P.S., S.P.

Watch.

Random Monday Thoughts

I didn't get to the Museum Days on Saturday. I was planning to tour the Southern Civil War and Locomotive Museum, and it would have been outdoors. The thought of being close to possible poison ivy infestation again made me cringe. I am still itchy from my adventures this past month.

So I mowed the yard. With a weedeater. My mower is busted. I'm sure it's not serious, but I can't fix it.

But that's a task I'm going to put off until next spring. In the meantime, I'm going to pay down a student loan. If I'm able to stay focused, it will be paid off before the grass is green again.

I learned recently that the only real mark against my credit is my debt load. In this troubling economy, I feel fortunate. I can put extra money on the two debts I still have. I have a great dad who also works with me on a one of these debts, both by keeping me focused and by making a contribution "to the cause" each time he sees that I have made a payment of my own. I am not getting behind, I am getting ahead. And when I compare my situation with others, my debts are pretty small indeed. Once they are paid, I will have plans in place to steer my financial independence into a new life for myself. It's something I find exciting, and I don't even see the entire picture yet.

Most of the canvas of my life remains to be painted.

There are days when I'm impatient to move forward. And then a day like today happens, when the economy pops and the government buyout plan fails. I see clearly on days like today that even if I was in the position financially to carry out some of my plans, the economy wouldn't be ready for me. Eventually it will be, and by then, I will be ready to put some of those larger plans into action.

But I have smaller plans too. Smaller chunks that include my personal life and not just what I want in a career. And I can work on those smaller, personal chunks today. I don't have to have the entire picture of my life painted and drying on canvas before I make my first step. Who would even want that?

So here's a goalgetter revelation. I'm going to leave Atlanta in 2009. There, I've said it. I'm tired of the traffic. I'm tired of where I'm working. I'm tired of making the best of a bad situation. I moved here to further my career and improve my quality of life and neither one happened. I gave it a long and honest shot. I waited for my reward as a thoughtful and diligent employee. But that reward is not coming. So I'm going to do this for myself. And I don't want to live in the south anymore. I've made friends here. I've made good friends here. I've become part of a community. But it is not my home.

A while ago, I graduated from a college in Colorado and I came back to the south to be near my family, and also, frankly, because I didn't have any better ideas. I've reflected on that decision a lot this past year, and I realized something. It was a mistake. I should have stayed out there. I should have gotten my knuckles bruised. I should have taken my hard knocks. Because bruises and knocks are unavoidable, and because Colorado is where I felt at home. I didn't spare myself any hardships, or avoid any tough lessons. But I think I have less to show for my hard work, because I'm not happy with where I am.

So I'm going to change it.

--Laura

Read This Website

One of my favorite websites is Smithsonian Magazine online. Why? It's possible that I'm a closet museum nerd. But I'll give you a few reasons.

First, from pure aesthetics, it has one of the prettiest homepages, ever. The pictures in the scrolling banner are amazing. The people who designed this page had one thing in mind: Inspire. Do you want to see another side of the Middle East? They will show you the latest archaeological find in the heart of Iraq. Are you trying to save money in this tough economy? Don't feel deprived, just a few clicks away you'll find an article about Russia's Trans-Siberian railway. You want something a little closer to home? Read about the 'secret' Catholic Jews of the San Luis Valley. Listen to a video about bluegrass music in Floyd, Virginia. The people of Smithsonian Magazine show people the world.

Second, it makes you feel smart. Sure, other people will read yahoo. Other people will read about celebrities online. Do you want to know what Britney Spear's mama is saying about Sarah Palin's daughter? Or would you rather spend a few extra minutes reading about the woman behind the Muppet's Miss Piggy?

The choice is clear.

Third, being interesting is sexy. Being smart is hot. Wow your neighbors. Always have something interesting to talk about. Be the life of parties. Know your history. Don't get caught talking about politics. Or, if you feel the need to, put it in historical perspective.

Tomorrow is Museum Day. There are two museums I'm debating between - you'll find out later which one I chose. When you can get out to a museum, particularly a smaller one in your local community, I really encourage it. Because where else could you see some of the most fascinating oddities than in a country where the permanent wave was invented?

If you have the chance, see a neat museum for free. Find information for your state here. And if you can't get out tomorrow, take a little trip anyway, and let Smithsonian Magazine be your guide.

--Laura

On My Street

I saw a hawk on my street.

I was leaving the subdivision for the grocery store. My milk had gone sour, and I needed a few other things so I decided to take a trip. And that's when I saw him.

About 4 houses down, standing in the front yard was a hawk. Dark and mottled, I think he was either a broad-winged or a Red-tailed. I can only tell you this after looking him up, so I really have no idea if he had a red tail or not. I didn't have my camera.

He was standing on something though. He had just caught lunch when I slowed my car to stare at him. He didn't look away. "You can't have my lunch," he was telling me.

And oh was he gorgeous. Dark plumage, even on his chest, which you don't see every day.

And there's a thought I had about this. Did I notice hawks before today, or was I too busy with my own thoughts? I'd like to think I would notice such things. But he existed before today, and I don't remember the last time I saw one. In fact, I don't remember seeing one in my neighborhood, so what does that mean?

I like to come up with fancy observations that make sense of the world around me. I'll let go of that this time. I saw a hawk, and for me, that's rare. And he was gorgeous.

I'll just enjoy it.

---Laura

When It's Still

I was sick today. I won't go into detail, but it hasn't been pleasant, and the room I've visited the most has been the bathroom.

I had some interesting moments at home though. Our local NPR station added a new show to their lineup, called The Splendid Table. You can guess at the content of course. It has a call in feature, where people ask anything from what to do with extra firm tofu (always marinate it first) to what to look for in a table wine.

When I listened, a man called in to proclaim his love for Japanese dumplings. They had another name, but he described it as a pork or beef dumpling, so that's what I remember. Anyway, his wife was a vegetarian, and wouldn't try the dumplings, so he wanted to figure out a way to modify the recipe so she could enjoy it as much as he did.

The host was helpful, with several variants from mushroom to sweet potato. After discussing it, she says to him, "Well your wife is very lucky to have such a special husband who would go to such special care for her." His voice adopted the tone which told you he was smiling when he said, "She's such a gift in my life, she's worth all the extra work."

It was like a "Sleepless in Seattle" moment. I'm sure the female half of the listening audience wanted to reach through the radio and hug him.

I wonder-- what did she do that he felt so gifted to have her in his life, that after a decade or so of marriage, he'd call in reinforcements to find a Japanese dumpling they could share, because he really liked this dumpling, but it just wasn't good enough unless he could share it with her.

I don't remember much of the rest of the show. I'm sure the culinary advice was interesting and helpful. What stuck with me was the sound of a smile in the voice of a man who was clearly made richer by the gift of another person's life. And he knew it. That's not just a splendid table, it's a splendid life.

--Laura

Stalking Birders and Bird Sightings

Minor confession time here: I was supposed to arrive at 7:30 this morning to hook up with the Audubon guide to take a tour. Only thing is, I kind of dawdled this morning and didn't leave the HOUSE until 7:30. And it took a little longer to get to the park than I planned for, so it was around 8:15 before I arrived. WELL, you would have thought they were giving away free fried chicken or something, because I had to park down the road from the Visitors Center (the meeting place) and walk across the street to get there.

The Ranger was extremely helpful.

Me: Do you have a birder's checklist?
Her: Yes (hands me a checklist)
Me: Do you know the best places in the park to view them?
Her: No

And see, a "No" leaves little room for a followup question. And this park is noted in BOOKS, WEBSITES AND BIRDING PUBLICATIONS as one of the Top 100 Birding sites in the country, particularly during the fall migration, so you'd think she'd be a little more prepared for that question, and be a bit more encouraging.

However, who should come to my rescue but one of those waspish white women I have mentioned before? She and her, oh I don't know, boyfriend-- husband-- brother-- had just walked into the Visitors Center seconds before and not only was she prepared to hand me HER birders checklist, she asked if I KNEW there was a birder's audubon field trip going on RIGHT THIS MINUTE?

I said no. When you are looking at a bird enthusiast, and you are an amateur, I had this suspicion that she'd turn on me, if only in her mind, if I said, "Yeah, I knew about it but I was more interested in 15 more minutes of sleep than getting here on time to follow a group of birders around. I mean hey, I like warblers, but I'm not going to see them good at only 4X magnification, you know what I mean?"

Oh no, I didn't say all that. I tilted my head and said, "Wow, really? I didn't know that. Do you know where they are?"

"Well, for the last 40 minutes, they were just out in the parking lot," offered her boyfriend/husband/brother. My mind mocked me. "Great, the last set of birders you wanted to hang with WOULDN'T hang out in the parking lot, and now, just as you assumed they don't linger, here's a group that DOES."

"Really?" is what I actually said.

"Oh yes," he said. "There are so many birds around right now that you can see quite a few warblers, thrushes and rails just down in the field next to the parking lot." They both nodded. It was clear they had seen their fill. They were now waiting for the bus to take them to the top of the mountain, while the others had opted for the more physically demanding task of walking the entire way.

Which is what I did. And I took the trail rather than walking up the paved road, believing that to be the better option. A few minutes after I arrived at the top, what should I see but a clump of people walking up from the road? By the way, you can spot birders from a distance, without binoculars. When you're in a park, they're the ones in street clothes rather than exercise clothes, in goofy hats, with binoculars and field guides.

You can't miss them. Look at this picture. The one in the red shirt has the harness I told you about, for the heavy binoculars.

Anyway, this shot was taken about 15 minutes before I joined them. Because, as the Audubon guide said at the top, "Well, you're welcome to take the trail back, but the best birding is from the paved road."

Grrrrrrr. Dude, if I had only heard that two hours earlier!

I was able to hang with them for a short time, but despite being a big girl with bad knees, I walked even faster than these people did. It's okay though, I spotted some cool stuff they missed. Oh yeah, they were too loud too.

I'll go back though. I'll tell you why. When I was on the trail coming up the mountain, I sat on a rock outcropping as people walked by and waited to see the birds. I'd heard them playing in that stretch of the woods and I knew if I sat long enough, I'd see a few. Well, I saw one at the crown of the trees, and another sitting in a stand of trees, but all from a great distance and not in great detail.

As I stood up finally to resume my walk, I looked up. Before my eyes, a bird flew up from the brush, like the crest of a wave. He shot up into the air and perched on a branch less than 50 feet from me. And he stayed. Like he was staring.

"Oh hi there, baby," I said in a whisper. He was a stranger. I have no idea what he was, but he was mine. He was there for me.

--Laura

About Birding: Part II

Now for some other observations about birding.

Number two: Birders like accessories.

I'm not sure why this is the case. Could it be that they have more disposable income, given their age? Could it be that the neck strap on their pair of binoculars is excruciatingly painful, therefore making a shoulder harness absolutely necessary?

Does it matter? You can get one at Wild Birds Unlimited for $24.99. This is good to know. A time will come when I want to sell things to birders, so it's nice to know they like to buy things.

Now, if I can just spot birds. I had trouble with this while I was out, but I was using stadium binoculars, which have a magnification of 3-4X. According to the reading I've been doing, it's better to have something in the 7-8X range, like one of these.

Who knew?

Oh, another observation. Number Three: Biologists are geeky coolness. Our guide for the morning was Chris. I had a feeling if he weren't being a BIRD guide, he'd more easily do the kind of exploring I prefer, which means stopping for anything and everything that looked interesting. But while we were out, he identified plant and animal life, told us interesting facts about barred owls (their hearing is so acute they can hear your heatbeat from 5 feet away), and he explained why trees that are drought stressed will uproot in a heavy rain.

Besides, he knew a lot about birdcalls.

If you've never listed to bird calls before, I recommend two sites. One is the site hosted by Cornell University's lab of ornithology, called All About Birds. Cornell University is the organization that Wild Birds Unlimited partners with as well, and with the right software downloaded, you can listen to all kinds of birds.

Another features all the birds of North America - WhatBird.com. I like this one because it also has a bird identification feature, which lets you narrow down birds you've spotted by color, size, habitat, etc., in the hopes of locating the birds you saw on the trail. I haven't put this to good use yet, but I hope to in the future.

Finally, I want to mention that the Fernbank Science Center is pretty neat. If you live in the Atlanta area, it's a great place for kids, gardeners, and all budding or closet scientists. After the birdwatching, I relaxed for a show in the planetarium, to find out what was going on in the night sky. On Friday nights, if the sky is clear, they invite you to come to the Observatory. They do all kinds of exhibits on butterfly gardens, composting, the latest Mars mission and native plants and animals.

And if you aren't a closet scientist, maybe you should be. There's nothing like hands on experience to get you interested in your surroundings. There are worse hobbies.

--Laura

About Birding: Part I

Saturday morning I got up pretty early and drove to the Fernbank Science Center in Atlanta. This should not be confused with the Fernbank Museum, which has clear signs leading to it from all major streets. No, to get to the Fernbank Science Center, you need to take the ramp leading to the Carter Center, then PASS the Carter Center and drive to Moreland Avenue before reaching Heaton Drive.

Located nearby is the King Center (as we southerners pronounce it, KANG), the contested foundation in honor of Martin Luther King, Jr. And had I been in the shape to sit in a bar and have a beer afterwards, I would have gone to Manuel's Tavern, an Atlanta institution for 40+ years, if you're a Democrat. They have great nachos.

Anyway, enough of that. I went to the Fernbank for the birds. Only, I got there late, owing to the wrong turn. Shoot. Birders don't sit in the parking lot and drink coffee and gab for a few minutes, sharing equipment tips, trading industry secrets, bragging about birding expeditions.

When I arrived, the birders had already entered the forest. I was dismayed, walking around the entire perimeter of the center to see if I could spot them. But you know, I was born in the country. So when I noticed that the gate to the "backyard" of the complex had a padlock, but the padlock wasn't shut, I snuck through. And when I noticed that the padlock to the forest was in the same condition, I snuck through that too. Then I hoofed it down to a small clump of birders, and took my place in the group like I'd been there the entire time.

I had driven a long way, and I didn't want it to be a wasted effort.

As this was the first time birding in a group, I make the following observations.

1. Birders are skinny. Like runners. Like bikers. They are primarily waspish middle aged women who do not sweat. Darn birders. There wasn't wasn't a single "Person of Color" in the group. Now if you're a big girl like me, you're going to be welcomed, because that's the polite thing to do, but you're going to sweat in an old growth forest with a full tree canopy and no access to moving air. Given this situation, you're going to feel a little self conscious. Struggle to tame this urge.

I say this because if you jump in and talk to people anyway, they are going to be helpful, because they are still women, and women like to share secrets. If they were stunned by the amount of sweat I could produce, and why wouldn't they be when I am stunned by the amount of sweat I produce, they didn't mention it. And when I told one woman where I had been already, and how it seemed easier to spot birds alone than in a group where right that minute we were CLODDING ALONG IN THE FOREST TALKING ABOUT BLUEBERRY PIES, she agreed.

"You attend these walks because you have free access to a biologist who is experienced. You learn a lot more and gain experience faster when he is able to pave the way for you. But when you are able to spot birds on your own, it's better to be alone or with a partner who doesn't grow impatient being with you quietly for hours. This is a learning environment. But it's not the best way to find birds."

That made sense to me. In fact, the woman I spoke with was more of an outdoor camper, not quite as pale and skinny as the rest of them. She had come to birding because she enjoyed camping, and wondered about the birds who produced the songs she heard.

When I was alone, I found dozens of fascinating things and took lots of pictures. With the group, I couldn't stop when I wanted, so I only took a few. But I did learn (I think) the difference between the call of a titmouse and a warbler. I learned that bluejays can mimic the sound of a hawk. I learned that you shouldn't play sound recordings in a forest to draw birds, because you can actually kick them out of their territory if your recorded bird "wins." I learned that the crow population is in trouble from the west nile virus. And while listening to bird calls online, I learned that I can really draw my dog Mollie's attention when I play the sound recordings. She's mighty stinking cute when she's trying to figure out how a bird got into my laptop's keyboard.

I have other observations, but I'll save them for another time.

--Laura

Vanishing Georgia: New Manchester Mill

Recently I visited Sweetwater Creek State Park, in Lithia Springs, Georgia. I posted about it here. An interesting feature of the park is the New Manchester Mill, or rather, three walls of the mill, which was built prior to the beginning of the Civil War and was destroyed by Sherman in the Atlanta Campaign. The approach to the mill is by a footpath, making it difficult to believe that the area was once a city of 400-600 people. Just like my back yard, if you leave foliage alone long enough, it will obscure any evidence of human trespass.

In the south, mills pre-date railroad history, as before reliable railroad transportation, water was the way to go. In order to do much more than run a family farm and stay alive, settlers had to have power. A river provided both transportation and power. First, you could carry most anything up or down a river. Second, the water power itself would generate power if you built a mill on it. Mills could make cloth. Mills could cut trees into lumber. Mills could grind corn. All to be moved up and down the aquatic highway. And, if you were smart, if you could swing it, you could build a mill, or you could run a ferry, and that made you an instant celebrity, well, at least until someone got the idea to build a bridge next to your ferry.

At any rate, there are at least 15 historic ferries in the Atlanta area, most serving to move people along the Chattahoochee River. Most were built in the 1820's and 1830's. Vann's Ferry, run by a man half Cherokee-Half Scottish and one of the most infuential Cherokee leaders of his time. Power's Ferry, owned by James Powers, a plantation owner. Pace's Ferry, owned by Hardy Pace, one of Atanta's earliest citizens.The Roswell Mill, located not far from the New Manchester, made the uniforms for the Confederate soldiers. They even called the color of the uniforms "Roswell blue" after the mill. And the New Manchester made the material for the tents. Some say, as a result of this, both became targets for destruction in Sherman's Atlanta campaign.

And now the New Manchester, once a center for Georgia commerce, hated by men, sits gracefully in a lush bed of vegetation. You could ask a dozen Georgians, even people living close by, and I wonder how many would even know it existed. Draw your own conclusions as to whether or not Sherman accomplished his goal. He certainly put the mill out of commission, but I hope that Georgians do what they can to preserve their heritage, by enjoying the beauty of the surrounding rocks, creek and forest. I think that's a pretty nice way to remember the place.

--Laura

You Just Never Know

I've had an account with flickr now for almost a year. I know this because I got my notice to renew a few days ago. This site stores all my pictures, either scanned or digital, along with video clips. It has an interesting feature that allows you to track, in a general sort of way, the hits you get on your pictures.

It's interesting... what other people find interesting.

For example, one of the pictures that got the biggest hits over time was a picture of my grandmother standing in her dining room in Sidney, Nebraska. For the longest time, I thought people were really perverted, because the picture was named Dad-21, as it was the 21st picture in a series that I uploaded at one time. But when I changed the title to something else, the hits kept coming.

Well, I looked up the statistics for the hit, and as it turns out, the most viewers came from one site: brace.net. The rest came from a blog on this same site, called Back Neck Braces Blog. If you look at the sidebar, where the pictures change, you'll see my grandmother sitting with my dad, winking at the camera. See, my grandmother died of cancer, and in the last years of her life had to wear a back brace.

I guess people aren't always as bad as you think.

It turns out that another couple of my pictures have made it onto another site. It's called StormPulse. In 1979, we lived in Coosawhatchie, South Carolina. 1979 was also the year Hurricane David hit on the Atlantic side of the southeastern U.S. I had three old pictures dad had taken of the damage to our property. And now, you can see them displayed on StormPulse. I have to say, our pictures look pretty tame, next to the picture of the huge tree crushing a schoolbus.

You just never know what people are going to find interesting.

Yesterday afternoon, I was talking to co-workers in my office. One has a freshman in college, and he recently had an assignment to visit a historic site in Georgia and write a report on it. He chose Warm Springs, GA, site of "the little white house" where FDR did his convalescence. The problem was that the assignment asked for a Civil War era historical site. Something significant prior to 1870.

Well! It turns out, I had just been to New Manchester Mill, located within the boundaries of Sweetwater Creek S.P. I had pictures, not just of the mill, but of the plaques which described the workings of the mill. I downloaded them and emailed them, and he was able to do his report from that material alone, then ask the professor if she'd understand that he did the work, but would go to the site that weekend. She agreed.

I got a bottle of wine out of it from a delighted mother. And a nice compliment about one of the pictures I took of the mill.

The bottle was certainly a nice gesture, but the compliment made my day. She asked if photography was my hobby. I was tempted to show her all the pictures I've become proud of. For example, my duck. Or my duck dancing. Or my duck walking like an Egyptian.

Here I am, a big girl with a bad back and sore knees, who can't quite feel her legs right now after running the "personal trainer" program on the gym's elliptical for a half hour, and I'm grinning from ear to ear because, in my possession, taken by my own hand, I have a picture of a duck.

You just never know what will interest people.

--Laura

Music Therapy Tuesday

The fall season returns to the south. Hurricanes begin sweeping up from Cuba, and if they hit on the Gulf side, they are certain to bring rain even to Atlanta.

Another sure thing is all the obligations fall brings. For parents, it's new school schedules, from academics to athletics. At my parish, it means the summer break is over and new classes and committees take over. If you were voted to sit on parish council, the meetings are fresh and new and people stay over to chat and reconnect. By January, inevitably, most people are more concerned about getting home before the chill sets in. In September however, it's still warm after dark, so people stand in the parking lot in companionable clusters, solving the world's problems under the floodlights.

For me, fall is always a return to choir practice, each Tuesday night. They started last week, but I wasn't able to be there, so tonight was my return. I was struck by the community intertwined in the seeming repetitious drudgery that is Tuesday Night Traditional Choir practice.

The choir contains people from all walks of life, but I'll admit it, I'm the youngest. I am surrounded therefore by about a dozen older folk who love the sound of my voice and when I push open the doors each evening to enter the church sanctuary, I'm greeted with sounds of approval. "Hey! Laura's here." I'm sure this must irritate the choir director, who wishes it didn't happen every time (or that I'd get there early, heaven forbid). 

Afterwards, everyone wants to know just a little bit about me. "Oh, I haven't seen you recently, I miss you." or, "Well how's work, are you still okay?" or, "You look good, have you lost weight?" or, "How's your mother and father? Are they coming for a visit soon?" At one point in my life I would have viewed this as intrusive, but it's just natural to me now. They love me because I'm like a child they wished they'd raised but don't have to be responsible for. I'm not asking for money or needing a place to stay, so they think I'm pretty great.

But something else, very important, goes on during practice. I call it as music therapy. 

We were learning a new Psalm for the season, and it was in chant - a special style known as a Gelineau tone. I couldn't find a real Gelineau tone online, but this rendition is conveys the idea. Learning a new song always involves a process that goes something like this:

First, you stumble over each note, reaching for it, wondering where it is, waiting for the piano to find it for you. You get through the first verse and everyone realizes that you didn't know the piece, so the director instructs you to repeat it. On the second try, you do a bit better, but now the piano is distracting, and it changes notes before you think it should, and the two of you sound like you're competing to have a conversation, one trying to be louder than the other. 

Then comes the third try. You take a deep breath. You readjust your glasses. You hold the book closer. You know that on Sunday, you're going to need to stand up front of the entire congregation and deliver this song. You cannot count on the choir to cover up your mistakes. 

The world slips away in this moment. The other singers and the piano cease to be a distraction. You receive the opening note, and you anchor yourself on it. And the notes begin to guide you. Up-Up-Up-Down-Up. First phrase is done. Up-Up-Down-WayDown-Up.  

Oh, you've got it now. The entire phrase has a progression and a form. And the next phrase builds on the first, creating a tension, then resolving it. And so does the next. And so does the next. It's hard to explain, but the notes on the page suck you into them. You balance on them. You steady yourself on one note, then reach for the next. 

The concentration gets you through without flaw finally, and you are able to relax. The next time you sing it, you can even add some flavor, some color, rounding vowels, improving phrasing. 

And that's when you look up, and practice is over, and you realize that for a full hour and a half, you had no work to do but balance on those notes. No one called you. No one had a crisis. All your worries belonged to someone else. I'm not sure how your day goes in an average week, but to find something that distracts me from mine for an hour is a real treat. It's like a visit to a spa, only free. I walk out humming. I drive home humming. I fall asleep humming. 

A sponge bath for the brain. Rest for the restless. Music therapy.

--Laura

Zoo Atlanta's New Arrival

The entry on the Zoo Atlanta website couldn't have been more enthusiastic:

Saturday, August 30 10:10 p.m. A Cub is born!!!

On September 1st, however, some problems began, prompting the zoo staff to move the baby to an incubator. They were concerned that Lun Lun wasn't producing enough milk to sustain the baby.

By Tuesday however, the baby was reintroduced to mama and mama seemed really happy to see the cub, cradling it. And the cub has gained weight, which is an encouraging sign indeed.

Perhaps you wonder why I'm blogging about this. Well geez, look at the last baby we had at Zoo Atlanta, Mei Lan. Now that is stinking cute. I remember that when the experts from China saw Mei Lan, they commented that the panda would have good fortune because the face shape was so pleasing and round. Can you disagree? So, this month we've doubled the baby population. What's wrong with blogging about that?

--Laura

Museum Day

September 27th is Museum Day, when museums and cultural institutions nationwide open their doors free of charge to Smithsonian magazine readers and Smithsonian.com visitors. The day is a celebration of culture and learning, and treats visitors to the free-admission policy of the Smithsonian Institution.

The local Marietta Museum of History (pictured to the right) is participating in this event. I'm sure there will be at least one museum in your area doing the same. Take the opportunity to see what your local area has to offer - no risk involved, and I guarantee you'll learn a lot.

For a list, by state, of other participating venues, visit the Smithsonian website here.

--Laura