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Work-ity work

The sun is too bright. The air conditioner is running. The unseasonably pretty spring is over, just in time for hurricane season, and it's boiling hot.

What else is there to do but work?

That seems to be my clients' assumption, anyway. I have got so much work piling up (Hurray for patent litigation!), I could work every day, including weekends, from now to mid-July. But I won't.

We are also slouching towards unpacking now that all of Oz's stuff is here. What little he kept. I asked him, "So, do you feel light as a feather or plucked like a chicken?"

Tonight he brought over the last of it, his plants and the terracotta pots to which he is particularly attached. Alas, the six foot tall Norfolk pine and the eight foot tall corn plant remained behind. We just have no room here, unless they could survive outdoors all year round.

The stacks of boxes in the middle of the floor are not all that scary, really. And at least his lava lamps are already set up in a row on a bookcase in the living room. Classy. I have them in a switched power strip too.

I'm beginning to think we've got room for everything. Besides, the man brought his own closets with him. How often does that happen?

Moving in place

Oz spent the weekend packing up his house (giving most of the contents to Goodwill) and I spent the weekend throwing stuff out (mostly to Goodwill) to make room for his stuff in my house. Moving without moving is exhausting, though much less hard than really moving.

I went through my spare closet and got rid of all my professional type clothes from the 80s: suits, some really nice skirts with sewn down pleats, nice lined wool slacks. Lots of pink. I'm so proud of myself.I didn't even stop to try things on. I went through a mostly empty trunk and found all the old shoulder pads which I snipped out of my clothes from way back when. (I have really square shoulders and shoulder pads look ridiculous on me.) I also found some big, chunky clip earrings (Purple! Gold!) which I don't remember wearing, but the sight of them induced earlobe pain, so I must have worn them at least once.

I have to get rid of more stuff. I have boxes for appliances I no longer own. I have enough clothes I never wear to clothe a village (a small, unlikely village of people my size, but a village nonetheless). I have a box, used in my family's move to Richmond in 1975, filled with doll clothes and dolls. I have a net bag filled with the stuffed animals which made the cut after my last move.

One person does not need all this much.

And, in a completely unrelated note: Thanks, readers, regular and ir-, for giving me such exciting webstats this month. You've numbered 3495 unique visitors this month (a 34% jump from last month, when you set your last record) and used nearly 2 GB of bandwidth, which is pretty impressive considering that all the pictures I've been posting are hosted on Flickr now. Makes me want to keep writing, not that I'd stop …

Bigger day

I am in the throes of consumer joy today. I received my new bag from Queen Bee and it is So Cute. I can hardly contain myself.

My client who proofreads my work and calls me if they find something wrong did not call me today, because they found nothing wrong with my last job! My error rate, by the way, is some tiny fraction of a percent, so even when they do call, they don't have too many questions for me. But zero percent is even better. I rock.

It is going to be hot and sweaty this weekend. The perfect weekend for Oz to move stuff from his house into my house. The giant Czech wardrobes, scaled for a castle which my house is not, are going to be interesting. My plan is to hide with my cats while the actual moving takes place and then see whether they've knocked holes in my walls. On the bright side, he brings bookcases into which the stacks of books on the floor shall magically be transported, unless his tchotchkes get there first.

And there are a couple more pictures up.

Small day

As of this writing, nothing in my day has involved cat pee. I've been walking around the house sniffing a lot, but that doesn't count.

Also today, I got carded. I'm 38 and I was buying a fifth of single malt. I started laughing when the guy asked for my ID. He said, "Normally I wouldn't ask, because of the purchase, but you never know these days." People born in 1985 are legal now. Sheesh, that's the year I graduated from high school.

I baked cheesecake, and oh, but it is good. I have a feeling it will taste even better tomorrow.

I was planning to take a long weekend, like everyone with a normal job, but then a client called with 14,500 words on semiconductor fabrication . I'm still taking a short weekend.

When I and my camera were out walking, we were exhorted (by one of the owners) to go through the big hole into the East End theater. I took pictures, of course (more may be posted on further consideration).

Cats

Still a four letter word.

This most recent incident begins with "What's that smell?"

I initially thought something very bad and expensive was going on with the plumbing in the master bath, but then noticed the smell out in the bedroom. I walked around sniffing while Oz was trying to change. He said, "Do you mind having your psychotic episode somewhere else?"

"Fine."

So the next morning he noticed that some of his socks were yellowed, and not with age. It seems the cats decided that the heap of neatly folded laundry was ideal for something other than napping on. Great.

I spent the afternoon cleaning up, making use of my entire selection of Swiffer products in the process. The room needed cleaning anyway, so that's not a big deal, though I could have done without the peepee. I had originally had somewhat different plans for my lazy afternoon, involving baking cheesecake and/or the preparation of a tasty, nutritious meal. The cooking didn't happen, because by the time everything on the floor had been picked up, sorted, contaminated items removed to the back porch (for the enjoyment of the neighborhood cats, of course), the floor cleaned, spritzed with Petzyme, and cleaned again, and after I had done some dusting (because, why not?), we were going out for beer and onion rings, and to get some pee-proof containers for the laundry.

This phasing out of the downstairs litterbox isn't going very smoothly. Sparky's been "forgetting" that he has to go upstairs now (though the bedroom is upstairs, so that's no excuse for this, but he's had some downstairs problems over the last couple days). I think Monte's just being spiteful. I ended up spending today keeping a close eye on Sparky, following him around every time he meowed and looked dazed in that way which could mean anything from "I'm bored" to "I see dead people" to "I really need to pee."

We made it to the evening without any incidents. "Yes!" I thought as I walked up the stairs, "A day without cat pee!"

Then I walked into the master bathroom and noticed that the little rug by the sink had been crumpled up, and was damp and stinky.

Maybe tomorrow.

Didn't you ever wonder about those tombstones shaped like trees?

Eddie Gilbert's grave, Oakwood Cemetery

I always assumed these were some kind of Victorian fad. You see these in older cemeteries: stone stumps, decorated with ivy, doves, and sometimes lambs if it's a child's grave. Tonight we took a closer look.

This evening, the sky was too pretty not to go take pictures, so we drove around the neighborhood and ended up at the Oakwood Cemetery. Your first impression through the gates is "Damn, but they must have had a special deal on obelisks!" Lots of obelisks among the smaller monuments. The Confederate Army section mostly has numbered marble cubes, rounded by the weather and looking like teeth pounded into the ground. Then I spotted the tree trunk, much taller than the usual run of these, and we had to stop.

Apart from the height, it must be six feet tall, the carving is really impressive: the dove, the ferns and ivy around the base, the surname spelled out with twigs, and the scroll. Especially the scroll, and how it's carved to appear like it's been hung on the stub of a tree branch. We noticed the "Erected by the W. of the W." on the scroll, noticed "W. of the W." on a couple other smaller monuments with the arboreal theme, and the Dum Tacet Clamat.

Ha! A clue. All I need is something to plug into Google.

W. of the W. is Woodmen of the World, a fraternal benefit society originally formed in 1890 for the purpose of unmarked grave avoidance and community service. They provided life insurance and tombstones to their members. They're still around today, and you can join and get the special tombstone, if you want.

The Phoenixmasonry Masonic Museum has a page on the Woodmen Group with pictures of their pins and emblems, old photographs of members in uniform and holding axes, and transcripts of rites and society songs. I really wonder if they're still doing the chanting and marching around with axes. And the twenty secret handshakes. Twenty.

Death benefits is serious stuff.

City of smells

Hygrade Food Products Corporation
South 15th and East Cary Streets

Our adventure for the day was more photography, this time of the Hygrade buildings down in Shockoe Bottom. Click on the picture to see more pictures (or not, hey, it's your call).

But this got me thinking, after we went into the smokehouse part of the complex which still smells of smoked ham, about smells. This part of town now has city smells, mostly car and truck exhaust. What did it smell like a century ago?

We have this smoked ham plant, right across the street from a tobacco facility and right down the road from Tobacco Row. There's an old livery stable a few blocks away, and a saddler, and any number of feed distributors, so we can make some assumptions about horses. Coffee distributors. A train station. A canal (which is kind of stinky now). There were ironworks a short way up the river.

I'm trying to imagine layers of smells: coal smoke, ham smoke, manure, tobacco, creatures of many species, less than perfect sewage and garbage containment, coffee and tea and spices. But the mind boggles. I don't know if I've ever smelled that many things at once.

Nineteenth Street Schul

North 19th and East Broad Streets

This was originally a synagogue, dedicated in 1908 by the Jewish community in the area. According to this article on the East End Jewish Community, there are rather a lot of sites within a few blocks which have been used by the Jewish community over the years, including the first Jewish cemetery in Virginia at North 21st and Franklin Streets.

This building was converted to residential use a couple years ago. The stairs on the front are new. Before this latest renewal, the building was painted bright yellow, flat fronted (no stairs, the doors were permanently closed), and being used as a warehouse in connection with the buildings off camera to the left (also painted bright yellow) (really not a good color choice, this corner looks much better now).

[Yes, another picture. There is so little else going on and otherwise all I could write about was translating, lying around reading and moping, and my cats. At least the new camera has me motivated to get out of the house. And if you want more, here's yet another picture, from over by St. John's Church.]

Richmond Pattern Works

100 block of West Broad Street, I think. I'll have to go back and check.

This is the maker's mark on an iron front building which most recently held the office for a Chinatown bus. Who knew? Direct to Chinatown, New York, New York. Bilingual signage and everything.

Many of the buildings in the older commercial districts have iron façes, and the façes were made right here in Richmond. Way back when, there were ironworks galore down by the river where today we have parks. There is usually a maker's mark, not usually so fancy as this one, somewhere on the façe. It's surprising how few repeats I've found. It's hard to believe there were that many different companies making façes, but I have no idea what the market must have been like.

Everybody knows Little Bunny Foo Foo

Or not.

Oz doesn't, I discovered the other day. "How is that possible? You did scouting. It's a camp song. Everybody knows Little Bunny Foo Foo." I sang it a couple times, but it didn't ring any bells.

Back at me, he sang "The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out ."

This precipitated googling once we got home. I found lots of pages with the Little Bunny Foo Foo lyrics, even Wikipedia has Little Bunny Foo Foo. Cool, though I'll have to verify their statement that the tune is from Verdi's Messa da Requiem. If it is, hey, forewarned is forearmed. If I ever heard that in concert and the Little Bunny Foo Foo tune popped up all surprising, I'd probably start laughing and say, "Omigod, it's Little Bunny Foo Foo!" And get run out by the ushers.

Oz googled the worms and found a site (I don't have the link) with a huge collection of children's doggerel. He didn't recognize a lot of those either, but started cackling when I could recognize the song from a couple words and sing the whole thing.

"They got that one wrong. It's 'Comet, it tastes like gasoline' not Listerine. How do you not know that one? Oh, that's right. You were an altar boy. You were in the choir. You only sang hymns. But you were in scouting."

"Yeah, and we chopped down trees and built fires. We didn't sing about abusing field mice like you evil Girl Scouts."

Now, about that luck

And yesterday, I also spent two hours on the phone to Bangalore trying to get my ISP to understand that there was some problem on the network in my area.

Two hours.

At the start of which, after some unknown time on hold, I told the support person that there was some problem on the network, because the connection speed had been crawling and now, even though I was (mostly) able to connect, nothing was getting through.

"All right, then, why don't your turn off your modem and turn it back on again."

"Well, I've already done that about a hundred times and it doesn't make a difference ."

So it went. I understand that they need to work through the checklist and make sure the problem isn't my equipment. I'm sure that 99.999% of the time the problem is the user. But, hello, not this time, okay? And who knows, my router is old and even solid state electronics fail eventually, or they may have changed something on the network side so the firmware in the router is no longer compatible.

We finally got through this lady's checklist and when the problem still remained (because, see an hour ago, not my equipment), I got a trouble ticket number and kicked up to the next level. Where I was told to turn my modem off and then back on again.

Eventually, while we were going through a ping check, someone said something to my helper "Andy," who told me, "So, I don't want you to be angry, but it seems we've had a lot of calls and some outage in your area."

"Yeah. That's what I said."

But the checklist didn't end there. At last, I was told that they were going to have to talk to the vendor in this area (the phone company) and that my service should be back by evening.

My service was actually back before then. But still!

Then, yesterday evening, a telemarketer called me. They really picked the wrong day to try and sell me VoIP.

How lucky are you?

When I was out on my walk yesterday, I found several.four, I think.four leafed clovers. This time I didn't pick them. I have so many already. As I've mentioned before, I'm one of those people who finds them and once you have a couple dozen pressed between the pages of your concise encyclopedia of science and technology, you really don't need more. Lately whenever I've found them, I've given them away to some random person. People are always happy to get a four leafed clover and I figure this is my way to pay it forward.

Anyway, yesterday evening I didn't pick the clovers. This evening, since my route took me by the same clover patch, I decided to photograph them instead. And I found even more, in different patches on different blocks.

While I was shooting, some people and a dog walked up. Since it's kind of odd to be crouched on the sidewalk photographing weeds, I explained what I was doing and asked if they wanted some four leafed clovers.

"Oh yes! But we don't want to mess up your shot."

"No, I'm all done, so please take them. Here." I pointed out the clovers and they each took one.

"Ooh, a real four leaf clover. Look." One showed it to the dog. Dog was not terribly interested. Hence, dog did not get a clover of his own.

Another said, "I've never seen a real four leaf clover before."

"Really?" I am amazed. Never ever? I see this was meant to be my accomplishment for the day.

The Henrico

North Linden Avenue and Nine Mile Road, Highland Springs, VA

The first time we saw this building, we were driving down Nine Mile Road, looking for a carwash. Suddenly the theater appeared on our left, rising up like a huge Art Deco cloud.

The Henrico Theater made it onto the National Register last September. The registration application (pdf, pictures of interior details, pictures from 2001) has a lot of interesting information, including a description of the interior. (Which I must see. I am eagerly awaiting the grand reopening.) The theater opened on 25 April 1938 and was in continuous operation until the late 1990's. It was designed by Edward Francis Sinnott, Sr., who designed a number of buildings around town. The architect's bio in the National Register application includes a list of his buildings. I think my next photography project will be to track them down. I also need to return to the Henrico and get better shots than what I have of the metal pieces over the display windows and the pavement under the marquee.

The theater is owned by the county now and has been undergoing renovation for a few years, off and on as the money was not sufficient at the outset. According to the Henrico County Historical Society, the Henrico should reopen as a movie theater and performance space in the fall of 2007. An older article includes a plan of the property.

We have now seen all of Buffy.

It's been working through the Netflix queue for, oh, a year plus a few months now?

The kicker.when I hit the open button on the DVD player remote? The DVD player jammed.

"Augh! Buffy broke the DVD player! Hit the button. No, not that button. The."

We watch the "OPEN" leds flash for a while. I hit the power button on the remote. Oz reaches over to press more buttons on the player. He shoves the DVD player further back on the shelf, then tries to pull it out again.

"No, not that button! Wait . No."

He's waving his fingers over all the buttons and I just know he's going to start randomly hitting them. He says, "I'm not hitting any buttons." (Yeah, not this instant, but we know that's going to change.)

Finally, "OFF" stops blinking and the damn thing is all the way off.

"Okay, now hit the open button."

He does. We wait. He starts reaching for the buttons again, but before he can poke anything, the drawer slides out. He pops Buffy back into the envelope and seals it.

We are done.

Reporting

Headache: Not so bad today, but has flared up in the past couple hours. Will take more Tylenol soon.

Humidity: Got up to 70% in the house today. We wimped out and turned on the air conditioner.

Cheesecake: That cheesecake tastes even better the day after. Have been happily considering various permutations of cookie crusts and flavors. Probably remembering Year of the Pie, Oz says, "And how you can make tons of cheesecake and gain 500 pounds?" I say, "No. Just thinking about flavors." If I made all the cheesecakes I can imagine, I'd probably get really tired of cheesecake and never make it again.

Cat: I am getting the Look of Cat Hate from Sparky. He's on a diet, so when the other cat gets an evening snack, I carry Sparky upstairs and shut him in a room with me in order to prevent snacking on his part. Hence the Look of Cat Hate. Oh, now he forgot already and is washing his feet. This cat can't hold a single thought for five minutes (unlike the other one, who can hold a grudge for months).

Internet: My connection is crawling. Must call ISP tomorrow and demand to know why.

Life: Today is the first anniversary of my last final in engineering school. Over the past year I've translated 350,000 words and written two novels. I've done no engineering. Hm.

Writing: Today I figured out how my cyberpunk novel will end. Now I need to figure out how to get there.

Better living through technology

Today, for the first time, I saw a practical use of text messaging. Up to now, I've only seen text messaging used to pass notes in class by engineering students (who can't afford not to pay attention). Oz and I on very rare occasions exchange text messages of a word or two, mostly to be silly, and then afterwards we say, "God damn, but entering those letters sure is tedious! My thumbs hurt!" I realize that text messaging can be very useful, but I've never seen it with my own eyes, until this morning at the hair salon. The woman who cuts my hair, who happens to be deaf, needed to call her (ex?) husband to find out when he was coming to the shop to fix the air conditioner. Instead of having someone else make a telephone call (she doesn't have text telephone gear at the salon, only at home), she pulled out a Sidekick and text-messaged him. I thought this was most excellent: off the shelf technology that meets her needs without modification. She just made a face and said, "Eh. It's the only way I can call people."

And thanks to the Internet, I made ozarque's Frugal Cheesecake this afternoon. It was easy to make and turned out very tasty. I made one substitution and had to adjust the baking time. I have ideas for a few variations on the theme, so when I don't have a blinding headache and I've done some more fiddling in the kitchen, I'll post my version.

Tuesday night at the woodchuck races

In the parking lot behind the gas station at North 26th and East Main Streets

(Sorry about the image size.I should have reduced it.and the blur, but the little buggers were moving fast.)

It's lovely to go for walks in the evening this time of year, the scent of honeysuckle fills the air, the sun bathes everything with gold, and the rodents are engaging in turf wars. These guys burst out of the woods on the hillside as I walked up the steps to the upper parking lot. I took a bunch of shots and was amazed to discover on viewing them that they catch serious air for dumpy, vegetarian ground-dwellers.

I didn't end up getting much of a walk in. I chatted with someone about woodchucks, and the discussion wound on to cover the new building going up over there, the energy crisis, the odd plastic bags on the roof of the Lucky Strike building, the fact that woodchucks eat mums in the autumn, interest rates, and . you get the picture.

Also, Sloan's Liniment and more on the photostream:

North 19th and East Broad Streets

Part of the lovely gateway to my neighborhood.

Toon time

Aside from avoiding chores and sleeping in, we haven't done too much this weekend. Well, grocery shopping. Errands. We did go out and take pictures in the drizzle this afternoon. I guess we haven't been total pigs.

But we watched a movie about one: Porco Rosso, a film by Hayao Miyazaki about an Italian WWI seaplane pilot/bounty hunter who's been transformed into a partial pig. Sounds odd, I know, but it works. The story line is reminiscent of a mid-twentieth century (post-)war film and the art is wonderful, of course. We'd recommend it to our friends, and by extension to you, so why not see it?

(The Wikipedia article on Porco Rosso has some fun trivia, but you'll see spoilers if you scroll up, so scroll at your own risk.)

Seeing the Studio Ghibli logo at the opening of the film, I was reminded of mehan's story of visiting the Ghibli Museum, which sounds as delightful as the films, so you should go read it right now.

Buddha nature

The people in the car ahead of me are driving too slow. Five miles under the speed limit, but since I'm getting off this road soon, I put up with it, maintain following distance, grit my teeth at how they keep tapping on the brake for no reason. Of course, this means they take the same turn I do and I end up behind them in the acceleration lane onto the interstate. Naturally they don't understand the concept of acceleration too well and tootle along at 45 mph.

"These people are poo-poo-heads," I say. (I realize that "poo-poo-head" sounds really juvenile, but it's fun to say. Say it out loud a few times and you'll see what I mean.)

"Oh, you don't need to go that fast, you're getting off in two seconds," Oz says.

"That is not the point. They are poo-poo-heads. They are a hazard!"

"But it doesn't matter, " he says.

"I know that. But they're still poo-poo-heads!" I figure out what's going on. "Okay. So when you're driving and there are idiots around you, and you start cursing at them, I'm right there being supportive and saying 'Yes, honey, they are poo-poo-heads.' But when I'm driving, you're all, 'Just be zen about it. Om.'"

"Well, yeah. They're not in my way." He finds this very amusing.

Stop

The best smelling roses in Church Hill are hanging over the iron fence on East Broad between 25th and 26th Streets. I mean the red roses, not the dark pink ones. The red roses are that dark velvety red, shading to black, and the opening blossoms are perfectly formed. These are the roses you give your best beloved. Stop and smell them. They have that intense sweetness that roses ought to have, but the ones at the florist never quite do.

Be sure to compare them with the roses behind the Davis mansion at 28th and Broad. The pink and peach roses growing by the wall are next in line.

I'm keeping my eyes (and my nose) open. If there are better smelling roses out there, I'll find them.

Dead trees and electrons

I'm writing on paper tonight, but Edward Albee has some interesting words about traveling to Easter Island.

Also, my brother has upgraded his web presence and even written a couple new entries.

All work and no play

Today I tried a new productivity plan. I know I've been wasting too much time on the Internet and since I don't have a helpful employer tracking my keystrokes or blocking access to non-work-related sites, I have to build the block within.

I allowed myself to check email and Bloglines no more than hourly. I did it, but it was harder than you might think. I found my fingers reaching for the key sequence to boot up my browser constantly. Pretty much every time I got bored with the patent I was translating, which was depressingly often. (Yes, I'm good at this translation gig, but it's just not doing it for me anymore.except financially. Note to self: Start looking for an engineering job again.)

Success was mine in the end. I finished the patent at a reasonable hour and then read a magazine. Yes, catching up on print publications, what a concept! In the days before engineering school, I carried a lot of magazine subscriptions, but as the life was slowly sucked out of me by the neverending barrage of homework, I stopped reading them and let most of the subscriptions expire. I still read lots of mysteries, YA novels, and seventeenth century history, but not much of the current science and arts reading that I used to do. Time to get back in the habit, no?

"Cats" is a four letter word

First thing this morning, I'm brushing my teeth and I hear scratching sounds. I look out in the bedroom and see my boys scratching in that litterbox way at some of Oz's clothes left lying on the floor. Because the floor is a clothing receptacle for some people, you see.

The clothes had been peed on. Augh! And this just a few days from the institution of juicy breakfast. The ingrates!

The clothes were thrown into the washing machine.

This is how I started the day. Okay, I had coffee too and while I was getting my brain going, I considered how my cats are generally well behaved about their toilet habits. What this pee episode meant was that their old box, despite the regular litter changes, had gotten ammoniated and must be replaced. Like, now.

For my morning break I ran out to the pet supply place and get a new litter box. I tell you, litter boxes are getting fancier all the time, but I really just wanted a plain old rectangular one with a cover. Those are hard to find among the electronic-this, sifter-that, and domed-the-other-thing.

Juicy breakfast is the vet's idea. I had Sparky in for shots and a diet consultation, because he's over sixteen pounds now and I don't want to deal with a diabetic cat who needs insulin shots twice a day. Also, it's pitiful to see him try to hop up on a windowsill and fall off. The vet said give him "soft food" and stuck by it even when I accused him of trying to buy Sparky's love. (When did people start referring to canned food as "soft food"? Soft food sounds like something you give an invalid.) At my house, the cats get crunchy food and juicy food. Now I'm phasing out the crunchy and they do love their juicy breakfast. If only they were grateful enough to learn semaphore as a means to communicate their toilet issues.

Then.

I went out in the backyard this afternoon to see if my new herbs were dead yet and I found one of my lavenders uprooted and lying on its side. "Argh! Who did that?" I cried and local friendly cat Drooly (drools when he's happy, hence the name) hopped over the fence and scampered over to say "Hi" and wallow enthusiastically among the lavenders. Well, that answers that. I scooped the cat out of the lavender bed, replanted my lavender, and then watered everything! No more dust bath for the kitty.

Cats.

Where the sidewalk (still) ends

North 31st and East Grace Streets (where that intersection used to be)

Here's a map. When I took this picture I was standing on the south edge of Libby Terrace Park, or what's left of it. This is one of the areas severely damaged by Tropical Storm Gaston in August 2004, maybe the best known. The work to stabilize the hillside only began in September 2005. They're going to put in a retaining wall and rebuild the roads.

We last came by here in March 2005, when the site was still draped in plastic. Now they've scraped out the sinkhole preparatory to building the retaining wall and anchoring it. Maybe those interesting things projecting from the hillside are the anchors? Well, I never took civil engineering, so I can only guess.

While I was taking pictures, one of the workmen came up out of the pit. When he walked by where I was standing, I said, "Hey, did you know that this used to be the city dump, like fifty years ago? Do you all ever find dump stuff down there?"

He said, "Oh yeah. Bottles. Guys come by on the weekends and dig up bottles and sell'em. Get some good money too."

"Maybe I should come by and look?"

"Just get you a hardhat."

Now that I think of it, the fact that this area was fill would explain how it didn't stand up to the storm.

And how do I know about the dump? Once when I was going for a walk, as I was crossing Grace at 28th, a retired couple drove up and wanted to talk. They both grew up in Church Hill back in the 1940's, they said, and the woman pointed to a house on the corner. "I lived in that house. That playground at the end of the block? That was the city dump." They were excited to see how lovely the neighborhood looked and just wanted to tell someone (their ungrateful children, not present, weren't interested). They also told me they had tons of old photographs and their kids weren't interested in those either. I suppressed the urge to say "Are they nuts? Give them to me!" and referred them to Historic Richmond, because that was all I could think of. I've always wished I could see those pictures.