I said I would post pics of the actual setup once I got a chance, so I finally got around to getting them all uploaded. All the pictures can be clicked for larger views.

The basic problem that I needed to fix is that the bed of the Explorer is just a couple inches too short for me to stretch out all the way and sleep (I’m not quite 5′7″). I needed a sleeping platform that would lift me up over the barrier of the back seats (the part that sticks up when they are folded forward). There are a ton of really cool projects online for how to do this all stylish-like (search for “truck sleeping platform” if you’re curious) but I needed something really easy and low-tech because I can only hold two numbers in my head at a time and I get frustrated with a project if I have to, like, plan it out ahead or anything. (Just one of the reasons that Preston and I don’t work well together on projects like this.) I also wanted my platform to break down really easily so that I could still fit passengers in the truck if I needed to. So I created two simple boxes, sized so that, when stacked up, they fit into the very back of the truck with all the passenger seats available.

The legs are just 2×4s, cut to be the same length as the height of the edge of the bed in the front (you’ll see in future pics). The top is 3/4 inch plywood. Note that the top box has two layers of plywood on top. That’ll make sense in just a minute. Each leg is attached from on top of the plywood with two screws. The odd leg arrangement on the top box is to accommodate the wheel well on that part of the bed. The platform fits over the top of the wheel well, increasing usable space a little bit. Clothes and books fit nicely under the box, and the space under the second box is used to store the Thermarest and sheets and what-all when the boxes are arranged all compact-like. Laying the bed out is as easy as putting down the back seat and setting the top box down in front of the bottom one.

At this point, it’s only about 4 feet long, which obviously won’t do. And that’s where the second layer of plywood comes in.

There are hinges on the front of the top box that allows the top layer of plywood to swing forward and rest on the edge of the back seat. That’s why the legs of the boxes need to be the same height as that barrier. I’m actually using that edge as another set of legs to support the hinged piece of plywood. I know it’s hard to tell in the following picture, but the platform is now 6 feet long, and plenty long for me to rest comfortably and kick the covers around and what-all. The driver’s seat has to be tilted forward in order for the whole thing to fit, so I can’t drive with the bed down, but I don’t have to break it down completely. I can just fold up the hinged piece and have plenty of room for the driver’s seat to be comfortably arranged.

Because I am very lazy, I didn’t want to deal with sanding down the plywood, but I was worried that it would poke a hole in my thermarest, or scratch me up in my sleep, so I covered it with a warm, fleece cape that I made years ago and never use. Looks almost legit, doesn’t it? Also helps keep clothing and other items that are stored under the bed out of sight and looking a little tidier.

So then I roll out my Thermarest, throw a sheet over it all, and my pillows and sleeping bag on top of that, and it’s one of the more comfortable places I’ve ever slept, once I figured out how to manage parking spots. This one you pretty much have to click on to see the details.

I specifically designed the platform to be narrow enough that the other passenger seat could be up without breaking down the bed. That passenger seat is where my spinning wheel rides, buckled in for safety.

Then, I don’t have pictures, but the floorboard in front of the spinning wheel was where the food and cooking supplies (backpacking stove and nesting pots) went. There was plenty of room to keep a week’s worth of food in a box there. Coupla jars of rice goulash that I canned up one weekend and used to make burritos, a bag of mixed oats that I heated up for breakfast, some dried fruit, some pb and honey to put on tortillas, some canned fruit, a handful of biscuits that I made at home before I left, and let’s not forget the coffee singles! That left both front seats for whatever I needed to have out (books, my backpack, whatever), or to drive around with a passenger.

It was totally freaking awesome and I will never again be really all that stressed about being able to make the house payment Seriously, I could totally live this way semi-long-term and I would love to travel around the country with this setup. It would take a little more planning to get it to work for two people (and I’d probably have to stick with a drop spindle and leave the wheel), but it’s definitely do-able. If I was going to do it longer-term, i would make a couple simple adjustments to the platform:

1) Add braces to the legs. Any of you with any carpentry skill at all are probably cringing at the sight of those 9 inch long legs spindling around with no support but a couple of screws, and you’re right. While I didn’t have any middle-of-the-night disasters, the legs had started to work loose after two weeks, and there would have been a collapse eventually, when one just tipped sideways. Just a simple 45 degree connector from each leg to the plywood would make it last a lot longer.

2) Cut the cape down to the right size. You can’t see it in the picture, but it is oddly-shaped (you know, like a cape) and it was hard to keep it from bunching up awkwardly under the platform.

3) Add some way to attach the top box to the lower one when they are stacked in the back. It has an annoying way of tipping over when going around corners. If I was really using that as a shelving system while it was stacked, the constant tipping would be inconvenient.

3a) Add some sort of lower shelf to the top box, so that if I want to use it as a shelf, all the stuff can stay with it, whether it is stacked or extended. This could be as easy as attaching another piece of plywood to the four legs at floor level.

As far as the overall set-up, separate from the platform, I would invest in some sort of curtain set-up, and a sunshade for the windshield. The night that I spent in the Walmart parking lot, I felt like I was sleeping in a display window, since the platform is pretty much level with the bottom edge of the windows. For the most part, that wasn’t an issue this time, since I was sleeping in places like the private property that belongs to Wilderness Awareness School.

But obviously, if I was driving across the country, it wouldn’t always be possible to park in beautiful secluded cedar groves. And I would invest in some sort of system to keep the mosquitos out with the windows open. Some sort of velcro system and screen. Pretty simple fixes, all in all. I highly recommend it.

Throughout the dream, I am a disembodied observer, like watching a movie.

At first, Preston is in a library and he’s researching lots of information. Other people think it’s weird that he wants to have all this information. Some people start asking him questions and he knows all the answers. They ask him a question that he doens’t know the answer to and he gets very excited and starts looking through all these books on this table trying to find the answer. The people, in unison, say “Smarty-pants nerd!” which sounds hilarious to say right now, but in the dream preston’s feelings were hurt. Then the camera pans away from the library and we see the whole primitive village that it’s located in, and the voice-over explains that from those roots, this person went on to study to become one of the first surgeons (and I realize that it isn’t Preston we’re seeing, but one of Preston’s distant ancestors).

The scene in the library was just before the onset of the Dark Ages, and Preston (I’m just going to keep calling him that) had access to all this information until all the libraries were done away with during the Dark Ages. So then the camera pans through some scenes of Preston dissecting cadavers in the cemetery a la da Vinci. In particular, there is a close-up of a hand and forearm with the skin peeled back and Preston studying how the tendons and muscles respond to moving the fingers.

Skip ahead 30 years or so, and Preston is a skilled surgeon working under the rule of some sort of medieval lord. He is only allowed to use his skills to work on the upper classes and his time is strictly controlled by some sort of overseer. His profession is seen very sceptically and the ruling lord keep very strict control over anyone with doctor skills. It’s unclear what has happened immediately preceeding the scene, but Preston has found someone in trouble who isn’t rich but who is somehow very important to the future of the world.
It’s as if he has found Jesus Christ wounded in a ditch and he understands the importance of fixing up this person.

He goes to the overseer and says, “Give me two of the best surgeons. It is very important. I can’t explain now.” The overseer is an unfeeling automaton who says, “I see no reason why you are not reporting for duty. You are not ill.” And the overseer tries to insist that it is time for him to report to work. Preston tries to insist that there is a very important reason why he doesn’t have to work now, there is something very worthwhile to be accomplished down the road, but the overseer doesn’t listen. They argue heatedly until the overseer grabs him by the hand and motions to the guard standing behind him. The guard steps forward and uses his sword to sever Preston’s hand at the wrist. The cut is complete and clean. Preston wails, not in pain, but in disbelief that they would damage the hand of a skilled surgeon. The overseer and guard don’t understand the importance of what they have done. “Let’s see you try to do surgery now,” they taunt him.

Cut to Preston in some sort of dungeon in shackles. His wrist is bandaged clumsily with strips of cloth, soaked through with blood. He is thinking to himself that it is his left hand that was cut off, and he could still do surgery better than most people, even with only his right hand, if only he could figure out how to escape. He still is focused on the person outside of the scene who needed his help. Preston is trying to figure out how to release another surgeon who is also being held in the dungeon.

End of Dream.

So, you might have noticed that things are looking a little different around here. I know it might take a little getting used to, but I wanted to point out one of the cool shiny new features on the new design. Now you can subscribe to Feedburner e-mails, which will send you each new post in an e-mail. That way if you don’t like the site design, you don’t even have to come see it if you don’t want to! And also, it’s an easier way to learn about new content than having to click over here every day, even though I only post every week or two. Anyway, if you just put your e-mail address in the nifty box in the blue column to the right and click Subscribe, you’ll be set. It’ll send you a test e-mail so you can be sure they won’t end up in your Bulk Mail folder or something, and then it will send you any new posts I make. How did we ever live without the niftyness that is the innernets?

Oh yes it is!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sCFJ3LURCtc

Click for a larger view. This is one one Olympia’s local characters. He carries his cats around with him on his bicycle, and I see him panhandling around the West End most days. At first, I didn’t approve at all. Living on a bicycle is no life for a cat, I thought. But as I saw him around more and more, I saw that these cats really love him. The black one will sometimes ride on top of the kitty carrier attached over the back wheel, and one day I watched him climb from the kitty carrier to the man’s shoulder and ride around a parking lot perched there happily. I’ve wanted to give the guy some money, but I think that giving gifts to someone who has no means to reciprocate is demeaning. Finally it occurred to me a couple days ago that paying someone for pictures is a socially acceptable model, and I asked him what he would charge me to take a few pictures of him with his cats. An interesting conversation followed, which I wish I had pursued further, and these pictures.

Scene: It’s a warm summer evening on the southern tip of Puget Sound. It’s a rare clear night and, with the power out and street lamps dark, you can even see the stars. I am walking along the streets in my t-shirt and shorts. It’s a little muggy. I live in an upper-middle class neighborhood…lots of manicured lawns, two-car garages, clean sidewalks, two-story houses.

**********

Woman in a white skirt walking her little dog, to her neighbor on the front porch: (bitterly) Well, how do you like living in a third world country?

Neighbor: This is crazy. There’s no reason for the power to be out on a street like ours.

Woman: I know. It’s unacceptable. I called the power company and they said they have power out to 982 customers right now, and I told them I DON’T CARE THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE!

***********

Man talking on his cell phone as he walks past me: It’s weird. I’m on my way to this dinner party and all the power is out on the street. I feel so exposed in the dark.

*************

I walk past a house running their generator. The power has been out for about an hour. They have their loud generator running and through the window I can see that they are sitting in the living room with the lights on. Mom, Dad, and teenage son are all reading something. Because god forbid that they should have to leave the lights out and actually talk to each other or something. But I was less cynical about that family tableau when I walked another block and came to the second neighborhood generator. In that house, none of the lights were on, and all I could see through the window was the blue flicker of the large television set.

It’s hard to have a positive attitude about people in general.

I’m on San Juan Island this weekend, specifically in the town of Friday Harbor. My work paid for me to drive up and do a couple science shows at the local fair today. I decided to stay an extra night and check the place out, since it’s not too likely that I’ll get back here any time soon.

I’m staying at the Wayfarer’s Rest Hostel, which totally rocks. It’s $25 for a dorm bed. My room has six beds, bunk-style (with these cool bunks supported with driftwood pillars). Linens are provided, but you bring your own towel for the shower. There are two other rooms with a similiar set-up. I could have paid $40 for a private room, but it turned out that I had the room to myself last night anyway. Each room has a shared bathroom. Then there are two full kitchens with microwave, oven, etc, and a couple of sitting areas. Also, there are cute chickens that live in a groovy henhouse in the back yard. Definitely worth it, especially when you consider that the local campgrounds all charge $20/night.

I stopped at the little internet cafe down the street earlier today, but it’s one of those places that hasn’t figured out that wireless internet is just a marketing ploy for whatever else you’re trying to sell, not a commodity that is worth money in itself. They weren’t trying to sell anything else, and they wanted to charge me $4 for 30 minutes of wireless access. So I just moseyed on down the street a mile or less to the public library where they have free wireless and you don’t even have to buy a coffee, let alone pay cash.

While at the library, I did some internet searches for places to eat in Friday Harbor and decided that since I got paid to come up here and all, I deserved a good meal. Like, a really good one. I went to a place downtown called 120 Nichols (oddly enough, that’s its address as well). Their menu was posted online and it sounded really good. It said reservations recommended, so I made one for the earliest time possible and spent the intervening time browsing around in the little local yarn store. The yarn was pretty much your basic stuff, but I loved listening to the two women and one man sitting at the back table, gossiping about everyone in town while they worked on their knitting. Does every local yarn store have this group of people? Every one that I’ve been in has the same basic grouping. (The man said, “Well, she started the class by saying ‘Okay, ladies…’ and I tell you what I got right in her face and said, ‘Excuuuuuse me, okay who??’ You know it’s not that I mind it so much, it’s just that women have made such a big deal about changing the way we use male gender words that they should have to do the same thing.”)

And finally it was time for dinner. There was no one else at the place when I showed up, and I was a little worried. But the place was beautiful. The walls are light blue with white trim all round, including a really tall baseboard. The windows and doors all have really wide trim also. The floors are old hardwood. All the tables were nicely set in the converted living room. Pocket doors with frosted glass windows seperated the dining area from the really big kitchen area. John met me at the door, let me pick my seat, and explained that he would be waiter and cook tonight. It was soon clear that he was the owner, chef, and sole staff person. Again, I was a little worried. I can’t even keep track of one meal long enough to get it all right. Imagine if you were trying to wait on a dining area full of different orders, cook all of those orders, and refill everyone’s water all at once. Fortunately, I was still the only one in there.

I ordered the Grilled Hearts of Romaine salad and the Pork Tenderloin as an entree. As soon as I saw the salad, my spirits lifted. It was Presented. You know, in that way that chefs do it in the fancy cooking magazines (I know because I see them on the covers as I am looking for a magazine that I’m actually interested in looking at). The grilled hearts of Romaine were topped with really thin slices of Gala apples, then some Roquefort cheese crumbles, and then all of it topped with a few pieces of shaved proschiutto. You can not appreciate how miraculous this salad was. Also, there was some sort of dressing that he makes himself, and I have no idea what was in it. Anyway, words do not express.

I was in Happy Food Land already when the Pork Tenderloin arrived. It was sliced, and topped with apples, rhubarb, some sort of onion, with a side of the richest tenderest gold potatoes you ever did put in your mouth. Over it all was a Cabernet sauce that did not make me want to gag, which is what wine sauces usually do. It was terrifically fantastic, and the pork was perfectly tender, no chewy-ness to it at all, like how it always is when I try to cook it.

I thought about asking John to marry me, even though his hair was kinda greasy. I could have finished the Tenderloin, but it was at the point where my enjoyment of it was diminishing because I wasn’t as hungry any more, so I decided to save some for leftovers (since the fabulous hostel has a fridge where I can keep it). John came back and let me know that whenever he’s working on his own, he offers complimentary creme brulee for desserts, and I bit my tongue to keep from offering him inappropriate sexual favors. I just nodded my head in response to his offer, and he brought me a fabulous creme brulee with, on the side, three rasberries drizzled in a bit of melty vanilla ice cream and topped with a sprig of mint. I ate the raspberries first. And then the creme brulee and then the bit of ice cream and I even ate the sprig of mint because it was That Good. And then I died and went to heaven because it felt like that was the only possible thing that would make the meal any better.

A little later, walking down the street with my little box of mouth-watering tenderloin to have later, I thought about how good I felt. I don’t usually feel that good after I eat. Especially when I eat out, I usually eat too much, and I feel too full and really sleepy afterwards. But I ate a whole lot at this dinner, certainly more than was strictly necessary, and I never felt bad. And even when I don’t overeat, the food I usually eat just makes me feel okay. Like normal at best. Like curling up and waiting for the cramps to pass at worst, and that happens more often than I think it should. And I realized that it’s silly to eat in such a way that makes you feel bad.

Obviously, I can’t afford to eat at fancy grilled lettuce restaurants every night, so I need to figure out how to make this experience happen without it costing Preston and I a hundred dollars a day. We already spend a lot of money on food, but not that much. So I’ve been thinking about what it was that made that meal so spectacular, and I have a few ideas.

1) Local and organic. I don’t know what the percentage of local and/or organic food was in that meal, but the owner advertises that he makes it a point to use local and organic ingredients whenever possible.

2) Prepared by someone who cared about my experience. From the presentation to the repeated requests for feedback, John really wanted me to enjoy the meal. This is different from the standard cheaper restaurant where the cook and the waiter both earn their salary whether you like your meal or not, and neither of them sees the direct connection between your enjoyment and their job security. Also, the cook rarely interacts with the actual people at the table, and so just spits out one plate of food after another (some more literally than others). In this case, the cook and waiter were the same person, and if I didn’t like the meal he would lose his restaurant as well as his house (he lived upstairs). And also, there was this sense that he wanted to own a restaurant because he wanted to make good food for people, not just because he needed a job.

3) My intention. I went into the meal with the attitude that I was treating myself to something special. I didn’t read while I was eating (although I did knit in between courses), and I didn’t rush through each bite trying to get done and on to the next thing on the agenda. I truly enjoyed the mixture of flavors, and appreciated how the ingredients combined and recombined to make this really rich experience. I mean, there are an almost infinite variety of porportions that can be made between romaine, cheese, apple, and proschuitto on each forkful, so each bite deserved attention.

4) Talent. He was just a darn good chef. He combined ingredients in just the right way and cooked the tenderloin just the right length of time and did whatever he did to the potatoes just exactly the way the potatoes wanted to have done to them.

So, to start at the bottom and work up, and have a bit of work to do before I can create this fabulous culinary experience on a regular basis. Cooking has never been one of my fortes. I just need to find some good recipes and learn to make them. I suspect this is just a matter of practice. Numbers 2 and 3 go together when I am both the cook and the customer. I need to prepare food as if I cared what went into my body, and I need to eat that food as if it mattered how it tasted (and smelled and felt and everything else too). And probably the easiest one is to use local and organic ingredients whenever I can. We just moved to within an easy bike-ride of the local Co-op. I intend to shop there as much as possible.

And also maybe I can stop eating food that doesn’t make me feel good.

DeAnna: We totally rock!
Preston: Well…kind of slowly. But ya, we rock.
DeAnna: I guess we sort of ballad.
Preston: Just call me Leta Ford.

Preston: Oh cool, I just got an e-mail from that girl who moved to some foreign country.

Me: (singing) “I’m livin’ in a foreign country, but I’m bound to cross the line. Beauty walks a razor’s edge, some day I’ll make it mine.”

Preston: That’s nice, babe. Is that White Snake or Bob Dylan?

I just came across this Google program that will translate any page into Gangsta-speak for you. I almost like my blog better written in gangsta. Check it out! Particularly scroll down to the general update from a few days ago. haha…the “bitchez in my family”! I think I should change the essay’s official title to the gangsta version.