travel – Page 3 – Life In A Word

Licking My Lips

I wouldn’t normally be drawn to a company whose products target women. I’m pretty well stocked when it comes to lip balms, lotions, and shaving cream. But here comes EOS (“Evolution of Smooth”), a newish company using organic ingredients and bright, colorful packaging to entice its buyers. Now I’m enticed too because EOS just came out with an orange product. Or should I say, a product in an orange. You could say it’s something that only comes ’round once in a blue moon.

Evolution of Smooth may be trying to target men as well. Why else would they concoct a lip balm that tastes like Blue Moon? If you haven’t had so much as a sniff of beer, Blue Moon is an everyday man’s brew produced by the Canadian-American conglomerate Molson Coors. It’s a Belgian-style wheat beer: high on the wheat but not so much on the malted barley. And now it’s a flavor of EOS lip balm inside of a plastic orange.

If you order a Blue Moon off the menu, the bottle or glass should arrive garnished with an orange slice. It’s a nod to the orange peel component of the beer; an ingredient giving the witbier its subtle citrus flavor. I should know because I’ve had more Blue Moons than any other beer out there. When you live in Colorado as long as I did (almost 30 years) sooner or later you’ll tour the Molson Coors facility in Golden, just west of Denver. They bus you around town first (a quaint holdover from the era of the Pikes Peak Gold Rush) before depositing you at the doors of the rather industrial-looking facility.

When you get down to touring – walking through the massive brewery, seeing the step-by-step production process, and sort-of-but-not-really believing the beer’s water content flows straight from the nearby Colorado Rockies – you’ll get a better appreciation of just how much effort goes into a single bottle. But like most breweries a beer fan anticipates the final stop – the tasting room – where you’re offered brands and flavors not yet released to the public. It was here I discovered Blue Moon, back in 1995 when it was just a concept beer.

Fancy homes boast of well-stocked, temp-regulated walk-in wine cellars with dozens of the finest bottles on display. I boast of a 24″x 24″x 36″ below-counter drink cooler, purchased on sale at The Home Depot for $225. I may not have dozens of the finest bottles on display, but in my house you’ll always find a half-dozen bottles of Blue Moon at the ready.

To be clear, I’m any occasional beer drinker at best. I can make a six-pack last a month. The only time a beer really appeals to me is after an afternoon of hard, sweaty, gnat-filled yard work. I’ll come back into the house after hours of that kind of fun and Blue Moon beckons. And even if I consumed more than a half-dozen bottles a month I certainly wouldn’t be put off by the price. A six runs you $11.99 at Target.

I do know how good a beer can really taste. Make your way to Dublin, Ireland sometime, tour the downtown Guinness Storehouse brewery (which trumps the Molson Coors experience in every way imaginable), and have a fresh pint in the top floor tasting room as you gaze out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the fairy-tale surroundings below. You’ll never want to leave. You’ll also realize that Guinness you’ve been having in America doesn’t measure up to the one you can have on Irish soil.

Any beer connoisseur reading this post is laughing at my reverence to Blue Moon. It’s a product whose color, strength, and lack of history bears little resemblance to the storied lagers of the world. It’s like the cosmopolitan offerings among the “real” alcoholic drinks on the bar menu. Light on ingredients and better meant for women.

No, Blue Moon isn’t necessarily meant for women (I hope), but maybe EOS’ latest lip balm is a clever way to get them interested. It certainly got my attention, and the thought of the taste of Blue Moon on my lips the entire time I’m working outside sounds amazing. No bottle or glass to juggle while I run the lawn mower. No garnish of an orange slice necessary. $4.99 instead of $11.99. Good call, EOS. I’m in.

Some content sourced from the CNN Business article, “Blue Moon… is being turned into a lip balm”, and Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.

Up, Up and Away Birthday

One of my favorite lines from the science-fiction classic “Contact” (starring a young Jodie Foster and and even younger Matthew McConoughey) comes from one of the lesser-known characters. Foster’s Dr. Arroway discovers a communication stream from beyond Earth, while an anonymous millionaire funds the spaceship capable of traveling to the source of the signal. The donor then turns to Foster’s character with a smirk and says, “What do you say, Dr. Arroway… wanna take a ride?” This year, the same question was posed by the (good) people at Goodyear.

In a nod to my advancing age, the Goodyear Blimp turned 100 on Tuesday (or I should say, one of the Goodyear Blimps). “Pilgrim”, Goodyear’s dirigible based in Akron, Ohio, took it’s first flight on June 3, 1925. Now Goodyear can claim a hundred years of lighter-than-air travel, even if this noteworthy form of transportation never made it to the masses.

To be clear, Goodyear started with rubber, and then tires. They manufactured tires for bicycles and carriages back in the day as well as horseshoe pads and poker chips, before Pilgrim first took to the skies. Sure, you’ll find their products on vehicles everywhere but what comes to mind when I say “Goodyear”; tires or blimps?

I choose blimps. I grew up just thirty minutes from Goodyear’s blimp airbase in Carson, CA. The blimp I saw back in the ’60’s and ’70’s was named something like “Puritan” or “Reliance” or “Defender”, because Goodyear honored the sailboat winners of the America’s Cup. Not today. Thanks to a public naming contest the blimp down the street from my childhood neighborhood is named “Wingfoot Two”. (I prefer the America’s Cup names instead.)

Maybe you also choose blimps because you drive on Michelins or Firestones. More likely it’s because you’ve seen a blimp buoyant over the Super Bowl or other sporting event. And speaking of football, if the Goodyear Blimp sets down on the field it covers 80% of the yardage. That’s one big balloon.

Goodyear’s flying machines of my childhood were literally balloons filled with helium, without any of the technology of today to make them easier to steer. Coincident with middle-school history class, whenever I’d see the blimp I’d think of Germany’s Hindenburg, the Nazi propaganda passenger dirigible that, like the Titanic, is best known for its final flame-filled disaster, on approach to Lakehurst Naval Air Station in New Jersey in 1937. Perhaps we should be thankful Goodyear never promoted its blimps as a form of mass transportation.

Also in my childhood, blimps offered a far more romantic image in the movie Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, where a colorful zeppelin traveled here and there over the fictional country of Vulgaria, carrying the villainous Baron Bomburst and his crew. (And here’s my opportunity to distinguish between terms. A zeppelin has more of a cylindrical shape, while a blimp looks more like a sausage. A dirigible? Just a general term for an airship.)

Speaking of sausage, it was inevitable someone would open a sub sandwich shop named after the aircraft. The Blimpie franchise (“America’s Sub Shop”) began in the 1960s, spread to locations around the world, and enjoyed a good fifty years of success. Today most of the helium has left their balloon. There are only about 25 Blimpie stores left in the U.S. (compared with almost 20,000 Subways). IMHO Blimpie’s was the better product, at least the version I remember from the 1990s.

Oh how I wish I could’ve concluded this post with another wanna take a ride? You and I missed the boat, er, airship on that opportunity. Goodyear held a contest at the start of 2025 and leading up to Pilgrim’s birthday, where three lucky passengers won a blimp ride. I say “lucky”, when in fact my fear of heights takes away any personal appeal to float up, up, and away. No worries, because now I’m thoroughly distracted by hunger pangs. Think I’ll hunt me down a “blimp sandwich”.

Some content sourced from IMDb, “the Internet Movie Database”, and Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.

Ambassador Aspirations

Wedding anniversaries call for a celebration in one form or another. My wife and I default to dinner out and exchanging store-bought cards. This year however, we threw caution to the wind and splurged on three days at the beach, at one of those resorts where they put a price tag on every little thing. It was meant to be the proverbial toast to our almost forty years of marital bliss. But right out of the gate I had to wonder if dinner and a card would’ve been the smarter choice.

Ocean-front room… has a nice ring to it, right? Somehow I shooed the practical angel off one shoulder in favor of the carefree one on the other and just booked it. I figured the extra cost would be justified by endless views of the horizon, easy walks on the beach, and ocean waves to lull us to sleep. At least that’s what I had in mind as I approached the front desk.

No sooner did I present my driver’s license and credit card when “Paula” (per the name tag) said, “Can I hang onto your cards a sec, Mr. Wilson? I’ll be right back.” Without waiting for an answer she disappeared behind a closed door. Minutes passed. Then tens of minutes. The growing line of check-in guests behind me was stressful, but more to the point what the heck was taking Paula so long? Was I about to be arrested and dragged away in cuffs? Was my credit card getting shredded to little bits? Was Paula really a front desk employee or someone who was already out the back door with visions of identity theft?

My fears were interrupted when the closed door opened and out strolled a more important-looking person – “Kevin” from Guest Services. Kevin asked if I could “step aside for a personal conversation”. So we moved beyond earshot of the other guests and an awkward exchange began.

“So… Mr. Wilson… uh… I don’t how to tell you this so guess I just tell you. We don’t have any more ocean-front rooms. I’m very sorry. We’ve given you and your wife an ocean-view room instead.”

Let’s clarify before we go any further. Ocean-front and ocean-view (at least at this place) are very different offerings. “Front” is smack-dab on the dunes of the sand of the beach of the ocean. Leave the sliding door open and you breathe in salt air and get sand in your hair. “View” is the room high up at the very back of the resort, with the hotel bars and restaurants in the foreground and the ocean a distant third.

I hesitated ever so briefly before responding to Kevin from Guest Services. The angel on one shoulder was lacing up boxing gloves while the other was donning a Japanese kimono and parasol for a bow of gentle acceptance. Neither approach seemed quite right so I split the difference.

“Why don’t you have an ocean-front room, Kevin? I have the confirmation email right here, showing I made the reservation weeks ago.”

“I know, Mr. Wilson, I know. We simply don’t have the room, not tonight nor any other night you’re here. How can I make things better?”

“How can I make things better?” Seriously?

“You can give me an ocean-front room, Kevin, just like I booked online. That would make things better.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Wilson, that’s just not possible. The best we can do is an ocean view. Listen, why don’t you and your wife get settled in and I’ll give you a call later?”

So settle in we did, somewhat begrudgingly. And I’ll be the first to admit the ocean-view rooms at this place were actually pretty nice. Our windows were centered so we had a panorama of the pools and restaurants, with the waves and horizon just beyond. Live music floated up from the bar. It was a pleasing scene from our little balcony. Now if only we had the king bed we reserved inside of the room instead of two queens.

Ring-ring (er, buzz-buzz)

“Mr. Wilson? It’s Kevin from Guest Services again. I’m checking in to see how you like your room. Getting settled? Everything okay so far?”

“Well, yes Kevin, it’s a nice enough room, only it has an extra bed. We reserved a king and I’m looking at two queens.”

“Two queens? Hoo-boy that’s not good. Can’t say how that happened. How can I make things better?”

Ignoring his favorite phrase and choosing not to state the obvious, I said, “Look Kevin, we’ll manage with the two queens; don’t worry about it. But here’s what I want to know. How does a hotel not have the ocean-front room I reserved and was guaranteed weeks ago?”

Pause.

“Well, uh, Mr. Wilson, I’m not supposed to share this information but I can tell you one of our other guests extended their stay, so they’ve taken the room that was supposed to be yours.”

Extended their stay? Taken my room? Must be someone important, like South Carolina’s governor or one of those surgeons at the “Advanced Echocardiography” session in the hotel conference room.

“Yes Mr. Wilson, an extended stay. In fact, the person who made that request is an ambassador.”

Ah, now we’re getting somewhere. I knew it! A political heavyweight. One of those who has the power to simply decree and it shall be done.

“An ambassador, huh? Okay, well that’s something. From what country?”

“Marriott.”

“Excuse me? Marriott?”

“Yes, Marriott rewards. An Ambassador is the highest level of our rewards program.”

My wife looked it up. Sure enough, you’re an “Ambassador” if you stay in a Marriott enough nights in a year. Like, one hundred enough nights. Me, I stay in a Marriott three nights in a year. I wonder what the program calls me, “Peon”? Again my thoughts were interrupted.

“Look Mr. Wilson, I’ve got to get going now, but we’ve added a nice discount to your room rate. I hope it makes up for the inconvenience. How can I make things better?”

Man, this guy really wanted to make things better, so I considered my options. Room service? Spa treatment? Round of golf? Hotel gift shop splurge? Instead I simply said, “Sure Kevin, make me an Ambassador”.

He laughed. Then he stopped laughing. Needless to say, I didn’t get the promotion.

Finial Touch

In early January you walked into my blog, took a seat in a pew up front, and witnessed the longest church service in the history of France. From the first LEGO piece I laid as the cornerstone – a now-hidden flat black rectangle – to this week’s placement of the oversized finial on top of the roof, you watched – for almost two hundred years – the slow, somewhat steady rise of Notre-Dame de Paris. Time sure flies, doesn’t it? But at last we’ve made it to the end (or at least, the year 1345), where the pastor dismisses the congregation with a “Go in peace!”(which sounds much better than “Go in pieces!”)

Some reflection is in order today, especially since we’re talking about a building of faith. Our cathedral adventure over the last 19 weeks took us through 4,383 LEGO pieces and 393 steps of the instruction manual, snapped together in fifteen hours, resulting in a five-pound plastic model that – “thank heavens” – really does look like the famous French cathedral on the Seine River in Paris.

[Builder/blogger note: I chose my Spotify classical music playlist while I finished up the cathedral. The first selection was entirely fitting: Edward Elgar’s “Pomp and Circumstance”, because this really did feel like a graduation of sorts. But the second selection was eerily more fitting: the final chorus of Handel’s “Messiah”. Ha-a-a-a-a-llelujah indeed!]

Some of the photos here aren’t much different than last week’s, but only because bags 31-34… of 34 bags of pieces, were all about embellishment: capstones, pinnacles, tabernacles, finials, statuary, and all the other little architectural flourishes unique to a cathedral (plus a little landscape on the sidewalk). You know those cake decorator videos where a white cake sits on a spinner and you get to witness the slow, mesmerizing development of frosting, flowers, and such? That was me this week; spinning, applying, and fully decorating my cake… er, cathedral.

Here’s a good photo of some of this decor (and click on any of the photos to see everything better). To the far left you can see several of the pinnacles; the little spires all in a row high up. There are 30 pinnacles on the entire cathedral. To the right you can see a couple of the tabernacles (14 of those); the open box-like structures above the tiny drainpipes. And running along the first floor you can see capstones; the helmet-like headers on either side of the open bays. There are more capstones on Notre-Dame de Paris than any other decorative element (68!)

Here’s a look at the cathedral’s famous flying buttresses, the exterior structural elements keeping the building from falling in on itself. There are 28 buttresses, including 14 running around the chancel and apse on the east end. Just below the tabernacle boxes you see the drainpipes. There are 46 of those. During a good rainstorm this view would include an elegant line of waterfalls.

Remember those curious “stars on flagpoles” (or “magic wands”)? Here they are again, all grouped together just below the part of the towers housing the bells. There are 24 of them. You can also see one of the cathedral’s three majestic rose windows front and center. Finally, note the round “medallions” just under the curved arches on either side of the rose window. You’ll find 24 of those on Notre-Dame de Paris as well; several stamped proudly with a “LEGO” logo.

Okay, one more example of embellishment. Here you can see the 12 disciples in green, symmetrically positioned around the base of the finial (all facing inward). When I pulled these little guys out of the plastic bag I thought they were scale figures for down on the sidewalk, but instead they are the statuary I referred to when I first talked about the cathedral back in January.

I’d be remiss if I didn’t say something about the model’s landscape elements. LEGO has come a long way since the boxy trees surrounding LEGO Fallingwater. These little “growees” are pretty sophisticated. Consider the tree in the middle. (Click on the photo for more detail). It’s made up of 37 LEGO pieces, including the trunk, branches, and leaves. Furthermore, the branches up against the cathedral are a darker green because, of course, that part of the tree is typically shaded.

Now then, before you “go in peace” I must mention one more thing; the so-called surprise I teased in last week’s post. Notre-Dame de Paris is such an elegant structure it deserves to be seen by day… and by night. Thanks to the good people at Briksmax, I am able to do just that: light up the cathedral from one end to the other. That’s the good news. The bad? I’m looking at another 2 instruction manuals and another 230 steps to get it done. Are you kidding me?

When I purchased the lights I figured they would be simply and cleverly inserted in and around the completed structure, but NO-O-O-O-O-O!!! (cue horror-movie music). In order to light up Notre Dame de Paris I must deconstruct the model. Again I say, are you kidding me? Here I finally complete my cathedral and now you want me to take it apart again? Sorry good readers; it’s just not something I can stomach right now. I’m going to sit and admire my completed cathedral while you settle for admiring the Briksmax photo above. You don’t place the finial on the roof of the catheral with a flourish, only to then remove the entire roof. Another church service for another time.

I leave you with one last look at our poor, unused, leftover pieces, all 48 of them in plastic-bagged captivity (but still trying to escape). I think they all ganged up and cried, “RUN FOR IT!”, because the 49th leftover – a tiny cluster of leaves from one of the trees – went skittering off the desk and onto the carpet below, where it immediately hushed and hid. I still haven’t found it, but no worries. The next time I walk into my office I’ll probably step on it with a satisfying crunch.

Running build time: 15 hrs. 6 min.

Total leftover pieces: 49

Pretty In Pink (and Green)

Here in the South, the arrival of spring has been declared with aplomb. You can already watch the grass grow, and it seems to need cutting every other day. But even more apparent, the blooms are everywhere. Pink azaleas (a staple at last weekend’s Masters golf tournament) run rampant. The roses have never been redder. And the giant flower heads of white hydrangeas will soon spring forth. This Easter week therefore, it seems appropriate for this blog to pay a visit to another cathedral: Saint Mary of the Flowers in Florence, Italy.

My LEGO creation of the cathedral of Notre-Dame de Paris is quickly coming to a close, so I need to tour you through at least one or two more cathedrals before I’m done. The first, you may recall, was Saint John Lateran in Rome (read about that one in Tucked-Away Place to Pray). Today we’re a three-hour drive to the north, at Santa Maria dei Fiore. It’s no surprise my tour of the world’s prominent cathedrals continues in Italy. To be honest, the whole tour would do just fine if it never left the country.

Florence is the capital city of the Italian region of Tuscany, known for its stunning landscapes, world-class wines, and Renaissance art and architecture. Approaching the city from any direction, you cannot help but notice Santa Maria dei Fiore. The cathedral is not only one of the largest in the world, but its exterior is finished with marble panels of pink and green, giving the structure a light, airy contrast to the surrounding buildings. The church is crowned by a distinctive dome, which captures your attention even before the church itself.

The architect in me wants to highlight Santa Maria dei Fiore for the remarkable engineering that went into this massive structure. I could spend an entire post talking about the design of the dome alone. Consider, its structure is actually one inside of another. The brick-clad concrete shell you see from the outside is connected to the one you see from the inside by “chains” of stone, iron, and wood. With this approach, Santa Maria dei Fiore doesn’t require the flying buttresses so prominent in Notre-Dame de Paris (a structural element the Italians regarded as “ugly makeshifts”). And the dome’s four million bricks – which might seem heavy-handed (ha) – are a much lighter material than stone or tile.

There’s more to this cathedral than its dome, of course. The plan, a traditional Latin cross, includes three rounded apses surrounding the altar, each used as a chapel. The nave (sanctuary) is the length of two football fields; a vast interior space with single aisles on either side. The structural arches soar 75 feet above the seemingly endless marble floor. And perhaps most unusual, Santa Maria dei Fiore is actually a complex of three buildings. You enter the adjacent octagonal Baptistry of St. John through sets of bronze doors (which are replacements for the famous originals now residing in a nearby museum). And the slender free-standing Giotto’s Campanile (bell tower) is a decorated work of art in itself. All three structures blend together with those distinctive pink and green marble tiles.

If you’re ever fortunate enough to visit Saint Mary of the Flowers, be sure to purchase the ticket to climb to the top of the dome. Filippo Brunelleschi – the architect -included a narrow staircase between the two shells so you can reach the uppermost cupola for a spectacular view of Florence and the surrounding countryside. Brunelleschi designed other structures in his lifetime; churches, chapels, hospitals, and such, but the Florence Cathedral is his crowning achievement. It’s no wonder you’ll find his tomb right inside the entrance, alongside the more prominent players in Santa Maria’s storied history.

LEGO Notre-Dame de Paris – Update #12

(Read about the start of this “church service” in Highest Chair)

Oh my stars, the build was challenging today! Bags 22, 23, and 24 – of 34 bags of pieces, focused almost exclusively on the west facade and the rising of the bell towers. We added the final rose window (above the west entrance) and reinforced the upper reaches of the nave in anticipation of adding the roof.

So here’s a detail I didn’t expect. In Notre-Dame’s towers, just below the uppermost structure (where the bells live – still to be built), you have – how else can I say it? – “stars on flag poles”. Forty stars on flag poles, to be precise. When I dumped out Bag 24, I thought, “What the…?” as the pile of magic wands you see here appeared. Did LEGO mistakenly add pieces from a Harry Potter model into mine? A Disney perhaps? Nope. Look at the final photo. Every one of those stars is planted at the west end of the cathedral like palm trees; most of them in the bell towers. Nice detail, Notre-Dame. As for installing them? It’s tough enough to push little poles into LEGO holes one-by-one-by one, but then you have to rotate the stars precisely forty-five degrees from the plane of the cathedral walls. The engineers at LEGO are having a barrel of laughs at my expense.

By the way, we’ve made it to the year 1245 as we build the bell towers, almost a hundred years after laying the first cornerstone at the opposite end. And we are almost done. By the numbers we have ten bags of pieces to go, but by the look of the model we’re closer than that. They must be small bags of pieces. Whatever. I just hope they don’t contain any more stars on flagpoles.

Running build time: 12 hrs. 01 min.

Total leftover pieces: 32

Some content sourced from Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.

Chugga Chugga Chew Chew

Technology isn’t always our friend. Recent studies show plastic water bottles shed as many as 24,000 “micro-bits” of plastic into the consumer’s body. These bits measure 1/1000th of a meter across. But more recent studies – studies we didn’t have the technology for even five years ago – reveal the same bottles sheds another 200,000 “nano-bits”. At 1/1,000th the width of a human hair, these infinitesimal particles are so small they pass through the membranes of the body’s organs, leading to heaven knows what kind of damage. “Gulp!”

Let’s leave this horror movie of science-you-didn’t-want-to-know behind and go with glass or metal containers instead. But it’s virtually impossible to avoid ingesting plastic particles anyway. And many people make a habit of it every day… with chewing gum. Gum contains the same microplastics as water bottles. No surprise there. You shouldn’t really ingest any of the ingredients in chewing gum.

When you’re a kid however, you don’t care about ingredients (let alone bits of plastic). Gum chewing is a habit I absolutely subscribed to in childhood. I still remember the barber who cut my hair when I was single-digits old. The reward for being a good boy in the chair was to help myself to one of those little wrapped chunks of Bazooka bubble gum. Bubble gum has a distinctive flavor I can still recall decades later. The pink stuff also has the built-in game of blowing big, sticky bubbles.

After Bazooka came Bubble Yum, a trendy alternative because it was a softer chew from the get-go and packaged in larger chunks. Bubble Yum came in several flavors. But for me, chewing gum evolved from “bubble” to “sugarless” in a heartbeat, thanks to one too many trips to the dentist. Choosing from the “prize shelf” after my fillings, I always went for the pack of Dentyne instead of the toys. Dentyne was the dentist’s way of encouraging less sugar (and more saliva). Dentyne was my way of thinking it was still okay to chew gum.

Somewhere between Bubble Yum and Dentyne came those slim packs of “stick gum”, including Doublemint, Juicy Fruit, Clove, and for this licorice aficionado, Black Jack. I also consumed my fair share of Chiclets. But my gum habit eventually evolved to more of a”breath mint” chew. The one I remember best was “Freshen Up”, the green chunk of gum encasing the small dose of mouthwash gel. You’d get this mind-blowing burst of mint the moment you bit into it. Pretty novel for chewing gum.

What I never saw coming – which ground my chewing gum habit to an abrupt halt – was TMJ, also known as (the more scary-sounding) “dysfunction of the temporomandibular joint”. In plain English, TMJ is sustained pain in the jaw muscles from overuse. It’s nasty, and if you’re not careful it can be chronic. For me it was relieved by backing off on the chewing gum… as well as breakfast bowls of Grape Nuts. If you’ve had TMJ yourself, you know it’s a little unnerving (pun intended) because there’s no guarantee you’re ever gonna get rid of it.

Every now and then someone offers me a piece of gum and I politely decline. I’m not interested in the return of jaw pain and besides, I’ve developed a preference for breath mints instead. As for you, whether you chugga chugga (your water) or chew chew (your gum), don’t forget about those nasty nano-plastics. Just like Mr. TMJ, they’re not your friend.

LEGO Notre-Dame de Paris – Update #11

(Read about the start of this “church service” in Highest Chair)

Today we “leveled the praying field” 🙂 Bags 19, 20, and 21… of 34 bags of pieces, brought the height of the nave to virtually the same as the chancel. It’s safe to say the lion’s share of the remaining pieces will be (tiny and) focused on building the roof structure and west end bell towers.

Dropping a piece down, down, down into the sanctuary – which I managed to do twice today through the top square openings you see here – is no laughing matter. You might say, “Just flip the model over and shake them out, Dave” but I’m way too far along to risk it falling apart. Instead, I had to reach down with my giant fingers, gently pinch, and then pull back like a construction crane. I hope I didn’t scare the parishioners in the process.

We built framed windows today, (plastic) glass and all! These can be seen in the final photo, on the west end of the cathedral above the doors. We also built – in somewhat assembly-line fashion – another fourteen of the cathedral’s distinctive flying buttresses. But the most tedious, time-consuming task of all was the arched windows you see along the upper walls of the nave in the first photo. Each is assembled from a dozen finger-numbing pieces.

Finally, a word about weight. I picked up the cathedral the other day and went, “Holy cow!” (ha). Turns out this beast weighs a robust three pounds already. That’s a lot of plastic. And given today’s blog topic I’m thankful the model isn’t edible.

Running build time: 10 hrs. 28 min.

Total leftover pieces: 28 (no new ones!)

Some content sourced from the CNN Health article, “Chewing gum can shed microplastics into saliva…”, and Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.

Crop of the Cream

One of the essentials you’ll find in our refrigerator is a container of “half & half”. The 50/50 concoction of milk and light cream creates the perfect texture in our morning cup of coffee. Anything leaning more towards nonfat just doesn’t cut it for us. Earlier this week I noticed (with a wry smile) our half & half was parked right next to a tall, red can of Reddi Wip. Talk about your polar opposites. In the Jeopardy category of “Cream”, it doesn’t get much different.

Today’s topic is brought to you by the makers of Häagen-Dazs. My wife brought home a couple of containers of their ice cream the other night, and right after dinner I was eager to dig in. The little tubs were smaller than what I was used to but I figured it was a good way to curb consumption. After the first bite however, I realized something wasn’t quite right. Or maybe it was very right. Turns out, I was enjoying the coffee flavor of Häagen-Dazs’ “cultured crème”. In other words, yogurt instead of ice cream.

Häagen-Dazs describes its new product as “a unique blend of dairy cultures that offer a smoother taste experience unlike the slightly sour flavor of traditional yogurt.” Okay, that’s a mouthful (ha). It’s a tasty mouthful but it’s also just another spin on food products with creamy consistencies. We foodies are all about “mouth feel” aren’t we?

You probably have more cream-based products in your refrigerator/freezer than you realize. Go take a look. It wouldn’t surprise me to learn you also have a can of Reddi Wip (at least you Americans), as well as a tub of sour cream, several sticks of butter, several flavors of ice cream, and whatever version of “creamer” you prefer in your coffee.

Cream itself is, of course, the higher fat layer skimmed from the top of raw milk. It’s sold in several grades depending on the butterfat content. IMHO the Canadians have the most straightforward set of descriptors, as follows:

40% milk fat: manufacturing cream (not available as retail)
33-36%: whipped cream (for topping)
15-18%: table cream (for coffee)
10%: half and half (for cereal, sauces, and soups)
3-10%: light cream (lower-fat alternative to any of the above)

Other countries complicate the matter, but often for the better. The French have their crème fraîche, which belongs in the 40% category above and makes for a nice unsweetened topping on a very sweet dessert. The Swiss produce a “double cream” that hits closer to 45% and is probably as thick as yogurt. And the Brits are famous for their “clotted cream”, which tops the milk fat charts at 45% and spreads on a scone like butter.

Whether “cream” or “crème” (or even “crema”), the word enhances the appeal of a food product. Consider cream pie versus just “pie”. Cream puff instead of just “puff”. Want a cookie, or how about a cookie with cream filling? And anything with buttercream frosting – versus just “frosting” – is more decadent. Heck, I’d even try “plant cream” if you asked me to (the vegan spin on dairy).

For my money, any product with “Häagen-Dazs” printed on the label is worth a try. Their ice cream products are the cream of their crop but it’s safe to say I’ll be buying more of their cultured crème cups. Not a bad substitute for less healthy dessert options. And just the latest entry in the crop of the cream.

LEGO Notre-Dame de Paris – Update #10

(Read about the start of this “church service” in Highest Chair)

Roses are red, violets are… hang on, hang on; back up the truck. In Notre-Dame de Paris, roses are stained-glass windows. Bags 17 and 18… of 34 bags of pieces, focused almost entirely on the construction of the cathedral’s spectacular wheel-like windows. Today we worked away from the model to completely build two of the three roses, then installed them above the north and south walls of the cathedral’s transept. The LEGO versions aren’t nearly as intricate as the real windows but each one is still made up of thirty tiny pieces.

LEGO’s rose windows are necessarily simplified, but that’s not to take away from the craftsmanship of the windows in Notre-Dame de Paris. The transept roses are forty-two feet in diameter (about the width of a basketball court). The artwork of their dozens of panes of stained glass contains scenes from the life of Christ, the twelve apostles, as well as martyrs, virgins, angels, saints, and more. It’s a wonder these windows were created way back in the year 1250. It’s also a wonder they’ve lasted through wars and such, undamaged, for almost 800 years now.

Besides the rose windows, we added more structure to the rising walls of the nave today, the area on the left side of the photo covered in gray. I point this out because the sanctuary is getting more and more closed in as we anticipate more of the roof structure above. Lest I’m fooled into thinking we’re almost complete, the fact is we have another sixteen bags of pieces to go!

Running build time: 8 hrs. 58 min.

Total leftover pieces: 28

Some content sourced from the Häagen-Dazs Cultured Crème website, and Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.

Fruit of the Bloom

On Monday I noticed a lot of the wearing o’ the green because, of course, Americans celebrate St. Patrick’s Day as if we are somehow Irish. It’s a fitting burst of color as winter slowly but inevitably surrenders the seasonal baton. Soon you’ll find a full-on rainbow of blooms in every garden you pass. For now however, let’s drink and dance in honor of another bright color this week: pink. More to today’s topic, cherry pink.

If you’re tuning in from Washington D.C. you already know where I’m going with this one. Today is the first day of spring, and the beginning of the Cherry Blossom Festival in our nation’s capital: four weeks of seemingly countless opportunities to celebrate the flowering of the graceful trees on the banks of the Potomac. If you’d asked me a week ago what the bloomin’ fuss is all about, I’d have said the festival’s significance is as shallow as the water in the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool. But now I’m properly informed. There’s more to this story than just pretty in pink.

In the early 1900s, America and Japan were unconditionally friendly countries (years before that little dust-up in the 1940s). To acknowledge the friendship, Tokyo’s mayor shipped 3,000 Japanese cherry trees to Washington D. C. There’s a longer, more convoluted history behind this gesture, including players from both countries making repeated efforts to populate the city with trees, but the details are about as interesting as pushing a bill through Congress. Suffice it to say cherry trees were planted along the river, up and down the avenues, and in numbers worthy of an annual festival starting in the 1930s.

I love cherries; always have. I think the flavor itself appealed to me before the fruit, in the popular junk food of the 1970s. Hostess Fruit Pies. Life Savers. Slurpees from 7-11. Or the proverbial maraschino on top of an ice cream sundae. As much as I got my fill of those, I could never get my fill of my mother’s homemade cherry pie, and I mean homemade. The cherries were passed down from her mother each year, picked, jarred, and ready to go. The crust was made from scratch, including the signature latticework on top. It’s a wonder the butter wasn’t churned from the milk of a family cow.

It’s also a wonder I’ve never been to D.C.’s Blossom Festival, considering my unabashed affection for the fruit. I’m sure I’d find a couple dozen new ways to enjoy cherries besides the usuals. I’d happily scarf down a serving of flambéed Cherries Jubilee over ice cream, or the cherry-filled sponge cake of a Black Forest gateau. For the more adventurous there’s a savory Hungarian soup made with sour cherries.

Of course, there’s a lot more to the Blossom Festival than just food. You’ll find parades, concerts, and kite-flying, with every shade of pink you can imagine. Tour the historic Anderson House, filled with art and floral displays (featuring the cherry blossom, of course). Compete in a “Petals and Paddles” boat race across the tidal basin surrounded by the trees. Or get wet in “Pink in the Pool”, a family-friendly swim party replete with colorful beach balls. There’s even an “Opening Ceremony” event on the first Saturday, (already sold out by the time I checked the website). The weeks-long agenda proudly declares “events are primarily free” but I beg to differ. Tickets to the first several on the list were decidedly pricey.

For all I’ve just written, it’s a wonder the word “cherry” appears less than ten times in the hundreds of posts I’ve published on Life In A Word. One time I referred to the children’s game “Hi Ho! Cherry-O”. Another I talked about Cherry Coke. The rest were the same things I mention here – ice cream sundaes, Slurpees, and so on. So let’s add the Blossom Festival to the list, shall we? With four weeks of celebrating, it’s safe to say life is a lot more than just a bowl of cherries.

LEGO Notre-Dame de Paris – Update #9

(Read about the start of this “church service” in Highest Chair)

What was once a giant box of LEGO pieces is finally starting to resemble a cathedral! Bags 15 and 16… of 34 bags of pieces, focused entirely on the body (nave) of the structure. We’re now building in the years 1220-1225, when the walls of the nave rise to the same height as the semicircular chancel at the east end.

The parishioners look rather tiny, now that we’re working so far above them. And notice all those free-standing columns from last week aren’t so free-standing anymore. We’ve capped them with structural elements to support what is still to be built up above. Also notice we’ve closed in the west end of the cathedral, which patiently awaits the addition of the soaring bell towers.

Okay, it’s time to address the elephant in the room; an elephant that gets bigger with every update. A few of you have sounded the alarm on my running count of leftover pieces. It’s a fair concern, considering the LEGO Grand Piano also started as thousands of pieces but only amounted to a handful of extras.

Here’s the truth of it: the twenty-six leftovers shown here amount to just a handful as well. Every one of them is among the tiniest pieces in the entire cathedral. It probably cost LEGO pennies to add in these “bench players”. And given the tendency of pieces to run away I’m grateful to have them. Heck, by the time the cathedral is finished maybe I’ll have enough leftovers to build a small elephant.

Running build time: 7 hrs. 57 min.

Total leftover pieces: 26

Some content sourced from the National Cherry Blossom Festival website, and Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.

Dead-Letter Danes

Denmark strikes me as a charming little country. It’s only half the size of South Carolina. The central town of Billund (pop. 7,300) is the birthplace of LEGO. The Little Mermaid – the famous waterfront bronze statue – honors the fairy tales of Danish author Hans Christian Andersen. And the Viking warriors of Denmark’s past seem like cartoon characters compared to today’s warmongers. Now let’s add another reason to admire the Danes. By the end of 2025 their postal service will no longer deliver the mail.

Imagine walking out to your mailbox, dropping down the little door, and finding… nothing. Do you really have to imagine it? I can’t remember the last time my mailbox contained anything worth putting my hands on. It’s a daily pity-party pile in there: postcard ads, clothing catalogs, and random solicitations addressed to “Resident”. Christmas, birthday, and occasional thank-you cards are about the only personal touch we’re giving USPS anymore, and I speak as a baby boomer. The younger generations click keys instead of lick stamps.

Denmark discovered the obvious. Since Y2K their personal mail volume has dropped 90%. It’s pretty much the same as removing eleven eggs from the box of twelve. You used to deliver a dozen but now you deliver just one. Denmark’s Postal Service has been around for over 400 years so understandably a few of its citizens – seniors in particular – are upset about the quit. But are they really happy to pay 29 Danish krone (about $4.20) to mail a letter somewhere within their tiny country? That cost would have me turning to email as well.

Denmark is already beginning to remove its 1,500 public mailboxes, which got me to thinking. What will the U.S. do with all of our own mailboxes when our time comes? We have tons of the free-standing blue ones, where you pull open the door and drop in a letter. By my (questionable) math, since Denmark is half the size of South Carolina, and South Carolina is only 1% of the U.S. geography, we could have over 300,000 of these dead-weights just taking up space.

And what about the mailbox in front of your house? Remove it from its stand and then what? Oversized breadbox for the kitchen? Storage for a stack of small tombstones? Garage for Mini Cooper? The odd shape of traditional mailboxes just makes you want to melt them down for scrap.

It’s time for the U.S. to get on board with mighty Denmark and stop delivering the mail. UPS, FedEx, Amazon and a host of others now command package delivery. Any bill worth paying can be settled online. And for every twenty “circulars” my wife likes to leaf through, maybe one catches her eye with something she’d want to buy.

I can’t reconcile the fact that a letter to my niece way out in Hawaii or one to my neighbor right next door costs the same to mail: $0.73 for the first-class stamp. Maybe it’s why USPS reported a loss of ten billion dollars in 2024 alone. With that much red, the cost could be 29 krone (or $4.20, remember?) and it still wouldn’t make a profit. If you ask me, removing that particular debt from the federal budget sounds as sweet as… well… a cinnamon Danish.

LEGO Notre-Dame de Paris – Update #8

(Read about the start of this “church service” in Highest Chair)

Christian hymns sometimes refer to “tearing down the walls”. We were doing anything but tearing down at Notre-Dame de Paris today. Bags 12, 13, and 14… of 34 bags of pieces, had us beginning to surround the nave (the main space) with walls of stone, glass, and columns galore. The vertical construction progressed so quickly I swear I heard a parishioner cry, “Let us out! Let us out!”

Check out all those columns in the first photo. It’s like an army of soldiers took up residence in the cathedral, bracing themselves like Atlas for the weight of what is soon to be built above them. It’s a wonder the congregation can move about in the sanctuary without banging into a soldier here or there.

Today’s math lesson: multiples of seven. We built seven of this or fourteen of that, or in the case of those soldier columns, twenty-eight. And you know those Lazy Susan spinners the cake decorators use for frosting and such? I could’ve used one today since I built a little on the north wall, then switched to the south wall, then back to the north, and so on.

It’s a good thing I’m showing you the sanctuary looking down from above (feeling divine?) As you can see from the west end here – where the bell towers will soon rise – we’re already pretty well buttoned up. Settle in, all ye faithful; get comfortable. Those walls will continue to rise up around you.

Running build time: 6 hrs. 50 min.

Total leftover pieces: 26

Some content sourced from the BBC.com article, “Denmark postal service to stop delivering letters”, and Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.

Eggs-asperating Prep

Every now and then I get a hankering to bake something, which nine of ten times means chocolate-chip cookies. That tenth time I’ll venture into breads or cakes but they’re usually too time-consuming for my “taste”. Thus I’ll buy a perfectly prepared croissant before I ever labor to make one on my own. Maybe the same should be said for so-called perfectly prepared eggs.

We’re all talking about eggs these days, the same way we talked about gas during the “Energy Crisis” of the late 1970s. Eggs are scarce and evermore expensive, which translates to being more choosy about how we use them at home. I like eggs for breakfast every other day and I’m not likely to change that habit on account of rising prices. My dog may have to forego the occasional scrambled egg on top of his kibble, but until I pay as much for a dozen eggs as I do to fill my gas tank, I’ll still be buying them.

What I won’t be doing is cooking my eggs any differently than I did last week or last month, even if scientists now claim the “perfect method” (their words) to do so. I prefer my eggs soft-boiled, which means a pot, some water, a $2.99 submersible egg timer from Wal*Mart, and less than ten minutes of prep after the water is boiled. It’s a quick, mindless process I can pull off even before my morning coffee.

Would you prefer a more time-consuming method instead, with only slightly better results? Okay. Take two pots of water and heat one to boiling (212 F for us Americans, 100 C for most of the rest of you) and the other pot to “lukewarm” (86 F, 30 C). Drop your eggs into the boiling water for two minutes, then transfer them to the lukewarm water for two minutes. Repeat seven more times. That’s right, seven more times. On your calculator as well as mine, that’s 32 minutes until breakfast is ready, and you’re too busy to do other stuff while you’re waiting.

If I dedicate 32 minutes to egg-making, I’m expecting something much more grand and decadent. An omelette at the least. A scramble with a load of cut-up veggies. “Benedict”, including the hollandaise sauce. Heck, I’d even don my French chef’s hat and try sous vide eggs, which are…. oh, never mind – those take an hour or more.

The second is soft-boiled; the fourth is supposedly “perfect”

The thought of “perfect” eggs in 32 minutes instead of soft-boiled in less than 10 is exasperating. If I wanted to go all science on you, I’d explain why 32-minute eggs allow the albumen and yolk to cook perfectly together, even though each has a different composition. I’d also explain why this method retains the maximum nutritional benefit of eating eggs (protein and so on). But c’mon, do you really care about those details when you’re just looking for grub to get your day started? Heck, the prep of my 10-minute eggs even allows me to feed the dog and clean up last night’s dishes while I wait.

The “perfect eggs” news article is interesting enough but I had to laugh when the writer inserted the standard “… be forewarned that consuming raw or undercooked eggs may increase your risk of foodborn illness”…” Wait, I thought these eggs were perfectly cooked. Now you’re hinting the process may cause food poisoning? Sorry Mr. Scientist, I’ll stick to my $2.99 Wal*Mart egg timer method instead.

LEGO Notre-Dame de Paris – Update #7

(Read about the start of this “church service” in Highest Chair)

Maybe LEGO’s engineers got impatient with the construction of the east-end chancel of Notre-Dame de Paris, because Bags 10 and 11… of 34 bags of pieces, laid out the rest of the foundation of the entire cathedral. Indeed, when we finished today’s rather brisk build (24 minutes!) we put down enough marble to allow the capacity 1,500 parishioners to “take a pew”.

24 minutes was barely a French coffee break back in the day when Notre-Dame was actually built. In fact, we’re now twenty years into the construction: AD 1182. With the chancel complete enough to host church services, we’ll spend the next twenty years (or rather, the builders did) rising the transcept (the “cross” bar, remember?) and first bays of the nave (the cross “long” bar).

Speaking of “bars”, note that I added LEGO’s signature “title bar” to the near edge of the model today (photo below). LEGO wants you to know what cathedral you’re looking at, even though I’m teaching you enough detail so you won’t need a title bar. But don’t be fooled; you won’t find a title bar in the foundation of the real Notre-Dame de Paris.

Today’s build was quick but not without the usual antics. Once again I installed a piece incorrectly – a tiny bit of marble. Once again I reached for the LEGO lever but it couldn’t lever out this kind of piece. So I resorted to my paper clip “crowbar” instead and ZING!!! – the piece went flying across the room and ricocheted (another word with French roots – nice, no?) off the wall. Good thing I managed to find it or several of Notre-Dame’s parishioners would trip on their way out.

Running build time: 5 hrs. 56 min.

Total leftover pieces: 24

Some content sourced from the CNN Science article, “Scientists developed a new method for the perfect boiled egg…”.