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attractive nuisance at the West Hurley Park
Saturday, December 24 2016
After Saturday morning coffee, Gretchen did another shift at the Woodstock bookstore, which had an even bigger day than it had yesterday. Maybe all the hippie Woodstock types are thinking the same thing: if we're about to descend into another dark age, perhaps it is a good idea to stock up on books. Real books, the kind that work after the power grid goes down for the last time.
Meanwhile, I painted a tiny painting of a sperm whale on an old credit card. I wasn't happy with the whale's eye after scanning it, so I worked on it some more and, I think, overworked the blue background. Look at these two scans (taken in chronological order) and see if you agree. (Hmm, now as I look at it, the additional work all appears to have been for the best.)
I had some Christmas errands to run, so I loaded up the dogs and headed north up Dug Hill Road, stopping at the West Hurley Park to let them run around. It had been raining this morning, and this was their first walk of the day. Immediately Ramona began running around like a crazy dog in the swampy woodland between the athletic field and the landfills to the north. I thought perhaps she was chasing a fox, but I never saw what she was pursuing. Neville got caught up in the spirit and ran around a little too, but, like me, he didn't really see the point and soon gave up. Eventually we went on a brief walk through the forest west of the fields, but then Ramona ran on ahead to return to the place that had caused her so much excitement. I eventually saw her tugging on something on the other side of a large frozen puddle. I thought maybe she was pulling vegetation out from around a boulder to better get at some poor creature hiding beneath it. But had it just been that, she probably wouldn't've completely ignored my insistent calls for her to come. This forced me to cross that frozen puddle, which was not something I wanted to do. I was wearing rubber boots, but the ice was weak and it was possible the cold water beneath it was deep enough to swamp them. But I made it across without incident and discovered that the attractive nuisance was the remains of a deer. There was a rib cage, legs, and a hide, though most of the easy meat and organs were gone. Though there was plenty of scraps for both dogs, Ramona was jealously guarding the whole thing, growling whenever Neville approached. And he didn't want to piss off his sister (whom he idolizes) so he held back. I grabbed Ramona by the collar and dragged her across the frozen puddle and out of the woods. At that point, she seemed relieved to be away from the corpse's curse, which had, she seemed to recognize, brought out a side of herself of which she is not proud. After packing her away in the Subaru, I went back for Neville. It was now his turn to jealously guard the corpse, and he even menaced me as I approached. He's not as easy to lead by the collar, so I ended up having to carry him back to the car, a non-trivial exercise when a dog weighs 50 pounds, I have to cross a frozen puddle of unknown depth, and I haven't had any real exercise since April.
At the Tibetan Center thrift store, the only thing worth buying was an old Canon PowerShot S230 camera, similar to (but slightly older than) the camera I accidentally drowned to death at Bonnaroo back in 2008. At $3, the price was right, and I figured I could use it as a zoom-equipped high-megapixel webcam or as a disposable digital camera in some dangerous post-Trumpocalyptic environment. Tiny digital cameras take up no room, so there's no reason not to stock up, particularly when I have a lot of compatible batteries. Then, of course, the nice skinny guy who runs the thrift store was all apologetic about the lame 3.6 megapixel spec and talked the price down to $2 without any encouragement from me. I would much rather he were the incoming president and Donald Trump had been working the counter at the Tibetan Center thrift store, perhaps trying to get me to pay too much for obsolete electronics.
Out on 9W, I hit the liquor store mostly to get liquor presents for Gretchen (even though alcohol is not much of an interest for her). At the Home Depot, I bought a couple long-reach needle-nose pliers as gifts for male friends, should the need arise. While buying beans, beer, frozen Amy's burritos, and hot sauce at ShopRite, I also bought some pyrex containers and a clever collapsible silicone funnel as presents Gretchen. She loves kitchen supplies.
Later, shortly before Gretchen returned home, she called and asked me to make dinner. So of course I made my household-famous chili, complete with a whole package of tempeh. Unfortunately, though, there were no mushrooms, and Gretchen found Hurley Ridge Market had already closed when she passed it on the way home.
We ate the chili while watching God Bless America (this being my second complete viewing of it). Gretchen found a lot to like about it, though she pointed out a number of flaws of which I'd been subconsciously aware. The dialogue is often overly didactic and thus stilted and unnatural, especially when voiced by Tara Lynne Barr, the young co-star, who generally required tight editing to preserve the illusion of naturalism. But occasionally her acting was brilliant, if only for a few seconds at a time.
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