Lessons Learned Along the Trail

Nothing like a Monday holiday to start the week. For that matter, every Monday should be a national holiday. All in favor?

With the long weekend behind us, we went for a lovely hike this morning that jump-started our official week. We joined a group of ladies along the Aspen Trail at 7am for a mild upward climb along this singletrack bike trail. The group split–with others heading for the steeper route–while Annika and I joined my French companions along the less strenuous path. They chatted away, rapid-fire in their native tongue mixed with English, while I struggled to just keep my lungs open. Annika was the center of their curious questions about "homeschooling" as we walked, itermittently stopping (gratefully) along the way to enjoy the views of the valley below, the ripe serviceberries, and for Dominique to gather seeds to try and grow back in France.

Dominique, Annika, Simone and Janine

The trail leveled out and the topic soon turned to other subjects–travel, plants, snippets of our histories. I enjoyed talking with them but I enjoyed listening to them even more as they spoke softly with those distinct glottal and nasal stops that make the language sound "romantic" to many.

It certainly had appeal and I hoped that Annika found their company equally enjoyable and reinforcing. They were enamored with her and eagerly praised her choice to learn a language–German nonetheless.  I suspect that she was just as fascinated with them no matter her response when I asked of her thoughts about our French-speaking trail mates.

"After a while, it just started to sound the same!" she said nonchalantly. Maybe she won't be saying that as she gets further into her German lessons.

We parted ways after the hike. Anni promptly took a nap shortly after our return home. Later, I noticed that she was watching Andrew Zimmern in a Bizarre Foods episode featuring, of all places, Paris. So maybe she was paying attention, after all.

I planned on putting this two-hour hike under PE attendance. Maybe I could count this time well spent under her Language Arts class as well.

My eBooks Soapbox

Don't get me wrong...

I have moved on with just about every avid reader I know who has switched to an e-reader device or app. Which does incite a twinge of guilt because I used to work for, and understood the inner workings of, an independent bookstore.  But just as with dinosaurs, I suppose that Darwin's Theory will take hold in this arena too though I doubt that bookstores will completely disappear. The big stores have a foothold on e-books right now and I suspect that a few of the smaller independents will adapt and survive in some manner. Hey, the cockroaches did–for what that's worth.

We have a sentimental–if not speculative–attachment to our history. We nurture it. We hold on to it. We pass it on. In the case of books, I don't doubt that there will be, still, a continuing demand in the future. There's still nothing like the ability to touch, feel, and see centuries-old stitched and bound volumes. I love my collection of first edition and autographed books from favorite writers and artists. Photo books are increasing in popularity. I sure can't seem to part with my old English textbooks and I continue to add to my stick-built bookshelf despite my growing database of e-books.

At an average price of about 10 bucks a book, corporate predictability is getting me pretty pissed off. Add to that their systemic logic of locking my books with DRM is enough to send me over the edge. And, NO, I'm not talking about having an "entitlement" behavior. I respect authors rights to be paid for their work. I have little liking for the Walmart mentality. I am certainly more than willing to pay for my book, in digital or hardcopy format.

But when I am paying for an e-book that, though a decade old and still in print, is costing me almost as much as a new release and equal to that of its trade or paperback counterpart, it gives me pause. When I find that it is locked with DRM, my bitter behavior comes to the surface.. Illogical? Unreasonable? Unjustified?

Maybe.

DRM is a digital rights management software. It controls who reads a book and how it is read. I suppose that the theory behind DRM is to prevent commercial piracy. The reality, however, is far from accurate. Piracy can happen outside of DRM and it really just comes down to the pimp and the money–and publishers have multiple bed partners to please.

Now put that in your pipe and smoke it. I just spent the better part of the day trying to figure out the ins and outs of DRM removal. I don't have a nefarious plan to open up a black market shop. Over the last few years, I have paid for a number of e-books using Stanza with books from Fictionwise. I also used eReader, Amazon's Kindle and, finally, I have settled on the Nook. With so many places in which these e-books are scattered in, I merely want to consolidate my collection and I sure don't want to have to pay for them all again just because I used different readers at one point.

I do have a bone to pick with Barnes and Noble because both eReader.com and Fictionwise are Barnes and Noble companies. I had to remove the DRM off of these particular books so that I can read them on the Nook. You would think that cross-integration would be allowed.

But that would just be too logical. Too reasonable. Too justified.

Pedigree Isn't Everything.

I admit. I'm a CONSUMER with a capital "C" right along with the remaining 7 letters of the word. Does that make me a Joneser? Probably. But I crave a bargain just like everybody else.

I've been know to shop the high-brow stores. I am an Mac addict and with the exception of my cellphone, I've poured thousands of dollars into their products (let's face it, they don't call those other computers PC's for nothing) and only from the Apple Store. I strolled into a Coach Store on Chicago's Michigan Avenue and bought a $500 purse on a whim. I can't begin to number the boutique stores I've shopped in to fill my ever-expanding closet.

On the other hand, I don't hesitate to search the bargains. Next to TJ Maxx, the thrift store has been an occasional friend. I also shop online, cut coupons, and when I see something in a friend's closet, I trade. When it comes to household basics and food, I'm even more brutal.

As I sit here, half of what I am wearing is from the local See n' Save–terrific DKNY jeans and casual J-41 suede shoes that are still in awesome condition. God bless those meticulous, unknown, ladies for bestowing me with stylish, near-new clothes that would have set me back a good couple of hundred dollars, yet cost me a mere five bucks last week.

So I still put on a good show and you would have been none the wiser.

Oh, Shoot!

Okay, I am really getting tired of having to red-line articles in my local newspaper.

I am baffled by the persistent spelling and grammatical errors. Don't get me wrong. I occasionally misspell and I often worry about my sentence structures. But I also re-read my writing to check myself.

Unlike our local rag which–like other periodicals–I hold to a higher standard.

"...the people responsible for the damage gained entry through the boiler shoot located in the back of the building..."
 
Annoying still is that the writer spelled it this way on two occasions. If you want me to take you seriously, don't waste my time having to tell you that shoot is a verb and chute is a noun.

It's my Fault?!?

Well, that's hardly fair–what did I do?

I was just blamed for Annika's poor math skills. Sure, blame it on Mom. It must have been me because who else could it be. I'm the only other person here.

This is the process of elimination at work. The chocolate lab doesn't count so, since I am the only one here, it is summarily my fault.

I can see a pattern here. I am going to be a moving target for my kids in the next year. Forget that I have only been a learning coach for a week. Or that she has only asked for my help twice in the last week. I can only hope that next week is going to be better.

Please Excuse my Dear Aunt Sally

I don't recall an Aunt Sally on either side of my family. I don't think there's a Sally on DH's side either.

But today, I wish I knew dear Aunt Sally as I sat next to Anni while she worked on her math lesson. My headache was building at the same pace as Anni's frustration and tears. She wasn't getting the Order of Operations concept and I desperately needed for Sally to be there because I really never did like math–and quite frankly, I sucked at it.

In college, I changed my major from Accounting to English when I realized that my aptitude for numbers was less than stellar. Forget following my parents' footsteps. Today, I hire a bookkeeper to keep track of my business and the best trait I picked up from my Dad was his great mechanical engineer's penmanship that I use when called upon to design my clients' kitchens and bathrooms.

So in the end, we just plowed through it together. Unfortunately, I was apparently a bit of a hindrance as much as I was some help because I screwed up one of her assessment questions. She made a point to tell me that, I got it wrong. She wasn't about to lay claim to that mistake and I don't blame her.

On the other hand, you'd think that because I have managed to make mistakes on the order,  she would have figured out that I am dear Aunt Sally.

If I was Stranded in an Island

... or if I found myself the only one left in this planet.

... or if I accidentally time-travelled back in time to the medieval ages.

... or if I found myself suddenly facing a permanent slow food movement along with loss of advanced medicine as we know it and surviving a socio-political breakdown à la Mad Max.

Sure, I've imagined these scenarios. I have even been forced to sit through one or two conversations about post-apocalyptic survival. One camp wants to create their own munitions depot in their backyard. The other wants to put more emphasis in food storage and preparing now with a regimen of iodide anti-radiation pills.

I prefer to find that third camp–the one that has managed to salvage the search engine servers and kept them going. Presumably, they're also the smartest. That said, I hope to be left in this planet with the internet still intact, and travel back in time with my laptop in the hopes that I can still get five-bar-signal from those satellites in space.

It should be obvious. Guns kill people and I don't care what the NRA says. My cooking methods run less by memory and more along the lines of semi-homemade. First aid to me means a trip to the local clinic or someone bleeds to death. So when the shit hits the fan, and I have to quickly decide if I am going to join those who duck and run for cover because they don't know what to do or join those who take away your cover because they don't know what to do, I'd just as soon make the choice knowing that I have Google on my side–better yet, accessible through my brain.