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2
Jan 23

The non-holiday, holiday Monday

OK, OK. Let’s get this place back to normal. We have to settle down, I know. There was all of that travel, and then the extra weirdness of New Year’s, compounded by the weirdness of that being on a Sunday, meaning the hangover for the amateurs were observed today — by both the amateurs and their employers. And then I published something here on Saturday, very strange indeed. And I had today off. (And tomorrow!) But we stayed in, with good reason.

For the life of me, I don’t know why anyone over the age of 24 goes out for New Year’s Eve, no matter the night of the week. And it makes zero sense during a pandemic. (Yes, that’s still on.) Unless you figure you’ve done all the ritual and obligatory family events you need to do for the next several months, so you went out to get contaminated, and contaminate others, willy nilly.

Which is thoughtful of you, really.

Funnily enough, the etymology of willy nilly goes back to about 1600. To the Internet! (Where you already are!) Willy-nilly:

c. 1600, contraction of will I, nill I, or will he, nill he, or will ye, nill ye, literally “with or without the will of the person concerned.”

And just one or two generations later, there was the Great Plague of London.

City records indicate that some 68,596 people died during the epidemic, though the actual number of deaths is suspected to have exceeded 100,000 out of a total population estimated at 460,000.

Precisely why we stayed in. And, also, because we are over 24.

The cats had a party, though. Check out their glasses. You’d be profoundly disappointed in me if you knew how long we’ve waited for that moment to appear, just for these photos, and for nothing else.

And that’s as good a transition as any to move us smoothly into the most popular feature on the website. (I look at the analytics (and thanks for your visit) so I know these things.) Phoebe is having a ball.

Poseidon has been very cuddly and lovey today.

It’s when he’s charming that he’s most dangerous, because it is all a ploy. But, my, how he can charm the unsuspecting.

As ever, it is creepy when they do the same thing at the same time.

Just darned unsettling.

The thing you’ve been skimming or just scroll past, the last six weeks or so: On New Year’s Eve I set a personal best for mileage on the year. As ever, I did it at the last minute.

I had a difficult time trying to decide how much to do that night. If I’d stopped at that point, four miles into that ride, I would have set a best by only a mile. It was obvious I didn’t have another metric century in me, but it seemed like there should be some meaning or importance to this number no one else will ever know. Shouldn’t there be? What should it be? I failed utterly in that regard, but settled in to simply enjoy a midnight ride, which is the real meaning and importance.

I fell in with a fast group and stayed with them for six miles or so. I sprinted out of that group at the finish line for no reason. I beat them all to a vague finish line no one agreed to in a race they didn’t know they were having with me. Victory, he said grimly, was mine.

And after 18 miles that evening, that was that.

But the best part of the night, The Yankee decided to ride a few miles with me. We rang in the new year pedaling away in the bike room, holding hands and being cute and all. Here are our Zwift avatars, together.

It was her second bike ride of the day. She went to the pool today, and is back to doing her many other workouts, as well. So, if you’re wondering, she’s recovering nicely from her September crash and subsequent surgery.

Which means I have to find some way to get in more miles this year than she does. This will take a concerted effort on my part. (Not to worry, I already have a spreadsheet and two new goals to help me with this.)

I have about 75 pages to go in Rick Atkinson’s The British Are Coming. It’s one part Tolstoy, one part Burns, and all of it a story in a style befitting the journalist taking a turn as a historian. Last night I got to that point where I began to hate that the book is ending.

It’s a feeling all the more pointed because this is the first book in a trilogy, and because it is good, and so is everything else of Atkinson’s that I have read. Problem is, he hasn’t published the other two installments yet. These things, no doubt, take time. This one, for instance, has 564 pages of text, 135 pages of endnotes, a 42-page bibliography and 24 full-page maps.

But, come on, Atkinson, this was published in April of 2020. Make with the goods!

Isn’t that last passage something? (Read this book.)

I think he’ll finish this book just before Washington crosses the Delaware on his Christmas attack. It had been a grim year, 1776, and that December, the privation of the winter quarters and the desperation late in that December would be a good place to put in a cliffhanger and set up the next book in the trilogy.

Nary a word has been published online about when the next book will be out. How am I supposed to find out what happens next?


30
Dec 22

A new thing to sit on, and then sitting in the saddle

Our new sofa arrived today. We purchased it on July 1st.

The ottoman was ready almost right away. Apparently the sofa, which is common enough to have floor models, is built on a case-by-inspired-case basis. It was supposed to come while we were traveling all over the wide world for the holidays, but they were kind enough to hold on to it until we returned. They called yesterday and said our furniture would be delivered between 9:30 and 12:30 today. They showed up at about 9 a.m., in and out with a careful professionalism.

I’m typing this from the sofa. It is firm. Has that new-furniture are-the-chemicals-in-this-deadly-in-California smell.

Humorously, the crew chief has to take a photograph of the sofa for proof of delivery. If the signature and initials on the form aren’t enough, who is to say he didn’t take that sofa and shoot a photograph in my neighbor’s house? Or his neighbor’s house? So I’m surprised he didn’t ask us to sit on the sofa, but AI is doing amazing things these days, and so maybe that’s not proof enough either.

Hang on.

I just stood up to go fetch something from elsewhere in the house. This sofa is both firm and actually easy to get out of. The old one, which had 20-some great years of use, involved a rolling, pushing motion, and you always came out low, owing to where your hips wound up. With this sofa you just … stand up?

My knees approve.

Climbed on the bike this afternoon. Climbed off in the early evening. I spent so much time on the bike that I started playing around with the camera angles on Zwift. This is usually the sign that I’m ready to be off the trainer, and on the road. But, it rained all day, and it was 54 degrees at best, and once the bike is on the trainer, it tends to stay there until the weather is tolerable. And it rained all day.

Anyway, I clicked off 60 miles. I was intently concentrating on distance, because of this silly mileage goal, rather than times. But I still did my 3rd fastest time on the circuit, and my second fastest time on two loops of the circuit.

I hope my avatar has something left in the legs for tomorrow. Tomorrow we break the personal record.

Tomorrow, it won’t be weird to ride my bike into the new year.


28
Dec 22

The last travel day of the holiday season

Today we said goodbye to our Christmas on the Gold Coast coast. It’s always lovely to be there and to spend a little quiet time at the cottage.

It’s always difficult to leave.

But we had a plane to catch. A direct flight. A short flight. And yet it still, somehow, dominated the day. Weird.

So here are a few extra photos to pad this out. Some of the winter berries we saw at the New York Botanical Garden on Monday.

(Did you see all of those posts, by the way? Part one is here. Here is part two. See part three here. The fourth and final installment is here.)

We saw this painting along the way in our trip. The placard said it is titled “Hurricane” and was a gift from the artist, Theodosia Tamborlane.

When the guy on your Delta flight says goodbye at the end of your trip.

And when you realize you’re only one trip to baggage claim and an hour’s drive from wrapping up two great weeks of travel.

I unpack as soon as I get home. I essentially lived out of a suitcase for the better part of six years, and I see no reason to leave them sitting around. Tonight that meant unloading the car, eating a quick sandwich, and then carrying everything upstairs to be unpacked. Four minutes later my suitcase was empty and my backpack was lighter. The suitcase, if not every stitch of clothing, gets put away almost immediately.

This afternoon my mother-in-law said we shouldn’t feel pressured to be there on Christmas day. We rotate alternate years to keep it fair between our families but, I said, “There’s never any pressure. We are blessed to have the time and ability to be able to see everyone.”

The only demanding part, then, is the travel. I added it up. Assuming our two planes had a very basic flight path, we’ve covered approximately 2,547 miles in the last 13-or-so days. Only half of that was in the air.

So, yeah, I guess I can see how Santa does it.


27
Dec 22

I fixed a thing, we ran some, and did other things

I decided to try to get cool son-in-law points this weekend. My mother-in-law had grown frustrated by a leaking kitchen sink. They’d had a plumber out, but that hadn’t worked. So I said, “Let me go get, and install, a new faucet for you.” The old one was, well, old. And they have weird water, so a new fixture wasn’t uncalled for.

It went like this. I went to Lowe’s. Found a faucet. I purchased some other things because my in-laws don’t have the widest array of tools on hand. I took half the old faucet out and realized I didn’t get a big enough crescent wrench. Grrrr. Having failed at my first goal of going to one hardware store for this project, we went to Walmart and got some more crescent wrenches. And then I labored at the silly old faucet and it’s decades old components for a good long while.

Finally, the new one went in, but I kept running into a leak from the supply hose. The cold one was fine, the hot supply line was a spraying mess. I tried, oh how I tried, to make it work. After a late lunch I, grrrrrrrrr, went to the local small hardware store for new supply hoses. A guy walked me right to them and, showing the amount of studied disinterest that indicates he’s almost ready to work at Home Depot, he showed me the many size options available. I took the most likely candidates and then I asked the guy “Why do you suppose this one is leaking?

The old one was a plastic-rubber style, popular in the 1980s or so. It was undamaged. He looked down the hose. “No rubber seal.” I showed him the old cold supply hose. It worked just fine. He glanced at it, turned and walked away mumbling, “I don’t know.”

This guy need to be wearing a vest in a big box store, ASAP.

Anyway, we got the sink working. It does not spray under the cabinet. It does not drip when she turns it off. My mother-in-law is very pleased. Despite that project dragging on way longer than it should, and longer than I’d promised, I think I might be the number one son-in-law now.

We went for a run, just before darkness fell.

We had great sunset views along the beach for one of our favorite 5Ks.

But then, when the sun went down, it went down quick.

On the far off, westernmost point over the sound we saw the sun go down. It turned dark before I could get there, despite an almost-sprint to make it to the beach. But imagine about two thirds of this amount of sky in that brilliant red.

Also today The Yankee got her mother’s new iPad set up. And, tonight, she digitized all of their old slides using a machine I picked up this year. There’s 1,100 of them, all sitting on an SD card, and in the cloud, and in all of those carousels. We looked at the first several hundred of them on their TV this evening. Their daughter was a really cute kid.


26
Dec 22

Holiday Train Show at the New York Botanical Garden, part four

We visited the holiday train show, featuring 25 trains and almost 200 miniature buildings made of bark, leaves, and other materials. I took a lot of photos of the models of those historic and iconic places. Here are some of them. (Part one is here. Here is part two. See part three here.)

Radio City’s four-tiered auditorium was the world’s largest when it opened in 1932. But the model here might be one of the smallest in the world.

Right next to the entertainment venue is Saks Fifth Avenue, which is just around the corner and two-tenths of a mile away in real life.

Four miles uptown, you can catch a show at the center of American culture, the Apollo.

The neo-classical theater opened in 1913. Seventy years later it was added to the National Register of Historic Places. More than a million people visit the Apollo each year.

In between them, in real life, anyway, is The Metropolitan Museum of Art, one of the world’s largest art museums.

The actual museum, some quarter mile in length, is actually a combination of more than 20 pre-existing structures, but most aren’t visible from outside. I wonder if the model makers took that detail to heart when they built this version.

Here’s a model showing the Roosevelt Island lighthouse, which has been a site from the East River since 1872. It occupies the northernmost point of the island between Manhattan and Long Island.

Gothic lighthouses are some of the less aesthetically appealing lighthouses, but I’ll take the model. About 50 feet tall, the light was operated until about 1940. A restoration was completed in 1998. It was added to the the National Register of Historic Places in 1972 and, because, I guess, New York has a more exacting set of standards, it was named a city landmark in 1976.

The LuEsther T. Mertz Library is located at the New York Botanical Garden, which is where this exhibit is held. I didn’t realize this at the time, which is probably just as well. It would have made me dizzy. This model is about 1,300 feet, as the crow flies, from the building that inspired it.

Begging the question, where do they store all these models when they aren’t on display here? Begging a further question, why doesn’t every one of these have a “NO TOUCHING” sign nearby? Begging a still-further question, how are all of the visitors resisting the urge to touch all of these?

Anyway, the Renaissance Revival style building was designed in 1896 and finished in 1901. And the Mertz was the first museum in the nation with a collection focused exclusively on botany.

And now I’m dizzy. This is a miniature of the Enid A. Haupt Conservatory. We are standing in that building for that photograph.

That central dome is the big room where this model is displayed. Built between 1899 and 1922, it has been renovated four or five times over the last years. The conservatory is the botanical garden’s main draw, in particular for the palm and cacti exhibits, and also because it houses events like this.

Here’s the representation of the Ed Koch Queensboro Bridge. The real one, opened in 1909 connects Queens to Manhattan. For a few years, it was the longest cantilever in North America.

It was named for the former New York City mayor in 2011. This bridge, Wikipedia tells me, is the first entry point into Manhattan for runners of the New York City Marathon. It is the last exit off the island if you’re doing the Five Boro Bike Tour, which sounds fun.

Now we come to the Lorillard Snuff Mill, now known as the Lillian and Amy Goldman Stone Mill. Built in 1840, it is the country’s oldest existing tobacco manufacturing building. This is also a part of the botanical garden.

The Lorillards moved their business to New Jersey in 1870. The city bought the land and gave it to the New York Botanical Garden. It was renovated in the 1950s and was again restored in 2010, a $10.5 million affair. There are offices and catering there now. They also host weddings. In 2019, they were charging between $2,250 and $2,750 for “the newly refurbished, farm chic stone mill” offering “a paramount combination of historic charm and modern comforts.”

Finally, this is the first, and last, model you see. And it is giant. When Macy’s Herald Square opened at 34th Street and Broadway, in 1902, it was so far removed from the rest of the city’s shopping that they had a steam wagonette bringing customers 20 blocks uptown.

The real building is 2.5 million square feet, half of which is retail space, making it the largest department store in the United States. By the 1930s the global designation for the largest retail had moved to Australia, but this Macy’s is still among the largest in the world. Those numbers are abstractions, so I looked this up. The mall near where I grew up has 1.4 million square feet of retail, and there’s something like 150 stores in there. Or, put another way, the total square footage of that Macy’s is about 6 times larger than NASA’s Vehicle Assembly Building, you know, where they build the large pre-manufactured space vehicle components. The Willis Tower, in Chicago, is twice as large as the Herald Square store. Today’s largest retailer, Wikipedia assures me, is Shinsegae Centum City, in South Korea, is a mall more than twice as large.

The Magic of Macy’s is in this miniature, too. This is actually a giant planter.

And that’s a fitting for a botanical garden, and a fitting place for this series of posts to end. (Part one is here. Here is part two. See part three here.) I hope you’ve enjoyed them as much as I have, and almost as much as I enjoyed the visit.