What's He Building in There?

As mentioned previously, the Gren Clan traveled to Minneapolis over the extended Memorial Day weekend to spend some time with our pals Taltap and Elsa. We dropped the Little Lutine off with the grandparents in Iowa and then continued northward the next day.

The weekend was wonderful. We watched some Pirates, drank some scotch, shivered through a Minnesota Thunder game, and Taltap and I wandered about pretending to know what we were doing with our cameras while the ladies shopped for a wedding dress. Some of these photos will probably be displayed here before too long so as to be subjected to rightly deserved public mockery.

But that’s not what I’m here to talk about today.

See, we headed north from Moonshot’s folks’ place on Highway 218 and needed to jog slightly west to the parallel I-35 that would take us all the way to our destination. There are several ways to do this westward jog, but we opted to go with the trusty Highway 3 out of Waverly. Moonshot went to college there and it seems as good a landmark to signal a turn as any. Plus, it has the added advantage of taking us through the small town of Hampton…home town of the legendary Kum and Go chain of convenience stores that offered so many hours of juvenile wordplay during my own college years.

Anyway, on this particular trip, I noticed a…thing? Still under construction, the odd tower was massive. Even the enormous crane atop the structure looked like a toy in comparison. I stared for a few long moments…trying to figure out what it could be. Some new version of a silo? Some military tower of some sort? By the time the construction slipped behind a tree line, I realized I was totally confused and dying to know what it could be. I pulled the car over and hiked back along the highway to capture an image of it, hoping Taltap might offer some wisdom. Since no wisdom was found there…I’m turning to the imaginations of my webby friends.



What do ya figure this thing could be?
(click image for detail)

Wordless Wednesday #5

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Culvert Ops II: Under Warehouses

“You know,” he said, his voice echoing off the flat concrete surfaces encasing us, “You are probably the strangest person I’ve ever worked with.”

I laugh and continue to line up a photo in the darkness. As I held my breath to take the long exposured shot, I wondered what’s so strange about venturing into a dank drainage tunnel during your lunch hour to kneel in two inches of water and one inch of algae just to capture a few pictures. “Well,” I concluded silently by the time the camera shutter closed, “what’s strange about that is probably that I don’t find it strange at all.”

As promised in the original Culvert Ops post, my network admin, who I shall refer to as Trixalot, and I returned to the cavernous tunnel. I had no idea where it could lead and was dying to explore. And a few of you have recently expressed your lingering curiosity as well…so it was clearly time to do some urban spelunking.

As we walked down the angled concrete culvert toward the dark opening, I swear I felt thirteen again. I found myself laughing as my feet slipped into the water and caught myself ducking slightly to avoid being seen by the various employees of the warehouses on either side of the ditch. Sadly, I was not as ninja-like as I thought.

“Whatcha doing?” asked a voice from my right, just 20 feet from the entrance.

“Um…taking some pictures,” I answered vaguely while waving my camera in his general direction. I was hoping that would satisfy the man with the cigarette long enough for us to escape into the darkness.

“Well I can see that,” he responded…not accepting my brush off.

“Just want to get a few pictures of the inside of that tunnel.” I just kept on marching. Not to be antisocial…but I didn’t want to risk a conversation that might wind its way toward “I don’t think you should be going in there.”

“Hmm,” he said thoughtfully. “Guess you gotta be creative to get interesting pictures.”

I agreed with an “uh-huh” and didn’t explain that the camera was mostly for my web readers. I’d have been going into that tunnel one way or the other. I mean…it’s a hole in the ground…how can you not be curious where it leads?

As we entered the damp space, the temperature dropped instantly and the cool humidity clung to my skin. The sounds of dripping water and chirping birds surrounded us in a web of echoes. I didn’t look back to see if Smoke Break Guy was still watching.

About thirty feet in we found an access chute leading up to a manhole cover. I guess the service folks who occasionally go down there don’t like using the front door for some reason. A steady drip from the surface above made photographing up the chute a bit messy…but the otherwise flat walls gave me little else to point the camera at so I kept at it.

The occasional bird zipped past our heads, most likely protecting nest that we were never able to locate. There were countless little pipes leading into the tunnel from the sides. I suppose there could have been nests in some of them…but I hope not. I can only assume the pipes are occasionally gushing water…which wouldn’t be quite the environment Mamma Bird was expecting when she built her nest.

One especially large side pipe emptied into the system. It was plenty big enough to crawl through, but I thought better of it since I couldn’t see anything down there that might give me hope of it opening into a larger space. But don’t think I wasn’t tempted.

For my first few pictures, I tried to keep myself as dry as possible. I squatted instead of kneeling. I avoided brushing against the damp walls. However, I quickly realized the long exposure times required for such lighting needed more than my unsteady hand. I wished for a tripod but had only a monopod to lend stability. I started leaning hard against the walls and kneeling directly into the water.

Trixalot waited behind me, shining the flashlights about in a search for rats, snakes or any other living things that could threaten to crawl or chew on us, but nothing attacked.

Our progress was slow as I attempted shot after shot, but eventually the slow curve of the tunnel took us away from the glow of daylight behind us. Sadly, almost as quickly as the light faded behind, light became visible ahead. It seemed the tunnel simply formed a long S-curve to cut between the warehouses above and probably dumped out behind them.

Another curve brought full daylight streaming in and soon we stood triumphantly at the other side. Concrete behind us…wooded creek before us. It wasn’t the exciting destination I had been hoping for…but then again, I’m not exactly sure what more I could have hoped for.

We turned around and slogged our way back through the tunnel. By the time we reached the original open-air culvert, my shoes were too wet to hold traction on the concrete slope. I almost wished Smoke Break Guy were there to wonder again at my sanity as I waded through the center of the sometimes foot and a half deep drainage. Trixalot…having forgotten to bring shorts for the excursion, opted to climb out of the culvert rather than follow me.

We had successfully charted the water’s path through the tunnel. Trixalot said that was sufficient for his daily adventure and headed back to the office. I figured I was already soaked and in full exploration mode, so I opted to see what waited upstream from our office. Only forty feet or so down, the concrete disappeared…replaced by creek bed, tangled vines, and stagnant pools of mucky water that I had no interest in wading through even in my pre-funkified condition. I pushed as far as I was comfortable, unable to climb without risking the camera and was able to snap one good shot of an abandoned bridge through the twisted foliage. It was overgrown and forgotten and I have no idea why it was abandoned nor why it was even built in the first place. But it made for a mysterious conclusion to my journey.

I returned to my office, changed back into my dress slacks and sat my wet clothes outside the warehouse to bake in the sun before taking a business call. As I chatted with Experian’s tech support group about a glitch on their website, I considered Trixalot’s claim. I don’t know where I fit on the continuum of workplace weirdness…but I was pretty sure the friendly IT guy I was talking to had not just returned from an underground lunchtime photo shoot.



(All photos can be clicked for larger versions)

Hooky, Holy Man, and a Hole in the Ground

Playing Hooky

Last week was beautiful here in St. Louis. Cooler weather settled in and windows across the city long closed to conserve conditioned air suddenly opened again. Each morning, those last few moments of sleep were rendered glorious by a cool breeze and songbirds.

Norah and I took some evening walks, but over all…I just didn’t feel I was getting out there and appreciating the blissful weather. Sitting in my windowless office seemed a pitiful way to repay the atmosphere for its kindness.

Friday arrived and Moonshot and I made plans to have lunch together. The plan was simple: get picked up at work, ride to a nearby restaurant, eat, get dropped of at work…continue day as normal. However, while eating her Taco Salad, Moonshot told me that she had been very tempted to bring a change of clothes for me so she could try to talk me into going to the zoo for the afternoon. She had , however, convinced herself that I would refuse to leave work. And normally, she probably would have been right…but as mentioned…it was just a beautiful day and I owed it to the Universe to get out and appreciate all the meteorological goodness going on.

So we finished our Mexican food and headed on down to the zoo. Now, I may have mentioned this before, but I love the St Louis Zoo. Not only is it one of the best zoos in the country…it’s free. Walk in, stroll around, walk out…costs ya nada. My hats off to the fine folks of my fair city for continuing to support this fine establishment. Anyway, we spent an hour or two hiking about looking at various animals that were extra active…seems even they were not immune to the joys of cool weather. And even though our impromptu trip meant I was the only person there in dress slacks and had no camera to capture the sights…I was enjoying my time with my wife and daughter too much to care. Ok…that’s not true. I cared about the lack of camera…and may well have mentioned it a few dozen times during our wanderings. But my point remains valid.

The last time we trekked to our zoo was about three months ago when Elsa and Taltap visited. On that trip, Norah showed very little interest in the animals and chose to either play with a toy in her stroller or sleep. This time she was alive with curiosity. Elephants astounded her. Penguins delighted her. The horn of a black rhino held her rapt gaze for long minutes and the sight of hippos entering and leaving their water was like magic to her developing mind. She giggled and stared was able to convince us she needed a stuffed penguin of her very own. She hugged it and squealed merrily for the rest of the trip.

I returned to work to finish out the last hour and a half of the day, so I didn’t even have to feel too guilty about taking an extra long lunch. Ah…if only every day could be zoo day.

The Power of Norah’s Cuteness and a Holy Gren

There is much joy in the House of the Gren these days. Our good friends Taltap and Elsa are getting married. You may not realize how significant this statement is since you don’t know our friends, but they’ve been together for 11 years and have made no moves toward wedlock. Taltap didn’t agree with it for philosophical reasons and Elsa was content. However, Elsa’s one stipulation was that if they decided to have children…they would have to be married first.

So…here we are. Two of our closest friends who said they wouldn’t get married unless kids were on the way shortly have spent time with our daughter and quickly opted to tie the knot. Now, they haven’t laid the blame for this development at the feet of Norah’s cuteness yet…but as a horribly biased father, I can’t see how the two are unrelated.

Moonshot has been asked to serve as matron-of-honor in the backyard garden ceremony set for mid-August. Norah has been invited to stand with her Mommy and both the Gren ladies are quite excited about it. And me? Yes, even this lowly gren has a role to play in the beautiful day our friends have planned. I get to pronounce them man and wife.

See…when Moonshot and I got married in 2004, we opted to have my old college roommate / Moonshot’s brother-in-law, FreddyJ, perform the ceremony. He got ordained online through the Universal Life Church and it was a truly wonderful aspect of our wedding. Clearly, Taltap and Elsa liked the idea as well and now karma has reared its head to foist this responsibility on me.

Don’t get me wrong…I’m honored and thrilled and I wouldn’t trade it for the world. At the same time…it’s a bit intimidating. I’m hoping I can live up to the task.

What's truly strange about this is that I thought it was rather unique that the minister and the matron-of-honor in our wedding were married. However, this exact relationship will be played out again...by the very same original bride and groom that started the trend. So, Taltap, next time Elsa is asked to be matron-of-honor...just go ahead and explain that you'll need to perform the ceremony. It's clearly some sort of newfangled wedding meme and you'll probably get seven years bad luck if you don't pass it on.

This weekend will find Moonshot and I in Minneapolis visiting these very same soon-to-be-newlyweds. I can only imagine that a great deal of the conversation will revolve around planning for the quickly-approaching date. The ladies plan on going dress shopping and we gentlemen plan to roam the city while we wait…cameras in hand, killing time and practicing our photo hobbies. As an extra bonus, this leisure time was Elsa’s idea…so our city-roaming free time has been pre-approved.

And the Little Lutine? Well…she’s having her first sleepover. Gramma Panache and Grandpa Husker will be watching her over the weekend. It’s one of the major reasons we’ve been working so hard to train her to go to sleep without our constant rocking/soothing. Partially for our own peace of mind and partially for Moonshot’s folks’ sanity.

I’ll keep you posted on all these developments. In the meantime, however…congratulations to Taltap and Elsa. I just can’t express how happy I am for them.

Culvert Ops: Update

During lunch on Wednesday, my network admin and I completed the journey promised earlier. I haven’t written anything, nor taken a close look at the pictures from the trip…but I just wanted to let those of you who have been biting your nails in anticipation for the conclusion that Culvert Ops II is in post-production as we speak.



Sincerely,

The Reverend Moksha Gren

Wordless Wednesday #4

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The Battle of Bedtime

“Not yet,” I think. “Don’t….”

Tired baby wails float through the monitor and I can’t help but smile.

“No patience,” I comment to my wife.

She takes a sip of her wine and nods. “If there’s one thing a baby will teach you…it’s patience.”

“Sssshhhhh,” resumes the quiet sounds of Uncle Jet shoooshing his niece.

I snuggle deeper into the sofa cushions and imagine my poor brother in the darkness… fumbling through his first time putting Norah to sleep and I can’t help but be amazed at how much baby data I have learned in the last nine and a half months.

I used to shake my head in confusion as parents described the subtle differences between their child’s hungry cry and dirty diaper cry. My head hurt trying to wrap my mind around the multitude of minute signals they were constantly picking up on in order to ensure a non-screaming infant. I found it hard to believe I could commit so much to memory.

And yet, as I sit on the couch listening to my brother, I know that there was a time not so long ago when I was as clueless.

I commend Jet for his willingness to venture into this task. He comes over every Monday night to watch Heroes with us. Usually he sits out on the couch with whichever parent is not locked away with Norah, and then later offers to watch Norah any time we’d like some time away. A generous offer, and completely sincere…but unrealistic given that he has never changed a diaper nor coaxed a screaming child to sleep. So, we would occasionally offer for him to come over and watch Norah while we were here.

“We’ll just act like we’re not around and you can practice,” we’d offer.

“Yeah, we should do that,” he’d agree…but somehow this just never seemed to be how he wanted to spend a spare evenings.

So, this night, as we took Norah from her bath, Moonshot asked Jet if he’d like to take a turn putting Norah to bed. He agreed without hesitation.

I tried to give a few tips here and there before we abandoned them, but too many details would just overwhelm him. And really, there’s just no way to describe the relevant information anyway. There are no simple words to explain the way her muscles relax, giving you the go ahead to move her from your arms to the crib. There’s no good way to instruct someone on the thousands of tiny tricks associated with transferring a barely sleeping child onto a mattress. And the nuances of opening and reclosing the squeaky nursery door or which floorboards creak the loudest are difficult at best to convey. One must suffer through trial and error with the ever-looming penalty of angry screaming as a motivating factor to internalize these lessons.

And so I can do nothing but smile at my lovely wife, sip my wine, and cross my fingers for my brother as he ventures into the trenches for the first time.

Several more false starts are broadcast across the speaker and finally we hear the click-screech of the door as he makes his escape. Norah complains and I can hear her rolling over, but luck is with young Jet…she is tired enough to let the noise go unpunished.

He emerges with a haggard look on his face. I recognize that face. He accepts a glass of wine even though he doesn’t like wine. He says it’s because he is planning a trip to the wineries over the Memorial Day weekend with a wonderful Arkansan girl who is coming up to visit him and he feels he needs to learn to enjoy the drink…but I suspect that the battle of wills with Norah has something to do with his eager grip on the wine glass. I recognize that grip.

We start the show but I can’t help feeling like a battle-weary Sergeant. My weapons are stuffed animals and a gentle stroke of the forehead. I am well-trained in the art of the binky-decoy maneuver and have been desensitized to the sharp pain of nostril pinching. And have learned it all in nine and a half months.

We savor our wine.

I feel we’ve earned it.

Wordless Wednesday #3

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Culvert Ops

I like to pace when I talk on the phone. Even at work if it’s a cell phone call that doesn’t directly require a computer screen, odds are I’m moving from room to room. Add in the possibility of good weather and the odds are even higher that I’ll be making circles around the building as I gesture uselessly to the person on the other end of the conversation.

Wednesday was a particularly beautiful day here in St Louis. I called my Aunt Gimpy to wish her health and wellness prior to her surgery the following day. I made my circle around the building and then, not wanting to retrace my steps, took off for the small line of trees that divides our parking lot from the folks across the way. Tucked away amidst these trees is a concrete drainage culvert that whisks away the rain water. It’s not a scenic brook, but it’s the closest thing I have at my disposal. So, I went down there to continue my pacing as my Aunt filled me in on the increasing levels of confusion and apparent incompetence at the hospital. The trees smelled like greenery and the water sounded soothing and if I closed my eyes I could almost forget that I was surrounded by an industrial park.

The only problem with my pacing spot was that due to the sloped sides of the culvert, I was given a relatively small area in which to make my conversational laps. So, in order to increase my range and also to satisfy my natural curiosity, I started following the water. At first I tried to walk on the concrete sides in a straight line, but this hurt my ankles due to the incline. I improvised a zigzag pattern in which I would jump the water, arch a parabola up and down the other side and repeat the process on the original bank. It was less strenuous than it sounds since the angled concrete encouraged this sort of arch and the “jump” was really just a glorified step. All in all I was pretty pleased with my solution to the problem. I was having an adventure, getting some exercise, and talking to my aunt all at the same time.

Around a few bends in the culvert, I came to a point where the water disappeared under the road and into a tunnel. As I approached, I fully expected the water to shoot under the upcoming road and then shoot back out to open air. I would simply continue my water-following trek on the other side. However, it soon became clear that there was no light visible down the tunnel. In fact, on the side of the road was a parking lot and large building. The tunnel’s destination was a mystery.

Now, I should admit at this point that tunnels stir something magical in my soul. As one who started caving with my Dad around the age of five or so, there is something overwhelmingly inviting about a mysterious hole in the ground. Sure, I’d rather it be naturally formed…but a six-foot by six-foot square passage leading into the earth almost just as cool.

I crossed the road and meandered my way behind the building, hoping to find where the tunnel exited. No luck. The grade seemed to have changed, so the odds of the water making an escape from the darkness was rather slim.

As I continued chatting with Aunt Gimpy, I began a mental list. I’d need a flashlight, wading boots, a change of clothes, and a camera (you know…for Wordless Wednesday just in case there’s something cool back there).

I then used the sidewalks to return to my office for the rest of my conversation.

Anyway, I barged in on my network admin today to see if I could borrow his camera. I knew I wanted to write this post and figured pictures would aid the story telling. He agreed and opted to tag along for the photo shoot. Now he’s just as excited as I am about the tunnel. We don’t really expect to find anything outrageously exciting… but come on…could you resist this?

Also, Aunt Gimpy came through her surgery just fine. She now has a shiny new pacemaker to show off. And as a gadget guy…I look forward to seeing it.

Wordless Wednesday #2

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Liquid

For a variety of reasons, last week was a trying one here in St Charles…and I blame liquid in every case.

Liquid From My Daughter’s Mouth

I awoke Monday morning, showered and then lifted Norah from her crib to supply her breakfast bottle. She downed about half of the eight ounces offered and promptly expelled each of the consumed ounces right back at me. After a quick sopping up and removal of soaked items of clothing, she was happy and seemed interested in the remaining 4 ounces in the bottle. So I let her have it. She finished and then crawled over to her toy shelf where she again spewed all fluid from her poor stomach. Within seconds, she was a smiling child sitting in a pool of white.

Luckily, we already had an appointment with the doctor in the afternoon for her nine-month check-up. So, as I went off to work for the morning, Moonshot continued her attempts to trick Norah’s body into accepting nourishment of any kind. She happily consumed…then just as happily rejected. Norah’s first illness was, while disgusting, being handled with remarkable pleasantry.

The doctor said that she had seen many cases of this virus making the rounds. We would spend a few days with the fluid shooting from the mouth…then we would spend a few days with the fluid shooting from the other end. We were to pay special attention to hydration and were given several methods for testing Norah’s moisture content. We were also to be wary of the latter half of this disease since it was during that process that it could spread. Hand washing and disinfecting was to be a priority if we had any chance of escaping the same fate as our daughter.

I didn’t have high hopes. Don’t get me wrong…we’re pretty clean people. But I have what I feel is a fairly realistic appreciation for just how much poo is in my environment. Sure, we’re not medieval city dwellers wallowing in our own filth, but the clean, sterile environment that we like to pretend we inhabit…is a fairy tale. I stood in the doctor’s office thinking about the episode of the Mythbusters in which they attempted to see if a toothbrush kept in the bathroom would get fecal matter on it. At the end of the experiment the answer was, of course, yes. But more so, even the control group kept “safely” in the kitchen was contaminated. It’s everywhere. And for the next few days in our home…it would be virus-laden as well.

Tuesday continued with little or no food making its way into Norah. Her multiple chins disappeared and we had to tighten the safety belts on her high chair in order to secure this suddenly skinny child. But her spirits, aside from an occasional moment of self-pity expressed in squirmy moans, remained high.

Liquid From My Daughter's Rear

It was on Wednesday that the evil virus put its escape plan into action. By enflaming Norah’s intestines, it ensured that she would be unable to filter out the fluid used in the digestion process, thus creating its own soupy escape pod that was far more likely to come in contact with another victim. Clever little virus.

We took this as a personal attack.

And so it was that our home became a battlefield. The virus launched volley after volley of mortar rounds…explosions of such volume they made me jump on more than one occasion. Outfits were lost in the struggle, cut off Norah rather than risk pulling them over her head. Bath time because perilous business: Lather, Rinse, Contaminate, Evacuate, Scrub, Refill, Repeat. Our hands became pruny brillo pads from excessive washing. And our brave, little daughter lost her smile amidst the brutal fighting.

Slowly, her appetite returned and the diapers returned to normal. By Sunday, we had our Little Lutine back. She’s crawling happily and eating almost as much as she did pre-illness. Her little immune system has overcome its first major skirmish and she should be proud of how it handled itself. And, as I type this on Monday…neither Moonshot nor I have shown signs that the virus made the leap. I blame 1 part awesome immune systems, 1 part strategic cleanliness, and 1 part blind luck.

No Liquid in the Faucet

On Friday morning, Moonshot called me at work. “They wouldn’t shut off our water for being a couple days late, would they?” We ran out of checks last week and pushed a few bills further than we should have while we waited for a new box to arrive. I told her I was pretty sure they wouldn’t. I had her check the basement just to make sure there was no lake down there that could explain our empty pipes. When the basement proved dry, we called the water folks and discovered that the road construction over on Elm Street had hit a water main and that they hoped to have water back on later in the day.

“How,” my wife asked, “am I supposed to clean up diarrhea with no water?”

Jugs of frozen water were pulled from the freezer and general preparations were made to deal with sanitization sans faucet. Luckily, the water was returned by noon or so and the issue faded into the background as simply another brick in the wall of a frustrating week.

Liquid From the Sky

To better set the mood for the mental weight we labored under last week, it feels significant to mention we didn’t see the sun through all of this. Clouds rolled in on Monday and stayed until Saturday. Drizzle and downpours alternated all week and downed our already damped spirits. Tuesday even found some small bit of that rain in the unfinished half of our basement…soaking into our Halloween decorations and reminding me that I was supposed to clean the gutters last month.

Quarantined due to sickness, we were denied even the sunlight that could have streamed through the windows to cheer us. So we sat in the house and nursed Norah. I, at least, was offered the daily escape of work, but my wife was granted no such pardon. So each night I would offer to let Moonshot go out…anywhere…but my exhausted wife would decline, opting instead to just prop her feet up and relax for a while. By Friday, she had not left the house all week. She couldn’t take Norah among people due to the clever virus. She couldn’t take her normal walks nor even sit out on the back patio due to rain. On Friday evening, her birthday, she finally cracked. In a storm of loud, foot-stomping, door-slamming frustration she left to get some groceries and pick up a meal from a restaurant. I, for my part, did my best to comfort the still sick Norah while pondering how I could be failing so completely to deliver a happy birthday to my wife. Moonshot returned in a better mood, embarrassed at her loss of control…I could only answer honestly that I was shocked she held out all week.

Liquid on the heart

Behind the scenes in all of the damp grayness of the week, hovers my Aunt Gimpy’s health. I’ve mentioned on this site before that her body is in rough shape and it seems like it just keeps getting worse. I’ll not go into her entire medical history, but they are currently having grave difficulties with her heart and the massive amounts of fluids that have accumulated there. I, and the rest of my family, have our ears turned toward Kansas City awaiting news. Encouraging thoughts are welcome.

Evaporation

In short, there was much ado about liquid last week and we could have happily done without every one of the issues listed above. But aside from my Aunt, it seems we’ve come out on the other side of it. The sun is shining, a healthy and happy Norah smiled and waved to me as I left for work. And Moonshot ended up having a good weekend. We were even able to go play some Bunco on Saturday night with the O’Fallon Crew.

Hmm, I’m trying to find a way to end this post with an insightful comment about liquid-based problems and evaporation or maybe something poetic about the water cycle, but all I can think of is Little Orphan Annie. And I’m not closing with a musical number. Since my lunch break is over…it doesn’t look like I’ll get my clever wrap-up. Ah well…you, my fine reader, deserve better than a bad water analogy anyway.

Here’s hoping a dry week.

Happy Birthday, Moonshot!!

Wordless Wednesday