Giving up
At what point do you feel it's okay to give up on a book that just isn't grabbing you? One of my friends has an age based rule. Teens and twenties need to give a book 100 pages to hook them, she says, while those over 30 should be able to tell within 50 pages if a tome is indeed a waste of time.
I fear I may have given up too much of my time struggling with a book called The Eyre Affair by Jasper Fforde. The author's name itself sounds like a snarky nerd joke--perhaps that should have been a clue. The dust jacket description, however, made it sound fun:
"In Jasper Fforde's Great Britain, circa 1985, time travel is routine, cloning is a reality (dodos are the resurrected pet of choice), and literature is taken very, very seriously. England is a virtual police state where an aunt can get lost (literally) in a Wordsworth poem and forging Byronic verse is a punishable offense. All this is business as usual for Thursday Next, renowned Special Operative in literary detection. But when someone begins kidnapping characters from works of literature and plucks Jane Eyre from the pages of Brontë's novel, Thursday is faced with the challenge of her career."
Perhaps I've been spoiled by J.K. Rowling, but his attempts at world building are clunky and self-conscious, not fun and flowing like Rowlings'. He also does not even remotely write a convincing female narrative voice.
Hmm, if I'd read what I just wrote in an amazon review, I never would have borrowed this book in the first place. That's arguement enough. Life's too short to waste on books that don't make you feel more alive.
3.31.2005
More on Gaskell
Wives and Daughters is a fascinating character study in the effects of different parenting. The heroine, Molly, loses her mother at a young age, yet matures into a loyal, soft-hearted girl. Her foil and stepsister, Cynthia, loses her father at a young age. Yet Cynthia matures into a woman who is unable to feel deeply or make meaningful connections with people.
One would expect the motherless girl to fare worse, but Molly is more fully human. Gaskell’s point is that a child needs loving care, regardless of the sex of the parent who gives it.
Cynthia’s living mother treats her as a burden from the beginning of widowhood, sending Cynthia off to boarding school at age 4. Every school vacation, Cynthia is left in the care of strangers while her mother travels with the great families that employ her as governess.
The net effect of this continued neglect is a vanity and manipulativeness, someone who cannot ever turn off the charm for fear of rejection. Yet Cynthia is apt to reject others, three suitors in all in the course of the novel. She admits that she’s not really capable of love or deep feeling for others. Today I think Cynthia would be said to suffer from an attachment disorder.
Molly, on the other hand, is blessed to be educated at home by a loving governess. She lives in a community where the women watch out for her, take an interest in her growth, strive to keep up a relationship with her. Though her father is a busy country doctor in the age of nothing but house calls, he works to be as available as he can. Theirs is a relationship of nurture and friendship. Gaskell paints their intimacy by showing father and daughter kneeling at the fireside, making toasted cheese sandwiches and amiably talking about the day’s events.
When Molly’s father marries Cynthia’s mother, thinking it will help is “poor motherless girl,” Gaskell makes it clear that it’s far too late for Molly to be helped by a stepmother. Her good character is well formed by age 17, as is Cynthia’s weak character. A great tension of the story is whether either girl will be swayed by the new family circumstances so late in “childhood.”
Wives and Daughters is a fascinating character study in the effects of different parenting. The heroine, Molly, loses her mother at a young age, yet matures into a loyal, soft-hearted girl. Her foil and stepsister, Cynthia, loses her father at a young age. Yet Cynthia matures into a woman who is unable to feel deeply or make meaningful connections with people.
One would expect the motherless girl to fare worse, but Molly is more fully human. Gaskell’s point is that a child needs loving care, regardless of the sex of the parent who gives it.
Cynthia’s living mother treats her as a burden from the beginning of widowhood, sending Cynthia off to boarding school at age 4. Every school vacation, Cynthia is left in the care of strangers while her mother travels with the great families that employ her as governess.
The net effect of this continued neglect is a vanity and manipulativeness, someone who cannot ever turn off the charm for fear of rejection. Yet Cynthia is apt to reject others, three suitors in all in the course of the novel. She admits that she’s not really capable of love or deep feeling for others. Today I think Cynthia would be said to suffer from an attachment disorder.
Molly, on the other hand, is blessed to be educated at home by a loving governess. She lives in a community where the women watch out for her, take an interest in her growth, strive to keep up a relationship with her. Though her father is a busy country doctor in the age of nothing but house calls, he works to be as available as he can. Theirs is a relationship of nurture and friendship. Gaskell paints their intimacy by showing father and daughter kneeling at the fireside, making toasted cheese sandwiches and amiably talking about the day’s events.
When Molly’s father marries Cynthia’s mother, thinking it will help is “poor motherless girl,” Gaskell makes it clear that it’s far too late for Molly to be helped by a stepmother. Her good character is well formed by age 17, as is Cynthia’s weak character. A great tension of the story is whether either girl will be swayed by the new family circumstances so late in “childhood.”
3.30.2005
Unfinished business
My Ireland travel journal sputtered out with a partial paragraph for March 19, 1985, yet another piece of unfinished business that will remain so. Though reading the previous entires jogged many memories, there's no way I can call back the final three days of our trip of 20 years past.
I know that we competed in a concert band competition in Galway, taking first place in our division. At the hotel in Galway, I nearly overflowed the tub when I couldn’t get the water to shut off. I sent my roommate to get a chaperone while I shivered, mortified, in my bathrobe, and prayed one of the adult women knew something about plumbing (alas, several men came with one of the women). We did some sightseeing at the end of the trip, including a drive around “the Ring of Kerry” on the west coast, and a stop at the Cliffs of Moher. But so many details are lost to me now.
Unfinished-ness seems a recurrent theme in my life right now. Last week I read through the "end" of Elizabeth Gaskell's Wives and Daughters, only to find that Gaskell died before completing the book. It's a thoroughly enjoyable read, even though one must use one's imagination to complete the trajectory of the plot. I’d seen a film adaptation before reading the book, and now understand why the film’s ending seemed a little unsatisfying. Andrew Davies did a good job in making the screenplay work for a contemporary audience and the ending he created mostly followed Gaskell’s trajectory. I’m fairly sure, however, that she didn’t intend for Molly’s storyline to wrap up quite so easily. There are inklings in the text that obstacles to her marriage will not instantly disappear, but take many chapters to resolve.
On Good Friday, I sang Mozart’s Requiem with my church choir, a piece he did not complete before his death. From what I’ve read about the piece, several people had a hand in stitching it together. The student who had some of the greatest influence, Sussmayr, was not someone Mozart particularly admired. He merely seemed to be in the right place at the right time when Mozart’s wife Constanze was having difficulty finding someone to complete the piece. The pieces attributed to Sussmyer—-the Sanctus, Benedictus and Osanna—-are perhaps some of the more dull or clunky bits to sing. Purists like Christopher Hogwood of the Academy of Ancient Music jettison the Sussmyer contributions entirely. Despite the hackneyed additions, the piece is extremely moving, a challenge and a joy to perform. Peter Shaffer’s musical Amadeus (later adapted for film) has made the Requiem one today’s best known and most loved classical pieces. (FYI, to hear our performance, go to the archived webcast and scroll down to "3/25/05 - Good Friday Choral Concert")
An odd parallel between the novel and requiem mass setting is the fact that these unfinished works are considered some of their creators’ very best work. Are we to sit and lament the “untimely passing” of Gaskell and Mozart? Perhaps the works they left are an encouragement to all discouraged creators to keep working hard, for even the scraps you leave behind may become beautiful in their time.
My Ireland travel journal sputtered out with a partial paragraph for March 19, 1985, yet another piece of unfinished business that will remain so. Though reading the previous entires jogged many memories, there's no way I can call back the final three days of our trip of 20 years past.
I know that we competed in a concert band competition in Galway, taking first place in our division. At the hotel in Galway, I nearly overflowed the tub when I couldn’t get the water to shut off. I sent my roommate to get a chaperone while I shivered, mortified, in my bathrobe, and prayed one of the adult women knew something about plumbing (alas, several men came with one of the women). We did some sightseeing at the end of the trip, including a drive around “the Ring of Kerry” on the west coast, and a stop at the Cliffs of Moher. But so many details are lost to me now.
Unfinished-ness seems a recurrent theme in my life right now. Last week I read through the "end" of Elizabeth Gaskell's Wives and Daughters, only to find that Gaskell died before completing the book. It's a thoroughly enjoyable read, even though one must use one's imagination to complete the trajectory of the plot. I’d seen a film adaptation before reading the book, and now understand why the film’s ending seemed a little unsatisfying. Andrew Davies did a good job in making the screenplay work for a contemporary audience and the ending he created mostly followed Gaskell’s trajectory. I’m fairly sure, however, that she didn’t intend for Molly’s storyline to wrap up quite so easily. There are inklings in the text that obstacles to her marriage will not instantly disappear, but take many chapters to resolve.
On Good Friday, I sang Mozart’s Requiem with my church choir, a piece he did not complete before his death. From what I’ve read about the piece, several people had a hand in stitching it together. The student who had some of the greatest influence, Sussmayr, was not someone Mozart particularly admired. He merely seemed to be in the right place at the right time when Mozart’s wife Constanze was having difficulty finding someone to complete the piece. The pieces attributed to Sussmyer—-the Sanctus, Benedictus and Osanna—-are perhaps some of the more dull or clunky bits to sing. Purists like Christopher Hogwood of the Academy of Ancient Music jettison the Sussmyer contributions entirely. Despite the hackneyed additions, the piece is extremely moving, a challenge and a joy to perform. Peter Shaffer’s musical Amadeus (later adapted for film) has made the Requiem one today’s best known and most loved classical pieces. (FYI, to hear our performance, go to the archived webcast and scroll down to "3/25/05 - Good Friday Choral Concert")
An odd parallel between the novel and requiem mass setting is the fact that these unfinished works are considered some of their creators’ very best work. Are we to sit and lament the “untimely passing” of Gaskell and Mozart? Perhaps the works they left are an encouragement to all discouraged creators to keep working hard, for even the scraps you leave behind may become beautiful in their time.
3.18.2005
Limerick and Knappogue
Part 4 of my travel journal of 20 years past.
March 18, 1985
Somehow, Sue and I managed to completely ignore the wake-up call. I finally woke five minutes before breakfast. To make a short story even shorter, I nearly broke the sound barrier dressing, and arrived in the dining room without a minute to spare.
We got the wonderful news that we had taken a superior award in our division at yesterday’s parade. All the practices really had been worth it!
After a good struggle with instruments and luggage, we boarded buses and were ready to leave when we realized my roommate Sue was missing. I dashed back to the room when one of the chaperones summoned me. I had left my curling iron in the room and there was poor Sue, who had been struggling for a half hour just to get her suitcase closed.
Good-bye, Dublin. To Limerick, forward MARCH!
What started out as drizzle became torrents of frigid rain. After 45 minutes, the rain subsided again to drizzle. Conn did his best to cheer us up with some Irish music, which acted more as a lullaby to most of us, and sleep came easily.
As we crept closer to Limerick, Conn told us why many villages’ streets are so winding. According to ancient superstition, if you were followed by a spirit while on horseback, taking a turn followed by another turn would cause you to lose the spirit. Thus, most cities’ main street into town is S shaped.
The weather in Limerick was, putting it bluntly, the pits. When the buses came to a halt, we were forced to charge across the busy street, then clamber up a narrow staircase (quite a feat for us percussionists) and sit in a tiny classroom and wait and wait. Out on the street, the wait continued. An ill wind blew Matt W’s way [trombone]—he had a bad reaction to a cinder that blew in his eye. Luckily we had Dr. E.; “the show must go on.” Once on the parade route and into the judging area, hats were blown off, flags were blown out of the colorguards’ hands and we were all soggy, freezing and miserable. None of us were too surprised that we didn’t place in the top 3. The only thing on our minds was getting to the nice, warm hotel and out of our wet clothes. Marching season was officially over.
Limerick Inn was, in my opinion, a high point of our stay so far. Sue and I each had our own double bed—nice and firm with a huge, snuggly comforter. Our room was huge and tastefully decorated, perfect for guest who came…and came.
I think Rick [saxophone] and Noel [trombone] spent more time in our room than in their own. I soon found out why. Most of the guys got tiny rooms with huge closets, which are neato, but fairly useless for a two-night stay.
Rick was the first to discover tin whistles for sale in the (hooray) hotel gift shop. Soon several people followed suit, including Noel. The two of them decided to use our room as a practice room, which drove Sue and I right up the wall!!! When they got tired of making atonal screeches, Rick decided to play football with my teddy bear Perky. This was merely annoying until Sue got in on the act and whoops—they decapitated the poor bear. Ah well.
Soon it’s time to get dressed for the medieval banquet. I’m bushed. After boarding the bus, we’re off to Knappogue Castle and a new adventure. Conn started us on a sing-along, which got pretty silly. In no time flat we were at the castle.
Candles flickered in the corners and a few of us huddled around a turf fire. We were greeted by Jerry the butler and the singing lasses, all in costume.
The banquet hall was perfect—the heraldic banners and shields, the wooden tables and long benches, the torchlight. Aaaah! I loved the silly bibs we were forced to wear. The food was magnificent and of an unending supply.
And the entertainment…oh, the entertainment! Singing and playing and dancing—lovely lilting voices, the soothing harp, those dancers with lightning-fast feet! If I could control time, this moment would have never ended. But it did. With yearning regret we left fair Knappogue to make the trek back to the Inn. Sigh.
Conn knew how we felt. Another songfest would cure us for sure. Jeff O. [drill instructor] grabbed the microphone and had us nearly rolling in the aisles with classics such as “Teenage Cremation” and “Under the Boardwalk.” Mr. L [band director] sang “New York, New York” and, yessir, Mr. F. [chaperone and friendly xylophone fixer] sang “When Irish Eyes Are Smiling.” We were absolutely crazed at this point.
The Inn? Already? Awww!
Part 4 of my travel journal of 20 years past.
March 18, 1985
Somehow, Sue and I managed to completely ignore the wake-up call. I finally woke five minutes before breakfast. To make a short story even shorter, I nearly broke the sound barrier dressing, and arrived in the dining room without a minute to spare.
We got the wonderful news that we had taken a superior award in our division at yesterday’s parade. All the practices really had been worth it!
After a good struggle with instruments and luggage, we boarded buses and were ready to leave when we realized my roommate Sue was missing. I dashed back to the room when one of the chaperones summoned me. I had left my curling iron in the room and there was poor Sue, who had been struggling for a half hour just to get her suitcase closed.
Good-bye, Dublin. To Limerick, forward MARCH!
What started out as drizzle became torrents of frigid rain. After 45 minutes, the rain subsided again to drizzle. Conn did his best to cheer us up with some Irish music, which acted more as a lullaby to most of us, and sleep came easily.
As we crept closer to Limerick, Conn told us why many villages’ streets are so winding. According to ancient superstition, if you were followed by a spirit while on horseback, taking a turn followed by another turn would cause you to lose the spirit. Thus, most cities’ main street into town is S shaped.
The weather in Limerick was, putting it bluntly, the pits. When the buses came to a halt, we were forced to charge across the busy street, then clamber up a narrow staircase (quite a feat for us percussionists) and sit in a tiny classroom and wait and wait. Out on the street, the wait continued. An ill wind blew Matt W’s way [trombone]—he had a bad reaction to a cinder that blew in his eye. Luckily we had Dr. E.; “the show must go on.” Once on the parade route and into the judging area, hats were blown off, flags were blown out of the colorguards’ hands and we were all soggy, freezing and miserable. None of us were too surprised that we didn’t place in the top 3. The only thing on our minds was getting to the nice, warm hotel and out of our wet clothes. Marching season was officially over.
Limerick Inn was, in my opinion, a high point of our stay so far. Sue and I each had our own double bed—nice and firm with a huge, snuggly comforter. Our room was huge and tastefully decorated, perfect for guest who came…and came.
I think Rick [saxophone] and Noel [trombone] spent more time in our room than in their own. I soon found out why. Most of the guys got tiny rooms with huge closets, which are neato, but fairly useless for a two-night stay.
Rick was the first to discover tin whistles for sale in the (hooray) hotel gift shop. Soon several people followed suit, including Noel. The two of them decided to use our room as a practice room, which drove Sue and I right up the wall!!! When they got tired of making atonal screeches, Rick decided to play football with my teddy bear Perky. This was merely annoying until Sue got in on the act and whoops—they decapitated the poor bear. Ah well.
Soon it’s time to get dressed for the medieval banquet. I’m bushed. After boarding the bus, we’re off to Knappogue Castle and a new adventure. Conn started us on a sing-along, which got pretty silly. In no time flat we were at the castle.
Candles flickered in the corners and a few of us huddled around a turf fire. We were greeted by Jerry the butler and the singing lasses, all in costume.
The banquet hall was perfect—the heraldic banners and shields, the wooden tables and long benches, the torchlight. Aaaah! I loved the silly bibs we were forced to wear. The food was magnificent and of an unending supply.
And the entertainment…oh, the entertainment! Singing and playing and dancing—lovely lilting voices, the soothing harp, those dancers with lightning-fast feet! If I could control time, this moment would have never ended. But it did. With yearning regret we left fair Knappogue to make the trek back to the Inn. Sigh.
Conn knew how we felt. Another songfest would cure us for sure. Jeff O. [drill instructor] grabbed the microphone and had us nearly rolling in the aisles with classics such as “Teenage Cremation” and “Under the Boardwalk.” Mr. L [band director] sang “New York, New York” and, yessir, Mr. F. [chaperone and friendly xylophone fixer] sang “When Irish Eyes Are Smiling.” We were absolutely crazed at this point.
The Inn? Already? Awww!
3.17.2005
St. Pat’s Central
More from my travel journal…
March 17, 1985
Happy St. Patrick’s Day!
Up at the crack of dawn, we dressed and made our appearance at breakfast. Corn flakes and juice, followed by bacon, mutton sausage and eggs became an all-too-familiar breakfast. After loading the buses with instruments, everyone donned uniforms and boarded. To Dublin, Ho!
Conn told us of an ancient superstition about magpies, those huge crow-like birds of Europe. If you see a single magpie and wave to it, you’ll have good luck all day. If you see two, you needn’t wave, that is automatically good luck. If you wave to three magpies, you’ll have a girl child, and waving to four will bring a boy. We got caught up in the amusing Irish superstitions, to say the least—we waved at every big, black bird we saw for the rest of the week.
Entering the city, we stopped waving at magpies and started waving at the magnificent people. Everyone waved back, even some of the dignified guarde (policemen). We really got a kick out of that. With a little coaxing and much waving, we urged a peddler to come over to the bus and sell us Irish flags. Now we had flags to wave, as well as hands.
After lining up, we were in for quite a wait. A group of curious, kilted bagpipers came over to talk to us. They were intrigued by American saxophones, and we were intrigued by their bagpipes. One of the bagpipers challenged John S., and alto saxophonist, to a duel. We called it a draw.
The time finally came to enter the parade route. I swear, Dublin’s entire population must have come out to see us. They were so thick, we had to go single file at times. About 5/6 of the onlookers seemed to be under 18. I almost wished we didn’t have to march the parade—I just wanted to reach out and cuddle some of those adorable children. The little rosy-cheeked girls with ponytails in green ribbon and rosy little naughty boys were just too cute! The crowd seemed to love us too, asking as we passed if we knew their cousins in Pittsburgh or Scranton or Philadelphia.
The cord that suspends my xylophone upper keys [equivalent to the “black keys” on a piano] broke as I played the cadence, while we were squeezed into single file formation. One of the parents, Mr. F., saw my grimace, and thinking I’d hurt myself, rushed to my side. We were now two groups away from the judging stand, and I began to feel panicked. I restrung the bars, trying to keep moving and not swing my xylophone into anyone. Then Mr. F pulled the cord taut and together we tied it, hopefully well enough to make it through our routine for the judges.
At the moment of truth—the Lord mayor’s judging stand—we did our “Thriller” routine with utmost flash and precision. The crowd went wild. They’d probably never seen a drum major in a sequined glove moonwalk while colorguard and instrumentalists alike did a Jackson-esque dance routine.
We returned to Dublin Sport to unload, change, eat and relax. Karen Hearsch and her TV camera dropped in during lunch for some taping to send back to the States. A nice, restful hour after lunch, we boarded the buses as tourists now rather than competitors, and were off to a monastic site in neighboring Co. Wicklow.
The sun seemed incredibly bright because of the clear air, and though it was quite chilly, the day was splendorous. Our stop was Glendalough, an ancient monastic site. The site consisted mainly of a graveyard of very ancient Celtic cross tombstones. There were also some stone buildings—a well-preserved round tower, St. Kevin’s church and St. Kevin’s cottage, where he lived as a hermit for many years.
Conn explained that the Celtic crosses, the union of cross and circle, signified Irish beliefs—the union of new-found Christianity and the ancient druidic worship of the sun. The Irish believe that they must maintain some of their ancient heritage, or it will all be lost, Conn said. Though the modern Irish don’t worship the sun, they fell they should remember and respect the religion which preceded Christianity.
He also told a little about the construction of the buildings. The mortar they used to cement the stones together was made of a mixture of mud, blood and horsehair. Upon inspecting the buildings a bit closer, we found that the horsehair was actually visible in the mortar—even after a thousand years. That was truly mind-boggling.
The evening was spent relaxing a little and packing a lot. Tomorrow’s wake up call is six o’clock, for Limerick awaits.
More from my travel journal…
March 17, 1985
Happy St. Patrick’s Day!
Up at the crack of dawn, we dressed and made our appearance at breakfast. Corn flakes and juice, followed by bacon, mutton sausage and eggs became an all-too-familiar breakfast. After loading the buses with instruments, everyone donned uniforms and boarded. To Dublin, Ho!
Conn told us of an ancient superstition about magpies, those huge crow-like birds of Europe. If you see a single magpie and wave to it, you’ll have good luck all day. If you see two, you needn’t wave, that is automatically good luck. If you wave to three magpies, you’ll have a girl child, and waving to four will bring a boy. We got caught up in the amusing Irish superstitions, to say the least—we waved at every big, black bird we saw for the rest of the week.
Entering the city, we stopped waving at magpies and started waving at the magnificent people. Everyone waved back, even some of the dignified guarde (policemen). We really got a kick out of that. With a little coaxing and much waving, we urged a peddler to come over to the bus and sell us Irish flags. Now we had flags to wave, as well as hands.
After lining up, we were in for quite a wait. A group of curious, kilted bagpipers came over to talk to us. They were intrigued by American saxophones, and we were intrigued by their bagpipes. One of the bagpipers challenged John S., and alto saxophonist, to a duel. We called it a draw.
The time finally came to enter the parade route. I swear, Dublin’s entire population must have come out to see us. They were so thick, we had to go single file at times. About 5/6 of the onlookers seemed to be under 18. I almost wished we didn’t have to march the parade—I just wanted to reach out and cuddle some of those adorable children. The little rosy-cheeked girls with ponytails in green ribbon and rosy little naughty boys were just too cute! The crowd seemed to love us too, asking as we passed if we knew their cousins in Pittsburgh or Scranton or Philadelphia.
The cord that suspends my xylophone upper keys [equivalent to the “black keys” on a piano] broke as I played the cadence, while we were squeezed into single file formation. One of the parents, Mr. F., saw my grimace, and thinking I’d hurt myself, rushed to my side. We were now two groups away from the judging stand, and I began to feel panicked. I restrung the bars, trying to keep moving and not swing my xylophone into anyone. Then Mr. F pulled the cord taut and together we tied it, hopefully well enough to make it through our routine for the judges.
At the moment of truth—the Lord mayor’s judging stand—we did our “Thriller” routine with utmost flash and precision. The crowd went wild. They’d probably never seen a drum major in a sequined glove moonwalk while colorguard and instrumentalists alike did a Jackson-esque dance routine.
We returned to Dublin Sport to unload, change, eat and relax. Karen Hearsch and her TV camera dropped in during lunch for some taping to send back to the States. A nice, restful hour after lunch, we boarded the buses as tourists now rather than competitors, and were off to a monastic site in neighboring Co. Wicklow.
The sun seemed incredibly bright because of the clear air, and though it was quite chilly, the day was splendorous. Our stop was Glendalough, an ancient monastic site. The site consisted mainly of a graveyard of very ancient Celtic cross tombstones. There were also some stone buildings—a well-preserved round tower, St. Kevin’s church and St. Kevin’s cottage, where he lived as a hermit for many years.
Conn explained that the Celtic crosses, the union of cross and circle, signified Irish beliefs—the union of new-found Christianity and the ancient druidic worship of the sun. The Irish believe that they must maintain some of their ancient heritage, or it will all be lost, Conn said. Though the modern Irish don’t worship the sun, they fell they should remember and respect the religion which preceded Christianity.
He also told a little about the construction of the buildings. The mortar they used to cement the stones together was made of a mixture of mud, blood and horsehair. Upon inspecting the buildings a bit closer, we found that the horsehair was actually visible in the mortar—even after a thousand years. That was truly mind-boggling.
The evening was spent relaxing a little and packing a lot. Tomorrow’s wake up call is six o’clock, for Limerick awaits.
3.16.2005
Reminiscences continued
More from my travel journal that records my first trip abroad.
March 16, 1985
Here I sit on the terrace of our room in the Dublin Sport Hotel. It is a cool, windy afternoon--the temperature is about 35 degrees. Off into the distance is a swell of a small mountain, covered with swaying pines and knotty-limbed barren trees. At the foot of the mountain runs a country road on which tiny cars are driving--on the wrong side, of course. Just before the hotel lies a rippling man-made pond bordered by more knotty trees. Above the pond sits a golf course were several men are playing golf. They are rather tall, of sturdy frame, with Irish brogue rolling off their tongues. In the far distance rolls the almighty sea.
We are here, in Ireland. How did we get here--I mean to the hotel? Our plane touched down in Shannon at about 7:30 a.m. Irish time -- 2:30 American time. After a layover for refueling, we were off to Dublin. After a rather bumpy touchdown, we were really here. The stewardesses elbowed their way out of the plane, the snobs. Then we proceeded to customs, which consisted of telling the agent we were staying for a week and having our passports stamped. We grabbed our luggage, wound our way out of the airport, then hopped aboard the tour buses.
Most slept on the "tour" as the guide babbled on. I, for one, had no intention of sleeping and miss the magnificent scenery. Dublin itself had many identical homes with the only distinguishing characteristic being the doors. We finally arrived at the hotel, exhausted, and tried to settle in. I tried to shower, which was your typical "fry or freeze." Lunch was in the bar and consisted of strong Coke, mutton burgers and chips (what we would call French fries). At four, we went outside to battle the elements and improve our marching. I sure hope it all pays off.
Dinner was a three-course meal of mushroom soup, pigeon and chips, then strawberry ice cream.
At that time we were informed that we would be attending a dance with the Piscataway (N.J.) Band. Ooh! Please have mercy on us! Most of us hadn't had a wink of sleep in 20 hours or more. Those who had been fortunate enough to sleep only gained from one to six hours at the most.
After much prodding, we were herded onto the buses and carted to Dublin. With the guide, Sheila, aboard the other bus, we began to get to know our superb bus driver/guide, Conn. He told us tales of Dublin Bay and sang us songs. Arriving at the hotel where the dance was held, he reminded us that even though we're better than Piscataway, we should be humble about it. From that moment on, every soul on Bus #1 was in love with Conn.
I must say one thing about Irish contemporary music--it isn't very contemporary. Although they are months ahead with British chart makers, they haven't even heard of groups which have climbed and completely descended on the charts in the States. While 50% of the band snoozed in their chairs, the rest of us danced the night away--and regretted it later.
The trip back to Dublin Sport was silent except for the sighs and snores of one pack of exhausted bandies. No one uttered a single remark resembling a complaint when curfew was mentioned. Tomorrow is the big day.
More from my travel journal that records my first trip abroad.
March 16, 1985
Here I sit on the terrace of our room in the Dublin Sport Hotel. It is a cool, windy afternoon--the temperature is about 35 degrees. Off into the distance is a swell of a small mountain, covered with swaying pines and knotty-limbed barren trees. At the foot of the mountain runs a country road on which tiny cars are driving--on the wrong side, of course. Just before the hotel lies a rippling man-made pond bordered by more knotty trees. Above the pond sits a golf course were several men are playing golf. They are rather tall, of sturdy frame, with Irish brogue rolling off their tongues. In the far distance rolls the almighty sea.
We are here, in Ireland. How did we get here--I mean to the hotel? Our plane touched down in Shannon at about 7:30 a.m. Irish time -- 2:30 American time. After a layover for refueling, we were off to Dublin. After a rather bumpy touchdown, we were really here. The stewardesses elbowed their way out of the plane, the snobs. Then we proceeded to customs, which consisted of telling the agent we were staying for a week and having our passports stamped. We grabbed our luggage, wound our way out of the airport, then hopped aboard the tour buses.
Most slept on the "tour" as the guide babbled on. I, for one, had no intention of sleeping and miss the magnificent scenery. Dublin itself had many identical homes with the only distinguishing characteristic being the doors. We finally arrived at the hotel, exhausted, and tried to settle in. I tried to shower, which was your typical "fry or freeze." Lunch was in the bar and consisted of strong Coke, mutton burgers and chips (what we would call French fries). At four, we went outside to battle the elements and improve our marching. I sure hope it all pays off.
Dinner was a three-course meal of mushroom soup, pigeon and chips, then strawberry ice cream.
At that time we were informed that we would be attending a dance with the Piscataway (N.J.) Band. Ooh! Please have mercy on us! Most of us hadn't had a wink of sleep in 20 hours or more. Those who had been fortunate enough to sleep only gained from one to six hours at the most.
After much prodding, we were herded onto the buses and carted to Dublin. With the guide, Sheila, aboard the other bus, we began to get to know our superb bus driver/guide, Conn. He told us tales of Dublin Bay and sang us songs. Arriving at the hotel where the dance was held, he reminded us that even though we're better than Piscataway, we should be humble about it. From that moment on, every soul on Bus #1 was in love with Conn.
I must say one thing about Irish contemporary music--it isn't very contemporary. Although they are months ahead with British chart makers, they haven't even heard of groups which have climbed and completely descended on the charts in the States. While 50% of the band snoozed in their chairs, the rest of us danced the night away--and regretted it later.
The trip back to Dublin Sport was silent except for the sighs and snores of one pack of exhausted bandies. No one uttered a single remark resembling a complaint when curfew was mentioned. Tomorrow is the big day.
3.15.2005
First time abroad
Today is the 20th anniversary of my first trip across the pond. In 1985, I went with my high school marching band to Ireland to participate in the Dublin St. Patrick's Day parade and two other St. Patrick's week band events.
That our tiny 45-playing-member band from a little rural school was invited to such an event is still a bit of a mystery. Some personal connections I suppose were at play.
Earning the money to enable all band members to travel for free was a huge undertaking. We spent two years doing fundraising--car washes, bake sales, hoagie sales and a sponsored 24-hour rehearsal marathon. As a big fan of fantasy novels, Dungeons and Dragons and the like, I was completely over the moon about this opportunity to see part of Europe.
For fun, I thought I'd blog some of my travel journal. My adolescent "voice" is perhaps more entertaining than the content of the entries.
March 15, 1985
This is it--the realization of our colossal dream, two years in the making, one week in the reaping.
The trip began with a big sis-boom-bah farewell from our parents, the radio station and the TV stations. Off the buses rambled toward New York, giving us our last glimpses of barren Pennsylvania. New York loomed up, awesomely wealthy, awesomely dirty. Such is "the big apple."
At the airport we were again televised. Sue L. [fellow percussionist and friend] was personally interviewed and was asked, "What are you feeling at this moment?"
What were we feeling? Ecstatically happy, scared, anxious, completely spastic. After two years of labor, we were really, truly going to Ireland.
Tickets and luggage in hand, we dashed through the tunnel and stepped onto the plane.
"Good evening, welcome to Aer Lingus flight 104," said the stewardess with a pleasant British accent. What was I feeling at that moment? Scared and excited.
After several seat shifts, I wound up next to Becky D. [colorguard], my best friend and a non-flier. Oh boy. To subside our anxiety, we quizzed each other on safety procedures.
With a great rumble, our plane taxied down the runway, and gathering power, the hulking 747 rose from the earth. Becky and I held on for dear life, then we both started laughing.
"Look out Ireland, here we come!"
Today is the 20th anniversary of my first trip across the pond. In 1985, I went with my high school marching band to Ireland to participate in the Dublin St. Patrick's Day parade and two other St. Patrick's week band events.
That our tiny 45-playing-member band from a little rural school was invited to such an event is still a bit of a mystery. Some personal connections I suppose were at play.
Earning the money to enable all band members to travel for free was a huge undertaking. We spent two years doing fundraising--car washes, bake sales, hoagie sales and a sponsored 24-hour rehearsal marathon. As a big fan of fantasy novels, Dungeons and Dragons and the like, I was completely over the moon about this opportunity to see part of Europe.
For fun, I thought I'd blog some of my travel journal. My adolescent "voice" is perhaps more entertaining than the content of the entries.
March 15, 1985
This is it--the realization of our colossal dream, two years in the making, one week in the reaping.
The trip began with a big sis-boom-bah farewell from our parents, the radio station and the TV stations. Off the buses rambled toward New York, giving us our last glimpses of barren Pennsylvania. New York loomed up, awesomely wealthy, awesomely dirty. Such is "the big apple."
At the airport we were again televised. Sue L. [fellow percussionist and friend] was personally interviewed and was asked, "What are you feeling at this moment?"
What were we feeling? Ecstatically happy, scared, anxious, completely spastic. After two years of labor, we were really, truly going to Ireland.
Tickets and luggage in hand, we dashed through the tunnel and stepped onto the plane.
"Good evening, welcome to Aer Lingus flight 104," said the stewardess with a pleasant British accent. What was I feeling at that moment? Scared and excited.
After several seat shifts, I wound up next to Becky D. [colorguard], my best friend and a non-flier. Oh boy. To subside our anxiety, we quizzed each other on safety procedures.
With a great rumble, our plane taxied down the runway, and gathering power, the hulking 747 rose from the earth. Becky and I held on for dear life, then we both started laughing.
"Look out Ireland, here we come!"
3.04.2005
Catching Gaskell fever
I've seen Elizabeth Gaskell mentioned on several blogs recently. I thought I'd pipe up with a very hearty recommendation of the BBC video series Wives and Daughters. A good friend pressed the DVD set into my hands, saying, "You have to see this. I know you will love it." She was right. I was sorry to have to return the set. I watched the entire four episodes in one day, watched the special features, then watched all four episodes again.
I found the story more accessible than Austen, perhaps because the social faux pas are more evident to a modern reader. I often feel I'm missing something when I read Austen--the manners so central to the comedy are a bit too removed from 2005.
The acting is really first rate. All the characters come across as full-orbed. The heroine, Molly, is virtuous but outspoken, trustworthy to a fault and perhaps a bit too attached to her father. The stepmother who enters the story is an interesting riff on the stereotype: she's a bit self-absorbed and small-minded, but she's more weak than anything else and never cruel. She fumbles at asserting her role as mistress of the house, coming across as a pitiable character. Along with the stepmother comes a daughter, Cynthia, who is also quite a mixed bag. She's beautiful, charming, free spirited and careless. Though she and Molly become fast friends, her charm and carelessness get her into sticky situations from which Molly loyally tries to rescue her. The hardest part of the story is when Molly crucifies her desires, standing back as the man she loves falls for Cynthia, who neither cherishes nor deserves his love.
The hero and main love interest, Roger, is also pretty unusual. Instead of a rakish, dashing fellow, or a romantic artist or poet, he's a naturalist. He spends his hours outdoors collecting insects and pond scum, then brings his finds inside to draw or examine under a microscope. He seems a far more iteresting hero than most men you'll find in women's literature. He's the guy Gilbert Blythe (Anne of Green Gables series) could be if L.M. Montgomery were better at writing men.
There's a lot of undercurrent of class issues. Most of the romances take place across class boundaries. Those who oppose the matches are often humbled later for their opinion. At one point, Molly repirmands the daughter of the most fabulously wealthy family in town, Lady Harriet, a young woman about 5-7 years her senior. Lady Harriet had confided that she's been invited the home of two middle class spinster sisters who she considers "quite ridiculous," and Molly chides her to not go if you're only going to gawk and laugh, adding that she dislikes hearing her class spoken of that way. Lady Harriet takes the rebuke in stride and her admiration for Molly grows to the point that she takes great pains to help her "protege" ever after. Lady Harriet's brother likewise admires Roger's first-class brain and becomes his benefactor. It was refreshing to see noblesse oblige working properly.
All this said, I have not yet read the book. I just picked it up from the library this afternoon. I can't wait to see how much more is in store as I journey through its pages.
I've seen Elizabeth Gaskell mentioned on several blogs recently. I thought I'd pipe up with a very hearty recommendation of the BBC video series Wives and Daughters. A good friend pressed the DVD set into my hands, saying, "You have to see this. I know you will love it." She was right. I was sorry to have to return the set. I watched the entire four episodes in one day, watched the special features, then watched all four episodes again.
I found the story more accessible than Austen, perhaps because the social faux pas are more evident to a modern reader. I often feel I'm missing something when I read Austen--the manners so central to the comedy are a bit too removed from 2005.
The acting is really first rate. All the characters come across as full-orbed. The heroine, Molly, is virtuous but outspoken, trustworthy to a fault and perhaps a bit too attached to her father. The stepmother who enters the story is an interesting riff on the stereotype: she's a bit self-absorbed and small-minded, but she's more weak than anything else and never cruel. She fumbles at asserting her role as mistress of the house, coming across as a pitiable character. Along with the stepmother comes a daughter, Cynthia, who is also quite a mixed bag. She's beautiful, charming, free spirited and careless. Though she and Molly become fast friends, her charm and carelessness get her into sticky situations from which Molly loyally tries to rescue her. The hardest part of the story is when Molly crucifies her desires, standing back as the man she loves falls for Cynthia, who neither cherishes nor deserves his love.
The hero and main love interest, Roger, is also pretty unusual. Instead of a rakish, dashing fellow, or a romantic artist or poet, he's a naturalist. He spends his hours outdoors collecting insects and pond scum, then brings his finds inside to draw or examine under a microscope. He seems a far more iteresting hero than most men you'll find in women's literature. He's the guy Gilbert Blythe (Anne of Green Gables series) could be if L.M. Montgomery were better at writing men.
There's a lot of undercurrent of class issues. Most of the romances take place across class boundaries. Those who oppose the matches are often humbled later for their opinion. At one point, Molly repirmands the daughter of the most fabulously wealthy family in town, Lady Harriet, a young woman about 5-7 years her senior. Lady Harriet had confided that she's been invited the home of two middle class spinster sisters who she considers "quite ridiculous," and Molly chides her to not go if you're only going to gawk and laugh, adding that she dislikes hearing her class spoken of that way. Lady Harriet takes the rebuke in stride and her admiration for Molly grows to the point that she takes great pains to help her "protege" ever after. Lady Harriet's brother likewise admires Roger's first-class brain and becomes his benefactor. It was refreshing to see noblesse oblige working properly.
All this said, I have not yet read the book. I just picked it up from the library this afternoon. I can't wait to see how much more is in store as I journey through its pages.
3.03.2005
Spoonful of sugar
Mary Poppins really was on to something. Getting cooperation from a 2-year-old (a risky venture at best) can indeed be achieved through songs and games. I've discovered I can avoid being kicked repeatedly in the face while changing diapers if I sing "If you're happy and you know it" with new verses. We focus on face things, like "blink your eyes," "wiggle your tongue" and "beep your nose" and the once-flailing legs become compliant.
"Here we go 'round the mulberry bush" also adapts to many situations, like "this is the way we pick up the toys at bedtime in the evening." "Farmer in the Dell" can become "crayon in the box, the crayon in the box, blue, yellow, red and green, the crayon in the box." A good old round of "Eeny, meenie, miney, moe" has facilitated many choices of wardrobe, foods and activities.
This week, Claire learned a game that totally rocks: Simon Says. In just two days I've "played" this to get help cleaning up toys and compliance with the bedtime routine. I definitely enjoy this positive approach, and so does the little one.
Mary Poppins really was on to something. Getting cooperation from a 2-year-old (a risky venture at best) can indeed be achieved through songs and games. I've discovered I can avoid being kicked repeatedly in the face while changing diapers if I sing "If you're happy and you know it" with new verses. We focus on face things, like "blink your eyes," "wiggle your tongue" and "beep your nose" and the once-flailing legs become compliant.
"Here we go 'round the mulberry bush" also adapts to many situations, like "this is the way we pick up the toys at bedtime in the evening." "Farmer in the Dell" can become "crayon in the box, the crayon in the box, blue, yellow, red and green, the crayon in the box." A good old round of "Eeny, meenie, miney, moe" has facilitated many choices of wardrobe, foods and activities.
This week, Claire learned a game that totally rocks: Simon Says. In just two days I've "played" this to get help cleaning up toys and compliance with the bedtime routine. I definitely enjoy this positive approach, and so does the little one.
2.25.2005
Date night
Thanks to my in-laws, who provide top-notch free babysitting, Joel and I get to have a date tonight. Sadly we don't make use of this option nearly as often as we should. In the past few months, we've realized how couple time isn't a luxury but a necessity. Especially going through the emotional wringer of infertility yet again, we've needed to give extra diligence to caring for our marriage.
I'm excited about tonight's free concert at our church featuring some superb cellists and a young vocalist who is destined to go far in the opera world. The program is titled "Three Cellists + Five More!" (pdf) and will include Villas-Lobos' work for eight cellos and soprano. Our choir director has been raving about the concert for weeks now. How nice it will be to get spiffed up and have some quality grown up time.
But for now, it's time to bundle up my daughter in the scarf I just finished knitting for her and play in the fresh-fallen snow.
Thanks to my in-laws, who provide top-notch free babysitting, Joel and I get to have a date tonight. Sadly we don't make use of this option nearly as often as we should. In the past few months, we've realized how couple time isn't a luxury but a necessity. Especially going through the emotional wringer of infertility yet again, we've needed to give extra diligence to caring for our marriage.
I'm excited about tonight's free concert at our church featuring some superb cellists and a young vocalist who is destined to go far in the opera world. The program is titled "Three Cellists + Five More!" (pdf) and will include Villas-Lobos' work for eight cellos and soprano. Our choir director has been raving about the concert for weeks now. How nice it will be to get spiffed up and have some quality grown up time.
But for now, it's time to bundle up my daughter in the scarf I just finished knitting for her and play in the fresh-fallen snow.
2.18.2005
alphabetically speaking
alphabetically speaking
Now that I'm beginning to teach the rudiments of reading--letters and phonemes--to my daughter, I'm realizing more and more what a truly perplexing language English is.
For starters, I think that simplifying our alphabet would be a good start in making it easier to learn. A number of letters could feasibly be eliminated altogether.
One could easily argue that the letters Q and X are not needed. Other letter combinations make the same sounds. While "quick" might look more elegant (meaning, more Latinate), advertisers know that everyone understands "kwik"
well enough. Despite the X-ie moniker on this blog, I would not be sorry to become Lone Zylophone who eschews zenophobes. And what an honor for the fine German Eck family if hospitals everywhere touted their Eck's-ray machines!
Take the "k" sound. Do we really need 2 letters, C and K, to play this function? I think we could happily give up one of the two. My preference would be to eliminate K, because C is useful in consonant combinations like CH that K cannot really approximate. While we're keeping C, let's eliminate its S-like properties and let S carry its own load for a change.
The question is whether the language is ready for cwic changes and ecstreme new ways of spelling. Before the advent of dictionaries (thanks cousin Noah), English was one of the most flexible languages, adept at incorporating any new words it encountered. Unfortunately, it has never looked back to reevaluate how to enable its most ancient components to live harmoniously with new additions. Thus, we have some incredibly weird spellings hanging around. We've got Viking words like knight and knife, but no longer pronounce the initial K. Could the spelling not better reflect contemporary pronunciation? Latinate and Germanic dialects have been forced to intermarry, with no thought to making them a new family with consistent spelling rules.
As 1337 begins making inroads into our language, it seems high time that linguists start working on a simplification scheme for our excesively complex tongue.
Now that I'm beginning to teach the rudiments of reading--letters and phonemes--to my daughter, I'm realizing more and more what a truly perplexing language English is.
For starters, I think that simplifying our alphabet would be a good start in making it easier to learn. A number of letters could feasibly be eliminated altogether.
One could easily argue that the letters Q and X are not needed. Other letter combinations make the same sounds. While "quick" might look more elegant (meaning, more Latinate), advertisers know that everyone understands "kwik"
well enough. Despite the X-ie moniker on this blog, I would not be sorry to become Lone Zylophone who eschews zenophobes. And what an honor for the fine German Eck family if hospitals everywhere touted their Eck's-ray machines!
Take the "k" sound. Do we really need 2 letters, C and K, to play this function? I think we could happily give up one of the two. My preference would be to eliminate K, because C is useful in consonant combinations like CH that K cannot really approximate. While we're keeping C, let's eliminate its S-like properties and let S carry its own load for a change.
The question is whether the language is ready for cwic changes and ecstreme new ways of spelling. Before the advent of dictionaries (thanks cousin Noah), English was one of the most flexible languages, adept at incorporating any new words it encountered. Unfortunately, it has never looked back to reevaluate how to enable its most ancient components to live harmoniously with new additions. Thus, we have some incredibly weird spellings hanging around. We've got Viking words like knight and knife, but no longer pronounce the initial K. Could the spelling not better reflect contemporary pronunciation? Latinate and Germanic dialects have been forced to intermarry, with no thought to making them a new family with consistent spelling rules.
As 1337 begins making inroads into our language, it seems high time that linguists start working on a simplification scheme for our excesively complex tongue.
2.17.2005
2.09.2005
A good sort
Following Valerie's lead and lacking anything interesting to blog about, I tried the latest Hogwart's sorting hat quiz. I didn't have to cheat to get the house I wanted!
I always thought Ravenclaw sounded cool, and I'm most comfortable around people of the nerdy smart variety. Perhaps this is the appeal of Ravenclaw: nerds of a feather flock together to feel slightly better about their lack of cool and leather. (Anyone who can come up with a better rhyme, please do so. (-:)
Following Valerie's lead and lacking anything interesting to blog about, I tried the latest Hogwart's sorting hat quiz. I didn't have to cheat to get the house I wanted!
I'm from Ravenclaw!
Hogwart's Sorting Hat Quiz
made by The Genki Gang
I always thought Ravenclaw sounded cool, and I'm most comfortable around people of the nerdy smart variety. Perhaps this is the appeal of Ravenclaw: nerds of a feather flock together to feel slightly better about their lack of cool and leather. (Anyone who can come up with a better rhyme, please do so. (-:)
2.05.2005
Chillin'
We saw this cute guy lolling happily in the remains of our rapidly melting snow while visiting the Philadelphia Zoo this morning. When the forecast was for mid-50s temperatures, we decided to take advantage of the relative balminess and our membership pass to have a little fun family time. It felt especially deserved after our attempts to have family fun time the previous evening fell pretty flat (see Joel's blog for details).
We saw this cute guy lolling happily in the remains of our rapidly melting snow while visiting the Philadelphia Zoo this morning. When the forecast was for mid-50s temperatures, we decided to take advantage of the relative balminess and our membership pass to have a little fun family time. It felt especially deserved after our attempts to have family fun time the previous evening fell pretty flat (see Joel's blog for details).
2.04.2005
Twenty five years of laundry
I'm not sure whether to be embarrassed or proud of the fact that I have been practicing the fine art of laundering for 25 years. My mother went back to work when I was 10 and began training me hard to be the domestic queen I am today. She practiced that old school of parenting in which it was essential for children to not grow up helpless, but be able to function as adults before reaching college age.
I took over all responsibility for the family laundry at age 11. With adequate training, this really is a pretty easy chore, even for a preteen (and anyone else at least as smart as a 5th grader, such as spoiled husbands). Not that I didn't have a few mishaps in the beginning--a wool sweater wound up toddler sized, I had occassional dripped bleach and a sneaky black sock once turned a load of whites gray.
Rather than wax nostalgic about washing peasant dresses and terry cloth shirts, I thought I'd celebrate this anniversary year by sharing some of my best laundry tips.
Best time savers
+ Don't handwash hoisery. Invest in some mesh lingerie bags (try Target or Walmart). Stick the hose in the bag and wash with your regular laundry. Wash light colors in warm and darks in cold. Hang to dry on a drying rack or on a plastic hanger.
+ Most "handwash" sweaters can be washed on delicate cycle in the machine, if they are colorfast (dye does not bleed when you get a small section wet and squeeze it). Turn the sweater inside out (to prevent friction pills) and wash in a large lingerie bag or pillowcase tied closed. Wool items seem to shrink no matter how you wash them, so use the machine, but be sure to reshape the item as it drip dries. (Personally, I save time by having wool sweaters bulk dry cleaned by the pound.)
+ Items that aren't colorfast must be handwashed, but forget about squeezing or wringing. After washing and rinsing in the sink, put the lone wet item in the machine and run it through the spin cycle.
+ If you have some consistent types of stains (baby spit up, toddler food drips, grungy socks) you can save time by soaking big vats of stained stuff for 8 to 24 hours in oxyclean or borax or bleach instead of pretreating individual stains.
+ Items labeled "drip dry" or "lay flat to dry" can be helped along by running through a second spin cycle and/or drying on low heat in the dryer for just a few minutes (too hot or too long will cause shrinkage). Caveat: never put wool in the dryer.
+ Speed drying times by mixing the weights of fabrics in the load. A load of all towels, for example, dries far slower than towels mixed with sheets and Tshirts.
+ Unless you have run out of clean clothes, wait until you have full loads before washing. You just waste time and money running the machine half full twice as often.
...stay tuned for more tips in this continuing series.
I'm not sure whether to be embarrassed or proud of the fact that I have been practicing the fine art of laundering for 25 years. My mother went back to work when I was 10 and began training me hard to be the domestic queen I am today. She practiced that old school of parenting in which it was essential for children to not grow up helpless, but be able to function as adults before reaching college age.
I took over all responsibility for the family laundry at age 11. With adequate training, this really is a pretty easy chore, even for a preteen (and anyone else at least as smart as a 5th grader, such as spoiled husbands). Not that I didn't have a few mishaps in the beginning--a wool sweater wound up toddler sized, I had occassional dripped bleach and a sneaky black sock once turned a load of whites gray.
Rather than wax nostalgic about washing peasant dresses and terry cloth shirts, I thought I'd celebrate this anniversary year by sharing some of my best laundry tips.
Best time savers
+ Don't handwash hoisery. Invest in some mesh lingerie bags (try Target or Walmart). Stick the hose in the bag and wash with your regular laundry. Wash light colors in warm and darks in cold. Hang to dry on a drying rack or on a plastic hanger.
+ Most "handwash" sweaters can be washed on delicate cycle in the machine, if they are colorfast (dye does not bleed when you get a small section wet and squeeze it). Turn the sweater inside out (to prevent friction pills) and wash in a large lingerie bag or pillowcase tied closed. Wool items seem to shrink no matter how you wash them, so use the machine, but be sure to reshape the item as it drip dries. (Personally, I save time by having wool sweaters bulk dry cleaned by the pound.)
+ Items that aren't colorfast must be handwashed, but forget about squeezing or wringing. After washing and rinsing in the sink, put the lone wet item in the machine and run it through the spin cycle.
+ If you have some consistent types of stains (baby spit up, toddler food drips, grungy socks) you can save time by soaking big vats of stained stuff for 8 to 24 hours in oxyclean or borax or bleach instead of pretreating individual stains.
+ Items labeled "drip dry" or "lay flat to dry" can be helped along by running through a second spin cycle and/or drying on low heat in the dryer for just a few minutes (too hot or too long will cause shrinkage). Caveat: never put wool in the dryer.
+ Speed drying times by mixing the weights of fabrics in the load. A load of all towels, for example, dries far slower than towels mixed with sheets and Tshirts.
+ Unless you have run out of clean clothes, wait until you have full loads before washing. You just waste time and money running the machine half full twice as often.
...stay tuned for more tips in this continuing series.
1.31.2005
Bad Mommy
Nothing makes a parent feel worse than knowing you've caused harm to your child.
Poor Claire had a terrible rash all over her torso on Saturday that I didn't discover until fairly late in the day. I rushed to my Practical Pediatrician book to try to figure out what was wrong. Joel said, "looks like hives to me."
Hives. Ugh. Not another allergy to figure out! This summer she proved to be allergic to raw tomatoes. Could this be a food allergy? Hmm, those give you hives all over. Her rash was only on the chest and back and stopped at the diaper line.
Epiphany: evil new undershirt! Gerber onsies come nice and stiff from the pack thanks to some sort of starch or sizing. Claire's allergic to that.
Fortunately, her rash cleared up by this morning with a bath, benadryl and hydrocortisone cream. I was somewhat heditant to put her in Sunday School yesterday, mostly because of my fears about what her teachers might think of my parenting. What good mother gives her children rashes? Well, my pride be darned, she loves her class, so off she went with a note from Bad Mommy that she's not contagious, just sensitive skinned.
Now I know to prewash anything new that's stiff. Doh!
Nothing makes a parent feel worse than knowing you've caused harm to your child.
Poor Claire had a terrible rash all over her torso on Saturday that I didn't discover until fairly late in the day. I rushed to my Practical Pediatrician book to try to figure out what was wrong. Joel said, "looks like hives to me."
Hives. Ugh. Not another allergy to figure out! This summer she proved to be allergic to raw tomatoes. Could this be a food allergy? Hmm, those give you hives all over. Her rash was only on the chest and back and stopped at the diaper line.
Epiphany: evil new undershirt! Gerber onsies come nice and stiff from the pack thanks to some sort of starch or sizing. Claire's allergic to that.
Fortunately, her rash cleared up by this morning with a bath, benadryl and hydrocortisone cream. I was somewhat heditant to put her in Sunday School yesterday, mostly because of my fears about what her teachers might think of my parenting. What good mother gives her children rashes? Well, my pride be darned, she loves her class, so off she went with a note from Bad Mommy that she's not contagious, just sensitive skinned.
Now I know to prewash anything new that's stiff. Doh!
1.27.2005
Infinite capacity for self-deception
I recently finished re-reading Susan Howatch's Scandalous Risks, the only of her Church of England series with a female narrator. The story dovetailed well with the Bible study lesson I prepared this week on Matthew 5:27-32.
Venetia Flaxton, a noblewoman in her 20s, strikes up an unusual friendship with one of her father's friends, a 61-year-old married clergyman. When they begin corresponding about her spiritual questions, trouble begins. Emotional entanglement ensues, and the two of them also begin stealing moments of passionate hndholding, then embraces, then kissing, then petting. The clergyman Aysgarth uses an emerging strand of liberal theology to justify the relationship. In his mind, they love each other, and as long as there is no int3rc0urse, there is no adultery.
This line of reasoning is exactly what Jesus denounces in the Sermon on the Mount. Sexual sin is much more a slippery slope than Aysgarth would like to think. Even without "technical" adultery, the relationship is very destructive, especially to Venetia, a spiritually confused young woman who most needed guidance, not manipulation and exploitation. Because he wouldn't metaphorically "cut off his hands" and give up the companionship, intellectual stimulation and joy of the inappropriate friendship, he ends up in a kind of hell. He wrecks his career and watches several of his children slowly self-destruct. Even when Venetia does find the strength and support to cut off the relationship, she also ends up in a kind of hell. She marries a man she doesn't love to protect Aysgarth, and ends up in self-destructive despair.
The women at my Bible study got into some really good discussion about what it might mean for us to "pluck out our eyes" or "cut off our hands" to avoid temptation. One person mentioned leaving a good job because a coworker flirts with you. Another mentioned cancelling cable and buying filtering software for the computer.
Because Scandalous Risks tackles the slippery slope of infidelity in an unsalacious (yet very readable) manner, I found it a good antidote to the junk I really should stop watching on TV.
I recently finished re-reading Susan Howatch's Scandalous Risks, the only of her Church of England series with a female narrator. The story dovetailed well with the Bible study lesson I prepared this week on Matthew 5:27-32.
Venetia Flaxton, a noblewoman in her 20s, strikes up an unusual friendship with one of her father's friends, a 61-year-old married clergyman. When they begin corresponding about her spiritual questions, trouble begins. Emotional entanglement ensues, and the two of them also begin stealing moments of passionate hndholding, then embraces, then kissing, then petting. The clergyman Aysgarth uses an emerging strand of liberal theology to justify the relationship. In his mind, they love each other, and as long as there is no int3rc0urse, there is no adultery.
This line of reasoning is exactly what Jesus denounces in the Sermon on the Mount. Sexual sin is much more a slippery slope than Aysgarth would like to think. Even without "technical" adultery, the relationship is very destructive, especially to Venetia, a spiritually confused young woman who most needed guidance, not manipulation and exploitation. Because he wouldn't metaphorically "cut off his hands" and give up the companionship, intellectual stimulation and joy of the inappropriate friendship, he ends up in a kind of hell. He wrecks his career and watches several of his children slowly self-destruct. Even when Venetia does find the strength and support to cut off the relationship, she also ends up in a kind of hell. She marries a man she doesn't love to protect Aysgarth, and ends up in self-destructive despair.
The women at my Bible study got into some really good discussion about what it might mean for us to "pluck out our eyes" or "cut off our hands" to avoid temptation. One person mentioned leaving a good job because a coworker flirts with you. Another mentioned cancelling cable and buying filtering software for the computer.
Because Scandalous Risks tackles the slippery slope of infidelity in an unsalacious (yet very readable) manner, I found it a good antidote to the junk I really should stop watching on TV.
1.25.2005
Contenders
When the Oscar nominations were announced this morning, I realized I'd seen almost none of the films. I do have an opinion about one category, however: Animated Feature.
My vote goes strongly for The Incredibles. The premise is tied to a genre, yet is so fresh and original that it definitely deserves the nomination for best original screenplay. The humor is multi-level, full of slapstick for the kids (and Stooges fans), snappy one liners, and humorous allusions to film, literature and pop culture. I can't remember the last time I laughed so hard during a film.
At the same time, the film delivers action-packed suspense and touching relationships between characters. I found the morals of loyalty, bravery, community and responsibility put forward without the story getting mired down or seeming preachy. It drove home the evils of envy: the villan is a brilliant inventor who could be using his gifts to the betterment of humanity, but he ends of driven mad by his envy of others' innate gifts, to his ultimate destruction.
Please weigh in on your favorite among the nominees: A Shark's Tale, Shrek 2 or The Incredibles.
When the Oscar nominations were announced this morning, I realized I'd seen almost none of the films. I do have an opinion about one category, however: Animated Feature.
My vote goes strongly for The Incredibles. The premise is tied to a genre, yet is so fresh and original that it definitely deserves the nomination for best original screenplay. The humor is multi-level, full of slapstick for the kids (and Stooges fans), snappy one liners, and humorous allusions to film, literature and pop culture. I can't remember the last time I laughed so hard during a film.
At the same time, the film delivers action-packed suspense and touching relationships between characters. I found the morals of loyalty, bravery, community and responsibility put forward without the story getting mired down or seeming preachy. It drove home the evils of envy: the villan is a brilliant inventor who could be using his gifts to the betterment of humanity, but he ends of driven mad by his envy of others' innate gifts, to his ultimate destruction.
Please weigh in on your favorite among the nominees: A Shark's Tale, Shrek 2 or The Incredibles.
1.23.2005
Snow days!
We're kicking back and enjoying our first big snowstorm of the season. The first flakes began yesterday morning, as we watched a flock of corpulent robins take up residence in our juniper tree (below).
Between bouts of gorging themselves on the ripe, silvery-blue berries, the jolly birds perched alternately on the porch rails or rocking chairs and fluffed up their feathers to even more rotund proportions. How fun to offer hospitality so effortlessly.
This morning we missed attending church because the roads were treacherous, public transit is offering only spotty service and it was far to cold to wait for a train that might never come. We did a shortened version of morning prayer at home with Claire, followed by some Sunday-school type crafts based on Daniel 3 (the young men rescued from the firey furnace). Claire had a great time making "stained glass" fire pictures by melting old crayons on a warming tray and transferring the wax onto sheets of thin paper. We also listened to a live webcast of the sermon at Tenth.
After lunch, it was time to do some shoveling and let Claire play in the snow a bit.
I made the mistake of letting Nicky come outside without a leash. He took off in a blind run up the street, with me in hot pursuit. The more I called him, the faster he ran. He ran out in front of two cars, which fortunately stopped to let the demented dog and screeching woman pass. He then darted down the footpath into woodsy Wissahickon Park. The snow was too deep for me to follow very far.
In an act of desparation, I flopped down on my back there in the woods and pretended to be hurt to get him to come near enough to grab by the collar. This too proved fairly fruitless. He came within 10 feet then proceeded to bark and bark and bark at me, as if to say "C'mon, Mom, let's play tag some more!"
I got to my knees and begged the dog to come, my fury finally spent. More barking.
With no other ideas of how to capture Nicky, I got up and started clambering up the trail toward home. He eagerly followed and I finally got hold of his collar. The next back-aching block, I held tight to his collar and brought my chastened pup home.
I think I need a nap now.
We're kicking back and enjoying our first big snowstorm of the season. The first flakes began yesterday morning, as we watched a flock of corpulent robins take up residence in our juniper tree (below).
Between bouts of gorging themselves on the ripe, silvery-blue berries, the jolly birds perched alternately on the porch rails or rocking chairs and fluffed up their feathers to even more rotund proportions. How fun to offer hospitality so effortlessly.
This morning we missed attending church because the roads were treacherous, public transit is offering only spotty service and it was far to cold to wait for a train that might never come. We did a shortened version of morning prayer at home with Claire, followed by some Sunday-school type crafts based on Daniel 3 (the young men rescued from the firey furnace). Claire had a great time making "stained glass" fire pictures by melting old crayons on a warming tray and transferring the wax onto sheets of thin paper. We also listened to a live webcast of the sermon at Tenth.
After lunch, it was time to do some shoveling and let Claire play in the snow a bit.
I made the mistake of letting Nicky come outside without a leash. He took off in a blind run up the street, with me in hot pursuit. The more I called him, the faster he ran. He ran out in front of two cars, which fortunately stopped to let the demented dog and screeching woman pass. He then darted down the footpath into woodsy Wissahickon Park. The snow was too deep for me to follow very far.
In an act of desparation, I flopped down on my back there in the woods and pretended to be hurt to get him to come near enough to grab by the collar. This too proved fairly fruitless. He came within 10 feet then proceeded to bark and bark and bark at me, as if to say "C'mon, Mom, let's play tag some more!"
I got to my knees and begged the dog to come, my fury finally spent. More barking.
With no other ideas of how to capture Nicky, I got up and started clambering up the trail toward home. He eagerly followed and I finally got hold of his collar. The next back-aching block, I held tight to his collar and brought my chastened pup home.
I think I need a nap now.
1.18.2005
Alas
My poor tulips are unlikely to survive this winter. They were sadly tricked into pushing up out of the soil over the past few weeks when our temperatures were as high as the low 60s. (In fact, I've hung out laundry four times this month, which I never do unless the temp is above 55 and sunny.) Tonight the temperature is slated to fall to 6 degrees, so I hold little hope for those tender little shoots, despite my attempts to provide a little insulation with mulch.
Sigh.
My poor tulips are unlikely to survive this winter. They were sadly tricked into pushing up out of the soil over the past few weeks when our temperatures were as high as the low 60s. (In fact, I've hung out laundry four times this month, which I never do unless the temp is above 55 and sunny.) Tonight the temperature is slated to fall to 6 degrees, so I hold little hope for those tender little shoots, despite my attempts to provide a little insulation with mulch.
Sigh.
1.16.2005
Gulp
I've been sick for nearly a week now with some sort of infection that seems especially to be attacking my throat and tonsills. After poring over our home medical guides, I'm pretty sure it's not strep throat because of the lack of tell-tale white patches in the throat. It's likely a virus that I'll simply have to ride out.
I've had strep only once in my life, back in 1986 (nearly 20 years ago, double gulp!). How foolish I used to be about illness back then. I remember putting in full days at school, going to my part-time job and even participating in the county band festival with hellfire burning in my throat.
I wonder how many customers and musicians I infected in my stupidity. Granted, going to county band was a HUGE deal for a mallet percussionist, as there were only two spots and like 10 school districts to draw from. At the time, it seemed completely worthwhile to run myself into the ground.
How we suffer for our art.
I've been sick for nearly a week now with some sort of infection that seems especially to be attacking my throat and tonsills. After poring over our home medical guides, I'm pretty sure it's not strep throat because of the lack of tell-tale white patches in the throat. It's likely a virus that I'll simply have to ride out.
I've had strep only once in my life, back in 1986 (nearly 20 years ago, double gulp!). How foolish I used to be about illness back then. I remember putting in full days at school, going to my part-time job and even participating in the county band festival with hellfire burning in my throat.
I wonder how many customers and musicians I infected in my stupidity. Granted, going to county band was a HUGE deal for a mallet percussionist, as there were only two spots and like 10 school districts to draw from. At the time, it seemed completely worthwhile to run myself into the ground.
How we suffer for our art.
1.10.2005
Pumpkin
Wondering what to do with those extra cans of pumpkin puree you bought at super bargain prices over the holidays? Try my perennial favorite quick bread recipe that yields best results if frozen first--a great timesaver when preparing for a brunch, or, in my case, snack for a 70-member choir.
Supermoist Pumpkin Bread
yield: 2 loaves prep time: 20 minutes bake time: 60-70 minutes
Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Grease 2 standard 9"x5"x3" loaf pans (or 3 smaller 8.5"x4.5"x2.5" pans).
Cream together until fluffy:
2/3 C shortening
2 2/3 C sugar
Stir in:
4 eggs
2/3 C water
16 oz. (2 C) canned pumpkin puree
In a separate bowl, sift together:
3 1/3 C flour
2 tsp baking soda
1 1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp baking powder
1 tsp cinnamon
1 tsp ground cloves
Stir dry ingredients into wet ingredients. If desired, add 2/3 C raisins.
Pour batter into greased pans. Bake for 60-70 minutes (less time for smaller or dark metal pans). Bread is done when inserted knife or tester comes out clean.
Cool bread for 20 minutes, remove from pans, wrap in foil and freeze overnight or until needed (up to 1 month). Thaw and enjoy!
Other hints:
Most canned pumpkin comes in 29 oz. cans, which would yield a recipe and a half, with a little waste. The above recipe can be halved easily, except the flour is trickier--use 2.5 Tbsp and you'll have approximately 1/6 of a cup. Alternately, freeze the extra cup of pumpkin puree for later use.
Wondering what to do with those extra cans of pumpkin puree you bought at super bargain prices over the holidays? Try my perennial favorite quick bread recipe that yields best results if frozen first--a great timesaver when preparing for a brunch, or, in my case, snack for a 70-member choir.
Supermoist Pumpkin Bread
yield: 2 loaves prep time: 20 minutes bake time: 60-70 minutes
Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Grease 2 standard 9"x5"x3" loaf pans (or 3 smaller 8.5"x4.5"x2.5" pans).
Cream together until fluffy:
2/3 C shortening
2 2/3 C sugar
Stir in:
4 eggs
2/3 C water
16 oz. (2 C) canned pumpkin puree
In a separate bowl, sift together:
3 1/3 C flour
2 tsp baking soda
1 1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp baking powder
1 tsp cinnamon
1 tsp ground cloves
Stir dry ingredients into wet ingredients. If desired, add 2/3 C raisins.
Pour batter into greased pans. Bake for 60-70 minutes (less time for smaller or dark metal pans). Bread is done when inserted knife or tester comes out clean.
Cool bread for 20 minutes, remove from pans, wrap in foil and freeze overnight or until needed (up to 1 month). Thaw and enjoy!
Other hints:
Most canned pumpkin comes in 29 oz. cans, which would yield a recipe and a half, with a little waste. The above recipe can be halved easily, except the flour is trickier--use 2.5 Tbsp and you'll have approximately 1/6 of a cup. Alternately, freeze the extra cup of pumpkin puree for later use.
1.08.2005
Wow
I haven't blogged in so long, I'd nearly forgotten my login for the blogger site. Now that we have a laptop (that my husband is supposed to share), I thought it was about time to drop into the blogosphere again. (Dawn and Valerie have something to do with it too.)
I don't have any really great excuse for not blogging other than that I'd grown somewhat bored with it. I also suffer from the curse of the youngest child--having been told by older siblings for so long that I'm pestering them, I've begun to believe that no one is particularly interested in what I have to say. This is not reallly a conducive attitude for blogging.
Blogging requires a certain amount of chutzpa that has been more on the wane in my personality of late. I am constantly humbled in my attempts at parenting. Despite best laid plans, my daughter does not always sleep when I want her to, wear the outfits I pick, or eat the nutritious fare I prepare. Housekeeping is also very humbling. I can vacuum and dust and tidy with the best of then, only to have toys and fingerprints and dog fur reappear in a matter of hours or minutes.
I am deeply living in the experience that I am nothing, and yet, I am the glue that holds my home and family together.
I haven't blogged in so long, I'd nearly forgotten my login for the blogger site. Now that we have a laptop (that my husband is supposed to share), I thought it was about time to drop into the blogosphere again. (Dawn and Valerie have something to do with it too.)
I don't have any really great excuse for not blogging other than that I'd grown somewhat bored with it. I also suffer from the curse of the youngest child--having been told by older siblings for so long that I'm pestering them, I've begun to believe that no one is particularly interested in what I have to say. This is not reallly a conducive attitude for blogging.
Blogging requires a certain amount of chutzpa that has been more on the wane in my personality of late. I am constantly humbled in my attempts at parenting. Despite best laid plans, my daughter does not always sleep when I want her to, wear the outfits I pick, or eat the nutritious fare I prepare. Housekeeping is also very humbling. I can vacuum and dust and tidy with the best of then, only to have toys and fingerprints and dog fur reappear in a matter of hours or minutes.
I am deeply living in the experience that I am nothing, and yet, I am the glue that holds my home and family together.
10.29.2004
I now pronounce...
It's so fun to observe Claire's language skills growing. She can recite almost the entire book "Are You My Mother?" by P.D. Eastman. Her sentences grow longer and more complex every few weeks: "Mommy, Cwaire go up-tairs, take teddy, use my new bwocks, build big house!" (Those Ls are still pretty tricky to say, poor kid.)
I was looking over one of my posts from earlier in the summer (when I was blogging more) and thought it would be fun to show an update. Watch Clairish slowly evolve into English!
1. zebra
deebah (21 mo.); zebwa (26 mo.)
2. butterfly
buckeye (21 mo.); bufwy (26 mo.)
3. squirrel
squeal (21 mo.); squill (26 mo.)
4. bunny rabbit
boggy ragit (21 mo.); bunny rabbit (26 mo.)
5. Christopher Robin
Critfer Rogick (21 mo.); Crissfer Robin (26. mo.)
6. blueberries
boo-boo bays (21 mo.); boo-boo baywies (26. mo.)
7. melon
may-ya-ya-ya-uhn (21 mo.); mewon (26 mo.)
8. noodles
noo-noo (21 mo.); noodos (26 mo.)
9. pretzels
backles (21 mo.); pretzo (26 mo.)
10. Caesar salad dressing
teaser sauce (21 mo.); Seazo dwessing (26 mo.)
11. Sing "Running Over" again
Moe ruck ogre (21 mo.); Sing again, "runnik ober" (26 mo.)
12. clean blanket
key backie (21 mo.); kween bwanket (26 mo.)
13. My hands are dirty
hanks duty (21 mo.); my hans vey duty (26 mo.)
14. city bus
ditty buts (21 mo.); ceety bus (26 mo.)
One of her cutest Clairisms dissappeared very quickly. At around 19 months, she called apple sauce "backel doss." In no time, that became, distinctively "appo zauce." I will be especially sad when she stops calling that silly, willy-nilly, old bear by the name "Wibby Pooh."
It's so fun to observe Claire's language skills growing. She can recite almost the entire book "Are You My Mother?" by P.D. Eastman. Her sentences grow longer and more complex every few weeks: "Mommy, Cwaire go up-tairs, take teddy, use my new bwocks, build big house!" (Those Ls are still pretty tricky to say, poor kid.)
I was looking over one of my posts from earlier in the summer (when I was blogging more) and thought it would be fun to show an update. Watch Clairish slowly evolve into English!
1. zebra
deebah (21 mo.); zebwa (26 mo.)
2. butterfly
buckeye (21 mo.); bufwy (26 mo.)
3. squirrel
squeal (21 mo.); squill (26 mo.)
4. bunny rabbit
boggy ragit (21 mo.); bunny rabbit (26 mo.)
5. Christopher Robin
Critfer Rogick (21 mo.); Crissfer Robin (26. mo.)
6. blueberries
boo-boo bays (21 mo.); boo-boo baywies (26. mo.)
7. melon
may-ya-ya-ya-uhn (21 mo.); mewon (26 mo.)
8. noodles
noo-noo (21 mo.); noodos (26 mo.)
9. pretzels
backles (21 mo.); pretzo (26 mo.)
10. Caesar salad dressing
teaser sauce (21 mo.); Seazo dwessing (26 mo.)
11. Sing "Running Over" again
Moe ruck ogre (21 mo.); Sing again, "runnik ober" (26 mo.)
12. clean blanket
key backie (21 mo.); kween bwanket (26 mo.)
13. My hands are dirty
hanks duty (21 mo.); my hans vey duty (26 mo.)
14. city bus
ditty buts (21 mo.); ceety bus (26 mo.)
One of her cutest Clairisms dissappeared very quickly. At around 19 months, she called apple sauce "backel doss." In no time, that became, distinctively "appo zauce." I will be especially sad when she stops calling that silly, willy-nilly, old bear by the name "Wibby Pooh."
8.12.2004
Hanging
Well, I've survived over a week without my husband and with my mother. You can probably imagine why Joel is the one of us who's blogging all the time, seeing that I have to keep up with Claire, run our home and somehow be entertaining and willing to sightsee with mom.
We three generations have kept a pretty full calendar, with trips to the zoo and feeding the ducks in Fairmount park, getting to some of my regular stuff like Bible studies, visting with other family and holding a Pampered Chef party.
At the party tonight, I was reminded yet again of what a pain in the neck the dog is when we have company. Nicky barks and howls and barks and howls when people arrive, so much so that no one can carry on a conversation. Gating him in another room seems to make him howl and bark more. Put him outside and he just annoys everyone in the neighborhood. I think my only option when we hold a birthday party for Claire next week is to put him in his crate in our detatched garage before any guests arrive. I think he'll be less likely to be so barky if he can neither see nor hear the guests.
I'd love to hear any other humane suggestions for curbing the noisyness of a half-husky when company comes.
Well, I've survived over a week without my husband and with my mother. You can probably imagine why Joel is the one of us who's blogging all the time, seeing that I have to keep up with Claire, run our home and somehow be entertaining and willing to sightsee with mom.
We three generations have kept a pretty full calendar, with trips to the zoo and feeding the ducks in Fairmount park, getting to some of my regular stuff like Bible studies, visting with other family and holding a Pampered Chef party.
At the party tonight, I was reminded yet again of what a pain in the neck the dog is when we have company. Nicky barks and howls and barks and howls when people arrive, so much so that no one can carry on a conversation. Gating him in another room seems to make him howl and bark more. Put him outside and he just annoys everyone in the neighborhood. I think my only option when we hold a birthday party for Claire next week is to put him in his crate in our detatched garage before any guests arrive. I think he'll be less likely to be so barky if he can neither see nor hear the guests.
I'd love to hear any other humane suggestions for curbing the noisyness of a half-husky when company comes.
7.27.2004
Madison
One of Claire's current favorites among her books is the Madeline anthology. After reading two or three of the stories and putting her to bed, I find myself thinking in Bemelmans-style rhyme. I think it might be fun to someday write a Philly version, sort of a parody. It would start something like this:
In an old house in Philly
covered up with graffitti
lived a plump, kindly mama
who made killer baked ziti.
In her tall, narrow house
lived six little girls
who used straightening irons
to flatten their curls.
With hair in tight buns
they went searching for fun
the bossiest one was Madison.
Mikayla, Mia, Casey and Karly
fell in line when Madison called for a parley
Only her sister Annemarie
was nearly as headstrong as she.
I'm not sure what sorts of Philly-style adventures I'd dream up for these girls. Any ideas? I'd definitely have plently of late-night waking. Miss Clavel always seems to be waking in the middle of the night sensing something is not right.
One of Claire's current favorites among her books is the Madeline anthology. After reading two or three of the stories and putting her to bed, I find myself thinking in Bemelmans-style rhyme. I think it might be fun to someday write a Philly version, sort of a parody. It would start something like this:
In an old house in Philly
covered up with graffitti
lived a plump, kindly mama
who made killer baked ziti.
In her tall, narrow house
lived six little girls
who used straightening irons
to flatten their curls.
With hair in tight buns
they went searching for fun
the bossiest one was Madison.
Mikayla, Mia, Casey and Karly
fell in line when Madison called for a parley
Only her sister Annemarie
was nearly as headstrong as she.
I'm not sure what sorts of Philly-style adventures I'd dream up for these girls. Any ideas? I'd definitely have plently of late-night waking. Miss Clavel always seems to be waking in the middle of the night sensing something is not right.
7.26.2004
More bloggers IRL
This past weekend we hosted Rick and Rachel Capezza, who have been working at a camp in New Jersey for the summer. I'm just now realizing that we took no pictures! They had a camera, though probably won't be blogging for a while.
We showed them some of the sights (or is it sites?) in historic Philly, lunched on cheesesteaks and hung out talking a lot. Sunday was a little bit Episcopalian, a little bit low-church Presby. And of course, Claire had to share her Veggie passion with our guests with a showing of "Lyle, the Kindly Viking." She could watch that tape continuously all day if we let her.
This past weekend we hosted Rick and Rachel Capezza, who have been working at a camp in New Jersey for the summer. I'm just now realizing that we took no pictures! They had a camera, though probably won't be blogging for a while.
We showed them some of the sights (or is it sites?) in historic Philly, lunched on cheesesteaks and hung out talking a lot. Sunday was a little bit Episcopalian, a little bit low-church Presby. And of course, Claire had to share her Veggie passion with our guests with a showing of "Lyle, the Kindly Viking." She could watch that tape continuously all day if we let her.
7.21.2004
Transit trials
I'm mostly back on track after an across-the-state trip last week with another mom and our two preschoolers. Pennsylvania never seemed large until we started planning for this trip to see a mutual friend who lives in New Castle, up in the northwest corner of the state near the Ohio border. I had some serious doubts that we could do the drive from Philly in less than like 10 hours because the kids would perpetually want us to stop.
My friend had a secret weapon. That's right, a portable DVD player. I'll admit that I used to moan every time I'd see an ad on TV for vehicles equipped with this device. "Great," I'd tell Joel, "just the way to guaratee you never have to actually speak to or interact with your children."
Well, I've revised my opinion a bit on that count. For fidgety toddlers on long rides, the technology can be a big blessing. My friend bought the DVD when her mother was dying from ovarian cancer and she needed to make regular 8+ hour drives to North Carolina with her toddler son. It kept her sane and prevented her son's motion sickness (so long as the player was below window level). When we had her son plus Claire in the back seat, they were far more content watching Elmo or Pooh than my attempts at a puppet show. The power struggles over toys also ended when a video played.
We also didn't need to make many stops. We did the 400+ mile trip in about 7 hours total, not too shabby for travel with kids aged 23 months and 3 and a half years. And I even got to do some needlework in transit!
I'm mostly back on track after an across-the-state trip last week with another mom and our two preschoolers. Pennsylvania never seemed large until we started planning for this trip to see a mutual friend who lives in New Castle, up in the northwest corner of the state near the Ohio border. I had some serious doubts that we could do the drive from Philly in less than like 10 hours because the kids would perpetually want us to stop.
My friend had a secret weapon. That's right, a portable DVD player. I'll admit that I used to moan every time I'd see an ad on TV for vehicles equipped with this device. "Great," I'd tell Joel, "just the way to guaratee you never have to actually speak to or interact with your children."
Well, I've revised my opinion a bit on that count. For fidgety toddlers on long rides, the technology can be a big blessing. My friend bought the DVD when her mother was dying from ovarian cancer and she needed to make regular 8+ hour drives to North Carolina with her toddler son. It kept her sane and prevented her son's motion sickness (so long as the player was below window level). When we had her son plus Claire in the back seat, they were far more content watching Elmo or Pooh than my attempts at a puppet show. The power struggles over toys also ended when a video played.
We also didn't need to make many stops. We did the 400+ mile trip in about 7 hours total, not too shabby for travel with kids aged 23 months and 3 and a half years. And I even got to do some needlework in transit!
7.12.2004
Pah-tee
My husband has been out of commission for two days with a migraine. We had hurricane-like weather and about 5 inches of rainfall today. And yet, I feel like celebrating. Can you guess why? Claire used the potty successfully tonight!
For months now, I've put her on the potty after her bath because she'd say she needed to go, then would not go. Tonight I set her on, left the room to get something, and came back to discover her success. Guess she's just shy. ;-)
My husband has been out of commission for two days with a migraine. We had hurricane-like weather and about 5 inches of rainfall today. And yet, I feel like celebrating. Can you guess why? Claire used the potty successfully tonight!
For months now, I've put her on the potty after her bath because she'd say she needed to go, then would not go. Tonight I set her on, left the room to get something, and came back to discover her success. Guess she's just shy. ;-)
7.09.2004
Interpreting tongues
Claire's language skills are growing in leaps and bounds these days. She picks up several new words a day and mostly speaks in full sentences.
While she says some words very clearly, her annunciation on the whole still leaves a lot to be desired. Sometimes I think I need the spiritual gift of interpreting tongues to understand what she's saying.
Try this quiz to see how well you can understand Clairish.
Match the Clairish terms with English
1. deebah
2. buckeye
3. squeal
4. boggy ragit
5. critfer rogick
6. boo-boo bayies
7. may-ya-ya-ya-uhn
8. noo-noo
9. backles
10. teaser sauce
11. Moe ruck ogre
12. key backie
13. hanks duty
14. ditty buts
A. melon
B. Christopher Robin
C. clean blanket
D. squirrel
E. pretzels
F. sing "Running Over" again
G. blueberries
H. my hands are dirty
I. noodles
J. zebra
K. city bus
L. bunny rabbit
M. Ceasar salad dressing
N. butterfly
Claire's language skills are growing in leaps and bounds these days. She picks up several new words a day and mostly speaks in full sentences.
While she says some words very clearly, her annunciation on the whole still leaves a lot to be desired. Sometimes I think I need the spiritual gift of interpreting tongues to understand what she's saying.
Try this quiz to see how well you can understand Clairish.
Match the Clairish terms with English
1. deebah
2. buckeye
3. squeal
4. boggy ragit
5. critfer rogick
6. boo-boo bayies
7. may-ya-ya-ya-uhn
8. noo-noo
9. backles
10. teaser sauce
11. Moe ruck ogre
12. key backie
13. hanks duty
14. ditty buts
A. melon
B. Christopher Robin
C. clean blanket
D. squirrel
E. pretzels
F. sing "Running Over" again
G. blueberries
H. my hands are dirty
I. noodles
J. zebra
K. city bus
L. bunny rabbit
M. Ceasar salad dressing
N. butterfly
7.07.2004
Vacation
I really needed that vacation from blogging. Sorry to leave you with such a non-shiny-happy-people sort of poem for over a month. Just wasn't motivated to get online much.
The reading contest we started at church has been a great success so far, with 43 kids participating. Obviously, this means a hefty amount of paperwork for me. I have to read and log all of the book reports kids turn in. I set up several spreadsheets to track it all. Each sheet has an individual worksheet for each kid where I record book titles, plus a general tally for the group. It took a while to set up, but it's an easy system to maintain. I'm keeping the paper reports in file folders and will return the reports at the end of the contest. The homeschool kids could probably add these to their portfolios.
Joel set up a pretty nice website for the contest that we can use to post book reviews and stuff in the Fall. To start us off, I might need to solicit some reviews from you, our online friends. Here are some of the titles we added this summer:
On Being Black and Reformed by Anthony Carter
The Lord's Service by Jeffrey Meyers
Sermons that Shaped America by William Barker
The Faith of Jesus Christ by Richard Hays
The Lord's Supper by Jean-Jacques vonAllmen
Luther's Faith: The Cause of the Gospel in the Church by Daniel Olivier
The Victory According to Mark by Mark Horne
With Reverence and Awe: Returning to the Basics of Reformed Worship by D.G. Hart
The Binding of God by Peter Lillback
The Catholicity of the Reformation by Carl Braaten & Robert Jenson
Marriage, Divorce and Remarriage in the Bible by Jay Adams
That's just a sampling. We had more than 50 books donated from our amazon wish list, largely from one very generous patron. If you have any interest in writing up a short review on any of these titles to be published online, please let me know.
I really needed that vacation from blogging. Sorry to leave you with such a non-shiny-happy-people sort of poem for over a month. Just wasn't motivated to get online much.
The reading contest we started at church has been a great success so far, with 43 kids participating. Obviously, this means a hefty amount of paperwork for me. I have to read and log all of the book reports kids turn in. I set up several spreadsheets to track it all. Each sheet has an individual worksheet for each kid where I record book titles, plus a general tally for the group. It took a while to set up, but it's an easy system to maintain. I'm keeping the paper reports in file folders and will return the reports at the end of the contest. The homeschool kids could probably add these to their portfolios.
Joel set up a pretty nice website for the contest that we can use to post book reviews and stuff in the Fall. To start us off, I might need to solicit some reviews from you, our online friends. Here are some of the titles we added this summer:
On Being Black and Reformed by Anthony Carter
The Lord's Service by Jeffrey Meyers
Sermons that Shaped America by William Barker
The Faith of Jesus Christ by Richard Hays
The Lord's Supper by Jean-Jacques vonAllmen
Luther's Faith: The Cause of the Gospel in the Church by Daniel Olivier
The Victory According to Mark by Mark Horne
With Reverence and Awe: Returning to the Basics of Reformed Worship by D.G. Hart
The Binding of God by Peter Lillback
The Catholicity of the Reformation by Carl Braaten & Robert Jenson
Marriage, Divorce and Remarriage in the Bible by Jay Adams
That's just a sampling. We had more than 50 books donated from our amazon wish list, largely from one very generous patron. If you have any interest in writing up a short review on any of these titles to be published online, please let me know.
5.13.2004
Found in the files
...Poem written as an undergraduate and heavily revised about six years later
Nothing Worth Mentioning
November house on the road to nowhere
its rusted sign for vacancy
a Northstar to compassless
young people chasing every nightmare
they never bothered mentioning.
Nine volt voices grow static
in the crackle snip snap darkness
while endlessly rehearsing
the first six verses of nothing
new under the sun.
Old people stare out of sightless
eyes at nothing--
well, nothing worth mentioning
in asphalt forests where everything
falls without sound.
Rocking chairs wear ruts
like the Oregon Trail acorss
front porches, in living rooms
with insomniac zombies
drunk on the late, late, late show.
November house on the road to nowhere
beckons with echoed chantings
and captivates fading consciousness
that comprehends
only a sinuous cycle of
death and life a single cry.
Winnowed minds gone amoebic
flinch dark flinch bright
to the shifting light of a mythic lie
and Carl Jung, a macabre-masked face,
dances around the pyre.
...Poem written as an undergraduate and heavily revised about six years later
Nothing Worth Mentioning
November house on the road to nowhere
its rusted sign for vacancy
a Northstar to compassless
young people chasing every nightmare
they never bothered mentioning.
Nine volt voices grow static
in the crackle snip snap darkness
while endlessly rehearsing
the first six verses of nothing
new under the sun.
Old people stare out of sightless
eyes at nothing--
well, nothing worth mentioning
in asphalt forests where everything
falls without sound.
Rocking chairs wear ruts
like the Oregon Trail acorss
front porches, in living rooms
with insomniac zombies
drunk on the late, late, late show.
November house on the road to nowhere
beckons with echoed chantings
and captivates fading consciousness
that comprehends
only a sinuous cycle of
death and life a single cry.
Winnowed minds gone amoebic
flinch dark flinch bright
to the shifting light of a mythic lie
and Carl Jung, a macabre-masked face,
dances around the pyre.
5.08.2004
Teen reading
We are planning to run a summer reading contest at our church library for kids and teens. We hope to increase use of the library through this event. To really do that, however, we need to have adequate materials for our young patrons to check out.
With the under 12 set, we have a pretty big collection, including some large series like Trailblazers, Sugar Creek Gang, Mandie, Heroes of the Faith. What concerns me is how little fiction we have for teens.
I don't want to fill the shelves with nothing but Christianized romance novels. I know we can reorganzie materials a little and point teens to some of the general fiction, which includes authors like George MacDonald, Stephen Lawhead, Walter Wangerin, Jan Karon, J.R.R. Tolkein and Charles Williams. Is there any other good fiction that's appropriate for 12-16 year olds that would be good to add to our collection?
I've begun compiling a list of books that kids could get from the public library that are not so explicitly Christian but still good. They include selected works from authors like Katherine Paterson and Madeline L'Engle. Suggestions for this list would also be appreciated.
We are planning to run a summer reading contest at our church library for kids and teens. We hope to increase use of the library through this event. To really do that, however, we need to have adequate materials for our young patrons to check out.
With the under 12 set, we have a pretty big collection, including some large series like Trailblazers, Sugar Creek Gang, Mandie, Heroes of the Faith. What concerns me is how little fiction we have for teens.
I don't want to fill the shelves with nothing but Christianized romance novels. I know we can reorganzie materials a little and point teens to some of the general fiction, which includes authors like George MacDonald, Stephen Lawhead, Walter Wangerin, Jan Karon, J.R.R. Tolkein and Charles Williams. Is there any other good fiction that's appropriate for 12-16 year olds that would be good to add to our collection?
I've begun compiling a list of books that kids could get from the public library that are not so explicitly Christian but still good. They include selected works from authors like Katherine Paterson and Madeline L'Engle. Suggestions for this list would also be appreciated.
5.03.2004
Choral life
Choir rehearsals have been much more intense lately. We're gearing up for our church's big 175th anniversary concert at the Kimmel Center on May 18.
One of the pieces we're singing was commissioned from Philadelphia composer Kile Smith, who has a pretty extensive repertoire of sacred music under his belt. Using Psalm 46 as the text, the piece has lots of syncopation and modernist harmonics--reminds me somewhat of Arvo Pärt. It splits into as many as 10 parts in places. Tough stuff to learn, but as we hammer out pitches and rhythms, it's really growing on me.
The concert itself is free, though all of the seats "sold out" months ago. Therefore, our director is opening the dress rehearsal to the public. If anyone is in or near the Philly area, you're welcome to come to Verizon Hall at the Kimmel Center to hear us on Monday, May 17. I'll post the time as soon as I find out.
Choir rehearsals have been much more intense lately. We're gearing up for our church's big 175th anniversary concert at the Kimmel Center on May 18.
One of the pieces we're singing was commissioned from Philadelphia composer Kile Smith, who has a pretty extensive repertoire of sacred music under his belt. Using Psalm 46 as the text, the piece has lots of syncopation and modernist harmonics--reminds me somewhat of Arvo Pärt. It splits into as many as 10 parts in places. Tough stuff to learn, but as we hammer out pitches and rhythms, it's really growing on me.
The concert itself is free, though all of the seats "sold out" months ago. Therefore, our director is opening the dress rehearsal to the public. If anyone is in or near the Philly area, you're welcome to come to Verizon Hall at the Kimmel Center to hear us on Monday, May 17. I'll post the time as soon as I find out.
4.20.2004
Great tease
Claire's early fascination with the potty--opening and closing the lid, pretend play with seating and wiping her teddy bears--has gone to the next level. Over the weekend she successfully used the potty for the first time. I think it's really just a big tease though. She hasn't shown the signs of being physiologically ready, despite her emotional eagerness to be a big girl.
Now that I think about it, of the nearly 100 kids I've worked with in the church toddler room over the years, only one potty trained before age 2. I really don't expect to be out of diaper land any time soon.
Claire's early fascination with the potty--opening and closing the lid, pretend play with seating and wiping her teddy bears--has gone to the next level. Over the weekend she successfully used the potty for the first time. I think it's really just a big tease though. She hasn't shown the signs of being physiologically ready, despite her emotional eagerness to be a big girl.
Now that I think about it, of the nearly 100 kids I've worked with in the church toddler room over the years, only one potty trained before age 2. I really don't expect to be out of diaper land any time soon.
4.11.2004
Truncated violin
Last night we watched a video of The Red Violin, which we'd checked out of the library. Unfortunately, in one of the scenes the tape got weird--possibly because of a repaired rip--and we're not entirely sure what happened.
Has anyone who has seen this film remember what happens near the end of the segment with the 19th century virtuoso Frederick Pope? At one moment, his author girlfriend is returning from a research trip to Russia, the next thing we see, she pulls a gun on Pope, fires a shot and the violin flies up in the air. Then a voiceover of Pope says he plans to commit suicide and leave his estate to the girlfriend.
Can someone explain what's missing and why the girlfriend pulled out the gun? I'm sure it's important to understanding the plot. Thanks!
Last night we watched a video of The Red Violin, which we'd checked out of the library. Unfortunately, in one of the scenes the tape got weird--possibly because of a repaired rip--and we're not entirely sure what happened.
Has anyone who has seen this film remember what happens near the end of the segment with the 19th century virtuoso Frederick Pope? At one moment, his author girlfriend is returning from a research trip to Russia, the next thing we see, she pulls a gun on Pope, fires a shot and the violin flies up in the air. Then a voiceover of Pope says he plans to commit suicide and leave his estate to the girlfriend.
Can someone explain what's missing and why the girlfriend pulled out the gun? I'm sure it's important to understanding the plot. Thanks!
4.04.2004
Junior chefs
It's occasionally worth making a special trip to the ritzy Main Line just to hit the thrift shops where the well-heeled dump their "junk." Some of these places' "thrift store prices" seem like delusions of grandeur, but I've occassionally scored some serious bargains.
Over the weekend I found a big Fisher Price play kitchen for a mere $5. It's not in mint condition, but I can live with no microwave door for such a great price. A similar used toy was on eBay for $30. Play kitchens sell for $40 to $120 new.
Seeing Claire enjoy the new toy got me thinking about my childhood play kitchen. Aside from a plastic and a ceramic tea set and some baking pans that were new, all of it was handed-down stuff. Some of the furniture and utensils came from my much-older sister (1950s toys), others were frankly "extreme hand-me-downs" from my mother. I played with Mom's 1930s all-metal stove, and iron that at one point could actually be used to press doll clothes, and a well-constructed dish hutch with an enameled steel countertop.
When I got a Holly Hobby Easy Bake oven for my 8th birthday, I didn't like it nearly as well as Mom's old toy stove. For all its attempt at charm, the plastic 1970's faux potbellied stove just wasn't as cute or imaginatively functional. Mom's stove was made from tin, had curvy legs, two little burners and an oven door that opened and closed. When Mom was little she could plug in the stove and, I suppose, bake tiny cakes in it. Someone had removed the cord at some point in the 40 years before it became mine.
Today's toys are safer. No one today would think of giving a child a working iron as a toy, for example. I really don't think they're very well made, however. Plastic cleans well, but wood, steel and tin can last for generations.
Despite being made from cheaper materials, today's toys are so expensive because they come with so many bells and whistles that seem to discourage imagination rather than encourage it. I read a number of reviews on the amazon-toys R us site in which parents complained about toy kitchens being "bossy" and telling the child how to play. Many said they removed the batteries so their kids would actually enjoy the toy. Imagine paying $120 for something, then disabling the most expensive component. That's not my idea of intelligent design.
It's occasionally worth making a special trip to the ritzy Main Line just to hit the thrift shops where the well-heeled dump their "junk." Some of these places' "thrift store prices" seem like delusions of grandeur, but I've occassionally scored some serious bargains.
Over the weekend I found a big Fisher Price play kitchen for a mere $5. It's not in mint condition, but I can live with no microwave door for such a great price. A similar used toy was on eBay for $30. Play kitchens sell for $40 to $120 new.
Seeing Claire enjoy the new toy got me thinking about my childhood play kitchen. Aside from a plastic and a ceramic tea set and some baking pans that were new, all of it was handed-down stuff. Some of the furniture and utensils came from my much-older sister (1950s toys), others were frankly "extreme hand-me-downs" from my mother. I played with Mom's 1930s all-metal stove, and iron that at one point could actually be used to press doll clothes, and a well-constructed dish hutch with an enameled steel countertop.
When I got a Holly Hobby Easy Bake oven for my 8th birthday, I didn't like it nearly as well as Mom's old toy stove. For all its attempt at charm, the plastic 1970's faux potbellied stove just wasn't as cute or imaginatively functional. Mom's stove was made from tin, had curvy legs, two little burners and an oven door that opened and closed. When Mom was little she could plug in the stove and, I suppose, bake tiny cakes in it. Someone had removed the cord at some point in the 40 years before it became mine.
Today's toys are safer. No one today would think of giving a child a working iron as a toy, for example. I really don't think they're very well made, however. Plastic cleans well, but wood, steel and tin can last for generations.
Despite being made from cheaper materials, today's toys are so expensive because they come with so many bells and whistles that seem to discourage imagination rather than encourage it. I read a number of reviews on the amazon-toys R us site in which parents complained about toy kitchens being "bossy" and telling the child how to play. Many said they removed the batteries so their kids would actually enjoy the toy. Imagine paying $120 for something, then disabling the most expensive component. That's not my idea of intelligent design.
3.31.2004
In the name of the Telly, and the Ernie...
Teaching catechism to the under-two set does present some unique challenges. Toddlers' short attention span and tendency to fixate on a favorite thing, for example, can frustrate many a well-intentioned parent.
Here's how a session went at our house:
Joel: Claire, who made you?
Claire: Elmo
Seriously, though, we are planning to use the PCUSA catechism "Belonging to God" rather than the "Catechism for Young Children" that the PCA uses. This is largely because it uses more concrete language and does a good job of explaining salvation history in a straightforward way. We also like the way it personalizes the material, placing the child in the story of salvation and the church, rather than stating fairly abstract theological ideas.
Teaching catechism to the under-two set does present some unique challenges. Toddlers' short attention span and tendency to fixate on a favorite thing, for example, can frustrate many a well-intentioned parent.
Here's how a session went at our house:
Joel: Claire, who made you?
Claire: Elmo
Seriously, though, we are planning to use the PCUSA catechism "Belonging to God" rather than the "Catechism for Young Children" that the PCA uses. This is largely because it uses more concrete language and does a good job of explaining salvation history in a straightforward way. We also like the way it personalizes the material, placing the child in the story of salvation and the church, rather than stating fairly abstract theological ideas.
3.27.2004
3.23.2004
Time to sow
I've just started my seedlings for what I hope to be a more bountiful garden than last year. I know logically that the seeds will take over a week to germinate, but I can't seem to resist peeking at them every day.
I remember some of my earliest gardening endeavors working with my mom. She kept an enormous vegetable garden, as well as an herb garden and a big, scary raspberry patch. I knew that winter was nearly over when mom planned an outing to the agriculture center. There she picked up envelopes of seeds--some lumpy with promise, others suspiciously lightweight. I loved exploring the store and discovering that Purina made not only Cat Chow, like I fed our tangle of barncats, but also Rabbit Chow and Goat Chow.
It was always a thrill to watch the first signs of life from those hard seeds--one leaf, then two, poking up from the soil. How tender the tiny new plants were. I hated the scary week or so that the plants sat in the cold frame adjusting to the outdoors and "hardening off." Many wouldn't survive the ordeal. But those that did were soon lined up like soldiers in their new soil homes under mom's watchful eye.
I never have and never will like the weeding and mosquitos of midsummer, but I'm still captivated by spring's small magic waiting in a little pack of seeds.
I've just started my seedlings for what I hope to be a more bountiful garden than last year. I know logically that the seeds will take over a week to germinate, but I can't seem to resist peeking at them every day.
I remember some of my earliest gardening endeavors working with my mom. She kept an enormous vegetable garden, as well as an herb garden and a big, scary raspberry patch. I knew that winter was nearly over when mom planned an outing to the agriculture center. There she picked up envelopes of seeds--some lumpy with promise, others suspiciously lightweight. I loved exploring the store and discovering that Purina made not only Cat Chow, like I fed our tangle of barncats, but also Rabbit Chow and Goat Chow.
It was always a thrill to watch the first signs of life from those hard seeds--one leaf, then two, poking up from the soil. How tender the tiny new plants were. I hated the scary week or so that the plants sat in the cold frame adjusting to the outdoors and "hardening off." Many wouldn't survive the ordeal. But those that did were soon lined up like soldiers in their new soil homes under mom's watchful eye.
I never have and never will like the weeding and mosquitos of midsummer, but I'm still captivated by spring's small magic waiting in a little pack of seeds.
3.18.2004
Puzzles
Dear readers, I'm ashamed that I've had so little to blog about. So it's time to crack out some of the lint that has been gathering in my brain.
Questions that puzzle me:
* Whatever happened to Michael Dukakis?
* Why do the media talk about "sex abuse" and "terror attacks" instead of "sexual abuse" and "terrorist attacks"?
* What were the parents of famous cellist Mr. Ma thinking when they named their son "Yo Yo"?
* Why isn't lamb more readily available in American supermarkets?
* Why does the crew that replaced our water mains spend only two hours a day repairing the street they tore up?
* Is low-carb ice cream really as disgusting as it sounds?
Dear readers, I'm ashamed that I've had so little to blog about. So it's time to crack out some of the lint that has been gathering in my brain.
Questions that puzzle me:
* Whatever happened to Michael Dukakis?
* Why do the media talk about "sex abuse" and "terror attacks" instead of "sexual abuse" and "terrorist attacks"?
* What were the parents of famous cellist Mr. Ma thinking when they named their son "Yo Yo"?
* Why isn't lamb more readily available in American supermarkets?
* Why does the crew that replaced our water mains spend only two hours a day repairing the street they tore up?
* Is low-carb ice cream really as disgusting as it sounds?
3.12.2004
More mysterious toddler behavior deciphered
Last night Claire had a huge meltdown when we tried to feed her dinner. A dinner guest was due to arrive and we figured our little one wouldn't want to postpone eating until the guest came. I sat her at the kitchen counter and started doling out food. She instantly became insensed, screaming and hurling food at us. She was freaking out so bad I thought she was going to vomit.
I pulled her out of the high chair and took her to the dining room to give her more space to have her tantrum. The screaming and gagging continued for several minutes. I tried holding her and that calmed her down. Finally, we moved to the living room and I read her a book as her post-crying hiccups abated.
She played until our guest arrived, then showed interest in eating in the dining room with us. Eventually she ate happily in her booster seat, the guest none the wiser about her previous outburst.
Tonight she again threw a fit over dinner. When Joel and I sat down to eat, I put Claire in her booster seat in the dining room, attached the tray and put a bowl of food in front of her. Again, she angrily threw food, cried, screamed and gagged.
We let her down, figuring she wasn't ready to eat yet. After a prolonged jag of kicking and crying, she calmed down and showed interest in eating. I put her in the booster seat, no problem. Then I attached the tray. More screaming and food throwing, then she kicked off the tray. I looked at Joel in exasperation. A look of sudden inspiration flashed across his face.
"Honey, do you want to sit close to the table with Mommy and Daddy?" he asked, pulling her booster seat up to the table.
The tears instantly stopped. I pulled a placemat out and put it under her bowl. She very happily ate, proudly practicing with her toddler fork.
All she really wanted was to eat at the table like she'd seen her little friend Ezra do at our playdate Wednesday morning. The fact that she'd pointed to the booster seat on Wednesday evening and said "Ezra" (okay, she calls him "Yeah-ruh") didn't mean much to me at the time. Now I realize she was trying to tell me she wanted to emulate how he eats.
Joel says it was the tray kicking that finally cued him in. He figured these tantrums were caused by simple frustration. She wanted something and couldn't get us to understand what that desire was.
I think we'd better brace ourselves for a whole lot of "I do it myself" in the coming months.
Last night Claire had a huge meltdown when we tried to feed her dinner. A dinner guest was due to arrive and we figured our little one wouldn't want to postpone eating until the guest came. I sat her at the kitchen counter and started doling out food. She instantly became insensed, screaming and hurling food at us. She was freaking out so bad I thought she was going to vomit.
I pulled her out of the high chair and took her to the dining room to give her more space to have her tantrum. The screaming and gagging continued for several minutes. I tried holding her and that calmed her down. Finally, we moved to the living room and I read her a book as her post-crying hiccups abated.
She played until our guest arrived, then showed interest in eating in the dining room with us. Eventually she ate happily in her booster seat, the guest none the wiser about her previous outburst.
Tonight she again threw a fit over dinner. When Joel and I sat down to eat, I put Claire in her booster seat in the dining room, attached the tray and put a bowl of food in front of her. Again, she angrily threw food, cried, screamed and gagged.
We let her down, figuring she wasn't ready to eat yet. After a prolonged jag of kicking and crying, she calmed down and showed interest in eating. I put her in the booster seat, no problem. Then I attached the tray. More screaming and food throwing, then she kicked off the tray. I looked at Joel in exasperation. A look of sudden inspiration flashed across his face.
"Honey, do you want to sit close to the table with Mommy and Daddy?" he asked, pulling her booster seat up to the table.
The tears instantly stopped. I pulled a placemat out and put it under her bowl. She very happily ate, proudly practicing with her toddler fork.
All she really wanted was to eat at the table like she'd seen her little friend Ezra do at our playdate Wednesday morning. The fact that she'd pointed to the booster seat on Wednesday evening and said "Ezra" (okay, she calls him "Yeah-ruh") didn't mean much to me at the time. Now I realize she was trying to tell me she wanted to emulate how he eats.
Joel says it was the tray kicking that finally cued him in. He figured these tantrums were caused by simple frustration. She wanted something and couldn't get us to understand what that desire was.
I think we'd better brace ourselves for a whole lot of "I do it myself" in the coming months.
3.06.2004
A new voice
As the pediatrician predicted earlier this week, Claire began the odyssey into sentences. As a parent, you always dream that your child's first sentence will be something charming and sweet like "I love you" or "me hug mommy."
Yesterday, we learned that the tyrrany of desire is what really takes precedence in learning to communicate. Not much enjoying what was on offer for dinner, Claire angrily yelled "I WANT NANNY [banana]!"
Sigh. Someday I'll rate higher than fruit.
As the pediatrician predicted earlier this week, Claire began the odyssey into sentences. As a parent, you always dream that your child's first sentence will be something charming and sweet like "I love you" or "me hug mommy."
Yesterday, we learned that the tyrrany of desire is what really takes precedence in learning to communicate. Not much enjoying what was on offer for dinner, Claire angrily yelled "I WANT NANNY [banana]!"
Sigh. Someday I'll rate higher than fruit.
3.04.2004
Rogue patrons, beware...
Putting the final touches on our annual report for the church library with our co-librarians, Joel and I started brainstorming ideas to deal with the perennial problem of overdues. The idea of advertising an "amnesty month" seemed appealing. We don't charge fines, so that's not really the issue. It's more that patrons are ashamed of having held onto something that belongs to the church for ages.
So it's getting late as we talk about this, and Joel is becoming more punchy by the minute. "Forget amnesty, we're too soft on these booksnatchers," he says. "You want the library books back? This is what we announce." [with appologies to Pres. Bush's Iraqi Freedom speechwriters]
NO MORE FRIKKIN LIBRARY AMNESTY
My fellow Tenth members, at this hour, diaconal forces are in the early stages of library operations to retrieve overdue books, to free them their borrowers and to defend us from this grave danger.
On my orders, diaconal forces have begun striking selected targets of library importance to undermine overdue borrower’s ability to retain books. These are opening stages of what will be a broad and concerted campaign. More than 35 ministries are giving crucial support -- from the use of office space, to help with intelligence and logistics, to the deployment of diaconal units. Every ministry in this coalition has chosen to bear the duty and share the honor of serving in our common library defense.
To all the men and women of the diaconate now in people’s homes, the peace of a troubled library and the hopes of an oppressed congregation now depend on you. That trust is well placed.
The enemies you confront will come to know your skill and bravery. The books you liberate will witness the honorable and decent spirit of the Tenth diaconate. In this conflict, Tenth faces an enemy who has no regard for conventions of book-borrowing or rules of book-return.
I want the members of Tenth and all the world to know that diaconal forces will make every effort to spare innocent civilians from harm.
Our church enters this conflict reluctantly -- yet, our purpose is sure. The people of Tenth and our friends and allies will not live at the mercy of outlaw library patrons that threaten the peace with wanton disregard for our return policy.
Now that conflict has come, the only way to limit its duration is to apply decisive force. And I assure you, this will not be a campaign of half measures, and we will accept no outcome but victory.
My fellow Tenth members, the dangers to our library and our church will be overcome. We will pass through this time of peril and carry on the work of peace. We will defend our collection. We will bring freedom to our books and we will prevail.
May God bless our library and all who defend her.
Putting the final touches on our annual report for the church library with our co-librarians, Joel and I started brainstorming ideas to deal with the perennial problem of overdues. The idea of advertising an "amnesty month" seemed appealing. We don't charge fines, so that's not really the issue. It's more that patrons are ashamed of having held onto something that belongs to the church for ages.
So it's getting late as we talk about this, and Joel is becoming more punchy by the minute. "Forget amnesty, we're too soft on these booksnatchers," he says. "You want the library books back? This is what we announce." [with appologies to Pres. Bush's Iraqi Freedom speechwriters]
NO MORE FRIKKIN LIBRARY AMNESTY
My fellow Tenth members, at this hour, diaconal forces are in the early stages of library operations to retrieve overdue books, to free them their borrowers and to defend us from this grave danger.
On my orders, diaconal forces have begun striking selected targets of library importance to undermine overdue borrower’s ability to retain books. These are opening stages of what will be a broad and concerted campaign. More than 35 ministries are giving crucial support -- from the use of office space, to help with intelligence and logistics, to the deployment of diaconal units. Every ministry in this coalition has chosen to bear the duty and share the honor of serving in our common library defense.
To all the men and women of the diaconate now in people’s homes, the peace of a troubled library and the hopes of an oppressed congregation now depend on you. That trust is well placed.
The enemies you confront will come to know your skill and bravery. The books you liberate will witness the honorable and decent spirit of the Tenth diaconate. In this conflict, Tenth faces an enemy who has no regard for conventions of book-borrowing or rules of book-return.
I want the members of Tenth and all the world to know that diaconal forces will make every effort to spare innocent civilians from harm.
Our church enters this conflict reluctantly -- yet, our purpose is sure. The people of Tenth and our friends and allies will not live at the mercy of outlaw library patrons that threaten the peace with wanton disregard for our return policy.
Now that conflict has come, the only way to limit its duration is to apply decisive force. And I assure you, this will not be a campaign of half measures, and we will accept no outcome but victory.
My fellow Tenth members, the dangers to our library and our church will be overcome. We will pass through this time of peril and carry on the work of peace. We will defend our collection. We will bring freedom to our books and we will prevail.
May God bless our library and all who defend her.
3.01.2004
Stargazing
I was a little disappointed that only some of the cast of Return of the King attended the Oscars. I would have liked to see David Wenham again. And Bernard Hill.
I think on screen, David Wenham is better looking than Sean Bean, or at least looks far better in a wig. Sean Bean is perhaps better looking in real life. He's kind of old though.
Okay, here's my true confession. I have Faramir wallpaper on my computer. Really, it's the character that I like, largely as portrayed in the books. When I boot up, I do this little chant-- "Fair-a-mir! Fair-a-mir!"--and Joel glowers at me.
LOL, I can hear the lectures now about what a bad wife I am....
I was a little disappointed that only some of the cast of Return of the King attended the Oscars. I would have liked to see David Wenham again. And Bernard Hill.
I think on screen, David Wenham is better looking than Sean Bean, or at least looks far better in a wig. Sean Bean is perhaps better looking in real life. He's kind of old though.
Okay, here's my true confession. I have Faramir wallpaper on my computer. Really, it's the character that I like, largely as portrayed in the books. When I boot up, I do this little chant-- "Fair-a-mir! Fair-a-mir!"--and Joel glowers at me.
LOL, I can hear the lectures now about what a bad wife I am....
2.29.2004
Springy
What a wonderful gift to get a little sip of spring today. Our dog Nicky (or as Claire says, "Gicky") and I took a nice long stroll in the woods this afternoon, squishing in mud from a final melt and enjoying the sunny low-60s weather. Odd how 60s weather felt so cold in Florida a few weeks ago, while here it feels like a heat wave.
It did my heart good to see a patch of wild snowdrops while letting Nicky take a big slurpy drink from a little spring-fed rivulet that feeds into the creek.
It's nearly time to start seedlings inside. Mmm seed shopping...Peas, zucchini, bell peppers, and if I'm really brave, tomatoes.
Is there some sort of secret, all you green thumbs, to starting tomatoes from seed? My two prior attempts were total failures.
What a wonderful gift to get a little sip of spring today. Our dog Nicky (or as Claire says, "Gicky") and I took a nice long stroll in the woods this afternoon, squishing in mud from a final melt and enjoying the sunny low-60s weather. Odd how 60s weather felt so cold in Florida a few weeks ago, while here it feels like a heat wave.
It did my heart good to see a patch of wild snowdrops while letting Nicky take a big slurpy drink from a little spring-fed rivulet that feeds into the creek.
It's nearly time to start seedlings inside. Mmm seed shopping...Peas, zucchini, bell peppers, and if I'm really brave, tomatoes.
Is there some sort of secret, all you green thumbs, to starting tomatoes from seed? My two prior attempts were total failures.
2.24.2004
Tripping
Yesterday morning, I let Claire watch a little kids' programming on PBS while I organized laundry. When I returned to the room, she was sitting on the couch completely mesmerized by this very, very strange program called "Boohbah."
Boohbah makes Teletubbies look like Shakespeare. I really think you need to be under age 2 or a drug user to fully appreciate it. Almost no talking occurs during the program. For a good portion of the show, a glowing ball with a rainbow trail bounces around while children's voices say "Booh-bah" repeatedly and giggle.
The ball eventually lands and these five freaky creatures come out. They have turtle-like retractable kewpie-doll heads--but no mouth or nose--and bulbous bodies in rainbow shades. These creatures would have been the stuff of nightmares for me as a kid. They never, ever talk. They just roll their eyes from side to side with a clicking sound. Creepy. They do occasionally squeak and sing five-note chords. And they dance a lot. In fact, about all they do is dance. How children are supposed to learn anything from watching these singing rainbow freaks gyrate and sway is a total mystery to me.
One segment of the show has normal humans who do stuff--with minimal talking. The episode I saw, Grandpapa and dog Fido race back and forth between two armchairs. Fido always gets to sit while Grandpapa is repeatedly perplexed. Long, boring and stupid.
The Boohbahs dance again for a while, then climb back into the ball. The ball bounces along with its rainbow trail, then hits the ground and creates a rainbow puddle when a child's voice calls "Look what I can do." Next we get to watch a child do some repetitive motion (e.g. touching elbows to knees) for like three minutes straight while standing on the rainbow puddle. And then a group for another three minutes, then another lone kid for yet another three minutes. Mesmerizingly dull.
Please, PBS, bring back "The Electric Company" and ditch this British bad trip.
Yesterday morning, I let Claire watch a little kids' programming on PBS while I organized laundry. When I returned to the room, she was sitting on the couch completely mesmerized by this very, very strange program called "Boohbah."
Boohbah makes Teletubbies look like Shakespeare. I really think you need to be under age 2 or a drug user to fully appreciate it. Almost no talking occurs during the program. For a good portion of the show, a glowing ball with a rainbow trail bounces around while children's voices say "Booh-bah" repeatedly and giggle.
The ball eventually lands and these five freaky creatures come out. They have turtle-like retractable kewpie-doll heads--but no mouth or nose--and bulbous bodies in rainbow shades. These creatures would have been the stuff of nightmares for me as a kid. They never, ever talk. They just roll their eyes from side to side with a clicking sound. Creepy. They do occasionally squeak and sing five-note chords. And they dance a lot. In fact, about all they do is dance. How children are supposed to learn anything from watching these singing rainbow freaks gyrate and sway is a total mystery to me.
One segment of the show has normal humans who do stuff--with minimal talking. The episode I saw, Grandpapa and dog Fido race back and forth between two armchairs. Fido always gets to sit while Grandpapa is repeatedly perplexed. Long, boring and stupid.
The Boohbahs dance again for a while, then climb back into the ball. The ball bounces along with its rainbow trail, then hits the ground and creates a rainbow puddle when a child's voice calls "Look what I can do." Next we get to watch a child do some repetitive motion (e.g. touching elbows to knees) for like three minutes straight while standing on the rainbow puddle. And then a group for another three minutes, then another lone kid for yet another three minutes. Mesmerizingly dull.
Please, PBS, bring back "The Electric Company" and ditch this British bad trip.
Ahhh
The banquet last Friday was a big success. Around 130 ladies attended. The food was better than I've had at many wedding receptions, for a fraction of the cost. Nothing but raves from these women church leaders during and after. The ladies loved our theme of "You are a treasure." I was a little worried that naming the tables after gemstones might seem a little hokey, but it actually did work out to be kind of nice. The centerpieces were gold-painted boxes with rose arrangements and jewelry spilling out. In candlelight, the effect was quite lovely.
Saturday I was pretty wasted and napped away the entire afternoon. Sunday and Monday, the fog of fatigue gradually lifted.
I have my life back again.
Now what do I have to look forward to?
I need another project.
The banquet last Friday was a big success. Around 130 ladies attended. The food was better than I've had at many wedding receptions, for a fraction of the cost. Nothing but raves from these women church leaders during and after. The ladies loved our theme of "You are a treasure." I was a little worried that naming the tables after gemstones might seem a little hokey, but it actually did work out to be kind of nice. The centerpieces were gold-painted boxes with rose arrangements and jewelry spilling out. In candlelight, the effect was quite lovely.
Saturday I was pretty wasted and napped away the entire afternoon. Sunday and Monday, the fog of fatigue gradually lifted.
I have my life back again.
Now what do I have to look forward to?
I need another project.
2.11.2004
Nuts in the family tree
Part of the reason I'd wanted to go the Ringling Museum last week was to find information about my great grandfather. Like the old cliche, he actually did run off and join the circus.
Well, technically he started in a Wild West show. Mom has very little information because he was something of a verboten topic when she was growing up. You see, my great grandad left my nana in 1903 with a three-year-old (my grandmother) and an infant (Great Uncle Bob). Though he had primarily worked as a tailor, great grandad was a horse enthusiast and loved training animals. He initially ran off to work as a horse trainer in a Vaudeville-era Wild West show.
What happened with his career over the next 20+ years is something of a mystery. We know that after divorcing my nana, he married a trick rider. She apparently kept up a correspondence with Great Uncle Bob's family. In one postcard, dated 1929, this second wife mentions having dinner with the Ringlings at their mansion in Sarasota and being glad they joined Ringling Bros. Circus in 1928.
The only thing Mom and I found at the circus museum was a 1929 series of headshots of all the circus employees. We spend about a half hour poring over the somewhat grainy shots and narrowed it down to one man who looked most like the photos we had of great grandad.
Mom had chatted with an archivist from the museum before I went down and did get a little more information about his life before Ringling Bros. The archivist uncovered a mid-1920's playbill from a smaller family-owned circus that listed great grandad and his second wife. Surprisingly, she was not merely a bareback rider, but also a trainer of "liberty horses" (riderless animals that perform to whip cues). Great grandad had an act called "football horses." I'm hoping to discover more from the links provided by the nice Ringling Museum archivist.
For now, I know for sure that I have horses in the blood! :-)
Part of the reason I'd wanted to go the Ringling Museum last week was to find information about my great grandfather. Like the old cliche, he actually did run off and join the circus.
Well, technically he started in a Wild West show. Mom has very little information because he was something of a verboten topic when she was growing up. You see, my great grandad left my nana in 1903 with a three-year-old (my grandmother) and an infant (Great Uncle Bob). Though he had primarily worked as a tailor, great grandad was a horse enthusiast and loved training animals. He initially ran off to work as a horse trainer in a Vaudeville-era Wild West show.
What happened with his career over the next 20+ years is something of a mystery. We know that after divorcing my nana, he married a trick rider. She apparently kept up a correspondence with Great Uncle Bob's family. In one postcard, dated 1929, this second wife mentions having dinner with the Ringlings at their mansion in Sarasota and being glad they joined Ringling Bros. Circus in 1928.
The only thing Mom and I found at the circus museum was a 1929 series of headshots of all the circus employees. We spend about a half hour poring over the somewhat grainy shots and narrowed it down to one man who looked most like the photos we had of great grandad.
Mom had chatted with an archivist from the museum before I went down and did get a little more information about his life before Ringling Bros. The archivist uncovered a mid-1920's playbill from a smaller family-owned circus that listed great grandad and his second wife. Surprisingly, she was not merely a bareback rider, but also a trainer of "liberty horses" (riderless animals that perform to whip cues). Great grandad had an act called "football horses." I'm hoping to discover more from the links provided by the nice Ringling Museum archivist.
For now, I know for sure that I have horses in the blood! :-)
Banquet
Banquet details are falling into place for our event next weekend. The caterer has been very, very chatty on the phone, but aside from talking my ear off, he has been no problem at all to work with. My decorating ideas finally gelled and I started purchasing what I need.
The only big concern now is the fact that over 100 invitees have not sent back their RSVP postcard. Responses are due by Friday, so I hope we hear from these folks!
Banquet details are falling into place for our event next weekend. The caterer has been very, very chatty on the phone, but aside from talking my ear off, he has been no problem at all to work with. My decorating ideas finally gelled and I started purchasing what I need.
The only big concern now is the fact that over 100 invitees have not sent back their RSVP postcard. Responses are due by Friday, so I hope we hear from these folks!
2.07.2004
Out of place
My mom and I drove up to Sarasota for Thursday and Friday to visit my former piano teacher and see the Ringling Museum.
We took Donna out to a restaurant she recommended, Dutch Heritage. To my surprise, the place was run by Mennonites, and nearly half of the clientele was Mennonite. It seemed really incongruous to see men in black suspenders and mustache-less beards with wives in cape dresses and starched bonnets walking among the palm trees. They seem more "right" back in Pennsylvania living in rich farmland and rolling hills.
I never would have guessed that Sarasota, home to winter quarters for the circus, would have a substantial community of conservative Mennonites. You try to get away, and home comes to you!
My mom and I drove up to Sarasota for Thursday and Friday to visit my former piano teacher and see the Ringling Museum.
We took Donna out to a restaurant she recommended, Dutch Heritage. To my surprise, the place was run by Mennonites, and nearly half of the clientele was Mennonite. It seemed really incongruous to see men in black suspenders and mustache-less beards with wives in cape dresses and starched bonnets walking among the palm trees. They seem more "right" back in Pennsylvania living in rich farmland and rolling hills.
I never would have guessed that Sarasota, home to winter quarters for the circus, would have a substantial community of conservative Mennonites. You try to get away, and home comes to you!
2.03.2004
Migration
Tomorrow I hope to banish my blahs by flying to see my mom in Florida. You'd think with a trip south to look forward to, I wouldn't have been so mopey the past month.
The best part of this trip--and simultaneously one of the harder aspects--is that I get to go BY MYSELF. Yup. You heard me right. My wonderful husband said that I deserve a real vacation and that we should be able to find babysitting for a few days.
So Claire will be spending time with her grammy and two of my girlfriends the three days Joel is teaching and I'm away (all free! how cool is that?). He'll get to experience single parenting over the weekend. I did it for two weeks when my father got sick, so I know it won't be the easiest time for him. Fortunately, he gets to be single parent in his own home, rather than away from home.
Now I just need to figure out where I stored my swimsuit for the winter....
Tomorrow I hope to banish my blahs by flying to see my mom in Florida. You'd think with a trip south to look forward to, I wouldn't have been so mopey the past month.
The best part of this trip--and simultaneously one of the harder aspects--is that I get to go BY MYSELF. Yup. You heard me right. My wonderful husband said that I deserve a real vacation and that we should be able to find babysitting for a few days.
So Claire will be spending time with her grammy and two of my girlfriends the three days Joel is teaching and I'm away (all free! how cool is that?). He'll get to experience single parenting over the weekend. I did it for two weeks when my father got sick, so I know it won't be the easiest time for him. Fortunately, he gets to be single parent in his own home, rather than away from home.
Now I just need to figure out where I stored my swimsuit for the winter....
1.28.2004
Blahs
Anyone else out there feeling it? You know, the winter blahs? It keeps me from blogging. Really. I'm reading a couple of great books right now, but I feel too blah to blog about them. And Claire is being so cute, but do I write that? Nah.
January is one of those months when I most doubt that I have anything worthwhile to post. So how do I get unstuck?
Anyone else out there feeling it? You know, the winter blahs? It keeps me from blogging. Really. I'm reading a couple of great books right now, but I feel too blah to blog about them. And Claire is being so cute, but do I write that? Nah.
January is one of those months when I most doubt that I have anything worthwhile to post. So how do I get unstuck?
1.15.2004
AWOL
I think I have been AWOL far more often than online the past month. This is mostly because I began a new project at church.
Our women's ministry is holding a banquet for women ministry leaders in February. When I'd agreed to chair the banquet committee back in September, I had no idea how much had to be hammered out behind the scenes for me to even get started. It has been a real learning experience for everyone involved.
Making a guest list for such an event was frankly a scary process. I was initially given a list of 300 guests, which would be approximately half of all women who attend or are members of the church. We have neither the seating capacity or budget to feed such a large group, so we had to start removing names. I just pray our decisions were wise and won't end up fostering a lot of bad feelings in the church.
It was a lot of fun to do graphic design work again. I think the invitations I created turned out quite nice and happily came in under budget. While I normally would have preferred starting the project months ago, I am now thankful that I didn't have this on my plate right after my father's death. The time pressure helped us avoid dawdling on decisons like paper color and the like.
Next I have to nail down details with the caterer. I'd appreciate prayers about this aspect because this person has a reputation of being tricky to work with. I have some absolutely delightful women on my committee who are happy to go to bat for me if I feel at all frustrated with the caterer, so that gives me hope for an overall good experience.
I think I have been AWOL far more often than online the past month. This is mostly because I began a new project at church.
Our women's ministry is holding a banquet for women ministry leaders in February. When I'd agreed to chair the banquet committee back in September, I had no idea how much had to be hammered out behind the scenes for me to even get started. It has been a real learning experience for everyone involved.
Making a guest list for such an event was frankly a scary process. I was initially given a list of 300 guests, which would be approximately half of all women who attend or are members of the church. We have neither the seating capacity or budget to feed such a large group, so we had to start removing names. I just pray our decisions were wise and won't end up fostering a lot of bad feelings in the church.
It was a lot of fun to do graphic design work again. I think the invitations I created turned out quite nice and happily came in under budget. While I normally would have preferred starting the project months ago, I am now thankful that I didn't have this on my plate right after my father's death. The time pressure helped us avoid dawdling on decisons like paper color and the like.
Next I have to nail down details with the caterer. I'd appreciate prayers about this aspect because this person has a reputation of being tricky to work with. I have some absolutely delightful women on my committee who are happy to go to bat for me if I feel at all frustrated with the caterer, so that gives me hope for an overall good experience.
1.06.2004
Sickly holidays
I've been pretty busy since we returned from our trip to visit family last week. It was nice to see my siblings, though under less than ideal conditions. Claire started running a fever on our drive down. After fighting through some pretty nasty traffic around Washington DC, Joel began to feel run down too.
When we arrived at my brother's house, both of them were feeling lousy. We began Claire on a 2-hour rotation between Tylenol and Motrin. A little Simply Cough helped her get to sleep. When Joel hit the hay for the night, he had the chills so bad I piled three quilts on him and he was still shivering. Claire woke every three hours throughout the night burning up with fever and screaming for "mommy, mommy, mommy."
Sunday morning my sister-in-law called around and found us an urgent care center that had Sunday hours. I had to do some hoop jumping with the insurance company to get approval for the visits. The urgent care center was fortunately not too busy. A nurse practitioner diagnosed Claire with an ear infection and Joel with a viral respiratory infection. We got prescriptions for both.
Within about 24 hours of starting antibiotics, Claire's fever finally broke and she became much more her usual self. Joel improved with lots of rest, which disappointed my nephew greatly (he wanted Uncle Joel to play soccer in the yard).
How I managed to escape illness is frankly a miracle. I'm asthmatic and very susceptible to respiratory infections. Perhaps my long illness in December gave me immunity.
Tuesday we continued south to visit another of my brothers in North Carolina. Two of my oldest nieces were there and it was fun to visit with them. Both are in their 20s and closer to me in age than most of my siblings.
They threw a New Year's party with 30 or so guests, most in their 50s. My sister-in-law warned beforehand that no one would stay until midnight. How well she knows her friends! Several asked if we could "call midnight at eleven." LOL! So, we toasted "Newfie New Year" at Newfoundland midnight. The guests promptly departed and we had all evidence of the party cleaned up before EST midnight, giving us time for a quieter family toast.
The drive home was clear sailing. If you ever have to take nasty Route 95 around Washington, New Year's Day (and Christmas Day as well) is a good time to do it. We made it from Wilson, NC to Philly in just 6 hours and 20 minutes!
I've been pretty busy since we returned from our trip to visit family last week. It was nice to see my siblings, though under less than ideal conditions. Claire started running a fever on our drive down. After fighting through some pretty nasty traffic around Washington DC, Joel began to feel run down too.
When we arrived at my brother's house, both of them were feeling lousy. We began Claire on a 2-hour rotation between Tylenol and Motrin. A little Simply Cough helped her get to sleep. When Joel hit the hay for the night, he had the chills so bad I piled three quilts on him and he was still shivering. Claire woke every three hours throughout the night burning up with fever and screaming for "mommy, mommy, mommy."
Sunday morning my sister-in-law called around and found us an urgent care center that had Sunday hours. I had to do some hoop jumping with the insurance company to get approval for the visits. The urgent care center was fortunately not too busy. A nurse practitioner diagnosed Claire with an ear infection and Joel with a viral respiratory infection. We got prescriptions for both.
Within about 24 hours of starting antibiotics, Claire's fever finally broke and she became much more her usual self. Joel improved with lots of rest, which disappointed my nephew greatly (he wanted Uncle Joel to play soccer in the yard).
How I managed to escape illness is frankly a miracle. I'm asthmatic and very susceptible to respiratory infections. Perhaps my long illness in December gave me immunity.
Tuesday we continued south to visit another of my brothers in North Carolina. Two of my oldest nieces were there and it was fun to visit with them. Both are in their 20s and closer to me in age than most of my siblings.
They threw a New Year's party with 30 or so guests, most in their 50s. My sister-in-law warned beforehand that no one would stay until midnight. How well she knows her friends! Several asked if we could "call midnight at eleven." LOL! So, we toasted "Newfie New Year" at Newfoundland midnight. The guests promptly departed and we had all evidence of the party cleaned up before EST midnight, giving us time for a quieter family toast.
The drive home was clear sailing. If you ever have to take nasty Route 95 around Washington, New Year's Day (and Christmas Day as well) is a good time to do it. We made it from Wilson, NC to Philly in just 6 hours and 20 minutes!
1.04.2004
Webcast
The webcast of our Christmas eve lessons and carols service is available online. Scroll down to the archived music events and select 12/24/03 - Christmas Eve. The prelude was performed by the Westminster Brass and the Tenth Chamber Players. Both groups accompanied the choir on several pieces later in the service.
The webcast of our Christmas eve lessons and carols service is available online. Scroll down to the archived music events and select 12/24/03 - Christmas Eve. The prelude was performed by the Westminster Brass and the Tenth Chamber Players. Both groups accompanied the choir on several pieces later in the service.
12.26.2003
Reprieve
Our best Christmas present? The "service engine" light in the car went out! Joel called the service department at the Saturn dealership this morning and they agreed that nothing of immediate concern is wrong if the light does not stay on. The mechanic said that moisture in the engine from Wednesday's torrential rains could have made the light turn on, or "sometimes the computer just hiccups."
The other great news was that Cory Kloth's wife Heather delivered three healthy babies Christmas day. The triplets are breathing on their own and reports of their birthweights seem pretty encouraging. The Kloths graciously hosted us, sight unseen, when we were in the Atlanta area in July.
Our best Christmas present? The "service engine" light in the car went out! Joel called the service department at the Saturn dealership this morning and they agreed that nothing of immediate concern is wrong if the light does not stay on. The mechanic said that moisture in the engine from Wednesday's torrential rains could have made the light turn on, or "sometimes the computer just hiccups."
The other great news was that Cory Kloth's wife Heather delivered three healthy babies Christmas day. The triplets are breathing on their own and reports of their birthweights seem pretty encouraging. The Kloths graciously hosted us, sight unseen, when we were in the Atlanta area in July.
12.24.2003
Gloria in excelsis!
Our Christmas Eve lessons and carols service went very smoothly, though I am now exhausted and a bit wheezy. Most of the service is choral piece after choral piece, and our director really put us through our paces. Singing for a packed house is rather energizing, and we had some superb brass and strings accompanying on several of the pieces. Times like these make me love being in a big church.
You can read about our repertoire here. A webcast of the service was available live. I'll post a link when the recorded version is available.
The most difficult piece we sang was Laurisden's "O magnum mysterium." Dissonance and unusual harmonics are not easy, but it also requires a lot of pianissimo, which takes tremendous breath control to achieve. It's also the longest piece we sang. It's incredibly beautiful though, with some harmonies that make the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, they're so otherworldly.
On the downside, the "service engine soon" light came on in our "new" car when we headed over to church tonight. Please pray that it's nothing serious. The car is still under warranty, but we don't want to be stuck with it in the shop for any length of time because we had planned to leave Saturday to visit some of my family.
Now, to bed!
Fröliche Weihnachten!
Our Christmas Eve lessons and carols service went very smoothly, though I am now exhausted and a bit wheezy. Most of the service is choral piece after choral piece, and our director really put us through our paces. Singing for a packed house is rather energizing, and we had some superb brass and strings accompanying on several of the pieces. Times like these make me love being in a big church.
You can read about our repertoire here. A webcast of the service was available live. I'll post a link when the recorded version is available.
The most difficult piece we sang was Laurisden's "O magnum mysterium." Dissonance and unusual harmonics are not easy, but it also requires a lot of pianissimo, which takes tremendous breath control to achieve. It's also the longest piece we sang. It's incredibly beautiful though, with some harmonies that make the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, they're so otherworldly.
On the downside, the "service engine soon" light came on in our "new" car when we headed over to church tonight. Please pray that it's nothing serious. The car is still under warranty, but we don't want to be stuck with it in the shop for any length of time because we had planned to leave Saturday to visit some of my family.
Now, to bed!
Fröliche Weihnachten!
12.22.2003
Into the homestretch
Whew, I only have one last Christmas gift project to finish up, and just a few days left. These past few weeks have been really packed between giftmaking, baking, guests and fun events.
We got to see Return of the King the day it opened, in the afternoon. We got free babysitting--always a plus. Getting to the theatre was a bit scary, as our windshield wipers were malfunctioning in the midst of a major downpour. At every red light, Joel had to hop out of the car to get the left blade back on the windshield. Fortunately, we had pre-purchased tickets and the afternoon show was not sold out.
I liked the film a lot, but I'll probably like the extended DVD better. A few of the cuts disappointed me greatly. Eowyn and Merry get short shrift when the Houses of Healing section is cut. I expected Eowyn's plotline wrap-up to get some screen time since she is so prominent in the beginning of the film. I was also disappointed that the ships' arrival at Minas Tirith was so undramatic. The whole sails unfurling bit in the book seemed to suggest a really visually stunning moment that never made it to the theatre. Sigh.
For our anniversary, Joel and I went to hear Anonymous 4, a female quartet that sings mostly Medieval and Renaissance music, as well as works and modern composers who have similarly modal harmonics. Accompanied by different types of harp, they filled the Gothic-revival church with tight harmonies and even tighter unison singing. I think I was most impressed by their ability to sound like one voice when singing unison. It's evidence of both intense rehearsing and many years together.
Whew, I only have one last Christmas gift project to finish up, and just a few days left. These past few weeks have been really packed between giftmaking, baking, guests and fun events.
We got to see Return of the King the day it opened, in the afternoon. We got free babysitting--always a plus. Getting to the theatre was a bit scary, as our windshield wipers were malfunctioning in the midst of a major downpour. At every red light, Joel had to hop out of the car to get the left blade back on the windshield. Fortunately, we had pre-purchased tickets and the afternoon show was not sold out.
I liked the film a lot, but I'll probably like the extended DVD better. A few of the cuts disappointed me greatly. Eowyn and Merry get short shrift when the Houses of Healing section is cut. I expected Eowyn's plotline wrap-up to get some screen time since she is so prominent in the beginning of the film. I was also disappointed that the ships' arrival at Minas Tirith was so undramatic. The whole sails unfurling bit in the book seemed to suggest a really visually stunning moment that never made it to the theatre. Sigh.
For our anniversary, Joel and I went to hear Anonymous 4, a female quartet that sings mostly Medieval and Renaissance music, as well as works and modern composers who have similarly modal harmonics. Accompanied by different types of harp, they filled the Gothic-revival church with tight harmonies and even tighter unison singing. I think I was most impressed by their ability to sound like one voice when singing unison. It's evidence of both intense rehearsing and many years together.
12.14.2003
Down with dictators
Listening to the radio during breakfast, we heard a long segment on the capture of Saddam Hussein. At one point in the broadcast, a crowd reacted to the news with clapping and cheering.
In response, our toddler daughter kicked her high chair tray, clapped and said "woot!"
Or should that be w00t? Only 16 months old, and she's picking up Internet chat slang. Thanks bq.
Listening to the radio during breakfast, we heard a long segment on the capture of Saddam Hussein. At one point in the broadcast, a crowd reacted to the news with clapping and cheering.
In response, our toddler daughter kicked her high chair tray, clapped and said "woot!"
Or should that be w00t? Only 16 months old, and she's picking up Internet chat slang. Thanks bq.
12.09.2003
No, I'm not dead
Though in the past 10 days or so I've felt less than lively. I caught some particularly virulent respiratory infection from my germy toddler and have been sick since the weekend after Thanksgiving. She, of course, bounced back in a few days.
Despite feeling lousy, I've been trying to finish up Christmas projects. This is probably why I'm not completely well yet. Well, that and dragging myself to very intense choir rehearsals. I'm getting very good at lip synching when I feel a cough coming on. I think I should have worked on this technique earlier in the season when I realized just how rusty I am at sight-reading.
Another dirty secret I also recently learned is that we soprano IIs can stealthily morph into the alto section when the soprano part is getting into the brittle end of our range. Believe me, if we didn't do this, people would complain. If the ladies in your choir don't know this cheat technique, please pass on the word. Let's save our churches from needless screeching and strained vocal chords.
Though in the past 10 days or so I've felt less than lively. I caught some particularly virulent respiratory infection from my germy toddler and have been sick since the weekend after Thanksgiving. She, of course, bounced back in a few days.
Despite feeling lousy, I've been trying to finish up Christmas projects. This is probably why I'm not completely well yet. Well, that and dragging myself to very intense choir rehearsals. I'm getting very good at lip synching when I feel a cough coming on. I think I should have worked on this technique earlier in the season when I realized just how rusty I am at sight-reading.
Another dirty secret I also recently learned is that we soprano IIs can stealthily morph into the alto section when the soprano part is getting into the brittle end of our range. Believe me, if we didn't do this, people would complain. If the ladies in your choir don't know this cheat technique, please pass on the word. Let's save our churches from needless screeching and strained vocal chords.
11.27.2003
Gobbled
Hard to believe it's already Thanksgiving. A month ago I flew down to Florida. Since losing my dad and returning home, I've been pretty wrapped up in time-consuming projects like buying a car, making Christmas gifts and organizing a volunteer day at the church library.
After spending a day deshelving, repairing and reorganizing the church library, I was appalled at how few books we have that are actual commentaries. Our "Christian living" section, on the other hand, is huge. (Largely, this is because we get so many donations for this category, and our funding level being what it is, we are grateful to get them.)
I'm somewhat discouraged by the types of things Christian publishers market most. If you looked at Christian Book Distributer's catalog, you'd think the only things being published are fiction and 75 versions of "Prayer of Jabez" and "Secrets of the Vine." I know that good, solid stuff is out there, but without Joel's help, I wouldn't know where to find it.
Hard to believe it's already Thanksgiving. A month ago I flew down to Florida. Since losing my dad and returning home, I've been pretty wrapped up in time-consuming projects like buying a car, making Christmas gifts and organizing a volunteer day at the church library.
After spending a day deshelving, repairing and reorganizing the church library, I was appalled at how few books we have that are actual commentaries. Our "Christian living" section, on the other hand, is huge. (Largely, this is because we get so many donations for this category, and our funding level being what it is, we are grateful to get them.)
I'm somewhat discouraged by the types of things Christian publishers market most. If you looked at Christian Book Distributer's catalog, you'd think the only things being published are fiction and 75 versions of "Prayer of Jabez" and "Secrets of the Vine." I know that good, solid stuff is out there, but without Joel's help, I wouldn't know where to find it.
11.16.2003
Woop! Woop!
Err, I accidently just discovered that our new car has an alarm system when I stowed something in the glove box. Aparently opening the door with a key will trip the alarm. I'm sure the neighbors were just thrilled by this loud intrusion on a quiet weekend afternoon.
Amazingly, the car dealer never mentioned that this optional feature was included. I should have suspected when they didn't try to sell us Lojack, a system much hyped when we bought our Prizm in '99.
Good news: insurance rates will go down. Bad news: for convenience's sake, we need to go to a dealer to buy a second transmitter to turn the alarm on and off.
Err, I accidently just discovered that our new car has an alarm system when I stowed something in the glove box. Aparently opening the door with a key will trip the alarm. I'm sure the neighbors were just thrilled by this loud intrusion on a quiet weekend afternoon.
Amazingly, the car dealer never mentioned that this optional feature was included. I should have suspected when they didn't try to sell us Lojack, a system much hyped when we bought our Prizm in '99.
Good news: insurance rates will go down. Bad news: for convenience's sake, we need to go to a dealer to buy a second transmitter to turn the alarm on and off.
11.12.2003
Cars
Sigh. I've been waiting by the phone for a few days for the Purple Heart towing people to come get our wounded car. Just before I left for Florida, we decided to not sink any more money into our Prizm that needs new bearings and transaxle/transmission repairs, but to donate it to charity. It was such a great car when we first got it, but Philly streets have really done a number on the shocks, struts, and let's see...about 9 tires.
Tomorrow we pick up the "new" car. Finding something that fits our garage and budget with more cargo space has been incredibly frustrating. We finally found a low mileage Saturn wagon that fit all our criteria. The interior isn't quite as cushy as the Prizm, and the engine is a little louder, but after renting a Chevy Metro with no power anything (locks, windows, steering) for over two weeks, Joel is very excited to get the wagon. I think it will be cool to let Nicky ride in the back without shedding all over the seats. w00t.
Ring, phone, ring! Come get our sad ol' car so that we can transfer the tags!
Sigh. I've been waiting by the phone for a few days for the Purple Heart towing people to come get our wounded car. Just before I left for Florida, we decided to not sink any more money into our Prizm that needs new bearings and transaxle/transmission repairs, but to donate it to charity. It was such a great car when we first got it, but Philly streets have really done a number on the shocks, struts, and let's see...about 9 tires.
Tomorrow we pick up the "new" car. Finding something that fits our garage and budget with more cargo space has been incredibly frustrating. We finally found a low mileage Saturn wagon that fit all our criteria. The interior isn't quite as cushy as the Prizm, and the engine is a little louder, but after renting a Chevy Metro with no power anything (locks, windows, steering) for over two weeks, Joel is very excited to get the wagon. I think it will be cool to let Nicky ride in the back without shedding all over the seats. w00t.
Ring, phone, ring! Come get our sad ol' car so that we can transfer the tags!
11.08.2003
Home
Claire and I got home Thursday afternoon after a good but somewhat bumpy flight from Florida. Not only did my big brother fly back with me to help, but we also got a free seat for Claire, who took a nice big nap.
The past two weeks have been the most exhausting in recent memory. I was glad to be able to be supportive to my Mom during this difficult time. All those boring tasks of keeping her apartment in order—laundry, dishes, meals, tidying up—generally fell to me. Thankfully, neighbors and church friends dropped off food every day, so no heavy-duty cooking was required while I watched Claire.
Believe it or not, near the end my father was recovering from the pneumonia and sepsis. What did him in was the medication he takes for bipolar disorder. He'd been on lithium for 27 years and had likely been in toxicity for several weeks. It took a nephrologist to help us understand the level of severity of that toxicity, and the irreparable harm it had done to his body.
Dad survived extubation and transport to hospice last Saturday. It was the best decision we made to move him. Suddenly, we were away from all the machines, and no limits on how many can visit or for how long. I was even allowed to bring Claire into the hospice. The room was lovely and comfortable like a hotel room, with a view of the lagoon in the retirement community.
Mom stayed the night at hospice last Saturday. My brother woke at 4 a.m. Sunday unable to sleep and went to see Dad. Mom was so thankful he woke her, because he was able to move her bed next to Dad's so she could hold his hand the rest of the night. Mom called me at about 6:10 to say that Dad's breathing slowed way down, then just stopped. It was peaceful and she was able to be right there with him the way she wanted to.
I put in calls to her pastors, and one came out at 8 a.m. with an elder. Several other friends from the retirement community stopped by before church. The eye bank arrived shortly thereafter to get his corneas, the only usable organ he could donate.
The next three days were a whirlwind, helping pull together the memorial service for Wednesday afternoon. More family arrived little by little, making our preparations all the more difficult. Who wants to run errands and make phone calls when there are family to visit and share stories with?
The service turned out beautifully, however. It was just right and I feel like nothing important went undone. I'll post the memories I shared at the memorial service in another post.
I still feel like I have hardly begun to grieve, I was so busy in Florida and needed to be strong and fully functioning for my daughter. A close friend who has lost both parents warned me that the grief may not fully hit for several weeks.
Claire and I got home Thursday afternoon after a good but somewhat bumpy flight from Florida. Not only did my big brother fly back with me to help, but we also got a free seat for Claire, who took a nice big nap.
The past two weeks have been the most exhausting in recent memory. I was glad to be able to be supportive to my Mom during this difficult time. All those boring tasks of keeping her apartment in order—laundry, dishes, meals, tidying up—generally fell to me. Thankfully, neighbors and church friends dropped off food every day, so no heavy-duty cooking was required while I watched Claire.
Believe it or not, near the end my father was recovering from the pneumonia and sepsis. What did him in was the medication he takes for bipolar disorder. He'd been on lithium for 27 years and had likely been in toxicity for several weeks. It took a nephrologist to help us understand the level of severity of that toxicity, and the irreparable harm it had done to his body.
Dad survived extubation and transport to hospice last Saturday. It was the best decision we made to move him. Suddenly, we were away from all the machines, and no limits on how many can visit or for how long. I was even allowed to bring Claire into the hospice. The room was lovely and comfortable like a hotel room, with a view of the lagoon in the retirement community.
Mom stayed the night at hospice last Saturday. My brother woke at 4 a.m. Sunday unable to sleep and went to see Dad. Mom was so thankful he woke her, because he was able to move her bed next to Dad's so she could hold his hand the rest of the night. Mom called me at about 6:10 to say that Dad's breathing slowed way down, then just stopped. It was peaceful and she was able to be right there with him the way she wanted to.
I put in calls to her pastors, and one came out at 8 a.m. with an elder. Several other friends from the retirement community stopped by before church. The eye bank arrived shortly thereafter to get his corneas, the only usable organ he could donate.
The next three days were a whirlwind, helping pull together the memorial service for Wednesday afternoon. More family arrived little by little, making our preparations all the more difficult. Who wants to run errands and make phone calls when there are family to visit and share stories with?
The service turned out beautifully, however. It was just right and I feel like nothing important went undone. I'll post the memories I shared at the memorial service in another post.
I still feel like I have hardly begun to grieve, I was so busy in Florida and needed to be strong and fully functioning for my daughter. A close friend who has lost both parents warned me that the grief may not fully hit for several weeks.
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