Lift Up Your Hearts!

Just for you, my dear Northerners, I have run around the house changing the clocks, and will get up unconscionably early tomorrow.  Daylight Saving Time makes little sense in our part of the world, and it seems yet more ridiculous to make the change even earlier this year.

But I do recall that it wasn't so bad to have the time change when we lived up north.  So I'll put up with it for your sakes.  But it does show what part of the country really runs the government, doesn't it?

For those of you who might be a little homesick for Florida:

  

I wrote earlier about our failing telephone system.  We limped along for a week with all calls forwarded to one or the other of our cell phones.  Actually, it wasn't much of a limp.  It was slightly annoying not to be able to have more than one person on this end of a call, and since my cell phone has no "free" minutes (it's a prepaid plan), I was conscious of the cost of every call.  But it wasn't that much, really.  A definite plus was that the forwarding message, "please wait while we try to contact your party" effectively foiled all those robotic telemarketers!

Still, now that it's fixed (details follow), I'm glad not to be so tied to my cell phone.  I said to Heather, "I feel like a teenager, carrying my cell phone in my pocket all the time," to which she replied, "You're not a teenager, Mom.  You still jump every time it rings."

So, I'm sure you're all wondering:  What was wrong, and how did we fix it?  (More)

Bearing in mind that one of this children is eight, and the other three—can anyone doubt they are related?

  

I know most of my Loyal Readers are shivering, with temperatures in the teens and even single digits, so you'll be glad to know that spring it on its way.  A week ago I was working in our backyard when a flock of robins came through:  bird after bird, alighting only long enough for identification before resuming their steady course—straight north.   As I stood there with sweat pouring down my face—my below-zero wind chill experience of ten days earlier barely a dim memory—I could hardly blame them.  Our highs were in the 80's and a few days later we switched the thermostat from "Heat" to "A/C."

Poor robins!  I hope they didn't get too far north last week.  It's 47 degrees at the moment, and the thermostat switch has reverted.  Then again, I'm sure 47 degrees sounds like a tropical paradise to most of you....

I had an incredible experience recently.  Having been transplanted, through the woders of modern aviation technology, from our unseasonably warm Florida home to some of the coldest Connecticut weather of the season, I was a little chilled.  Our kind hosts provided a fire in the fireplace and a space heater in our bedroom, so we weren't uncomfortable, but going outside was an adventure, despite heavy coats, hats, gloves, and scarves.

That is, until I found it desirable to take some pictures of the low Old Saybrook tide.  Leaning gloveless (I had to operate the camera) against a stiff, steady blow that pushed the wind chill-modified temperature below zero, I was beyond cold.  But when my hand finally thawed, something inside me snapped—or more accurately, some internal fire ignited.  For the rest of the week, I was warm!  Forget the hat, scarf, and gloves; if all I was doing was going from building to car to building again, my coat—and that often enough not even zipped—was sufficient.

On our sledding adventure, I condescended to don hat and gloves (and zip the coat), and the chill never reached me.  What a glorious feeling, to feel the cold without being cold!

Alas—though probably all for the best—my internal fire was quenched by returning to Florida's tropical temperatures.  Our current cold snap (presently 47 degrees outside) has me feeling quite chilly, even though it's above 60 degrees in the house.   I think I'll go fix some hot cocoa while the rest of you laugh at me.

If you try to call us in the next few days, please be patient.  All calls are being forwarded to our cell phones, so it may take a little longer than usual to connect.

Our CallVantage Linksys router stopped working.  Well, to be more accurate, the router still works, or I wouldn't be posting this.  But the Telephone Adaptor part no longer functions. (More)

Tonight I had some mushrooms to use up, and created a dish that Porter really, really liked.  (So did I, for that matter.)  So I'm writing it down, as best I can, in hopes of being able to repeat it.  Since it was all spur-of-the-moment and I didn't measure anything, all quantities and even the directions are approximate.

2 tablespoons butter
1/2 medium onion, chopped
4 oz. mushrooms, sliced (I used a mixture of portabella, shiitake, and oyster)
1 tablespoon minced garlic
3/4 cup sherry
1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce
1/2 teaspoon ketchup
1 bay leaf
1/2 teaspoon thyme
1/4 teaspoon mace
dash allspice
1/2 cup heavy cream

Caramelize onions in butter.  Add mushrooms and garlic and cook until soft.   Add sherry, simmer till somewhat reduced.  Add remaining ingredients; simmer till somewhat reduced.  Serve over pasta, rice, or wild rice.

Janet has a remarkable memory for faces, especially if seen in a dramatic/musical context.  I'll never forget when she was 13 years old, and immediately recognized the new high school chorus intern years after seeing him perform—in a video, on a small-screen television, in a non-speaking part—in a college opera production.

My memory for faces is quite the opposite.  I have a hard time recognizing good friends out of context!  What I've seen in print, however, is another story.  (More)

I suppose I should throw out my Peter Pan peanut butter.

Having read about the recall, I quietly scoffed at the paranoia of those who recommended getting rid of all peanut butter, as if the net of the "2111" product code weren't wide enough.  And all this fuss when no actual contamination has (yet) been found in the product—just a statistical link.

But just for fun, I looked at the product code on my jar, and lo and behold, it begins with the Number of the Peanut Butter Beast.

The fact that I've already consumed more than half the contents of the jar ought to count for something, though.

In Pittsburgh it can be faster to take the bus to the airport than to drive, because there are special bus-only lanes that sneer at rush hour traffic.  Not so in Orlando, where the trip takes 45 minutes by car and more than twice that by bus.  Today was actually my first venture onto Orlando's public transportation system (such as it is), if you don't count the downtown freebie Lymmo service (which actually counts for quite a lot; it's pretty handy).  Anyway, I ventured from home to the airport and thence to a Thai restaurant where we met some friends for dinner, just for the experience.

The driver was friendly and helpful, the cost only $1.50 ($3.50 buys a pass good for unlimited trips in one day), and the bus itself was fine.  But the total time—walking from our house to the bus stop (35 minutes), waiting for the bus (20 minutes), and stopping at nearly every one of the multitude of stops on the way to the airport (100 minutes)—made for a long afternoon. Still, I proved it's possible to get to the airport without benefit of car, at least if one doesn't have too much in the way of baggage.

And the Thai food was good, too.

The Orlando Museum of Art offers free admission to locals on Thursday afternoons, so today we paid them a visit.

I am a word person.  In an exhibit my eyes are drawn first of all to the small placards that identify and explain, and only afterwards to the object of the explanation.  But today I encouraged myself (sometimes successfully) to let the work of art speak first, which was a novel and quite enjoyable adventure.

I haven't read A Perfect Mess: The Hidden Benefits of Disorder—How Crammed Closets, Cluttered Offices, and On-the-Fly Planning Make the World a Better Place.  But for the mood I'm in now, maybe I should.  I can tell from the summaries and reviews that the authors have an interesting and most likely valid point, from which those of us on the losing side of the battle with entropy can take comfort.

However, at the moment my cluttered office and decidedly disorganized desk are not making the world a better place; not my world, anyway.  So I plan to treat myself tomorrow to some personal time (i.e. I'm going to try hard to carve out a non-interruptible hour) for combing some of the tangles out of my life.  Maybe it will take my mind off the fact that the new SD card I bought for my camera isn't working and I think it's the camera's problem because it works in my computer and I have an e-mail request for help in the works with Kodak but in the meantime I can't help being a bit annoyed and consequently grumpy.  Which may be why the mess is suddenly annoying.  Then again, I'm that way in other areas:  The length of my hair can go from "no problem" to "I MUST get a haircut NOW!" overnight....

Why am I relating all this inconsequential detail?  Because Janet misses knowing about the mundane events of our lives.  The rest of you can read or ignore at your pleasure (which you do anyway).

On Monday we attended the latest concert in the Orlando Philharmonic's Focus Series:  The Great Struass Dynasty.   I love that series because it features a smaller orchestra in a more intimate venue, the 300-seat Margeson Theatre. In our seats, we feel as if we could be part of the second violin section; that the sound is not well balanced there is more than made up for by the more direct experience.

This night we heard music from four members of Vienna's great Strauss dynasty:  Johann Sr., Johann Jr., Josef, and Eduard.  I'm embarrassed to say I've never cared much for their music, especially the waltzes, but this concert was great!  For one thing, the musicians appeared to be enjoying themselves, and it was impossible not to laugh at Carl Rendek's antics.  Imagine what such a fun-loving guy could do with such titles as Fireman's Polka, On Hunting, Chinese Galop, and ClearTrack Polka, all without detracting from the music, and you'll get the picture.  Is it true percussionists have more fun (even if they're not blond)?

However, that's not the most important of what made the concert so interesting to me.  The conductor was Andy Lane, and I'm sure he deserves most of the credit; whatever the reason, for the first time, Strauss waltzes made sense to me!  I can't explain it any further than that, but Janet, at least, will understand what I experienced.

We spent over four hours at church this morning and heard not one word related to the Super Bowl!  I'll bet not many in this country can make the same claim.  (Janet probably can, though.)