Video Camera

Day 134: Video Camera

That quarter ought to give you an idea
of the scale of this machine

Rich understands this video camera far better than I do. It's definitely not like a smart phone video camera, which fits in your pocket and can be accessed with an upward swipe.

We purchased it after Emma Jane and before Sam was born. It is the technology that produced those early EmmaVision VCR tapes. A couple I especially remember: dancing around with Emma in my arms. She was dressed in red all-in-one jammies and laughing; I was wearing a red fleece robe. The Talking Heads are singing: "He's so cute in his little red suit!" Gramma and Pappa and Richie are dancing too. Or my personal favorite: my voice behind the camera googoo'ing as Emma Jane crawls toward a light socket and sticks her finger in; I fail to notice. It's a miracle she survived long enough to get admitted to college.

Rich used this thing to film the G-rated aspects of Sam's birth. Despite the G-rating, Sam and I share an aversion to watching that particular video. My favorite footage: Sam screaming bloody murder, covered in waxy muck while being swabbed off by a nurse in rubber gloves, while Dr. Gay sews up my episiotomy in the background. Just what every new mother wants to see.

This device involves special tapes with acronyms I don't understand, fancy plugs, computers and transfers to other special tapes with other acronyms. When we bought it, we thought of it as sleek, small and high tech. Now it seems as awkward and outsized as the cliched chubby kid in a Disney flick. Maybe a passionate retro Community High freshman would be interested in using it to make passionate retro videos.

Otherwise, at sixteen years old, this bit of technology is utterly, completely obsolete.

Bee Stuff

Day 133: Bee Stuff
For sale:

1 smoker, slightly used
2 bee veils with white plastic hats
1 hive tool
1 telescoping cover
1 inner cover
1 screened bottom board
1 spacer
1 winter moisture board
8 medium Langstroth hive bodies
80 frames
80 pieces of foundation

All offers considered.

Have I mentioned how much I love bee stuff? Its simplicity? Its function? Its elegance? I even like the way it smells.

Sigh.

Boomer Hive

Goodbye, boomer. You were awesome.
Thanks, Meghan, for adopting them.

Day 132: Boomer Hive
I've gotten rid of my boomer hive, and the little nuc I made to relieve crowding and prevent a swarm. Of all the things I've gotten rid of, this is the hardest. I love my bees and wouldn't choose to give them up. But I've said goodbye to the girls.

From a distance.

Even the nicest hive stings sometimes. This boomer hive has so many bees, I couldn't help but kill one or two each time I worked it, which sends off an alarm pheromone, which causes them to ping (fly into the veil) and sting. And each time I've been stung, the reaction has been more intense.

I already had a brood chamber (a boxful of larvae and eggs along with some pollen and nectar) and four supers of pure capped honey, 400 pounds of bees, and it was only mid-July. That's why I decided to turn my boomer hive into two hives, which I thought would lighten the weight on the stand and give me a better chance of having at least one hive survive the winter. The bees were a bit disturbed by my reorganization of their home. One of the girls stung my thumb...through the glove.

Ouch! And it got even worse than this!

The sting was surprisingly painful and the swelling set in immediately. I've always thought that a severe allergy caused instant death, so I was uncomfortable, but unworried. I am so fortunate to have more than one kind and passionate bee mentors. Richard Mendel is one of these. When I called him to ask for advice on the "dirty split" (creating a second queen-less hive), he dropped everything and came right over. When he saw my hand, he delicately suggested that such a reaction is not the norm among beekeepers. "You might want to have a doctor take a look at that."

Well, the doctor took one look, gave me an Epipen prescription and suggested I take up another hobby. She said my arm was swollen past the elbow, my airways were restricted, and I might not be so lucky the next time.

I didn't feel lucky in that moment, itchy, uncomfortable and facing the prospect of saying goodbye to the girls. Some of my fellow beekeepers talked about visiting an allergist to diminish the reaction, or wearing the beekeeper equivalent of a spacesuit.

There are many things I've loved about beekeeping. I love how it heightens my awareness of the weather, the seasons, what's in bloom. It makes me look at plants and flowers in new ways, with greater awareness of the creatures in and around them. I've loved learning about the science of bees, beginning to master this great body of knowledge, having responsibility for these foreign creatures. I've loved crouching by the hive for long stretches, watching their dance, watching their light and lively descent, their return laden with nectar and pollen. Livestock, yet alien and wild.

I've loved the discipline of bringing my mind and body to a place of peace and calm from which to work the bees. I can't bring fear to the beehive; the bees will know and react. My movements are slow and deliberate. My breathing is even. I can feel my heartbeat, slow and steady. Fearing stings - fearing death - would bring the spiritual practice of beekeeping to a different level, one I'm not ready for.

And wearing the spacesuit to separate myself from the outdoors: no way. It just doesn't sound like fun any more.

Emma's Odd Socks

Day 131: Emma's Odd Socks
It's a cliche, but I do wonder what happens to all the mismatched socks. Now that we've emptied every drawer and cupboard, and washed every article of clothing, I can't help but wonder where the dozens of odd socks have gone. Emma enjoys wearing mismatched socks, as long as they feel the same, so I only threw away half of these.

There was another equal pile of Sam's odd socks, but I won't toss those until we finish his thorough room-cleaning. That will come in a little over two weeks, as he prepares to vacate his room and move into Emma's.

Middle School and High School Handouts

Day 130: Middle School and High School Handouts and Worksheets

It takes a lot of trees to graduate from high school. An entire 50-gallon container's worth, in fact. And this isn't all the paperwork Emma generated on the path to a high school diploma. Prior to middle school, I helped clean out her room every year. I'd pick out a few especially cute pieces of art and ditch the rest. Even more recently, I've tried to sneak in and ditch most everything most years.

I was surprised to find as much old paperwork as I did. It was everywhere. In the hidden space above the built-in in her closet. Down underneath her tiny desk. In drawers, on shelves, and tucked away in paper bags.

It's my belief that all this paperwork did very little to contribute to her learning (or Sam's, for that matter). It didn't make her a more critical thinker, unless she worked the worksheets while thinking about what a stupid waste of time they were. Two weeks in Montreal, in my opinion, does more for your French than two years' worth of worksheets. It didn't solidify her knowledge of history, or literature, or art. Math, maybe, but, who uses calculus in their day-to-day professional life outside of certain scientists?

What it does do, I suppose, is turn us into obedient workers who can take in information and follow directions. Ideal low level (if unskilled) employees. That's where a good solid liberal arts education can take you to the next level, one hopes. Teaching us to use our brains for more than just filling in a worksheet.

Girl Clothes

Day 129: Girl Clothes

Finally, finally, we are beginning to pack and organize for college, with only 18 days until move-in. I've washed four giant loads of laundry over the past 24 hours. Almost every article of Emma's clothing was on her floor. That which is still hanging up or neatly folded on a shelf almost certainly is prime for getting rid of. If it wasn't on the floor, then it hasn't been worn in two years. A good portion of the stuff on the floor also hasn't been worn in two years, but ended up on the floor because it was on top of some other more desirable item.

I've folded everything and divided it into "You can probably give this away" and "You probably want to keep this" piles. This giant stack of t-shirts, unstylish dresses and outgrown jeans is bound for the Salvation Army. (If you'll recall, the Salvation Army is the only thrift shop in town that's accepting donations.)

Once the laundry was in process, we spent an hour making a list of items she'd need for her dorm room, prepping for the much-anticipated dorm shopping ritual. She was inclined to start with the list published by Bed, Bath & Beyond, sort of like getting car advice from your local Ford dealer. In the end, she agreed to start with the Ball State list with just a BB&B final check.

We did an excellent job compromising. We purchased a few items I don't think she'll need (as if a kid who won't throw away an apple core is really going to use Clorox wipes), and didn't purchase a few items she wanted (like a vacuum cleaner - hah!). She's still advocating for renting a dorm refrigerator (why would a kid who's getting 21 meals a week from food service need a refrigerator?) and I'm beginning to unbend about the new backpack (this will really, truly be the last one I buy).

What is stressing her out is that her roommate has decided to defer enrollment. (She's having a baby! OMG!) So, while I'm happy because now I can picture Emma Jane in her new room, with the blue comforter and blue rag rug and blue towels, neither of us knows now whether the other bed will be occupied at all, and if so, by whom. For once, I'm glad she decided to go for this BFA Acting program, with its tiny class and individualized attention. Even if she gets the worst roommate in the world, I know she won't be completely lost.

Meanwhile, I agreed to buy a wastepaper basket, although her usual habit is to throw trash down wherever (and often within six inches of the can). She's got Aleve and tampons and coffee and plastic cups and power cables and extra long twin sheets and BandAids and a desk lamp and a bike lock and plenty of clean underwear. What more does a kid need? Anyway, if we forgot something, there's always the Post Office.

Kids' Shoes

Day 128: Kids' Shoes

Sam's shoes

At last, we are getting organized and planning for Emma's departure nineteen days from now. Step one: bringing four very full baskets of dirty clothes to the basement laundry. The dozen pairs of shoes that revealed themselves under the layers of textiles went right into a box for the Salvation Army. Some are too small, some too worn out and some just not in favor any more. Also headed for the Salvation Army: Sam's most recent pair of soccer cleats and a pair of his sneakers.

Emma's shoes

The Salvation Army is not my favorite charity - you and what army? the salvation army? - but the Salvation Army is the only charity in Ann Arbor accepting donations until the end of August. The others are all too full. While some people are shoeless and starving, we in my home town literally can't give our stuff away. The Salvation Army puts our Ann Arbor goods in a truck and drives them to our local third world country (i.e., Detroit). Yes, that's a true statement.

Meanwhile, back at the home front, did you know that it is SOP for younger siblings to get the older siblings' awesome room? What is now Sam's dark, tiny room will soon be Emma's. She mostly won't be living in it; why waste all these built-ins and bright windows? For now, she and I have agreed just to wash and sort the clothes, get rid of the obvious unused items, and leave the cleaning and organizing to me for after she's gone. I won't shed tears as I remove layers of dust from the shelves, scrape chewing gum off the wood floor and collect stray coins and spoons from between the wall and the bedpost.

Or maybe I will.

Today, for the first time in many, many weeks, I didn't need to have my cell phone in my pocket, because everyone I really want to talk to - Rich, Sam, Emma - was at home.

But not for long.