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A trip to a bed and breakfast can be like entering an old country home.
A warm fire in the corner, a beautifully made bed, and a room
decorated with all the niceties you could want. Breakfast is
icing on the cake.

Last weekend, the wife and I choose a
bed and breakfast
in Gettysburg for
our last child-free getaway. A weekend in a wintery, sleepy town is just
the kind of vacation we like. It’s really a chance to get away, quite literally.

We finished up the battlefield tape tour, something that we started about
three years ago and never completed. We also found our way to the
cyclorama, 360 degrees of fighting on a massive canvas. If only the real battle
had been that calm. There’s something haunting about this place and something
so peaceful. So many died. The horror of those three days has not and never
will be wiped clean from this small town. But you can sense
that this was the beginning of the end because, well, it was.

In the afternoon, we ignored the history outside to take in a just bit of
history indoors. The
local BnBs were offering a tour and we took it. A lot of the day was
spent traveling from one cozy BnB to the next, noting the differences
and sampling the homemade treats at each. Outside of our own
little BnB, our two
favorites were the
Battlefield BnB Inn and the
Herr Tavern.
Both were great for their very own reasons.

And that’s exactly what I like about BnBs: each is different — each offers
something else to the traveler. Hotels, in general just pale in comparison.
Why, you say? I’m glad you asked:

The proprietors want to work there.

The people running the show aren’t scratching and clawing at minimum wage.
There’s no front desk where a clerk can peer over the telephone at you
as if you are an interruption to his conversation. It’s not that at all. Instead, they are generally run and cared for by a married couple, a couple who
enjoyed or enjoy visiting BnBs themselves. They greet travelers and
welcome them to their humble abode.

The room is more than a bed.
Personal touches and memoirs line the walls. Great care is taken to make
each room unique. Common areas hint at the hobbies of the owners.
We’ll leave the light on for you, indeed.

Did I mention breakfast?
I love to sleep in. The sun is hardly an excuse to rise from the covers.
But all this breaks down when we hit a BnB. Let’s get up babe. That smell
wafting up the stairs is for us. We wander down to the table, grab our coffee,
and make some smalltalk with a couple of strangers. The meals themselves
are often great to boot.
Egg sausage souffle, banana walnut waffles,
baked apple pancakes with apple cinamin syrup – do I really need a better
reason to make it to the morning meal? Heck, we actually choose our
latest destination because of the fact that they placed fresh
Pennsylvania Dutch shoo fly pie on every breakfast table. Yum.

As you may guess, we had a blast. We didn’t even need the Christmas
carolers, complete in their civil war costumes, to stop by and sing
a couple of tunes. But we are glad they did.

Last year’s hobbit loving movie,
The Fellowship of the Ring, was excellent.
Peter Jackson
could have been considered crazy for even attempting to translate such a well-realized and popular set of fantasy novels to the silver screen. The results might have been disasterous. Instead, they were wonderful.

The
books
themselves are the stuff of legend. They aren’t just fantasy novels. The Fellowship of the Ring trilogy and its prequel, The Hobbit, are fantasy standards. The four of them form the fantasy writer’s dictionary and encyclopedia. See that orc over there? See the smoke rising from the humble abode sadly placed near the Forest of Death? Thank
J.R.R. He played his part. He’s the Shakespeare of the sword and sorcery world.

To an aspiring 6th grade reader, they were a speedy horseback ride into the world of magic and mayhem. I’ve been hooked ever since.
Dragonlance,
Magician, Thomas Covenant
— many a fantasy series followed. I’ve never found a sword with a golem on the pointy end that I didn’t like. But I’ve never forgotten what started it all. Or had I? Why was everything so fuzzy?

I suppose it might have something to do with the 17 intervening years (oh my, now I feel old). You could say that it’s been in a while since I’ve read the books. I remember the them much like I remember my old middle school teachers. That’s to say if they came by and beat on my desk with a ruler, the memories would come flooding back. Without such an occurence, the details remain outside of my grasp.

The first movie acted much like that ruler. However, the sound of splintering wood was replaced by a light tapping upon my head (my old reading teacher would be much dissapointed). The big events stood out – Gandolf … dwarven mines …. massive battles. The rest all kind of runs together. The epic grabbed me by the ears but also made me miss my formally intimate knowledge of its supporting text. What did they leave out? How did I envision such a land? You know, I probably should reread the series.

That would be easy except for the fact that I loaned it out not so long ago. I believe I gave it to my nephew but, to be honest, I don’t remember who I handed it to. I’ve recommended it to many people, particularly when the first movie approached. Someone, somewhere has my classic copy. Unfortunately, that meant I no longer had a copy of my very own.

The solution to the problem wasn’t as clear cut as you may think. Visiting the store seemed to betray my inner geek. I’m not a part of the masses who were introduced to the one ring through a lighted wall. I was an early adopter. I’ve been there; done that. Hobbits? Yep, I know all about them; I even know a lot about good old Bilbo. I’m not jumping on the bandwagon. I’m leading the pack (Well leading in the sense that I’m behind the real uber-geeks out there. They are easy to spot. Just look for the Magic – The Gathering cards) . In this sense, at least, I rejected the movie.

That is until I finally drug myself to the book store. I found a splendid paperback set graced with covers directly from the movie. The nerd inside was at peace and my shiny plastic credit card surfaced. They’ll look just beautiful next to both editions of the first
DVD.

Revisiting the books will likely put the next two movies under a much more focused microscope. I’ll analyze. I’ll have a much more recent comparison. But I don’t think I’ll be disappointed. The movies have relit the fire of my interest in the hobbit world. I’m sure they won’t mind if I poke at the coals a bit.

The wife and I spent the majority of our weekend in
birth preparation classes. We learned all about dilation,
effacement, contractions, pain medication, and much more.
10 hours of birth talk does something to you: it makes
your butt hurt. Well, it was that or the seriously
uncomfortable chairs.

Some of it, I knew. I knew there would be pain.
I knew that something quite large was going to exit
the wife’s body.
Most of it filled in the blanks. What
will grow to ten centimeters? How long are the
contractions? When should we head to the hospital?
What does an epidoral involve? How does the baby
get out? I guess there were a lot of blanks.

I don’t believe I pictured birth to be such a long, involved
process. The television always forces the parents-to-be
to spring out the door to the hospital. There’s always a
rush. It’s always coming right now.
Let’s hope the taxi driver knows how to deliver a
baby.
Apparently, most births aren’t like that at all.
They take a while — sometimes a long while. There’s
time to relax (in fact, it’s encouraged). There’s
even time to catch some football on T.V. (note to self:
edit this out before the wife gets to read it).

The videos weren’t nearly as graphic I had thought,
or hoped, they would be. No placenta graced the screen.
None of the aftermath was filmed.
The view of epidoral was obstructed. The cesarean
was mostly viewed from the mom’s side of the sterile cloth.
I don’t want to say that I wanted see to blood, mess, sweat,
and tears. I just wanted the videos to shock any of the
impending horror out of me. I didn’t think the
Discovery channel
had already done such a good job.

I couldn’t help but compare the whole process to a soldier
approaching the battle lines. Sure we’ve thought, and talked,
a lot about it, but all the facts kind of hit you head on.
All of a sudden, you can hear the bombs dropping in the distance.
Lights flash over the horizon. The roar of the transport
drowns out the shouts from your commander. You are well on
your way. You check your watch. Your heart rises just a bit in
your chest.

We have our battle plan. It’s all written in a little booklet
we took home from class. Our expectations have been rounded
into to place. Don’t have too many. Each pregnancy, and each
woman, is quite different. Knowledge is now our weapon.
Practice your breathing. Get your rest. Drink lots and lots
of fluid. You do have your bag packed — don’t you?

Somehow the other side of the hospital door no longer feels
so far away.

The first snow of the year kept me entertained nearly all day.
I had the pleasure of waking up to frosty windows, nervous
forecasters, and heap of the white stuff all over the front
yard. I was able to watch the powder pile up all day while
I worked from the comfort of my own home. Later, these
piles found the happy feet of my dog and the business end
of my shovel. Now, as I write this, I watch the flakes
gracefully fall past the glimmer of a nearby street light.

There’s just something about snow that changes the pace of
a day. It’s slows it down. Brings everything to an even
keeter. You are probably not going anywhere. Settle in.
Grab a mug of hot chocolate and start up the fireplace.

It must have to do with childhood. One of the first lessons
of arithmetic is that snow = a day off. It means sleds
and snowballs, heavy coats and snow angels. Life is
on hold and the schedule is out the window, if only for a day.
Sit back and enjoy.

One of the unfortunate aspects of telecommuting is that
is wasn’t exactly a day off for me. That didn’t
mean that I didn’t get wrapped up in it anyway. Network
problems forced me to retire early and get my
feet wet, literally. The dog romped around in his first
real snow while the wife’s belly looked on from the
front door. Warm food greeted my plate for lunch and
warm cookies greeted my belly for a snack. I got to sip
from the happy cup, even if I couldn’t take a deep gulp.

And it’s only early December. I don’t believe I remember
a snow like this ever coming so early in the year.
Around here, snow is normally a bright spot in the dark
months of January and February. Something to cheer you
up while you wish for the warm breeze of spring.
This year, however, it just might get to usher in Christmas.
Wouldn’t that just be grand?

As usual, Thanksgiving boasted a wonderful meal. Some dressing
here, some sauerkraut there, some green bean salad in the corner,
potatoes everywhere, biscuits on top, and turkey.
Yum – turkey. And that was just my plate. This year, like every
year, did not dissappoint.

I’m thankful it didn’t. We held the annual meal at our home
this year, something that is rapidly becoming tradition.
The house dared to tempt the fire code as it was stuffed with
18 members of our family. That meant there was lots of
cleaning, lots of commotion, and, yes, lots and lots of
leftovers.

The direct result of that is that I’m very, very full. Day
old table scraps entered my gaping maw as we entertained some
close friends on Friday. On Saturday, we ran off to Pennsylvania
to partake of the leftovers of the wife’s sister. Sunday found
us back at home, cleaning the various containers in the fridge in
the hope that nothing goes to waste. In the last four days,
I haven’t seen a plate that doesn’t feature some mashed potatoes.
Four days after Thanksgiving, I’m still very thankful.

Of course, my gut probably can’t take much more of this.
I’m quickly starting to understand why bears hibernate
all winter. Thankfully, the supplies are finally running
low. In one day soon, lunch will again become a reality.
I’ll no longer spend my time lurching for the couch in a
tryptophan daze.

One last note: James Lileks wrote a great little blog

entry (you might have to scroll down to Thursday)
that just put me in the Thanksgiving mood at just the right time. If you
get a chance take a peek. I’d like add one more on my
personal list:

I hope everyone had a great Thanksgiving holiday.
May your belly be as full as mine.

Whoa – slow down there honey. It’s on its way.
I know more than you about it (which is essentially nothing).
It’s true. But settle down and just enjoy the ride (while
I enjoy the secret). The shower will be here before you
know it. Now “it” is.

The truth was that there wasn’t a shower – there were three. One was
filled by my family and folks from church, one was attended by
the wife’s family, and yet another was bursting with friends.
One took place last Sunday. The last two concluded this weekend.
It’s been a worldwind tour. It seems that every time we open
a door, we are greeting by shouts of surprise.

Presents are piled high in the baby’s room, while the wife
works furiously hard to clean and fold all the cute little
outfits, towels, and blankets. Toys are collected on the
dresser, whose once bare drawers are now nearly full.
The wife organizes, coos, and organizes some more.
Look at these cute little diapers.
I do the heavy lifting and building. Boy do I do the
building; doesn’t anything come preassembled?

I don’t know how I could possibly thank everyone enough.
The wife is very loved. We have so many people
that care for us, and by extension our coming child. All
the faces we’ve seen lately attest to that.

Just scant weeks ago, the baby’s room was empty and I could
count all the baby stuff we had purchased on two hands.
Now, the baby’s room is painted, the dresser is built,
and the crib is not only up, but stuffed with Noah’s
Ark sheets, comforters, and more. After a trip to
BabiesRUs
for some returns and necessity purchases,
we are nearly ready. It’s amazing how fast the
transition was. Someone pressed the
fast forward button.

Now we need to finish tending to our mountain of gifts.
It’s a great problem to have.

I don’t remember the last time I had
tang. I have faint memories
of it as a child. There was something about NASA and something
about a little kid at breakfast; that’s about it.

But at 9000 feet I await my meal and what just happens
to be one of my beverage choices: the good old orange liquid
of the astronauts, sweet vitamin C tang. It was actually
pretty good. It’s like orange juice without the juice and
without the fruit. Yum. Someone needs to investigate
this NASA-tang relationship and explain it to me.
We are not exactly in space here. In the
meantime, my work on the telescope and it seem to fit just time.

(Would someone please shut up the person behind me in the airport
who has decided that everyone waiting for my flight wants
to hear how bad his business is going? He apparently wants
to fix the problem. I think we disagree about what the problem
really is.)

Another thing about Meana Kea is just how dry it is. Each
little room comes with its very own humidifier and boy does
it need it. On my first night on the mountain, I didn’t bother
to run it all night. That was a big mistake. I awoke in the
middle of the night with a piece of cardboard in my mouth.
I could have sworn I had a tongue. What is this nasty thing?
It will be nice to get back to where the air has some moisture
and my nose can grab some oxygen now and then.

Speaking of oxygen, it’s amazing how
winded I can get at high altitude without the stuff. Simple
tasks like walking up steps all of a sudden take effort.
My last trip to the mountain featured a room on the bottom
of a four story climb. Lugging the 1000 lb laptop to
the top each day required a gargantuan effort.
At more than 13000 feet these effects are more pronounced.
I’ll have to save my hopping around the telescope for a later
date. All it does it give me a preview of legs and heart at
60.

Now that I’m finally off the mountain, I have to say one of the
things I’ll miss the most is the easy access to their bubbling
tub of tang. Maybe I’ll hit the grocery store and bring
back the eighties in style. Does anyone know if Mikey still
likes it? Does anyone remember what “it” was?

I’ve got a problem I just can’t seem to fix. I’ve been remiss
in my duties. I just can’t seem to stay in touch with those
who live outside the 15 mile radius surronding my home.

This problem has been exacerbated by the fact that I’ve
got such
good news to share. I have some very
good friends who don’t even know that I have a pregnant wife –
much less a wife who has only 3 months until she pops.
I desperately want to make sure that my father, who lives about
an hour away, is a large part of my child’s life but I have
trouble finding the time to pick up the phone and tell him
what’s going on inside my wife’s little belly. And I have
a sister, that I so dearly miss, who hasn’t heard from me
since Christmas. I should be ashamed.

And I am – a little bit. I’m also lazy – a lot lazy. I don’t
think that I can pretend to have a better excuse than,
“Well, they haven’t called me.” That’s no excuse. It’s no
excuse at all.

The fact that I’ve basically ignored my sister probably bothers
me the worst. Before she moved, I didn’t have a closer relative.
When I was a child, she was my protector (just ask the mean
kids in my old neighborhood). When I was young, she was my
second mother. When I grew up, she was a close friend – a
good friend to both me and my wife.

You could find the wife and I over at my sister’s house nearly every
weekend. Movies, board games, and card games usually filled the
docket. Crabs usually filled my stomach.
And let’s not forget the crab dip. Let’s certainly not forget the
crab dip.

But then she moved. The phone lines have been pretty silent ever
since.

I have to admit the first thing I noticed is that my hair grew
without abandon. I had lost my barber. No one else had cut the
mop on top of my head since I was a very young child. What do you
mean I have to go to a hair salon? The wife and I noticed the
big gap in our entertainment schedule. I missed my sister.

That’s why it was great to hear from her, even if it was only
in

comment form a couple of days ago. I hope she
can use this blog to keep in touch. Maybe it will encourage
me to pick up the phone a little bit more often. Maybe it
will encourage her to do the same. I miss you Deb. Let’s
stay in touch.

Taylor, I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday.

You asked for a little happy birthday and here it is. Through the miracles of the technology (I’m going to back date this one), I’ve even been able to wish you happy birthday on time.

I hope you had a good one. You’re a good kid and deserve it. I’ll even avoid telling you to study hard for one day (oops, I just did). Remind me next time you are up and you might even get a present.

One of the highlights of my trip is having the ability to leave
the confines of the observatory and drink in the night sky.
The transition from the florescent lights of the observatory
to deep dark of night can make this a rather surreal experience.

The lack of light outside the observatory is quite a shock
to your eyes. The darkness is consuming. The effect is blinding.
It helps to bring a flashlight with you. Those four steps
back to the observatory can be wild when you can’t spot your
own hands.

From what little I understand of the science, this has to do
with more than just an adjustment of the pupils. The diodes
in your eyes are just gleaming from the effects of the indoor light
and need some time to adjust. This period of adjustment
leaves you witness to extremely cool effect.

As your eyes slowly adjust, stars begin to pop into view, almost
one by one. All of a sudden you can make the dark profile
of the CSO. Other nearby telescopes spring to silent life,
focused on what you can just make out. More stars appear.
The Milky Way struggles its way out of the black. The
sky slowly fills in.

It’s almost if you get to watch God himself paint the heavens with
starlight. Let’s put one here and another here. This would be a good
place for a galaxy. This guy here surely wants a close neighbor.

It’s truly a cool effect. Tomorrow I’m going to add some oxygen for
an even greater show.