This little light of mine

A project I have been working on involves oil lamps. I have looked everywhere to find inexpensive versions of biblical types of clay lamps, they're out there, just not cheap enough for what I need in the project (read: over 150 lamps).

In my search I found out information on oil lamps of old. Anciently all it took was a small lump of clay, rolled into a ball and then flattened, pinch up one side and curl up enough of the other side to make a well and there you go. Because olive oil has such a high flame point, a puddle of (olive) oil will rarely burst into or sustain a flame, but dip 100 percent cotton cloth, or wick into the oil and light it and poof, a flame. One could make a lamp that would give enough light to walk by, read with, or make their way through dark streets or rooms with a simple little lamp.

The more clay the better design of the lamp. Make a larger well (like the one in the photo) or even throw a pot onto the wheel and design a symmetrical, almost perfect, bowl for the oil. Adding a spout and a handle and you were living large. Typically the oil reservoir was filled via a opening in the top center of the well, making it more stable and less likely to spill.

Since the oil would not burst into flame on its' own, the length of the flame was determined by the length of the wicking material. Draw out more or less and the flame takes its' direction. The vessel stays cool to the touch, only near the flame does it warm.

So with my newly acquired knowledge I decided to see what I could make. The small, a little smaller than three inches long lamp above, took an extremely small amount of clay and five minutes to produce. After curing, I took a length of pure cotton, cut it about a half inch wide and four inches long, twisted it and threaded it through the hole. I poured in about three tablespoons of oil and let the cotton wick soak it up for a minute or two then lit the end. It was a great little light! I was surprised at how bright the flame was and how much light that tiny vessel put out.

Plans are now for me to see if I can grab a pound of clay and make a few more and set them aside for those times when the lights really go out! Let's hear it for ancient technology!

Gimme an "A"!

In my senior year of high school I was a cheerleader. I hate to admit it, but I was. I tried out as a favour to my best friend and actually made it - to pretty much every one's absolute surprise. I don't want to misinform anyone here, our school was not known for its competitive squad, athletic cheerleaders and/or "professionalism". I was o.k., I kept up, but certainly, as squads go, this group and particularly myself, weren't stellar. We didn't have an adult adviser or a coach; we just set aside our P.E. period and went through our drills and stunts and whoever shoved the others hardest was in charge. We went to 'cheer camp' and learned the new year's routines and a few stunts, pyramids and that kind of junk, chants, and how to run a pep rally.

One of our favourite stunts was a combination on a "Russian" (um, not me in the photo, some gal named "Katie" from stock photos. Go Katie!). While we were in the air doing our "Russian" it looked pretty awesome. But the real stunt - the crowd pleasing stunt- was the landing... flat on our knees... not our feet, our literal knees. It took a bit of practice to land on your knees and not have it kill you, but after a couple of days we all mastered it. It was a combination of "WOW!" and "OH MY HECK!" from the audience as they not only saw us land but heard the sound of our knees against the hard woods. Ka BAM!

We enjoyed performing this stunt during every game, several times, sometimes multiple times in the same routine. A rippled, BONK! BONK! BONK! BONK! BONK! BONK! or one extremely loud CLUNK! altogether. It got huge applause and gasps every single time.

So one year in my youth was spent doing our famous Russian Knee Drop over and over and over again. When I talk with other cheerleaders I realize that, although we were pretty lousy, we were nothing if not supportive. If there was a sport, we cheered it. Everything from football to track to baseball, basket ball, volleyball, wrestling, gymnastics, swim meets, you name it we went there and cheered like idiots...and each event had at least two or three Russian knee drops.

Fast forward to a few Tuesdays ago when while walking around Texas my left knee decided it was going on strike. NO. MORE. WALKING! After waiting two weeks to see an orthopedic doc the conclusion is that you get what you pay for...or rather, you pay for what you did in your youth.

Diagnosis: "You were dumb. Now you're old. Stinks to be you." The damage I did to my knees has caught up. My knee caps no longer align (which is not uncommon as we grow older), little bits of broken cartilage under the knee cap (big surprise), the muscles around my knees have no clue what "body building" means, and the kicker: I have a lot (read: more than normal for my age and circumstance) a lot of arthritis under my knee caps and a good amount around the knees in general. Fun!

So the dear doctor got out his needle and shot my knee and under my knee cap full of cortisone (which is really a delightful five minutes...everyone should try that! Or not.) Along with the cortisone he gave me a zillion doses of heavy duty Motrin to take to reduce the inflammation. He also gave me a brace to help push my knee cap in the groove, and two sets of muscle strengthening exercises that involve a ball, a chair, and a wall (actually pretty easy...who knew?) Contrary to popular belief ice really doesn't help anything, it works more as a placebo than anything real, so yippi on that note...I'm not a fan of cold knees.

Oh and if any of you are going to the gym and are using this machine (the one that uses your leg to pull up the rolled bar) the doc says this should be outlawed -it's that bad for your legs and or knees. Just FYI.

So now I limp a bit, much less than the last couple of weeks, but still, and the doc says this might be the walk of choice for me now. I am an old sweater, as he put it. (I'd explain, it's kind of long, but it made sense when he said it.) There ain't no fixin' an old sweater. You can patch it, but you can reweave the darned thing.

In the long run it could be worse, but for now, I am just hanging around, wishing it had come after Christmas was put up and then celebrated and then taken down. For now, this year, Christmas will go undressed.

Don't Try This At Home! Try It At A Friend's House!

Well, as long as today's theme is water I thought I'd set up this video for you. It was pointed out to me by my Sis, Chronicler. You see, she is the mother of three daughters. I have three sons and two daughters.

The thing with boys is this, they discover things, they have adventures, they act before they think things through. They freeze amphibians because they have watched one too many National Geographic Videos ("Beaver Pond" - I don't recommend it.)

If these were my boys I can tell you right now, things in this video would have been different. After each of the boys involved had a trial run, things would have been kicked up a notch. Say, surf style (standing up), or after dark with sparklers. I know, because when we had the advantage one summer of living where a pool was in the back yard and accessible, swimming was JUST. SO. BORING. yawn. No , we had to figure out ways to propel our bodies into the pool from various and sundry vantage points, like the roof. Or fence. Or off a moving bike. The diving board was just a means to an end, an additional tool in the arsenal of dangerous toys. Anything that could float was employed as a surfboard. Including your best friend. Contests and feats of strength were invented, and commentary was sometimes pre-scripted as to make sure nothing got left out. Boats were made, slides were invented, rules were constantly changed to promote manhood and the growth of chest hair. And the loss of cousins. kidding. I think.

We only lived in that house one summer however, so learning and testing had to take place in other arenas. Little sisters were also used as tools or physics experiments. Their smaller bodies lent them to be used as keys ("Shove your hand through the hole and turn the nob!"). Their cat like legs begged to be dropped from trees to see if they too (girls) landed on their feet. Or as human propellants ("As soon as you get this high...JUMP!) Poor little things were flung across the yard, into pools, off of trampolines and skate boards, and onto old mattresses or boxes (...like in the movies!)

One summer our then 16 year old was at his best friend's house. No parents. No sisters. Just the two of them. They had spent hours and hours filming each other trying out the newest tricks on their skateboards and decided to go indoors. One thing led to another and they began to wrestle each other while on the boards, in the house, in the living room (probably while eating something). My kid lost. He went elbow first through the fancy glass coffee table severing all the muscle systems, the ligaments, the tendons, and chipping the bone in his dominant arm about two inches above the elbow. When I first saw it, his arm muscle looked like a red sea urchin. Lovely. His brother drove him to meet me at the local ER and I have been informed that along the way the injured one managed to flirt with a girl in the car next to them at the stop light. (Never miss an opportunity.)

Long story short, he also severed the nerves, so he wasn't in pain, but that night he had an 8 hour appointment with a neuro surgeon who had to reconnect all of the above. He had an amazing recovery (one for the books actually) and a few months later had a "ligament transfer" (read: The neuro plastic surgeon harvested the extra ligaments in both of his arms and rewired his hand so that he could use it again, like the bionic man, only without the cool noise and slow motion, and um, six million dollars paid by the government.) He had 33 "entry points" in his one hand and after 130+stitches we stopped counting. Again he had a miraculous and amazingly quick recovery and he was the youngest patient to ever have this procedure at the time.

So yeah. Boys. I could go on, but suffice it to say, keep your eyes and the first aid kit open, never leave them alone for a second, and if you do, make sure your medical insurance is paid up!

all's well that ends well -or- we all do stupid things in our youth

Note the rocky shore line. Note the irregular wave sets. Note the shark like fin of one rock. (o.k. so I pointed that out yesterday, I still think it's cool.) Note the "triple dog dare you". Note the idiotic look of "where'd my board go?" Note the "What the hell, chicks dig scars" attitude.

Note the tale this is going to grow into over the summer... just don't tell mom.