Lift Up Your Hearts!

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.)

Talking with Janet about the confusing differences between date notation in the U.S. and in Switzerland (month-day-year vs. day-month-year) led me, once again, to Wikipedia—this time for their article on date format.  There I learned that my favorite format for dating files, especially of letters and photographs, is actually the ISO 8601 standard:  yyyy-mm-dd (four digit year - two digit month - two digit day).  I chose that for the simple reason that the files sort easily into chronological order.  That's my format for files; for ordinary dates I'm not consistent, but often will use a format common to genealogists: e.g. 2 Feb 2007, which is pretty clear, except when sloppy handwriting confuses "Jun" and "Jan."

Jon alerted me to this performance by a man singing a duet with himself as a young boy soprano.  The idea itself is moving, and the arrangement lovely, but both are eclipsed by the boy's incredibly beautiful treble voice.

Why do I post it, other than to share the pleasure?  Because the song had barely begun when I knew that I knew that voice! Anyone who grew up in the 80's, or who had children at that time, has a good chance of recognizing it also.

Anyone accept my challenge?  I have a couple more hints I can give, but I doubt you'll need them.

Warning: don't read the comments until after you've made your guess.

Beginning January 1st, one of my favorite comic strips, FoxTrot, will be published on Sundays only. I love FoxTrot primarily because it assumes intelligence and knowledge on the part of its readers; only the negative and condescending way Roger, the father, is portrayed dampens my enthusiasm. The more positive approach of Frazz, along with its respect for readers' intelligence and knowledge, is why that strip is now number one on my list.

But I will still miss seeing FoxTrot every day.

A break in the weather (in which the winds on the mountain are predicted to be "only" 60 mph) is expected to set off an intensive search and rescue operation for the three climbers stranded on Mt. Hood. Please pray for the success of the effort, and for the safety of the searchers. The mountain is still very dangerous, with high risk of avalanche because of the recent storms.

Some of you who read this blog know Frank James, brother of one of the climbers. All those years of teaching seminary students have made him a highly articulate spokesman for the family, as you will see if you follow the news conference links below. I know I should be just as concerned if those involved were total strangers, but the personal connection always makes it easier to realize that these faceless strangers are human beings, somebody's husband, father, brother, and son. (Listen to Frank's description of their mother in the first video; it will make you smile despite the gravity of the situation.)

Thursday's news conference
Friday's news conference
KATU home page for updates
The mothers speak (in three languages; warning: this is hard to listen to)
Saturday morning
Saturday night
Sunday morning
Sunday noon
(for later updates see Comments)

We went for a long walk around the neighborhood tonight, looking at the many inventive and beautiful Christmas light displays. But the very best light show of all occurred just as we reached home: the night liftoff of the Space Shuttle Discovery. Daytime launches are wonderful enough, but night launches are sublime.

In a moment of weakness, I brought home a Rubbermaid bin full of family books, papers, and photographs from my sister's house when we were there for Thanksgiving. It only made sense: I'm the genealogist in the family; I have many other boxes of family material already; these are things I need to sort through, analyze, and scan eventually; and my sister was cleaning out her basement.

On the other hand, what was I thinking? (More)