Just checking in

Well, it was an excellent birthday and lasted a good long time. Fine dinners, and bouquets of flowers, and treats, and basically time well spent.

Now heading off to see Clint's new house on Dexter Road!

The last birthday of my thirties

Well: I'm 39. Scott just fed me a delectable omelette breakfast worthy of an upscale Sunday brunch establishment, and now we're kicking back listening to The Who and being lazy. Life is good.

The metal mess that was once our car was hauled away yesterday, and I feel as though we can start moving on now. That was so frightening. Scott's still pretty shaky, and his entire body hurts: whiplash is such a weird thing. But eventually we can get started looking for our next car. This is going to be the car I learn to drive, too. Oh, sure, go ahead -- I see that indulgent smile! You just wait. I'll be behind the wheel before fall. But you'd better believe I'll make sure the thing's got air bags!

Now back to being lazy.

Miraculously, Scott's alive...

Today, Scott was in an accident that could have killed him. He signalled that he was turning at an intersection and started slowing down, and the guy behind him simply slammed into him, pushing his car into oncoming traffic, at which point another car hit him in the front.

The air bags saved him. The guy who hit him kept desperately apologizing. The officer who drove Scott home (and towed the car to our driveway) called him an incredibly lucky man.

When I got home and saw the car, I started shaking and I haven't stopped since.

Scott and I are just sitting here in shock. And all I can feel is gratitude, immense gratitude and relief that he's okay.
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Progressive is on the ball. They have asked us to send photos and say that since it's a pretty obvious back-ender, we should at least be getting 500 dollars. That'll help us get a replacement car, anyway, at some point.

.I don't care about that right now. Scott's alive! That's what matters.

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"The headscarf girls"

A week ago at Christine's terrific lakeside house where we were gathered for book club, we had our first instance of thematic book-club costume. Two of our stalwart members dressed up as "the headscarf girls" from the book we've just finished: Orhan Pamuk's Snow.

I had to snap a couple pictures before they threw the scarves off so they could soak their heads in sunshine on Christine's sunny deck.

"The Rockford Files" makes me happy

I love The Rockford Files. I really do, and I think the rest of the world should, too. The plots are involving, the characters are shady and unapologetic and complex, nothing is simple, and everything is surprisingly well-written.

Take, for example, this moment. The somewhat skeevy Angel Martin comes to visit his ex-convict buddy Jim Rockford in his trailer. He finds Rockford and his dad, Rocky, deeply immersed in a chess game. Angel glances at the board, snorts scornfully, and makes the following statement:

"This here game’s over, man! You’ve gotta move your boss or Rocky’s gonna lay a subpoena on him. And his torpedo’s gonna smoke your ol’ lady! And all your heavies are gonna be doin’ time, except for maybe your mouthpiece—and Rocky’s sheriff’s got him put in a corner. You got nothin’ but punks and junkies! You’re through, Jimmy!"

How perfect is that swath of metaphoric beauty, I ask you? Who wrote this stuff? Where is that kind of writing today?

Scott and I saw that scene again on Netflix recently: you can watch every single "Rockford Files" episode for free on "Watch Now" these days if you're a Netflix subscriber.

Another reason why life is good.

Digitizing my childhood

I spent ages 3 through 19 taping my life. I brought my old Grundig tape recorder everywhere I went. I have tapes of friends, relatives, TV sound samples, events, even ambient sounds -- just think: Copenhagen street noise from the Seventies!

Since I am now almost 39, many of these tapes are, well, rotting. I keep a dozen of them or so in a photo album-style storage book I got in Athens when I was about eight, and when you open it, you get an immediate whiff of magnetic mouldering.

For years, people have given me all kinds of advice on digitizing these. I've downloaded software, bought cables, purchased mysterious gadgets, all too no avail. I could never get it to work.

But now, everything is going to be okay. These records of my childhood are saved! And it's all thanks to the fabulous new birthday present I received from my parents, a toy I stayed up super-late with last night, and with which I plan to be busy pretty much all summer.

Behold:It's the Ion Tape2PC and I am in love with it. It's idiot-proof. You plug it into your PC, stick a tape in the deck, and start recording. It's magic. When I first clicked on an iTunes file and heard my own six-year-old voice coming out of my laptop, I almost passed out. Now the old tape marked "Christmas 1975" has been digitized, and if the tape itself dies tomorrow, it no longer matters. The files are safe!

I have been accused of being overly sentimental about these old recordings. It has been suggested that I should let these insignificant records of the past disappear into that past, and simply live my life in the moment. After all, does anyone really need a record of their child self singing "Skip to My Lou" while battering at an unfortunate autoharp?

It's a good point. It's just that those tapes meant a lot to me at the time, and I fussed about them a great deal as a child. If I just put a couple of months of effort into them, one last time, then I'll have them permanently and need never worry about them again. Or even listen to them, really. They'll just be there.

Meanwhile... this is going to be fun.

A rediscovered photo

Found this photo today and decided to post it:

This is my sister Penny and me on Himmelskibet (known in English as the Star Flyer) in the magical Tivoli Gardens in Copenhagen a couple of years ago. Click here to see a video of the Star Flyer ascending to its full 262-foot height. I have to say, it was pretty exciting. You can see all over Copenhagen from up there, although you may be a little distracted by the fact that you're spinning around and around while sitting in what feels like a rather flimsy little swing.

You're not supposed to bring anything with you, but of course Dad produced a camera as we reached about tree-top height. In the picture, Penny (who announced that she has a slight fear of heights as we were climbing into the swing) was starting to murmur, "Oh, no! No-o-o! No-o-o-o-o! I can't do this!" (a murmur which eventually became a full-fledged howl)... and I was calling out, "Dad! Is that a camera?!"