tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-59486802024-02-28T06:12:47.009-05:00A Life of AdventureOn the water, under the water, near the water or thinking about the water.Toddhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04866183958358678898noreply@blogger.comBlogger465125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5948680.post-50260139085206861602011-09-12T18:24:00.000-05:002011-09-12T18:24:40.902-05:00The Invisible Snowball<br />
I watched all the hands rolling an invisible snowball on the ground. The hands are attached to people pushing it and pushing it and pushing it between them until it’s a big fricken invisible snowball. Eventually they will roll it over to the client; they will look at it and decide whether they approve of how it was constructed. Sometimes when we’re all rolling around this ball we make a mistake, and it comes out lopsided. Sometimes clients get mad. Sometimes the boss covers her face and tries to hide her rage over the lump on the side and that patch of mud that we picked up. We tried to cover it with clean invisible snow, but it fell off. We argue over who has to tell her about it. “I did it last time,” one of us declares. “Yeah, but that time it wasn’t this bad,” another chimes in, “I took the fall for that big lump last month.”<br />
<br />
The boss stands up in a meeting and yells about it. And then other people yell while the rest of us are caught off guard and stammer. She asks how it got to be so misshapen, and why we didn’t clean the mud off. She asks why it crumbled when she presented it to the client. Why did it melt? She probes, pokes, slaps her palm on the table so the water glass belonging to the man sitting next to her splashes a bit onto his notepad. He picks up the pad and shakes the water off, while trying not to look annoyed. <br />
<br />
Her rage is directed at me. I was the last one to push this snowball toward the client. I didn’t notice the lump and the mud. I was already on to the next snowball. There’s a row of them parked outside my cubicle, with impatient feet tapping beside them. I warm my hands before the next one is pushed onto my desk. It was my fault, and she knows it. She conjures images of other misshapen snowballs that have left my hands. She rattles them off on her fingers, and moves on to the next hand to finish counting.<br />
<br />
The meeting ends. The row of snowballs is leaving a puddle on my cubicle floor. Someone pushed them inside so I would have to deal with them. I step around them and glance at the clock. Tears sting my eyes, I fight the urge to vomit. I kick wildly at the snowballs, grab my bag and meet my husband for lunch. I sprint down the hall and down the stairs to the parking lot. “Do not fucking cry at work! Do not fucking cry at work!”<br />
<br />
I end up crying at lunch instead. I barely eat the mango chicken he has ordered for me. I stand in the ladies room and watch the partitions around the toilet tilt inward.<br />
<br />
Back in the office the words fall out of my mouth. I feel my right cheek twitch and I wonder if it is doing so visibly. Words like “resignation” and “effective immediately” float in bubbles. They land on the conference room table in front of her and pop, leaving wet rings on the surface. I wait for her to notice, I fight the urge to wipe them with the side of my hand. She is grinding her teeth then storms out. The last paycheck is calculated within minutes, cubicle packed into 2 boxes, and set into the car. Goodbyes are said.<br />
<br />
I hear them say “Good for you. I would have done the same thing.” When I ask them to clarify they bend over and push their snowball down the hall, careful to avoid the patch of dirt around the corner.<br />
<br />
BJ Knapphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02655733034615023371noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5948680.post-30713597296727907562011-08-28T12:59:00.000-05:002011-08-28T12:59:09.777-05:00Hurricane Survival Tips<br />
As you may have heard, tropical Armageddon has descended upon the Ocean State. Over the last week I have collected these pearls of wisdom that I will now pass along to you all for the next big storm we get.<br />
<br />
1. Make awesome friends. Thanks to Charlie from New England Yacht Rigging for replacing the lines on the mooring. There is no way in hell I could have done that on my own. Also? Thank you to Sean and Heidi for helping me get everything off the deck. Thank you to Todd for showing up just as Sean, Heidi and I finished.<br />
<br />
2. Don’t buy bottled water. Bottle your own at home before the power goes out.<br />
<br />
3. Make sure that when your husband leaves for his business trip, just 2 days before the storm is due to hit, that he sets up the generator. Also, take notes about how to run it, and write legibly—this way you won’t have to try to read an instructions like “Turn on the herglef switch, and plug in the kuzogg wire.” <br />
<br />
4. Quit your job 2 days before the storm hits.<br />
<br />
5. The day before the storm fly out to Vegas and join your husband on his business trip an entire country width away from the storm.<br />
<br />
6. Don’t bother checking the news reports from back home. You’re too busy having fun in Vegas anyway.<br />
<br />
I hope that I have helped you to be more prepared for the next big storm. In the meantime, The Strip awaits.<br />
<br />
BJ Knapphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02655733034615023371noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5948680.post-47713955429700750392011-08-25T08:26:00.007-05:002011-08-25T08:26:00.159-05:00Summer Sailing Vacation: Saturday August 6, 2011We had planned to leave on Friday. But it didn’t happen that way. We met up in Warwick after work to get some Mexican food and to run some last pre-trip errands. <br />
<br />
“How about,” Todd yawned, “we get up tomorrow morning and head to Vermont. I am just too damn tired after this week.”<br />
<br />
I was tired too. I had been preparing to be out for the 2 week trip for nearly a month. I made sure that all the tasks that needed to be finished were assigned to appropriate people, and that they knew how to do them. I did the ones I could do before I left. I worked late. So did Todd.<br />
<br />
On Saturday morning I wrote the list of errands on the bathroom mirror in dry erase marker. Clean car, pack, clean out truck, get drugs from CVS, Todd’s haircut. We packed Todd’s Nissan Rogue for the ride to Vermont. Normally we would do a one way car rental, so we wouldn’t have to leave a car that we’d end up picking up later on. But there weren’t any car rental places willing to rent us an SUV and leave it in the booming metropolis of Rutland, VT. I called all of them; no dice. We relented to Todd not having his car, and we packed it with inches to spare with Todd’s Tetris-like abilities. I swear he could fit an elephant in a barrel.<br />
<br />
A 4 hour drive ends up to be very long when you stop a lot. We left the truck at New England Yacht Rigging, which is near our home mooring in East Greenwich. We said goodbye to our friends Maggie and Charlie at the shop, and headed north.<br />
<br />
“Trust me. I am a technology consultant.” I’ve heard Todd say something like that so many times. He says it like doctors on TV do. In the car Todd was logged in and working while I drove. But his Verizon hot spot wasn’t working properly and he decided to stop and get another one at a store in South Hadley, MA. Then we stood in the parking lot for awhile after while he helped a complete stranger configure his Droid. <br />
<br />
The good karma he racked up in that parking lot paid off and was a great start to what would be one of the most amazing trips we’d ever sailed.<br />
<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDJpah9sf7fdWEqXRdWrMNerDhCbH7AXKZH3aeqmxZwNoajTscgshhvXvV0Zk0CB71YbbBYc98kiD-rZ0VDArX0OcuogpBG2vmxPCPZuCz9tIeiJmVGoX94gVEMvTywwTYvVXL/s1600/beagle+driving.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" qaa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDJpah9sf7fdWEqXRdWrMNerDhCbH7AXKZH3aeqmxZwNoajTscgshhvXvV0Zk0CB71YbbBYc98kiD-rZ0VDArX0OcuogpBG2vmxPCPZuCz9tIeiJmVGoX94gVEMvTywwTYvVXL/s400/beagle+driving.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
I don't know how we'd get around without the onboard beagle navigation system.</div>BJ Knapphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02655733034615023371noreply@blogger.com16Rutland, VT, USA43.6106237 -72.97260649999998343.5880782 -73.005603999999977 43.6331692 -72.93960899999999tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5948680.post-3222769781236250612011-08-23T12:26:00.002-05:002011-08-23T12:26:44.500-05:00I’m Still Here<br />
In April I wrote a blog entry. And then a week went by and I didn’t write anything else. And then another week went by, and then a month, and then another month. Before I knew it, 4 months went by.<br />
<br />
But it’s not like I didn’t have anything to say. I just kinda went dry, that’s all. I continued to have adventures, but life stuff happened too. I’ve been on 2 trips this summer, and am just back from sailing Sabine back from Vermont.<br />
<br />
What happened was I just got tired. Work has been kicking me in the ass lately, and when I get home the last thing I want to do is to think. I have been working on the book during lunch hours, and trying like hell to sell it. But the man’s been wearing me down lately. I need to find a way to keep that from happening. I don’t know how yet. So far I’ve come up with ideas that involve purchasing large quantities of lottery tickets. I think to formulate a more certain plan.<br />
<br />
But I am still here. And I will write about this summer’s adventures. I promise.<br />
<br />
BJ Knapphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02655733034615023371noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5948680.post-39437016291355210202011-04-18T12:39:00.000-05:002011-04-18T12:39:06.135-05:00Steel Trap“I have something to show you. Wait here,” he gestured to the chair in the kitchen. This is not the first time that he’s said that. Dad’s full of random artifacts that at first glance don’t really look like much, but then when he explains you end up thinking about it for days.<br />
<br />
<br />
See, he’s the kind of guy who has a stack of newspaper pages on the bookshelf in the small TV room near the front door of his long ranch house. He reads the newspaper every day, cover to cover, and often finds something randomly interesting about an article. He tears out the page and sets it on top of the stack. Over the years that stack has grown to about 12 inches high. My mom pleaded with him to throw it away. But on a frequent basis he rifles through the stack and finds the exact article he was thinking of, and he almost always knows exactly where in the stack that one article is. <br />
<br />
This time the thing he wanted to show me wasn’t in the stack. He pulled out an envelope from the photo processing place; my nieces and nephews tease that their Dziadiu is the only person left on the planet who still shoots with film. He sets the photos in front of me.<br />
<br />
In the picture is a museum exhibit of a nuclear bomb. It’s a B83 gravity bomb that weighs 2,400 pounds, 18 inches in diameter, and 12 feet long. He points to a metal plate somewhere near the midpoint of the fuselage.<br />
<br />
Then he pulls out a photo from another envelope; in it is a metal object resting on a granite table. I recognize the table; Dad has these granite tables at his machine shop. The stone doesn’t chip, so it’s easy to slide precision measuring instruments on the surface to get an accurate reading on some part he’s made. See, Dad is a machinist, job shop primarily. Other companies come to him to make components that go into bigger things. Over the years he’s made things like engine parts for the F-14 fighter jet, and hinges for missile silos on submarines. <br />
<br />
He points to one end of the part, and sure enough it matches the metal plate on the picture of the nuclear bomb. “I made 360 of these things in 1981,” he points out. “And then we went on vacation in New Mexico and I see one on display in a museum in Albuquerque.”<br />
<br />
Turns out, he still has a few of them at the shop, and he dug one out when he got back from his trip. At the time he didn’t know that these parts would be used on a nuclear bomb. He had suspected they would be used on cruise missiles. But that was a common thing at the time. He got most of his work from defense contractors back then, and most of the time the part he produced was so obscure he had no idea what it would be used for. And that was precisely the point.<br />
<br />
We scratched our heads over the random nature of how he found one of his pieces. I scratch my head at how he was able to recognize the one at that museum that day, after having produced it 30 years ago.<br />
<br />
It’s not just the newspaper articles that he remembers. It’s everything.BJ Knapphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02655733034615023371noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5948680.post-3207560574756292922011-04-11T12:39:00.000-05:002011-04-11T12:39:12.885-05:00The Weather Is Here, Wish You Were BeautifulIt was a weekend of separate adventures. I went to visit my old college housemates an descended upon Krista’s apartment just north of Providence, while Todd and 2 of his co-workers hiked a mile or so into the forest in Connecticut and camped for the night. <br />
<br />
It was one of those weekends where I wanted to be cloned, so I could go on both trips. While it was so great to have some girl time with some of my oldest friends, there’s just something about waking up in a tent outside. If only I could find a way to combine camping with the girl time. But in my circle of girlfriends I am the “outdoorsy” one. <br />
<br />
But we did other stuff that involved drinking margaritas, painting pottery, driving to the other side of Boston for a cupcake, and laughing. Of course, the laughing makes it all worthwhile.<br />
<br />
Thanks for an awesome weekend, ladies. Even though I’d never convince you all to go camping, (I can still dream, eh?) I still had a fabulous time with you all.BJ Knapphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02655733034615023371noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5948680.post-20596025413913393622011-03-31T12:41:00.000-05:002011-03-31T12:41:58.450-05:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">“Wake up,” Todd nudged me at 9 AM on Sunday. I’d taken a shot of Tussionex the night before in an effort to fend off my infamous semi-annual-chronic-cough and I was groggy. “I got the reservations. We need to leave in an hour.”</div><br />
<br />
The afternoon before we looked into the possibility of taking a car on the ferry to Block Island to go geocaching. Reservations are required for transporting a car, and it’s still a bit cold to be biking around on a small island 15 miles offshore. <br />
<br />
“I’m going to clean out the Jeep and pack a daypack. You wash up and get something to eat. The ferry’s at 11, we need to leave at 10,” he instructed while I rubbed my eyes.<br />
<br />
At 10:50 we arrived at the ferry landing in Point Judith, RI. I backed the Jeep onto the ferry and rubbed my palms together in excitement, the adventure was about to begin.<br />
<br />
The last time we’d been to Block we’d sailed there. I can’t remember if it was 2004. Maybe. At any rate, we were due for a visit.<br />
<br />
Here I am in the ferry bay, just after backing in and getting ready to go upstairs to the main level of the boat. When we got into the seating level we saw that other people brought their dogs to sit with them. We left the boys in the car, and instead made a list of all the geocaches we wanted to find. There are dozens of them on the island. Many are about a half mile apart, if that.<br />
<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuFSR7kWvPjWollYQAyKAzwPQiebcMLF6n0DqoPzIIx24Syxyht5H-v8oLo4Vbfzngh4UgIVwVwcX_5O-YPRsR47RAOt_n5rLUXsATTO-WpQ5nc_mSwrTifnAcE7LF218efu90/s1600/BlockIslandFerry.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuFSR7kWvPjWollYQAyKAzwPQiebcMLF6n0DqoPzIIx24Syxyht5H-v8oLo4Vbfzngh4UgIVwVwcX_5O-YPRsR47RAOt_n5rLUXsATTO-WpQ5nc_mSwrTifnAcE7LF218efu90/s640/BlockIslandFerry.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The ferry is about to land in New Harbor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This section of the island, for obvious reasons, is the downtown area.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not many people have cars on the island.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is bike rental and scooter rental and there are flat rate taxis on the island driven by full year residents.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLzuYwdnZQo6Raxd6BrDN8ATZ4JZ-PasBbbsDlkPMdD56d6x-lfAGXulZcuMdv89BpAXWgNBZMxUZCk7KCidHD7RALo1D2_3M99piYnW4FqwmTgmDrs0xIMLtAt7knTF_nT3w8/s1600/FerryLandingBlockIsland.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLzuYwdnZQo6Raxd6BrDN8ATZ4JZ-PasBbbsDlkPMdD56d6x-lfAGXulZcuMdv89BpAXWgNBZMxUZCk7KCidHD7RALo1D2_3M99piYnW4FqwmTgmDrs0xIMLtAt7knTF_nT3w8/s640/FerryLandingBlockIsland.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
After lunch we headed to our first cache, just south of the ferry landing. We were greeted by a dozen or so seals lounging in the sun. We watched them drape themselves over the jagged edges of the rocks. <br />
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<br />
“How can that possibly be comfortable?” Todd asked.<br />
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“They probably can’t even feel it through all that blubber,” I pointed out.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX0ovmbinQv9TvGCf-13do5RUg10a1NfV6pRKg9yRhjr6jT6T17RpGB2MeXszzNDxNFW-fr9Azvhl6ojje5pxVrLMxA1xV8Tmedq2i0-5rEB2n4ofxolz1UYEMLY6alWqjH72y/s1600/SealsBlockIsland.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX0ovmbinQv9TvGCf-13do5RUg10a1NfV6pRKg9yRhjr6jT6T17RpGB2MeXszzNDxNFW-fr9Azvhl6ojje5pxVrLMxA1xV8Tmedq2i0-5rEB2n4ofxolz1UYEMLY6alWqjH72y/s640/SealsBlockIsland.JPG" width="640" /></a> <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvpAE1IlcoPYV3ID8EbDDOQWSgWu8sdDcKwg5lVaenjC0qq9r21DMqdRKoO42r1Z8Lw0wZlBqKfnbQpMCPesrkKPvdCbNYgMKti8V6XOglKw0O4Km-JmwIqCRXTck9Pg4rR1qL/s1600/SealsBlockIsland2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvpAE1IlcoPYV3ID8EbDDOQWSgWu8sdDcKwg5lVaenjC0qq9r21DMqdRKoO42r1Z8Lw0wZlBqKfnbQpMCPesrkKPvdCbNYgMKti8V6XOglKw0O4Km-JmwIqCRXTck9Pg4rR1qL/s640/SealsBlockIsland2.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">We got back into the car and headed to the next cache at Mohegan Bluffs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Bluffs is quite possibly my favorite beach in all of Rhode Island.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You have to go down 144 stairs to get to the beach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The dogs bounded down them the moment they got out of the car, Griffen dying for a swim.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We called them from the top of the stairs, but the crashing surf is too loud we had to go down all those stairs to get them back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVV4iiIifeZ_g71nCV5tJQgAZjo1Squ89rwVqpacRuVIpPJGds9-vp7wnxZAlmei8V7II2LWYsSfVWQj3Ph4xPaj238SUOw0wqA4Ts8tISfYFot4N10fYMeSkLoW_FkWwkddg0/s1600/MoheganBluffs.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVV4iiIifeZ_g71nCV5tJQgAZjo1Squ89rwVqpacRuVIpPJGds9-vp7wnxZAlmei8V7II2LWYsSfVWQj3Ph4xPaj238SUOw0wqA4Ts8tISfYFot4N10fYMeSkLoW_FkWwkddg0/s640/MoheganBluffs.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Looks like Nemo got a bit wet too.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiivrH44MKj94ZEmbZ6Oa0Uc2RH7K5g-XmN4eFmLOJgEtv7fN2Up0nTz7mpb_fFj5YpQuh-_JtT9tv4axSSbkA89teEi-_C2MycSJzsPx0YayQPkXCwzlKdPjiTA0jy5XpbOg4c/s1600/WetDogsMoheganBluffs.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiivrH44MKj94ZEmbZ6Oa0Uc2RH7K5g-XmN4eFmLOJgEtv7fN2Up0nTz7mpb_fFj5YpQuh-_JtT9tv4axSSbkA89teEi-_C2MycSJzsPx0YayQPkXCwzlKdPjiTA0jy5XpbOg4c/s640/WetDogsMoheganBluffs.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUg0MJmLZSIsraQFz5VH93OEkoV0_WrFNGEwI5yhdMplC5OjNNKbcdpSNi8135XDa95YKNINFxbLUV4DzLK2HkVNnpDNFH2UucSiRnlPyUbFm4VnJfcUVywMG1uywMoMlLOQeR/s1600/ToddDogsMoheganBluffs.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUg0MJmLZSIsraQFz5VH93OEkoV0_WrFNGEwI5yhdMplC5OjNNKbcdpSNi8135XDa95YKNINFxbLUV4DzLK2HkVNnpDNFH2UucSiRnlPyUbFm4VnJfcUVywMG1uywMoMlLOQeR/s640/ToddDogsMoheganBluffs.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
After the Bluffs we headed to the west side of the island, and got there about a minute later, Block Island is that small. The next cache was near the life guard station, but we didn’t find that cache. Most of the caches on Block Island are micro caches. That means that the container that holds them is very small. Usually it only holds the tiniest of notepads for a log book, and you have to bring your own pen to sign it. I am not a fan of micro caches, because the fun part is to see what’s in the box. Usually it’s just junk, we end up taking one silly little toy and put it into another cache. But the micro caches are pretty uneventful.<br />
<br />
<br />
But on Block it looks like hiding caches is quite hard. In the summer the bushes off the paths becomes quite overgrown to the point where you couldn’t possibly get through it to get at a cache. And many caches get thrown out because non-geocachers don’t know what they are and assume it’s litter. Hence, micro caches are the way to go because they can be hidden inside things easily.<br />
<br />
On the west side of the island we kept Griff on the leash so he would have the chance to dry off and not get the inside of the car sopping wet. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB9GmFSLSN5k5C_JN3CsmOEBwQsmCYKdx08t08kN4y5aecSK-5Pb1hGCfhicKJCfh3vi_me7BTq3ZmnHHQG52kxxKRBXury7-IBujyRUIxIshPI4d3Ux3HpV-HY9UxYESBaqiK/s1600/GriffenWestBlockIsland.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB9GmFSLSN5k5C_JN3CsmOEBwQsmCYKdx08t08kN4y5aecSK-5Pb1hGCfhicKJCfh3vi_me7BTq3ZmnHHQG52kxxKRBXury7-IBujyRUIxIshPI4d3Ux3HpV-HY9UxYESBaqiK/s640/GriffenWestBlockIsland.JPG" width="480" /></a> <br />
<br />
As we drove to the next cache, in the cemetery at the center of the island, I spotted a deer on the side of the road. It hadn’t occurred to me that deer would be on an island 15 miles off shore. I wondered how they managed to get out there. Sure, I’ve seen deer on Jamestown (island in the center of Narragansett Bay) and on Aquidneck Island (island that Newport is on). But those islands have bridges to them, and the distances to those islands is much shorter. For example, the bridge connecting Jamestown to Aquidneck is 2 miles long. A deer could cross that bridge easily, or swim across. How the heck did deer manage to arrive on Block Island. <br />
<br />
<br />
I googled around and learned that deer were brought over on the ferry in 1968 at the request of hunters. Since then, the deer population on the island boomed and is now labeled a nuisance. Apparently, there is a running debate about whether to eradicate the entire population because deer transmit Lyme disease through ticks and pose a threat to public health. Most island residents have either contracted Lyme disease or knows someone who has. <br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWWitHSAKFVyaOQTkYb4L7Qq9fEb9FKgMstzrQdS2aKFOM2KjxxBQS2_M2b7O1TK88m-ysaxWGWXE791rbudPSAgw_z2t31QvaCbBMuEhzvW0q2qV8aK_sRrCQHaTBkz3PMMFV/s1600/DeerBlockIsland.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWWitHSAKFVyaOQTkYb4L7Qq9fEb9FKgMstzrQdS2aKFOM2KjxxBQS2_M2b7O1TK88m-ysaxWGWXE791rbudPSAgw_z2t31QvaCbBMuEhzvW0q2qV8aK_sRrCQHaTBkz3PMMFV/s640/DeerBlockIsland.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We found a few more uneventful caches after that. Overall, it was a beautiful day on Block Island, and I leave you with my new favorite picture from the day.</div><br />
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Husband in the sun.<br />
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<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUpTSrSVTcT2lFqLgPrrB2MJYSRA-XAKdu93Jmk6y2Dgd3KF3J8P_2cNd1F6pgUVVxaYfnnjx6ZeBiFuWrWgkknVuHbQiUnIHqGSxfCfpSFO6OgfpqLhZhoy8ocrhU31_1vKCI/s1600/Toddinthesun.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUpTSrSVTcT2lFqLgPrrB2MJYSRA-XAKdu93Jmk6y2Dgd3KF3J8P_2cNd1F6pgUVVxaYfnnjx6ZeBiFuWrWgkknVuHbQiUnIHqGSxfCfpSFO6OgfpqLhZhoy8ocrhU31_1vKCI/s640/Toddinthesun.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div align="left"></div>BJ Knapphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02655733034615023371noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5948680.post-4419696227429031762011-03-23T12:31:00.001-05:002011-03-23T12:31:58.055-05:00And Then,Bbefore I Knew It, An Entire Month Went ByIt’s been awhile, yes, I know. What can I say? It’s all February’s fault.<br />
<br />
See, I hate February. A lot. It’s a short month, but a pretty damn long one. Todd, the dogs and I all get cabin fever after awhile. Luckily February this year went by without any major spats in our house. <br />
<br />
But let me tell you about the toll February has on me.<br />
<br />
I mentioned the cabin fever. That can be remedied by a hike on a Saturday afternoon. However, this year the snow on the ground remained at knee height for much of the month. It had melted enough to be a soggy pain in the ass, but still too much snow to go tromping around in.<br />
<br />
It also kind of pisses me off. I get irritated about having to spend each day of my life sitting in a cubicle from 8 to 5. I look outward chanting “There’s got to be a better way” under my breath. Exasperated, I haven’t found it yet. And so the month continues.<br />
<br />
Now that most of March is over, I look forward to other adventures. I look forward to the Owl Prowl we’re going to this Friday night. I look forward to a vacation in Florida in June, and sailing back from Champlain in July. I look forward to diving. I look forward to spending whole days with the top down on the car. <br />
<br />
But for now, I wait for March to be over. But on NPR this morning they said that we’re in for 2-4” of snow tonight. Just when I thought it had all melted for the year.BJ Knapphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02655733034615023371noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5948680.post-88134611049169130302011-02-14T13:24:00.000-05:002011-02-14T13:24:17.849-05:00Step Aside, Chuck NorrisYeah, you heard me. Step aside. You ain’t got nuthin’ on my man. <br />
<br />
Yeah, I am sure you could kill me with 1 punch. I am sure that you could roundhouse kick something large enough to block the hole in the ozone layer into the sky and save us all from skin cancer.<br />
<br />
But can you rebuild a rotted attic vent and whip up a crème brulee from scratch in just 1 day? Not even 1 day, try half a day.<br />
<br />
Didn’t think so.<br />
<br />
But my man? He totally can. And he did. Yesterday.<br />
<br />
So, Chuck Norris? Who dat?BJ Knapphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02655733034615023371noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5948680.post-15789372859514105442011-01-29T21:51:00.000-05:002011-01-29T21:51:41.935-05:00Three Favorite Pictures: July 11, 2010<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I've never seen a bald eagle in the wild. Sure, I've seen the one at the Roger Williams Zoo. But living in a zoon isn't nearly dignified enough for a bird this magnificent. He was flying near the Bear Mountain Bridge, near West Point.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWXsP7FKbFDX7uqGSsW6BDcUtI8lbe_K1mhaYvrVe48mr0nZElAHkKlG4X430a56jn7zENl1qY59lR5ptFoRrKL8M7rPt5xOOhRilegCOdt3CJD9nKWvVdcMC-Hs2mTJSrejZ0/s1600/Bald+Eagle.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWXsP7FKbFDX7uqGSsW6BDcUtI8lbe_K1mhaYvrVe48mr0nZElAHkKlG4X430a56jn7zENl1qY59lR5ptFoRrKL8M7rPt5xOOhRilegCOdt3CJD9nKWvVdcMC-Hs2mTJSrejZ0/s640/Bald+Eagle.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
This one happened when I was trying to take a picture of something on the shore just north of New York City. It was, as Bob Ross would call it, a "happy little accident." I've always wanted to take a picture like this. I've tried and tried. And then managed to actually get it by dumb luck. Who've thunk it?<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkGEPcPVhOyj69V5TjfUo-Mayic4CYrngiBArAFFcJiWuVWsjs6VpT55GnHRQN02yDBHwPUj_f2eYpKBvKBxk8DJ6amHPd2N3hJXxIrUI4BpizKKRZlewIKHPhnA3SQC7KKiyp/s1600/Water+Drops.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkGEPcPVhOyj69V5TjfUo-Mayic4CYrngiBArAFFcJiWuVWsjs6VpT55GnHRQN02yDBHwPUj_f2eYpKBvKBxk8DJ6amHPd2N3hJXxIrUI4BpizKKRZlewIKHPhnA3SQC7KKiyp/s640/Water+Drops.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
I am a sucker for pictures of Sabine at anchor. I have scads of them. This was taken just north of West Point, near an intake for the New York City water department. I totally peed in the water, sorry citizens of New York.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfeI3ka6yPIQRwxQQ8yPekqnxt_ca9hyphenhyphenC9wE4USGsdQwUGK6cdLf2T7fgh4z0O39iadm1Locv4AdTASoxNKQlsQCDCyc_6Tgxm3BQemFgHJ0bVSZvjBhSV_KA-cARaUkmSPI1r/s1600/Sabine+at+Anchor.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfeI3ka6yPIQRwxQQ8yPekqnxt_ca9hyphenhyphenC9wE4USGsdQwUGK6cdLf2T7fgh4z0O39iadm1Locv4AdTASoxNKQlsQCDCyc_6Tgxm3BQemFgHJ0bVSZvjBhSV_KA-cARaUkmSPI1r/s640/Sabine+at+Anchor.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>BJ Knapphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02655733034615023371noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5948680.post-40750747603180883092011-01-23T22:59:00.000-05:002011-01-23T22:59:22.278-05:00Start Spreading the NewsI'm leaving today...<br />
It’s late. I am on the train heading back from New York City. My brain is oozing out my ears from the Writer’s Digest Conference I attended over the weekend. (If you want to read about the writerly stuff that happened over the weekend, you can check it out at the <a href="http://lunchhournovelist.blogspot.com/"><strong>Lunch Hour Novelist</strong></a><strong>,</strong> as I am trying not to contaminate this blog with book stuff.)<br />
<br />
On Friday I took the day off from work. It had snowed early in the morning, so I left the Mini in the garage and drove the jeep to the train station in Kingston. When I got on the train I pulled out a book and enjoyed the forced inactivity of reading and watching the scenery, until the woman beside me struck up a little conversation.<br />
<br />
I meet the nicest people on planes and trains. There was the time I met the yacht manager who was on his way back from managing some mega sailing yacht somewhere in the Caribbean. This man was older than dirt, had a stutter, and could only speak in 2 volumes… loud and LOUDER. He whipped out his laptop to show me pics of the boat. Before I knew it, I was gazing upon a digital picture of his naked wrinkled genitals as he lounged on his favorite nude beach.<br />
<br />
Then there was the time I met the man who was the president of the local Sierra Club. He was actually quite cool, as was this woman I sat next to on Friday. Turns out, she is the mastermind behind <a href="http://shop.bemyguestgranola.com/index.php"><strong>Be My Guest granola</strong></a>. I listened as she told me her story, and I thoroughly enjoyed the passion with which she told her story. More people should be like that. Her eyes twinkled as she talked about her product and how it was catching on. I totally want to party with her.<br />
<br />
When we arrived in New York we agreed to find our way to the cab stands together. I helped her get her bag off the train, as it was overloaded with granola. She made it a bit lighter as she gave me a bag (which was a Godsend when I got up at 6 on Saturday morning to prep for my day at the conference). Let me tell you, this granola is EVERYTHING I’ve been looking for in a granola. I love to toss a handful into my yogurt. I’ve even turned my friends on to doing that. And this is awesome granola. It’s not too sweet, it’s got a nice balance of nuts, fruit, oats and seeds. I will buy it again, and I encourage you guys to try it too. <br />
<br />
We shared a cab, which wasn’t really a cab. We nervously stepped into a Mercedes SUV for $20 each. We stood outside Penn Station and wondered if we should trust that this man wasn’t ripping us off. I pointed to the line of people waiting for cabs and said “Hey, our time is worth something.” And it was fine, we got to where we were going. <br />
<br />
I arrived at my hotel and went to my conference to begin my first day of learning to be more authorly.<br />
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To be continued…BJ Knapphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02655733034615023371noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5948680.post-42144515911326988602011-01-21T12:37:00.000-05:002011-01-21T12:37:03.137-05:00Meep Meep!And now I am driving around town in this: <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAKplKC47Jrf4VhaZ5p1GR57Br30K2UGjMmSL4MzsaA48rdGUHnIex2J4NbkNaoBlUdeZnbm4PSWMoGQomunaD5LabyidxZ4vVbR14mRcAX4SWWmEqV-yABeebVS7xDFTUTdK6/s1600/BeejMiniConvertible+%25281%2529.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAKplKC47Jrf4VhaZ5p1GR57Br30K2UGjMmSL4MzsaA48rdGUHnIex2J4NbkNaoBlUdeZnbm4PSWMoGQomunaD5LabyidxZ4vVbR14mRcAX4SWWmEqV-yABeebVS7xDFTUTdK6/s640/BeejMiniConvertible+%25281%2529.bmp" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDFbZKYB7v6Jab0KX4N5k8u1_FSflGzPycnKyq4RqESRm5i7gAZFw92EMWKkSMRQj7120ljRkQhHQ777-cEt5r07_dy5h9T-XlIE3a5dOeKJ0gytuZiDTLiwmLZpeC3BDQdBoY/s1600/MiniConvertible.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDFbZKYB7v6Jab0KX4N5k8u1_FSflGzPycnKyq4RqESRm5i7gAZFw92EMWKkSMRQj7120ljRkQhHQ777-cEt5r07_dy5h9T-XlIE3a5dOeKJ0gytuZiDTLiwmLZpeC3BDQdBoY/s640/MiniConvertible.bmp" width="640" /></a></div><br />
And here's the kicker. We didn't trade in the Jeep. You know, the thing that wouldn't start reliably for the last few months. We did finally manage to get the Jeep registered and street legal. Now that it has a new starter, new alternator, new steering column guts and all that stuff... maybe it'll last awhile.<br />
<br />
But I don't need to worry about that. Because I am tooling around in this bitchen little car. And it is little. You can see in the picture at the top that it has a back seat. It's purely decorative, as there is no where to put your legs if you sit in the back seat. The backrest of the front seat is right against the back seat. (Why bother, Mini?)<br />
<br />
But still, it's such a fun little car. I cannot wait to cruise around with the top down in the summer time. <br />
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Only 53 more days until daylight savings time!BJ Knapphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02655733034615023371noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5948680.post-79522182392264966862011-01-12T19:15:00.000-05:002011-01-12T19:15:29.388-05:00Monochromatic<div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">It snowed here in Rhode Island. This is what I saw when I opened the front door this morning.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvESOZCqfR_pnD5MU9Ees95F53YYHUXG0fauCFAXkNopGEyh3xKL6dfXKbindJSFS80h5wbnyXYwR9cRXVux8-c2SKRHyTNykSZl-5k61ohPOowKXjcsTdzECvC2wmvInsqbrw/s1600/240.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvESOZCqfR_pnD5MU9Ees95F53YYHUXG0fauCFAXkNopGEyh3xKL6dfXKbindJSFS80h5wbnyXYwR9cRXVux8-c2SKRHyTNykSZl-5k61ohPOowKXjcsTdzECvC2wmvInsqbrw/s320/240.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div align="center">As Griffen stood in the snow it was still snowing. In fact it snowed all day. I'd measured 16 inches after we finished the shoveling and the blowing. I cannot see the surface of my deck anymore. It got covered with a few more inches a mere minutes after we'd shoveled.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8BWkezPTjzgM-lUcQhTjnqWpeGntEcdTTs-tp2rYZHtdSB5IoMsFe3IuYtc7Qz4qzVIhcjg0z-ShNMcAIL0BwHK9lk1_91Hlk8eZHG-cGW3Bw9H29ShXXApJii7X2oGcJYB4M/s1600/241.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8BWkezPTjzgM-lUcQhTjnqWpeGntEcdTTs-tp2rYZHtdSB5IoMsFe3IuYtc7Qz4qzVIhcjg0z-ShNMcAIL0BwHK9lk1_91Hlk8eZHG-cGW3Bw9H29ShXXApJii7X2oGcJYB4M/s320/241.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div align="center">The birdfeeders were still pretty busy today. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtz-q3cylJCYOyq-lzal1iaF0ob08hL3eat2xWmRbtlxuaRhqOdM5Zcsxr-ia12Q0Wr6NqbBE6vVyVVocu1AKmqfBXEKH3USj6ceMELjntVruPYIvd-Z_Nm0Ad_s4KoobMwIUU/s1600/242.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtz-q3cylJCYOyq-lzal1iaF0ob08hL3eat2xWmRbtlxuaRhqOdM5Zcsxr-ia12Q0Wr6NqbBE6vVyVVocu1AKmqfBXEKH3USj6ceMELjntVruPYIvd-Z_Nm0Ad_s4KoobMwIUU/s320/242.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div align="center">Here are out pear trees, weighed down.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBrs69rWEnKXPuQQizXFpO2FnvlKZL28wuvedKJrJkdUli7pISe6m3X93aiWo_6sOEf-veyupX4r5iahp7Pe-Xkt_hmMCqUk2CqWYBo1WkGmd6U46AQGabN7djuW2poG2GPK9J/s1600/243.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBrs69rWEnKXPuQQizXFpO2FnvlKZL28wuvedKJrJkdUli7pISe6m3X93aiWo_6sOEf-veyupX4r5iahp7Pe-Xkt_hmMCqUk2CqWYBo1WkGmd6U46AQGabN7djuW2poG2GPK9J/s320/243.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div align="center">Junco going in for a snack.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpg3cvda4zYANfEQNfX7Bq2NKwl4OoINhmP8GLsTKLHNLLL25zpmf-UboYLyM0-V3eQau-KdNpmdPRlTU7pDtZFKwOp6kZylahT-Vp7t-VZ50oDIscFf509wBRr17mQrCufFDj/s1600/244.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpg3cvda4zYANfEQNfX7Bq2NKwl4OoINhmP8GLsTKLHNLLL25zpmf-UboYLyM0-V3eQau-KdNpmdPRlTU7pDtZFKwOp6kZylahT-Vp7t-VZ50oDIscFf509wBRr17mQrCufFDj/s320/244.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div align="center">The railings were also covered minutes after I shoveled them off.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwOGkf5ZcEIyD9c6kUd2yWjnE9dAKXH7w-cDan8EBUr-oXzhxPadhStbax03iy9RF8Rj7orl0jzNo-7phxwAIigetf92mmru3XWr3ytlv7VjmVd07HU_EV-Cj7GVOIa7I25btK/s1600/245.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwOGkf5ZcEIyD9c6kUd2yWjnE9dAKXH7w-cDan8EBUr-oXzhxPadhStbax03iy9RF8Rj7orl0jzNo-7phxwAIigetf92mmru3XWr3ytlv7VjmVd07HU_EV-Cj7GVOIa7I25btK/s320/245.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>BJ Knapphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02655733034615023371noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5948680.post-61212661450041514172011-01-03T13:32:00.000-05:002011-01-03T13:32:10.046-05:00I Tried Not To Get Sucked InI tried, I really really did. But the holiday season got me again. The overall busy-ness, the overeating, the trying to cram way too much work into the last few weeks of the month, the all of it. And here I am on January 3rd, noticing that I hadn’t posted since the middle of December. Gah!<br />
<br />
Well, resolution time is upon us. And here are mine. I think I will finally take that damn cooking class I resolved to take last year. There’s one coming up next week, and I want to cross it off my list.<br />
<br />
The next is to plan and cook dinner 2 nights per week. I am not talking about throwing a frozen pizza in the oven, I am talking about planning an actual balanced meal 2 nights per week. <br />
<br />
My last resolution is to connect with family more than I have. I was looking at all the Christmas cards we got this year, and thought about how nice it is to get handwritten cards in the mail instead of bills and junk. Then one of Todd’s cousins put together a calendar for the year and put every single family birthday and anniversary on there. My goal is to send a card to each family member on their birthday or anniversary this year. <br />
<br />
I say bring it on 2011!BJ Knapphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02655733034615023371noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5948680.post-77906307781222160902010-12-13T19:04:00.000-05:002010-12-13T19:04:21.026-05:00In Line at Macy’sI stood in line with a Christmas gift in my hands at the only register open inside the entire Macy’s. I shifted my weight and tugged at my jacket. It was too warm to wear it, yet I didn’t want to take it off and have to hold it. To pass the time I struck up a conversation with all the other people waiting in line. We talked about the weather, it was in the 40-50’s outside, which is a bit warm for winter in Rhode Island.<br />
<br />
“It’s hard to feel like Christmas shopping when there isn’t any snow on the ground,” I commented.<br />
<br />
The other people all expressed agreement, and we all commented on the unseasonable warmth. <br />
<br />
“When I lived in Australia, Christmas actually falls in the summer, you know, because the seasons are reversed? It’s impossible to feel Christmassy when all you want to do is go to the beach,” I laughed.<br />
<br />
“Yeah, but just think,” the woman in line in front of me replied, “It’s probably freezing when they’re celebrating the 4th of July.”BJ Knapphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02655733034615023371noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5948680.post-14548725315215355912010-12-09T20:20:00.000-05:002010-12-09T20:20:13.321-05:00You’re Very WelcomeI am a firm believer in the the idea that if you ignore an annoying person they will go away. My Internet friends I would like you to embark on a mass ignoring campaign with me. Trust me, it’ll work.<br />
<br />
A few years back we heard about some crazy chick in California who gave birth to a litter of children, despite the fact that she’d had half a litter at home already. The story unfolded before our eyes, and said crazy chick seemed to want reality show notoriety as a result of giving birth to a small village of babies. <br />
<br />
My friends and I railed against her in disgust. Yet we were all fascinated. We clicked on the links leading to news stories about this woman. We tuned in when she was talked about on the news. Yet we were horrified at her quest for fame through her babies. That was when I said to my friends, “OK, time for a mass ignore campaign. We need to stop clicking on her links. We need to stop tuning in. We need to stop listening. We need to stop giving her air time.” I stopped clicking on links to stories about her. And I think my friends did too. Before we knew it, her spotlight faded. They thanked me. I bowed humbly and said they were just as responsible as I was.<br />
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Now I am proposing another mass-ignore campaign. This time I want everyone to ignore another woman I am equally horrified over. She served as a Governor in a state just west of the Canadian border. She has publicly marveled over being able see Russia from where she stood. I will not say her name here, but she left office and stranded her state from the office they entrusted to her in an election. She up and left. Quit. <br />
<br />
Now this woman is discussing the possibility of running for the presidency. She has a reality show. Her teenaged daughter shared the spotlight when she had a baby out of wedlock (How’s that prayer-y abstinence-y thing workin’ out for ya? You bet’cha your daughter will get knocked up if you don’t teach her about birth control.) Since leaving office she’s holding her hands out for every money making opportunity in front of a camera she can push her way into. Will she up and leave the presidency when the going gets tough. I think so, after all check her track record.<br />
<br />
I maintain that if we ignore her she will go away. If we stop listening, she’ll stop talking. If we stop clicking to read about what idiotic thing she’s done now, the news outlets will stop reporting on her. <br />
<br />
Someday this former governor pseudo political figure will bump into the woman with the litter of babies in line at Starbucks and they will both say “Wow, you look familiar. Do I know you? I swear I know your name…” <br />
<br />
And then you can all thank me.BJ Knapphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02655733034615023371noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5948680.post-81818495817088708002010-12-03T17:41:00.000-05:002010-12-03T17:41:49.931-05:00Introducing the Lunch Hour NovelistAs I’ve mentioned here a bunch of times, I have been writing a novel for the last 3 years and I am to the point where I am seeking a literary agent to represent me. But I’ve never been entirely comfortable with writing about the book here. I don’t want to turn into one of those shamelessly self-promoting bloggers whose blogs turn into Times Square and Las Vegas all rolled into one with all the ads for their book.<br />
<br />
I use A Life of Adventure to talk about life on the boat, or life on land. While the book has been such a large part of my life on land, I don’t want to bore my tens of readers with all that. But if I want to sell my book I need to market myself more aggressively. So, what’s a girl to do? I could go all Las Vegas with A Life of Adventure, or I could develop an alter ego.<br />
<br />
If you are interested in my path to publication, please check out my alter ego’s blog, <a href="http://lunchhournovelist.blogspot.com/"><strong>The Lunch Hour Novelist</strong>.</a> The idea was born as a result of the many many lunch hours I have spent writing and editing the book. I want to take the readers of that blog along with me as I try to land a book deal for “Out From Under Big Sky.”<br />
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Yes, I will still write here. But I will write about my non-book related life. You’ll still get to read about my sailing trips. You will still get to read about some of the dumb things I do on a regular basis. You will still get to read about whatever things my dogs have ingested off the counters in my home. But you can also go along on my path to publication. So, in a way, you’ll get more of me. <br />
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Go check out the new blog. If you’re so inclined, link to me. I am not going to lie, I could use the exposure.BJ Knapphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02655733034615023371noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5948680.post-3294925480885271512010-11-30T20:19:00.000-05:002010-11-30T20:19:44.418-05:00Resistant to ChangeIt happened in summer 2009, and now it’s happening again. Change. It’s not that I am afraid of change. In fact, sometimes I find it exciting. I love first days at work, and I love last days even more.<br />
<br />
I started working for Boss in summer of 2009, and at the time it wasn’t a first day I recall fondly. Boss has this certain degree of intensity that teeters on insanity. I had watched her work, from a healthy distance, and marveled at how she spoke without seeming to need a breath and how she plowed through that endless to-do list without breaking for lunch. <br />
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I vividly remember the meeting at which I was transitioned from my old boss to Boss. I gulped hard when I received the news. I pondered the necessary resume update and ultimately sent it out a few times. But then an extraordinary thing happened.<br />
<br />
She asked me whether I was happy working there. I thought about her question and wondered how I should answer. And then I remembered a book I’d read about how women approach things like salary negotiations and work situations in which they aren’t satisfied. The book had said that women accept low salaries and undesirable work situations because they feel compelled to be a “team player.” Then the answer came out of my mouth.<br />
<br />
“No.” <br />
<br />
I braced for her hand gesturing to the door. I cringed. But that didn’t happen.<br />
<br />
“Why not?” she asked.<br />
<br />
And then for the next year and a half she listened. She made my job into something that I actually wanted to do. She didn’t bat an eye when I asked for 2 weeks vacation in July and another in August; my last boss declared 2 weeks in a row impossible to even imagine. My back was gotten, in a big way. She listened, she got to know me, and she understood me. Quick with praise, she got me to work harder. I came to work with purpose rather than a “And what the hell am I going to do today?” attitude. <br />
<br />
Just last week she announced her resignation. Her intensity bordering on insanity had gotten the better of her and her child. Her family life suffered as a result. Her last day in the office was today.<br />
<br />
I have a new boss, I am now reporting to her boss. But even though I have a new boss, I feel like my rudder’s just been removed and I will end up floating around aimlessly again.BJ Knapphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02655733034615023371noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5948680.post-52535804246321889292010-11-25T17:04:00.000-05:002010-11-25T17:04:37.974-05:00When Was My Last Tetanus Shot?The first part of the story took place on Tuesday morning. We’d ordered a new dining room set and had it delivered on Tuesday. The furniture delivery guys came and set it up in our dining room that I formerly described as Spartan. It used to be that we only had a table with 4 chairs in there. Now we have a table large enough for 10 chairs, a buffet and a china cabinet. I could totally hold a board meeting at that whomp-ass table now.<br />
<br />
The house cleaning service was due to come on Tuesday afternoon. Todd hadn’t taken the dogs to work with him, like he normally does when the cleaners come. I went in to work around 1 and figured the boys could just hang in my car while I was in work for the remainder of the work day.<br />
<br />
I left work at 5 and hit up the CVS on the way home to get a few things. Todd went to Bloodbath and Beyond to buy out the entire store in preparation for our “Thanksgiving a Day Late” festivities. I came out of the CVS ready to head home and ogle my new dining room before he got home. I inserted the key into the ignition, turned it, and nothing happened. I tried it again, nothing happened. I reflected on the money spent on a brand new starter, a brand new alternator and a brand new battery over the last few months and tried not to feel aggravated about the lack of vroom when turning the key.<br />
<br />
I went into the store and called Todd on his cell and left him a message, “Hey love, my car won’t start. Will you stop at the CVS near the Home Depot Walmart compound and come help me? Thanks.” Then I sat in the car and waited, lamenting that I had left the house without a book. <br />
<br />
He rolled in, driving his bitchen Acura. It was filled to the gills with bags from Bloodbath. He fished my jumpers out from under those bags in the backseat; the jumpers were still there from the last time the Jeep wouldn’t start, the week before Halloween. After an attempted jump, hitting the starter mercilessly with a plunger handle, purchased at the CVS, and jamming the screwdriver against the starter the car refused to start. <br />
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The dogs and I piled into the 3 square inches remaining in the Acura and we drove home, “Hon, it’s time for you to think about a new car,” he said.<br />
<br />
“Ugh, I don’t want a new car. This one’s paid for, let’s just run it into the ground.”<br />
<br />
“Sweetie, it’s aground. It’s time.” (Oh, and have I mentioned it flunked inspection on Monday as well?) <br />
<br />
We took all of our new goods out of the car. Todd had bought new dishes, and all sorts of new kitchen toys in preparation for our party. We had a mountain of cardboard after unpacking. The recycling bin was already overflowing, and I knew that the prep for the party would create all sorts of recyclable waste.<br />
<br />
On Wednesday morning I loaded the cardboard into the back of the truck to take to the dump on the way to work, and then I put our recycling bin in there too. At the dump I pulled up to the cardboard dumpster and unloaded the truck while I talked to one of the men who worked there. I pulled out the bin and hoisted it to the lip of the dumpster; my right hand was between the bin and the dumpster. I pulled my hand out and scraped the side of my index finger, from the tip to the knuckle.<br />
<br />
The scraped off skin folded back, but the cut didn’t bleed. The dump guy asked if I wanted a band-aid, at which point I uttered the fateful words, “Nah, it’s not bleeding.” I set my bin into the truck, got in and drove off. A few seconds later, on cue, blood gushed from the cut on my finger. I searched the truck but had no napkins or tissues. Blood ran down the length of my finger, down the back of my hand and pooled near my wrist. <br />
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A few minutes later I pulled into the Walgreens in town. I scrambled to the door and found it locked. “We’re not open yet” the woman inside called out. I held up my bloody hand, she nodded and unlocked the door.<br />
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I thanked her as I rushed in. The first thing I saw was a Kleenex display. I held a box in my left hand and ripped open the top with my teeth. I grabbed a handful and wrapped them around my finger and made for the first aid aisle. Without breaking stride I grabbed a box of band-aids and that Neosporin spray stuff. <br />
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Once in the ladies room I washed my hands and saw the blood swirl into the bottom of the sink. The Walgreens lady came in and asked me if I needed help and hung out with me while I patched myself up, after ripping a band-aid open with my teeth. <br />
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When I got to work the paranoia set in. “When was your last tetanus shot?” a co-worker asked. <br />
<br />
Good question.BJ Knapphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02655733034615023371noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5948680.post-88834951200100159142010-11-17T21:50:00.000-05:002010-11-17T21:50:31.689-05:00It's All About ExpectationsTodd: Don’t eat the cake I made.<br />
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<br />
Beej: Why?<br />
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Todd: It’s horrible.<br />
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Beej: Oh no, what happened.<br />
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Todd: I think it was a bad recipe.<br />
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Beej: Well, can I eat the frosting?<br />
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Todd: No, that’s not good for you.<br />
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Beej: I don’t expect it to be good for me.BJ Knapphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02655733034615023371noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5948680.post-23981339867794386262010-11-15T18:56:00.000-05:002010-11-15T18:56:21.155-05:00AlternatingFirst I got stranded when the jeep failed to start when I went out to run errands at lunch. Then a few weeks ago I was stranded at the library when the jeep failed to start again. The library here in Podunk is right by the police station. A cop was in the parking lot and he tried to get the jeep started and to stay running. No dice.<br />
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The library is 2 miles from home, and it was a rare night that Todd was home before me. He came out and got the car to, kinda, stay running and he drove it home. Then it sat in the driveway until we got the chance to replace the alternator with one that, um, alternates?<br />
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I took turns driving <a href="http://www.followsabine.com/tvproject/2007/09/todds-fabulous-car.html"><strong>Todd’s bitchen Acura</strong></a>, and our big red pickup truck, a.k.a the meat wagon, to and from work. I got home in the truck one day and said “You know, I am going to stack that firewood over there, and I am going to crank up my iPod inside the truck and rock out while I do it.” And then the music stopped a half hour later. And then the truck wouldn’t start anymore, because listening to music for a half a fricken hour in the truck drains the battery. (Does that sound ridiculously short to anyone else?)<br />
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“So, this only tells me that if I took the bus to work, the damn thing would break down and I’d strand dozens of people, that’s how bad my luck is with cars right now,” I complained to my sister on the phone.<br />
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“Don’t say that,” she laughed. “I am sitting in my car listening to the radio while the kids have soccer. With your luck you’re going to strand me now too.” But her car actually started though, because she’s got way better luck with those things than I do.<br />
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I am married to MacGuyver, and he replaced my alternator on Saturday, while simultaneously preventing a nuclear reactor from melting down and stopping a runaway freight train from derailing and plowing into an animal shelter filled with newborn puppies. Well, not really, but when you’re married to MacGuyver everything he does is astoundingly cool like that. And this morning on the way to work I was able to participate in the <a href="http://www.followsabine.com/tvproject/2009/09/jeep-wave.html"><strong>jeep wave</strong></a> again.BJ Knapphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02655733034615023371noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5948680.post-67868161804126891632010-11-03T20:48:00.000-05:002010-11-03T20:48:38.119-05:00Three Favorite Photos: July 9-July 10, 2010I am curled up by a raging fire in my living room. Last weekend Sabine was wrapped up for the winter. She's was stripped of her sails and is now sporting her new canvas cover. She hibernates until next season while I long for what next season will bring. It's too early to long. It's only November. <br />
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I've been organizing the 500 some-odd photos I took over the summer, and decided that to hold me over I will post 3 favorite photos from each day of that trip. I only took 1 photo on July 9th, so in this entry you'll get 1 from July 9th and 3 from July 10. Lucky you; don't say I never gave you anything.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">July 9th, we arrived at the boat sometime after a million o'clock. </div><div style="text-align: center;">I made our "nest" in our bedroom and Nemo made himself at home.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwqvws2E4lAd9Omy-g7xpHFLZeQhxHR1doiGWYNHj4QBRvY0z6gyRJ2I_KZ_VJN1oLOAMRQ5GDJo38s8bLmSMNKwcefiIrdp6u_9z3WoDcPyX4Fk1NL5ZQYOLAj8f9Sz9076K5/s1600/Nemo+In+Bed.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwqvws2E4lAd9Omy-g7xpHFLZeQhxHR1doiGWYNHj4QBRvY0z6gyRJ2I_KZ_VJN1oLOAMRQ5GDJo38s8bLmSMNKwcefiIrdp6u_9z3WoDcPyX4Fk1NL5ZQYOLAj8f9Sz9076K5/s320/Nemo+In+Bed.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
July 10, 2010. We took a quick sail to the Statue of Liberty.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">Yes, we got that close to the Statue.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbjZ3YAARAAOtFf8NRF1hTlK2FU15Tz4vZZ5UZOvCYi35JE_15EMqdPK4tGrGBCHHchVDab5jxqbzcGm3QBc0uiyq66rYDhg8DYKwzOLzpN8vkJIIMkjLPNzQnINsv3BRnRn9R/s1600/RestrictedBuoyStatueofLiberty.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbjZ3YAARAAOtFf8NRF1hTlK2FU15Tz4vZZ5UZOvCYi35JE_15EMqdPK4tGrGBCHHchVDab5jxqbzcGm3QBc0uiyq66rYDhg8DYKwzOLzpN8vkJIIMkjLPNzQnINsv3BRnRn9R/s320/RestrictedBuoyStatueofLiberty.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">Lady Liberty, artistically off center. It was hard to get this shot, what with the waves and the boat moving, and the camera zoomed all the way in.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg9orHTzN1bNtecBJX1JW9AfZ7wEdhXlvmEYBbLGZuPiPCjVFOI1ayg0-z8yURdhOC6PVRKr_5kpm6YKteyWmGNex1G_xciq8mgWoDLRKzI9dJiER584ViNJs8c8KMH14fWhth/s1600/StatueofLiberty.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg9orHTzN1bNtecBJX1JW9AfZ7wEdhXlvmEYBbLGZuPiPCjVFOI1ayg0-z8yURdhOC6PVRKr_5kpm6YKteyWmGNex1G_xciq8mgWoDLRKzI9dJiER584ViNJs8c8KMH14fWhth/s320/StatueofLiberty.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Lady Liberty all up in my grill. Literally. <br />
This is our BBQ grill aboard Sabine, it mirrors her nicely.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcNfpa417MUprRkOquwPi0BtyZraoXIuXiLVJaEJYKp15v3Sq-B-rM7t28PZEsHYagBpdt84HcL2_Q1mttBXU6fNCQzNIW7I-Eq1Gt9XELehRdkpUcQLUeCOb-pGHgob9VSG_-/s1600/LadyLibertyontheGrill.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcNfpa417MUprRkOquwPi0BtyZraoXIuXiLVJaEJYKp15v3Sq-B-rM7t28PZEsHYagBpdt84HcL2_Q1mttBXU6fNCQzNIW7I-Eq1Gt9XELehRdkpUcQLUeCOb-pGHgob9VSG_-/s320/LadyLibertyontheGrill.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>BJ Knapphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02655733034615023371noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5948680.post-55330518293566280262010-11-02T12:06:00.000-05:002010-11-02T12:06:43.320-05:00Rock the Vote, Kind OfMy parents voted in every single election. I remember sitting in the car with them while they argued over the issue of whether our little Connecticut town should have its own police department, or whether it should be under the state police’s jurisdiction. Sure, it would probably save the town a lot of money. But how much coverage would my town have gotten from the state police? On the way home from the polls I listened from the backseat as Mom and Dad discussed how they’d voted on the different referenda questions. On the issue of the town police department Mom had voted one way and Dad voted the other. (My town did retain its own police department after that election, by the way.)<br />
<br />
<br />
I have always felt guilty about not voting in the midterm elections. My parents always voted because they came from a country where they didn’t have that right, so they made sure that their voice was heard. I vowed to do it differently this year and to make my parents proud. I am currently sporting my “I Voted” sticker, and I wear it with pride.<br />
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On Sunday night Todd and I sat in front of the computer and evaluated the candidates and the state’s referenda questions. We do this before an election so that our votes won’t cancel each other out. Sometimes I pick a candidate that he doesn’t like; sometimes he picks one I don’t like. But we discuss and agree on our choices before hitting the polls. (For example, a few years ago we’d discussed whether ex-cons should have the right to vote after serving their time, as was the referendum question that year. I said yes and he said no. We discussed it and I made the point “Well, if we want them to be a functioning part of society after doing time, then this is part of being a member of society.” Then I brought up a friend of ours who is an ex-con and said “So, you think he shouldn’t get a vote?” He changed his answer to yes.)<br />
<br />
This morning we went to a church near our house to cast our votes. I had a list in hand of all the candidates we agreed on. What I wasn’t prepared for was the referenda questions from my town. They were on a yellow ballot. I read them and didn’t understand a damn thing that was on there. For example, on my little yellow ballot this morning were these questions:<br />
<br />
<ul><li>Shall Article III, Section 3.14 of the Town Charter be amended to provide that no collective bargaining agreement between the Town, including the School Committee, and any labor organization shall become effective unless and until ratified by the majority vote of the Town Council?</li>
</ul><br />
<ul><li>Shall Article VIII, Section 8.18 of the Town Charter be amended to provide that an all day referendum shall be required when any changes to the capital improvement or operating budget at the financial town meeting exceed $180,000; and Section 8.10 be amended to provide that the capital improvement program and capital budget be approved by the Town Council concurrent with the operating budget?</li>
</ul><br />
<ul><li>Shall Article XII of the Charter be amended to update titles and functions; Article XIII amended to provide for consistency review of the capital improvement program; Article II be amended to delete local district apportionment by voters rather than population; and should the charter be amended with punctuation and grammar corrections and to achieve gender neutral terminology?</li>
</ul><br />
Just what in the hell do these questions mean? I like to think I am a pretty smart person. I watch CNN every morning, I listen to NPR every day on the way to and from work, I read the Providence Journal every day. I have a Masters degree. Yet, I have no fricken clue what these questions mean so I didn’t vote on any of them.<br />
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I looked it up on the town’s web site later, and of course there were explanations on the site. Why can’t they write these questions in plain English, rather than in legalese on the ballot? More people would get involved in the issue and more people would make an educated decision rather than an educated guess when voting on these issues that affect my town.<br />
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Can I please have a do-over?BJ Knapphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02655733034615023371noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5948680.post-83343391431174268152010-11-01T06:24:00.000-05:002010-11-01T06:24:36.231-05:00The CritiqueAdrenaline surged, I think I was holding my breath. This was the moment I was waiting for—an honest and objective assessment of my first page. <br />
<br />
Apparently Chuck, my main character, is unlikeable. He comes off as a jerk in that first page. We don’t know why he’s working at the bar in the casino if he hates it so much. They didn’t feel they learned much about him, nor did they develop any sense of sympathy about him.<br />
<br />
I frantically scribbled notes as the agents spoke. At the very end, the agents thanked all the participants for submitting their work and called us brave. Mr. McAgentton said “There’s no way in hell I would have done that.” I sat there thinking “Why the hell wouldn’t you have done it. How do you expect the world to read your book if you can’t submit one measly page to get critiqued?” I am going to put my pages in front of any pair of eyes that want to critique it. How else am I going to improve?<br />
<br />
Later on, after I left the conference, I 30 minutes south drove to Connecticut to visit Dad and wondered how I could convey all of that in three or so paragraphs. I reflected on how the readings of the other first pages seemed so much longer and wondered if they were using smaller fonts on those. Were the other writers typing single spaced? <br />
I let the response rattle around in my head. I didn’t talk about it with Dad because, actually, he didn’t really know I was writing a book. I mean, I am sure I mentioned it to him but I mention a lot of things that I eventually toss aside when something else comes along. He doesn’t know anything about the story, so I didn’t really say much about it. Besides we were busy gossiping anyway.<br />
<br />
Then I called Todd from Dad’s house and he asked me how it went. “Well, the agent meeting went well, but the critique was kind of hurty.” He apologized and said he suspected that would happen.<br />
<br />
“But you know what? Actually, I’m not hurt. It was exactly what I needed. I don’t regret submitting my page, and I’d do it again. I’ve got some work to do, and I am thrilled to have had the opportunity to get critiqued. I didn’t go there to defend my work, I went there to learn how to improve it. Mission accomplished.”<br />
<br />
Sunday morning I got up at 4 in the morning with ideas on how to make Chuck likeable. I convinced myself to stay in bed until 7, and couldn’t stand it anymore. I slipped on my sweats and slippers. I did a cuppa tea in the microwave and then set down to work.<br />
<br />
After re-writing, and a profing by Todd, I submitted my first 50 pages to Mr. McAgentton, per his request. And then I looked up the particularly expressive agent because she deals in commercial fiction (which is my genre) and submitted my first 10 pages to her, per her submission guidelines on her web site.<br />
<br />
And now I frantically click on the “refresh” button on my email. I pace and threaten to wear a hole in my hardwood floors. And I expect that the clicking, the refreshing and the pacing will go on for a damn long time until I manage to land an agent.BJ Knapphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02655733034615023371noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5948680.post-31901773541164609132010-10-29T16:29:00.001-05:002010-10-29T16:29:00.366-05:00Improvement, Not DefenseYes, I am still writing about the Write Angles Conference. It’s funny, one of my dive buddies jokes about how only divers can take a 30 minute dive and turn it into a 4 hour long conversation. Well, only a novelist wannabe can take a 1 day conference and turn it into 3 blog posts. <br />
<br />
We went to see the keynote speaker after lunch, and then to the last break out session “What Agents Really Think.” At this section a random selection of the first pages that attendees submitted ahead of time would be read aloud. The four agents would respond to each one as to whether they’d read on to the second page, or whether they’d request more from the author. Just from one page. <br />
<br />
Michelle and I sat in the very front so we could get a good look at the agent reactions. From where I sat I could see the stack of first pages in front of one of the agents. I could see that the first one on the pile was not mine. I grew antsy and wondered how many first pages were submitted and whether mine was selected for reading. <br />
<br />
The first one read was an astoundingly beautiful description of Malawi at sundown. The author talked about how the air grew cold once the sun went down, the darkness closed in and the cooking fires were visible from the road. It was so beautifully written I swear I could smell the campfires. I applauded after the reader finished. But then I stopped when I realized that Michelle and I were the only ones clapping. Yes, we were the dorks in the front row clapping. Mr. McAgentton (the one I’d met with) said “I don’t know who you are, but you need to send that to me.” All of the agents swooned over it. I slouched in my seat. It was way better than mine.<br />
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But then I remembered what Michelle and I talked about in an earlier session in which we talked about the self-doubt that creeps in after rejection. We both had the same thought “When faced with rejection we say ‘So, what can I do better next time.’” And while I may not be able to describe nightfall in Malawi as beautifully as this person had, I had other parts of my book that were just as good, but they were a different kind of good. Who knows, maybe this Malawi person can’t write dialogue for crap. I feel I can. I commanded myself to turn on my sponge and learn about what I can do better.<br />
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Then the reader read the next one, and the next. Damn, all of these were good. I fought to keep myself sitting up straight in my seat, not letting the self-doubt seep in. The agents shed their politeness as the session wore on. I think that some of the first pages weren’t as polished as others (not like that Malawi one. Damn!) and they picked up right on it and asked questions like “Who is this person? Why are they doing this? What’s going on here?” All very valid questions.<br />
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I kept my eyes on the stack of first pages that the agent closest to me had on the table in front of her. Then I saw mine. I elbowed Michelle, “Mine’s next! Holy crap!”<br />
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And it was read, and I watched the agents react. There was one who was particularly expressive. She rolled her eyes, she sighed and scribbled a note in the margin. The rest remained poker-faced. <br />
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Now, keep in mind that this first page had since been re-written. So, it wasn’t the best representation. And I wondered what Mr. McAgentton was thinking about it at the time. Was he annoyed with himself for having requested my first 50? Would he ignore my email once he did get those pages? Have I blown my chance with him?<br />
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The reader stopped reading. I think only one of the agents raised their hand before the end of the reading, which is the signal that they would stop reading at that point. They had done that on a few others as well, so I didn’t feel singled out. My heart pounded as I waited for a response.BJ Knapphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02655733034615023371noreply@blogger.com1