Saturday, January 3, 2009
Way back, at least a week before Christmas, in expectation of snow and not wanting to carry bags of recycle material down the driveway, I loaded the back seat of my car with cut up cardboard and grocery bags full of newspaper, "smooth" paper, and mixed glass, metal, and plastic. The recycle center is open on Wednesday and Saturday mornings. I intended to dump the load the next time it was open.
Between then and now I hadn't been able to catch them open. Either they were closed for snow, or they were open but I was snowed in, or I overslept, or or or ....
In the meantime, more bags and cardboard got tossed in.
By this morning I was unable to see out the back window. I really need to get to the recycle center! I even set the alarm last night.
I woke up this morning with twinges in my lower back. I know that feeling well. It says, "be good, be careful, no lifting, or I will bite you".
The recycle center has high-sided construction dumpsters. Dumping the stuff in means I have to lift the heavy bags higher than my shoulders.
I thought about it. I went. I dumped. I am now wearing the back brace.
.
Saturday, January 03, 2009
Friday, January 02, 2009
2194 Weird Visits
Friday, January 2, 2009
Yeah, another post. Like I don't have anything else to do.
Something weird has been happening lately. I mention something, and then almost immediately this blog gets a visit from someone associated with that something.
Like, I mentioned C0ldwater Creek in the previous post. Within an hour, I got this in the Sitemeter stats:
Yup. C0ldwater Creek visited.
Wow.
Ok, I can understand companies getting alerts when they're mentioned on the internet, but I'd think they'd just be concerned with general trends. Why on Earth would they actually visit a poor little colonial outpost like this?
I don't understand.
.
Yeah, another post. Like I don't have anything else to do.
Something weird has been happening lately. I mention something, and then almost immediately this blog gets a visit from someone associated with that something.
Like, I mentioned C0ldwater Creek in the previous post. Within an hour, I got this in the Sitemeter stats:
| |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
Wow.
Ok, I can understand companies getting alerts when they're mentioned on the internet, but I'd think they'd just be concerned with general trends. Why on Earth would they actually visit a poor little colonial outpost like this?
I don't understand.
.
2193 Another "News Story" from those blithering idiots at AOL
Friday, January 2, 2009
I use AOL for my main email id. That's all I use it for. It's the one thing they get right, and it's free. When you bring up AOL you get a welcome screen that has "news stories". I should know better by now, but sometimes I get suckered into clicking on one.
One that suckered me yesterday was about a study showing that heavier women report more and better sex than thin women. Well, I'm a heavier woman trying to get thinner, and I certainly want to continue enjoying sex, and I wondered if I might end up missing out on something, maybe it has something to do with estrogen being stored in fat, and if there's anything I need now it's to preserve the little estrogen I've got left ... so I clicked on it.
There were so many things wrong with that "study" that I was literally yelling at the screen.
I should define where I'm coming from before I go commenting on "heavier women". I am 4' 10" tall, and I weigh 140 pounds. My measurements are 42, 33, 39. My legs are short and thick, and my thighs jiggle side-to-side when I walk. I am by no means thin. My goal is 125 pounds, that's where I'd like to be, and even there I'd still be pretty, uh, lush, because I'm so short. Actually, the only thing that distresses me about my body right now is that I have a thick pad on my belly (it's a loose pad on TOP of very good abs, by the way, so don't make crunch noises at me). If I could get rid of just that pad I'd be satisfied with all the rest as it is, jiggle and all. Anyway, the point is, I am considered "heavier", no matter how any study defines it.
And that was the first thing that bugged me about the story - they defined "heavier" as being a size 12 (American) and up.
First off, you can't define anything by dress size! If I pay less than $30 for a dress or blouse, I wear a 10 or 12, or a medium, maybe even a large if it's tight across the bust. If I pay more than $100 for the same thing, I wear a 6 or 8, or a small. I'm not exaggerating. I buy about half my clothes at Wal-Mart, and half at boutiques, so I have a lot of experience with the difference in size measurements. I wear a Coldwater Creek small, 6/8. Coldwater Creek caters to older women with large budgets, and wants to make them feel good about their sizes, so they put small numbers on big items. If I tried on a $2,000 sundress on Rodeo Drive, I wouldn't be at all surprised to find I wear a 4. Less expensive clothing skimps on fabric. More expensive clothing plays to egos. Simple fact.
So is that a cheap 12 or an expensive 12? And how do they get "heavier" when 12 (however defined) is supposedly the average woman's size? Heavier than what?
So ok, got past that. Next, the "study" is based on women "self reporting". Bad methodology. Self reports means self selected, often come from people who want to brag and/or have an agenda, and often have nothing to do with facts.
Last, the "researcher's" "conclusions" are that men (they're saying in general, note, not specific) prefer heavier women, find heavier women sexier.
This is not a valid conclusion.
[It may or may not be true. I'm certainly not saying that large women aren't sexy, ALL intelligent strong loving confident women are sexy!, but the conclusion simply isn't supported by the "study", and that's what I'm objecting to. I'm heavy, and I'm sexy. So there.]
It's possible that men find heavier women simply more approachable, and more available. Wolves and players all know that it's easier to get into a woman's pants if she has low self esteem, and all men dislike rejection, so if a guy is looking for a one-night stand, who's he more likely to approach? Most likely one that he thinks DOESN'T get approached a lot.
Getting approached and invited has a lot to do with how much you get.
If you watch Maury or Jerry, you see 300 pound toothless illiterate women who are sleeping with five men at the same time. Some men will take anything they can get. Some women are easy to get. At least Jerry Springer doesn't attempt to conclude that 300 pound toothless illiterate women are sexier and more in demand than other women.
Give me a break, AOL.
--------------------------
Yes, there are lots of men who do prefer full-bodied women. I'm dating one right now. By his standards, I'm skinny. He likes 'em BIG. I think that's why I'm having so much trouble losing that last 15 pounds. I don't feel a strong internal or external urge.
.
I use AOL for my main email id. That's all I use it for. It's the one thing they get right, and it's free. When you bring up AOL you get a welcome screen that has "news stories". I should know better by now, but sometimes I get suckered into clicking on one.
One that suckered me yesterday was about a study showing that heavier women report more and better sex than thin women. Well, I'm a heavier woman trying to get thinner, and I certainly want to continue enjoying sex, and I wondered if I might end up missing out on something, maybe it has something to do with estrogen being stored in fat, and if there's anything I need now it's to preserve the little estrogen I've got left ... so I clicked on it.
There were so many things wrong with that "study" that I was literally yelling at the screen.
I should define where I'm coming from before I go commenting on "heavier women". I am 4' 10" tall, and I weigh 140 pounds. My measurements are 42, 33, 39. My legs are short and thick, and my thighs jiggle side-to-side when I walk. I am by no means thin. My goal is 125 pounds, that's where I'd like to be, and even there I'd still be pretty, uh, lush, because I'm so short. Actually, the only thing that distresses me about my body right now is that I have a thick pad on my belly (it's a loose pad on TOP of very good abs, by the way, so don't make crunch noises at me). If I could get rid of just that pad I'd be satisfied with all the rest as it is, jiggle and all. Anyway, the point is, I am considered "heavier", no matter how any study defines it.
And that was the first thing that bugged me about the story - they defined "heavier" as being a size 12 (American) and up.
First off, you can't define anything by dress size! If I pay less than $30 for a dress or blouse, I wear a 10 or 12, or a medium, maybe even a large if it's tight across the bust. If I pay more than $100 for the same thing, I wear a 6 or 8, or a small. I'm not exaggerating. I buy about half my clothes at Wal-Mart, and half at boutiques, so I have a lot of experience with the difference in size measurements. I wear a Coldwater Creek small, 6/8. Coldwater Creek caters to older women with large budgets, and wants to make them feel good about their sizes, so they put small numbers on big items. If I tried on a $2,000 sundress on Rodeo Drive, I wouldn't be at all surprised to find I wear a 4. Less expensive clothing skimps on fabric. More expensive clothing plays to egos. Simple fact.
So is that a cheap 12 or an expensive 12? And how do they get "heavier" when 12 (however defined) is supposedly the average woman's size? Heavier than what?
So ok, got past that. Next, the "study" is based on women "self reporting". Bad methodology. Self reports means self selected, often come from people who want to brag and/or have an agenda, and often have nothing to do with facts.
Last, the "researcher's" "conclusions" are that men (they're saying in general, note, not specific) prefer heavier women, find heavier women sexier.
This is not a valid conclusion.
[It may or may not be true. I'm certainly not saying that large women aren't sexy, ALL intelligent strong loving confident women are sexy!, but the conclusion simply isn't supported by the "study", and that's what I'm objecting to. I'm heavy, and I'm sexy. So there.]
It's possible that men find heavier women simply more approachable, and more available. Wolves and players all know that it's easier to get into a woman's pants if she has low self esteem, and all men dislike rejection, so if a guy is looking for a one-night stand, who's he more likely to approach? Most likely one that he thinks DOESN'T get approached a lot.
Getting approached and invited has a lot to do with how much you get.
If you watch Maury or Jerry, you see 300 pound toothless illiterate women who are sleeping with five men at the same time. Some men will take anything they can get. Some women are easy to get. At least Jerry Springer doesn't attempt to conclude that 300 pound toothless illiterate women are sexier and more in demand than other women.
Give me a break, AOL.
--------------------------
Yes, there are lots of men who do prefer full-bodied women. I'm dating one right now. By his standards, I'm skinny. He likes 'em BIG. I think that's why I'm having so much trouble losing that last 15 pounds. I don't feel a strong internal or external urge.
.
2192 More on the Great Lard Search!
Friday, January 2, 2009
Grocery store, yesterday. Fresh meat case. Pork section. Hams and chops in the bottom case, sausage and bacon on a top shelf. On the shelf between, in the prime display spot, taking up three feet of shelf, eighty four pounds of lard!
Duh?
A few inches over were about 30 jars of horseradish, spread out, lying down, not standing. Obviously a "Here I am!" display.
I stared at it all in disbelief. Very unusual. This little village store never has lard. Is the whole world planning to make Welsh cookies? What's with the horseradish? Horseradish is usually in the meat section, but standing on the top of the case, not laid out. Is it all for some holiday, like just before Thanksgiving when turkeys get the prime spot? Maybe a Jewish or Muslim thing? Isn't lard pork? It's in the pork section, and between the lard and the horseradish, obviously part of the display, were packages of salt pork. Cringe. Ok, not Muslim or Jewish. Kwanzaa? Like 100 pounds of lard, salt pork, and horseradish carefully displayed for the perusal of the maybe five people of African-descent in the village environs? A bit late for Kwanzaa, anyway. Maybe New Year's dinner?
I don't understand.
I asked the checkout kid, and he didn't know, either.
Now I have to visit the meat section in a few days, and see how much of it was sold.
-------------------------
I was there to pick up kielbasa and sauerkraut. Kielbasa and sauerkraut for New Year's Day dinner is a Polish tradition for luck. My mother and Gramma were 100% Welsh, so I don't know where or how they picked that up, but if I didn't have at least sauerkraut to start the year and something bad happened, their ghosts wouldn't let me off lightly.
(In a pinch, pepperoni or other hot sausage, cabbage, and potatoes boiled together with a bit of caraway is an acceptable and more Welsh-like substitute.)
For The Man, it's Hoppin' John, which involves black-eyed peas, ham hock, rice, and chopped vegetables.
So, is there a New Year's tradition that involves lard, salt pork, and horseradish?
Inviting comments - does your family have a traditional New Year's dinner? What is it? Note - champagne does not qualify as a meal.
.
Grocery store, yesterday. Fresh meat case. Pork section. Hams and chops in the bottom case, sausage and bacon on a top shelf. On the shelf between, in the prime display spot, taking up three feet of shelf, eighty four pounds of lard!
Duh?
A few inches over were about 30 jars of horseradish, spread out, lying down, not standing. Obviously a "Here I am!" display.
I stared at it all in disbelief. Very unusual. This little village store never has lard. Is the whole world planning to make Welsh cookies? What's with the horseradish? Horseradish is usually in the meat section, but standing on the top of the case, not laid out. Is it all for some holiday, like just before Thanksgiving when turkeys get the prime spot? Maybe a Jewish or Muslim thing? Isn't lard pork? It's in the pork section, and between the lard and the horseradish, obviously part of the display, were packages of salt pork. Cringe. Ok, not Muslim or Jewish. Kwanzaa? Like 100 pounds of lard, salt pork, and horseradish carefully displayed for the perusal of the maybe five people of African-descent in the village environs? A bit late for Kwanzaa, anyway. Maybe New Year's dinner?
I don't understand.
I asked the checkout kid, and he didn't know, either.
Now I have to visit the meat section in a few days, and see how much of it was sold.
-------------------------
I was there to pick up kielbasa and sauerkraut. Kielbasa and sauerkraut for New Year's Day dinner is a Polish tradition for luck. My mother and Gramma were 100% Welsh, so I don't know where or how they picked that up, but if I didn't have at least sauerkraut to start the year and something bad happened, their ghosts wouldn't let me off lightly.
(In a pinch, pepperoni or other hot sausage, cabbage, and potatoes boiled together with a bit of caraway is an acceptable and more Welsh-like substitute.)
For The Man, it's Hoppin' John, which involves black-eyed peas, ham hock, rice, and chopped vegetables.
So, is there a New Year's tradition that involves lard, salt pork, and horseradish?
Inviting comments - does your family have a traditional New Year's dinner? What is it? Note - champagne does not qualify as a meal.
.
2191 Harper's on 2008
Friday, January 2, 2009
One of the many magazine subscriptions I dropped when I realized I was being buried in paper that I didn't read, was Harper's Magazine. I may reconsider that. I miss it.
The Harper's summing-up of 2008 is at http://harpers.org/archive/2008/12/hbc-90004107. It's great. One screen-worth. Humans really are just a herd of monkeys.
.
One of the many magazine subscriptions I dropped when I realized I was being buried in paper that I didn't read, was Harper's Magazine. I may reconsider that. I miss it.
The Harper's summing-up of 2008 is at http://harpers.org/archive/2008/12/hbc-90004107. It's great. One screen-worth. Humans really are just a herd of monkeys.
.
Thursday, January 01, 2009
2190 On Thermostats
Thursday, January 1, 2009
One of my many bad habits is staying up almost all night. I lose track of time. Left to myself, I sometimes I don't get to bed until 4 or 5 am.
It's a bigger problem in the summer than in the winter, because in the winter I have a programmable thermostat to help.
I have programed it to rise in the morning, stay steady during the sun hours, rise again a bit after the sun goes down, and then drop precipitously starting at about 10:00 pm. That way, by midnight it's approaching 60 degrees in here, and no matter where I am or what I'm doing, I start thinking about how warm and comfy the bed is. It works. I also sleep better if I'm cold when I snuggle into a warm bed.
There's supposed to be another benefit to dropping the temperature at night. It's supposed to save oil. (Especially important this winter. I got rooked. I prepurchased 800 gallons at what turned out to be the highest price of the year. Freakin' stuff dropped right after I signed the contract. Yeah, prepurchase. They offered a guaranteed maximum price, but that was higher than the prepurchase price, and I was SURE it was going to go up. I screwed up. Who'da thunk it would go down? Nobody saw that coming.)
Anyway, I'm not convinced a lower overnight setting does save oil.
Overnight, when the temp drops, it's not just the air that gets colder. Everything in the house gets colder. Proof is in the morning toilet seat! So when the furnace comes on, it has to not only warm the air, but everything else, too. The furnace runs steadily for over an hour.
So the question is, if the furnace doesn't run for about nine hours, and then runs steadily for an hour, did I really save any oil? Would it be more or less efficient to maintain the same temperature around the clock?
I also don't believe that setting a lower constant temperature saves much, if the difference between the inside and outside temperature is great. The furnace runs just as much, just as often, to maintain that constant. It's just that the constant is lower. If the goal is to save oil, you need to turn it on later in the fall, and off earlier in the spring, plug air leaks (including and especially the forgotten attic door/hatch), open the drapes to the sun and close them to the dark, and when you finish using the oven, open the door to let it cool into the kitchen. (Yeah, that last one's silly, but I love to stand in front of a cooling oven. I actually go so far as to use a shot glass to hold the door ajar while it presses the light switch off.)
-----------------------
Teeth. Bane. My natural color is not white. As a teenager, even before smoking and coffee and daily tea, my teeth were in the middle of the dentist's color chart. It may be due to all the ear infection and strep throat antibiotics in my youth. Start that low, add smoking, coffee, tea, and juices, and they're worse, and whitening toothpastes and treatments don't seem to help.
I discovered something that does help. At home now, I drink my coffee, tea, and fruit juices with a straw. I don't remember why I started doing it, but I kept doing it because it slows me down, forcing me to sip instead of gulp, which is more satisfying, but anyway, the difference to my teeth is amazing.
I wonder if I could patent that.
.
One of my many bad habits is staying up almost all night. I lose track of time. Left to myself, I sometimes I don't get to bed until 4 or 5 am.
It's a bigger problem in the summer than in the winter, because in the winter I have a programmable thermostat to help.
I have programed it to rise in the morning, stay steady during the sun hours, rise again a bit after the sun goes down, and then drop precipitously starting at about 10:00 pm. That way, by midnight it's approaching 60 degrees in here, and no matter where I am or what I'm doing, I start thinking about how warm and comfy the bed is. It works. I also sleep better if I'm cold when I snuggle into a warm bed.
There's supposed to be another benefit to dropping the temperature at night. It's supposed to save oil. (Especially important this winter. I got rooked. I prepurchased 800 gallons at what turned out to be the highest price of the year. Freakin' stuff dropped right after I signed the contract. Yeah, prepurchase. They offered a guaranteed maximum price, but that was higher than the prepurchase price, and I was SURE it was going to go up. I screwed up. Who'da thunk it would go down? Nobody saw that coming.)
Anyway, I'm not convinced a lower overnight setting does save oil.
Overnight, when the temp drops, it's not just the air that gets colder. Everything in the house gets colder. Proof is in the morning toilet seat! So when the furnace comes on, it has to not only warm the air, but everything else, too. The furnace runs steadily for over an hour.
So the question is, if the furnace doesn't run for about nine hours, and then runs steadily for an hour, did I really save any oil? Would it be more or less efficient to maintain the same temperature around the clock?
I also don't believe that setting a lower constant temperature saves much, if the difference between the inside and outside temperature is great. The furnace runs just as much, just as often, to maintain that constant. It's just that the constant is lower. If the goal is to save oil, you need to turn it on later in the fall, and off earlier in the spring, plug air leaks (including and especially the forgotten attic door/hatch), open the drapes to the sun and close them to the dark, and when you finish using the oven, open the door to let it cool into the kitchen. (Yeah, that last one's silly, but I love to stand in front of a cooling oven. I actually go so far as to use a shot glass to hold the door ajar while it presses the light switch off.)
-----------------------
Teeth. Bane. My natural color is not white. As a teenager, even before smoking and coffee and daily tea, my teeth were in the middle of the dentist's color chart. It may be due to all the ear infection and strep throat antibiotics in my youth. Start that low, add smoking, coffee, tea, and juices, and they're worse, and whitening toothpastes and treatments don't seem to help.
I discovered something that does help. At home now, I drink my coffee, tea, and fruit juices with a straw. I don't remember why I started doing it, but I kept doing it because it slows me down, forcing me to sip instead of gulp, which is more satisfying, but anyway, the difference to my teeth is amazing.
I wonder if I could patent that.
.
2189 Arriving in 2009
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Forgot to mention - I'm snowed in. Eight inches of fluff in the driveway, 12 degrees F, and enough wind to screw up the TV reception. I suppose it's too much to hope that the wind will blow all the snow out of the yard. Otherwise I get to begin the year with my favorite activity - throwing snow. With wind, it all ends up in my face and down my neck.
I hate winter.
The Man's email promises that 2009 will be better than 2008. Ah, how he toys with me.
.
Forgot to mention - I'm snowed in. Eight inches of fluff in the driveway, 12 degrees F, and enough wind to screw up the TV reception. I suppose it's too much to hope that the wind will blow all the snow out of the yard. Otherwise I get to begin the year with my favorite activity - throwing snow. With wind, it all ends up in my face and down my neck.
I hate winter.
The Man's email promises that 2009 will be better than 2008. Ah, how he toys with me.
.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
2188 TheYear of Falling In Love, Over and Over
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
First, an interesting little fact I came across today, a statistic from the Congressional Budget Office, released in December 2007: From 2003 to 2005, the increase in income for the top one percent exceeded the total income of the bottom 20 percent.
Yeah, I'm aware that the average income of the bottom 20% is pretty durn low, and I don't know if that's the bottom 20% period, or the bottom 20% of those who file taxes, although I suspect it's the latter because otherwise the CBO wouldn't have the numbers. But whatever, it's still a pretty wow statement. And those top 1% folks get all kinds of tax CUTS, because they "create jobs".
Um, something's not working as planned. Unless it was that top 1% who did the planning, that is.
Oh, wait, oh yeah....
-----------------------
It seems to be the custom for bloggers to sum up the past year in the last post of the year.
I have nothing to sum up. Here I am. It's one year and 10 months since I met The Man. When I'm not with him, I find him extremely frustrating. I don't see this actually going anywhere, and if I want a full time companion I'm wasting time on him. He's a Type-A, nowhere near slowing down, let alone retiring, and things will go on exactly as they have, indefinitely. He's also nerdy enough that the threat of losing me would be a temporary distraction until he found a work project to bury himself in. When I haven't seen him in a while I can clearly see all of that, to the point where I had several times decided, absolutely, definitely, to break it off with him.
And then I DO see him and I fall in love all over again. There's just something about him. I fell in love more than 30 times in the past year. That's pretty heady business. Addictive.
And that was pretty much the year. I feel like I've been hanging on a hook on the door. I have done nothing else, learned nothing else, gone nowhere else, accomplished nothing else, and I don't know if I can change that, or even if I want to.
Sigh.
Well, youse guys have a good start to whatever you want to make of 2009. Me, I'm going to hang here a bit longer and think about it.
--------------------
Later: It's two minutes into the new year. The Man is in Ohio, working. We swapped short emails.
.
First, an interesting little fact I came across today, a statistic from the Congressional Budget Office, released in December 2007: From 2003 to 2005, the increase in income for the top one percent exceeded the total income of the bottom 20 percent.
Yeah, I'm aware that the average income of the bottom 20% is pretty durn low, and I don't know if that's the bottom 20% period, or the bottom 20% of those who file taxes, although I suspect it's the latter because otherwise the CBO wouldn't have the numbers. But whatever, it's still a pretty wow statement. And those top 1% folks get all kinds of tax CUTS, because they "create jobs".
Um, something's not working as planned. Unless it was that top 1% who did the planning, that is.
Oh, wait, oh yeah....
-----------------------
It seems to be the custom for bloggers to sum up the past year in the last post of the year.
I have nothing to sum up. Here I am. It's one year and 10 months since I met The Man. When I'm not with him, I find him extremely frustrating. I don't see this actually going anywhere, and if I want a full time companion I'm wasting time on him. He's a Type-A, nowhere near slowing down, let alone retiring, and things will go on exactly as they have, indefinitely. He's also nerdy enough that the threat of losing me would be a temporary distraction until he found a work project to bury himself in. When I haven't seen him in a while I can clearly see all of that, to the point where I had several times decided, absolutely, definitely, to break it off with him.
And then I DO see him and I fall in love all over again. There's just something about him. I fell in love more than 30 times in the past year. That's pretty heady business. Addictive.
And that was pretty much the year. I feel like I've been hanging on a hook on the door. I have done nothing else, learned nothing else, gone nowhere else, accomplished nothing else, and I don't know if I can change that, or even if I want to.
Sigh.
Well, youse guys have a good start to whatever you want to make of 2009. Me, I'm going to hang here a bit longer and think about it.
--------------------
Later: It's two minutes into the new year. The Man is in Ohio, working. We swapped short emails.
.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
2187 Lard & Currants
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Daughter has located lard (see previous post) and I have found currants. We're set.
There's no lard in the stores around here. It's ridiculous. I can't even find full-fat yogurt! It seems like all the stores here are determined to make you healthy, whether you like it or not. Everything (except the cookie aisle) is low fat and sugar free! Even the low-fat yogurt is being edged out by fat-free yogurt. Yuck. I want the real thing.
It's not how much fat is in the food, folks, it's how much of the food you eat! And how much exercise you get. My Gramma ate high fat high cholesterol foods (one of her favorites was stuffed veal heart with blood gravy), and root vegetables but very little green leafy stuff, and she was physically and mentally active into her mid-nineties. She ate what would now be considered a terrible diet. But the only time she sat was to eat. She walked everywhere. And sometimes she walked when she didn't have a where.
That was the days of no air conditioning, when everyone sat on front porches in the afternoons and evenings. Gramma would walk the North Scranton neighborhood, waving and visiting. It was the days of trolley cars into the city, when you walked to the stops, and from the stops to the stores, and carried your purchases home on your lap. Your car, if you had one, was parked in a distant garage, from which you fetched it for infrequent long-distance trips. From this, one would assume that people who live in large cities and have no need for cars would be healthy - but they breathe that air! Not the same at all. Back when, Scranton air was decent, even though home heating was anthracite coal-fired. I don't know why, but the air was clean and clear.
I have two recipes I love that call for suet. Good luck with that. One is for a bird cake that wants suet, chunky peanut butter, seeds, and other good stuff. My backyard birds love it. But there's no suet in the local stores, except in ready-made bird cakes, and the village butcher, where you could get all kinds of interesting stuff like marrow and fresh blood for gravy, is no more. The other recipe is for a real Indian (as in Native American) pudding, that calls for coarse ground yellow corn meal, suet, fruit juices, and several kinds of berries and nuts, steamed in a bag. It's wonderful, but I gave up on that one so long ago I'm not sure I can find the recipe again.
The Welsh cookies absolutely require currants. Raisins won't do.
Currants were almost impossible to find in the late '70s and through the '80s. Some government group had discovered long ago that black currant plants harbored blister rust that was killing white pines, and there was another outbreak then, so to protect the pines, most commercial black currant plants had been killed. You could still get white or red currants, but they weren't the same. No flavor. Currants are back, but some states still ban them, and I understand that even where they are allowed you still can't plant currants within X yards of any white pine stands.
-----------------
The Man is now somewhere in Ohio, doing Something Important for a Large Financial Corporation at their headquarters. His services are so unique that they have agreed to his condition that they fly him to North Carolina for a one-day visit to his parents over New Year's Eve. I don't know how long he'll be away, but what he's doing is high visibility. He's approaching 50, and hopes this will turn into a permanent position. He's tired of fighting fires. That's what they've promised him, but I don't trust any company promises unless I see them in writing, from someone in a position to make that promise.
(The Company had a line on everything they put out having to do with benefits: "...may be changed at any time for any reason". They promised me a trip to Japan if I joined the legal department. Didn't happen. They promised lifelong free medical insurance to those of us who took the buyout retirement. Didn't happen. They promised cost of living increases to the retirement checks. I haven't seen one in the ten years I've been getting the checks, and I suspect there has been significant inflation in that time. My widow's check from Social Security has had three raises over the same period. So much for promises.)
I was unsuccessful in convincing The Man to list a conjugal visit as another requirement. I guess he thought I was joking. I'm not. I am bereft. Maybe Welsh cookies will take away the pain.
.
Daughter has located lard (see previous post) and I have found currants. We're set.
There's no lard in the stores around here. It's ridiculous. I can't even find full-fat yogurt! It seems like all the stores here are determined to make you healthy, whether you like it or not. Everything (except the cookie aisle) is low fat and sugar free! Even the low-fat yogurt is being edged out by fat-free yogurt. Yuck. I want the real thing.
It's not how much fat is in the food, folks, it's how much of the food you eat! And how much exercise you get. My Gramma ate high fat high cholesterol foods (one of her favorites was stuffed veal heart with blood gravy), and root vegetables but very little green leafy stuff, and she was physically and mentally active into her mid-nineties. She ate what would now be considered a terrible diet. But the only time she sat was to eat. She walked everywhere. And sometimes she walked when she didn't have a where.
That was the days of no air conditioning, when everyone sat on front porches in the afternoons and evenings. Gramma would walk the North Scranton neighborhood, waving and visiting. It was the days of trolley cars into the city, when you walked to the stops, and from the stops to the stores, and carried your purchases home on your lap. Your car, if you had one, was parked in a distant garage, from which you fetched it for infrequent long-distance trips. From this, one would assume that people who live in large cities and have no need for cars would be healthy - but they breathe that air! Not the same at all. Back when, Scranton air was decent, even though home heating was anthracite coal-fired. I don't know why, but the air was clean and clear.
I have two recipes I love that call for suet. Good luck with that. One is for a bird cake that wants suet, chunky peanut butter, seeds, and other good stuff. My backyard birds love it. But there's no suet in the local stores, except in ready-made bird cakes, and the village butcher, where you could get all kinds of interesting stuff like marrow and fresh blood for gravy, is no more. The other recipe is for a real Indian (as in Native American) pudding, that calls for coarse ground yellow corn meal, suet, fruit juices, and several kinds of berries and nuts, steamed in a bag. It's wonderful, but I gave up on that one so long ago I'm not sure I can find the recipe again.
The Welsh cookies absolutely require currants. Raisins won't do.
Currants were almost impossible to find in the late '70s and through the '80s. Some government group had discovered long ago that black currant plants harbored blister rust that was killing white pines, and there was another outbreak then, so to protect the pines, most commercial black currant plants had been killed. You could still get white or red currants, but they weren't the same. No flavor. Currants are back, but some states still ban them, and I understand that even where they are allowed you still can't plant currants within X yards of any white pine stands.
-----------------
The Man is now somewhere in Ohio, doing Something Important for a Large Financial Corporation at their headquarters. His services are so unique that they have agreed to his condition that they fly him to North Carolina for a one-day visit to his parents over New Year's Eve. I don't know how long he'll be away, but what he's doing is high visibility. He's approaching 50, and hopes this will turn into a permanent position. He's tired of fighting fires. That's what they've promised him, but I don't trust any company promises unless I see them in writing, from someone in a position to make that promise.
(The Company had a line on everything they put out having to do with benefits: "...may be changed at any time for any reason". They promised me a trip to Japan if I joined the legal department. Didn't happen. They promised lifelong free medical insurance to those of us who took the buyout retirement. Didn't happen. They promised cost of living increases to the retirement checks. I haven't seen one in the ten years I've been getting the checks, and I suspect there has been significant inflation in that time. My widow's check from Social Security has had three raises over the same period. So much for promises.)
I was unsuccessful in convincing The Man to list a conjugal visit as another requirement. I guess he thought I was joking. I'm not. I am bereft. Maybe Welsh cookies will take away the pain.
.
Monday, December 29, 2008
2186 Welsh Cookies
Monday, December 29, 2008
I've spent much of the day reading internet posts on the current Israeli military (re)action, on both sides of the issue, all kinds of opinions. For a personal viewpoint, read what Lisa R has to say.
The rest of the day I was trying to whip some order into the den/computer room. There's still a lot of stuff here left from Jay. Cables, I don't know what they go to. Disks, I don't know what's on them. Boxes, I don't know what's in them. I figure if I haven't needed whatever they are by now, I can throw them out.
In one of the boxes I found an old sport watch. I remember Jay wearing it. The band broke and he wasn't able to replace it, so he bought a new watch. That was in probably 1996 or so. The sport watch had been in the box since then, I guess, and I was surprised to find it still running, twelve years later, AND it had the correct date and time! It was like having a living piece of Jay.
I started pressing buttons on the side to find out what they did, and it died in my hands.
That was sad.
I also did an internet search for Welsh cookies. (Not really cookies, technically they're griddle cakes.) I've got a sudden powerful hunger for them. There used to be two or three places you could get them, including the Vermont catalog, but it seems like no one has them now. I have Gramma's recipe, but it's a lot of work for just me and I'm unlikely to make them. I was amused to read some stranger's post bragging that they had acquired "the best" recipe "from a church in North Scranton", and I whooped. That's Gramma's church! And yeah, they're the best. The cookies were the church fundraiser, and all the women were sworn on the Bible to keep the recipe secret.
Anyway, I mentioned it to Daughter, and she suddenly has the craving, too, so we're going to make them together, next Monday. In the meantime, we're both searching for black currants and lard. Yeah, lard. No trying to get fancy with butter or shortening. If we make one batch every few years, they'd better be made RIGHT!
.
I've spent much of the day reading internet posts on the current Israeli military (re)action, on both sides of the issue, all kinds of opinions. For a personal viewpoint, read what Lisa R has to say.
The rest of the day I was trying to whip some order into the den/computer room. There's still a lot of stuff here left from Jay. Cables, I don't know what they go to. Disks, I don't know what's on them. Boxes, I don't know what's in them. I figure if I haven't needed whatever they are by now, I can throw them out.
In one of the boxes I found an old sport watch. I remember Jay wearing it. The band broke and he wasn't able to replace it, so he bought a new watch. That was in probably 1996 or so. The sport watch had been in the box since then, I guess, and I was surprised to find it still running, twelve years later, AND it had the correct date and time! It was like having a living piece of Jay.
I started pressing buttons on the side to find out what they did, and it died in my hands.
That was sad.
I also did an internet search for Welsh cookies. (Not really cookies, technically they're griddle cakes.) I've got a sudden powerful hunger for them. There used to be two or three places you could get them, including the Vermont catalog, but it seems like no one has them now. I have Gramma's recipe, but it's a lot of work for just me and I'm unlikely to make them. I was amused to read some stranger's post bragging that they had acquired "the best" recipe "from a church in North Scranton", and I whooped. That's Gramma's church! And yeah, they're the best. The cookies were the church fundraiser, and all the women were sworn on the Bible to keep the recipe secret.
Anyway, I mentioned it to Daughter, and she suddenly has the craving, too, so we're going to make them together, next Monday. In the meantime, we're both searching for black currants and lard. Yeah, lard. No trying to get fancy with butter or shortening. If we make one batch every few years, they'd better be made RIGHT!
.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
2185 Pushing Daisies
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Kate is also unhappy that Pushing Daisies won't be back after this season. (See the "won't be back" link for a synopsis of the show premise.) I'm happy to know that someone else liked it!
I can't say the show is great. The stories are thin and repetitious, the music and narration can be annoying, but visually it satisfied something deep within me.
The colors are bright, saturated, and visually interesting. It's circles within circles. The pies, the windows in the pie shop, the gate at the sisters' house, the huge hats, bowls, even Olive's name, face, "frontage", and hair - it's all circles. Sometimes I ignore the story and just look for more circles.
The stories may be thin, but the characters are fun. I mean, how can a show with Kristin Chenoweth and a nutsy Swoosie Kurtz in a jeweled eye patch not be entertaining?
Even though it was nominated for twelve Emmys the first season, ABC seemed to have forgotten about it. The second season (after a hiatus caused by the writers' strike) got no advertising, was moved around from evening to evening so I kept losing it, and consequently the viewers weren't there. It almost looked like someone said "Let's kill it."
Kristin Chenowith has been turning up on talk shows - her agent's selling her hard - and I've noticed that when they talk about everything she's done and been in, they never mention "Pushing Daisies".
Sad. I am reminded of "Picket Fences". Another good show that died of neglect.
.
Kate is also unhappy that Pushing Daisies won't be back after this season. (See the "won't be back" link for a synopsis of the show premise.) I'm happy to know that someone else liked it!
I can't say the show is great. The stories are thin and repetitious, the music and narration can be annoying, but visually it satisfied something deep within me.
The colors are bright, saturated, and visually interesting. It's circles within circles. The pies, the windows in the pie shop, the gate at the sisters' house, the huge hats, bowls, even Olive's name, face, "frontage", and hair - it's all circles. Sometimes I ignore the story and just look for more circles.
The stories may be thin, but the characters are fun. I mean, how can a show with Kristin Chenoweth and a nutsy Swoosie Kurtz in a jeweled eye patch not be entertaining?
Even though it was nominated for twelve Emmys the first season, ABC seemed to have forgotten about it. The second season (after a hiatus caused by the writers' strike) got no advertising, was moved around from evening to evening so I kept losing it, and consequently the viewers weren't there. It almost looked like someone said "Let's kill it."
Kristin Chenowith has been turning up on talk shows - her agent's selling her hard - and I've noticed that when they talk about everything she's done and been in, they never mention "Pushing Daisies".
Sad. I am reminded of "Picket Fences". Another good show that died of neglect.
.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
2184 Oops.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
I just noticed I didn't post yesterday, and probably shan't today, except for this: I rediscovered Bejeweled on my laptop yesterday. It's hypnotic. I've been pulled away from it only to feed beasties.
Oops.
.
I just noticed I didn't post yesterday, and probably shan't today, except for this: I rediscovered Bejeweled on my laptop yesterday. It's hypnotic. I've been pulled away from it only to feed beasties.
Oops.
.
Thursday, December 25, 2008
2183 Bad Habit
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Well, in the previous post I confessed to a bad clothes shopping habit. I linked to a haori site so folks could see what haoris are. Bad decision.
Because then I shopped.
I bought some. If you look quickly, you can still see them. I bought:
Silky Cream HAORI with Twinkling Damask Maple Leaves
Artistic Watercolor Diamonds HAORI in Rainbow Hues
Chic Black HAORI with Stunning Midnight Chrysanthemums, and
Ethereal Pink HAORI with Glowing Arabesque Designs.
[Update 1/5/09 - Oops, you missed it. The links now take you to a main catalog page.]
Yeah, I have a problem. Especially for things like this. The fabrics are beautiful, and every stitch in the garment is by hand - no machine stitching. I appreciate.
.
Well, in the previous post I confessed to a bad clothes shopping habit. I linked to a haori site so folks could see what haoris are. Bad decision.
Because then I shopped.
I bought some. If you look quickly, you can still see them. I bought:
Silky Cream HAORI with Twinkling Damask Maple Leaves
Artistic Watercolor Diamonds HAORI in Rainbow Hues
Chic Black HAORI with Stunning Midnight Chrysanthemums, and
Ethereal Pink HAORI with Glowing Arabesque Designs.
[Update 1/5/09 - Oops, you missed it. The links now take you to a main catalog page.]
Yeah, I have a problem. Especially for things like this. The fabrics are beautiful, and every stitch in the garment is by hand - no machine stitching. I appreciate.
.
2182 About Me
Thursday, December 25, 2008
As usual, I won't tag anyone. And, as usual, I got verbose. The original of this is on Jackie's Town USA, if you'd care to repeat it.
1. Clothes
I have too much, probably about 30 closet-bar feet, packed solid. I think I'm still searching for something that looks good on me. I buy almost all of my clothes online, from two or three shops whose sizing I'm familiar with. They consider me a good enough customer that they send me coupons, and offer me 50-75% off, at the rate of once a month, which encourages my bad behavior.
I never show my legs. It's all pants or ankle-length skirts. I love fabrics that flow and flutter when I move.
I like ethnic things that others might consider costumes, and sometimes wear saris in the summer (even to the grocery store), salwar-kameez in the winter, and haori (kimono jackets) in the spring and fall.
2. Furniture
When Jay first got sick, many of our usual activities and entertainments were curtailed. About the same time, we visited a friend whose mother had bequeathed her a collection of antique furniture. To my surprise, my huge scientist husband fell in love with delicate Victorian settees. We were living with a mix from prior marriages (heck, he still had COLLEGE crap!) and disliked each other's stuff, and just 2 miles down the road was one of the best auction houses in the valley, so we started going to auctions.
My house is now furnished with antiques, most from the 1880s. The prices we paid for almost all of it were amazing! In almost all cases, we paid half of what we would have paid for less-well-made modern stuff.
The dining room set is an 1880's carved mahogany Berkey & Gay acorn design table, six chairs, and three cases, and a Moroccan brass-bound chest. (Less than $2000 for the whole lot.)
The living room has an Eastlake inspired settee with two chairs, and an 1860's cameo-back carved sofa. I've been searching for some matching marble-topped side tables, but they always exceed my budget at auction, so I settled for some very nice reproductions. There's a little leather-topped oak desk, and a huge chest that Jay accidentally bought ($10), and the center table is ceramic and marble inlaid in a starburst pattern. There's a heavy carved mahogany Chinese 4-panel screen.
My bedroom furniture is still in boxes in the garage, but when I get the bedroom cleared enough to move it in, I'll have several antique Chinese lacquered chests, and a gorgeous enclosed marriage bed (this type of bed, but a bit different in design. Mine has more interestingly carved panels). There's also a long Victorian sofa with lines I love, I find it very relaxing.
The guest bedroom has a 1920's vanity with a 5-foot diameter round mirror (free in exchange for some paint stripping I did for a friend), 1920's Jenny Lind twin beds I bought from a friend in St. Louis ($75 for the pair!), and a gorgeous 2-panel Japanese screen with embroidered silk panels.
There are some tall Chinese vases, a lot of old Morrocan silvered brass vases and ewers, and several small Tibetan cabinets scattered around.
I love all of it, and it's all one of the reasons I can't move. It's all huge and heavy, and there's nothing I'm ready to give up yet.
3. Sweet
I'm not big on sugary stuff. Given a choice, I prefer oily & salty to sweet. Which I guess is good, because I'm insulin resistant now. The occasional chocolate craving is best satisfied with Lindt truffles.
4. City
I live in a rural area, and like it. In my 30's I spent a lot of time in Chicago, and it's nice to visit, but there's no way I'd care to live there, or in any other city.
5. Drink
A lot of water, hot tea, and iced tea. In alcohol I prefer the sweet liquors, like Grand Marnier, Amaretto, Bailey's Irish Creme, and so on. I almost never drink more than one. I rarely drink anything carbonated.
6. Music
Super eclectic. World music. Folk and bluegrass. Oldies. Classical. "New Age". I appreciate talent. I don't like noise, screaming, bad voices.
7. TV series
I don't have cable and don't want it, so my choices are limited, and that's good. Favorites right now are The Big Bang Theory, Boston Legal (it's over, sob), Pushing Daisies (to be canceled, sob), The Amazing Race, House (makes me angry, but I like the hunt), and Survivor.
8. Film
Don't go to movies much. If I have to name the latest favorite it would be "Once Were Warriors", but for very personal reasons.
9. Workout
I walk.
10. Pastries
I like flaky stuff. I rarely eat pie crust.
11. Coffee
For me it's a powerful laxative. I rarely drink brewed coffee. No matter how well made, it always tastes bitter to me. I'll drink instant, but only with sugar-free French vanilla Coffee-Mate, and only if I have a bathroom available.
---------------------
That's it. Welcome to my world.
.
As usual, I won't tag anyone. And, as usual, I got verbose. The original of this is on Jackie's Town USA, if you'd care to repeat it.
1. Clothes
I have too much, probably about 30 closet-bar feet, packed solid. I think I'm still searching for something that looks good on me. I buy almost all of my clothes online, from two or three shops whose sizing I'm familiar with. They consider me a good enough customer that they send me coupons, and offer me 50-75% off, at the rate of once a month, which encourages my bad behavior.
I never show my legs. It's all pants or ankle-length skirts. I love fabrics that flow and flutter when I move.
I like ethnic things that others might consider costumes, and sometimes wear saris in the summer (even to the grocery store), salwar-kameez in the winter, and haori (kimono jackets) in the spring and fall.
2. Furniture
When Jay first got sick, many of our usual activities and entertainments were curtailed. About the same time, we visited a friend whose mother had bequeathed her a collection of antique furniture. To my surprise, my huge scientist husband fell in love with delicate Victorian settees. We were living with a mix from prior marriages (heck, he still had COLLEGE crap!) and disliked each other's stuff, and just 2 miles down the road was one of the best auction houses in the valley, so we started going to auctions.
My house is now furnished with antiques, most from the 1880s. The prices we paid for almost all of it were amazing! In almost all cases, we paid half of what we would have paid for less-well-made modern stuff.
The dining room set is an 1880's carved mahogany Berkey & Gay acorn design table, six chairs, and three cases, and a Moroccan brass-bound chest. (Less than $2000 for the whole lot.)
The living room has an Eastlake inspired settee with two chairs, and an 1860's cameo-back carved sofa. I've been searching for some matching marble-topped side tables, but they always exceed my budget at auction, so I settled for some very nice reproductions. There's a little leather-topped oak desk, and a huge chest that Jay accidentally bought ($10), and the center table is ceramic and marble inlaid in a starburst pattern. There's a heavy carved mahogany Chinese 4-panel screen.
My bedroom furniture is still in boxes in the garage, but when I get the bedroom cleared enough to move it in, I'll have several antique Chinese lacquered chests, and a gorgeous enclosed marriage bed (this type of bed, but a bit different in design. Mine has more interestingly carved panels). There's also a long Victorian sofa with lines I love, I find it very relaxing.
The guest bedroom has a 1920's vanity with a 5-foot diameter round mirror (free in exchange for some paint stripping I did for a friend), 1920's Jenny Lind twin beds I bought from a friend in St. Louis ($75 for the pair!), and a gorgeous 2-panel Japanese screen with embroidered silk panels.
There are some tall Chinese vases, a lot of old Morrocan silvered brass vases and ewers, and several small Tibetan cabinets scattered around.
I love all of it, and it's all one of the reasons I can't move. It's all huge and heavy, and there's nothing I'm ready to give up yet.
3. Sweet
I'm not big on sugary stuff. Given a choice, I prefer oily & salty to sweet. Which I guess is good, because I'm insulin resistant now. The occasional chocolate craving is best satisfied with Lindt truffles.
4. City
I live in a rural area, and like it. In my 30's I spent a lot of time in Chicago, and it's nice to visit, but there's no way I'd care to live there, or in any other city.
5. Drink
A lot of water, hot tea, and iced tea. In alcohol I prefer the sweet liquors, like Grand Marnier, Amaretto, Bailey's Irish Creme, and so on. I almost never drink more than one. I rarely drink anything carbonated.
6. Music
Super eclectic. World music. Folk and bluegrass. Oldies. Classical. "New Age". I appreciate talent. I don't like noise, screaming, bad voices.
7. TV series
I don't have cable and don't want it, so my choices are limited, and that's good. Favorites right now are The Big Bang Theory, Boston Legal (it's over, sob), Pushing Daisies (to be canceled, sob), The Amazing Race, House (makes me angry, but I like the hunt), and Survivor.
8. Film
Don't go to movies much. If I have to name the latest favorite it would be "Once Were Warriors", but for very personal reasons.
9. Workout
I walk.
10. Pastries
I like flaky stuff. I rarely eat pie crust.
11. Coffee
For me it's a powerful laxative. I rarely drink brewed coffee. No matter how well made, it always tastes bitter to me. I'll drink instant, but only with sugar-free French vanilla Coffee-Mate, and only if I have a bathroom available.
---------------------
That's it. Welcome to my world.
.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
2179 Rewriting
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Daughter and I have a rather strained relationship sometimes. I don't know how to describe it. She seems to get angry with me for no reason. At least, no reason that I can see.
Lately we've been working through some stuff - like one item every time I see her. She remembers things so very differently from my memory of the same incident. So many times she misinterpreted something I'd said or done long long ago, something that somehow became significant to her, and which she had misunderstood mainly because she was too young to understand, or she overheard me say something to another adult and she didn't understand the words or the situation, and she put her own spin on it.
Yesterday I was complaining that I'd never much cared for the idea of Santa Claus, that it makes Christmas all about getting stuff. She got annoyed and asked how I could say that, how come I insisted that she had to believe in Santa when she was a kid, and that I got really mad when she came home from school one day and informed me that she knew there was no Santa, that it was all me. She said that I was mad at her for not believing in Santa. So how can I say I never liked the idea of Santa?
I had no idea what she was talking about, I didn't remember that at all. I asked her how the conversation went. Is it possible that I wasn't angry about what you said, but how you said it?
She thought about it. She remembered that she was angry that I had lied to her, allowed her to believe a lie. She was angry that I had made her look foolish to the other kids because they knew the truth and she didn't. It turns out that that day, she didn't simply say, like, "Hey Mom. Guess what? There's no Santa." What actually happened was that she came home from school thoroughly pissed, and burst through the door accusing me of lying to her for years, "and what else have you lied to me about", are you even really my mother, and so on.
So my reaction was NOT to her not believing in Santa, I was reacting to her attack on me.
I told her I didn't purposely lie to her, that it's a dilemma when you live in a culture that pushes Santa, and if you tell your kid, your kid will snottily tell other younger kids, and you'll end up with all the neighborhood parents pissed at you, so you kinda have to let the kids find out themselves, which they do, pretty much all at once as an age group. I said that what I was most likely to have said was "Yes, Santa isn't a real person, but the idea of Santa is real, inside each of us."
And she said, yeah, come to think of it, I did say that.
So, her interpretation of what happened was quite different from mine. She had stored it as "Mom was angry because I didn't believe in Santa", expanded to "Mom is angry because I don't believe her lies." Actually I was angry because she accused me of lying and wouldn't accept that I didn't do it on purpose to make her look foolish, and wouldn't listen to any explanations. As far as I was concerned, Santa wasn't even the issue.
It's funny how many things there are like that. Many of them, if she stopped to look carefully at them, she'd see them in a new light. But the memories are stored in 4-year-old or 6-year-old terms, not 33-year-old terms, so until she dredges them up and rewrites them based on new adult information, they continue to influence her as if she were 4 or 6.
The hardest memories to rewrite are the ones stored before language, before there were words to describe them. Those are the ones that continue to influence our reactions for the rest of our lives. We may be aware that there's something unreasonable going on in there, but we don't know what it is, because it isn't in words. We reason in words, but we react without words. And even when we reason, it's built on a foundation of no words, something we can't describe, and therefore can't easily change.
.
Daughter and I have a rather strained relationship sometimes. I don't know how to describe it. She seems to get angry with me for no reason. At least, no reason that I can see.
Lately we've been working through some stuff - like one item every time I see her. She remembers things so very differently from my memory of the same incident. So many times she misinterpreted something I'd said or done long long ago, something that somehow became significant to her, and which she had misunderstood mainly because she was too young to understand, or she overheard me say something to another adult and she didn't understand the words or the situation, and she put her own spin on it.
Yesterday I was complaining that I'd never much cared for the idea of Santa Claus, that it makes Christmas all about getting stuff. She got annoyed and asked how I could say that, how come I insisted that she had to believe in Santa when she was a kid, and that I got really mad when she came home from school one day and informed me that she knew there was no Santa, that it was all me. She said that I was mad at her for not believing in Santa. So how can I say I never liked the idea of Santa?
I had no idea what she was talking about, I didn't remember that at all. I asked her how the conversation went. Is it possible that I wasn't angry about what you said, but how you said it?
She thought about it. She remembered that she was angry that I had lied to her, allowed her to believe a lie. She was angry that I had made her look foolish to the other kids because they knew the truth and she didn't. It turns out that that day, she didn't simply say, like, "Hey Mom. Guess what? There's no Santa." What actually happened was that she came home from school thoroughly pissed, and burst through the door accusing me of lying to her for years, "and what else have you lied to me about", are you even really my mother, and so on.
So my reaction was NOT to her not believing in Santa, I was reacting to her attack on me.
I told her I didn't purposely lie to her, that it's a dilemma when you live in a culture that pushes Santa, and if you tell your kid, your kid will snottily tell other younger kids, and you'll end up with all the neighborhood parents pissed at you, so you kinda have to let the kids find out themselves, which they do, pretty much all at once as an age group. I said that what I was most likely to have said was "Yes, Santa isn't a real person, but the idea of Santa is real, inside each of us."
And she said, yeah, come to think of it, I did say that.
So, her interpretation of what happened was quite different from mine. She had stored it as "Mom was angry because I didn't believe in Santa", expanded to "Mom is angry because I don't believe her lies." Actually I was angry because she accused me of lying and wouldn't accept that I didn't do it on purpose to make her look foolish, and wouldn't listen to any explanations. As far as I was concerned, Santa wasn't even the issue.
It's funny how many things there are like that. Many of them, if she stopped to look carefully at them, she'd see them in a new light. But the memories are stored in 4-year-old or 6-year-old terms, not 33-year-old terms, so until she dredges them up and rewrites them based on new adult information, they continue to influence her as if she were 4 or 6.
The hardest memories to rewrite are the ones stored before language, before there were words to describe them. Those are the ones that continue to influence our reactions for the rest of our lives. We may be aware that there's something unreasonable going on in there, but we don't know what it is, because it isn't in words. We reason in words, but we react without words. And even when we reason, it's built on a foundation of no words, something we can't describe, and therefore can't easily change.
.
2178 His Name Is Mr. Black
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Back in the late '60s, early '70s, one of my favorite people at The Company was a manager in the development area, named Bob Black. The name suited him. He was probably late 40s, well over 6 feet tall, and huge - shaped like the letter "D". Those were the days when men wore suits to work, and his were always black. He had black hair, and a full long thick black beard that covered the knot in his tie.
We often sat at the same table at lunch. I adored him. He was intelligent and pleasant, and sometimes downright sweet.
One day at lunch, a few days before Christmas, he showed up at the table with a salad, instead of his usual tray loaded with goodies. When asked, he blushed and said that it was brought home to him that it was time to lose weight.
The day before, he'd been shopping with his wife, and had misplaced her. He was standing in a store aisle, craning to look over the racks to locate her, when he felt a series of tugs on his suit jacket, and became aware of a small voice somewhere in the vicinity of his knee. He looked down, and there was a little girl, maybe four years old, with a grip on his jacket, and an adoring look on her face, beaming up at him,
and she was saying, "...and a doll house, and a paint set, and roller skates, and...."
.
Back in the late '60s, early '70s, one of my favorite people at The Company was a manager in the development area, named Bob Black. The name suited him. He was probably late 40s, well over 6 feet tall, and huge - shaped like the letter "D". Those were the days when men wore suits to work, and his were always black. He had black hair, and a full long thick black beard that covered the knot in his tie.
We often sat at the same table at lunch. I adored him. He was intelligent and pleasant, and sometimes downright sweet.
One day at lunch, a few days before Christmas, he showed up at the table with a salad, instead of his usual tray loaded with goodies. When asked, he blushed and said that it was brought home to him that it was time to lose weight.
The day before, he'd been shopping with his wife, and had misplaced her. He was standing in a store aisle, craning to look over the racks to locate her, when he felt a series of tugs on his suit jacket, and became aware of a small voice somewhere in the vicinity of his knee. He looked down, and there was a little girl, maybe four years old, with a grip on his jacket, and an adoring look on her face, beaming up at him,
and she was saying, "...and a doll house, and a paint set, and roller skates, and...."
.
Monday, December 22, 2008
2177 Visit to NJ, Visit from Elves
Monday, December 22, 2008
The days are running together. I'm having trouble remembering when was snow, and when I cleared the driveway. All I know for sure is that I'm out of gas for the snowthrower, and there's a few inches of snow out there now, and sleet predicted sometime soon, so I'd better get in gear and get more gas and get those few inches cleared before it gets sleeted on.
I hate winter.
Yesterday, Sunday, I woke to snow. Coming down thickly. There was about 5 inches on the driveway when I cleared it, and 3 or more in the offing. But I had to clear it anyway because I planned to drive to New Jersey. At noon, the snow was still falling, and our street hadn't been plowed yet. It occurred to me that if I didn't leave soon, I may not be able to get out at all. Who knows when the county would get around to our street. (Yesterday's blog post, by the way, was written Saturday and stacked for auto-post yesterday. I knew I wouldn't have time to post otherwise.)
So I left.
Mine were the only tracks in the deep snow in the street.
The drive south was miserable. Snow snow snow. Even on the NYS Thruway, I didn't get over 45 until I was almost in New Jersey. I went through the toll booths at the end, and POW! there was no snow. The skies, which had been solid white, were suddenly clear blue. The sun was so bright I went "snow blind", and couldn't see anything on the dashboard or the GPS. They were solid black.
I got to the hotel at 2:45. The Man had already settled in and gone back to his office. I didn't call him to let him know I'd arrived until after a 2-hour long soak in a hot tub. I ached.
So he and I had dinner and watched football and stuff, and then this morning I drove to Daughter's and we went shopping. She'd done almost none of her Christmas shopping. (Yeah, she's my daughter.)
I got home about 10:30 this evening.
Since it had been snowing when I left Sunday, and since the road hadn't been plowed yet, I expected to find a plowdrift across the end of the driveway, and who knows how much snow on the drive. I hoped that the plowdrift might be small enough that I could just bull through it, and maybe even make it up the driveway. Absolute worst scenario would be a huge plowdrift. Then I'd have to park on the street, hike up to the porch for the shovel, and shovel out enough space to get the car off the street (no parking allowed on roads in the winter), and then carry all my bags and packages up to the house. I really hoped I wouldn't have to do that.
When I turned into my street, I was immediately discouraged. The plowdrifts lining the street were up to my car windows. Oh Good Grief - worse than I thought possible. I'm too tired to shovel that tonight. What on earth am I going to do with my car?
Then I rounded the last curve, and actually literally stopped dead in the road.
Someone had cleared the plowdrift at the end of my driveway! I don't know who or how, but it was completely open. No one knew I was away, let alone that I'd be returning late tonight.
There was a few inches of snow on the drive, but with no plowdrift to hinder her, the Aerio was able to scoot right on up.
Who cleared it? Elves?
.
The days are running together. I'm having trouble remembering when was snow, and when I cleared the driveway. All I know for sure is that I'm out of gas for the snowthrower, and there's a few inches of snow out there now, and sleet predicted sometime soon, so I'd better get in gear and get more gas and get those few inches cleared before it gets sleeted on.
I hate winter.
Yesterday, Sunday, I woke to snow. Coming down thickly. There was about 5 inches on the driveway when I cleared it, and 3 or more in the offing. But I had to clear it anyway because I planned to drive to New Jersey. At noon, the snow was still falling, and our street hadn't been plowed yet. It occurred to me that if I didn't leave soon, I may not be able to get out at all. Who knows when the county would get around to our street. (Yesterday's blog post, by the way, was written Saturday and stacked for auto-post yesterday. I knew I wouldn't have time to post otherwise.)
So I left.
Mine were the only tracks in the deep snow in the street.
The drive south was miserable. Snow snow snow. Even on the NYS Thruway, I didn't get over 45 until I was almost in New Jersey. I went through the toll booths at the end, and POW! there was no snow. The skies, which had been solid white, were suddenly clear blue. The sun was so bright I went "snow blind", and couldn't see anything on the dashboard or the GPS. They were solid black.
I got to the hotel at 2:45. The Man had already settled in and gone back to his office. I didn't call him to let him know I'd arrived until after a 2-hour long soak in a hot tub. I ached.
So he and I had dinner and watched football and stuff, and then this morning I drove to Daughter's and we went shopping. She'd done almost none of her Christmas shopping. (Yeah, she's my daughter.)
I got home about 10:30 this evening.
Since it had been snowing when I left Sunday, and since the road hadn't been plowed yet, I expected to find a plowdrift across the end of the driveway, and who knows how much snow on the drive. I hoped that the plowdrift might be small enough that I could just bull through it, and maybe even make it up the driveway. Absolute worst scenario would be a huge plowdrift. Then I'd have to park on the street, hike up to the porch for the shovel, and shovel out enough space to get the car off the street (no parking allowed on roads in the winter), and then carry all my bags and packages up to the house. I really hoped I wouldn't have to do that.
When I turned into my street, I was immediately discouraged. The plowdrifts lining the street were up to my car windows. Oh Good Grief - worse than I thought possible. I'm too tired to shovel that tonight. What on earth am I going to do with my car?
Then I rounded the last curve, and actually literally stopped dead in the road.
Someone had cleared the plowdrift at the end of my driveway! I don't know who or how, but it was completely open. No one knew I was away, let alone that I'd be returning late tonight.
There was a few inches of snow on the drive, but with no plowdrift to hinder her, the Aerio was able to scoot right on up.
Who cleared it? Elves?
.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
2176 Dale What's-His-Name and Me
Sunday, December 21, 2008
The Company sent me to Dale Carnegie Seminars. One of the sessions was on how to remember people's names. You make a picture in your head, based on some physical characteristic of that person and tied somehow to their name.
I can't do it. I can make the picture, and when I see the person again, I remember the picture - so far so good - but I can't make that jump from the picture to the name. I always screw that up somehow, usually in an embarrassing manner.
An example: There's a very pretty village upriver. Wide tree-lined streets, big old Victorian houses set back with deep lawns and wraparound porches, a friendly looking business section. It looks like a great place to raise kids. The name is Kinderhook. For some reason I can't remember that name. So I made the mental picture - a girl and a boy (kinder, it being a good place for kids), she holding a Bo-Peep shepherd's crook (hook), and he holding a fishing pole (hook). Kinder Hook. Perfect.
So whenever I want to mention that village, I see the boy and girl with crook and pole. And I think, "Kids? Children? Shepherd? Fish? Summer vacation? Bo-Peep and Huckleberry Finn? What the heck was I thinking?"
Maybe if I changed it to a picture of Peter Pan's Captain Hook burning the village down (kindling?). But that's going to make me call it Red Hook (another local village), not Kinderhook.
There's a secret method, and I'm just not getting it.
.
The Company sent me to Dale Carnegie Seminars. One of the sessions was on how to remember people's names. You make a picture in your head, based on some physical characteristic of that person and tied somehow to their name.
I can't do it. I can make the picture, and when I see the person again, I remember the picture - so far so good - but I can't make that jump from the picture to the name. I always screw that up somehow, usually in an embarrassing manner.
An example: There's a very pretty village upriver. Wide tree-lined streets, big old Victorian houses set back with deep lawns and wraparound porches, a friendly looking business section. It looks like a great place to raise kids. The name is Kinderhook. For some reason I can't remember that name. So I made the mental picture - a girl and a boy (kinder, it being a good place for kids), she holding a Bo-Peep shepherd's crook (hook), and he holding a fishing pole (hook). Kinder Hook. Perfect.
So whenever I want to mention that village, I see the boy and girl with crook and pole. And I think, "Kids? Children? Shepherd? Fish? Summer vacation? Bo-Peep and Huckleberry Finn? What the heck was I thinking?"
Maybe if I changed it to a picture of Peter Pan's Captain Hook burning the village down (kindling?). But that's going to make me call it Red Hook (another local village), not Kinderhook.
There's a secret method, and I'm just not getting it.
.
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