On my way to Idaho

On my way to Idaho
The Road Less Traveled . . .

Friday, October 8, 2010


I love the rain.

Growing up, the first rain in the spring always felt warm even though it soaked my wool jumper chilling me to the bone, and caused the snow to turn to mush, ruining ski conditions, and left invisible patches of black ice on the roads, and soaked through my mittens turning my fingertips blue while making snow balls that were more like slush bombs. Rain meant winter was over. Oh, yeah, there might be several more weeks of snow ahead but that was "spring snow" not winter snow.  Crocuses, hyacinths, snow drops knew it was time to wake up. The tips of the scrub oak and fruit trees in the garden turned from a from  frigid gray color to subtle hues of lavender and green that gradually spread as the days past.

Summer rains were an invitation to run and dance. Barefoot. Through the grass, the new mud between garden rows, in puddles on steaming pavement. It meant stalling to be the last one out of the pool when the lifeguard blew his whistle and ordered everyone out and under the awning in case lighting accompanied the passing rain storm. I just had to grab that minute to float with my nose barely out of the water so I could listen to the music of rain drops hitting and melding into the surface of the pool . Rain made the chore of hoeing and weeding my designated rows of peas and corn and tomatoes and squash as quick and easy as cutting butter with a hot knife; which gave life more time for swimming, baseball, bike riding, climbing trees, and making homemade cages out of old tuna fish cans and window screens for captured lizards and Monarch butterflies (no they did not share a cage; they had separate domiciles and were usually set free after a few days of examination).

I do love rain.

Sunday, October 3, 2010

A Conundrum

Regarding handicapped stalls in public bathrooms -

The space between the row of stalls and the wall is just wide enough to accommodate two people as they pass each other and the sinks along the wall.  The stall designed for the handicapped person; especially someone in a wheel chair is the stall furthest from the entrance to the bathroom. Therefore the handicapped individual is expected to navigate the gauntlet of a steady stream of people coming in and out of several bathroom stalls who then stop at the sinks to wash up; further adding to the congestion of the typical bathroom.

Upon reaching the designated handicapped stall rest assured it will be in use. Since the handicapped individual can't use the other stalls because they are too narrow to get in and out of with all the handicapped mobility aids, they have to choice but to wait (whilst urgently practicing one's kegels). On average three to four people have finished their business in the stall next door by the time the handicapped individual gets a turn.

Architects who design bathrooms should be required to spend a week in a wheel chiar out and about in public before any of their designs leave the drawing board -

I'm just saying . . .