Our heater broke.
When it first broke, we were having some really nice warm spring-like weather, so it wasn't a very big deal. Sure it was a little chilly in the mornings, but the day warmed up nicely and we didn't even notice the fact that the heater wasn't coming on.
And then it got cold again.
All last week, temperatures hovered just above 10 for the high, near 3 for the low. The living room grew colder and colder.
First we built a kotatsu: we put a couple of chairs around a space heater, draped a large blanket over the whole thing, and sat with our legs under the blanket. That was cozy enough for watching a football game in the living room.
But then it got colder.
My face and fingers were frozen at the dining room table.
We moved into the smallest room in the house, the office, closed all the doors, and cranked up the space heater. After a few hours, it was warm in there. We left to go fix dinner, and froze! All meals moved into the office. All leisure activities in the office. The chairs weren't so comfy, but the alternative was too cold.
Today the heater repairman came by and finally fixed the heater.
Since he left, the heater has been cranking non-stop, for hours, trying to get the apartment back up to 18 degrees.
Ironically, tomorrow the forecast is a high of 23.
Hopefully we fixed the heater just in time not to need it again until April.
Wednesday, September 26, 2018
Sunday, September 23, 2018
Introspection
Dn died on Monday.
Not so long ago, before anyone knew he would be dying, his grant proposal was funded, to spend a year in Australia working with me on research. He came with his family, with plans for his wife to finally take her turn to finish a PhD, also working with me. His sons enroled in school. They started making friends. His back kept hurting. Chiropractor didn't help much. Pain medicines weren't working. After a few more weeks, a new doctor did some more extensive tests, and found that his back and body were riddled with aggressive cancer. The family left Australia, and went back to their home country. Surgery. Drugs. Treatment. The wife dropped out of her PhD program to take a job to support the boys. For a few months there were occasional messages. A draft of a paper, to work on together remotely. Some positive news. And then there was silence for several months, until I heard the sad news Tuesday morning, from another colleague. It had been just over a year since the diagnosis.
Our paper isn't finished. I haven't found the time to work on it.
How does one find time to find the time?
Not so long ago, before anyone knew he would be dying, his grant proposal was funded, to spend a year in Australia working with me on research. He came with his family, with plans for his wife to finally take her turn to finish a PhD, also working with me. His sons enroled in school. They started making friends. His back kept hurting. Chiropractor didn't help much. Pain medicines weren't working. After a few more weeks, a new doctor did some more extensive tests, and found that his back and body were riddled with aggressive cancer. The family left Australia, and went back to their home country. Surgery. Drugs. Treatment. The wife dropped out of her PhD program to take a job to support the boys. For a few months there were occasional messages. A draft of a paper, to work on together remotely. Some positive news. And then there was silence for several months, until I heard the sad news Tuesday morning, from another colleague. It had been just over a year since the diagnosis.
Our paper isn't finished. I haven't found the time to work on it.
How does one find time to find the time?
Saturday, September 15, 2018
Changes
We said goodbye to Jonathan earlier this week. After nine years of learning French, he is off to Paris for three weeks for an exchange program. Lucky boy.
I felt a little sad at the airport. I travel a lot on my own. Tim travels a lot on his own. But this is the first time Jonathan has been gone on his own. It's like a preview of being empty-nesters. We've forgotten what it is like to be only two and not three.
The report from him so far: Day one he took an hour long walk around the Eiffel tower. And he sent photos. And he wrote, "Jealous much?"
Tim wrote back: "We did chores. Jealous?
Jonathan has also decided to attend a new school: a science magnet school near my work. That means we'll be commuting together in the mornings. I envision mornings spent in deep conversation as we walk hand in hand to the train station, where we smile and laugh as we find train seats near all his school friends. Because that's how it works with teenagers in high school, right? Actually, I'm just hoping that he won't ask me to please walk 10 steps behind, so no one knows we know each other. Because high school. Things change.
And with the change in school, we've been asking ourselves whether we are ready to buy a house rather than rent. If Jonathan and I are both commuting to the same place, perhaps we could move there, and shorten that commute some. So Tim and I looked online, and picked out a few places that looked nice a little closer to my work, and wrote down the times of their open houses this afternoon.
And then we went to exactly one open house, in the building in which we currently live.
It's a nice place here, where we already live.
I honestly don't mind my commute: the walk through the park, the train ride, the shuttle bus to campus.
And just think how nice it will be next year, when my sweet teenager shares it with me, bonding the entire way every morning.
I felt a little sad at the airport. I travel a lot on my own. Tim travels a lot on his own. But this is the first time Jonathan has been gone on his own. It's like a preview of being empty-nesters. We've forgotten what it is like to be only two and not three.
The report from him so far: Day one he took an hour long walk around the Eiffel tower. And he sent photos. And he wrote, "Jealous much?"
Tim wrote back: "We did chores. Jealous?
Jonathan has also decided to attend a new school: a science magnet school near my work. That means we'll be commuting together in the mornings. I envision mornings spent in deep conversation as we walk hand in hand to the train station, where we smile and laugh as we find train seats near all his school friends. Because that's how it works with teenagers in high school, right? Actually, I'm just hoping that he won't ask me to please walk 10 steps behind, so no one knows we know each other. Because high school. Things change.
And with the change in school, we've been asking ourselves whether we are ready to buy a house rather than rent. If Jonathan and I are both commuting to the same place, perhaps we could move there, and shorten that commute some. So Tim and I looked online, and picked out a few places that looked nice a little closer to my work, and wrote down the times of their open houses this afternoon.
And then we went to exactly one open house, in the building in which we currently live.
It's a nice place here, where we already live.
I honestly don't mind my commute: the walk through the park, the train ride, the shuttle bus to campus.
And just think how nice it will be next year, when my sweet teenager shares it with me, bonding the entire way every morning.
Saturday, September 8, 2018
Creswick
The family is in Creswick this weekend, which is a town to the west and north of Melbourne. I have learned things while in Creswick. I have learned that Creswick was overrun during the gold rush of the 1850s. Deforested, dug up, washed over.
I learned that the prime minister of Australia during the second world war, John Curtin, was born in Creswick. I learned that John Curtin was the prime minister during the second world war. I had heard the name John Curtin before: there is a Curtin University, for example. Only I learned (by looking it up just now) that the university is actually in Western Australia, on the opposite side of the country.
I learned about the Lindsay family. They lived in Creswick in the late 1800s. There were ten Lindsay children, five of whom became artists. For example, Daryl was a curator of the National Gallery of Victoria in the 1950s. But the most famous of the ten is Norman Lindsay, who was an illustrator, artist, and children's book writer. On a bet, he wrote a book that is now regarded as a children's classic in Australia, called the Magic Pudding. I learned this by walking into a room in the somewhat crazy Creswick Museum, open only on weekends from 11am to 3:30pm, that was entitled "The Magic Pudding."
The book was written 100 years ago, which means its copyright has expired. Which means that you can download it for free.
So I did. It is here: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/23625
Wikipedia says that "Philip Pullman has described The Magic Pudding as "the funniest children's book ever written" and as his favourite book."
So there you go.
I haven't finished, because I just downloaded it this afternoon. But so far, I have found it a lot like reading Alice in Wonderland, which is also supposed to be a funny children's book. All I can say is that some people have a strange sense of humour.
Here are some pictures of Creswick.
The creek through town.
Mama kangaroo and a joey. I don't know if you'll be able to see the joey because alas, my phone camera does not have optical zoom.
Sunset. It looked nicer in real life, as sunsets often do.
Same for those white things. They are sulphur crested cockatoos.
The wattle trees are in bloom. They smell wonderful.
It is spring here, finally. Although still cold. The trees know it is spring anyway.
And there you go. Creswick. Did you learn something?
I learned that the prime minister of Australia during the second world war, John Curtin, was born in Creswick. I learned that John Curtin was the prime minister during the second world war. I had heard the name John Curtin before: there is a Curtin University, for example. Only I learned (by looking it up just now) that the university is actually in Western Australia, on the opposite side of the country.
I learned about the Lindsay family. They lived in Creswick in the late 1800s. There were ten Lindsay children, five of whom became artists. For example, Daryl was a curator of the National Gallery of Victoria in the 1950s. But the most famous of the ten is Norman Lindsay, who was an illustrator, artist, and children's book writer. On a bet, he wrote a book that is now regarded as a children's classic in Australia, called the Magic Pudding. I learned this by walking into a room in the somewhat crazy Creswick Museum, open only on weekends from 11am to 3:30pm, that was entitled "The Magic Pudding."
The book was written 100 years ago, which means its copyright has expired. Which means that you can download it for free.
So I did. It is here: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/23625
Wikipedia says that "Philip Pullman has described The Magic Pudding as "the funniest children's book ever written" and as his favourite book."
So there you go.
I haven't finished, because I just downloaded it this afternoon. But so far, I have found it a lot like reading Alice in Wonderland, which is also supposed to be a funny children's book. All I can say is that some people have a strange sense of humour.
Here are some pictures of Creswick.
The creek through town.
Mama kangaroo and a joey. I don't know if you'll be able to see the joey because alas, my phone camera does not have optical zoom.
Sunset. It looked nicer in real life, as sunsets often do.
Same for those white things. They are sulphur crested cockatoos.
The wattle trees are in bloom. They smell wonderful.
It is spring here, finally. Although still cold. The trees know it is spring anyway.
And there you go. Creswick. Did you learn something?
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