Sunday, November 28, 2010

Chilly--And Not In A Cool Way


(She is pissed!)

If you look above Wanda the Weathergirl's head, you'll see a couple of "swear words."  Okay, they're not swear word symbols really, but don't you think they should be? If the temperature is that cold, my digital thermometer is trying to express to me that if I do dare go outside, I should definitely wear that scarf!! And she's being very forceful about it!

Even the inside of the house is cold: 71 degrees!! Yikes! I'd better get out to Old Man Taylor and throw some wood in.

So, out into the mists of "Bluebird Hollow" I go--that's a mix of the names of the two roads that encompass our little neighborhood.

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Weather Girl

The weather is taking a turn up here; it's taking the usual turn. This is not the "usual" turn that Bill and I have been used to for the last five years. In Arizona we went from 85 degrees in the spring to 120 degrees in the summer, then 80 degrees in the fall, and ending the "four" seasons with 60's in the winter. I exaggerate a bit, as Tucson was colder than Lake Havasu and what I just described was only indicative of Havasu, but you get the idea.

I moved up here with one pair of shoes that had a toe in them--the rest were open-toed or flip flops, if you don't count the numerous cowboy boots. Now, since I walk the White Husky at 5am every morning, my wardrobe is having to adapt quickly. I spend more time in my insulated work overalls than I do in pajamas, and despite the luxurious heated garage at home, there is no such animal at work. I am preparing for the blizzard that is winter--too bad, really, about that global warming that's going to have me buried under four feet of snow in less than two months!

Not only am I stocking up on long underwear, gloves, hats, balaclavas, boots, and you-name-it for the family (I'm sure the dogs will get a few things), I went out and bought a new friend yesterday. Meet Wanda, the Weathergirl:
"Wanda" is actually a wonderful digital thermometer that has this girl icon on it and she takes off or puts on clothing as the weather denotes. (The first time I catch Bill baking something in the oven and cranking the heater to see just how much Wanda will take off, she's getting rehomed!).

I opened up the package and Mr. H set out to nail the outdoor sensor to one of Gunnar's tie-out posts in the backyard. However, since Wanda's sensor had been inside and I was baking lasagna, we got to see what happened at a few of the different temperatures.

Here is Wanda in our kitchen:

Clearly it is a bit warm in our kitchen. Come on, you can't completely blame us: we've been in Arizona! The house is set for 74 degrees. As long as Farmer Ron keeps donating firewood to the "Keep Bill and Kimi in Wisconsin" campaign, I'm game.

Here is Wanda's next outfit--a jaunty little shirt dress with shorts underneath:


The sensor is outside and is quickly dropping, as the temperature is definitely not a balmy 77 outside.  It's not even a balmy 66: this is just a stop on the way to "Holy cow, it's cold!"


On this particular day, Wanda only told me to put on a scarf:
I have to admit, this is probably one of the more useful things I've bought since arriving in Cheeseland. There isn't really a need to check the weather in Arizona: it will be sunny and either "warm" or "too damn hot." Those are your only choices.  In Wisconsin, I've quickly realized the absence or presence of wind or humidity makes the difference between one long layer, and what I now call "Wanda Wear."

Sunday, November 21, 2010

Gettin' Your Goat

This afternoon I found my way to a little town north of the Homer Homestead so that I could watch Farmer Ron get baby goats from a dairy goat farm. He only gets the bucks because his is not a dairy farm. Primarily, Farmer Ron has a meat goat farm, but doesn't raise the standard meat goat breeds such as Boers. Instead, he takes buck kids from local farmers of any breed and raises them to be a certain weight or age and then sells them at a market. Now, I like to think of this market as an auction in which all the little goats get sold to petting zoos, but as Seneca can attest to, we've been to a goat barbecue. I can't bear to think of these tiny little creatures like that, but I am a meat eater so I won't pretend for too long as to where the goats actually go. This is why I will probably have a dairy goat farm if I am ever lucky enough to have a real farm--the Homer Homestead is still just a chihuahua sanctuary with a White Husky thrown in so the neighbors don't beat us up for only having little desert rats.

On the way to meet Farmer Ron I drove through a tiny town called Lime Ridge where I saw a hunter back from a morning of tree stand sitting and beer drinking, with the craziest neon orange safari hat on. I wanted to pull over and get my picture taken with him right then and there, but was already late to meet my dad.

So, oh mighty hunter with the neon orange hat in Lime Ridge, Wisconsin, please wear that hat next season and I promise to drive through again. That picture would have made a great post, and I laughed all the way to meet Farmer Ron thinking about what I could have done with it. Oh well. On to the farm.

This is Bob's goat barn:



This is Bob carrying two little kid goats to us so that we can put them in their little travel compartments:




Dawn is holding one of the prettiest little goats here
If I could have snuck a goat home today it would've been Blackie. Yes, I named him and he was the tiniest little goat out of the fifteen that we took with us. Blackie was cute, quiet, and calm, unlike some of his little bin mates.



Blackie

Here's a little white goat trying to play with Blackie

Farmer Ron carrying a goat out to the "Goat Wagon,"
a blue Ford Taurus wagon.




Ready for transport


The little goats are content to lay in close quarters with each other.
That is Blackie in the top left corner laying on his little white brother
from another mother.


These must have the same daddy.

I was seriously in the back seat of the station wagon with four bins
 of baby goats. They were so cute. I could have curled up in a bin with
them and slept all day in the car!
Uh, Bob? Are you missing any rabbits per chance?

Saturday, November 20, 2010

Frozen in Time

This is not a flattering photo, but it gets the message across:


I waited until 7am to walk the White Husky today as it is Saturday and I needed to catch up on some sleep. I also knew it was the big opening for deer hunting season today, so I wasn't looking forward to strolling down a road with woods on either side. I was prepared and bought an orange vest a few weeks ago. I really didn't buy it for this reason, but was glad to have it. The real reason is extremely embarrassing, but no more embarrassing than the photo directly above this paragraph so I will tell you why I got it.

I got the orange vest for my walks with Gunnar (aka the White Husky) because I figured at some point he will throw me into a ditch, ravine, tree, mailbox, or any number of objects while he's chasing a squirrel, deer, bird, or wooly caterpillar, and then I will be rendered completely unconcious or at least unable to move with a lower back that will refuse to allow it.

I've been very proud of myself thus far because I have maintained a walking schedule with Gunnar twice a day since arriving here September 1st. He lives in a large area in the barn where he has access to the indoors and out, but he doesn't get to run around unless we are playing with him. He is a "runner" and a "digger" so he's always on probation, the poor boy.

The other thing I've been extremely proud of is the way I have been able to handle the weather when I'm out walking him or doing chores. This weather tolerance only extends to the homestead stuff, as I cannot put up with much while dressed in work clothes. I don't care who pokes fun of me at the water cooler, I will be wearing boots and possibly a snowsuit to work when things get a little whiter and fluffier around here.

The weather is not a big issue until you add wind and then it's game on with the weather "1," and Kimi "0."
Today, the weather won. I was so scared my face would be frozen when I got home. Gunnar was just so thrilled to be wandering down the road again, and he is never fazed by precipitation or temperature. He will be alot of fun in the winter, and Bill and I are excitedly waiting to see how the Arizona White Husky handles his first snowfall.

Look at that picture carefully: my face is red and almost looks swollen. There is a tear forming in my left eye and one rolling down my right cheek--cold and wind makes that happen. I'm not actually crying! And, I do believe that I'm so cold that I've gone cross-eyed?! Is that supposed to happen?

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

The Office Cheerio

There are numerous things that I get a kick out of at work, but I am way too new to start blogging about too much of what goes on there. By the way, for the record, I hate the word "blog" as a verb--in case you were wondering.

That actually reminds me of one of the struggles I've encountered with the new job: learning a whole new lingo. I had no idea that the technology industry would use terminology and abbreviations that were completely unknown to me already-- not that I put much thought into it. I knew that we used a lot of abbreviations, short-hand terms, and for heaven's sake Latin, in the medical field, but had no idea what I'd be in for when I started work three weeks ago.

And, of course, there are the poor guys down in the man-cave that is better known as the "IT department." If I go down one more time asking where the "thingy" is on my company laptop, I swear one of them will slit his wrists.

But to top that off, I almost had a coronary--in the medical field that is actually called a "myocardial infarction"-- when I heard someone say, "Yeah, okay, let's paragraph that." I could have died right there in my little gray cubicle. I believe that means that they wanted the discussion they had  just had on the phone to be written down on paper. Wow.

As if that didn't push me over the top, my self-appointed mentor used the word "dogfooding" the same day, referring to a concept in the tech field. Really? Dogfooding? I have a lot to learn.

But, that is not why I'm rambling today. Today, I am just notifying everyone that I found this in the rest room when I was, er, "resting:"

So now I'm wondering who is multitasking while in the rest room. I mean, I have a walk with the White Husky (Gunnar) at 5am, feeding The Littles (chihuahuas) at 5:45am, getting ready and out the door by 7am (at the latest), and an hour-long commute. My point is, I still make a real breakfast, and eat it, before I leave the house. No one drives as far as I do, so I am pondering as to why they must eat Cheerios in the bathroom at work? And then I'm pondering as to why someone would take pictures in a bathroom?

Monday, November 15, 2010

Squeeze The Cheese, Please

The downside to having such a "family friendly" electronic journal is that you don't always get an action packed story where I'm slinging guns on The Border, or getting flashed by a grocery store clerk in the check out lane--I will archive those somewhere, promise--so you will have to settle for a few plain vanilla entries every once in a while. I think this is one of them; but, you never know what will come next...

I took time out of my busy, corporate week to make some goat cheese out of a gallon of fresh-off-the-farm milk that Farmer Ron had given me a few days ago. I didn't want the milk to go to waste, but I didn't really want to discover that it failed--again--after the last time I tried this. It's not like I'm making an artisanal cheese, incorporating herbs or fruits. I'm not the Beekman Boys, after all; although I wish I had their talent. (Incidentally, I have a photo from Farmer Ron's farm--Scapegoat Farm--on their Web site. Go back and click on "Beekman Boys" to check it out, along with their Web site. It's the photo of "Sen" and "Kimi" goats hiding in their house on chicken butchering day).

The last time my dad gave me goat milk I poured the required 3/4 cup of white vinegar in the vat of 190-degree milk and didn't stir it in. As a result, I made one tablespoon of goat ricotta cheese out of one gallon of milk! How frustrating.

This time, I stirred that vinegar in--gently--and we had considerably more success as illustrated with the little pictorial below:

Gettin' our curdle on: little Ms. Homer's curds and whey.
Milk does not cool fast. Once it gets from 190 degrees (F) down to about 100 degrees, it is supposedly safe enough to handle. I then cut some tracks through the big curdled chunk in the middle of the steel soup pot to release a little more whey. Then, we call the husband over to assist--you know if Mr. H hadn't helped, I would have second degree burns on 80% of my body.


The Curd
 Here's the fresh curd safely dumped into a cheese cloth of sorts. Now we gather the sides up and start squeezing the liquid out. This is going to end up like a ricotta cheese and I've used it before(when my dad made it) for lasagna. Yum!
Draining the whey away. That's not my hairy arm: it's Mr. H being ever so gracious by helping.

Farmer Kimi squeezing fresh goat cheese
I wanted to take over squeezing the liquid out of the cheese so that I could say that I was the one that actually made cheese! (No, I'm not stoned in this picture. I was at work all day and my brain had been working overtime; hence, the tired, lost look).

Dangling Cheese
The cheese had to dangle in the fridge overnight to finish draining. Having no idea how to execute this, Mr. H stepped in again to rescue the cheese and used office equipment to do so: there are clippies and zip-ties incorporated in the process.

Incidentally, for those of you who have internet access and are reading this: tell Grandma Debbie (my mom) that our refrigerator has no food in it since she left and that she needs to hurry and return to Wisconsin. I'm starving!
More goat milk please!

Thursday, November 11, 2010

Time For Bed

A very dear friend of mine --one of the dearest that ever was and ever will be -- sent me a book. I adore this person and I adore books, so I cherish the gift. During this hectic time where I am now transitioning from a stay at home Chihuahua mom to a full time career girl --as well as adjusting to life more than half way across the country-- my friend sensed that a book about time would be appropriate. I'd say this is about right.

Basically, our daily conversations went from topics like food, guns, dogs, and coffee (we are both enthusiasts of all of those subjects) to my whinings about time escaping me and the usual high anxiety that a new job produces. Mind you, I'm also in charge of grading papers for my friend's fifty freshman-level students, as I am the teaching assistant for a college course he teaches. Now you might see why he'd want to keep me relatively sane; otherwise, he'd have to grade all of those assignments himself!

The book he gave me is called "Time and the Art of Living," by Robert Grudin, and contains numerous short essays about time, and how we as humans conceptualize it. I've only read a dozen of the essays and have many more to go, but a couple of them have resounded with me and they both allude to the fact that humans spend too much time looking into the past and future and not as much on the present. Now, we aren't dogs, so hovering in the present every minute of the day is probably not healthy for those of us who don't pee on lawn gnomes or drink out of the toilet.

What does this have to do with my hectic, new schedule? I have a one hour commute each way, to and from work. I have a lot of time to think: driving by myself is when I really wish I could write, but clearly those of you who have seen me drive know I can't do both of those tasks at once. Anyway, my point again -- I swear I'm getting to it -- is that all five of my blog fans are wondering when new posts are coming. My dedicated ones, I swear I will have new posts up no later than Sunday night, barring any dog, husband, or chicken plucking emergencies.

Believe me, I have things to blog about--and for the record, I don't like using the word "blog" as a verb. Frankly, I could write a very boring post about that--but I won't. Here's a preview of upcoming topics discussed, that you can look forward to, as kind of a "thank you" for waiting:
1. Office-friendly foods
2. Legal-size paper in a printer-whoa!
3. Stevia cocaine
4. 10 days to perfection (this includes the "hot water" machine)
5. The office equipment pirate
6. Kimi, the White Rabbit
7, 8, 9, 10... Any number of weird words and phrases that I can't understand floating around my office at any given time.....

Thank you for being patient.
(P.S. You'll have to scroll beneath this post to read about all of these office antics!)



The Clockmaker, 1955, by Remedios Varo. Time, time, time....

Monday, November 8, 2010

Stevia, the White Pony

November 8, 2010

 You thought this was going to be another super cute story about me and a gaggle of miniature horse pictures, didn't you? No one more than I is disappointed that it is not...

I remain ever fascinated by the coffee machines both in Wonderland and in The Dungeon. I drink more tea than coffee when at work as I’ve discovered I am still way too anxious due to all of the changes in schedule to ingest too much caffeine, so the hot water feature on these instant gratification machines is a favorite.

Two coworkers were talking in a cubicle across the aisle from mine today and I was busy in my little clear plastic bag taking teeny pinches of stevia (sweetener made from a plant of some sort) and placing it delicately in my mug. If you get too much stevia in something it pollutes it, almost like an artificial sweetener, so you have to gingerly throw minute amounts of the white fairy dust into your cup.

I felt ridiculous because the bag was rattling and I had white powder all over my fingers which was starting to get sticky, and I had it on my black dress pants.  I’m always a little hyper, so I was glad that my colleagues saw me putting it into my tea; otherwise they probably would have seen me come back from the bathroom thinking I had a whole 8-ball party by myself in the bathroom! (Maybe I should just completely switch to decaf, eh?)

Friday, November 5, 2010

Climbing the Corporate Ladder, One Doodle at a Time

November 5th, Day Five:

I mentioned that every item in my office building is gray, right? Let me just say that the vice president is getting tired of me turning into his office and expecting to squeeze hot water for my tea out of his “Best of 2005” statue. Another poor bastard had to help me load the printer with legal-sized paper. I have never had to use legal paper in a printer (or anywhere) in my life, and there is a secret compartment in our printers over there at the CIA where you have to manually install the legal paper for “special” documents. That was exactly what I was working on: “special documents.” Not special like government clearance or secret scientific research.  Special documents like Kimi-is-making-a-doodle-for-the-first time-with-a-new-software-application-she’s-never-seen-before-special.

The man helping me load the legal paper asks, “This isn’t your job, is it?” Embarrassed, I laughed and said, “No. This is my job,” and I pointed to my doodle that had just come off the printer. I’m sure he called HR then and there asking how I managed to pass the bar into this company, let alone the background check!

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

Working Girl

November 2nd, Day Two:

After my first day with little instruction really as to how I start accomplishing the large tasks ahead of me, I started asking a lot of questions on day two. By 10am I had a game plan, meetings to go to, class observations scheduled, and a stack of a dozen books that I needed to have thoroughly memorized by January—makes my stomach hurt to think about all that information that is supposed to quickly and accurately fit into my brain! 

By day two I had also become the office equipment pirate: I had to grab a comfortable chair, cords, and computer mouse from any other cubicle that appeared to look deserted. It’s kind of sad and criminal when described that way, but true: I went through three chairs, stole a mouse and seat cushion (these chairs are really rough on the back), and a couple of computer cables by the end of day two.

That wasn’t even the sad part! The IT guys in the man cave downstairs finally had my new (used, refurbished, semi-demolished) laptop ready for me with the software and settings I needed. I get it handed to me and almost fall over: imagine someone throwing a 30-pound pumpkin at me. I would not stay upright if that happened and hanging onto this laptop is a similar sensation, which is why my wonderful husband knew I was going to need a briefcase on wheels—and that is what he got me.

I am a dork in dorky office clothing driving my yuppie urban assault vehicle to work to sit still (which I do miserably) all day long and use my brain. Ouch! Where are my blue jeans and rain boots and “Cousin Eddie” hats? Where is my goat farm? I want to go make firewood with Farmer Ron. It’s kid goat season and every day through November he is going to a farm to pick up a handful of baby goats to bring to his farm. I’m so jealous.

How are the dogs coping without me? I’m missing their first words, first steps, and their formative years. Next, I’ll turn around and they’ll be twice as big and tall as when I left them at home two weeks ago at five, five, eleven, and twelve pounds, respectively. (In actual years the “kids” are 12, 8, 8, and 7, so I don’t think they will grow much more, and if Gunnar (age 2-ish) gets any bigger I am not going to be able to walk him! We think he’s done growing too).

Luckily my mom was visiting for the first few days I worked, so the dogs had their grandmother with them to keep them occupied. As you can see Loki is hiding his separation anxiety from me while napping in Grandma Debbie's arms. (The kid really looks excited, doesn't he?):

Monday, November 1, 2010

Coffee, the international symbol for negotiaton

On the way to work at 7am, I try to clean my windshield; I’m not as obsessive about clean car glass as my mom (Grandma Debbie), but I do like to play with the wipers and cleaner.  (My last car didn’t have wiper fluid that worked so I pretend to clean my new windshield a lot). Trying to hit the windshield with the automatic wiper fluid and a few strokes from the three wiper blades that the urban assault vehicle operates, it becomes clear to me that I cannot see out my window all of a sudden—at all.  There were a few seconds of “wtf?” and then I realized, stupidly, that there was a logical explanation. I look down at the temperature gauge on my dash and it says that the external temperature is 27 degrees. “Hmmm,” I say to myself, “that is quite a bit below freezing;” therefore, I deduce that I have ice coating my entire windshield at this moment. Argh!

Turning the defroster on high the iced windshield is quickly remedied and I can quickly speed back up and head for the main highway.

I jump into a parking space at about 8am, not really knowing when I am supposed to be there—no one managed to contact me to tell me to show up—I just took it upon myself to show up. I signed the offer letter after all, so now I am offering to let them start handing me paychecks. I’m a giver like that.

Arriving on the fourth floor, courtesy of my personal escort—my husband—I end up in the right location, although all “locations” look the same. Everything is gray: gray walls, gray cubicles, gray office equipment. I’m lost already! Bill has to go downstairs to work and he leaves me upstairs with Human Resources. You’d think it would be weird working at the same place as your spouse, but I think it’s great—plus, we don’t work in cubicles right next to each other. I work upstairs and Bill works in what is lovingly called “The Dungeon;” besides, the best coffee machine is down there and I’m totally jealous of it so I am frequently running up and down the stairs with a hot cup of coffee. (That can only end badly, eh)?

The only thing real productive that happened on day one was that I had a 5-minute meeting with a very nice man who explained a project that I was going to be tackling. There’s no other way to describe it. In those five minutes I understood approximately 30 words out of a thousand. Terrified that I would need a translator for the duration of what could only be short employment, I contemplated trying to find an exit door so that I could just hang out on the roof for the rest of the day.

Did I mention this place has free coffee, tea, and soda for employees and students? It’s awesome; I’m not going to lie. There is a hot drink machine on the lower level that will give you anything from hot water to hot chocolate and “fair trade” coffee drinks. (Don’t get me started on Wisconsin’s obsession with “fair trade” coffee. I don’t think anyone has alerted them that it isn’t exactly “fair” most of the time, but who am I to rock the boat? It’s free coffee and it tastes great! They could call it “fair trade gray water” and I’d be on top of it. Good stuff).


Painting-Untitled-by Alfons Mucha (1860-1939)
 

The Office

Nov 1-12, 2010


In an effort to keep my job through the new year—that is my New Year’s resolution, after all—and maybe even get to stay long enough to teach my first class (Jan. 21), I will not be able to include specific details about my antics at work, but will try very hard to give you a few good mental images.

In all seriousness, for those of you who are curious, I was hired as a technical trainer for mainly Microsoft Office software applications. Once I am up to speed and comfortable with these applications I will teach one-day courses typically for private or public clients. Having a small teaching background and thoroughly enjoying it, presentation is not a problem: it's knowing something about what I'm teaching that will be my immediate challenge!

I will also do a bit of editing and writing. I hope to spend a good amount of time as a technical writer of sorts once I'm established with the company, but I am game to try anything that I have at least a 50% chance of being successful at and find moderately interesting. In addition, I will be assigned to do any number of tasks -big or small- on any number of "projects." Folks- if I could be any more specific on that note, I would. So, with that little bit of information, pray that I am smart enough to catch on quickly and hope that I don't have to go back to suctioning snot for a living!