Out of This World

I just read Toni Morrison's A Mercy, set in colonial America. It gives you a sense of the dislocation, the confusion of leaving the world as you know it for a new place. The sound vibrations we felt from the launch five miles away today made me wonder what it would be like to ride the shuttle into space. I think I can safely say that the simulation at the visitor center is the closest I'll get to finding out.

We had to start waiting for a bus at 9:30 to see the launch at 2pm.
It was hot.
Here was Greta's reaction.

And here was Clem's. I packed the kids' journals and quilt pieces to fill the time.

I love how all those hots press in around the poor figure beneath the umbrella (Clem).

Greta found this pufferfish who looked as though he'd had a good deal more sun than we had and quite a bit more than was good for him.

And then, right on schedule...I should mention that the schedule includes planned holds--so the loudspeakers would blare: "It is now two minutes until the nine minute countdown begins"...but in any case, right on its own quirky schedule:

It was much more amazing than I imagined. I think it was the feeling it that mattered.

After the heat ice cream and the beach were a mercy.

Don't you think this ibis really has the bluest eye?

Two girls floating weightless.

It is nice to know that even though my astronaut dreams are over, for them, the sky's the limit.

10...9...8...7...6...5...

We're packing up our wagon...er...suitcases. I was sifting through the craft closet for items to occupy the kids on the plane and I came across this Conestoga wagon kit.

I left it out and evidently Clementine found it because just as the first rays of sunshine were coming in the back windows she showed it to me, all assembled. She disappeared for a while and then called me to see this.

"I wish I could be there," she said with a sigh.
Doesn't it look inviting? If only we could spend a few days traveling by Conestoga wagon instead of minivan, walking beside it, riding on the lazy board, sleeping beneath the stars.

I love that we are starting our journey to the past with a shuttle launch. Without technology our journey would be impossible. And contemplating space travel (the final frontier) will put us in the right frame of mind for imagining our country when it was a frontier.

I should be packing, but instead I just spent an hour editing audio. It is more fun than packing.

Clementine's group performed their last Latin dialog. It is called The Party Continues. Ok, now I am going to finish packing.

Per aspera ad astra!

Handicrafts

We're getting into the colonial spirit. A handsome fellow like the one below (shown displaying in front of our house) lost a wing feather and Clem turned it into a quill. To journal with. In the car.

I quail at the thought of Clem writing with a turkey feather and ink in our rental car. The horrible inconvenience of quill pens caused Mike to wonder at the history of the pen.

Any such foray into history always proves fascinating.

(Amusing aside: do the words pen and pencil share their etymology? No. Pen is a truncation of pinna, the Latin word for feather. That makes perfect sense. Pencil on the other hand comes from an Old French word for paintbrush which derives from the Latin word for "tail": penis. )

So, back to the history of the pen. In the 953 the caliph of Egypt was already fed up with feather pens. He wrote:
"We wish to construct a pen which can be used for writing without having recourse to an ink-holder and whose ink will be contained inside it. A person can fill it with ink and write whatever he likes. The writer can put it in his sleeve or anywhere he wishes and it will not stain nor will any drop of ink leak out of it. The ink will flow only when there is an intention to write."

And metal nibs for fountain pens were found in the ruins of Pompeii.

And yet the U.S. patent for a fountain pen was only filed in 1867. And it was not until 1953 that Lazlo Biro, a Hungarian who had fled the Nazis to Britain, filed his patent for a ball point pen. That answers my long held question of why ballpoints are called biros in England.

I had to scrap the idea of camping on our trip. We have too many stops. To get in the rustic spirit I plan to read to the kids each night at bedtime by candlelight.

And we'll occupy ourselves in the car with colonial era handicrafts. I have two small looms for Clem and Greta. And Evelyn will knit. My mom will be with us. We'll get her to crochet.
Ok. I hope you are all sitting down at your computers, because I knitted something. I am an avowed non-knitter no more.

Mike is calling it the $700 Ball because it took me so many hours to make.
To really get in the colonial spirit I should be knitting socks. But I won't. I liked knitting my ball and I think I'll knit a few more. After all, this whole adventure is about having fun with history.
And socks are too hard.

Radio

I was listening to This American Life this week, Episode 181 The Friendly Man: Stories by Scott Carrier.

Scott Carrier got his start in radio like this: He heard a radio story and thought, "I could do that." He dropped everything, hitched a ride across the country and interviewed everyone who gave him a lift.

When he arrived in New York he called the NPR office and said something like, "I've got all these tapes. Will someone teach me how to turn them into a story?"

And someone did.

I had resolved last year to craft a TAL-style audio story. I researched what I'd need on transom.org, got a digital recorder
and some free software. I read Radio: An Illustrated Guide

the fantastic step by step guide to creating a radio story. And I listened to Making the Hippo Dance

Radiolab's podcast on how they take heavy scientific ideas and make them dance.

So far my only finished product is the Latin dialog I posted a week or so ago.

But for this trip I am packing my recorder and my AA batteries. I am going to gather some material during our trip. I'll have to steel myself. I don't feel comfortable sticking a microphone in someone's face.

Maybe the potter at Williamsburg will say that all his words are the property of Williamsburg Incorporated and that I can't record them.

You know what, I think I'll start today. I'll ask the kids what they think the trip will be like and what they are most looking forward to.

Why not start off with the most difficult interviewees. After that, it will all be easy. After all, the Williamsburg potter will most likely tell me politely that I can't interview him.

Crafty

Evelyn took up knitting earlier this year and has been knitting away like crazy. She knits in bed, in the car, on the couch while reading. She's knitted two hats for Clem, one for Greta and one for herself, a bag for her knitting, a bag for my cell phone and two stuffed lambs for Clem and Greta.

And now she is well into a fine looking sweater. She is trying it on at left. Ev's made a lot of progress on the sleeves since I took this photo.

A friend was giving away a pottery kick wheel and, not knowing what I'd do with it or where I'd put it, I took it.

We had some friends over to try it out, including my friend over at Reading While Knitting (from whom Evelyn learned to knit and to read while knitting. Though she enjoyed the help of other knitting moms at park day, too, including my friend at Wonder Farm).

I'd like to get a few more days in on the wheel before we leave for our history trip. One of my memories of Colonial Williamsburg is watching the potters effortlessly form inkwells.