Author Archives: dkrashb

Turns

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Our plan is to fly on the big training hill in the morning, with Pat re-clearing for his first mountain flight.  Then, we will go up to the office, Pat will complete the one remaining written test he hasn’t done yet and get the required chalk talk on his flight plan.  Finally, we will each take a tandem flight to learn how to recognize our altitude in preparation for our first mountain launch.  Then, we will return Sunday morning and Pat will fly off the mountain.  I get nervous thinking about it.

While this plan all sounds grand, the weather forecast has not looked promising.  I have been crossing my fingers that the predictions will be completely wrong.  Here I am, up at 5:30AM on a Saturday morning, standing on our balcony with a cup of coffee.  It feels like it’s close to 60 degrees.  The wind is whipping up, although we’ve found the wind on our balcony is no predictor of the wind on the training hills.  But the rain is holding off.  The clouds even appear to be breaking up a bit.  I decide maybe our plan will work after all and continue getting ready.

We start off on time–pulling out of the parking lot at 7:02AM.  But as we make our way down the road, lightening appears in the sky.  We drive to the hills anyway, arriving  in time to watch the storm blow across the field.  At least we didn’t set up any gliders.

Now it’s Sunday morning and it’s a rerun of Saturday.  With one major difference–this time we have a new foster dog, Tisen, who will join us.

Today, the weather is semi-cooperative.  I start learning how to make 90 degree turns.  Pat, however, isn’t feeling well and, after his first flight, drives for me until I call it quits after an imperfect landing.  I was coming in fast and hadn’t bled off enough speed when I started to flare the glider for the landing.  This caused the glider to swoop up into the air.  While this is scary, it’s not really dangerous because the glider will act as a parachute and set you down relatively gently as long as you lock out your arms.  However, at the last second, I dropped my arms, causing me to impact the ground harder than I’d like.  I also somehow managed to hit my knee with the control bar when I landed.  Given that my knee was hurting before I decided to whack it with a control bar, it seemed like a good time to call it a day.

Pat, feeling better, got in two flights before the wind started getting crazy.  We went up top for him to finish his test and get his chalk talk and discovered, at high altitude, there was no visibility and crazy winds.  No tandem flight today, either.

But that’s OK.  When it comes to learning to fly, I’m happy to wait for good weather.

Returning a Crate

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We needed to return the dog crate we borrowed from the McKamey Animal Center.  That’s all we we were going to do.  Drop off the crate.  But Anna, the volunteer coordinator, was there and she asked if we wanted to meet a dog she wanted us to foster “so we could think about it.”

We met Tisen (which I think should be spelled Tyson, but then he’d be named after a chicken company, so it’s just as well).  He is an 8 year old mix who looks like a collection of terrier breeds and maybe even some dalmatian.  He trotted out to us in the exercise yard, just a little shy at first.  Soon, he was giving us kisses.

Anna told us Tisen’s owner is dying.  And, out of “love” for his dog, he decided he wanted Tisen to die with him.  So, he stopped feeding Tisen, apparently thinking the dog would starve to death about the same time he died and they would go to heaven together.  I’m not sure what the rules are about getting into heaven, but if starving a dog to death is on the list of ways to get in, I think I’ll pass.

The man had a daughter who was caring for him and his dogs who apparently agreed to this ploy and was feeding the other two dogs, whom the man loved less.

I don’t know much more about this story except that the police were called and they called McKamey and the wonderful staff at McKamey decided this dog needed to be saved.  He’d been in their clinic under constant care for many weeks, regaining his strength.  He’d become a favorite among the staff and his many fans were giving him extra love and attention.  However, when he had recovered enough to be adopted and was put out in the kennel areas for public viewing, he started showing signs of stress.  He apparently has a hard time being surrounded by other dogs.

We looked at his flaking skin and thinning fur, chunks missing in places and his skin bright red underneath where he’s started chewing on himself from stress, and, I ask, how could we have left this sweet boy there?

I have to say it felt pretty good when one of the staff came out to say goodbye to him and personally thanked us for fostering him–she felt strongly that he not only needed it but he really deserved it after all he’d been through.

When we rode home, he stood between the seats with his front paws in my lap, licking my face.  When we got home, after sniffing around, he plopped across my lap and nestled in like he was home.  I managed to coax him over to Pat’s lap so I could run to the dog store to get something for his skin.  When I came home, my boys were curled up on the couch snoozing.  For once, I feel certain we did the right thing.

Wine Shots

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I’m ready for the weekend.  But, my husband is working away at his new digs across the street.  I could walk over and check on him, and maybe I will later.  But right now, I take a little time for me.  First a glass of wine.  One small glass left from my birthday bottle of The Prisoner.

Inspired by a Facebook post by a good friend, I play some Etta James–it’s the kind of mood I’m in–and get out my tripod.  My beautiful glass of wine is going to be my first subject this evening.  I set it up on top of my iPad’s green cover.  I move a utility lamp over.  Then, I set up my camera with its 100mm macro lens about an inch from the glass.  I spend about a half an hour finding interesting shapes and bubbles and (ick) floaties in my wine.

Eventually, I get tired of looking at the wine and decide to drink it.  I move on to shooting close ups of an old nail file, a stuffed Brutus Buckeye bean bag (you have to be from Columbus to get that), my ear buds, and then I land on the utility lamp.  I stop myself after the lamp.

As I process photos, I find it hard to choose.  The more pictures I take, the harder it is for me to pick the handful that I like.  They run together in my mind and I cannot remember if the one I am looking at now is better than the one I was looking at 3 seconds ago.

It reminds me of the time I took my senile aunt bra shopping.  For those of you who have never been bra shopping, it’s not a fun activity no matter what you think.  Add to the mix an 85 year old woman who can’t remember your name and it quickly degrades into an exercise of frustration.

I will spare you the details, but when it came time to choose, I would say, “Do you like this one better or the last one better?”  She would look at me blankly and I would hold up the last one and say, “Do you like the one you have on now or this one?”  She would look at the one in my hand and say, “Oh, did I have that one on?”  Needless to say, I gave up and bought her a few comfortable looking sports bras.  She, of course, couldn’t remember they were bras and never wore them.

Since my memory is slightly better than that, I did manage to whittle down my shots to 4.  I particularly like the last one in terms of an interesting experiment.  I shot through the utility lamp with the focus on the mini-blind in the background.  The light created the effect of a moon behind the blind, which surprised me since the lamp was about 6 inches from the lens and the blind was more like 4 feet away.

The Aftermath of Dog Fostering

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There is a tangible shift in the energy of the apartment.  If the sound and movement in a space were represented in a quilt, our quilt would have a giant hole in it.  The only thing to do is to repair the hole.  This means putting things back to where they were before our guests arrived.

I gather the toys we didn’t send off with the dogs.  I move the remaining food and treats to a cupboard in the kitchen.  I hide the chewed up laptop chargers in a drawer.  I start mentally calculating how much we spent on our week of dog fostering:

  • fee to have dogs in apartment:  $250
  • donation to shelter:  $200
  • dog supplies:  $280
  • replacement laptop chargers:  $160

Instead of adding it up, I conclude with “A week with Lucy and Rex, Priceless.”

But, as I continue to put leftovers away, I realize it would be a sound financial decision to foster more dogs since the money we’ve already spent would cover their costs for the most part.

But am I ready for the next foster dog?  I fold and remove the crates from the living room, gather up the dog blankets and throw them in the laundry, vacuum away the dog hair, and steam away the odors.  When I am done, I have transformed the living room decor from “Dog Kennel Chic” to, well, let’s just call it “Human Occupied.”  There are no signs that dogs ever lived here.

I sit on the couch for a minute, stretching my back and think about the advantages of not having a foster dog:

Sleeping.  I not longer feel on edge, waiting for the dogs to bark or do something loud that must be interrupted immediately when living in an apartment building.  My own anxiety is more of the problem than the dogs, but a problem none-the-less.

Going Out.  We are free to come and go as we please.  When Pat took me out to dinner for my birthday, it was the only two hours we left without the dogs.  Lucy was an only dog by then.  We put her in her crate with a special chew treat and a bone and then went on our way.  She wasn’t barking when we left and she wasn’t barking when we got back, but there was a Post It on the door that said, “Please stop the barking!”

Bird Watching.  I can walk along at my own pace with my eyes in the trees.  When I am training dogs to walk on a leash, I don’t notice a single bird.

Although the quiet and the freedom feel good, I still find myself looking around for the dogs.  The hole in that quilt leaves me feeling a little cold.  Before I know what I’m doing, I’m looking at the calendar and wondering if I could take in the next foster dog in a week or so.  I’m hoping I will be well rested by then.

 McKamey Animal Center

Dear USPS

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English: Letters in a post office box in a US ...

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I understand you’ve been having some financial troubles.  I admit I am not feeling sympathetic right now given that you recently started returning my husband’s mail, marking it “Return to Sender – Left No Forwarding Address.”  The only explanation we’ve come up with is a neighbor with a similar name moved about the same time you started rejecting my husband’s mail.

Ironically, had you started returning my mail, I would have been grateful.  Unfortunately, my husband is launching a new business and he actually needed to receive his mail.  This mistake has cost him two weeks in his schedule so far and still isn’t resolved.

On the flip side, I can always count on you to stuff my mailbox with credit card offers I don’t want and then must shred and recycle because I’m afraid someone will use the the pre-approved forms to steal my identity.

I have an idea for you.

You might have noticed that just about everyone has email these days.  Ask yourself this, “How can I compete with email?”  The answer is you can’t.  And what do you when you can’t beat ‘em?  Join ‘em!

Today, there are companies that offer mail scanning services that allow people who live on the road to use a physical address that accepts all deliveries (including UPS and FedEx, unlike a PO Box).  The service scans all envelopes and packages and sends an email that mail has been received.  The customer logs into a website and views the scans online. For each mail item, the customer chooses:  1) shred, 2) recycle, 3) forward, 4) open and scan content.  This allows the customer to receive the mail they want (and only the mail they want) at whatever physical address they happen to be at.

I personally would purchase this service at its current price, even though I am living at one address, except for two things.  I don’t want an out-of-state physical address and I don’t want to have to pay extra to have my mail delivered to my home address.  This is where you come in.

As the USPS, you can offer me an address in the same zip code as my physical address, preventing any confusion with entities such as taxing authorities.  You can also deliver the mail I want at no extra charge to my home address because you’ve already been paid to deliver it there.  You can still charge me if I decide to have it forwarded somewhere else.

Think about it.  You get paid to deliver junk mail by the sender and then get paid to not deliver it by the recipient!

The advantages to me, the customer, are:

  • The elimination of paper I have to shred and/or recycle.
  • The availability of my mail from anywhere.
  • A separation of my physical address from my mail address, allowing me to be mobile without having to change my address.

What do you say?  Are you ready to start offering services your customers actually want?

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The Big Hill

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It’s Sunday morning and 5:00AM.  We are flying today.  In fact, today will be my maiden voyage off the big training hill.  While most people might not celebrate this milestone, this is such a momentous occasion for me, I cannot help but get excited.  It has taken me 53 flights off the small hill to get to the big one.  I am sure I’m am getting close to a flight park record.

We take Lucy, our foster dog with us to the training hills.  She has been dying for an opportunity to run around and the training hills are the perfect place.  When we arrive, she literally runs a few laps around the field just out of sheer joy.  It reminds me of our girl, Katie, who used to jump in any body of water we got close to and swim laps just because she loved being in the water.

There are 4 of us flying today.  3 of us are re-clearing for the mountain and have already taken several mountain flights.  I’m not part of that “us.”  I’m the only one who has never flown off the big hill before.  When I get up to the top, I decide to go last in the rotation.  I want to watch the others launch before I take this on.  The big hill doesn’t look very intimidating from the ground below, but from the top of the hill, it might as well be the mountain.

My stomach does a flip as I look down across the field below.  For a moment, I consider going home.  But I remember the feeling of being lifted off the ground the first time.  The joy the memory evokes helps me find a little courage.  Everyone assures me I will like the big hill better than the small hill–it’s easier to launch because of the vertical drop.

Ironically, it’s this vertical drop that worries me so much.  What happens if I don’t launch before I reach the drop?  But, I go ahead and hook in when it’s my turn.  I go through the hang check, my stomach getting tighter.  Pete, the instructor, talks to me about just flying straight and level.  He makes it sound easy.  He assures me I will launch.

I pause, do my pre-flight mental check, channel David Hasselhof, push my shoulders back, stand up straight, and call “clear.”

I hear Pete behind me, reminding me to walk, jog, run.  Then, I am airborn–really airborn!  I cannot judge how close I am to the ground.

My glider starts to turn and I try to correct.  I get the glider straight just in time to feel the ground effect and realize it’s about time to land.  I get my hands up and flare, landing on my feet and walking away as the glider floats back down to my shoulders as Lucy comes running over to check on me.  All I can think is, “I want to do that again!”

Goodbye to Lucy Lou

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Lucy, one of our two foster dogs, was adopted today.  Her brother, Rex, was adopted on Saturday.  I was happy for Rex with only a little sadness, even though he was my favorite.  Then something happened.  Lucy bloomed.  Removed from the shadow of her big brother, she came into her own.

She went from being terrified of the elevator to pushing at the door like she owned the thing.

She was suddenly sitting like she’d understood all along but was too nervous to sit in front of her brother.

She figured out walking on a leash didn’t mean towing me.

She learned to amuse herself.  First, she decided the socks on the bedroom floor should be piled on the couch.  Then, she decided to move all linens from her crate to the couch, too.  She started with the heavy quilt draped over her crate.  It weighs almost as much as she does.  She grabbed it by a corner and wrestled it off the crate, one inch at a time.  She managed to get one corner of it up onto the couch, adding to her pile of socks she’d collected.  Then, she hopped down on top of the rest of the quilt, took the corner in her mouth and tried to jump up on the couch with it.  She couldn’t figure out her own weight was preventing her from performing this feat and ended up in a wrestling match with the quilt, growling at it while she tried to figure out how to get it into place.

Finally, she gave up and went for the first blanket in the crate.  Then the second.  Then the towel we’d put underneath for extra padding.  She had a massive nest on the couch plus the large quilt draping down to the floor.

When Pat came home and sat on the couch to print a document he needed, she jumped out of her nest, barking at the printer across the room.  I laughed and said, “Maybe we can teach her to retrieve your printout?”  30 seconds later, the printer stopped and Lucy ran over, grabbed the printout off the printer, brought it to within 3 feet of Pat, and dropped it on the floor.  It was almost scary.

Sitting on the couch with her cuddled in my lap, she gazed up at me with her brown eyes and I started thinking thoughts like, “Maybe she could just sleep with us tonight?”  Then, I remembered she had an audition with a potential new owner this afternoon.  I rubbed her belly and tried not to think of it.

Pat came and took her to her appointment.  He came home without her.  He liked the family that took her.  I am happy for Lucy.  But, part of me wishes she could have left a couple days earlier when I was less attached.  The shelter says we broke a record for the shortest time to have a foster dog.  Turns out it’s not a record I was prepared to break.

Being 45

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Every year, without fail, no matter how much I try to skip it, I get a year older.  Some years this goes by with barely a blip on the “oh my god, I’m getting older!” radar.  Other years, an alarm goes off, warning me I’m passing some milestone I would rather not pass.  Well, actually, up until my 25th birthday, I looked forward to the milestones.  But, once I turned 25 and hit the final milestone that was important to me (being able to rent a car), I started wanting to put the brakes on aging.

At 25, I was suddenly, marvelously aware of how young I was.  I think the realization started to sink in when I walked in the print center at the office (back when there was such a thing) to pick up a printout and the guy working there had a big cake that said “Happy 25th!”  Upon learning it was his 25th service anniversary, I blurted out, “Wow!  You’ve been working here longer than I’ve been alive!”  He didn’t offer me a piece of cake.

That was in 1989.  I ended up working in that same office until 2006.  While it’s not 25 years, the speed at which those 17 years flew by was astounding.

As I write this, I realize I have had a “career” (if that’s what we call it) for 23 years.  That’s more years than I had been alive when I insulted that poor man on his service anniversary.

These are the kinds of thoughts that depress me.  Not that there’s anything wrong with being 23 years into my career.  I just hate to think that it’s really been 23 years.  I find myself wondering what’s next.

I want there to be at least 1 person who would say they learned something so meaningful from me it changed their lives in a powerful and positive way.  I haven’t found that person yet and I fear I’m running out of time.

The truth is I sometimes feel a sudden stab of irrational fear as the clock ticks.  I am only 3 years younger than my mother was when she was diagnosed with breast cancer.  I am only 13 years younger than my mother was when she died.  I know it’s silly, but fear rumbles in my belly when I least expect it.  I try not to indulge this fear.  After all, does it matter how much longer I have left?  How often have we heard we should live every day like it’s our last?  Of course, that probably isn’t advice coming from a financial planner.

In spite of my anxieties about aging, I did two things today to celebrate being 45:  I flew off the big training hill for the first time at the hang gliding flight park and I ate chocolate truffle cake for dessert after my birthday dinner.  Hang gliding feels like seizing life and squeezing a little extra out of it.  Chocolate truffle cake feels like decadence.  Both seem appropriate for someone who’s made it through 45 years.

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Adoption Day

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Every time we take in a stray animal, we enter into the search for owners hopeful that we’ll find a happy place for the cat or dog quickly. There are reasons for this.

First, let’s face it, animals that have been abandoned have often been abandoned because they lived with people who didn’t know how to train them and they’ve developed bad habits. While I enjoy training dogs (I don’t even try with cats), habits that disrupt my sleep wear on me quickly.

Second, there is an attachment factor. The more time I spend figuring out the particular quirks of a particular dog and how to work with them successfully, the more I get to know them, the better they start to behave, the more I feel like we’re working together as a team, the more attached I get. I’ve found there is an interesting pattern in the relationship that goes something like this:

I’m not sure what canine instinct makes a stray dog behave like the best dog ever at first. It’s as if they know to be cute enough to rope you into keeping them.

The dogs themselves seem to start out feeling complete adoration towards us plus nervousness about being in a new situation. Then, as they lose their nervousness and increase their confidence, they also let their guard down much the way a human might be the most polite person to a perfect stranger and then turn around and snap at a cherished family member.

By the time the dog really feels at home, I feel the frustration that led to their abandonment. When all the bad habits surface, I know it’s time to crank up the training.

With Rex, we had run into a few bad habits–he ate both our power supplies for our laptops, so if I don’t post tomorrow, my battery died. 🙂 But really, he was just completely lacking in training.

Sitting on the bench at the adoption center while Rex’s new parents filled out paperwork, he came and laid his head in my lap. I petted him and talked to him quietly. Then, his new dad came over and sat down on a nearby bench and Rex walked over to him and laid his head in his lap. His new dad leaned down with his face close to Rex’s, stroking his ears and looking at him with the kind of wonder parents show newborns. It was obvious that this man was in love with Rex.

This man struck me as the embodiment of calm. His wife was sweet, too, although I suspect she’s a little higher strung, like me. But the bonding that was taking place right in front of me between Rex and his new dad was what gave me confidence that Rex was going to a good home.

But you know what? I’m still sad.

Going Small

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Macro photography is one of those fun things I love to do but rarely find the time for.  This is not because it actually takes longer than shooting anything else, but rather because the possibilities expand infinitely as I keep finding subjects that I would never find interesting at a normal distance.  I have spent an hour shooting a single link of a chain.

Not only does shooting up close allow me to extract out a single shape from a conglomeration, but an extremely shallow depth of focus creates an even smaller view of what’s in focus within the frame, creating all kinds of interesting effects.  In “Spiny Plant”–only one small area of the top edge of the plant is in focus because I shot perpendicular to the plant:

“Blossom” also shows this effect:

I almost scrapped this picture because only the very edge of the blossom is in focus, but I kind of liked it after experimenting quite a bit with editing.  “Flower Cluster” shows how this effect puts only one of the berries (or whatever they are called) in sharp focus:

 

“08 The world in a single drop” is one of those shots I really want to be spectacular, but it’s not:

I would prefer to fill the frame with just the drop against the pink background.  I am excited to try some of the tools discussed in the workshop (a close-up lens and extension tubes) to see if I can, in fact, fill the frame with a water drop.  I suppose it will only reflect my lens at that point, though.

I’ve often struggled with the depth of field issue.  As much as I like the effect of a wide-open aperture in macro shots, when I’m shooting something living and moving this way, I find I often get the focus just in front of or just behind what I actually was trying to focus on.  I learned three important things about this last night:  1)  Don’t use autofocus when shooting macro, 2) Shoot parallel to the subject if you want more of it in focus, and 3) Make use of the diopter on the viewfinder if you need it.

The milestone of reading glasses is something that no one really celebrates.  I usually rely on autofocus to solve my vision limitations.  I found when I was shooting the moon (I love saying that) and I was forced to focus manually, I got my sharpest focus by using the LCD on 10x magnification and wearing my reading glasses.  Unfortunately, this doesn’t work well for a subject that moves faster than the moon or that doesn’t accommodate the use of a tripod.  I’m going to have to do some googling on photography, focus, and reading glasses.