, is the amount of work it took for Nathaniel to make his dream come true. He spent years studying, practicing, chair flying, going over EPs, planning, and taking the necessary steps to make his dream a reality. He knew there was no quick fix, no easy way out. If he wanted this, then it would be on HIM to go out and get it (along with the support of a wife and cat...Tabbs and I are great at going over EPs with Nate...case in point, if you're ever in a T-34 and the canopy blows off... the first thing you do is lower the seat... :). It took time, it took a lot of effort - but today, for the first time, Nathaniel took control of a helicopter.

And he's living his dream.

I think that triathlon and pursuing our dreams, are similar to Nathaniel's helicopter dream. If you want to achieve a certain result, meet a goal, train for a specific race - you need to put in the time, the energy, the effort required. There is no easy way, there are no shortcuts. It takes time, dedication, work, sacrifice... but the rewards, the end results are so much sweeter because of what you have done. If it was easy, everyone would do it. But it's not - and you have a choice. What will you do?

Nathaniel went after his dream - and now he's living it.

This entry is dedicated to Nathaniel: I love you sweetheart. Way to go! You had a dream, had a goal, went after it, and made it yours - you did it! Hurrah! Today you not only hovered, but soared. And Tabbitha and I couldn't be prouder. We love you!

Beautiful Fog and Robert Frost

This evening I was going to write about the wonders of "Iron Chef" (The Food Network is having an Iron Chef Marathon... FANTASTIC!) But instead, was inspired by the fog that rolled in and rose between the trees and woods behind our place.

We live on the edge of a forest, and our balcony has a beautiful view of these woods/bog/swamp. Earlier in the day, I threw open the windows, let the sweet breeze blow through, and curled up on the futon next to the window with my current read ("Atonement" by Ian McKewan). While tearing through part II of the book, I glanced out the window. The setting sun was sending streaks of light across the sky, while shadows in the woods were beginning to lengthen. What caught my attention was the swirls of fog, the mists that were steadily rising.

It was beautiful.

It was serene.

And I sat, poised and silent, for what felt like hours - but in reality was only a few minutes - gazing out at this beautiful scene. I kept returning to the poetry of Robert Frost.

Here's on of my favorite poems, I hope you enjoy:

Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

I know that it's not snowy here, but the silence of the fog, the swirls of mist that rose and fell were simply breathtaking. If I could have gone outside and made my way through them (without getting lost...), I would have been out in a heartbeat. I love woods, I love the stillness and silence that surrounds me, I love the tree canopy, the rustle of leaves, and the sound of my breathing. I've always been drawn to this poem, perhaps because of the line, "The only other sound's the sweep Of easy wind and down flake."

Iron Chef will have to wait. Tonight, Robert Frost it is.


I took a few photos, but it was so foggy that you can see the water droples in the atmosphere. Simply beautiful. And serene. (But makes for a difficult photograph).