This Is Nuts!

Georgia has a problem.  No, not the Georgia we all knew in high school......I mean the state of Georgia.  Nutty thieves are running around stealing pecans.  Laugh you may, but the pecan supply is in jeopardy due to a southern U.S. drought and the Chinese eating too many of the nuts.  (Yes, here is one more American malaise to lay upon the Chinese.)  If, between Mother Nature and the People's Republic of China, the pecan supply dwindles too much, how will we be able to eat pecan pies, tortes, and turtle sundaes?  Even Grandma's apple-pecan coffee cake may be missing from the Christmas entertaining menu if the pecan purloiners cannot be thwarted.  

Actually I do have some empathy for pecan growers.  Growing up as a kid and all the way through high school summers, I spent most of my Junes, Julys and Augusts living - either at our summer home or with a neighboring family - on the Traverse Bay (lower Michigan) peninsula, East Bay.  Traverse City likes to think of itself as the cherry capitol of the world (other areas around the country argue about this).  Back then, life was different, the world was a much safer place and a group of us freely roamed the peninsula roads, on foot, during day-and-night free time.  We walked everywhere, either to a destination or simply as a past-time, always past orchard after orchard, teeming with either cherries, apples, pears or plums.  No kiwis, star fruit or kumquats in Traverse City.  Tree limbs were literally within arms' reach but it was understood that you did not reach up and grab fruit from another person's orchard.  Growers' ettiquette demands respect and recognizes ownership of each others' fruit.  The fruits of their labors is food on the table for their families.  You just do not pick other peoples' stuff unless you have permission or have arranged to pay for it. 

The idea of pecan theft at first seemed funny but when I thought about it and read the Associated Press article in full (dated Thursday, November 24, 2011, filed by Russ Bynum) I realized that it is a viable threat to pecan growers to have brazen people bring ten-foot extension ladders into pecan groves just to shake the pecans loose with poles.  Pecan grower Bucky Geer estimates that a single five-gallon bucket of pecans is worth about $38.00, with some pecans approaching a value of a nickel a piece.  Now that's a lot of turtle sundaes, pecan pies and pecan tarts. 

Let me leave you with this thought:  During these Holly Daze, if you eat a pecan torte, indulge in a turtle sundae, or have the chutzpah to eat an entire pecan pie, think of the value you are consuming.  Remember that those are not just lowly peanuts or walnuts but highly prized pecans.

That is just nuts.

Ancora imparo 

Unexpected Gift

Occasionally - well, perhaps more than occasionally - life and our days can take unexpected twists and turns that are totally outside of our control.  Perfect plans and schedules can be in place and, voila!, an out-of-the blue event occurs and flexibility of reaction is required, if not demanded.

I have experienced several out-of-the-blue circumstances in the past twenty-four hours and, as a result, have been handed the gift of extra time - a gift that, at first, I did not know how to handle or manage.  Initially, I was annoyed that my I had set aside time for activities that were now not going to happen.  I was annoyed that others had made unilateral decisions on what to do with others' time.  After a bit, on all three "counts", I came to realize that the addition of disposable time in my day (or evening) was a good thing......a gift, if you will!  This is not to say that I have spent my "extra" time wisely, but it has been relaxing and I was able to take advantage of Cyber Monday free shipping on quite a few Christmas gifts, which was a pleasant surprise.  As of now, I am even eying my to-do list, thinking that there are some items on the list that just may get accomplished.

The gift of time is always a welcome surprise, especially at this time of year, when time seems to be in short supply and sleep an even more scarce commodity.  The hours are few and the lists are many.  I surmise, though, that this is better than the reverse - long hours and little to do with them.

I am grateful.

Ancora imparo

A Real-Life Match Box Car

I sure hope this posting doesn't make me sound like an ingrate or make me sound as if I have been eating sour grapes but.......

This morning I picked up a "free" rental car while my baby, the Volvo, is in for major surgery.  In automotive and financial terms,  a new radiator and suspension bushings all the way around equate to major surgery on a car.  Unfortunately, there is no car-repair health insurance and therefore no deductible.  There is no comforting 80/20 payment structure.  The owner just gets to feel good about paying the entire amount.

When I was at the car rental, I was in a hurry to get back home and when the rental associate took me to the "small" car that fell into the "free" category from the car repair's list, I noted the make of the car - thought to myself, "This should be interesting." - and proceeded to walk around the car with the associate, looking for dings, dents and other existing blemishes they might want to attribute to me.

The first hint of kinship with a Match Box car came when I got into the vehicle and checked my outer side mirrors, then the rear-view mirror.  The glass used on this car has such poor reflective quality that just by looking into the mirrors gives a distorted view of anything, like wearing contacts and then putting on your prescription glasses on top of the contacts.  Next, I went to drive the car out of the rental garage and could not budge the automatic shifter out of the neutral position.  Later, driving on city streets, moving over man-holes, the car felt as if its suspension is one french fry short of a Happy Meal.  Traveling over fifty miles an hour produces a noticeable vibration that reinforces my instinct that this is a car not meant to be used on an interstate highway.   

This car is not the Eastern European, central Serbia Yugo, once described as the worst car ever built, and it is not one of two acknowledged "worst cars" ever built, the Russian Lada or the Czech Skoda.  Let me just say that the make of this car is best left as one of the best music-teaching programs ever
devised.  Sharing the name of the music program with this car is a travesty of the highest order.

And you can quote me on this.

Ancora imparo

Here Is How The Sequence Began

I guess you could say that my recent series of tasks began last night when I could not fall asleep for over three hours. Consequently, I overslept this morning - way past my 5:30 a.m. desired wake-up time and missed my chance to exercise before heading off to church.  I did not want to miss the entire routine of daily exercise, even though it is Sunday, because tomorrow morning I leave the condo early in the day to take the car in for uber-repair.

There you have the set-up.

I arrived home from church, putzed around a bit and then hit the treadmill, having time to do only two miles.  Upon treadmill completion and a free-weight routine, I headed up the stairs with my exercise mat, intending to spend about twenty minutes on floor work.  Walking into my office, I spied a catalog on my desk chair and decided to put it away in its special box in my office closet.  I opened the closet door and noticed that the catalog-storage box was full and needed to be emptied.  Bringing the storage box over to my chair, I began sorting through the catalogs, weeding out the duplicates and out-dated editions.  Finishing that task, I took the catalogs to the laundry room where I tore off the address labels before adding the catalogs to the paper recycle sack.  Then it was time to run the address labels downstairs to the shredder, which I found was full of paper and needed emptying.  I brought the shredding bin upstairs and dumped its contents into an empty paper grocery sack, which then needed taking out to the garage to the recycling bins.  After that, I took the now-empty shredding bin back to the shredder and shredded the address labels from the old catalogs.  Returning to my office, I noticed my exercise mat on my office floor and remembered what I had wanted to do in the first place.........

which I will now accomplish after posting this.

Ancora imparo

Conspiration

Conspiration

Merriam-Webster defines the word conspiration as follows:

1.  The act or action of plotting or secretly combining
2.  A joint effort toward a particular end

As I mentioned in last night's posting, I received a new laptop - a very big surprise - on Thursday, Thanksgiving Day.  This new laptop was a result of conspiration on the the part of two of my favorite people:  Capt. Cook and Favorite Youngest Son. 

I first became aware of conspiration in the wind several weeks ago when I was present during a phone conversation between Capt. Cook and Someone Else.  I inquired if the caller was Favorite Eldest and he said, "No".  I then asked if the caller was Favorite Youngest and he replied, "No".  I then asked,  (this is standard for us) "Who was it?", and he said, "A secret."  Well, you might as well have told me that ponies and puppies were somewhere in the condo and I had to guess where.  But, no amount of cajoling could coax it out of him and I (I now know wrongly) assumed that the conversation had something to do with the surprise birthday "party" for me shortly thereafter.  My curiosity was seriously piqued but there was nothing I could do or say that would pry the caller's name from Capt. Cook's lips. 

I actually forgot about the phone call........until Thanksgiving Day, when my favorite youngest son and Capt. Cook sheepishly presented me with this laptop and fessed up to being the two parties in the secret phone call.  Favorite Youngest Son had convinced his Favorite Father (earthly) that I needed a new computer.  I told FYS that I had no idea he had so much influence with his FF and that I really needed a new car!  I am doubting that his influence is that great, but a girl can wish, can't she?

There you have the story of conspiration and skullduggery that recently took place in my life.  Good problems to have, don't you think?  Not only did I get a new laptop, but FYS had it all formatted and ready to go!  No waiting or downloading or hand-wringing. 

To my Favorite Conspirators:  Thank you, both!

Ancora imparo

Specifications, Modifications and Alterations

Here are the stats:

AMD Phenom 22X4N97O
15.6 HD LED LCD
ATl Moblility Radeon tm HD 4250
4 GB DDR3 Memory
320 GB HDD
DVD-Super Multi DL drive
Acer Nplify tm 802.11b/g/n
6-cell Li-ion battery

Yesterday I was surprised with a new laptop.  (I'll write about that tomorrow.)  Tonight is the first time "it" and I are having a get-acquainted session for real.  Yesterday "it" and I had a introductory session, twenty-five percent of which I think I forgot.  Actually, the fact that I remember the other seventy-five percent is pretty remarkable, considering the session came in the throes of Thanksgiving Dinner preparations.  Now considering the fact that this page just disappeared for about two minutes and then mysteriously reappeared after frantic and spastic clicking on my part, "it" and I are managing to co-exist. 

Nothing is where is used to be - mostly.  If this sudden "switcheroo" of laptops had taken place ten or more years ago, I would not have been able to withstand the sudden influx of new and different EVERYTHING.  At least, now, I have been living with a computer long enough to know just enough to make me dangerous.  I had a list of questions being compiled in my head, but the single most pressing question is why my Blogger site disappeared and got replaced with my Google page.

Some of the features of this laptop may be lost on me - such as the numeric keypad to the right of the keyboard.  Family members who like numbers and all things number-related are all excited about the numeric keypad.

Perhaps the biggest change for me is that this new laptop has Windows 7 on it and Office 2010, instead of my former "tried and true" Windows XP and Office Who-knows-what.  Little is where it used to be, including my hands, which now, because of the numeric keypad are now slightly left of center on the keyboard, although this is one adjustment that I seem to be rapidly overcoming.  My Outlook 2010 looks and behaves totally differently in Windows 7 than in Windows XP.  I keep exploring the "ribbon" across the top of the Outlook screen........at least I think that is called the ribbon.  At any rate, that is what I am calling it.

Specifications, modifications, alterations, and ribbons.

This old dog IS learning new tricks. 

Ancora imparo

I Am Thankful Even Though......

Today I baked five pies, a feat that I am thankful for.  The first one was baked and cooling by 7:30 a.m. and the apple/cinnamon aroma has been teasing me ever since then.  Later in the afternoon I began my pumpkin pie marathon.  During the preparation I kept receiving telephone calls which was difficult because I was operating two ovens and had pies going in and out at differing times.  The proof of my success - or lack thereof - will indeed be in the "pudding". 

As I was adding ingredients, I was thankful for an old workhorse - my forty-plus year old hand mixer.  A Sunbeam Mixmaster, which I doubt is even made any more.  In fact, I am not certain that the Sunbeam Corporation even exists now.  Since I prepared four pumpkin pies, the little mixer got quite a workout and by the end of the fourth's batter, the motor wasn't purring quite as efficiently as when it first began.  It is possible that its days are numbered.......but then aren't all of ours?

I was thankful that I had all the necessary tools and ingredients to get the four pumpkin pie fillings into their dough-crusts.  As I was opening up can after can of either raw pumpkin or evaporated milk, I was reminded of one of the inconsistencies in the tin can industry.  (Actually, I do not think the cans are made of tin any more but that is what I still refer to them as.) 

If someone could please explain to me why, on can labels, where they print the dotted line and often have a picture of a pair of scissors to show the consumer where to cut the label in order to remove it, is the same place where the glue is placed???????  This makes no sense to me.  Being a creature of habit, I always remove my labels so I can separate the recyclable materials.  It is so natural to run the tip of my scissors down the dotted line because - well because it is there.  Rarely, and I do mean rarely, will the paper even begin to separate from the can where the line is. 

OK, the last two paragraphs have little to do with what I am thankful for even though........it is late and my brain is fried - perhaps from the frustration of trying to quickly remove paper labels from cans. 

Happy Thanksgiving. 

Ancoma incarbo

Coffee and Confessions

A moment of tranquility before the day begins in earnest.  The apple pie is cooling on the counter, the new micro-fiber sheets are being laundered, the scent of really good coffee has wafted into my office, exercise is complete and I am happily typing at my laptop.

I do feel compelled to share some confessions to Ancora imparo readers before my carbohydrate coma sets in and those precious Three Musketeers (and their parents!) arrive. 

Yesterday, Capt. Cook baked the turkey.  It is all carved, in its serving dish, waiting in the refrigerator for warming tomorrow.  As he and I were gathering all of the materials we'd need to carve the turkey, we had to get the big cutting board with the outer trough to catch all of the meat juices.  After washing and oiling each time, it is placed in a pillow case and stored in an upright position on the laundry-room counter, next to a set of wire shelves that, well, let's just say, have an eclectic array of  items...........among them, reusuable shopping bags and small paper sacks with corded handles.  These handled-paper sacks are not the gift-bag variety, rather the type that are made out of plain paper and may, or may not, have a logo printed on them.  I find them highly useful for multiple purposes.  As we pulled the cutting board from its place, lots (that's as many as I'll admit to) of those paper bags fell out onto the counter.  So many that even I thought perhaps I didn't need to save any more until the beginning of the next century.

Secondly, I am embarrassed to admit that I keep receiving emails with the subject line having something to do with "singles over 50 looking for love, companionship, etc."  These are not X-rated, although I suppose they could be because I never open them up but I do not visit questionable web sites.  I'm not sure what dismays me more:  That my name is on a demographic list for people over 50 or that I am considered "single".   Let us not tell Capt. Cook this!

Lastly, I have to publicly confess that I ate one of the cookies I had saved for Capt. Cook.  When I poured my steaming cup of java this morning, the bag containing two Peanut Blossom cookies was still sitting there after I'd placed it on the counter over 36 hours ago.  To the cookie-aholic, you might as well put a neon sign over the bag, declaring that these cookies are now for public consumption, since OBVIOUSLY, he is not interested in eating either one or two.  Of course, now, he only has one to consume and if he doesn't eat it today, all bets are off that it will last past my cup of coffee tomorrow morning!

If I eat his cookie tomorrow, I am not certain that I will publicly announce it.  I might just privately savor it! 

Ancora imparo

That's A Little Grinchy, Don't You Think

Devotees of Theodore Geisel, aka Dr. Seuss, become emboldened at this time of year.  You will recognize them by their "Grinch-like" demeanor, actions, and attitudes.  I call them the Grinch Interns, for they work very hard at studying all aspects of Grinch-like behavior.  In fact, I'll bet they can recite How The Grinch Stole Christmas chapter, verse and word-for-word.  It wouldn't surprise me if these people were found to be working on sequels to the book. 

They come out of their homes like trolls who have lived under their bridges for so long that they have forgotten simple human courtesies.  They drive their cars through parking lots as if it were a NASCAR track, they surge in front of others at a checkout line, if a group of people are waiting to be helped by a store clerk they step up to be waited on even if others were there before them.  They scowl at those who get near a display they are pawing through.  It is as if they take an oath to never smile during the Holly Daze.  I think that the same doctor who injected cement into the buttocks of the Florida woman injects cement into the faces of the Grinch Interns, for if they actually smiled, their faces would surely crack and chip off. 

Have you ever noticed that Grinch Interns can convert check-out clerks to Grinchy-ness quicker than scat?  I cannot blame checkout clerks who become dour sourpusses when they have to deal with the grumpy public hour after hour, day after day.  My next Master's thesis will be based on research-derived data concerning the percentage of grumpy-looking people who will smile at someone who is smiling at them. 

Here is a challenge for Ancora Imparo readers - and me:  Smile big during this Holly Daze season.  It will either scare people, make them think we have gas (like babies), or think we are on something fun!

Ancora imparo 

Truth Can Be Stranger Than Fiction

There is little these days, any more strange in the news department, than the slate of Republican-presidential candidate wanna-be nominees.  How any potential voter can look over this motley crew and not laugh is beyond me.  Before the primary and straw-vote process is all over, there very well may be more candidates than Ben and Jerry ice cream flavors.  If the situation weren't so laughable it might very well be tragic.  Let's wait and see who is the flavor of the month through the Holly Daze.  I'm not counting on any one savior to arise from the rubble and "save" us all, but rather one of us to step on to the rubble, declare it a disaster area, and announce how to clean up the mess. 

On a much lighter note, a short Associated Press article in today's paper caught my eye and tickled my funny bone, plus a few others. 

Police:  Fake doc injected cement into woman's rear

MIAMI ---  Police say a South Florida woman posed as a doctor and gave a series of toxic injections to a woman who wanted a bigger backside and curvier body.
     Miami police say Oneal Ron Morris was arrested Friday after a yearlong hunt.  Morris, who was born a man but identifies as a woman, has been charged with practicing medicine without a license with serious bodily injury.  She has been released on bail. 
     Police say Morris injected cement, mineral oil and sealant used to fix flat tires into a woman's rear end last May.  Investigators believe Morris performed this same procedure on herself and possibly others.

I know that, in some circles, a bigger behind - booty, if you will - is a positive physical attribute.  Not in my circle, where people strive to make theirs smaller, tighter and more firm by spending hundreds, maybe thousands of dollars each year in an effort to shrink their backsides.  With this Florida woman's enhanced rear end, I'm not sure, if tossed onto the roadway from a moving vehicle, whether she would crash and shatter or bounce all the way to Cuba. 

Yes, truth can be stranger than fiction.

Ancora imparo

Why You Should Always Read The Fine Print

This is a story of self-deprecation - a cautionary tale that the "bargain" is not always the best deal.  Allow me to explain:

This morning, over lively conversation with other exiled adults, we were inquiring amongst ourselves what each others' families were doing for Thanksgiving.  One couple said they were hosting their family and were expecting twenty-five, maybe more, guests.  Nine of those guests would be five years of age or younger.  Thirteen would stay overnight and the couple was looking forward to each and every minute.

Another couple bemoaned the fact that they would only have five people, total, for the Thanksgiving meal.  One of their invited guests (a sister, who could get away with making such a statement) said she didn't think it was worth coming to dinner if just five people would be there.  The hostess proceeded to tell all of us that a local grocery store had turkeys for just thirty-seven cents a pound. 

After church, with Capt. SO driving, he turned in the opposite direction of home and I asked where he was headed.  "To the grocery store, to get a thirty-seven-cent-a-pound turkey."  We already have one large turkey thawing in the refrigerator and another, smaller one, in our tiny freezer in the basement, but I wisely kept my lips sealed.  Upon entering the grocery store, Capt. SO made a bee-line to the meat department, spied a sign that said "Turkeys - $.37 cents a pound".  Carrying one of those hand-held baskets, he placed a frozen turkey in the basket and we headed for the checkout - only to run into a friend who spied our lone turkey in the basket.  Capt. SO suggested that Wayne should get a "cheap" turkey, too, but Wayne said it wasn't worth having to spend $25.00 to get turkey meat at $.37 cents a pound.  Since this was news to us, we bade Wayne goodbye and scurried back to the turkey sign.  Sure enough, there was the disclaimer:  Get your turkey here for $.37 cents a pound AFTER you have spent $25.00.  I thought this would be the end of the turkey tryst, but Capt. SO was not to be deterred from obtaining meat at a bargain price.  Now, I might spend an extra $25.00 at my favorite department store in order to get a bargain on something else, but I draw the line at a frozen turkey.  Still carrying the smallish hand-held basket, I sweetly remarked that maybe, just maybe, we should go get a cart.  "No, no", declared my husband and we went in search of what he was certain would be tiny, light-weight additions to the basket. 

He started towards the frozen food section, declaring that he would buy frozen raspberries with which to make a raspberry pie for the Thanksgiving Day feast.  I had to be the bearer of bad news and tell him that I already had planned two pumpkin pies, two gluten-free pumpkin pies and one apple pie.  "Besides", said I, "there is no room in our tiny freezer."  The raspberries went into his basket.

Next we headed for the deli section because I reasoned that since I was going to purchase lunch meat tomorrow at another grocery store, we could buy it at the store we were in and it would count toward the extra $25.00 we had to spend to get the bargain frozen turkey.  While waiting at the busy deli counter, Capt. SO tried some demo ham meat, which he declared was the best ham he'd ever tasted and into the basket a pre-packaged chunk went.  It was then that he left to go get a push-cart.  After a series of other purchases, we felt we had our extra $25.00 in items and headed to the self-checkout lanes. 

Now, our local grocery store chain was recently purchased by another regional chain and their electronic payment system is still a debacle.  Capt. SO had all kinds of trouble, as usual, with the machine and the harried-looking, self-check-out clerk had to make several visits to our station.  At the point of payment, the machine wouldn't work and the clerk had to be called over yet again.  While she was with us, I noticed on the screen that our 12-14 pound turkey had cost about $23.00.  Not being very strong in the math department, even I could guess that didn't sound right.  I asked Capt. SO, who woke up out of his money-saving reverie, and he asked the clerk, who said she would go to her machine and make the correction.  In the meantime, Capt. SO discovered that the "best tasting ham he'd ever had" cost $26.00 by itself.  I wisely bit my tongue.)  The harried-looking clerk, who was now looking as if she had dyspepsia, or some other painful condition, announced to us that the turkey mis-charge was fixed.  I looked at the screen and said, "But why were we charged $.57 a pound?"  Capt. SO said, "You go ask her."  I did and I thought she might throw something at me.  She whipped open her tattered sales flyer, pointed her finger at the turkey picture, which read:  "Store-brand turkey - $.37 a pound.  Honeysuckle brand - $.57 cents a pound."  Sure 'nuf, we had a Honeysuckle brand turkey, NOT the store brand.  I slunk back to our machine, we checked out and left as quietly and quickly as possible. 

And, so, as the title of today's posting indicates - it is always best to read the fine print......and bite your tongue......and say, "Yes, dear."

Ancora imparo

Why I Love The Comics

Some of you may remember my self-pledge, three years ago, to read the comics every day for one year, to see why the funnies were funny.  Since then I have learned that many of the comic-strip creators use their three-or-four frames to comment on life without having to write a "letter to the editor".  While reading through my Google Reader news stories this morning, I noted that the bi-partisan (oxymoron) Super Committee will not be able to come to consensus by the imposed deadline-to-meet-all-deadlines and that Texas Governor, Rick Perry, the Republican political "sailor who fell from grace with the sea" considers himself an outsider, I initially thought I was reading the comics.  Sadly, shortly thereafter I realized that I was not in the comics section of my Google Reader. However, two of the real comic strips were attention-grabbers - Baby Blues and Dilbert - and just may have more societal impact than any super committee or presidential-wanna-be.

Baby Blues, written by Rick Kirkman and Jerry Scott, was simply charming and showcased the human condition's need for compassion - compassion that may very well begin at home - as little brother Hammie comforts his older sister, Zoe, after she is snubbed at school by being left off the invitation list for a boy-girl party.  Under normal circumstances, Hammie drives Zoe nuts and vice versa, but this one time, Hammie steps to the plate and befriends his slighted sister.  Score one for sibling love.

Dilbert, created by Scott Adams, depicted Catbert and Pointy-Haired Boss in conversation, with P-HB (Pointy-Haired Boss) telling Catbert that he would really like to fire Wally, but he cannot risk it because he is the only person who knows how to program the Zeberpupin system. (Now, just think about how this word could be pronounced.).  Catbert inquires if this is true and P-HB replies "It must be.  He is the only one who has heard of it."  If this isn't reminiscent of our nation's capitol and its buffoons, I do not know what is. 

Yes, I do love the comics - some more than others.  Actually there may be a connection between my first blog posting today and this one.  Anyone see the correlation? 

Ancora imparo

A Matter Of Perspective

Over the past two weeks I have experienced several "bad days", which led me to an Eeyore state of mind - Eeyore being the gloomy donkey from the "Winnie the Pooh" cast of characters.  Not realizing I had slipped from positivity to negativity, it hit me this morning when I read about someone else who truly had a bad day - a bad day much worse than my relatively-minor bad days.  In fact, I had begun mentally reciting the words from Daniel Powter's "Bad Day" song like a mantra: 

Sometimes the system goes on the blink
And the whole thing turns out wrong
You might not make it back and you know
That you could be well oh that strong
And I'm not wrong


So where is the passion when you need it the most
Oh you and I 
You kick up the leaves and the magic is lost


Cause you had a bad day
You're taking one down
You sing a sad song just to turn it around
You say you don't know
You tell me don't lie
You work at a smile and you go for a ride
You had a bad day
You've seen what you like
And how does it feel for one more time
You had a bad day
You had a bad day

(Blogger's note:  I love this song.  Powter's lyrics, while perhaps on the morose edge, become almost upbeat with his brilliant use of the 6/8 time signature and its natural cheery feel.)

I understand that gloom and doom can descend upon a person like a natural gas leak....silent and very deadly.  My "natural gas leak" was certainly not deadly but definitely disruptive to my psyche and zen - or lack thereof.  Even though an angel stepped forward and provided a "loaner" cell phone ( a Blackberry, no less - smarter than I), I was still far from restored mentally and psychologically, a condition I am unaccustomed to.  As my to-do list became longer and longer and my "ta-da-done" list had nary a task on it, I thought of the bootstraps my parents would have referred to and reached down for mine.  

This morning, the antidote to my Eeyore-ness appeared in the form of a newspaper article from Door County Daily News.com, an online news publication from Door County, Wisconsin.  It seems that yesterday, a Door County farmer really did have a bad day, when not one but TWO of his liquid manure trucks overturned in separate accidents, spilling out their contents in unintended places. Not only did was he faced with an environmental nightmare, but he lost two trailer rigs and one tractor.  Suddenly, my bad days seemed more like cloudy days than confidence-busting, end-of-the-world-as-I-knew-it days. 

Eeyore has returned to his place as a story-book character and I have my perspective back. Let us all pray that the farmer's good days return quickly.

Ancora imparo

My Learning Curve

Well, I guess I am proving that I can teach myself new tricks.  My on-loan Blackberry cell phone and I are learning to co-exist with one another.  At least there seem to be similarities from cell phone to cell phone - important little/big similarities like the send button is green and is on the left of the space that you hit to say "OK" in cell phone language.  The "end" button is red and is on the right of the space that you hit to say "OK" in cell phone language.  That much I've discerned.  The keyboard, as far as the alphabet goes, is identical, although the keys are much smaller than my former phone's.  My old keyboard had the numbers across the top, just like the keyboard on a computer.  The Blackberry has the numbers all on the left, in a vertical arrangement rather than horizontal. 

Finding other keys has been a bit slower in coming.  Last night, after an hour or more entering some basic contacts in the Blackberry, I finally saw the delete key, which would have saved me many minutes of, after making an entry error, deleting the entire contact and beginning again because I only wanted to fix one letter or number but could not figure out how.  I still have not figured out how to create the @ sign.  Every time I push "sym", which should mean symbol, then push the key where the @ icon is, I get a % sign.  After repeatedly reaching the same end, I have temporarily given up. I have also not discovered how to make capital letters.  The Blackberry automatically creates a capital letter following an ending punctuation mark, but to capitalize any other letter, mid-sentence or last name, seems to be another elusive keystroke at the moment. 

I am able to text but it is certainly more complicated than my "old" phone's procedure.  The whole "sms" and "mms" thing is presently a mystery to me.  At least I know that, in order to text, "sms" has to be involved somehow.  I have successfully sent about ten texts.....this is after about forty attempts to do so. 

Lest the reader thinks I am complaining, please know that I am not.  I am eternally grateful to our
friends who lent me one of their "spare" Blackberrys.  I would be thrilled if I had two spares at my disposal.  I would have been excited to have one space SmartPhone at my fingertips.

Blackberry Red and I are becoming acquainted, although it is a slow process to warm-up to one another.  And, there is always another avenue - another back-up plan - for success.........

READ THE OPERATING MANUAL.

Ancora imparo 

What Size Was Your Day?

Have you ever noticed how different people have different words they use as descriptors?  I have a friend, a fellow boater, who uses the word "lumpy" to describe uncomfortable wave-height conditions.  I have long heard the word "choppy" to describe minor wind and waves at, say, one to two feet in height.  I have never been on a boat with this friend to find out what wave conditions are if he refers to them as lumpy.  It is possible I would find it unpleasant.  More than likely.......  The worst wave conditions I have been in, other than a terrible car-ferry crossing of Lake Michigan in a storm years ago, are waves of six to seven feet.  Many of my boating friends have been in worse conditions and I do not wish to join that club.

Somewhere in years past, someone used the word "large" to describe a day that was a bit too big (busy, hectic).  It was a term that resonated with me and I've had occasion to use it from time to time.  I try to avoid "large" days because they are almost always fraught with too many errands and tend to be days that are simply too long for my body to remain invigorated and full of energy.  At the end (or sometimes in the middle) of a "large" day, I feel like a bicycle tire that has gone flat.  Maybe a better description would be to imagine the marshmallow man in "Ghost Busters" being stuck by a pin.

Today was a typical "large" day.  Too many stops to have to make and too many tasks to perform upon returning home. I guess I should be thankful that, even with all the required stops, I had no schedule to keep, only a list to refer to and complete.

One of my favorite rituals, during a "large" day, is to purchase a large cup (see a connection?) of McDonalds' coffee, consume half of it while it is still steaming hot, then save the rest for a "coffee" stop in my favorite chair (or office) after I'm home and have completed all of the necessary jobs there.  Today was no different.   I put away fourteen bags of groceries, re-packed some larger quantity foods to go in the freezer, folded up all of the paper grocery sacks, changed the cat's litter box, shook the rugs in the laundry room that kitty gets litter all over, swept the floor, put a load of towels in the washing machine, tossed said clean towels into the dryer then........found my waiting half-of-a-large coffee, heated it up in my favorite mug, and headed for my office cave and my laptop.  No sooner had I seated my weary body in my desk chair and the dryer buzzer sounded, indicating that the towels were dry.

"Nay, nay", said I and willed myself to remain seated.  This was not easy as the dryer buzzer gets about the same reaction from me as does my phone chiming with a text message. Now I have accomplished what I wanted:  To relax with my laptop and a hot cup of coffee - albeit a warmed-up brew.  My battery is now recharged and I can create a new to-do list for tonight.

What size was your day?  I hope a small or medium.

Ancora imparo

What's For Lunch?

First Lady Michelle Obama's passionate crusade to improve nutrition for our nation's youth took a step back when Congress recently bowed to food-industry lobbyists and released a spending bill late Monday that deconstructs (pun intended) USDA proposals from earlier this year.  Lobbying is a powerful industry that takes no prisoners as evidenced by food companies that make pizza, the salt industry and potato growers.  These three suppliers to the nation's schools can envision their profits shrinking mightily if their products are eliminated or drastically reduced on school-lunch menus. 

Tomato paste on pizza counts as a vegetable, Congress?

Even school districts are lining up to complain that the USDA proposed school-lunch requirements are too stiff, citing tight school budgets.  Other politicized groups are arguing that the federal government should not tell children what to eat.

For argument's sake, let us assume that children know what is good for them and what is not-so-nutritious.  Most children, given the choice between two meals, would look at a lunch of legumes, leafy green vegetables, fresh fruit OR a lunch consisting of pizza, potato rounds, and applesauce and choose which one?????  I'm not even certain which lunch I would choose and I should - no, do - know better.

On the other hand, allow me to revisit the school lunches that the majority of Americans grew up on.  My memory, which may be a bit sketchy, can recall hamburgers, hot dogs, french fries, mashed potatoes with hamburger gravy and peas (my personal favorite), Salisbury steak, au gratin potatoes with ham, and - yes - pizza.   There was even a teacher - fifth grade, I think - that prowled my childhood cafeteria forcing children to eat EVERYTHING on their plates.  We called her "Old Eat-It-All".  In recent years, the same ingredients have been updated into different forms with different names, but the basic foods are still present. 

So, if millions of us grew up on these types of school lunches and this spate of menu offerings has been around for decades, why is obesity among today's children so rampant?

Three words:  Lack of exercise, for one.  The children of "today" get much less exercise than the children of yore.  The proliferation of television, video games, and electronic toys has served as an exercise-reducer (pun intended) that knows no demographic or socio-economic boundaries.  Children simply do not get the outdoor time that once was a given upon getting home from school.  Once upon a time......watching television on a Saturday morning was considered a real treat.   

While I am on the subject, suppose the Obama administration examined the cafeteria selections in our colleges and universities?  Our nation's love of buffet restaurants?  This issue does not begin, nor end, with school lunch programs.

Obviously, I am not a nutritionist and I do support reducing poor nutritive foods and additives in school lunches but I am not convinced we can legislate nutrition or common sense.  The same millions of school children who receive some questionably nutritious food under controlled circumstances at school may go home to hours of easy-access snacks, sugary beverages, Hot-Pockets, Post-Toasties, Pizza Nuggets, candy, processed foods and fast-food dinners - maybe even breakfasts......if they get breakfast at home at all.

I'll stop.  The soap suds are getting too deep even for moi.

Ancora imparo 

I Am Because I Said I Am

Does the name "Popeye" sound familiar?  "Popeye" is a fictional comic book character, created in the 1930's by  Elzie Crislar Segar.  Besides Popeye's bulging biceps, he is perhaps most known for his legendary love of spinach, the substance his character needs for strength and power. The strip still runs on Sundays in newspapers across the nation.

With Popeye, you get what you see.  A rough and tumble character who has a crusty exterior with an interior heart of gold.  Popeye is not a game player and he calls things as he sees them.  A recurring line of dialogue from him is, "I yam what I yam and what's all that I yam."

I like Popeye's simplicity, honesty, transparency, and earnestness.  He does not pretend to be something he is not and he does not promote himself in any light other than sincerity.  I cannot imagine Popeye falsifying records in order to promote himself or to get a job under dishonest pretenses.  Popeye is what he says he is.

Sometimes "we" say that "we" are able to perform certain tasks or possess certain skills when the reality couldn't be farther from the truth, yet no one takes the time to ascertain skill levels nor vet the person making the claims of greatness or preparedness.  In my line of work, if a person tells me they are the greatest bassoonist in the world, I'll smile and say, "Super!", but reserve true veracity until after I have heard the bassoon played.  Of course, if other world-great bassoonists vouch for the playing ability of "my" bassoonist, then I will bow to their expertise and take "Ms. Great's" word for it.

Just because I say that I am great does not make me great nor does it make another person great simply because he or she makes the statement.  "I am because I said I am." just doesn't cut it.  Prove it.......first.
Bassoon playing speaks louder than words.

Ancora imparo   

Not What I Expected For 1001

God continues to grab my attention - always with a two-by-four. 

I had some ideas on what I would muse about for the 1001st Ancora Imparo posting, none of which included the feeling of anger and, yes, rage that I find within myself tonight. 

My cell phone was stolen today.  I realize it was just a "thing" - an inanimate object - a possession......not a life, nor limb, nor loved one.  I get all that.  I am angry because someone did not do the right thing and did not turn my cell phone in to the Walgreen's manager.  Somebody made a split-second decision to take something that did not belong to them.  Somebody made a decision to keep something that was not theirs to keep.  Somebody was dishonest, deceitful, and downright wrong.  Oh, sure, I've mitigated the potential damage.  My cell phone provider was notified and the phone number is currently in suspension, which, to my understanding, means that the phone cannot be used under my account.  The cell-service provider also verified that after the last call I made to Capt. SO and before I suspended service, no calls were made on the phone.  That part of my angst has been quieted.

What has not been assuaged and what has ratcheted skyward is my anger toward the #%^* that took the phone that was left on the Walgreen's prescription counter, next to the register.  Actually, the phone was rather hidden on the left side of the register, right next to the partition so it was not readily visible to lots of people.  I simply do not understand why a person did not react as I would have........and turned the phone in to a person of responsibility, such as the pharmacist or the store manager.  I have had lots of uncharitable thoughts towards this person and have silently wished many a plague upon him or her.  Right how, locusts, boils, fire-ant bites, pestilence and hemorrhoids have been the most frequent of poxes I could imagine.  Hopefully by tomorrow's morn, my ire will have somewhat been lessened and I will be down to wishing herpes, hives, and lockjaw on the criminal who took that which should have been turned in - not taken.

I'm hoping for a more positive 1012th posting. 

Ancorage imparo

Seinfeld-like In Nature

This is the one thousandth post of Ancora Imparo, and with that personal milestone, I felt that today's topic and title should be of import - something weighty, impactful, and life-changing for the reader.  I lost some sleep about this very matter last night and it also has lingered in my mind during all my waking hours today.

Not that there is a shortage or dearth of material from which to choose.  For starters, I finally became aware that dearth is not spelled dirth.  I am certain that, after all my years, I have never fully embraced the correct spelling of the word dearth, until now.  That is momentous on the day of my 1000th posting, don't you think?

My brain is recovering from a weekend of traveling and, consequently, is not operating at its peak efficiency.  For example, I made coffee for myself this morning, with a method that uses a Thermos, a special filter, and a special filter-holder.  Because my brain is spinning with excessive details about nothing - thank you, Seinfeld - I was sorely distracted during the coffee-making procedure and neglected to put the Thermos container underneath the special filter-holder - resulting in coffee running right down the drain.  Later my brain began a comparison of pie crusts - their making, their consistency, and their flavor and after that, what do to with the ground turkey thawing on the kitchen counter.

Obviously not topics suitable for the momentous nature of a 1000th posting.

I saw a brief clip of the Diane Sawyer interview with Gabby Giffords, the Arizona Congresswoman who was shot in the head this past January.  A remarkable woman, she has recovered farther and faster than the experts predicted or ever imagined.  I think her brain is working at a higher capacity and efficiency than mine.

There is plenty of news fodder on which I could opine, but little interests me, nor do I think much of it is suitable or has an appropriate topic for Ancora imparo.  I really do not care if Lindsay Lohan is in or out of jail or if Dr. Conrad Murray did or did not give "milk" to MJ.  I should care about the financial mess in Europe because it affects us every day and I do care about my elderly relatives that I just visited in another state.  No blog-topic fuel for thought there.

Beyond that, I just could not settle on a topic for my milestone posting.  Which is why I changed my title from "A Memorable Title?" to "Seinfeld-like in Nature".  You'll all know what I mean.

"After all, tomorrow IS another day.", I said to myself as I wrapped my exquisite drapery fabric around my body.

Ancora imparo

It's An Art

There are so many things that are an art.  The art of crochet, knitting, sewing, woodcarving, woodworking, baking, bread making, painting, sculpting, shoe repair (yes, it is an art), alterations, "luthiering" ( my fractured word for one who is a luthier), Rosemaling, pizza making, tatting, smocking, candle making, clock making, conversation, clock repair, jewelry making, diamond cutting, car repair, automotive restoration........the list could be endless.

Then this idea predicates a question:  What is an "art"?  I think of an "art" as that which require special skills above and beyond the level of duct tape, Windex, Band Aids, Elmer's Glue, Bisquick, electrical tape, matches, an axe, safety pins, Scotch tape, card board, string and Amazon.  In my world, if any of the aforementioned items cannot fix the problem, then that which needed "fixing" probably belongs either in the trash or a load to Goodwill.

I listed the "art" of conversation and there is another "art" closely related to conversation and that is the art of listening.  To be a good listener, one must first be a good questioner, care little about hearing your own voice, be interested in others and what they are doing, and be prepared to hear what the other person might have to say. 

Yes, listening is an art - one that seems to be disappearing.  Just as the dinosaurs slipped away from the earth, so is listening.  "We" seem so caught up in our own lives, activities, accomplishments, predicaments, drama, angst, and turmoil that "we" fail to recognize that the person sitting across from us, or next to us, might actually appreciate being asked a question about his or her life or important people/events in his or her  life.

I would like to think I am an active listener and that I am able to engage others in conversation about themselves, rather than droning on and on about me, myself, and I, which seems to be a trend in interpersonal relating "these days".  If I could wish for a genetic mutation, I would wish for humans to have bigger ears than mouths.

I think I had better not hold my breath on this one.    

Ancora imparo

WWYD?

WWYD?  WWYDif?  WWYD if you weren't afraid?

Once again, the Facebook connection fascinates and mystifies me.  It really does connect people in the weirdest way.  It is as if we humans crave relationships, friendships and connections....but only from a distance and on our own terms.

I digress.

Yesterday a Facebook friend, who has been a face-to-face friend for over ten years, tossed out the question:  What would you do if you weren't afraid?  Most of the answers were predictable, such as bungee jumping and sky diving.  Another woman commented that she would downhill ski some incredibly difficult course and I had a really silly comment - "I'd water ski behind my boat." - which, by the way, is something that I always dream about when I am sitting on the back deck, watching the wake waves.  I'm pretty sure, in earlier years, that I could have done it, although I would never consider crossing the wake.  Just riding in the smoothness of the center stream would be thrill enough.  As Capt. SO points out, however, I'd probably kill myself just getting pulled out of the water, then the skin on my face might never be the same as I was pulled through the water.  Fortunately, the boat is not set up for water skiing so the entire topic is moot.....still fun to think about it, just the same!

One comment about my friend's question did trouble me.  A woman wrote, "I'd just live."  I read it last night and it stayed with me all night long, lingering yet this morning.  I do not know this woman very well so I am not privy to what is happening in her life.  I can only send an unspoken message her way:

I hope you are, have and will......to the fullest extent possible.

Ancora imparo

Each To His or Her Own Binary

Today is my birthday.  Other than a brief heavy snow fall that did not accumulate, the day has been pleasant and very, very busy - which is fine.  Anything would be an improvement over yesterday.  If you read Ancora Imparo's posting from yesterday, I briefly referred to the day as being "curiously awful", which remains an accurate description.  The curious awfulness even carried into the overnight hours.  Before I went to bed, I had promised Capt. SO to do some calendar "thinking" and provide him with several dates that he could pass along to a professional we both need to sit down with.  I did take the time and it did take time - almost an hour's worth of thinking - but when I was finished, I had completed some excellent thinking.  I made the list for him, using a red pen, and left the sheet from a mini-legal pad in his bathroom sink......thinking he surely could not miss it in the morning.  Little, little, did I imagine that he would arise in the middle of the night and subsequently have to run water in his sink......which is exactly what happened and how the red ink bled everywhere, obscuring all the writing I had done.  Upon arising, when I discovered the wet paper with nothing on it but a giant red smudge, I felt as if the "curiously awful" day was repeating itself, just like in the movie, "Groundhog Day".

Today's mail brought a card that brought a BIG smile to my face.   A card from my favorite second child (the other second children know this), with his quirky and wonderful sense of humor was waiting for me as I ripped open the envelope.  The card's face (created by him) was a picture of six candles, all of varying heights, all lit but one.  At the bottom, it read, "hey, why is that second candle not lit?" 

Study hard as I might, I could reach no conclusion as to why the second candle was not lit so I sent as text with that question and he responded back, "Binary".  "Binary", thought I to myself, "may as well be Cantonese.  The only binary I know is a musical term from the Baroque and Classical music periods and refers (simplistically) to music with two sections - an "A" and a "B" section, with both repeating.  The binary to which my favorite second child is referring is a mathematical concept, one which he is fluent in and one in which I am basically ignorant.    

 Not wanting to seem totally "out to lunch", I went to my favorite source of all accurate knowledge:  Google, which lead me to Wikipedia.  For those of you who have never and will never receive a binary birthday card, here is what Wikipedia has to say about "binary":

 The binary numeral system, or base-2 number system, represents numeric values using two symbols, 0 and 1. More specifically, the usual base-2 system is a positional notation with a radix of 2. Because of its straightforward implementation in digital electronic circuitry using logic gates, the binary system is used internally by almost all modern computers.

Thank you, favorite second child.  You can tell the other second children that "mother always liked you best"!

Ancora imbinario

All In A Night's Work

I received an email yesterday inquiring why I had not blogged about a big event that I took part in this past Saturday.  I told my friend I had thought about writing about the "big" deal, but just had not taken the time to put pen to paper, so they say.  Today I had the occasion to do some driving and thusly had the time to reflect and consider my thoughts. 

The "big" deal was our church's annual Turkey Dinner, which I think, has been occurring for more than forty consecutive years.  The dinner is held over three "seatings" and serves four hundred and fifty people.  It is almost always a sell-out and when it is not, very few tickets go unsold.

My role this year was that of dining room manager, which simply means that, with the exception of where guests were seated, I was in charge of everyone and everything that happened in the dining room.  There are actually two dining areas, relatively close in proximity, that the seating hostesses send diners to at random.  It is a well-organized event with the only wild card usually being the human factor.  Rarely are there mechanical failures or glitches - thank goodness.

The human factor can add elements of surprise, frustration, humor and, even, joy.  The majority of people I supervise are younger - possibly between eleven and fourteen years of age.  Their job, should they decide to follow the directions, is to wait tables in both dining rooms, pouring coffee, water, tea or milk, busing the tables when guests leave, and re-set each setting for the next guest who will take a chair in the students' assigned zones. 

Theoretically, all should run smoothly and does - for the most part.  The rough spots are almost always the result of kids being kids - like being distracted from doing their jobs by the cute opposite sex, giggling in the corners -probably about the cute opposite sex, and arguing amongst themselves about who has to go offer a beverage to this or that table.  This year a new wrinkle presented itself with young men with not enough to do trying to hide out in a room where cute girls were working.  Can't say I blame them for trying but the result was that these young boys apparently had not eaten dinner before they came to "work" and, subsequently, filled their bellies with as many dinner rolls as they could sneak and as many glasses of milk that they could drink before anyone caught on.  Perhaps that is why, later on in the course of the three seatings, we ran out of dinner rolls and milk!

All in a night's work.   

Liar, Liar, Pants On Fire

As days go, today was just this side of curiously awful.  Nothing I can put my finger on exactly but by the time it came to leave the condo for the weekly choir rehearsal that I lead, Capt. SO asked me if I was OK and I said I was just slightly frayed......which was true.  I knew that once I got to the rehearsal, the music, the singers and my focus would transport me "up, up and away" - that is just the power of music.  As usual, I had a "lesson plan" in place to maximize rehearsal time.  This is important for two reasons:  A concert is fast approaching - only four rehearsals left - and there is little worse in this world than wasting the time of volunteers - many of whom have worked a long day and not had dinner yet. 

Off we drove to rehearsal - with me lost in thought, hoping to find my zen in ten minutes or less.  The rehearsal room had been set up hours earlier so all I had to do was walk in and begin waving my arms.  Upon walking into the church's narthex I could see that tables were set up and people were carrying bright green plastic cups and eating.  This appeared to be food that, perhaps, another director had set up for a group to have some refreshments.  Suddenly people were wishing me Happy Birthday and happy sixty years old.  Capt. SO began setting people straight, letting them know that I was actually 61.......thank you very much Capt. SO.

It turns out I was a victim of my own prevarication.  A few weeks ago, a good friend asked me when my birthday was.  Due to the fact that I do not like birthdays or attention, I flippantly told her it was in December.  She asked me how old I was going to be and I said "sixty".  Taking me at my "word", she and another friend organized a co-birthday party for another director and myself.  The number "60" was everywhere - in cards and on posters that had lovingly been made.  One of the men who sings in the choir I direct said, "I thought I remembered doing this last year!"  He was right.  Then someone sang the refrain from a 1965 Minneapolis rock group called the Castaways, "Liar, Liar".  I remembered every word and sang along.  "Liar, liar, pants on fire.  Your nose is longer than a telephone wire."  Tonight my nose was about four feet long - just like Pinocchio.

I need to rethink my repeating birthday.  Most people pick 39.  I picked 60.   That'll teach me.

Ancora imprevicario

Have Yet To Figure This Out

To the government official(s) who, in their cockeyed wisdom, decided to play with the clocks of Americans:
Do not, I repeat, do not presume to know what "daylight savings time" is, who likes it and what time it saves and for whom.  Yeah, maybe it provides an extra hour of daylight for those coming off the night shift......well, big deal.  I'm certain all forty-thousand who work the night shift somewhere in North America really appreciate driving home in the daylight for four weeks extra.  For the hundreds of thousands of others who now have to travel home in the dark after a day's work, your misguided manhandling of our natural circadian rhythm is not only NOT appreciated (double negative intended) one bit, but it is also fuel for civil disobedience. 

I think it would be far more productive to have nationwide demonstrations held to protest daylight savings time rather than protesting Wall Street or whatever it is currently that is being singled out as evil.  There must be thousands of parents of younger children who would like to wring the necks of the legislators who enacted this inane "law".  To those bastions of the federal government who woke up one morning and thought, "Let's tinker with the clocks nationwide!" - I think the best punishment for your single-handed affrontry would be for all the parents - whose kids' sleep schedules are now totally messed up - to send their tired and irritable children to the dim-witted politicians for one week, or as long as it takes for the dim-witted politicians to become tired and irritable from lack of sleep. 

Perhaps there are lobbyists somewhere out there who persuaded the dim-witted politicians that daylight savings time was a capital idea. If you did, be a "man" and stand up and say, "Nay, nay.  This is a very bad idea and I'll not be a party to it ever again!" 

Ancora deprivo

Odds N Ends

 Recent news bits have caught my attention and have inspired me to comment on them.

I'll start with the death of Andy Rooney, a recently retired humorist on CBS's "60 Minutes".  The lovable curmudgeon told it like he saw it, didn't mince words, and no one, group, organization or action was exempt from his acerbic wit and wisdom.  My kind of guy.

The poor tree designated to be the U.S. Capitol Christmas Tree was cut down this past Saturday in the Sierra Nevada mountains near Sonora, California.  This 65-foot giant white fir tree lost the large-tree lottery sponsored by the U.S. Forest Service.  How the Forest Service can justify the cutting down of a magnificent, non-diseased sacrificial tree is beyond me.

Another news item comes under "news of the strange".  Parents are actually ordering, via mail, lollipops that have been licked by children who have the chicken pox.  This in an effort to expose their children to chicken pox on the parents' schedules.  This is from what playbook - Bad parenting 101?

Five teenagers from Dale City, Virginia were charged with beating two "youngsters" for not turning over their Halloween candy on demand.  One of the five hooligans intimated that he had a handgun in his possession. Shame on these thugs.

Lastly, I am simply not ready to hear Christmas jingles, hear jingle bells jingling and see Santa Claus on television.  I do not care that K-Mart has had lay-a-way for weeks now and that Toys R Us has the biggest and best selection of toys.  I do not want to be a "Toys R Us Kid" nor do I care that Uno has several new versions out, and I could care less about Pictionary Man.  This would be all so much palatable if snow was on the ground.

Oh my gosh!  Did I just say I wanted snow?


   

Teeth and Windows

At first blush, one wouldn't think that teeth and windows could have much in common, would one?  After all, teeth are animate and windows are inanimate.  You are supposed to be able to see through windows and teeth should not be transparent.  If you can see through your teeth, they have a huge problem. 

As for the similarities, there are, perhaps, more than one would think.  Both can break and fixing both is expensive and requires the skills of a professional.  While teeth and windows both need cleaning, one requires - or should - a professional to clean . The other - windows - can be cleaned by the home owner but is more fun if professional window cleaners are hired.  Both are sort of a "window" to the world - pun intended.  Windows allow us to see and experience the environment beyond our four small walls and our teeth allow us to smile big, if we so choose, thereby encouraging the "world" to come to us with the invitation of a brilliant smile.  If, by chance, one of either should go missing, our "world" is topsy-turvy for a while until either the tooth is replaced or the window is fixed.  Lastly, the clean on either glass or teeth doesn't last for very long, but while it does, you want to give a shout-out to all to see the results of a good scrubbing. 

I am very fond of both my teeth and my windows.  I have no desire to replace either, although if I were building this place from the ground up, I would choose a higher quality window.  Since I hope to take my teeth with me to the after-life, I take the best care of them that I can. 

This morning, both by teeth and my windows were cleaned.  My dental hygienist has all the latest gizmos and gadgets with which to bring my pearly whites (Thank you, "Sesame Street for that wonderful shark song!) to be the best that they can be.  My window washers have been cleaning windows for Capt. SO and I for nearly twenty years.  The window washers do not have the latest and greatest of equipment.  They do not use lasers and sonic blasts to rid my windows of grime and grit.  Rather they have specialized ladders, cloths, and rubber squeegees that leave the glass sparkling and spotless, if only for one day - should Mother Nature decided to be difficult. Since I am about to have a cup of coffee and the weather forecast calls for rain, my joie de vivre will be fleeting, I know.

Here's to teeth and windows.  Hope yours are doing well.

Ancleanora imparo

Lake Wobegon

It wasn't a good week in Lake Wobegon.  Prairie Home Companion's masterful sound effects man, Tom Keith, died suddenly this week.  For those of you not familiar with Mr. Keith's prowess, I can only say that he must have driven his teachers nuts from an early age.  His genius was, in my opinion, enormous.  In his monologue, Garrison Keillor could verbally throw the kitchen sink (and I'm positive Keith could have produced a sound for that) at Tom Keith and Keith never missed a beat.  Submarines could dive, shopping carts could bang into cars, babies could throw up, tires could go flat, crickets could chirp and trees could fall, all within seconds of each other and listeners would hear the nuance of each sound.  Keith's sound effects "partner in crime", Fred Newman will most certainly feel the loss of Tom Keith as will the listeners of Prairie Home Companion.

But, this past week was rather like Lake Wobegon, should Lake Wobegon be anything other than fictional.  It has felt like Garrison Keillor wrote a chapter straight out of Lake Wobegon's annals, and I was smack in the middle of it like a character in Keillor's musings.  A death, bad news for a friend, incomplete commitments (No, not from Capt. SO.), all contributed to a Keillor-like tale to spin for these past few days.  At least there was no infidelity on the part of the postman with the church organist, Pastor's daughter didn't run away with the circus, and the dish did not run away with the spoon.

Staying with more Keillor-like content, the big church dinner is tomorrow night.  I cannot imagine how Keillor would play out this event but, for me, I hope that all goes according to plan.  Keillor would have a family of mice run through the legs of the eldest female member of the church or some farcical event like that.  Perhaps he would have a roving band of gypsy's show up, last minute, requesting a place in which to perform gypsy music for the diners.

Whatever Lake Wobegon would endure, let's just say that what happens in Lake Wobegon stays in Lake Wobegon.

I know Tom Keith is entertaining people somewhere in the deep blue sky.

Ancora imparo

Who Is Your Family?

Actually, from a conversation today, the question should have been stated, "Who Are Your Peeps?"  Yes, even people over fifty use the word "peeps" in their speech I learned this morning.  It is not a word that I use in normal conversation - only to be humorous - and even though the word sounded very strange coming more than once from a person over sixty, I understood his meaning and it gave me pause for thought.

Family, aka "peeps" can have many meanings to many people.  As we discussed this morning, the "normal" nuclear family of parents and maybe more than one sibling has long been the standard-bearer for the concept but now, "family" can have many connotations.  Work co-horts can be family, friends sometimes have bonds stronger than family, groups can become family-like and some people may consider their church as family.  There have even been stories about humans who have adopted wolf packs as family. 

While I am most certainly not advocating choosing a wolf pack over humans as a family unit, I can say that family can be whatever one wants it to be.  Some siblings seem driven to separate themselves from each other and their parents, determining to become independent to the proverbial "nth" degree.  Some families seem to strive to drive wedges between each other, perhaps not so much out of spite as habit - never relearning habitual, practiced responses to each other. 

As for moi, my family is my "peeps" - my go-to people. 

November is the month for thankfulness.  I am thankful for my family.

Revelations

One of many revelations came to me several years ago when I learned (or finally remembered) that, in the Bible, the book of Revelation has no "s" at the end, as in plural revelations.  That was useful information so that I did not sound too ignorant around people who are theological bibliophiles. 

Another series of revelations came early in my life as I learned how to do the laundry.  These laundry-related revelations were along the lines of  a) There will always be at least one missing sock  b) Used tissues left in pockets never stay in the pockets c) The old "darks" really did bleed  d) If yellow mustard got on a garment you might as well throw it away  e)  Mom really did know how to get out blood and fruit stains  f) Lye was very harsh on the hands

A daily revelation, which I guess would mean it should no longer be a revelation, is that as soon as I clean the cat's litter box, she will use it.  Cranky Kitty seems to be in a contest with me to see how many times I will clean her box during the day.

People whom I wish would not hug me seem to feel compelled to hug me and everyone else. 

Lastly, (although this is certainly not my only remaining revelation) I now understand why many parents stress bed-making to their children.  I was raised to be a bed-maker and have remained one to this day.  This morning the reason for bed-making became very clear to me as I straightened sheets and blankets and tucked in corners while watching absolutely dismal outdoor weather.  I make the bed so I cannot (as easily) get back into it.  Seeing a perfectly made bed acts as a deterrent to climbing back in and hiding under the covers for either a short or extended amount of time. 

November is going to be a big bed-making month thinks I to myself.

Ancora imparo