
<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-30-house-numbers/4565726231_e477f7115c_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image post-thumb" title="29">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-30-house-numbers/4565726231_8fb7514f43_t.jpg" alt="29"/>
</a>

Recently during a daily walk around town, I noticed this cracked facade with the house number, 29, looking as old as the house. For the rest of the walk, and subsequent walks that week, my eyes were drawn to the numbers above the doors of houses, some ornate, some decaying, all interesting. I briefly considered taking enough pictures to have all the first 29 integers in sequence, but I decided against it, partially because I'm lazy and partially because my photography interests are so capricious. Ooh, look! [A flower](http://www.flickr.com/photos/erikrasmussen/4500641625/)!  By complete chance, the order I felt these should be presented in turned out to be descending numerical order. Just because the differences in the values are 4, 5, 7, 2, and 10 does not mean that this post is a covert communication with my CIA commander back in the Motherland. We do that [over Twitter](http://twitter.com/erikras).

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-30-house-numbers/4566357254_f5aa76d284_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="29">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-30-house-numbers/4566357254_f958ecf57a_b.jpg" alt="29"/>
</a>

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-30-house-numbers/4566360528_f3dc36be1b_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="25">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-30-house-numbers/4566360528_26a8bc661f_b.jpg" alt="25"/>
</a>

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-30-house-numbers/4565733067_8a1268b00b_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="20">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-30-house-numbers/4565733067_ec10f90a7f.jpg" alt="20"/>
</a>

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-30-house-numbers/4566366094_5006025571_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="13">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-30-house-numbers/4566366094_56eb1b58c1.jpg" alt="13"/>
</a>

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-30-house-numbers/4565739565_54c339c49c_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="11">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-30-house-numbers/4565739565_74e6333311.jpg" alt="11"/>
</a>

 Nice wrought-iron dragon lamp.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-30-house-numbers/4565745139_5f63657a0c_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="1">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-30-house-numbers/4565745139_18964ba043.jpg" alt="1"/>
</a>

 I didn't over-saturate this one. The colors really are the vibrant.


House Numbers


For years now, I have been listening to the opposition party in Spain complain about every little problem and blame it all on the current governing party. For one, this attitude lead me to my epiphany four years ago that [Conservatives Complain More](/2006/06/19/voting/), but it has also lead me to develop a new pet peeve. Complaining about the government is easy. Everyone's angry about something. If you're not, you're either high or stupid. What's _really_ hard is suggesting a better way to do whatever it is you think the government is bungling. Recently, I've made a point of countering complaints with, "How would you do X better if you were in power?" The result is amazing. Most people shut up immediately or ignore the question. The ones that actually have an answer are those that have actually thought through the problem. _Those_ are the people to listen to. Recently on Facebook, I was discussing the US education system with a friend and teacher of mine. He was complaining that standardized test scores are an unfair measure of a teacher's ability, and that other things like enthusiasm for learning should be taken into account. I replied thus:

> How do you evaluate student Learning and Enthusiasm on a county-wide, state-wide, or nationwide level? If you don't like standardized bubble-filling tests, then you're going to have to put student evaluators in all the schools whose job is specifically to give their _opinion_, which you hope is in line with your views, about how students are doing, but at some point along the line, you have to boil things down to a number. Why? Because numbers can be legislated.
> 
> It's been shown that driving a car while sleepy is just as dangerous if not more dangerous than driving while intoxicated. But only for one of those do we have an ability to quickly measure it and get a number. And that's the crime that can feasibly be legislated against.
> 
> You can't sort a list of students, teachers, schools, or districts until you can assign each a number. **There will always be a discrepancy between what's fair and what's feasible. Even if we had perfect leaders, we'd be enraged about they how rule us.**
> 
> I agree that the situation could be improved, but it's not clear to me how. Waxing poetic about how a myriad of unquantifiable factors should be taken into account, while easy, isn't helping to solve the problem. Perhaps you have feasible ideas about how to improve things and this is not the forum. I'm just playing the devil's advocate to encourage that line of thought just in case you become, or get the ear of, someone with the power to change things.

Once you start thinking about the political world like this, you can very quickly evaluate the people that know what they're talking about and those that don't. The same goes for journalists. The good journalists are the ones that ask the "What would you do differently?" question. It's amazing how often the response is, "Well, I'll tell you what I _wouldn't_ do: what the current government is doing!"

It turns out governing is hard. Think before you complain next time. I promise I will.


Constructive Criticism


<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-28-letter-train/4560111918_43f9b46114_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image post-thumb" title="Nora Train">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-28-letter-train/4560111918_3947cd1eaf_t.jpg" alt="Nora Train"/>
</a>

This train of letters caught my eye on the dining room table recently, casting nice shadows in the morning sunlight. I think Nora's grandparents or great-grandfather probably bought it for her. Just think of all the money we're saving on things like this by giving her a four letter name!  <a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-28-letter-train/4560102816_8976777022_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Nora Train">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-28-letter-train/4560102816_a9acf19c52.jpg" alt="Nora Train"/>
</a>

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-28-letter-train/4559475683_58884fb279_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Nora Train">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-28-letter-train/4559475683_e8345d83a6.jpg" alt="Nora Train"/>
</a>

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-28-letter-train/4559480021_503b15bfc0_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Nora Train">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-28-letter-train/4559480021_1c0ebff9a5.jpg" alt="Nora Train"/>
</a>

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-28-letter-train/4560111918_43f9b46114_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Nora Train">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-28-letter-train/4560111918_3947cd1eaf.jpg" alt="Nora Train"/>
</a>


Letter Train


<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-27-bipedal-mischief/4557891210_a0730d6d56_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image post-thumb" title="Sssh! Don't tell the child labor people!">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-27-bipedal-mischief/4557891210_248c31c19f_t.jpg" alt="Sssh! Don't tell the child labor people!"/>
</a>

It seems like every time I turn my back on Nora in her walker, she's off investigating some corner of the house she perhaps shouldn't be. Several times she's closed kitchen drawers on her fingers, which warrants a "kiss to make it better" and a stern lecture about drawer safety from her father. On Saturday, when I was gutting and cleaning [some fresh anchovies](http://www.flickr.com/photos/erikrasmussen/4546105857/), I noticed an eerie silence in the background and went to see what she might be up to, only to find her asleep at the wheel. And I thought _I_ was bored by the anchovy cleaning!  <a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-27-bipedal-mischief/4555444376_2628250736_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="AstroNOT: Asleep at the wheel">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-27-bipedal-mischief/4555444376_7b9f941e22.jpg" alt="AstroNOT: Asleep at the wheel"/>
</a>

 "Orbiter, this is Houston. Come in. Over." "Orbiter?" "This is Houston, do you read me?" "Can you hear me, Major Tom?"

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-27-bipedal-mischief/4557254171_6092706a15_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Natural Selection in 3...2...1...">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-27-bipedal-mischief/4557254171_0ec656f21f.jpg" alt="Natural Selection in 3...2...1..."/>
</a>

 Natural selection in 3... 2... 1...

No, not really. We bought some outlet covers that are pretty spiffy. It never would have occurred to me that outlets with something already plugged in might be dangerous, but sure enough, the outlet pictured had a lamp plugged in before she got there and unplugged it. But as soon as the plug was removed, the spring-loaded outlet cover snapped shut preventing any fingers from getting inside. Very clever.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-27-bipedal-mischief/4557891210_a0730d6d56_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Sssh! Don't tell the child labor people!">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-27-bipedal-mischief/4557891210_248c31c19f.jpg" alt="Sssh! Don't tell the child labor people!"/>
</a>

 Who needs a roomba? Ssssh! Don't tell the child labor people!

I'm trying not to imagine what it will be like when she can walk freely without the walker and the buffer it provides.


Bipedal Mischief


<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-26-goatherds-and-terrorism/945093146_b0f8eadff0_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image post-thumb" title="Goat meeting">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-26-goatherds-and-terrorism/945093146_cad3609af4_t.jpg" alt="Goat meeting"/>
</a>

At the moment I'm reading this fascinating book called [Outliers](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Outliers_%28book%29), by Malcolm Gladwell ([amazon](http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0316017922?ie=UTF8&tag=eriksblog07-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=0316017922)). It's a fantastic read and I could easily write a few posts about each chapter, but I want to focus specifically on one theory, discussed in Chapter 6, about violence and honor...and goats.  The author begins by telling a story of a small town in Kentucky where, in the early nineteenth century, the two richest families in town didn't get along. One thing led to another, and eventually they were hunting each other down with shotguns, with each attack spawning another retaliation. The story then pans back to look at all of Appalachia to reveal that such gun-wielding family feuds were actually quite rampant across the whole mountain range during the nineteenth century. But why? One theory, called [Culture of Honor](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Southern_culture_of_honor), suggests that the origin goes back many generations, back to the lifestyle of the Scottish highlanders that settled the Appalachian mountains.

The theory goes like this, quoting Gladwell:

> Cultures of honor tend to take root in highlands and other marginally fertile areas. If you live on some rocky mountainside, the explanation goes, you can't farm. You probably raise goats or sheep, and the kind of culture that grows up around being a herdsman is very different from the culture that grows up around growing crops. The survival of a farmer depends on the cooperation of others in the community. But a herdsman is off by himself. Farmers also don't have to worry that their livelihood will be stolen in the night, because crops can't easily be stolen unless, of course, a thief wants to go to the trouble of harvesting an entire field on his own. But a herdsman does have to worry. He's under constant threat of ruin through the loss of his animals. So he has to be aggressive: he has to make it clear, through his words and deeds, that he is not weak. He has to be willing to fight in response to even the slightest challenge to his reputation - and that's what a "culture of honor" means. It's a world where a man's reputation is at the center of his livelihood and self-worth.

If this theory were true, what would it predict? Where might we find revenge-fueled violence from cultures of honor around the world? Well, where do we find "marginally fertile highlands" with lots of goatherds?

- Scotland and Northern Ireland
- The Basque Country
- Sicily
- Afghanistan

Is that a handpicked list of places that happen to fit the theory? Why yes, it is. Is it reasonable to make a blanket judgment about all people from these regions? Of course not. Like with most aspects of sociology and psychology, the best this theory can do is predict the likelihood of violent tendencies in a population as a whole. However, I still find this theory fascinating, and I'd be willing to bet that when it came to the question of "should we retaliate violently?", people from sheep and goat herding cultures would probably be more willing to vote yes.

From what I can tell, this theory originated with Richard E. Nisbett and Dov Cohen in their book [Culture of Honor: The Psychology of Violence in the South](http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0813319935?ie=UTF8&tag=eriksblog07-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=0813319935).


Goatherds and Terrorism


<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-26-local-peas/4554121219_e268d1238b_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image post-thumb" title="Peas">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-26-local-peas/4554121219_caafbbe544_t.jpg" alt="Peas"/>
</a>

During the recent flying ban in Europe because of the volcano in Iceland, some of the grocery stores in the UK started to run out of fresh fruit. This reminded me of a few years back when the Spanish truckers union was on strike for a few days and the grocery shelves became empty surprisingly fast. These little reminders about how quickly our global food supply chain can collapse with just the slightest hiccup are a little sobering. When we hit Peak Oil [any day now](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Peak_oil#Timing_of_peak_oil), "eating locally" might not be for the rich suburban housewives anymore.

Last week at the grocery store, I noticed a sign saying "Peas from Colindres" in the vegetable section, so I asked how they should be prepared and bought a kilo. I was told to boil them for a little bit first, and then place them in a frying pan with some small diced bits of _jamón_, Spanish cured ham. The result was very, very nice. <a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-26-local-peas/4554747380_0be476c857_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Local Peas">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-26-local-peas/4554747380_3bc3cc802a_b.jpg" alt="Local Peas"/>
</a>

 They were grown and brought in by a local woman.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-26-local-peas/4554117351_19d3dd377d_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Peas in a Pod">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-26-local-peas/4554117351_580e047a35.jpg" alt="Peas in a Pod"/>
</a>

 It took me a good long while to depod (?) them all, but eating the occasional raw pea made it fun.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-26-local-peas/4554121219_e268d1238b_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Peas">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-26-local-peas/4554121219_caafbbe544.jpg" alt="Peas"/>
</a>

 Liberated from their cozy pods.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-26-local-peas/4554759752_f8cd7e1c12_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Peas and Ham">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-26-local-peas/4554759752_9b8f179e35.jpg" alt="Peas and Ham"/>
</a>

 The final result in the frying pan.


Local Peas


![thumb](https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-23-sitting-up-and-unboxing/1.jpg)Nora, today you had a big milestone that made me really proud of you. You actually managed to go from a "lying down" position to a "sitting up" position! You did so by slowly walking your hands close and closer to you until you could push your center of gravity over your butt. This is a big step for you ever since you realized that you could reach objects further away by lying down to get them, and then wailing until one of your parents sat you back up. Of course other children your age are learning to sprint, but we take our small victories where we can. Congratulations.  Last Saturday morning, you were sitting on your Abuela's kitchen table with a cookie in your hand. Also on the table, you discovered, was a little plastic tray that had originally contained some paté, I think. You began putting your cookie in the tray, taking it back out, putting it back in, etc. etc. At one point you took my hand, which was on your leg to avoid you falling off the table, and put it in the tray too. I thought you wanted me to take the cookie back out, but after about the eighth time, I realized you were also storing my hand in your little treasure chest.

A few days later, your mother had the idea to pull out this box of [russian owls](/2007/08/25/russian-owls/) that we've had in storage for a while. They are great fun to you, but principally as a set of items that you can insert and remove, sometimes quite violently, into and from the box they came in. Unfortunately you haven't quite grasped the idea that you can't put something into the box until you've opened the box. I have no doubt that you'll catch on eventually.

Also demonstrated in this video is your latest greatest attempt at that elusive locomotion called "crawling" in which you use your upper arm strength to drag your belly along the floor.

Personally, I'm just happy to witness a behavior in you that reduces the entropy around here.


Sitting Up and Unboxing


<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-21-wah-wah-wah/4541045798_d2c5286bfc_o_d.png" target="_blank" class="flickr-image post-thumb" title="Wah Wah">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-21-wah-wah-wah/4541045798_10dbaf5b1a_t.jpg" alt="Wah Wah"/>
</a>

Nora's vocalizations have become much more complex recently. She's been playing a lot lately with the O and A vowel sounds, and getting a lot of positive reinforcement for those sounds because most of her vocalizations sound somewhere between "hola" and "oh yeah!" Just the other day she said "hola" with perfect pronunciation and inflection. Unfortunately she was alone in the room at the time. And yesterday she said her name. After bath time, she was standing, with my help, naked on the changing table looking at herself in the mirror, pounding on her chest like a proud gorilla, and suddenly she shouted, "I'm Nora!" I'm reasonably positive that she doesn't yet understand the meaning to that sonic utterance, but both her mother's and my brains recognized the pattern of sound as being English words. Soon after that, when her mother was trying to cut her toe nails, I said, "Who's the bravest monkey?", to which she shouted, "Nora!"  She's also getting to the stage where she can somewhat understand mimicry, either repeating the actions of another, or being amused when another person repeats her actions. A favorite game is for her to raise her hand above her head, causing me to do the same, she drops it, I drop mine...and repeat. Controlling Daddy's arms like he's a puppet is a lot of fun.

The other day when I was trying to entertain her during bath time, I decided to make the "wah wah" sound with my hand over my open mouth. She immediately repeated my action, though using the back of her hand instead of the palm. We continued doing this back and forth for a while. The next day I decided to record a video of her doing this, because it was just so cute.


Wah Wah Wah


<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-20-april-rioja-trip-day-2-of-2/4537404397_1edb7a0c34_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image post-thumb" title="Wine from 1970">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-20-april-rioja-trip-day-2-of-2/4537404397_93e42fa654_t.jpg" alt="Wine from 1970"/>
</a>

[Previously, in Rioja...](/2010/04/19/april-rioja-trip-day-1-of-2/)

On Sunday we woke up at 11:00 to the peaceful sound of no baby crying. After a quick breakfast at the pub neighboring the hotel, we checked out and the group of eleven of us took our three vehicles and headed towards Haro. I have wanted to visit Haro for some time, ever since learning about the _Batalla de Vino_ they host every year, which I detailed in [the 17th post on this blog](/2006/06/29/batalla-de-vino/) back in June 2006. At some point on the way to Haro, the Tom Tom GPS unit in the leading car, decided that it wanted to visit the town of Cenicero. I have noticed Cenicero on the map a few times and chuckled at its horrible name, which is Spanish for "ashtray". Wielding my trusty GPS-enabled iPhone, I volunteered to lead us to Haro, and in twenty minutes we were there. We walked towards the city center, saw the town square and the church. Once a restaurant had been found and a table for 11 reserved, we began our bar hopping for tapas.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-20-april-rioja-trip-day-2-of-2/4538007658_7626367776_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Haro">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-20-april-rioja-trip-day-2-of-2/4538007658_2e31b935ac_b.jpg" alt="Haro"/>
</a>

 I love medieval streets like this one.

I went into a wine shop to look around, and one of my friends came in and told me quietly, "This isn't a wine shop. Follow me down the street and I'll show you a real wine shop!" He took me to the simple-looking Vinoteca Juan González.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-20-april-rioja-trip-day-2-of-2/4538045916_4916948ce6_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Vinoteca Juan González">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-20-april-rioja-trip-day-2-of-2/4538045916_29c41f91c3.jpg" alt="Vinoteca Juan González"/>
</a>

 "The 1st club of wine of Rioja", the sign reads.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-20-april-rioja-trip-day-2-of-2/4537389661_89855113b5_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Vinoteca">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-20-april-rioja-trip-day-2-of-2/4537389661_603f970abf_b.jpg" alt="Vinoteca"/>
</a>

 Inside, I was blown away by all the variety (all from Rioja, of course) of wine they had.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-20-april-rioja-trip-day-2-of-2/4538022544_7d95074865_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Vinoteca">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-20-april-rioja-trip-day-2-of-2/4538022544_0f386bb4f1.jpg" alt="Vinoteca"/>
</a>

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-20-april-rioja-trip-day-2-of-2/4537399363_d4a2863466_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="This is what I want my stairs to look like">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-20-april-rioja-trip-day-2-of-2/4537399363_fdb23bf275_b.jpg" alt="This is what I want my stairs to look like"/>
</a>

 The stairs down to the cellar were blocked off. Who knows how much wine there is down there!

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-20-april-rioja-trip-day-2-of-2/4537404397_1edb7a0c34_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Wine from 1970">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-20-april-rioja-trip-day-2-of-2/4537404397_93e42fa654.jpg" alt="Wine from 1970"/>
</a>

 I thought this wine from 1970 and 1964 was old, until I saw the bottles from even earlier!

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-20-april-rioja-trip-day-2-of-2/4537409483_af1b1a1363_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Wine from 1934">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-20-april-rioja-trip-day-2-of-2/4537409483_bb8301ff44.jpg" alt="Wine from 1934"/>
</a>

 The harvest from 1934.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-20-april-rioja-trip-day-2-of-2/4538051022_1d23222d0e_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Tapas">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-20-april-rioja-trip-day-2-of-2/4538051022_856f0699a3.jpg" alt="Tapas"/>
</a>

 Back outside, we started eying the tapas in each bar.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-20-april-rioja-trip-day-2-of-2/4537413051_6f4cc90fba_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Crispy Shrimp Tapas">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-20-april-rioja-trip-day-2-of-2/4537413051_ac95972f0e.jpg" alt="Crispy Shrimp Tapas"/>
</a>

 Shrimp crisps, these are called.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-20-april-rioja-trip-day-2-of-2/4537428657_fe45431647_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Tapas">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-20-april-rioja-trip-day-2-of-2/4537428657_e2b875815f_b.jpg" alt="Tapas"/>
</a>

 Sometimes I really love my adopted country. From near to far:

1. Bread, Spanish ham, asparagus stalk, quail egg.
2. Bread, Spanish ham, asparagus stalk, cheese, olive.
3. Bread, Spanish ham, asparagus stalk, goat cheese.
4. Bread, fried foie gras.

I had #3, because I'm loco for goat cheese.

Eventually it was time to head to the restaurant.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-20-april-rioja-trip-day-2-of-2/4537384401_61db8723e1_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Beethoven II">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-20-april-rioja-trip-day-2-of-2/4537384401_bac19fd25b.jpg" alt="Beethoven II"/>
</a>

 We ate at the [Beethoven II](http://www.restaurantebeethoven.com/), which was across the street from Beethoven I.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-20-april-rioja-trip-day-2-of-2/4537433017_cebe06cb66_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Paella">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-20-april-rioja-trip-day-2-of-2/4537433017_3a98b00cd7.jpg" alt="Paella"/>
</a>

 Veronica's cleverly shaped paella.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-20-april-rioja-trip-day-2-of-2/4538065858_767fd70238_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Leg of Lamb with Potatoes">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-20-april-rioja-trip-day-2-of-2/4538065858_a406331fe6.jpg" alt="Leg of Lamb with Potatoes"/>
</a>

 My leg of lamb with potatoes. It was wonderful!

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-20-april-rioja-trip-day-2-of-2/4532264385_971539629f_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Pesquera">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-20-april-rioja-trip-day-2-of-2/4532264385_3fa4bd009c.jpg" alt="Pesquera"/>
</a>

 Some of my friends had the nerve to order a [Pesquera 2006](http://www.grandwinecellar.com/vsku1524829.html?utm_source=Google%20Products&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=BODEGAS%20ALEJANDRO%20FERNANDEZ%20RIBERA%20DEL%20DUERO%20TINTO%20PESQUERA%202006), from Ribera Del Duero, Spain's other principal wine-making region, Rioja's arch rival. The restaurant only had one bottle of it. Apparently not many people have the gall to order a rival wine in Haro. My friend claims that Rioja has reigned supreme too long and is resting on its laurels, and Ribera Del Duero is the underdog who's really putting in the effort and making some great wine. Sounds plausible, and the Pesquera was _amazing_. But then [a good story makes wine taste better](/2009/10/19/the-wine-industry-is-mostly-bullshit/).

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-20-april-rioja-trip-day-2-of-2/4537445307_a41d1c59de_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Camino de Santiago (Way of St. James)">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-20-april-rioja-trip-day-2-of-2/4537445307_903d137d68.jpg" alt="Camino de Santiago (Way of St. James)"/>
</a>

 by erikrasmussen, on Flickr") On our way back to the car, it started to rain, and I took this photograph of a brass scallop on the sidewalk, the symbol of Saint James, and the way pilgrims are guided along the Way of St. James, which passes through Haro.

We drove to my in-laws', picked up Nora – if she was pleased to see us, she didn't show it – and headed home to Colindres, arriving just after 22:00, tired, but happy.


April Rioja Trip - Day 2 of 2


<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-19-april-rioja-trip-day-1-of-2/4534806520_bf4a846b37_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image post-thumb" title="Bodega Pimiento">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-19-april-rioja-trip-day-1-of-2/4534806520_cd7e30062b_t.jpg" alt="Bodega Pimiento"/>
</a>

The group of friends that Marga and I dance salsa with a couple times a month organized a trip down to the Rioja region this past weekend. On Friday evening we drove to my in-laws in Mondragon to drop off Nora. Because of my work and errands Marga had to do, we left home at 22:00, a full hour and a half after Nora had gone to bed. While docile all the way from crib to car seat, she ended up crying the whole ninety minute trip. I dislike driving late at night, and it was nice to have someone in the car to keep me awake. On Saturday morning we got up fairly leisurely and left around 11:00 to head south to the Rioja region of Spain. We had a hotel booked in Logroño, but, after getting in touch with our friends who were driving down from Cantabria, we went first to a tiny, tiny town named Tirgo to have lunch in a restaurant that one of our friends knew about. There was no menu, they just had what they had that day. Luckily it turned out to be fried peppers, chorizo, morcilla (blood sausage), salad, and lamb chops. \[I started salivating again just typing that sentence.\]  After finding the restaurant and reserving a table at 12:00, which is _waaaay_ too early for Spaniards to have lunch, we drove to the nearby town of Santo Domingo de la Calzada, which a dictionary might lead you to believe means Saint Dominic of the [Dual Carriageway](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carriageway), but _calzada_ also generally refers to shoes and was the name of [the guy](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dominic_de_la_Calzada) who built some bridges there and founded the town. [The Way of Saint James](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Way_of_St._James), a well-traveled pilgrimage route, passes through the north part of the Rioja region of Spain on its way to Santiago de la Compostela, in Galicia. In 2009, the town celebrated the 900th anniversary of the death of its founder. Santo Domingo de la Calzada is embedded in the general knowledge of many Spaniards because of a miracle that allegedly took place there in the 14th century that is summarized by the rhyme:

> _En Santo Domingo de la Calzada, cantó la gallina después de asada._

which translates to:

> In Santo Domingo de la Calzada, the hen sang after roasting.

The following is translated by yours truly from [the Wikipedia page](http://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Las_leyendas_del_Camino#El_milagro_del_gallo_y_la_gallina).

> In the 14th century, a young 18-year-old German pilgrim named Hugonell, is traveling to Compostela, accompanied by his parents. A young girl who works in the lodge where they are staying falls in love with him and wants to make love to him. He says no. Rejected, and with vengeful thoughts, she places a silver cup in Hugonell's bag and later accuses him of theft.
> 
> Just as Hugonell and his parents are getting ready to leave to continue their pilgrimage, the judge arrives and checks his bag for evidence of the theft. He's found guilty and sentenced to be hanged. His parents can't do anything but pray to Saint Dominic. Once he is hanged, they go to his body to say their goodbyes, and he speaks to him and says that he's still alive, thanks to the Saint.
> 
> Delighted, they go to communicate the news to the magistrate, who, just at that moment, is sitting down to eat a meal of a hen and rooster. Naturally, the magistrate mocks what he hears and says the well-known phrase, "Your son is as dead as this rooster and this hen that I was about to eat before you interrupted!" At that moment the birds jump up from the plate and begin singing and crowing with joy.

Because of this story, the town cathedral still keeps chickens inside, as I assume most churches did back in the middle ages. I'm not sure how it's learned, but all the Spaniards I was with knew the rhyme, and some knew the story of the miracle. One of my friends joked, about the story, "They really should cook their poultry better here."

When we were discussing the story in the van on the way to the town, the person in the very back seat said she was hot and asked the person in front of her to open the window. I said, wittily, "If you're roasted, sing!" Everyone burst into laughter.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-19-april-rioja-trip-day-1-of-2/4534140383_23b38ed12c_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Church Square - Santo Domingo de la Calzada">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-19-april-rioja-trip-day-1-of-2/4534140383_93bfdeab33.jpg" alt="Church Square - Santo Domingo de la Calzada"/>
</a>

 The church square.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-19-april-rioja-trip-day-1-of-2/4534779594_3565535fb4_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Church - Santo Domingo de la Calzada">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-19-april-rioja-trip-day-1-of-2/4534779594_06202a3fe2.jpg" alt="Church - Santo Domingo de la Calzada"/>
</a>

 I assume that's Saint Dominic there in the middle.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-19-april-rioja-trip-day-1-of-2/4534157829_0956d84354_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Medieval Second Floor Flat for Sale">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-19-april-rioja-trip-day-1-of-2/4534157829_f95cd9a311.jpg" alt="Medieval Second Floor Flat for Sale"/>
</a>

 This medieval house right next to the bell tower has a second floor apartment for sale!

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-19-april-rioja-trip-day-1-of-2/4534795914_3168f44963_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Woodworking shop">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-19-april-rioja-trip-day-1-of-2/4534795914_dafe055000.jpg" alt="Woodworking shop"/>
</a>

 Peering nosily into a woodworking shop where someone has carved a model of the church.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-19-april-rioja-trip-day-1-of-2/4534801176_12e3dbca59_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Hot covered tapas">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-19-april-rioja-trip-day-1-of-2/4534801176_88cbd9d21e.jpg" alt="Hot covered tapas"/>
</a>

 On the way back to the car after our appetite-building walk, we stopped for a vermouth and a calamari tapa at this bar.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-19-april-rioja-trip-day-1-of-2/4534806520_bf4a846b37_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Bodega Pimiento">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-19-april-rioja-trip-day-1-of-2/4534806520_cd7e30062b.jpg" alt="Bodega Pimiento"/>
</a>

 We ate lunch at the Bodega Pimiento.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-19-april-rioja-trip-day-1-of-2/4534178721_9dfe57a2c6_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Bodega Pimiento">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-19-april-rioja-trip-day-1-of-2/4534178721_32299a3f92.jpg" alt="Bodega Pimiento"/>
</a>

 It was very rustic.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-19-april-rioja-trip-day-1-of-2/4534824622_fbf56cd8b5_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Bodega Pimiento">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-19-april-rioja-trip-day-1-of-2/4534824622_acb440af0f.jpg" alt="Bodega Pimiento"/>
</a>

 Mmmm... wine!

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-19-april-rioja-trip-day-1-of-2/4534829322_5d4ae2dd2d_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Chorizo and Morcilla">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-19-april-rioja-trip-day-1-of-2/4534829322_599d62a055.jpg" alt="Chorizo and Morcilla"/>
</a>

 The chorizo and morcilla for our first course. Morcilla, blood sausage, often with rice inside, might be my favorite Spanish food of all.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-19-april-rioja-trip-day-1-of-2/4534200959_eb5106b2b9_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Agustí­n with a Rioja wine">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-19-april-rioja-trip-day-1-of-2/4534200959_8d40d8e872.jpg" alt="Agustí­n with a Rioja wine"/>
</a>

 Agustí­n chose the [Viña Alberdi 2003](http://www.riojalta.com/en/la-rioja-alta/cada-vino.php?id=16&id_bodega=3) that we had to accompany our meal.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-19-april-rioja-trip-day-1-of-2/4534216613_377b1379b1_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Chuletillas">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-19-april-rioja-trip-day-1-of-2/4534216613_4c5c62585d.jpg" alt="Chuletillas"/>
</a>

 Lamb chops, flavored, I think I heard, with the smoke from grapevines. They were fantastic. I ate way too many of these.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-19-april-rioja-trip-day-1-of-2/4534856236_2401aa8652_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Dessert at Bodega Pimiento">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-19-april-rioja-trip-day-1-of-2/4534856236_e601c916e9.jpg" alt="Dessert at Bodega Pimiento"/>
</a>

 An assortment of cream-filled, sugar-dusted desserts.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-19-april-rioja-trip-day-1-of-2/4534227047_05357f755e_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Dessert at Bodega Pimiento">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-19-april-rioja-trip-day-1-of-2/4534227047_7300c9c980.jpg" alt="Dessert at Bodega Pimiento"/>
</a>

 Creamy cylinder of goodness!

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-19-april-rioja-trip-day-1-of-2/4534261277_9512de47a4_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Marga">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-19-april-rioja-trip-day-1-of-2/4534261277_a869c2f937.jpg" alt="Marga"/>
</a>

 Marga looks contented.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-19-april-rioja-trip-day-1-of-2/4534247125_1536219f37_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Grass Liqueur">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-19-april-rioja-trip-day-1-of-2/4534247125_f7b8af129f.jpg" alt="Grass Liqueur"/>
</a>

 My grass-flavored liqueur.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-19-april-rioja-trip-day-1-of-2/4534266857_9387093472_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="The Grill">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-19-april-rioja-trip-day-1-of-2/4534266857_1a9bdd3609.jpg" alt="The Grill"/>
</a>

 On the way out, I noticed the grill where our food had been cooked.

After checking in a the hotel in Logroño at 17:00, we all decided to take a siesta and regroup at 20:30 to go out on the town. We took three taxis (there were eleven of us) to the city center and began several hours of tapa consumption. We ordered small beers and tapas in each place, consuming seven or eight tapas over the course of about three hours. I _LOVE_ this style of bar hopping, known as _picoteo_, because you're never bored or hungry or thirsty or full or drunk. In good company, you can maintain a level of blissful contentedness for hours on end. Some of the tapas I can remember include, _foie gras_, little ham sandwiches, _patatas bravas_ (fried potatoes in a spicy sauce), and grilled mushrooms.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-19-april-rioja-trip-day-1-of-2/4536943745_042e61a857_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Patatas Bravas">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-19-april-rioja-trip-day-1-of-2/4536943745_7115741149.jpg" alt="Patatas Bravas"/>
</a>

 These are _patatas bravas_. The sauce was just the right amount of _picante_ for me, but too much for most of the group.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-19-april-rioja-trip-day-1-of-2/4537578288_1820d1270e_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Patatas Bravas">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-19-april-rioja-trip-day-1-of-2/4537578288_49d4115bf8.jpg" alt="Patatas Bravas"/>
</a>

 The solution is to mix the spicy stuff with a cooler white sauce.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-19-april-rioja-trip-day-1-of-2/4536951351_33be810ec0_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Embuchados">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-19-april-rioja-trip-day-1-of-2/4536951351_e33d518009.jpg" alt="Embuchados"/>
</a>

 These are _embuchados_, lamb intestine rolled up, cooked, and then sliced into thin rolls. Normally I'm all for some good offal, but these were a little bitter.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-19-april-rioja-trip-day-1-of-2/4537588244_6f49b42436_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Iván brings ham sandwiches">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-19-april-rioja-trip-day-1-of-2/4537588244_550eb97b7b.jpg" alt="Iván brings ham sandwiches"/>
</a>

 Iván brings some open-faced ham sandwiches.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-19-april-rioja-trip-day-1-of-2/4537599210_b604d1b7e9_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Foie-ntástico!">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-19-april-rioja-trip-day-1-of-2/4537599210_e92e139477.jpg" alt="Foie-ntástico!"/>
</a>

 Foie-ntástico foie gras!

Afterwards, we took a taxi back to the neighborhood of the hotel, where there were two salsa dancing clubs. We ordered mixed drinks and danced until 3:30 in the morning.


April Rioja Trip - Day 1 of 2


<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-16-correos-still-life/4522779305_bc96dcd30d_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image post-thumb" title="Correos">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-16-correos-still-life/4522779305_c1c1d50905_t.jpg" alt="Correos"/>
</a>

On [a recent walk](/2010/04/07/a-damp-spring-walk/) I snapped a photograph of the local postman's scooter. The mail in Colindres is delivered mostly by foot, with mailmen and mail-women walking around town pulling a little pull-cart, like the ones housewives pull to and from the grocery store. There's one mailman who zips around on a scooter, parking it in the middle of a neighborhood and delivering letters from it to the nearby houses. I really liked my photo of his scooter and decided to play with it in photoshop, adding a pseudo-tilt-shift focusing effect to the scooter, with some desaturation of the background. I liked it so much that when a mailbox caught my eye, sitting alone with a tree, the following day, I snapped a photograph. After some similar photoshopping, the mailbox and tree really look to be keeping each other company. With these two made, I decided to go, yesterday, and snap the other mailbox (there are only two in town that I know of). Lo and behold it, too, was accompanied by some inanimate friends. And thus, I present to you, Correos Still Life.  <a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-16-correos-still-life/4522779305_bc96dcd30d_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Correos">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-16-correos-still-life/4522779305_c1c1d50905.jpg" alt="Correos"/>
</a>

 In the US, the color for the US Postal Service is blue; in Britain, the Royal Mail is red; and in Spain, Correos is yellow.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-16-correos-still-life/4522776235_5f6345cf1d_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Tree and Mailbox Still Life">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-16-correos-still-life/4522776235_ca30eef212_b.jpg" alt="Tree and Mailbox Still Life"/>
</a>

 A tree with her yellow friend.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-16-correos-still-life/4522781625_38318b1732_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Mailbox, Pay Phone, Trash Can Still Life">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-16-correos-still-life/4522781625_9fe030d8b8.jpg" alt="Mailbox, Pay Phone, Trash Can Still Life"/>
</a>

 A mailbox and a garbage can keep an almost outdated phone booth company.


Correos Still Life


Last Saturday, Marga and I decided to take Nora down to a local optometrist to see if there were some sunglasses that fit her. Her [previous ones](/2009/10/19/the-futures-so-bright/) got lost. Nora was having absolutely nothing to do with trying on sunglasses, so we left to head back to the car to go to the mall. On the way back home, Marga noticed a coin purse on the ground near [a fruit shop](/2009/12/04/fruteria-how-to-open-a-small-business/). I picked it up and discovered a DNI (a Spanish national identity card), a credit card, and at least 50€ in it. Whenever I find a wallet, I am overtaken by empathy for its owner and do my best to do the right thing. The owner was a 28-year-old from Laredo. The fruit shop owner recognized her as a customer, but didn't really know her. So we went to the Colindres police station, only to find it abandoned. On our way [to the mall](/2010/04/11/difficult-sunday/), we stopped by the Laredo _Guardia Civil_ station to drop it off. They asked for all my details, including my name, cell phone number, and DNI number. Part of me, helped by Marga's definitively Spanish distrust of her fellow citizen (no ground floor window is without wrought iron bars in Spain), was concerned that the owner might be a jerk and claim that there was more money in it than was found, thus implicating me in a robbery. But the ladies at the _Guardia Civil_ (I was pleased to see female agents in such a male-dominated country) seemed so nice and assured me that they were only taking my information in case the owner wanted to thank me. After deciding that taking my information with a pen would be faster than the computer program, they let me go.

Later in the mall, as we were checking out the selection of car seats, I received a call from the owner of the wallet thanking me and saying, specifically, that she was "reassured to discover that there were still good people in the world." It definitely made my day.

The remarkable thing, that inspired this post, is that when we were in the local pharmacy today, a woman asked us if we were the couple that had found a wallet last Saturday. We said defensively, "Yes, but we turned it in!" It turns out that the woman talking to us was the aunt of the wallet dropper and also the mother-in-law of a coworker of Marga's. Such is the nature of a small town. How strange that the wallet loser would tell her aunt my name, and her aunt would recognize it as the husband of a coworker of her son-in-law. Weird.

It's awfully nice when an intentionally anonymous act of kindness gets discovered.


A Good Deed


<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-15-dancing-baby/4521421928_8403ecc2eb_o_d.png" target="_blank" class="flickr-image post-thumb" title="Dancing Nora">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-15-dancing-baby/4521421928_ca820fa7cd_t.jpg" alt="Dancing Nora"/>
</a>

Within the past week or so, we have noticed a new behavior in Nora. Whenever she hears music, from classical to bagpipes to hip-hop to rock, she raises her arms in the air and moves her body around. She's _dancing_! At first I was skeptical, because A) no one taught her this, and B) she moves around weird like that sometimes when there's no music. But after running a week of tests with various stimuli, I'm convinced that she really is responding to the rhythm of the music. It also helps that when she's doing her best to remain standing up, because her balancing muscles are not yet up to the task, her hips and torso sway around like she's a drunken Elvis. I know that dancing can be found in every human culture, but I wasn't expecting it to be quite this...innate.  Turn up your speakers before pressing play. And feel free to dance along with her.

On the other hand, I was spinning her mother around the dance floor up to five days before Nora was born, so perhaps she got some _in utero_ rhythm.


Dancing Baby


<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-14-aft-thrusters-engage/4519786281_db1e3ec392_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image post-thumb" title="Trouble On Wheels">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-14-aft-thrusters-engage/4519786281_420d368e3f_t.jpg" alt="Trouble On Wheels"/>
</a>

The volume of space in our house defined by the phrase "out of reach of children" is shrinking quickly. While still a couple months from walking on her own, I believe, Nora has greatly improved her in-walker mobility. She can now move forward, backward, and turn with ease. The result is that she can get to just about anywhere where we don't have a rug, and reach most things in the bottom ninety centimeters of the house. This includes many drawers and cabinets. Yesterday she was with me in the kitchen as I was doing the dishes. She watched intently as I opened a drawer to put a utensil in. Two seconds later she had her hand on the handle and was opening the drawer, pulling things out. We need to install some safety latches, stat! We bought drawer latches the other day, and the woman who sold them to us told us that it was absolutely paramount that the child never sees how to operate the latch, otherwise they're useless.  

Observant viewers will notice that in the days between the first and last clips, I removed and stored the tablecloth and rug that was under the table for an indeterminate number of years.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-14-aft-thrusters-engage/4519786281_db1e3ec392_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Trouble On Wheels">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-14-aft-thrusters-engage/4519786281_420d368e3f.jpg" alt="Trouble On Wheels"/>
</a>

 "Just looking to see what was in the cupboard, Dad!"

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-14-aft-thrusters-engage/4520446296_325f6ed4d2_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Trouble On Wheels">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-14-aft-thrusters-engage/4520446296_0416b1fe59.jpg" alt="Trouble On Wheels"/>
</a>

 "Ooh, kitchen towels!"

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-14-aft-thrusters-engage/4519797579_91e8285a65_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Trouble On Wheels">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-14-aft-thrusters-engage/4519797579_a74642d6a7.jpg" alt="Trouble On Wheels"/>
</a>

 Taking things out of drawers.

While I was watching her before and after taking these pictures, once she was trying to reach further into a drawer, and to get closer, she pushed her walker closer to the drawer, which in turn pushed the drawer closed on her hand. It wasn't very hard, but it was enough for her to withdraw her hand and inspect it carefully for damage without crying.


Aft Thrusters. Engage!


<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-13-strawberry-face/4515015353_38e666d4f4_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image post-thumb" title="Strawberries">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-13-strawberry-face/4515015353_5fb94bd076_t.jpg" alt="Strawberries"/>
</a>

Last week we decided to take advantage of the short strawberry season and I bought two kilos of strawberries. Marga had mentioned that we should buy some, and then Nora's friend, Tona, who works the fruit section of the local grocery store gave her a strawberry when my back was turned, reminding me that we should get some. From what I could tell, Nora really liked the flavor of the strawberries, but she wasn't very fond of having the meat of the berry in her mouth, spitting out whatever she bit off. Of course her nice white shirt was stained in no time at all. But I did get some adorable photographs.  <a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-13-strawberry-face/4515008473_4a5ae67a8e_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Two Kilograms of Strawberries">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-13-strawberry-face/4515008473_ec6825cc6c.jpg" alt="Two Kilograms of Strawberries"/>
</a>

 Two kilos of the good stuff from Huelva, Andalusia.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-13-strawberry-face/4515669476_8db4c58be1_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Strawberry Face">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-13-strawberry-face/4515669476_090f4b9a2a.jpg" alt="Strawberry Face"/>
</a>

 Strawberry girl.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-13-strawberry-face/4515663220_abcd332dd1_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Strawberry Face">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-13-strawberry-face/4515663220_6bbc765514.jpg" alt="Strawberry Face"/>
</a>

 "Do I have something on my face?"

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-13-strawberry-face/4515680878_289788da96_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Strawberry Face">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-13-strawberry-face/4515680878_462ca5949c.jpg" alt="Strawberry Face"/>
</a>

 Eating strawberries...sloppily.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-13-strawberry-face/4515049391_0df8eb3d60_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Strawberry Face">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-13-strawberry-face/4515049391_fbfb086568.jpg" alt="Strawberry Face"/>
</a>

 Spitting out the yucky bits.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-13-strawberry-face/4515719724_8566695048_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Strawberry Face">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-13-strawberry-face/4515719724_d2ec8e3941.jpg" alt="Strawberry Face"/>
</a>

 Showboating for the camera.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-13-strawberry-face/4515727486_c0bee7c7d4_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Strawberry Face">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-13-strawberry-face/4515727486_85579fa5aa.jpg" alt="Strawberry Face"/>
</a>

 This is what she does when you say, "Nora, show me your big mouth!" Not once has it failed to crack me up. It's also very handy for determining if she has swallowed the bite you just saw her take and can be given another.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-13-strawberry-face/4515086249_a597ff01b8_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Strawberry Face">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-13-strawberry-face/4515086249_0d77105a1d_b.jpg" alt="Strawberry Face"/>
</a>

 A contented berry eater.

You're not properly enjoying your childhood if your face and clothes are clean.


Strawberry Face


<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-11-difficult-sunday/4511082452_a409f0e371_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image post-thumb" title="Chorizo, Morcilla, Potatoes, and Fried Eggs">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-11-difficult-sunday/4511082452_77b7375acc_t.jpg" alt="Chorizo, Morcilla, Potatoes, and Fried Eggs"/>
</a>

Nora, the weekend that is now ending was our first one back in Spain after recovering from jet lag. We had no company (your aunt visited Thursday and Friday), and we were looking forward to a nice rest. On Saturday we went to the closest mall, in Santander, to pick up a few items and research car seats for you. We learned that you still need to [gain a few kilos](/2010/04/08/bean-pole/) before we can face you forward in the car, no matter how cramped you are facing backwards. I'm not sure if it was the experience of seeing so many people around you in the food court, but you didn't want any of your vegetable puree for lunch or the yogurt either. You were only hungry when Mommy and Daddy were eating bread. And your cookies. During our trip to the States, you trained us to give you cookies pretty much non-stop when you're in your now-crumb-covered stroller. When you finish one, you spin around, reach out your hand and screech. It was cute the first dozen times.  You didn't sleep a wink at the mall, and you didn't eat anything either other than cookies. Although we weren't walking more than a few hours, the mall experience completely exhausted your parents. Just as we were staggering towards the car in the afternoon sun, you began to cry. And cry. And cry. For the entire 30 minute car trip back home, and then for another 15 minutes as we walked zombily around town. Your bath, pajama donning, and evening cereal went fairly well, and you went to bed with less than twenty minutes of screaming, allowing your parents to snuggle a bit on the couch to watch Barcelona defeat Real Madrid rather soundly.

Sunday started early with screams coming from your room at 7:00. I was going to tell you go back to sleep, but my nose told me that you needed a diaper change. Your screaming during said diaper change awoke your mother, and we decided to give you some breakfast and see if you felt like sleeping another couple hours as much as we did. You didn't. From sunrise to sunset you were unhappy, just generally grumpy, I think, but I wouldn't have any way to distinguish that from teething pains, so what do I know?

You slept for about thirty minutes when I took you to go buy bread. By the time we were in the elevator to go downstairs you were asleep. You did better with the veggies today, but you still don't eat as much as you used to four months ago. In an attempt to get more food in you, we switched you to flavored strawberry yogurt instead of the natural no-flavor-added yogurt you normally have (until your introduction to the flavored kind in the US). You ate all but one spoonful of the yogurt, so we were happy. Too bad most of it came back up in the car on the way to the restaurant.

We decided to go to a restaurant in the middle of nowhere that your mother's employer has taken her to a few times. It's very, very, _very_ rural. We were sitting outside, and four separate patrons rode up on horses, hitched them, and went into the bar. _That_ rural. The restaurant specializes in fried eggs, chorizo, and morcilla (blood sausage), which is what we ordered.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-11-difficult-sunday/4510433997_7d7e75b9a8_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Sturdy Table">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-11-difficult-sunday/4510433997_b925808ff9.jpg" alt="Sturdy Table"/>
</a>

 Our table seemed to be an old grinding wheel from a mill. Unfortunately my legs didn't fit under it.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-11-difficult-sunday/4511082452_a409f0e371_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Chorizo, Morcilla, Potatoes, and Fried Eggs">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-11-difficult-sunday/4511082452_77b7375acc.jpg" alt="Chorizo, Morcilla, Potatoes, and Fried Eggs"/>
</a>

 This filled us up for the whole day. And the Brits call this "breakfast".

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-11-difficult-sunday/4510437383_392e9699a9_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Hi, Doggy">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-11-difficult-sunday/4510437383_2b19316fff.jpg" alt="Hi, Doggy"/>
</a>

 There were about three generations of what looked to be the same dog. The youngest one liked you.

For a lot of the time at the restaurant, and the whole way home in the car, you cried. Upon arriving home, your mother and I were exhausted. She lay down upstairs with a book, and I lay on the sofa with a book, and you lay in your crib screaming in exhaustion. Eventually we all slept...but not for long. At 5:45 you began screaming again, so we all groggily got up. You were inconsolable, squirming in our arms and desperately trying to get back into our arms when we put you down. So we decided to go for a walk.

About two minutes into the walk, your mother, who takes the majority of your abuse, asked if she could go back home and sit quietly in silence. I agreed. I had a secret weapon, you see. I had brought along my earphones to plug into my iPhone. Unfortunately it was surprisingly difficult to find music that would drown you out. You do, however, blend in rather well with 90's grunge rock.

During our walk, I came up with an idea. _I'm going to be rich!_ You know that sound proofing, echo reducing foam with the little pyramids that they have in recording studios? What if they manufactured some of that, but with cute caricatured animals, cars, trains, etc. on it for lining the walls of a baby's room? Genius!  
See what kind of thoughts you make me think?

As we walked, I could feel everyone we passed looking at me. There were two kinds of looks. There were the looks of "What poor child is crying and her father is not only doing nothing to help her, but he's listening to music!" These people _don't have children_. It was interesting that there was another window of people between about 50 and 60 years old that also looked at me disapprovingly, having forgotten what their own kids were like and without grandchildren yet. The other look was one of "That poor man is stuck with that shrieking monster, but at least he has some music." Every single person stared at me in either disgust or pity, neither of which I liked.

I walked and walked. You screamed and screamed. We did the maritime walk three times. Eventually, at 7:40, a full two hours after you began screaming, an eerie silence fell over the stroller, punctuated by sniffles as you slept. On the way home, I sat down and had a beer, emotionally exhausted.


Difficult Sunday


<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-08-bean-pole/4503025478_4a6da4e816_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image post-thumb" title="Curiouser and curiouser">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-08-bean-pole/4503025478_5ca04803e2_t.jpg" alt="Curiouser and curiouser"/>
</a>

I took Nora to the doctor today to get weighed and measured. In her first six months she more than doubled in weight, ending up and around 7.4 kg. In her second six months she hasn't gained any weight at all, remaining consistently around 7.5 kg when we weigh her at bath time (before her dinner). Today, after eating 260 mL of breakfast milk and cereal (which is more dense than water, so that's more than 0.26 kg right there), she weighed 7.85 kg and measured 75 cm, a full three quarters of a meter. This gives her a [body mass index](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Body_mass_index) of 14.0, which is literally [off the chart](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Body_mass_index_chart.svg). The doctor say she's just fine, which we knew already. Tall and skinny, but fine.

In the same spirit as last year's ridiculous linear comparison of [food consumption rate](/2009/04/11/25-liters-every-90-minutes/), I've decided to see what I would be like if my height and weight were at the same ratio as Nora's (104 g/cm). If I kept my same height, but had Nora's equivalent weight, I would only weigh 19.36 kilograms, or 42.7 pounds.

If I kept my same weight, but had Nora's equivalent height, I would be 802 cm, or 26 feet, 4 inches, tall.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-08-bean-pole/4503025478_4a6da4e816_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Curiouser and curiouser">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-08-bean-pole/4503025478_5ca04803e2.jpg" alt="Curiouser and curiouser"/>
</a>

 A rough estimate of what an eight-meter tall me might look like in our dining room, after eating my equivalent 2.8 kg (6 lb) of breakfast cereal.


Bean Pole


<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-07-a-damp-spring-walk/4500641625_07549dceb3_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image post-thumb" title="Eighteen Petals">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-07-a-damp-spring-walk/4500641625_d36335000c_t.jpg" alt="Eighteen Petals"/>
</a>

As a result of working six time zones away from where I live, I have the mornings off to spend with my daughter, but it also means that I have pretty late nights. It's not uncommon for me to go to bed after midnight. The problem with going to bed after midnight is that you have to be very careful about using the concepts "today" and "tomorrow", especially when looking at the date on your computer. Last night, before going to bed, I remembered to look in Nora's doctor appointment book because I knew that she had a regular checkup this week but could not recall the date. It said "April 8, 10:00". I looked at the date on my computer and it said "April 7", so my sleepy brain said, "Oh no! That's tomorrow!", and I preceded to set my alarm clock with plenty of time to get Nora up and dressed and to the doctor. And so it played out... We got up, got dressed, and headed to the doctor's office. When we got there, there were three confused pensioners pulling and pushing on the locked doors. Finally a sickly teenager came by and rang the doorbell, and the emergency doctor came to open the door. She explained that the health center was closed except for emergencies. "Excuse me," I interjected indignantly, "but I have _an appointment_. See?" Her face and mouth communicated how unlikely my claim seemed to her as I showed her the appointment book. "Today is April 7th," she said, "That appointment is for tomorrow." I apologized and slunk off, secretly pleased that my daughter didn't yet have the cognitive awareness of the situation to laugh at her father. There will be plenty of time for that later.  By the time we got back home, the rain had stopped, so I picked up the camera and we went out again for a photo stroll.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-07-a-damp-spring-walk/4499540883_986e3fc87b_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Morning Rain">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-07-a-damp-spring-walk/4499540883_2ae28d659b.jpg" alt="Morning Rain"/>
</a>

On a whim, we decided to go see the ducks in the pond near the town hall. Boy were we surprised when we arrived and saw that _the pond was gone_!

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-07-a-damp-spring-walk/4500187764_b256631d83_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="The Duck Pond Is Gone!">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-07-a-damp-spring-walk/4500187764_701946fea6.jpg" alt="The Duck Pond Is Gone!"/>
</a>

 Missing pond. [View large](http://www.flickr.com/photos/erikrasmussen/4500187764/sizes/l/) to fully appreciate the anatine absence. I hope that they replace it with an even better pond, but I fear that they might have more profitable ideas about that precious land. Time will tell...

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-07-a-damp-spring-walk/4499560623_de5a2d859b_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Tulip Pots">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-07-a-damp-spring-walk/4499560623_29916892e0.jpg" alt="Tulip Pots"/>
</a>

 Potted tulips.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-07-a-damp-spring-walk/4499569527_2e88f8e446_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Quaint House">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-07-a-damp-spring-walk/4499569527_a420143be5.jpg" alt="Quaint House"/>
</a>

 I love this little house behind the town hall. I'm guessing they use that table more than the car.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-07-a-damp-spring-walk/4500213188_a23f985687_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Flowered Cross">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-07-a-damp-spring-walk/4500213188_d1b72ecab0.jpg" alt="Flowered Cross"/>
</a>

 Our Christian roundabout.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-07-a-damp-spring-walk/4499586463_e500c08a68_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Yellow and Lilac">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-07-a-damp-spring-walk/4499586463_0b7a98d4d6.jpg" alt="Yellow and Lilac"/>
</a>

 Flowers in front of the town hall.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-07-a-damp-spring-walk/4500226908_1bdc81d2a9_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Bicycles To Rent">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-07-a-damp-spring-walk/4500226908_2ee815baf5.jpg" alt="Bicycles To Rent"/>
</a>

 This is new. The town hall will rent you a bicycle. I shall have to investigate this.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-07-a-damp-spring-walk/4500231162_835c3383ef_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Working in the dark">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-07-a-damp-spring-walk/4500231162_076da1c091.jpg" alt="Working in the dark"/>
</a>

 A builder works inside a brand new apartment building where there is no electricity yet.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-07-a-damp-spring-walk/4500237156_7554ab41bd_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Fruit Stand">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-07-a-damp-spring-walk/4500237156_eefa4e0296.jpg" alt="Fruit Stand"/>
</a>

 Mmmm... Fruit!

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-07-a-damp-spring-walk/4501272808_0b155bf3bb_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Wet Metal Table">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-07-a-damp-spring-walk/4501272808_f3f8de6e7b.jpg" alt="Wet Metal Table"/>
</a>

 Rain puddles on a metal table.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-07-a-damp-spring-walk/4500641625_07549dceb3_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Eighteen Petals">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-07-a-damp-spring-walk/4500641625_d36335000c.jpg" alt="Eighteen Petals"/>
</a>

 Eighteen petals. It's quite pleasant [large](http://www.flickr.com/photos/erikrasmussen/4500641625/sizes/l/).

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-07-a-damp-spring-walk/4501277944_48ff95d7f7_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Sunny Cactus">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-07-a-damp-spring-walk/4501277944_c2282e8971.jpg" alt="Sunny Cactus"/>
</a>

 Cactus in the sun.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-07-a-damp-spring-walk/4501280912_567fa20c94_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Handlebar">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-07-a-damp-spring-walk/4501280912_6bfdc6380a.jpg" alt="Handlebar"/>
</a>

 Handlebar with a bell.

Time to go set my alarm to get up for the doctor's appointment tomorrow...


A Damp Spring Walk


<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-07-genetic-expressions-one-year-old/4497719921_e603da8475_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image post-thumb" title="Erik and Nora: One Year Old">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-07-genetic-expressions-one-year-old/4497719921_d1c7c3965f_t.jpg" alt="Erik and Nora: One Year Old"/>
</a>

When we were visiting my parents recently, my wife was looking through some family photo albums. Immediately she recognized her daughter in the baby pictures of her husband. I have to admit that sometimes looking at my daughter is a little bit like I have traveled back in time and am looking at my former self. It's downright spooky sometimes. To bring this spookiness to my blog audience, I have asked my mother to scan some photos of myself during my first birthday, which unfortunately involved no [spontaneous singing of 60's pop hits](/2010/04/05/one-year-old/) that I know of. The resulting photos are downright eerie. Behold...  <a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-07-genetic-expressions-one-year-old/4497204050_e7a694cc69_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Erik's First Birthday">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-07-genetic-expressions-one-year-old/4497204050_c0140ae272.jpg" alt="Erik's First Birthday"/>
</a>

 There I am with my one candle. Only thirty more since then.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-07-genetic-expressions-one-year-old/4497204816_f5b760c265_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Erik's First Birthday">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-07-genetic-expressions-one-year-old/4497204816_7828e2a73c.jpg" alt="Erik's First Birthday"/>
</a>

 Where have I seen that expression before? Hmm...

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-07-genetic-expressions-one-year-old/4497719921_e603da8475_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Erik and Nora: One Year Old">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-07-genetic-expressions-one-year-old/4497719921_d1c7c3965f.jpg" alt="Erik and Nora: One Year Old"/>
</a>

 Oh yeah, there it is.

So of course I had to morph them together. Watch the mouth and nose.

CREEPY ALERT!!

Some of the head shape difference is a result of the angle of the shot, but mine was definitely more egg-shaped with a bigger forehead, less hair, and generally not as pretty. Still, stuff like this is pretty creepily fascinating.


Genetic Expressions: One Year Old


<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-05-one-year-old/4490510005_7b99423c8c_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image post-thumb" title="Nora's First Birthday Cake">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-05-one-year-old/4490510005_50e959808e_t.jpg" alt="Nora's First Birthday Cake"/>
</a>

Nora, twelve days ago, on March 24, 2010, you turned one year old. They were perhaps the longest 365 days of our lives, but your mother and I made it...and are now the proud, if not dumbfounded, parents of a one year old. By a coincidence involving the date your great-grandparents chose to get married, we spent your first birthday in the United States. You showed [your shiny new blue passport](/2009/06/23/dual-nationality/) and grinned as the immigration official took your mother's fingerprints and mugshot. Mommy only has a red passport. You did better than I expected on the transatlantic hop, preferring your mother's lap to mine, thus allowing me to watch a few movies. They didn't have a microwave on the plane, just an oven, so when the flight attendant tried to heat your vegetable puree lunch in a bowl, she only managed to heat the bowl. On the ninety minute third leg of the journey, we were exhausted, and you spent sixty of the ninety minutes crying as loudly as you could. I experienced this in surround sound, because you were to the left of me and a six-month-old (who was freakishly born with two teeth) was on my right failing to harmonize with you. We did not know until our seats were already chosen for the pond hop that it's possible to request a bassinet on the long flights. We did so on the way back and it made a _HUGE_ difference not to have you sitting on our laps the whole time.  The trip was quite stressful for you, being flung into a foreign land with dozens of people so excited to meet you. As a result, you clung very tightly to your mother for pretty much the entire fortnight. Your grandparents babysat you for two nights and you behaved fairly well for them. Your canine uncles (my parents' dogs) were a new experience for you. Uncle Buster sussed out early that you weren't a threat to his food and pretty much ignored you. Ever the social outcast, Uncle Blue may never have seen such a small human before and was [terrified of you](http://www.flickr.com/photos/erikrasmussen/4493564747/). Your favorite uncle was by far Uncle Sam, a ten year old West Highland Scottish Terrier.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-05-one-year-old/4457410552_2464b6a7ce_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Meeting Sam">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-05-one-year-old/4457410552_f89e457317.jpg" alt="Meeting Sam"/>
</a>

 Uncle Sam wants YOU!

You really liked the Johnny Jump Up that your grandmother bought you from the baby consignment shop especially for this visit. You are right in the target demographic of mobility and strength. And your fascination for telephones went unabated throughout the visit. With your grandparents' phone, pressing the two biggest buttons resulted in first acquiring a dial tone and then forwarding the dial tone to the other phones of the house, causing them all to ring.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-05-one-year-old/4462593554_7e861536b8_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="On the phone">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-05-one-year-old/4462593554_da011408fd.jpg" alt="On the phone"/>
</a>

 You seem to look guilty a lot lately, too.

This trip saw your first introduction to something American children have been eating and throwing on the floor for generations: Cheerios. Of course you loved them. Since Spaniards aren't big cereal eaters, I think I've only ever seen flakes in the grocery store, but I will have to keep an eye out for whole-grain tori.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-05-one-year-old/4461887359_f2ed191411_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Some chins come with built-in cheerio storage">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-05-one-year-old/4461887359_d32fddbbb4.jpg" alt="Some chins come with built-in cheerio storage"/>
</a>

 You also discovered the food storage facility located below your mouth. I still use mine sometimes.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-05-one-year-old/4462753208_34df6411fb_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="My grandpa's a pinball wizard!">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-05-one-year-old/4462753208_f001ed11fd.jpg" alt="My grandpa's a pinball wizard!"/>
</a>

 Your grandfather is a pinball wizard. He discovered that pinball can console you in ways that no amount of rocking or cooing can. What's not to like about a shiny ball bouncing around flashing lights and flippers flipping.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-05-one-year-old/4462992102_677fda10eb_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Nora Wine">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-05-one-year-old/4462992102_a218700560_b.jpg" alt="Nora Wine"/>
</a>

 On your birthday, we opened two bottles of Nora, a gift from friends Jeff and Jane, in your honor. If only we'd known about it when we took [our trip to Vigo](/2010/03/09/vigo/) last month...we passed right by the vineyard with the most beautiful name.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-05-one-year-old/4491211302_ea4b2f0155_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Nora's Birthday Party Panorama">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-05-one-year-old/4491211302_693dce4c6c.jpg" alt="Nora's Birthday Party Panorama"/>
</a>

 The weather was wonderful, so we spent the first part of the party out on the deck.

On the Friday before we left from Spain, you and I went to the local grocery store, Susinos, like we always do. They are very fond of you in there. While we were discussing our upcoming trip with your friends there, my friend, Andrés (of [politically scandalous fame](/2009/09/26/zapateros-daughters/)), came over and said he had a gift for us. He pulled out a bottle of wine inside a plastic bag and said that it was to be taken to your grandparents and opened on your birthday. When I pulled off the plastic bag, I was amazed to discover that he had taken [this photograph](http://www.flickr.com/photos/erikrasmussen/4189819375/) and painstakingly cut out the background and replaced it with the US and Spanish flags. The amount of work he had put into it out of pure thoughtfulness was amazing. It's no wonder we go almost exclusively to his store.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-05-one-year-old/4490729575_6feda78a20_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Paul with his special bottle">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-05-one-year-old/4490729575_d8cb13817d.jpg" alt="Paul with his special bottle"/>
</a>

 My parents loved the gesture as well.

Andrés, even though he mispronounced your name a little, I think you will agree that his _gracias_ is sincere.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-05-one-year-old/4490510005_7b99423c8c_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Nora's First Birthday Cake">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-05-one-year-old/4490510005_50e959808e.jpg" alt="Nora's First Birthday Cake"/>
</a>

 As is tradition in the United States, we gave you a piece of cake and let you eat it as you saw fit. I also recorded a video of you eating it, which I will present here. As a result of most of the attendees to your birthday party being baby boomers your grandparents' age and the fair amount of wine consumed during the meal, while you were eating your cake they spontaneously broke into the 1963 billboard hit, [It's My Party](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/It%27s_My_Party_%28song%29). Thankfully the video camera was still rolling so your reaction to a song about sixties teen angst has been recorded for posterity. Priceless.

After dinner, your parents and grandparents performed a dress rehearsal of some original songs that would later be performed at the Rasmussen Family Reunion later in the week, including the tongue-in-cheek soon-to-be-classic, _If My Family's All Crazy, Why Am I Sane_, sung to the tune of [_I Saw The Light_](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/I_Saw_the_Light_%28Hank_Williams_song%29).

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-05-one-year-old/4491177706_e8041aecb1_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Nora's birthday concert">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-05-one-year-old/4491177706_679aee8baa.jpg" alt="Nora's birthday concert"/>
</a>

 You didn't know your family was so musical, did you?

Then came the presents...

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-05-one-year-old/4490590025_5a44e8fc58_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Nora opening birthday presents">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-05-one-year-old/4490590025_1eaf979c41.jpg" alt="Nora opening birthday presents"/>
</a>

 You seemed very fond of this doll.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-05-one-year-old/4491278508_40b6612421_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Nora opening birthday presents">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-05-one-year-old/4491278508_a1e3ebe372.jpg" alt="Nora opening birthday presents"/>
</a>

 _One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish_, a tongue twisting classic.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-05-one-year-old/4490684517_c6f047d593_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Nora opening birthday presents">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-05-one-year-old/4490684517_cf5cce8fd8.jpg" alt="Nora opening birthday presents"/>
</a>

 And of course more books. You love turning pages.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-05-one-year-old/4490698119_6423825fc8_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Nora opening birthday presents">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-05-one-year-old/4490698119_e40936747e.jpg" alt="Nora opening birthday presents"/>
</a>

 Your grandmother gave you this beautiful alphabet quilt that she bartered some work for.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-05-one-year-old/4491341748_7af9fb8bc1_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Nora opening birthday presents">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-05-one-year-old/4491341748_e13a695441.jpg" alt="Nora opening birthday presents"/>
</a>

 It's embroidered with your name and birth date.

Eventually the guests had to leave and you came down off your chocolate high and went to bed. It has been one of the most amazing years of my life as I have learned to care for and love you in ways I never understood before. We've both changed a lot since I snipped that umbilical cord on the Tuesday afternoon of March 24, 2009. I look forward to spending many more years with you.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-05-one-year-old/4491373192_219e0c6520_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="First birthday candle (the day after)">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2010-04-05-one-year-old/4491373192_70638047a3.jpg" alt="First birthday candle (the day after)"/>
</a>

 by erikrasmussen, on Flickr")


20 posts from April, 2010