Snolfs

I didn’t mean to be absent from here for so long, but I’ve been busier than usual. Most of you would be quite surprised to learn what’s taken up a large chunk of my time of late.

And I vacillate between which I feel more strongly.

And even though it isn’t one of my favorite colors, I’m pretty happy about it.

After years of carting around boxes full of stuff of unknown provenance, I decided to sort through them. O.M.G.

Snolf the First and I have been; and Snolf the Second is eagerly awaiting her turn.

by She Who Loves (almost) All Things Pink and/or Frilly, that today is a celebration day! Relax, enjoy yourself, and be extra good to one another, she requests.

I remember when I first discovered Wired’s Animation Express—weird but intriguing stuff was the rule for the brand new medium, then called Shockwave Flash (hence the .swf file extension). The snolfs enjoyed a lot of the animations too, and wanted to see them repeatedly. That’s why I learned how to find those files, which were usually downloaded to my machine but buried deep in the Windows file system. I dug them out, renamed them, and put them in a folder of their own for easier access.

Some musings occasioned by the imminent departure of Lobo’s first brood from our home and my concerns for their successful fledging ... Even so, I will try not to make this overly personal, not just for privacy of the individuals involved but also because I’m interested in exploring the broader ideas and issues, not just our family situation.

Knitting project, that is. Not bad, since I started it at around 6 p.m. yesterday!

A conversation yesterday brought into sharp relief something I’ve been observing as it has developed. Okay, I admit, I’ve also been participating in it ... more than I care to consider. Writ large, economic woes and political uncertainties have increased the fear and uncertainty in the USSA, and probably much of the wired world. Writ smaller, we who cherish liberty see the changes and likely continuation of trends and have our additional burden weighted even more—that being the question of how we can continue to resist the encroaching tyrannies. Looking at the calendar and remembering some inspiration from last winter, I think another round of January 16th celebrating is in order.

I don't have kids. But for those who do, I want to make sure you are aware of a resource that, to me, appears superb. There's a guy named Arthur Robinson, a scientist who long ago worked hand in hand with Linus Pauling, who was forced to figure out what to do with his children when his wife died leaving him with the brood. The Robinson Curriculum is what resulted. I highly recommend giving it a look. He has produced at least one impressive scientist son using this program and I expect the others will excell as well.

- NonE

It didn’t go as intended—which was a given before we’d even set off—but our weekend away was nonetheless filled with a lot of pleasure. The snolfs got to try their fishing poles, at long last; but, not having tried to learn anything about their equipment nor the fish in the waters they were plying, didn’t get so much as a nibble. Snolf the First was especially frustrated, because his supposedly better reel kept tangling the line when he’d try to rewind, but Darlin’ Daughter’s willingness to share her rod offset that frustration quite nicely. They learned how to cast fairly quickly, and did pretty well at it. They apparently chose the most garish of lures they have—a big red and white stripedy thing—and it looked comically out of place in the clear, cold water of the lake. Maybe the fish were as amused as I was; all the same, the snolfs enjoyed themselves, and I enjoyed watching their antics and seeing their happiness.

We had other kinds of fun as well, but I won’t bore everyone with a detailed recounting. Suffice to say that we found more interesting things to explore than we had time for, and we intend to return to the area.

Lobo and I were each a bit preoccupied in our own ways by the doings of humans in the world at large, and that was hard to shake over the weekend. Yet, nestled up in the mountains, trying to avoid human interaction as much as possible, we too were soothed by the music of wind in pines or rushing rapids; we enjoyed seeing birds of prey coasting on thermals; in short, nature provided a welcome balm.

And I wonder how it is that regular individuals—not the petty tyrants who administer and bureaucratize and dictate the rules and regulations by which we’re supposed to order our lives; in being such creatures they show they have no soul left to reclaim or rejuvenate—can so seemingly placidly plod along with those restrictions and orders.

How can someone breathe deeply of fresh, clean air; take in the breathtaking beauty abundant in nature; feel a child’s small hand slip into theirs as they walk side by side; how can any person observe or even think about the countless ways the world displays its beauty, even amongst man-made jungles, and then turn to become a cog of the state?

How do people who see the glories and the wonder–full potential of our world willingly go off to kill others in some faraway place? How can they blind themselves to the potential of those faraway places, or worse, trash the beauty there?

What does the state offer that is so powerful, so enticing, that people willingly turn their backs on their own dreams and goals, and become its thralls? I do not think most people are intrinsically that evil, nor that stupid, to choose such a deal with such a devil. But its siren songs sing to them in ways I cannot hear; or perhaps more accurately, I heard but never stopped questioning, and hence the song held no charms for me.

I may be nothing but an aging idealist, yet I cling to the belief that many people’s eyes could be opened if they would just look a little harder, or have a key question dropped into their minds. While I often ask “why”, it seems to me that for many, pointing out the contrast between a life as it is, and that life as it could be—as it was meant to be, free from busybody interference and coercive intrusion—by asking “how” might be the right key.

Lobo’s and Snolf the First’s birthdays are right around the corner, and much of my time of late has gone into trying to prepare for them—especially the latter. To be more clear, Snolf I said he wanted to take a camping trip in my trailer, so I have been trying to get it ready for its maiden journey with us ... but sadly, that won’t be this weekend.

When I wrote in the introductory column to the most recent Sunni’s Salon that “we aren’t holding high hopes for a bumper crop of anything but lessons learned”, I wasn’t indulging in false modesty. And it is now official—as reports start to come in, even friends with self-professed brown thumbs are reaping their rewards. So, how does Sunni’s garden grow? Let’s go out to the patch to review the sorry state of affairs.

I’ve had a lot on my mind lately ... some things you can guess about, others you’ll likely hear about here eventually, and some issues that will never be mentioned publicly. Suffice it to say that stuff was starting to weigh fairly heavily on me. But today I found a surefire cure for that weight.

Take one Darlin’ Daughter, add an awesome older brother (that’d be Snolf the First), a fun loving wolf, and lots of water. Slosh around well, and leave in the sun to get warm [viz., D.D. wanted to go to a water park]. Then add good pood, lots of presents, and chocolate cake with ice cream.

The result? One birthday very happily celebrated, and a tired but happy family.

The picture has little to do with our day ... for those of you who know my Darlin’ Daughter, you may recall her fondness for snails—and that’s a version of her animal totem the snail is hitching a ride from. She squealed in delight when I showed her the picture this morning, so I thought some of you might like it too.

[Addendum: I posted this late Monday night my time, but the site’s time zone is apparently different ... hence the difference between the header date, and the time stamp on the post itself.]