Hi, I’m Danielle Signor,

a web designer and blogger living in far-northern California. I'm interested in spaceflight, gemstones, poetry, geology, science fiction, unicorns and Sailor Moon. Mostly I make websites (since 1996), but I also make jewelry, and I like really old stuff.

The fan awakens.

And by “fan” I mean, me. And by “awakens”, I mean KERMIT-FLAILING.

I think your whole life shows in your face and you should be proud of that.

— Lauren Bacall

Two faces, one face.

When I go to business functions or other networking-type things, there’s this other Danielle that comes out. Call her networking!Danielle. This person is good at social stuff, striking up conversations with strangers, and cracking jokes. She can get up and do a presentation without visible fear, be slightly self-deprecating, and get a few laughs from the crowd.

It used to feel really strange, but now I’m used to it. I just let her take over, when the situation arises. Sometimes I wonder who she is.

The next day at the hour of sunset Aragorn walked alone in the woods, and his heart was high within him; and he sang, for he was full of hope and the world was fair. And suddenly even as he sang he saw a maiden walking on a greensward among the white stems of the birches; and he halted amazed, thinking he had strayed into a dream, or else that he had received the gift of the Elf-minstrels, who can make the things of which they sing appear before the eyes of those that listen.

For Aragorn had been singing a part of the Lay of Lúthien which tells of the meeting of Lúthien and Beren in the forest of Neldoreth. And behold! there Lúthien walked before his eyes in Rivendell, clad in a mantle of silver and blue, fair as the twilight in Elven-home; her dark hair strayed in a sudden wind, and her brows were bound with gems like stars.

For a moment Aragorn gazed in silence, but fearing that she would pass away and never be seen again, he called to her crying, Tinúviel, Tinúviel! even as Beren had done in the Elder Days long ago.

Then the maden turned to him and smiled, and she said: “Who are you? And why do you call me by that name?”

And he answered: “Because I believed you to be indeed Lúthien Tinúviel, of whom I was singing. But if you are not she, then you walk in her likeness.”

“So many have said,” she answered gravely. “Yet her name is not mine. Though maybe my doom will be not unlike hers. But who are you?”

“Estel I was called,” he said; “but I am Aragorn, Arathorn’s son, Isildur’s Heir, Lord of the Dúnedain”; yet even in the saying he felt that this high lineage, in which his heart had rejoiced, was now of little worth, and as nothing compared to her dignity and loveliness.’

— Excerpt from “Here Follows a Part of the Tale of Aragorn and Arwen”, Appendix A, The Return of the King

The Boles Fire

It’s hard to know what to say about it, or whether I should say anything at all. In the end, we lost nothing. Lots of folks lost everything. I feel guilty when a client or relative contacts me, to make sure I’m okay, because I’m fine. Everything’s fine. My office is a disaster, but at least I have an office, and enough stuff in it to make it an abominable mess.

I’ve been thinking a lot about reducing the amount of stuff I own, having moved a bunch of it (twice) this week. I own too much stuff. Lots of folks now own zero stuff. I have too many keepsakes and mementos. I have too much crap. I have too many books. (That’s a harder subject for me, but there are some I can get rid of.)

I personally know:

  • People who lost their homes: 3
    (one client, and a nice couple who own one of my favorite coffee drive-thrus)
  • People who lost their workplace/business/facility: 4
    (one client, three friends; all in the same vicinity)
  • People whose homes miraculously survived: 3
    (two friends, one client)

This morning, residents are being allowed back in to visit their homes, or what’s left of their homes. The estimate I saw was that 25% of Weed, CA was destroyed. One-quarter of the town.

If you’d like to help, visit this website to donate and/or volunteer. Among other things, the Weed public library burned to the ground. For information on helping the Weed Library rebuild, see this flyer.