Ravings of a Textual Deviant

C: We’re going to have to hurry up and wait on this, aren’t we?
H: Yes.
C: Wait harder!

I just taught my first yoga class for money. It was a private lesson for four people (and three cats) who are all brand-new to yoga, and I think went well. I tried to keep the poses basic and the pace comfortable. I was able to go with the class I’d planned, and although I ran over a few minutes, I don’t think anyone minded. A couple of my students are working with injuries, so I tried to be very conscientious about offering modifications and using props. When I asked how everyone felt at the end of class, the immediate answer was “stretched.” Which, when I think about it, is rather the point.

It’s almost like I’m a professional, or something.

So, I’m working on a document that describes what to do in case the system is down, and I find this:

Contact: On Duty Attendant
Name: [Acronym] Help Desk
Office: [Phone number]
Comments: Submit trouble request.

I guess if the trouble is worth having, everyone should get some.

Early last week, the bulb in my hallway light fixture went out. I changed the bulb, flipped the switch, and nothing happened. I didn’t have the time to do anything further about it until this weekend. I didn’t even worry about it until a friend of ours suggested that there could be a fire hazard lurking there. Well, the sum total of my knowledge about electrical things is “don’t stick your fingers in the socket,” so I was relieved when he offered to help me while he was visiting from out of town this weekend. He suggested that the easiest thing to do would be to replace the fixture, and as it’s both aesthetically offense and annoying to change the bulb, I readily agreed.

A quick trip to the hardware megastore netted us a light fixture, electrical tape, wire nuts, and a pair of compact fluorescent bulbs. The fixture assembly went well, aside from an aborted and not-strictly necessary attempt at soldering (soldering gun doesn’t work) and the fact that I can’t find my wire strippers. I turned off the appropriate circuit breaker. Our friend had the fixture wired up in short order, we put in the bulb I’d removed from the old fixture, flipped the switch and…nothing happened.

Our friend frowned a little and went back up the stepladder to have a second look. As he was reworking the wires, Ed came out of the master bedroom where he’d been watching football, and moved to the living room to watch. He completely failed to mention to us that the power had gone off in the bedroom. And, as it turned out, in the computer room, the master bath, and another bathroom…none of which are on the same circuit as the one whose breaker we’d flipped earlier. We looked at the circuit breakers panel, and nothing had flipped over. We experimented with the master switch, but didn’t get any results.

I called my dad to ask him to come over with his multimeter, so that we could test the fixture and switches, while our friend called his dad for advice. He came over with his meter, and started checking not only the fixture and the aswitches, but outlets in other parts of the house. Mysteriously, the power came back on in the master bath, but nowhere else. The results of the tests didn’t get us any less confused, and our friend sat down on the couch, sketching and mumbling to himself about circuits and switches. Finally, we admitted defeat, and I called some other friends of mine who’ve had a lot of work done on their house, and asked for the name of their electrician.

As we all know, nothing simple is ever easy, and after two phone calls and forty minutes, we hadn’t heard back from the recommended electrician, whose answering machine firmly instructed me to keep the line clear for the next fifteen minutes so that the dispatcher could return the call. While I was waiting, I remembered that I’d had a problem with the same areas a several months ago, and actually managed to retrieve the work order. Sure enough, last February, I’d had an outlet replaced and the GFI breakers reset for the same areas that had mysteriously gone out. Figuring that Hell might freeze over—and I don’t mean the one in Michigan—before we heard from electrician #1, I gave up and called the company that had done the previous repair.

Our friend went back to the hardware store to buy his own multimeter, and Ed encouraged me to lie down for a while to help the headache I’d developed for some reason. While I was lying down, Ed and our friend went back to tinkering with the fixture and the circuit breakers, and by the time I got up, we were back to status quo ante project—by which I mean that the lights were all on, except for that same fixture. Our friend had to head back to Louisville, but we did promise to call him as soon as we knew what the actual problem was.

It took the electrician over an hour to arrive, but when he got there, he was able to go right to work, as we’d left all the switch plates off, the fixture open, and the stepladder in the hall. He looked at our friend’s work, checked both switches and the fixture for current, and checked the wiring again. He replaced the wire nuts, and tightened up a loose neutral wire. Still no result. Finally, he asked me if we had another lightbulb. Ed opened up the package of compact fluorescents, and the electrician put it into the new fixture. I held my breath as Ed flipped the switch.

It worked. The entire problem had been caused by a defective light bulb.

“It’s more fun than watching the dog eat peanut butter!”—Keegan

Happy *coughcough*-th birthday to my dad, and thanks for timing it so conveniently!

Parents teach us a lot, and not always what they intend. For example, my dad started teaching me how to play chess when I was in preschool. One day, he took me into a game and hobby store to look at chess sets. He set me down on the counter, and while he was looking, the clerk brought out a knight from one of the expensive chess sets, held it out to me, and said, “See the horsie?” I looked right back at him and said “It’s a knight. It moves like an ‘L’.” And instead of reprimanding smartass little me, my dad laughed, and has told that story for nigh on thirty years…and that taught me that you can get away with an awful lot, if you’re funny when you do it.

Dad taught me how to cook…and how not to cook. He taught me to seek out and enjoy weird fruits and vegetables. He taught me to always label the food fridge and the lab fridge clearly and prominently. He taught me that “not all experiments are successful,” but that’s no reason not to experiment. He taught me more than I’ll probably ever need to know about patents. He never did manage to teach me how to balance equations for my chemistry class, but that probably had more to do with me than him. Dad taught me not to give up, even if you aren’t sure what the hell you’re doing; effort counts for a lot. He especially taught me not to give up on family—and that nobody drives you crazy like your parents. Dad has passed on to me choice bits of duct tape-fu, and taught me that a multitool is a beautiful thing. Dad taught me to scrounge, jury-rig, and substitute in order to get the job done. Dad taught me puns, jokes, pranks, and how to tell a good story.

Thanks, Dad.

Aaaaah!!! My eyes!!!…and yet, I have the urge to get out my crayons.

Blame Alisa for this one.

Brought to you by someone with too much free time…

Via Dorothea

I know I said I wasn’t making plans for Thanksgiving. And I’m not. But as it happens, Thursday is my dad’s birthday, and what kind of adoring daughter would I be if I didn’t make an effort to do something nice for him…say, a nice, home-cooked celebratory dinner; maybe something seasonal? I haven’t got a menu yet, but I’m thinking about a few things that have worked well in the past.

Spinach & Artichoke dip

My favorite salad, with hazelnuts instead of almonds, and hazelnut-cranberry-balsamic vinaigrette

Corn chowder

Cornish game hens

Herb & chestnut stuffing

Garlic mashed potatoes

Maple-tarragon sweet potatoes

Sauteed butternut squash and pears (sauce is super-easy; lemon juice, butter, thyme)

Cranberry sauce (traditionally forgotten and eaten with leftovers, if ever)

Green peas with mint and dill

Whatever bread looks good at the bakery

Fruit & cheese plate (again, whatever looks good)

Karen’s Pumpkin Cheesecake Cupcakes

I was feeling ambitious last night in yoga class, and besides, headstands tend to help my headaches. I got a little cocky and tried something I’d seen others do in my more advanced classes, which is to lower the legs into a front-to-back splits position whilst upside-down, rotate to a side split, and then return to the front-to-back splits with the other leg in front, then return the legs to the original headstand position.

It almost worked.

As I was working my way up to fully vertical, I felt my back get unstable, and I started to tip over backwards. Now, I can get into a fairly extreme backbend when I want to, but I didn’t think a rapid, gravity-assisted descent was the way to go. I tried to throw my weight forward, so that I’d come out of the headstand normally, and got about halfway before my feet landed next to my left elbow with a resounding thud.

What surprised me was not that I fell, or even that I managed not to hurt myself doing it. No, the surprise was that I wasn’t at all annoyed at myself for either attempting the move in the first place or failing to complete it. My reaction was just a mental shrug, and “well, that didn’t work this time,” as I carefully manuevered myself into a nice, safe resting pose.

Maybe next time. We’ll see.