Lift Up Your Hearts!

It's not polite to think about items you didn't get for Christmas while we're still in the Christmas season.  But hey—at least no one thinks I'm hinting for a gift as I ponder things.

Those who know me will be shocked at what I am about to reveal, almost as shocked as when I admitted that I might actually want to own a Wii.  Oops, I haven't actually confessed that here yet.  But I had such a blast with the Wii Fit over Thanksgiving....

I am a book-lover.  That is, a lover of real, paper, take-'em anywhere, you-own-it-and-Amazon (or whoever)-can't take it away kinds of books.  Books that smell like books.  I dislike reading on a computer screen.  Back in the Dark Ages of last century, I tried reading a book on my then-leading-edge Palm handheld device.  Yuck.

However, the thought of owning an e-reader (Kindle, Nook, etc.) is slowly breaching my event horizon.  For one thing, the price is coming down.  I had dismissed Kindle early on, at the mere thought of holding a $300 "book" that would likely to break if dropped.  But $100 is a little less scary.  More than 2/3 less scary, for some reason.

Then this morning I was struck by two prods in the e-book direction.  First, an e-mail from Janet inquiring about a certain book, which opened my eyes to the idea that one can give e-reader books instantly, without worrying about delivery time or overseas shipping charges.

Shortly thereafter I read Conversion Diary's 7 Quick Takes Friday, from which I quote:

My husband got me a Kindle for Christmas. “I guess I might use it for the occasional fiction book,” I thought. “But I’ll never do regular reading on an electronic device.” To put it bluntly: I COULD NOT HAVE BEEN MORE WRONG. This thing has become like an appendage of my body. It’s my favorite gadget I’ve ever owned. Here’s what’s great about it:

• You can create highlights and make notes — and they’re available online. First of all, I was delighted to discover that you can highlight sections and make notes with e-readers. Then, when I logged into my Kindle account on Amazon and saw all my highlights and notes right there, I almost passed out from the awesomeness. (It has been pointed out to me that you can only do this with books you buy through the Kindle store. Which is definitely a downside. But whatever! Because then there’s this:)
• It lies flat. The other day the baby was unusually fussy and insisted on being held all day, and in the moments when she’d finally doze off I was able to get a lot of reading done. I had to use both hands for the ninja techniques required to keep her happy, and so it would have been hard to hold a paper book open. Being able to just glance down at my Kindle, then press a button to turn the page, made hands-free reading a breeze.
• It doesn’t require a monthly data plan. I was under the mistaken impression that you had to buy a monthly data plan in order to download books on e-readers. I was delighted to find that I can use my Kindle on my home wireless network to get my purchases.
• The screen is like reading on paper. I’m amazed at how similar the look of the screen is to a regular book: It doesn’t glow, it’s not glossy, and it’s easier to read the more light you shine on it.

I will still buy some books in paper form, but count me in as e-reading’s newest convert.

So now you’re convinced. You’re sitting in front of your computer saying, “Jen, you’re right. I thought my life was complete, but now I see that it is a mere shell of an existence compared to what it could be if I owned an e-reader. I am going to purchase a Kindle as soon as I finish reading your astoundingly insightful Quick Takes. However, I am going to go all out and get a Kindle Fire!” No. Do not do this. Go with the low-end version. Here’s why:

One of the reasons I thought I wasn’t an e-reader kind of gal is because my mom has an iPad, and I could never get into reading books on it when I’d borrow it. First of all, I don’t like reading a lot of text on glowing screens. Second, there were too many distractions: I’d sit down with the intention of getting into Scott Hahn’s latest title, but would somehow end up in a heated debate about nuts in desserts on Twitter. It was just too tempting to do something interactive like surf the web or check my email and social media accounts. What’s wonderful about the basic-model Kindle (and presumably the basic models of other e-readers as well) is that there’s no temptation to do anything other than read a book.

So, I think I was right that I don’t like reading on electronic devices; what I was missing is that the basic Kindle is more like a book than an electronic device.

So ... it's not like reading on a computer screen after all.  And it seems there are lots of cool features not available with print books.  It might be just the thing for books I want to read once, but which aren't good enough to merit any of our already over-taxed and precious bookshelf space.  (Well ... erm ... out of curiosity I did a quick calculation of how much bookshelf space we have:  Over 200 feet.  That's 2/3 of a football field of books lined up along their narrowest dimension.  No wonder an e-reader is beginning to sound attractive.)

What's more, you can store pictures and Word docs and text files and pdfs and mp3s.  Think of all the cute grandkid photos I could take along with me.

I'm leery, however, of committing to a proprietary format.  And unhappier still that the companies can apparently yank a book off your own device without your permission.

I realize I'm coming very late to the table here.  After all, the Occasional CEO told me nearly three years ago that I should get one.  (Actually, he told me nearly three years ago that someone else should get me one, but I digress.)  So I'm throwing the question out to my more up-to-date, tech-savvy readers.  What do you think?  Do you own an e-reader?  Why or why not?  Which do you think is best?

(Continued from Pre-Christmas Fun.)

You wouldn't think that with just the two of us it would still take all day to open presents, but it very nearly did.

We slept a little late, due to yesterday's exhaustion, but we can never sleep in much, even without the pleasure of being awakened to Christmas carols on the clarinet.  (Yes, that is a pleasure!  We missed that this year.)  I finished the few preparations that I'd negelected last night, and we sat down to open our stockings.

Mothers—sometimes fathers, but more commonly mothers—often develop the bad habit of filling their own stockings.  For one thing, and this is unavoidable, if you have a gift that everyone gets (in our house this includes Toblerone, Mentos, citrus fruit, a coin) it makes sense to drop one into each stocking.  It would look very strange for one person to be left out.  But beyond that, it's just a bad habit.  One parent takes on the role of chief stocking-filler, and the other is content to let that stand.  In our case, when we had guests, this was almost a necessity, as so many moms were contributing to stockings that they overflowed without the dads having a chance.  But this year, I resisted.  There were only two of us, and why should I deprive Porter of the joy of finally having a chance to be Santa Claus with more than his traditional dollar coin?  So when I picked up a set of combs for each of us, I wrapped Porter's but put mine in the drawer.  When I bought tape, I wrapped some for Porter's stocking, but did not put any in my own.  Etc.

What a good decision!  Porter is a great Santa Claus!  So here is a word to all moms caught in my trap:  Share the joy!  Even if it means prodding your man a bit to get him started.  Why should moms do all the work have all the fun?

On to breakfast!  As usual for Christmas day, the clementines from the toes of our stockings were the only part of breakfast we could consider healthful.  But mmmmm!  Raspberry kringle (thanks, NMKB!), Dutch banket (pastry filled with almond paste), almond raisin bread ... you get the picture.  When our children were young Christmas breakfast was primarily Lucky Charms, as Christmas and birthdays were the only occasions sugary cereals were allowed in the house.  We adults prefer our sugar in different forms, but Christmas morning at our house is traditionally overwhelmingly sweet.  Traditional for our family, that is.  Growing up in my own family, I don't remember any particular Christmas breakfast traditions besides a stocking tangerine, and an "eat faster so we can get to the Christmas tree!" attitude.  My parents graciously, but with a show of reluctance, conceded to drink their after-breakfast coffee in the living room.

Neither of us drinks coffee, but I would have brought my tea into the living room if we had had time.  But it was then time to get ready for church.

Having done yeoman's duty Christmas Eve, our choir had the day off.  So we eschewed the long drive to our usual church and attended the Christmas service at All Saints Episcopal in Winter Park.  I'd been there once, maybe twice before, but never for a regular service.  Not that you can tell much about a church by what you see on Christmas Day, either.  Their choir also had the day off, but the service was still glorious, and filled with music.  It's an old, beautiful church with a huge pipe organ.  And imagine:  the full, resplendent sound of a pipe organ—once the loudest man-made sound on earth—and we never once needed to seek recourse in our earplugs.  At our own church, and many churches we have visited, the services are physically painful (and, I'm convinced, ear-damaging) because of the volume of the electronic instruments, even in a more traditional service where the only instrument is an electronic keyboard.  I'd forgotten how lovely it is to be able to pay more attention to worshipping God than to the agony of my ears.  For the sake of our future hearing, we wear earplugs in church—and in many other places, such as movie theaters and skating rinks—but it's distracting, and makes me feel distant from the rest of the worshippers.  Not to mention that it makes singing well very difficult.

I'm not sure if it was a good or a bad thing to be so powerfully reminded of what worship can be.

Be that as it may, we had no regrets for leaving our present-opening to consider together the greatest gift of all.

Not that we weren't excited about coming home to the Christmas tree, where we opened gifts from each other and from distant family members.  There's never a lack of gifts when you emphasize the practical, though there was no underwear this year.  There were several un-practical, but particularly appropriate and delightful gifts to be opened as well.

Then reality hit:  It's 2:30 and I haven't begun to work on Christmas dinner!  Our guests weren't coming until 6:00, but beef roasts take time to cook, and bread takes time to rise.  Plus quite other items on the day's agenda.

So this is the Christmas I learned that I could let some plans go and still have a wonderful evening.  I reduced by three the number of dishes I had planned for dinner—and the dinner was probably better without them.  (I'd mention them, but one of our guests will eventually read this and know what he missed.)  It was certainly good enough, and we were still too stuffed for dessert.  I also (re)learned that letting other people help can be much better than doing everything yourself.  Our guests brought a gorgeous salad, much more beautiful than the one I would have made.  Porter set the table, and had both more time and more interest than I for making it look nice—and in lighting candles around the house.

I concentrated on the rest of the dinner:  beef rib roast, mashed potatoes, gravy, steamed broccoli, and homemade rolls.  The roast was tricky, because I cook them so rarely, and the directions from two cookbooks and numerous Internet sources were mutually contradictory.  I ended up gonig mostly with my brother's advice—he was cooking a beef roast for their dinner, too—which was pretty much, "I usually just put it in the oven and see what happens."  What happened this time turned out to be really good, so I guess it was great advice.

The potatoes weren't supposed to be mashed.  When I serve roast beef, I like to boil potato chuncks to the not-quite-done stage, then put them, with a little of their cooking water, alongside the roast near the end of its cooking time.  That way they take on a lovely brown color and absorb some of the delicious beef drippings.  But that, too, can be tricky, so I decided that mashing the potatoes would be good enough and a lot quicker.  Everyone seemed happy with the results.

I cheated a bit with the rolls, picking an easy bread machine recipe so the machine could take care of the kneading and rising for me.  I even used (mostly) the white bread flour called for in the recipe, not having time to take a chance on experimentation.  Well, okay, I did substitute whole wheat for about a third of it, in the name of flavor.  It worked well, but next time I'm going to roll the dough thinner than the recipe called for and make crescent rolls that are not so huge.  But if they weren't the prettiest, they sure tasted good.

The gravy I'm particularly proud of.  Because I did not cook the potatoes in the roasting pan, I had pure drippings to work with after Porter and his carving knife took away the roast.  It was lovely, dark, and deep, because I have learned The Secret:  the roast had rested on a layer of chopped onions, which happily caramelized while it cooked.  To the drippings I added sufficient flour to make a good roux, then about a cup of white wine, and then most of the leftover potato water.  This wasn't just any potato water:  I had added some beef bouillon to the boiling potatoes, so what was left was essentially beef stock.  With the addition of some more beef bouillon and a generous dose of pepper, it was awesome, if I do say so myself.  (Any cook will realize that I've left out a few important actions, notably "stirred and cooked for a while" between most of the steps.)

The best part of the whole meal, however, was being together with our neighbors.  They shared some of their Christmas traditions, we shared some of ours, and we all shared some great conversation.  Just as wonderful as the morning's reminder that it is possible to worship without high decibels, was the evening's confirmation that even in these polemic days it is possible to have—nay, to enjoy—a lively discussion among people whose views differ substantially, without anyone getting hot under the collar.  Isn't it amazing what respect, consideration, and good manners can accomplish?

For the second day in a row we went to bed too late, and exhausted.  But what a good kind of exhaustion it was!

On the Second Day of Christmas, my true love gave to me ... Christmas Rest!  The busy-ness has been for the most part wonderful, but there's a reason "the Sabbath was made for man."  We need days of rest.  When we felt hungry (which, after Christmas dinner, wasn't often) we snacked on leftovers.  When we didn't, we concentrated on a new Sudoku puzzle book (Porter) and a new Miss Read book (Linda).

All the while being very grateful that we were not throwing up, an affliction besetting this day an appalling number of friends and family on both coasts of the United States (as well as the middle) and on both sides of the Atlantic (but not in the middle).

On the Third Day of Christmas, my true love gave to me ... returning health to our loved ones, and a gentle return to work for us, along with continued rest.  (Finished the book.  Started another one.)

On the Fourth Day of Christmas, my true love gave to me ... a determination to prepare a collection of Advent music to enjoy during most of December next year.  It's only the Fourth Day, and even I am tired of Christmas music.  We're still enjoying the tree, the lights, and all the other decorations, however.

A cold front came through last night, so we are enjoying a crisp, clear, cool (55 degrees) sunny day.  It's time to close this post and get on with life.

This post was going to include Christmas Day, but it turned out to be pretty long, so I've divided it into two parts.

Last Sunday we enjoyed the Festival of Nine Christmas Lessons and Carols at the Cathedral Church of St. Luke, featuring the Boy Choir and Girls Choir.  I'm tired of hearing that today's kids only want to sing pop songs!  If that's all they hear, of course that's what they'll want to sing.  But these boys and girls sing excellent music from several centuries, and with beautiful, pure voices.  The singers included a couple of friends of ours:  one boy man, now a college graduate (alumni are invited to sing with the choirs), whom we knew as a very young Suzuki violinist, and a second-generation Girl's Choir singer whose mother we knew when she was in high school.  Perhaps my favorite part of the service, however, was the instructions, printed in the bulletin, to the congregation.  No slackers allowed:  "Please stand and sing the entire hymn in harmony."  (Emphasis mine.)  That and seeing several long-time friends (I've reached the age when "old friends" is not the preferred term) at the excellent reception afterwards.

Friday night we took a break and returned to the Morse Museum for our third time in a month: they showcase music as well as art during this season.  We didn't stay long, however, and spent most of the time talking to some friends we unexpectedly met.  We would like to have returned Saturday, when the Raintree Chamber Players were to be featured, but that was Christmas Eve, and we had a few other plans....

On the 24th, Porter decided to join the throngs of procrastinating shoppers, and found the crowds suprisingly sparse.  Given the state of the stores and highways leading up to the day, however, I conclude it has little to do with the economy.  Perhaps beginning the Christmas shopping season in early October was sufficient inspiration for most people to be fully prepared (or at least out of money) with no need for a last-minute rush.

Not me, though.  My shopping was done, but I had plenty of other last-minute things to do.  While Porter was out I finished the wrapping, and frosted our Christmas Cutout cookies.  I had planned to be lazy this year and not bother with the frosting, but I'd used 100% white whole wheat flour (see the discussion in the comments here) and it made the already-not-very-sweet dough into something not quite right for Christmas.  So I whipped up our traditional egg white and confectioner's sugar frosting with a healthy glug of Penzeys double-strength vanilla and it did the trick perfectly with the cookies, which, incidentally, I had spiced this year with last year's gift of Speckulatius-gewürz.  I was still lazy, frosting them in single colors with a knife rather than painting them artistically with tiny brushes, but I'm sure they didn't taste the worst for that.

After my early, experimental batch of Variations on a Dream cookies, I made two more, plus two of Christmas Cutouts, two batches of Almond Butter Crunch, and one each of Dark Chocolate Cherry and Dark Chocolate Orange fudge.  Sounds a bit over-indulgent for two people, doesn't it?  Fortunately, Christmas goodies serve well as gifts for choir members, neighbors, and assorted other folks.  But yes, we did save some for ourselves....

All too soon it was time to leave for church, and our two Christmas Eve services.  (Actually, there are three, but the choir was not needed at the earliest one.)  We had a brief rehearsal, and began the first service at 7:00.  I thought the evening might be a marathon, but hadn't realized it would be a sprint as well.  Episcopalians make up for not singing Christmas carols during Advent by singing them all on Christmas Eve!  With thirteen hymns and four anthems, along with the rest of the service, I was exhausted and  hoarse when the service ended an hour and a half later.  The choir has a tradition of eating together between the early and the late services, but it has grown to include the entire performing arts ministry and their families—some sixty people—which was more than this introvert could face between two exhausting services.  Fortunately, a fellow choir member felt the same way, and he took us to his home, where his wife had waiting a meal of bread and soothing hot soup.  Restored, we were back at church by 10:30 for the final service.  It was just as crazy, but this time I was prepared and knew when I could fit in essential sips of water.

My favorite part of the evening?  Singing the Hallelujah Chorus.  TWICE.

My second-favorite part?  Not burning the church down.

In the later part of each service, as the congregation returned from receiving Communion, each person was given a candle.  The choir sang one verse of Stille Nacht, then everyone sang Silent Night as the choir dispersed into the congregation to light the candles.  Of course, for the proper candlelight effect, the lights must be turned down.  As I made my way along the darkened, narrow aisle to my assigned rows, I tripped over what I later determined to be someone's folded-up walker leaning against the wall.  I recovered, and offered the lady on the end of the aisle my candle, from which to light her own.  That was when I realized she didn't have a candle.  The lady whose lap I had nearly fallen into didn't have a candle because she had a nasal cannula.  Attached to an oxygen bottle.  I gingerly reached w-a-a-a-y over her to light the candle of the person sitting beside her.

We made it home by about 12:30 Christmas morning.  I broke with tradition and did not listen to Mannheim Steamroller while finishing up Christmas preparations, but went to bed at the same time as everyone else.  With "everyone else" being no one but Porter, all but filling the stockings and placing the remaining gifts under the tree could wait for morning.  Later morning, that is.

Ahem.

Our nephew is playing in the 2011 Quidditch World Cup in New York City.  He's a Seeker, and he just caught the Snitch.

I thought the world should know.  :)

The Priority Mail Large Video Box (O-1096L) may be the U.S. Postal Service's best kept secret.  It's not a very big box (9.25" x 6.25" x 2"), but it holds quite a bit more than the Small Flat-Rate Box, and if you're shipping internationally—or at least to Switzerland; I haven't had need to try any other countries recently—it's the same price. 

You can get the boxes for free from the USPS, too.  The trick is knowing what to order.  The box is O-1096L, called "Priority Mail Large Video Box."  You see, it's not flat rate domesticaly, only internationally.  But the kind USPS lady on the phone—whom I called in desperation, being unable to find a "flat rate" version among their shipping supplies— assured me that this is the right box to use, though she admitted that some local post offices haven't gotten the word yet that it's flat rate for international shipments.  I've used it successfully twice so far.

It's a real bargain over the regular Priority Mail or First Class International prices.  If you print the postage online, the cost is even less, and you can fill out and print the Customs forms at the same time.  (The form from the post office is a bit simpler, however.)

UPDATE:  Apparently most post offices don't carry these boxes.  You can get them free from USPS online, but it does take time.

UPDATE 2:  I forgot to mention that in order to get the $13.25 price you must pay for the postage online and print it yourself; if you pay at the post office, the price is $13.95.  We've found it well worthwhile to set up the ability to pay online, as the price is almost always better.

UPDATE 3:  Did I  mention that this is the Postal Services best-kept secret?  Unfortunately, they're also keeping it from many of their employees.  One person I know went to two different post offices, only to be told each time that the postage cost for her package would be over $30, because the box doesn't say "Flat Rate."  What's more, they refused to call, or look it up online, although one branch said they'd look at a printout if she brought one.

Later, when she herself called the main USPS customer service, the representative confirmed the flat rate (after sighing, "Oh, the Video Box problem again"), but added, "Good luck convincing a local post office if they don't believe it.  It's at their discretion whether to accept it or not."

WHAT???  The local post office can decide, willy-nilly, what to charge for the U.S. mail?  This is carrying privatization a bit too far, don't you think?  Actually, I don't believe it.  She's going to try a third, larger, post office (after calling ahead, and bringing printouts with her just in case).

I think the wonderful folks at our own local post office deserve a large plate of Christmas cookies this year: they're always friendly, always helpful, and they've never given me any trouble.with the Large Video International Flat Rate Box!

UPDATE 4:  I half take back my harsh words in Update 3.  The post office that said they'd consider changing their minds if they saw proof apparently decided to look it up themselves, and today gave almost no trouble:  The first clerk refused, but the one next to him overheard and said, "No, no, it's okay, she's right.  We looked it up."  It would have been nicer if they'd been willing to look it up the first time, but at least they're all educated now.

UPDATE 5:  As you can see by the comments below, people are still having trouble with this, depending which post office they use.  As I said, "Educating the world, one post office at a time."  The bad news is that, since the recent postal rate increase, the cost of the flat-rate box has risen considerably.  It is now $16.95, with no discount for paying online.  :(  But it's still better than First Class (currently the least expensive international option (at least to Switzerland, and I'm assuming to most countries) if your package weighs more than 1 pound 12 ounces.

UPDATE 6:  (12/14/13)  Well, it once was a great deal.  Now it's $23.95.  Unfortunately, I still have to call that a reasonably good deal—compared with other overseas rates.  The demise of international book rate, and then international parcel post ("boat rate") has been a sore trial for those with family overseas.

UPDATE 7:  (3/14/16)  I don't mind occasionally paying more in postage than the value of the item sent.  Otherwise I'd never send homemade cookies, or Hallowe'en candy surprises.  But the cost of this box, which is still in most cases the least expensive option, is has now risen to $33.95!

Congratulations to my brother and sister-in-law, who not only managed to get a 25-hour anniversary, but have much of the state honoring them with romantic candlelight.

'Tis better to light a single candle than to curse the darkness.  A kerosene heater helps, too.

I'd heard of FlyLady before, with her system for helping those of us who were born creative—i.e. distractible and disorganized.  But I was quickly turned off by her system.  Perhaps it was her annoying perkiness, which slaps you in the face, even in the design and colors of her website.  More likely she lost me at Beginner Baby Step #2, which requires us to put on shoes before we even begin the day.  I don't wear shoes any more than is absolutely necessary, and we have a shoes-off-at-the-door policy in our house. (Not for guests, so don't let that stop you from visiting.)  On the other hand, perhaps the requirement to wear shoes until the work is done would do wonders for my productivity, who knows?  Anyway, I filed FlyLady under "Somewhat Interesting, Maybe, Someday" and there she has remained.

But Janet has been wiser and stayed with the program long enough to find some great wheat in the chaff.  For example, the famous "Swish & Swipe" (which I mis-typed as "Swiss & Swipe" the first time) for the bathrooms.  Janet taught it to me when she was here.  I adapted it to my own use, and I LOVE IT.

Here's how I do Swish & Swipe each morning.  It's supposed to take two minutes; I'm not quite that fast, but it's not much more.

• I have a toilet-cleaning brush that sits in a container that will hold water (I think most do).  This is filled with soapy water, and is one of my favorite Fly Lady ideas.  Any soap will do.  At the moment I'm using dish soap, but before that it was the dregs of shampoo.  (I put some water in the empty bottle, shook it up, and poured the liquid into the toilet brush holder.  It was "free" soap and made me feel good because it wasn't wasted.)  So first thing I do is clean the toiled bowl with this.
• Then I spray a little mild cleanser on the mirror, the counter, the sink, the rest of the toilet, sometimes the bathtub, and also the floor just around the toilet.  ("Glass and surface cleaner" or "all-purpose cleaner" usually—I try to avoid disinfectants, and see no need to have a special cleanser just for the bathroom.)  I do go through a lot more of the cleaner using it daily like this, but it's not too expensive.  Maybe someday I'll learn to make my own.
• Starting from the "top" (mirror) I work my way down from cleanest to dirtiest, using a cloth—old washcloths, mostly.  The toilet is next-to-last, followed by using the same cloth on the floor.  Originally I had swept the floor with a broom in a separate step, but that had two problems.  First, it was another step, requiring more equipment that had to be brought in from another place.  Second, if I swept the floor first, then I would miss anything swept onto the floor when I cleaned the counter, etc.  But I always manage to drip a bit when I lift the toilet brush out of its container, so if I swept the floor last, I'd have to deal with wet spots.  Our bathrooms are small enough that it is no problem to wipe the floor on hands and knees as I work from the toilet to the door.  As a side benefit, since I'm on my hands and knees anyway, the hard-to-reach area behind the toilet stays clean.
• Repeat for the second bathroom.  Janet taught me that it's important to have duplicate materials, so that all you need is there.  It's amazing how less likely I am to do it consistently if I have to fetch something.

Here's what I've discovered.

• It's not really a time-saver for me.  If I add up the time spent doing this each day, it's probably more time than the job would take doing it once a week.
• But it's a HUGE sanity-saver!  It's such an emotional boost to see clean bathrooms all the time.  You might not think it's a problem with just two adults living here, but you'd be surprised.  Even without long-haired beauties in residence, hair gets everywhere, and in the bathroom with the white tiled floor every single hair stands out as an annoying beacon, proclaiming, "Dirty bathroom alert!"  Even cleaning once a day I still see hairs, but they never have a chance to accumulate and gather dust and other dirt.
• To quote Janet (more or less), "I never have to clean my bathroom, because my bathroom's always clean!"  Cleaning the bathroom is one of those grit-your-teeth jobs.  It's much easier to face a quick job daily.
• Because nothing gets all that dirty in one day, and because I work from cleanest to dirtiest, I use only one cloth instead of the two sponges (toilet and non-toilet) of my previous routine.  And it doesn't hang around.  I just throw it in the washing machine and it gets washed with other things in a day or two.  (Janet will have to answer for how it works when you can only do laundry one day a week.  Maybe if you're not in a hot climate like Florida's you don't have to worry about damp things mildewing while they wait to be washed.)
• For me, at least, it's really, really important to do the routine first thing in the morning.  My rule is, the first time I go into the bathroom, I don't come out until I've done the Swish & Swipe.  And I do the other bathroom at the same time as I make the bed.  Waiting until later in the day still gets the job done, but takes away much of the psychological boost.
• Because I clean more often than "necessary," I'm more relaxed about it.  If I miss something one day, I'm sure to catch it the next.
• Similarly, if I have to miss a day (or even two), there's no worry, no stress.  In fact, I take Sundays off.  It adds much to the glory of the Sabbath to know I don't have to bother with even a two-minute bathroom cleaning.  :) If circumstances cause me to miss Saturday, I still take Sunday off, and the bathrooms are clean enough even if we have guests.  I don't want to miss Monday, though.  I think it was Pablo Casals who said, "If I don't practice for one day, I can hear it in my playing.  If I don't practice for two, my fellow musicians can hear it.  But if I skip practicing for three days, the whole world knows."

That's all I'll write about here, because that's the only FlyLady routine I've adopted so far.  It's been so helpful I'll probably risk the perky parade and adapt/adopt some more in the future.  Especially if Janet (or Heather) does it first.  :)

Not the shoes, though.

What was Hallowe’en like when you were a little girl, Grandma? 

No one has as yet asked me that question, but if things run true to form for most Americans, someone will, someday, after I am past being able to respond.  So I will answer it now.

My Hallowe’en formative years were in the 1950s and early 60s, in a small village in upstate New York.  Contrary to what we’d like to believe, it was not an idyllic and crime-free time.  One of my first (and worst) Hallowe’en memories was of the teenaged thugs who thundered onto our porch, grabbed our carefully-carved jack-o-lanterns, and smashed them to bits.  I lived a sheltered life:  this was my first view of senseless, wanton destruction; my first encounter with people who get pleasure from breaking the hearts of little children.  Our tiny village did not escape teen gangs and vandalism, which seemed to be more widespread, if much less dangerous, in those days.   At least they attacked property, not people.

That was the only scary thing about our Hallowe’ens.

The most important difference between Hallowe’en then and now is that the occasion was first, last, and always for children.   A few adults dressed in costume for the neighborhood parade and party, but the purpose of the event was to entertain the children.  The only excuse for anyone over 12 going out trick-or-treating was to escort the younger ones—every once in a while a compassionate homeowner would give us a piece of candy, too.  Now, when high schoolers come to my door, I give them candy if they’ve made any attempt at a costume, but I pity them, that at their age they are begging door-to-door for candy instead of helping younger children to have a good time.

On the other hand, teenaged trick-or-treaters is a clear improvement over teenaged vandals.

The Hallowe’en season began several weeks in advance of October 31.  No, not because Hallowe’en stores began popping up all over town, and shelves everywhere sprouted candy in yellow and orange.  Because of the costumes.  Store-bought costumes were largely unavailable, and anyway, who would have wanted one?  Hallowe’en was an occasion for great creativity.  Merely deciding what to be could take a month.  (Decisiveness, I’ll admit, was never my strong suit).  Those who come to our door today are mostly beings—a cat, a princess, a Star Wars character—but we favored things:  one might be a rocket ship, a pencil, or the whole Mad Hatter’s Tea Party (no relation to the present-day Tea Party, as mad—in either sense—as they may be).  The challenge was to create a costume from whatever we could scrounge around the house without actually having to spend money.  No problem—we had not yet forgotten what any five-year-old knows:  the cardboard box is the most universally useful of all materials.

My mother made my first costume, a clown, when I was age three or so, but after that costumes were joint projects, with me taking on more and more responsibility as the years passed.  For kindergarten I was a cuckoo clock; in first grade, my friend and I went as salt and pepper shakers.  One of my favorite costumes was that of a knight:  my father helped me make a wooden sword (truthfully, it was probably more “I helped my father make a sword”), and I can still picture him up to his elbows in silver paint, turning one of his old long-sleeved shirts into armor.  (The paint was toxic, and he didn’t want me getting it on my skin; that didn’t stop him taking the risk himself, however.)  I was able to re-use the same shirt and grey pants another year, when I became a parking meter.

Our costumes were decidedly un-scary.  Witches, ghosts, and devils have always been part of the scene, but in my day they were as innocent as little kids can make them, and we certainly had no cannibals, chainsaw slashers, or scantily-dressed hookers.

We never revealed our costumes in advance; that would be no more fun than revealing a baby’s sex and name before birth.  (Oh, wait….)  One year I inadvertently let the information slip at the last minute to some school friends, and frantically created a new costume to wear to school, reserving my original design for the neighborhood.

At our elementary school, the highlight of the day was the costume parade, held outside so that parents and other interested villagers could watch.  There was judging, and prizes; I don’t recall ever winning—those were the days before award inflation—but that didn’t diminish the fun.

Pumpkins.  Ah, pumpkins!  The smell, the feel, the heft, the sight of those glorious golden-orange globes spread over the grass at the farm market!  (Not a “farmers’ market” selling crafts, candied pecans, and produce from who-knows-where, but a roadside stand run by the pumpkin farmer’s family.)  Which one will be my own this year?  Round pumpkin?  Tall pumpkin?  All orange, or with green patches?   A blemish or two doesn’t matter, as long as it can be turned to the back, but be sure to pick one with a good stem!  October days are among the best in the year.  “Jacket weather,” we called it:   cool, clear, bright, and scented with apples.  With luck we’d take home some crisp Macouns along with our pumpkins.

The day before Hallowe’en was Carving Day.  First came the design phase:  Triangular eyes or round?  Square teeth or pointed?  Ears, or not?  After inscribing our final decisions with pencil or marker, the surgery began.  My parents did the honors for the youngest ones, but the real thrill came when we were considered responsible enough to do our own work.  The finest instrument was my father’s long, thin, roast-carving knife, but our own jackknives did the job splendidly and perhaps, for us, a bit more safely.

We cut the lid first, with its all-important stem handle, taking care to angle our incisions so that it would fit back on neatly, without falling inside the pumpkin.  Then we’d clean out all the gucky insides, and give them to my mother, who rescued and roasted the delicious seeds for later eating.   The inside of the pumpkin had to be scraped clean, and the bottom smoothed.

Teeth were the hardest to carve, and not a few jack-o’-lanterns ended up more gap-toothed than we had intended.  But we, ourselves, remained unscathed, despite exuberant work with sharp knives.  Candle stubs, of course, illuminated the interiors of our creations.  A nice, safe, battery-operated light would have been No Fun At All.  A few drips of wax held the candle securely on the prepared bottom surface.  Of course we burned ourselves trying to light the candles inside the pumpkins—no long-handled barbecue lighters back then—but so what?  It was all part of the fun.  What is Hallowe’en without candlelight flickering out of Jack-o’-lantern eyes, and the smell of slowly roasting pumpkin in the air?

Well, there’s trick-or-treating, of course.  I won’t pretend that the thought of all that candy didn’t have me excited for the entire month of October.  When the 31^st at last arrived, we could hardly wait for the sun to do down.  (Thank goodness no one back then had thought to extend Daylight Saving Time into November!)  Yes, we ran around our neighborhood in the dark.  (Actually, we did that a lot, Hallowe'en or no.)  Trick-or-treating during daylight hours was considered just plain silly.  And rude, too, as most people weren’t ready to hand out treats till after dark.  How could you appreciate the glowing jack-o’-lanterns in broad daylight?

Night came at last.  We lit our pumpkins, and brought out the candy we had purchased to give out as treats.  That, plus perhaps a child-made skeleton or similar object, or some orange and black crepe paper, was the extent of our decorating.  Where I live now, you might think it was Christmas—if you were colorblind—based on the money and effort that goes into Hallowe’en decorations.  It’s incredible to think how much fun we used to have without doing our part to stimulate the economy.

We donned our costumes, and headed out the door:   with our families (one person left behind to enjoy our own trick-or-treating visitors), or friends, or both, running from house to house, from door to door, taking time to receive compliments on our costumes along with our treats.  It was usually just one treat (though the candy bars were bigger then), dropped into our bags by the giver, lest anyone be tempted in a weak moment to grab a handful.  Nonetheless, we had no trouble collecting far too much candy—my brother made his last all the next year—in our own neighborhood alone.  Hallowe’en was a neighborhood affair, and nearly every adult was at home, helping to make it a fun time for the children, rather than elsewhere, entertaining themselves.  We didn’t worry about homemade treats, or weird strangers, or poisoned candy, because we knew our neighbors.  Trick-or-treat in someone else’s neighborhood?  Why?  Some days we didn’t even complete the rounds of our own before returning home—exhausted, satisfied, or eager to dig into our takings.

For some reason we never thought to sample the candy while still on the road.  Perhaps because at home we examined, sorted, and counted our loot as diligently as any miser his gold.  I remember being as generous, too, happily donating to my parents or siblings all the candy I didn’t like….

We weren’t allowed to gorge ourselves on our candy, but there was plenty of other good food to eat.  Teens and adults weren’t part of the candy-acquisition scheme, but didn’t suffer for lack of treats:  popcorn, apples, cider (hot or cold), pumpkin cookies with raisins, bowls of candy corn, and above all, doughnuts.  Not Krispy Kreme, not Dunkin’ Donuts:  these were about a third the size, and came in only three flavors:  plain, cinnamon sugar, and powdered sugar.  But they were wonderful!  And the cider!  It was nothing like what you can buy at the store today.  Nothing.  Fresh from the mill, from good New York State apples, raw, unfiltered, with no preservatives and unpasteurized.  Very few people in America today can even imagine how delicious cider can be.  When I remember Hallowe’en, I think most fondly not of candy, nor of costumes, but of apple cider and cinnamon doughnuts.

Sometimes I think what today’s kids miss out on the most is the sense of feasting that marked the holidays.  Sweets abound—all over, all the time, depriving Hallowe’en, Christmas, Valentine’s Day, and Easter of one of their great childhood joys.  If we have popcorn every time we see a movie, chips and soda at every party, and doughnuts after church every Sunday, it’s no wonder children are no longer thrilled by a cup of hot cider on Hallowe’en.

Hallowe’en was all that a special occasion should be:  delightful anticipation, creative activity, community spirit, good fun with family and friends, and a joyous feast!  I’m sure today’s children still have fun on Hallowe’en, but I grumpishly insist it is largely because they don’t know what they’re missing.  Except for the aforementioned gangs of thugs, I’d say I grew up at the height of Hallowe’en as a holiday.

Why the decline?  Here are a few reasons I’ve come up with.

• The take-over of the holiday by adults and commercial interests.
• Media-hyped fearmongering, which makes parents afraid to let their kids wander the neighborhood, eliminates homemade treats, encourages trick-or-treating during daylight hours, and spawns paranoia over even store-bought candy, despite the fact that the poisoned Hallowe’en treat is an urban legend.
• The association of Hallowe’en with that which is evil, sadistic, and gruesome, rather than merely scary.  Like fairy tales, Hallowe’en can be a vehicle to help children deal with the frightening things in their lives, but we’ve taken it to obscenity and beyond.
• The invention, by churches, shopping malls, and other organizations, of a pseudo-Hallowe’en, designed to give children something more pleasant than the adulterated, adultified version.  I see the point—but it misses the point.  The only thing a “Trunk or Treat” or trick-or-treating at the mall has in common with the Hallowe’en of my childhood is the candy.  Which children have all year, anyway.
• The birth rate decline.  Our neighborhood abounded with children.  Who wants to go trick-or-treating alone?  Or stay home all evening to hand out candy to no more than a dozen kids?  Or carve a beautiful jack-o’-lantern that will be admired by almost no one?  (I guess now we can take a picture and post it on Facebook for all to see, but that’s a far inferior substitute.)  A mug of cider and a plate of doughnuts is a party when there are plenty of children in your family, especially if a few friends and their kids stop by!

Call me old-fashioned, or even old — but I think we had more fun.

And that, children, is what Hallowe’en was like when Grandma was a little girl.

So.  I just spent all afternoon creating a Hallowe'en post.  A perfectly adequate Hallowe'en post.

On the way to the grocery store, I realized that it needs to be completely re-written.  And I'm going to do it.

If Thomas Mann was correct in saying that a writer is a person for whom writing is more difficult than it is for other people, maybe I really am on my way to becoming one.

What's the point of having a camera that takes videos if you can't share them?  Hence my venture into the world of YouTube as something more than a bystander.  If this one works, you can expect more from time to time.  This is Joseph, two months ago, playing on our brachiation ladder.

There is no way I'm going to write this without sounding corny or superficial, but I'm doing it anyway.  I caught a glimpse of God's love (and sense of humor) today.

Let me begin by noting that the event itself was, on God's scale of things, and even on the human scale, absolutely trivial.  But any human lover knows how much love can be expressed through trivia.  More disturbingly, I've experienced having trivial victories followed quickly by tragic defeats.  But it is what it is, and worth reporting.

To simplify the story, there's a store at which we get what can amount to a very significant discount by using a particular credit card.  The catch is that we never know what the discount will be until the purchase has been made.  I've seen discounts of greater than 50%, and yet on some items it may be only a few percent, or nothing at all.  Shopping at this store is my substitute for playing the state lottery:  it's a thrill to "win big," but there's no point in buying something that you wouldn't pay full price for, because you might have to.  Of course, you can always cancel the transaction, but I hate asking the checkout clerks to do that.

So here's what happened today.  There's an item I wanted to buy, but there's no way I could justify paying full price.  Still, I wanted it badly enough to grit my teeth and face cancelling the transaction just to learn what the discount would be.  So this morning, on my way from the church where I had a commitment to sing, to the church where I had a commitment to get a flu shot, I stopped at the store.

As I pulled into the parking lot, I realized that I was fretting, getting tense over the idea that there might be little or no discount on this item that I really wanted, and worse, over the potential embarrassment of having to tell the clerk that despite having wasted his time and that of those behind be in line, I didn't want to make the purchase after all.  The morning's excellent sermon on worry, however, was not entirely lost on me.  The featured text, Philippians 4:4-8 ("Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God") is one of my favorite Bible passages.  So, thankful for the opportunity, I made my requests and relaxed.  I know, I know.  It's trivia.  And most of you will have no idea why the thought of returning a purchase is so stressful for me.  But it is, and I know some of my readers will nod their heads with understanding.

I never did find out what the discount would have been.  But not because I wimped out at the last minute.

Having found the correct department, I pulled out my notes to ascertain the correct model number.  To my dismay I realized that I had neglected to write down that crucial piece of information.  Ah, not to worry; I was pretty sure I could figure it out.  Sure enough, I picked out what looked to be the right model, and if I'd had any doubts, they were removed when I noticed that this model, out of all the models and manufacturers on display, was the only one on sale, and the cost was just thirty percent of the regular price.  A seventy percent discount!  Our credit card at its best is never that good.  I stood there in awe for a few minutes; when I came back to earth, I bought two!

No, it wasn't anything earth-shattering, or even important.  But it was the unmistakable touch of a lover's hand that says, "I am here"; the completely unexpected, simple gift that proclaims, "I love you."  And maybe, perhaps, "You can trust me through the dark and doubtful times, also."

Our grocery budget has been taking a hit in the last several months, partly because of a significant general price increase at the stores, and partly because food costs a lot less when half the household has half his meals covered by an expense account, which hasn't happened for a while.  (That's not to say it's a bad trade-off for the privilege of working from home.)  So it's a very good thing that yesterday was in September, and today in October:  I've been having fun.

Yesterday I checked out the new grocery store in town:  GFS Marketplace.  When they offer you a coupon that takes $10 off a $50 purchase, it would be rude to ignore them.

I had already spent $50 at my regular grocery store this week, but was certain I would have no trouble finding another $50 worth.  What I didn't realize until stepping into the store is that GFS is a restaurant supplier.  The quantities and sizes would be attractive to a large family, or a large party, but not for everyday wear for a household of two.  But I decided to check out the whole store, anyway, and as you might guess my coupon did not go to waste.  My first big find was something new and irresistible:  three pounds of frozen Alaskan wild-caught salmon burgers for $18.  Then five pounds of frozen whole raspberries for $21.50.  In my regular store I can find large packages of frozen strawberries and blueberries, but raspberries are only sold in small, expensive packages.  And we love smoothies in this household!

Then came the biggest find of all:  frozen red, tart cherries!  The other stores sometimes carry frozen sweet cherries (also in small, expensive packages), but never this, my favorite type of cherry since early childhood, when my days were brightened with fruit that I'd picked with my own, greedy hands by climbing our very own tree.  At $12 for a five-pound bag, I know I'll be going back for more.

That was yesterday; today was even more expensive.  I decided it was time for a return visit to Lake Meadow Naturals, the farm which supplies our free-range, local eggs.  The farm is a half-hour's drive away, so we normally buy their eggs at one of our local health food stores, especially since they no longer let folks pick their own from under the hens.  I'm glad we discovered Lake Meadow Naturals before the policy change, but I understand the need for it.  People carry diseases and stress out the chickens:  egg production went up ten percent when they closed the nests to the public.

But since our last visit, the farm has branched out to many other products that are not yet carried by our local stores; hence my desire to return.  I could easily have spent twice what I did, but my $83 bought me a half gallon of their own honey, a frozen broiler chicken (I could tell it wasn't an agri-business, factory-farmed chicken, because it was the size of a chicken, not a turkey), something over five pounds of frozen, grass-fed ground beef, a gallon of Q-Fresh milk (non-homogenized, from grass-fed cows on a single family farm, but alas, this being Florida, not raw), and a dozen eggs.  The whole experience was very pleasant; I especially enjoyed talking with the beekeeper.

We followed this delightful extravagance with a rare trip to Costco.  Yeah, I know.  How does Costco fit into a locavore, sustainable-agriculture way of life?  It doesn't.  That's why we try to practice what I call conservationist living:  doing what we can in small ways, avoiding legalism, promoting joy rather than guilt.

Stretching the budget, but not breaking it.

For the past week I have been reliving elementary school.

My inspiration was this TED lecture from Salmon Khan of Khan Academy.

As a concept, Khan's idea is at once important, brilliant and frightening.

Important—because he is part of a growing movement to put education within reach of everyone. Well, everyone with access to an Internet connection, anyway.

Brilliant—because he turns school upside down.  The teacher does not introduce the material; that's done via an online lecture, assigned for homework.  Class time, then, becomes available for what is traditionally thought of as homework—working problems, writing essays—and discussion.  Thus anyone who is confused or needs help has immediately at hand both the teacher and his fellow students.  The teacher's time is allocated more efficiently, being spent on those who need help rather than those who don't.  The time of the struggling student is also used more efficiently, because he can get problems cleared up on Exercise 1 rather than struggling uselessly through 2 - 20 or just giving up.  Potentially, this system also helps other students, who find the work easy, to advance quickly to work that challenges them.  Although experience has taught me that the last is not high amongst most schools' priorities, this system might make them more amenable to the idea.

Brilliant, also, is his insistence that everyone should be expected to master the material.  I never did understand why any grade less than A is considered passing.  In almost no subject in which I received an A did I feel I had mastered the material—how much worse is it for someone who earns a C?  Perhaps in some subjects it doesn't matter much, but if you "pass" a child with a C in reading, or in math, you handicap him for life.

Frightening—because the system Khan has developed, at least when applied to the classroom, strips the student of privacy in yet one more area of his already over-exposed life.  The teacher knows what videos he watches, what online exercises he has worked on, how he is spending his time, and where he is apparently struggling.  All with good intent, of course, but the potential for abuse is there.

But back to my elementary school revisit.

Khan Academy has videos available on subjects wide and varied, but practice exercises are currently limited to mathematics.  So just for fun I decided to try them out.  (Yeah, I know.  I have a weird idea of fun.)  Here's what I discovered.  Remember, I have done the exercises but not watched the videos, so this is not a fair review of the whole process.

1. The exercises are pretty good, but do not exhibit much variety, and favor people with good test-taking skills.  The program is cluttered with annoying "rewards" of the sticker-and-gold star type, which shouldn't be attractive to anyone over eight and which can have a negative long-term impact on learning.  Nonetheless, I found the exercises very helpful for reviewing old concepts and drilling in my areas of weakness.  Which brings me to
2. Now I remember why I hated math until eighth grade, when I finally discovered algebra.  Elementary school math is replete with the kind of exercises I loathe, such as multiplying and dividing large numbers with lots of decimal places, in which my propensity for understanding the concept but making careless errors is my undoing.  Addition mistakes, transposed numbers, and sloppy handwriting are disastrous when you must get 10 correct answers in a row before moving on to the next lesson.  I can't tell you how many times I completed nine problems correctly only to be reset to zero through a careless error on the tenth.  However, I have more tenacity and patience than I did 50 years ago, or even at college, when I would trudge through the snow on a midwinter's night to have access to the Wang calculators available in the physics department, rather than do my lab calculations by hand.  I made it through, not only the exercises that were supposed to show I could do such calculations, but the ones that anyone in his right mind would have used a calculator for, such as, An alien spaceship travels at 490,000,000 inches per second.  How many miles does it travel in one hour?  I did it, and my brain is better for it—but I have new sympathy for my grandson, who is currently finding math tedious.
   
   Arithmetic : mathematics :: practicing scales : playing a Bach concerto.

I plow on.  The exercises continue through the very beginnings of calculus.  I find doing a few math exercises (even arithmetic exercises) to be a mind-refreshing break when other work gets frustrating.  (See weirdness, above.)

And I love the idea of a mild-mannered nerd who leverages tutoring his cousins into changing the world.

Now that I have permission to use names (see Part 1), here's a photo (credit Joe Welby) of the wonderful Ashley Locheed (on the right) performing with Englebert Humperdinck at the Colorado State Fair. (click for larger view)

And here's a sample of Ashley's work not with Englebert Humperdinck.  :)  That's Chris Rottmayer on the piano.  Sorry, I don't know the other guys.

London, 1969:  I was lost, though I didn't know it yet.  For reasons I no longer remember, some friends and I had become separated from the rest of our group.  Certain that we were in the right place, and expecting them to show up at any moment, we sat and waited.  And waited, and stared at the wall-sized poster of a man, a singer.  It was emblazoned, "Englebert Humperdinck." 

The only Englebert Humperdinck I'd heard of was a composer.  Said composer being long dead, I suppose the up-and-coming singer thought the cool name was up for grabs.

I would have thought that by now the name was again available for recycling, but Englebert Humperdink, the singer, is alive and singing.  How do I know, and why do I particularly care?  Not for his music, for sure (I still prefer the dead composer), but because our friend AL is booked to sing three shows with him!  How cool is that!

(P.S.  After some negotiation of the British telephone system, we left the 1969 Humperdink behind and were reunited with our friends.)