Karen Sandler

Category: Unusual Hobbies

  • I Fib Not, Fibonacci

    I can be a real glutton for punishment. For instance, in college, I majored in math with a physics minor. Then I went on to earn an MS in computer science. I avoided continuing on to a PhD because it alarmed me how much gray hair the doctoral candidates had.

    All along, I also indulged my writing obsession. I wrote plenty of science fiction short stories (my first baby steps along the path to writing my YA novel, TANKBORN). I also enjoyed writing sonnets (yes, really). My preferred form was Shakespearean, fourteen lines, iambic pentameter, a-b-a-b, c-d-c-d, e-f-e-f, g-g rhyme scheme.

    Then I discovered acrostic sonnets. Azimov’s Science Fiction magazine had a contest for best acrostic sonnet and although I’d missed the deadline for entry, I got hooked on writing the devilish things.

    So, what’s an acrostic sonnet? Start with a 14-letter word, phrase, proper name, then use the letters of the word/phrase/name to start each line of the sonnet. The sonnet itself should have something to do with the word/phrase/name.

    So, what did I write about? The nerdy stuff I was studying in school. QUEUEING THEORY and QUANTUM PHYSICS. Also a couple of Trek-related tries.

    I bring this up because I learned over the weekend from fellow writer Greg Pincus about Fibonacci poems. They’re based on Fibonacci numbers, which start with 0 & 1, then proceed from there with subsequent numbers equal to the sum of the two previous. Therefore, after 0 & 1 come 1 (=0+1), 2 (=1+1), 3 (=1+2), 5 (=2+3), 8(=3+5), 13(=5+8), 21(=8+13), etc. The poems are written using 1 syllable in the first line, 1 in the second, two in the third, three in the fourth line, five in the sixth line and on and on. I guess if the poem goes on long enough, you’ll get some pretty long lines.

    So, I could have just written some Fibonacci poems, right? I’ve written plenty of decent, self-respecting poetry. This would be a fun, new form.

    But no-o-o. I had to notice that “Fibonacci Poems” has 14 letters. The exact number needed for an acrostic sonnet.

    I was doomed. My obsession took over.

    So, here it is. My newest acrostic sonnet. My apologies to Greg and fans of Fibonacci poetry everywhere.

    First, I should say I studied math in school.
    In fact, I’m what you’d likely call a nerd
    Because I think that calculus is cool.
    Oh, I can integrate x to the 3rd.
    Now, though, I write. Equations have become
    A sentence on the page. And x and y
    Combine to make a word, and not a sum,
    Creating stories, no more graphing lines.
    I’ve heard there is a certain kind of verse
    Prepared by counting syllables from one
    One, two, then three, then five…it’s somewhat terse,
    Embracing sequences and number fun.
    Most people may not like to do their math,
    So poetry can trick them down that path.

  • If Only They Pooped $$$

    Owning a horse has been a glorious dream of mine since I was a wee thing. More than one Christmas I asked my parents for a pony. Christmas morning, with a heart full of hope, I’d race out to the back yard and search for that beautiful steed I longed for. No dice. The closest I got to my dream was a collection of Breyer horses.

    It was decades before I could buy that equine o’ mine. I had to grow up and marry a really nice guy who not only earns a decent living, but actually is okay with me spending so much of his hard earned cash on a hobby he has no interest in pursuing himself. We also had to move away from L.A. to an area where facilities to keep a horse were plentiful and merely rather expensive as opposed to heart-stoppingly outrageous.

    Financially, I would have been much better off if I’d kept the Breyers (which have increased in value) and skipped the full-size, live-action equivalent (which sucks up lucre faster than a shop-vac). How expensive is it to keep a horse? Take the money you have in your bank account. Multiply by two. Add in whatever take home pay the government lets you keep. Throw in those quarters you just found in the sofa cushions. You’re half-way there.

    Buying the horse itself is the cheap part, and in some ways the easiest. You can always find someone’s back yard “pet” they’re willing to part with for only a couple thousand. Of course, there’s a reason they’re selling so cheap, and I learned the hard way a whole textbook full of reasons.

    My first horse was a supposed “beginner friendly” mare who reared (with me riding). It took a lot of work and a huge loss to sell her on down the road. I lucked out with couple of nice geldings next (Rudy and Ben), although Ben was probably ten years older than advertised. I took a chance on another mare next (the fearsome Georgie), who took off like a bat-outta-hell at every opportunity. Bye-bye Georgie.

    Next came Indy, a wonderful Morgan gelding who put the fun back into riding for me. I swore off mares forever. Then Indy got a little hitch in his git-along and I had to retire him. And wouldn’t you know it–the next horse I fell in love with was a mare. Beautiful Belle, who occasionally takes off like a much more lackadaisical, less committed bat-outta-hell. What is it with mares and running off?

    I do enjoy her, but just standing around in her stall, she costs me bucks (the paper folding type, not the kick up her heels kind). Besides the obvious room and board, there are feet to trim and shoe, maintenance items like wormer, vaccinations and bi-monthly Legend shots (which keep her joints moving). There’s the expense of tack (the cost of saddles alone is enough to make you swoon), fly masks in summer and horse blankets in winter. There are treats (Belle loves her treats). Then of course, when I do finally climb on, there are the weekly riding lessons during which I valiantly strive to counteract age and gravity to look graceful in the saddle.

    All to fulfill a dream. Yes, I love it. I’m grateful to have the opportunity to own and ride a horse. But if only once in a while I could find a twenty or two in those steaming piles of manure.

     

  • Breadapalooza

    On Saturday, my son Ryan and I engaged in a bread-baking extravaganza. I’d requested the day as a Christmas gift–I wanted him to teach me how to make artisan breads. As an extra-special, wonderful bonus, he and my daughter-in-law, Dani, brought my beautiful granddaughter over to spend the day. Dani went shopping with her mother and sister and my husband did the babysitting while Ryan and I baked.

    Although he bakes fantastic breads, Ryan’s not a professional baker. He and Dani are working on their doctorates in economics (yes, in addition to being new parents). Baking artisan breads is a hobby (edging on an obsession :-)) for Ryan. I taught him the basics of bread baking when he was a kid, and now things have gone full circle with him teaching me graduate level yeastonomics.

    The night before our breadapalooza, as instructed by the master, I made two pre-ferments, a biga and a poolish, and left them out on the counter to do their yeasty magic. We started the first actual dough around 9:30am on Saturday. Our goal for the day–two batches of each of three varieties. Each batch made two loaves. The idea was that he would mix, fold and stretch, pre-shape, shape and slash two loaves of Italian, then I would do the same when my turn came. Repeat with potato rosemary bread and with rustic French.

    Here’s the tricky part. I don’t have a commercial oven (alas), and I own only one baking stone. So only two loaves fit in my oven at any given time. We couldn’t make our Italian bread side by side because all four loaves would be proofed and ready to go in the oven at the same time.  As a consequence, everything had to be staggered on the schedule. So what does any self-respecting doctoral candidate do to prepare for a breadapalooza? Create an Excel spreadsheet, of course.

    I printed the schedule out on legal-sized paper and we taped it up onto the stove hood. That schedule was our lodestar. We spent half our time running over to check what we were supposed to be doing next. If you haven’t yet done the math–four loaves of each of 3 varieties of bread–we were making a dozen loaves. And because of the staggering effect, we had six sessions of mixing, six of stretch and fold, six of pre-shaping…you get the idea. Mass confusion at times, even with the schedule.

    Which led to one bobble–the wrong batch of potato rosemary bread got shaped and put into the proofing basket. Instead of using the earlier one that my son had mixed, the one that wasn’t ready for shaping (which I had mixed), got prepped for proofing. This may sound like not a big deal, but when you’re going for perfection in appearance, crumb and taste, it was near disaster.

    With a few adjustments, all turned out fine. The end results were quite spectacular as you can see from the picture.

    We took one each of the three types over to Dani’s parents’ house for dinner that night to celebrate Dani’s dad’s birthday.

    It was a lot of bread, but it was oh-so-wonderful. And what a fantastic day with my son. Bonding over fermentation, gluten development, and autolizing. What more could a mother ask for?

    If you’d like to see Ryan’s perspective of the day, hop on over to his blog entry at The Fresh Loaf. He’s got more pictures to admire.

  • Unusual Hobbies

    If you’ve read the bio on my website, you know I wanted to be a writer from a pretty young age. But like everyone else, I dabbled in the occasional odd hobby–troll doll fashion shows in elementary school, community choir in my late teens, and in my 20s, cartooning.

    Cartooning has at least a connection to writing–you have to pen that witty caption. But you should also have at least a rudimentary talent for drawing. Which I had…with an emphasis on the rudimentary. The cartooning class I took through UCLA Extension improved my skills somewhat. And I did win the class contest–one of my cartoons earned me $100 and publication in a business magazine.

    But my drawing skills never advanced beyond the so-so. And my caption-writing left much to be desired. I went more for plays on words and sight gags, like in this example:

    In case you can’t make them out, those little marks on the steps are eyes, which are staring. Stairs…stares. Get it?

    Yeah, I know. If I have to work so hard to explain it, maybe I should have gone back to the drawing board.

    Here’s another one along the same lines:

    In this concept, there was the advantage of circles being dead easy to draw. The fact that it’s not particularly funny is besides the point.

    I’m actually rather proud of this next one:

    However, if you never took upper level probability & statistics and therefore never learned about the poisson distribution and you have no idea what the French word “poisson” means in English…you probably won’t get it. Not to mention your eyes have likely crossed and glazed over by now.

    Below are a few more from my illustrious collection. You’ll have to work out what they mean on your own. I apologize if that effort gives you a headache, or impacts your future enjoyment of cartoons.

    The last one needs a caption. It might have had one once and it jumped off the page out of embarrassment. So if you have any ideas for a really snappy caption, please send it along. I’ll include it in a future post.

    I’d also be interested in hearing about your unusual hobbies. Feel free to share in the comments.