Nostalgia for Our First Home

You never forget your first home.
 
Of course, I have had many homes in my life--when your Dad's in the military you move around a lot, and "home" is where you happen to be living at the time. (Mom had a great talent for making a home--Dad once told her that he could pitch a tent in the middle of a desert and she would go "cluck cluck cluck" and make a nest).

But *my* first home was our apartment in Alumni Village--the married/graduate student apartment complex off the FSU campus.  We only lived there about a year, then we upgraded to a slightly (very slightly) larger apartment, and then had moved on to have our second anniversary in Texas when Bob got his commission.

But I have always loved that little apartment--*my* first home.  The Village will be torn down in a year or so.  The occupancy is down, and the buildings old (they were already seeming a bit shabby 40 years ago).  They don't have the amenities most renters require now--the laundry room is a few blocks away, there's no WiFi or pool or gym.   I'm not sure if they every had a prime, but if so, they're past it.

Now that the apartment is unoccupied, Bob got permission to go visit it.  He's been there doing inspections over the years, but it was my first time back.  Suddenly I felt 20 again, and a newlywed (well, almost a newlywed--we did a shocking thing at the time and moved in two weeks before we were married!)

Our was the one on the top floor. 

I do see a bit of an air conditioner in this picture.  We didn't have one--we couldn't afford to buy one, and if we had, we wouldn't have been able to afford the power bill to run it.  We just sweated a lot.

I felt a little trepidation about opening that door.  Sometime you should just keep your fond memories intact and not besmirch them with reality.  But guess what?  It's rather a nice little apartment.  Brighter than I remember it (somehow I remember more gray).   And there had been the "damn you" wall in the living room--the one with the big hole where a previous owner had stuck an air conditioner and  covered with a chunk of plywood, with nasty water stains all down the wall.  I'd stare at that ugliness and say "damn you damn you damn you" and finally hung a cheap Indian print bedspread over it)

But the room I kept returning to, that made my heart give a little pitty pat, was my kitchen.

Bob was 20 then, and- like all young men- ravenous.  And I liked to cook.  We were pretty broke, but beans and rice and dubious rolls of hamburger and cabbage and spaghetti  could make some pretty good meals.  You could get boxes of bacon "ends and pieces"--mostly fat, but they flavored a lot.  I had a new husband to cook for, and sometimes friends, and had my parents come up for Thanksgiving dinner in *our* home.  

And it's still a fine little kitchen.  When the Village was built 50+ years ago, it was assumed that the occupants would cook. There is a full-size fridge, and a double sink, and some counter space.  Heck--it's not much smaller than the one at Rob and Jeff's house.   And it's much bigger than some I've seen in the modern "luxury" apartments--the ones I call half-assed kitchens because they're only big enough to get half your ass into them.  A half-sized fridge and a microwave and that's about it. Not the center of a home.

I wish we could have stayed a little longer.  I would have liked to cook another dinner in there.  I could still live there for awhile, until all our stuff and cats caught up with us.  I laugh because the little cottage that I use for my studio is about the same size of this apartment.

I could sigh, and say "we were happy then."  We were--but we're also happy now, with a house and a cottage and a big barn full of too much stuff, and cats and chickens and peacocks and other assorted creatures, and the detritus of many hobbies scattered around.  It's been a long time since that little apartment.

I still like that kitchen.

The Dress has Launched!

During all the busy-ness of the Howl, another set of busy was taking place behind the scenes--Natasha (director of Education at the Museum) had to plan her wedding to fall between the Howl and the Fall Farm Days (which is tomorrow). Rob and Jeff were sort of the wedding planners, taking care of all things like flowers, seating, being sure there was enough ice, and all the details that go into a lovely wedding.  And lovely it was.  My favorite weddings are small ones, and personal.  A friend (in the case, her godfather) to officiate, friends for the music, friends for the caterers.  It takes a village to make a marriage.

And of course she looked adorable--because I did manage to get the dress finished in time.

Congratulations, Ken and Natasha--may there be many good times ahead!

Howl, Part 3

Now just some random haunted trail photos.

Inside the "Hive" (Jeff's name for it--I still think of it as the fishnet).  Made by hanging much milage of erosion cloth.  It also got draped on the actors--who blended right in.  And the walls bit.

Homage was paid to the build crew by creating and displaying their death masks.

And strange things could be seen through the windows of the cabin.

Until next year . . .

Howl Part 2

 

OK--it has nothing to do with the haunted trail, but isn't this the cutest little baby snake you ever saw?  Bob was working in the garden and spotted this little guy--at first he thought it was an earthworm and then realized is was looking back at him.

Back to the trail.

In order to create a successful haunted trail, you have to have one foot planted firmly in Crazytown.  You have to be the sort of person who picks up baby dolls wherever you find them.

You have to be the type of person who can take PVC pipe, electric cable, a foam skull, and paper mache and create this

That's the fun part.  Crazytown is a fun place.  Many people live there.  But to have a successful haunted trail you have to have the other foot planted in the world of checklists, budgets, and planning.  Recuiting volunteers (and they rocked!) You have to make non-much fun items such as this.

As each actor checks in, he/she is handed a card saying which scene they'll be in, what sort of costume they need, what sort of makeup, and who can tell them what they'll be doing. 

The security team is briefed (members of a motorcycle club--bless these guys)

All the scenes in the trail are built according to ADA standards and are wheelchair accessible.

Meh.  But after the checklists are done, you can get back to Crazytown and down to the serious business of scaring people.

 

High fives are given when you startle someone enough that they fall down.  Victory dances for when you hear someone say "I just peed on myself"  (and more so when your nose tells you that other functions have expressed themselves).   But in all of the years we've been doing this, we have never literally scared the pants off someone.  But Rob saw a woman step into the woods--and he assumed that she was trying to hide.  His charge and yell of "arrrrrghh" suddenly turned into an "oh--excuse me" as he realized that she was taking care of business before facing the last scene.  Rob--you rule!

Howl Part 1

I had every good intention of posting regularly during October to tell of the building and running of the haunted trail for the museum's Halloween Howl.  Well, I seem to have gotten busy doing it, and not writing about it.

In short--it was an amazing success.  It all ran smoothly enough that it made us nervous, and on Saturday the museum was letting in over 600 people an hour (there are events all over the museum, so not *everybody* went on the trail, but it sure felt like it).  It's too big and too complicated (and I'm still too tired) to write in any coherent manner, so you'll be getting it in a random fashion.

Quick background information--for the past 19 years the Tallahassee Museum has held the Halloween Howl.  A big part of that is the Haunted Trail--about a quarter mile walk through the woods.  For many years the trail was done by the crew who called themselves "The Sick Puppies"--Rob, Jeff, Bob, and myself.  Finally, we burned out.  In 2011 Bob and I ran off to Oaxaca, Mexico for the Day of the Dead (Rob and Jeff decorated the museum grounds), and in 2012 we did the Cabinet of Curiosities.  For complicated reasons, we came out of "retirement" this year and did the trail.

We do try to take advantage of our space--all you need to do to scare most people is simply put them in the woods at night and keep it dark.  We just push it a bit more.  Some people aren't prepared to take that.  We found it strange that a large number of people (at least 30 according to our Line Wench), after standing in line for an hour and a half, would start down the trail, see the first scene--then turn around and walk back out. (And these are taken during the day--imagine it at night, when you're pretty sure someone is going to jump out at you)

(Jeff is a genius--the tombstones and the mausoleum are made of Styrofoam.)

And there's the teaser.  A nice soft bed is calling my name--more later.

The Haunted Trail Begins

For many years (possibly too many), the team affectionately  known as "The Sick Puppies" (Rob, Jeff, Bob, and myself) built and ran the haunted trail at the Museum's annual Haunted Howl.  We loved it--too put it honestly, we were obsessed with it.  Our dream was to have a professional level of haunt--the type that is actually installed year-round, added to each year, with a budget of many thousands of dollars.  Of course, our little team would have a month to build all the sets from scratch, and the term "thousands" never applied to our budget.  Every year we tried to top the year before--more and bigger sets, more elaborate props, more special effects.  Of course, the bigger and more elaborate it was, the more work it was to tear it all down and put it away.   We burned out, and in 2010, after our biggest and best trail ever, we retired.  We loved the trail, but it had kicked our butts. 

In 2011 Bob and I went to Oaxaca for Day of the Dead, and Rob and Jeff did a beautiful static display on the museum grounds.  In 2012 we did the Cabinet of Curiosities which was brilliant and we loved it--but we still thought of the trail. Each of those years someone else had done the trail--and had sort of called it in (which is a phrase which means "did a half-assed job").  We tried to let it go--but it bugged us.

2013--a friend of ours has been named the new Director of Education for the museum--and responsible for the Halloween Howl.  We want her to look good.  Retirement has failed--the Sick Puppies are back on the trail.  Uh . . .

But we made a pinkie promise (for real--I made the guys link pinky fingers) that we wouldn't kill ourselves.  In 2010 we had 13 large scenes.  We decided that you really only need three big scenes (beginning, end, and one in the middle).  The rest can be fillers.

So far, so good.  The build has begun. 

The campground is ready for the bloody campers. 















Bob has started arranging his dolls (it's a little disturbing that Bob not only collects dolls but does
some very strange things with them--I try to avoid thinking about it).  He still has another 30-40 dolls to add to the scene.











My fishnet (which Jeff insists is "the Hive") has been built of erosion fabric.  I will be making
costumes covered in the same material, so that the actors will be invisible.

The haunted vineyard has been started.

The toxic waste dump is finished--but I forgot to take the picture.















The final scene will be "The Farm."  We thought if we put everything we have into the last scene, that
will be the one people remember.  It will have drop panels, a tipping wall, a maze--and some things I don't even know about yet.  Rob and Jeff start with the infrastructure, which will later be filled in.  At the moment is just looks like a forest of 2 x 4s.

In short, not too bad!

More next week as the we continue to create the magic.

Big Projects, Little Projects

I started my new job two weeks ago.  Not that I gave up either of my old jobs--so now I curate the historic clothing collection, do animal education at the museum, and sew in the costume shop at the School of Theatre.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, I (as always) have some projects going on.  I just have fiddly fingers and need to be twiddling with something.  And I usually have several going at once, to suit available time and brain cells.  My recent projects:

Purse.  This was for practical reasons--my purse was falling apart, and I really dislike shopping (and purses tend to be expensive).  I want at least two pockets on the outside of a bag (keys and glasses) and a half-dozen pockets inside to keep everything from taking a nose-dive to the bottom.  Bob had given me this batik cotton at some point and it seemed just right.

Temperature Scarf.  I mentioned this a few entries ago.  It's slowly growing--I only have to knit less than an hour a week on it, but I can't forge ahead because I have to wait for the daily high temperature.  It rained for almost two months straight during what is usually our hottest time of the year.  On the plus side, it kept the summer from being as dreadfully hot as it usually is.  On the minus side, I'm *really* getting tired of 90-95 degree orange  :-(





The One-Ounce-Wonder.   I started this about a year ago, and it might take another year to finish it.  It started with the question of "how much can I do with one ounce of fiber?" (in this case, a luscious yak down/silk blend).  So it got spun nice and fine and the knitting began.  It doesn't get worked on much--it's a bit difficult to see yarn this fine, and the lacework is pretty fiddly.  It's going to be a triangular scarf (or shawl, depending on how big it gets).  So far, I've knit a little over a half-ounce of the finished yarn.  Now its name refers to the question of "I wonder why I'm doing this?" or "I wonder if I'll ever get it finished?"

Felted Slippers:  These knitted squares will turn into another pair of felted wool slippers.  They're just simple garter-stitch squares.  I really shouldn't even admit to my knitting time on them--they're my driving knitting.  Uh--yeah.  My daily commute includes way too many traffic lights, often red.  Rather than pound on the steering wheel and swearing, and ONLY AFTER COMING TO A COMPLETE STOP (ahem), I knit.  I can do garter stitch literally blindfolded, so I'm not even looking at it, and I can drop it in mid-stitch when the light changes.  I get about two squares done a week, and my blood pressure is much lower.

The Folded-Strip Tote Bag:  I saw a cute pattern for making a tote bag out of a long narrow strip of fabric.  Perfect for something handwoven, no?  I've warped the loom with some chenille yarn (which will feel nice and velvety) and I'm doing what's called a "clasped weft" which is letting me do this two-toned irregular zig-zag design.  It will probably have to wait until after the Halloween Howl to get much woven on it--as I have another big project with a deadline.  To wit:

The Wedding Dress:  A friend is getting married in about a month (see the shawl/veil I made for the occasion a few posts ago).  What she really wanted was a vintage-looking dress.  She had even found a late 50's pattern.  Downside is that it wasn't her size, and patterns that fit closely need to be tweaked for  individual bodies anyway (for instance, it has a tight-fitting sleeve with elbow darts, and her arm is shorter from shoulder to elbow than the pattern).  I just sort of barged in and said I would make it.  Two old sheets later and we had a pattern that would work.  The fabric is a *gorgeous* cream-colored silk/hemp (yes--hemp!) blend.  It's almost finished (and you don't get to see pictures until after the wedding) but my fingers are sore.  The skirt is very full--and I don't like the "wadged up" look of tight gathering--so I did what's called "cartridge pleating."  Basically, you fold the fabric into small pleats, and then sew them to the waistband.  One. By. One.   By. Hand.  Takes awhile, but its so pretty.   This is almost finished--I need to put it one her one more time to choose the hem length, and then hem it up.  By hand, of course.

Finally, a finished project of another sort.  We just released our last possum.  He was one of the group that escaped into Bob's room during Mike's visit last spring.  The others have long gone on their way, but something went wrong with Stumpy (somewhere along the line when he was a baby he lost most of his tail.  The Manx look is actually quite adorable).  He was in the release cage, and one morning he was spinning in uncontrollable tight circles.  Because of all the rain this summer, we had a major mosquito problem, so the general suspicion was West Nile virus (I didn't get him tested because there really isn't much treatment for it except time).  The neurological problem was bad enough that he couldn't even eat or drink on his own, so twice a day for about three weeks we wrapped him in a towel and I pinned him down to stop the circling while Bob squirted water and soft food into his mouth.  Much to our amazement, he recovered.  We kept him another month to be sure--and then opened the door and let him out.  It was really a hard thing to do after spending so much time on him, but giving a critter his freedom is what rehabbing is all about.  Unlike squirrels, opossums usually don't hang around or come back after a release, so I probably won't see him again (but if I do, he'll be easy to recognize)

And the building of the Haunted Trail began last weekend--pictures to follow.

Oh yes--almost through reading Jules Verne's "Mysterious Island."  I really think those Victorian authors got paid by the adjective . . .

And that's how I keep myself busy.