The neighborhood I live was "settled" in the early 1970's. I think it's going to be really nice if we ever get it finished. Once again I'm feeling the much-too-familiar rumble and vibration of heavy equipment. There is the sound of big stuff happening. I have no idea what is left to re-do, except my house of course and a few others that are too far away to be a disturbance. I am an update hold-out, as are only a few other people farther down the street who have also lived in the neighborhood for a long time. Yesterday, I spoke briefly with one, and I saw my future. She was in her robe at 2:00 p.m., and getting her mail with difficulty and a cane. When I asked her how she was, she said, "I'm ninety, you know."
For over four years, during boom times, my front view was of pickup trucks and dumpsters and, naturally, port-a-pottys. The lot across the street from me, which had always been a buffer in that it was intended to screen a large house on an adjoining lot, now has been developed. Oh, well. Divorce happens. Property is sold. Mcmansions are built (and abandoned as the bubble starts losing air). No one did anything that isn't within their rights. I'm clear on that. But updated codes being what they are, this large and elevated new house and its construction constituted a daily infringement on my right to privacy and peaceable enjoyment. Of course, one house didn't take four-years-plus to build. There was also the renovation, once, of the house next door to me, and before that there was the renovation, twice, of the house next door to that. There were others. And at least two swimming pools were dug. So we had dirt and dust and crashing and vibration. And, oh yes, the sound of AM talk radio against the rhythms of Latino dance music.
During much of this time I have been plotting my own revenge renovation. It started with a much-needed redesign of my "master suite." That design has taken a while, and as I contemplate the possibilities, the scope has grown. My house is one of those older, low-to-the-ground slab sprawlers. Why not go up, I say? Don't I need more storage? Why not a loft in the living room, just for books? In fact, why not use that loft as access to an expanded attic over the bedrooms. So now I'm drawing a new facade, which then takes me to the design of a breezeway to my new two-car-plus garage. The old enclosed carport would make a great poolhouse with a workout room and bath. Who will disagree? Did I mention the outdoor kitchen, where I probably won't cook any more than I do in the indoor one, but while we're making noise and raising dust, let's go for it.
Considering the pace at which I accomplish anything to do with home improvement, unless I can do it myself with simple tools, this is a pretty ambitious revenge plan, but it makes me feel good for a while. So humor me. And I might get it done. I'm quite a ways from ninety.
Friday, August 1, 2008
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
We all scream
Amazon Valley Chocolate.....Fleur De Sel Caramel.....Toasted Coconut Sesame Brittle.....Brazilian Acai Berry Sorbet.....Hawaiian Lehua Honey & Sweet Cream.....Pomegranate Chip.....Pomegranate & Dark Chocolate Bars (3 count).
We're talking ice cream of course. This morning's Harris-Teeter ad features a full page of pictures and description of Häagen-Dazs pints. "Explore the World One Pint At A Time." I'm not a particular fan of Häagen-Dazs. It's a made-up name, it's a little too rich for my taste, it's a little too pricey to be worth the cost to me when there are others I enjoy just as much. If I'm going for "super premium," I'm probably going for Ben & Jerry or Dove. But even with all that, I wouldn't bet that I won't find some in my grocery cart tomorrow.
Thursday, after all, IS Senior Discount Day at H-T, so that means that the advertised price of $3.99 a pint, which they say will save me "at least 70 cents", will be discounted another 5 per cent.
But it's not only about the money. The sugar, the fat, the calories! I could pass on my nightly glass of wine in favor of a light beer and save about 70 calories or I could go for a vodka and soda and save even a few more. Probably, though, I'd have to go on the wagon for at least a week before those sacrificed calories would equate the ones in the pint of ice cream. But pomegranate chip! Maybe I'll just do the bars.
How come the berries that are a much better deal just don't speak to me the way ice cream in July does?
We're talking ice cream of course. This morning's Harris-Teeter ad features a full page of pictures and description of Häagen-Dazs pints. "Explore the World One Pint At A Time." I'm not a particular fan of Häagen-Dazs. It's a made-up name, it's a little too rich for my taste, it's a little too pricey to be worth the cost to me when there are others I enjoy just as much. If I'm going for "super premium," I'm probably going for Ben & Jerry or Dove. But even with all that, I wouldn't bet that I won't find some in my grocery cart tomorrow.
Thursday, after all, IS Senior Discount Day at H-T, so that means that the advertised price of $3.99 a pint, which they say will save me "at least 70 cents", will be discounted another 5 per cent.
But it's not only about the money. The sugar, the fat, the calories! I could pass on my nightly glass of wine in favor of a light beer and save about 70 calories or I could go for a vodka and soda and save even a few more. Probably, though, I'd have to go on the wagon for at least a week before those sacrificed calories would equate the ones in the pint of ice cream. But pomegranate chip! Maybe I'll just do the bars.
How come the berries that are a much better deal just don't speak to me the way ice cream in July does?
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
1919
On Sunday night, CBS reran a Cold Case episode that was set in 1919 and involved women who were struggling to change their lives by meeting and organizing. Since by that year, the USA was well into the battle for women's suffrage, the emphasis on that part of the story seemed a little fanciful, but then Cold Case has never impressed me with its writing. There's something about the mood that I like though.
Anyway, my mind was kind of wandering, and as the episode unfolded and the characters of a maid and her daughter emerged, I started to think about my mother, who was born in 1913 and her mother, who was born about twenty years earlier in Germany. I don't remember ever having spoken with either of them about the right to vote and what it meant to them. My mother was very political, and so I guess I just took her voting for granted. My grandmother, though, wasn't like that. As I think about it, I realize that she may never have become a citizen. My Scottish father was naturalized and voted, but I can imagine that for my grandma citizenship and voting might not have happened.
Whatever her political situation and views, in 1919 my grandma had other problems. She was divorced with a child to support. To hear my mother tell it, the two of them bounced around living with other family members and somehow managing. That can be daunting in these more modern times, but nearly a hundred years ago, and in a world torn by war, it really must have taken some guts. At least my grandma had a trade. She was a weaver, and at that time textile factories were big in NJ, which hasn't been true for decades.
So she was a young mother facing all kinds of challenges, and I'm thinking that marching for suffrage wasn't a priority. I'm hoping she at least approved of the women who made it a priority, but maybe not. I wish, wish, wish that I could sit down with my grandma and her six sisters and talk it all out. The lone male sibling, Uncle Augie, wouldn't need to be there, but likely his domineering wife, Emma, would have something to say. I thought I knew them all so well, but as time passes, the pieces of their lives fit together differently. In fact, somewhere in the recent past it came to me that Aunt Gert probably had more than a platonic friendship with her friend Margie. It's obvious now, but for all those years, nothing was ever said.
In the end, my grandma and mother were rescued by a kind man I always knew as my grandfather. What's interesting to me is that all throughout my mother's family, women were strong and did things. And that was true even after being "rescued." There was no sitting around and being pampered. Maybe that's a hallmark and a benefit of being working class. Yes, there are tough times and challenges, but few hot house flowers emerge. Nothing builds self-esteem like overcoming adversity.
In an attempt to fight the anti-suffragists with humor, in 1915 Alice Duer Miller, writer, poet and suffragette wrote Why We Don't Want Men to Vote.
* Because man's place is in the army.
* Because no really manly man wants to settle any question otherwise than by fighting about it.
* Because if men should adopt peaceable methods women will no longer look up to them.
* Because men will lose their charm if they step out of their natural sphere and interest themselves in other matters than feats of arms, uniforms, and drums.
* Because men are too emotional to vote. Their conduct at baseball games and political conventions shows this, while their innate tendency to appeal to force renders them unfit for government.
On August 26, 1920, American women joined many female voters around the world when a constitutional amendment was adopted upon ratification by state of Tennessee, granting full woman suffrage in all states of the United States.
Anyway, my mind was kind of wandering, and as the episode unfolded and the characters of a maid and her daughter emerged, I started to think about my mother, who was born in 1913 and her mother, who was born about twenty years earlier in Germany. I don't remember ever having spoken with either of them about the right to vote and what it meant to them. My mother was very political, and so I guess I just took her voting for granted. My grandmother, though, wasn't like that. As I think about it, I realize that she may never have become a citizen. My Scottish father was naturalized and voted, but I can imagine that for my grandma citizenship and voting might not have happened.
Whatever her political situation and views, in 1919 my grandma had other problems. She was divorced with a child to support. To hear my mother tell it, the two of them bounced around living with other family members and somehow managing. That can be daunting in these more modern times, but nearly a hundred years ago, and in a world torn by war, it really must have taken some guts. At least my grandma had a trade. She was a weaver, and at that time textile factories were big in NJ, which hasn't been true for decades.
So she was a young mother facing all kinds of challenges, and I'm thinking that marching for suffrage wasn't a priority. I'm hoping she at least approved of the women who made it a priority, but maybe not. I wish, wish, wish that I could sit down with my grandma and her six sisters and talk it all out. The lone male sibling, Uncle Augie, wouldn't need to be there, but likely his domineering wife, Emma, would have something to say. I thought I knew them all so well, but as time passes, the pieces of their lives fit together differently. In fact, somewhere in the recent past it came to me that Aunt Gert probably had more than a platonic friendship with her friend Margie. It's obvious now, but for all those years, nothing was ever said.
In the end, my grandma and mother were rescued by a kind man I always knew as my grandfather. What's interesting to me is that all throughout my mother's family, women were strong and did things. And that was true even after being "rescued." There was no sitting around and being pampered. Maybe that's a hallmark and a benefit of being working class. Yes, there are tough times and challenges, but few hot house flowers emerge. Nothing builds self-esteem like overcoming adversity.
In an attempt to fight the anti-suffragists with humor, in 1915 Alice Duer Miller, writer, poet and suffragette wrote Why We Don't Want Men to Vote.
* Because man's place is in the army.
* Because no really manly man wants to settle any question otherwise than by fighting about it.
* Because if men should adopt peaceable methods women will no longer look up to them.
* Because men will lose their charm if they step out of their natural sphere and interest themselves in other matters than feats of arms, uniforms, and drums.
* Because men are too emotional to vote. Their conduct at baseball games and political conventions shows this, while their innate tendency to appeal to force renders them unfit for government.
On August 26, 1920, American women joined many female voters around the world when a constitutional amendment was adopted upon ratification by state of Tennessee, granting full woman suffrage in all states of the United States.
Friday, July 25, 2008
Nicholas
Sometimes I have company on my couch, and my favorite companion is my grandson, Nicholas, who sits beside me, sucking his thumb, all entangled with his "Puppy", a sort of stuffed animal security blanket. If Nicholas is wearing his Bob the Builder toolbelt, a little padding makes things more comfy. He hardly ever gets to watch tv, so sitting next to his Mama-aw and watching Noggin is a treat for him, but it's an even bigger treat for me, especially now that we're well past The Wiggles. We might discuss what we see, but we might just sit there quietly and enjoy the relaxation of it.
Nicholas is my third grandson, but the only one I've gotten to spend time with. My first one was placed for adoption, which was a right and courageous decision for his mother, my youngest daughter, to make. My second grandson died at twenty-nine days, and I will never, ever forget what it felt like to have his tiny lifeless body placed in my arms by his mother, my eldest daughter. I said to her then, "Nothing worse will ever happen to you," and I found out the truth of that when she herself died the next year. So sitting quietly and enjoying the precious gift of three-and-a-half-year-old Nicholas is indescribable pleasure for me. I had all but given up the possibility and then there was his perfect miracle birth to my forty-two-year-old second daughter and her husband of less than a year.
And he is funny, as most kids are. His view of the world is quirky. A couple of days ago, after taking a twenty-minute nap, he decided that he had rested enough. My daughter said to him, "Well, Nicholas, that nap wasn't long enough," to which he replied, "But I started it yesterday, so it's really very long." How do you argue with that? But then again, I don't have to argue with him or discipline him or do anything but sit beside him and love him while he sucks his thumb.
Nicholas is my third grandson, but the only one I've gotten to spend time with. My first one was placed for adoption, which was a right and courageous decision for his mother, my youngest daughter, to make. My second grandson died at twenty-nine days, and I will never, ever forget what it felt like to have his tiny lifeless body placed in my arms by his mother, my eldest daughter. I said to her then, "Nothing worse will ever happen to you," and I found out the truth of that when she herself died the next year. So sitting quietly and enjoying the precious gift of three-and-a-half-year-old Nicholas is indescribable pleasure for me. I had all but given up the possibility and then there was his perfect miracle birth to my forty-two-year-old second daughter and her husband of less than a year.
And he is funny, as most kids are. His view of the world is quirky. A couple of days ago, after taking a twenty-minute nap, he decided that he had rested enough. My daughter said to him, "Well, Nicholas, that nap wasn't long enough," to which he replied, "But I started it yesterday, so it's really very long." How do you argue with that? But then again, I don't have to argue with him or discipline him or do anything but sit beside him and love him while he sucks his thumb.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Oy, gevald!
It's a bad sign when I start cursing in Yiddish. I'm not even Jewish. I've worked for a lot of Jews though, everything from a Presbyterian minister to a Seventh Avenue schmate (rag, meaning fashion in this case) company with a nuclear physicist and a business professor in between. I don't remember where I learned the word "facocta", and I don't know whether that's the way it's supposed to be spelled. I just know that I heard myself muttering last night and going on and on in pseudo-Yiddish with a "schmietnik" thrown in from time to time. I just learned that last one from an ESL student. It's Polish for "garbage."
This tsuris (trouble, pain) is all about the state of the financial system in this country and actually in the world. I am grateful, however, for the nick-of-time reminder that indeed one has to look out for one's self; that no one, even if they're paid to do it, is as good at looking out for me as I am. That is scary because I'm not that smart and I am having more and more trouble keeping up with the increasing complications of daily life. But I didn't lose $8.9 Billion... Billion!... as Wachovia just reported they did. So take that, you facocta idiots! I can learn to understand the TEDspread global credit risk indicators. True, I'd rather be thinking about a new BEDspread, but I'm a grown up, and so I'll work with what we have, which is a facocta globalized credit mess, which affects everyone, young and old, rich and poor, interested or bored.
Unfortunately, the financial advice that's out there for the average DIY person isn't that great. It's all "Keep a three-month stash (of money) handy for emergencies;" "Try to negotiate better terms with your lenders;" "Cut up your credit cards," etc. Now they're adding some boilerplate commentary about the FDIC to quell the panicky feelings some have and to avoid any more IndyBank runs, but the utility of the advice for people who have enough money to be concerned with the FDIC limits isn't impressive.
If you are looking at foreclosure and bankruptcy, that three-month rainy day fund is probably gone or at least not happening now. Since it took me four transfers with lovely classical music on Hold to DEPOSIT money in a bank yesterday, I wonder how much patience it takes to find the one person who has not been layed off at Wachovia who might help you with your credit issue. And at a certain point, cutting up the cards is a meaningless gesture, because these days even American Express is imposing limits and lowering them if they feel the need.
I DID hear some useful advice this morning. Useful because it was direct and clear, not because I can use it. When Jean Chatzky, the financial guru who is cute but who has never told me anything I didn't already know, was pressed on "Morning Joe," she said that people should NOT deplete their 401Ks to forestall foreclosure or bankruptcy. Walk away from the house. And if you need to go bankrupt, at least know that retirement accounts, like IRAs and 401Ks, are exempt from bankruptcy claims.
That it's come to this. Facocta!
This tsuris (trouble, pain) is all about the state of the financial system in this country and actually in the world. I am grateful, however, for the nick-of-time reminder that indeed one has to look out for one's self; that no one, even if they're paid to do it, is as good at looking out for me as I am. That is scary because I'm not that smart and I am having more and more trouble keeping up with the increasing complications of daily life. But I didn't lose $8.9 Billion... Billion!... as Wachovia just reported they did. So take that, you facocta idiots! I can learn to understand the TEDspread global credit risk indicators. True, I'd rather be thinking about a new BEDspread, but I'm a grown up, and so I'll work with what we have, which is a facocta globalized credit mess, which affects everyone, young and old, rich and poor, interested or bored.
Unfortunately, the financial advice that's out there for the average DIY person isn't that great. It's all "Keep a three-month stash (of money) handy for emergencies;" "Try to negotiate better terms with your lenders;" "Cut up your credit cards," etc. Now they're adding some boilerplate commentary about the FDIC to quell the panicky feelings some have and to avoid any more IndyBank runs, but the utility of the advice for people who have enough money to be concerned with the FDIC limits isn't impressive.
If you are looking at foreclosure and bankruptcy, that three-month rainy day fund is probably gone or at least not happening now. Since it took me four transfers with lovely classical music on Hold to DEPOSIT money in a bank yesterday, I wonder how much patience it takes to find the one person who has not been layed off at Wachovia who might help you with your credit issue. And at a certain point, cutting up the cards is a meaningless gesture, because these days even American Express is imposing limits and lowering them if they feel the need.
I DID hear some useful advice this morning. Useful because it was direct and clear, not because I can use it. When Jean Chatzky, the financial guru who is cute but who has never told me anything I didn't already know, was pressed on "Morning Joe," she said that people should NOT deplete their 401Ks to forestall foreclosure or bankruptcy. Walk away from the house. And if you need to go bankrupt, at least know that retirement accounts, like IRAs and 401Ks, are exempt from bankruptcy claims.
That it's come to this. Facocta!
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Of talking couches
Oh, if this couch could talk. Let the word go forth that I will no longer be accepting phone calls late at night. "Yeah, right", sayeth the couch eyeing its dented cushion with the cordless next to it. The couch taketh this attitude because it knoweth that I am a total pushover, and some people would translate that word to mean "codependent." The fact that I am aware doesn't always keep me from indulging in habitual behavior. I like the feeling of being needed. That's the honest truth, and sometimes I go there when I shouldn't.
At one time in my life I knew so many alcoholics that I was sure I must be a carrier. And anyway it's only by God's grace that I am not one myself. I just don't have whatever the thing is that makes people crave a drink or forget how many they've had. I like a drink or two, but then I get sleepy. However, there is alcoholism in my birth family and my poor kids have it on both sides. Imagine Scottish, German and French forebears joined to Irish and Russians. The offspring should have been enrolled in some program at birth.
But if we're going wth the disease concept, and not everybody does, I do have the companion-to disease known as condependency. Not counting my first marriage, it started with my friend Sylvia, back in the late 70s. We had been friends for years and it took me a while to notice that the discussion of life issues, which we both had, was getting later and later at night, taking longer and longer, and becoming less and less comprehensible. I never wanted to hang up because it just seemed so cold to cut off the conversation. And after Sylvia there was Shirley, whose alcoholism was obvious to me almost from the beginning, but who had some life-threatening stuff going on. What it took me a while to "get" is that neither of these women, and they're only two of the ones who have had my ear, remembered much of what we had talked about anyway and that I was the one sitting at my desk at work emotionally and physically exhausted.
And now I'm doing it again. Geez, it's depressing to be this old and still doing the same unproductive stuff.
At one time in my life I knew so many alcoholics that I was sure I must be a carrier. And anyway it's only by God's grace that I am not one myself. I just don't have whatever the thing is that makes people crave a drink or forget how many they've had. I like a drink or two, but then I get sleepy. However, there is alcoholism in my birth family and my poor kids have it on both sides. Imagine Scottish, German and French forebears joined to Irish and Russians. The offspring should have been enrolled in some program at birth.
But if we're going wth the disease concept, and not everybody does, I do have the companion-to disease known as condependency. Not counting my first marriage, it started with my friend Sylvia, back in the late 70s. We had been friends for years and it took me a while to notice that the discussion of life issues, which we both had, was getting later and later at night, taking longer and longer, and becoming less and less comprehensible. I never wanted to hang up because it just seemed so cold to cut off the conversation. And after Sylvia there was Shirley, whose alcoholism was obvious to me almost from the beginning, but who had some life-threatening stuff going on. What it took me a while to "get" is that neither of these women, and they're only two of the ones who have had my ear, remembered much of what we had talked about anyway and that I was the one sitting at my desk at work emotionally and physically exhausted.
And now I'm doing it again. Geez, it's depressing to be this old and still doing the same unproductive stuff.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Fantasy Cooking
Today on the couch I'm reading recipes, which I find is sometimes a good substitute for actually cooking. I used to be a decent cook, and I enjoy it, and I'm very pleased that all my kids are foodies. But I don't cook a lot any more because mostly I just don't feel like it and I don't have to. I don't consider grilling a piece of fish and making a salad to be "cooking." And I eat pretty well, considering. Right now, though, all I feel like eating is nachos made with Target's organic blue corn tortilla chips, the ones with flax seed, and some Paul Newman's peach salsa and some shredded cheese. Oh, yes, I indulge myself with the fatty cheese because the no-fat ones turn into a repulsive gum when they melt. See, I care. Add some nice fresh grapes or berries, and I consider myself fed.
The problem I have is that I am still clipping recipes. There is a kind of disconnect here because I know that the number of meals in my future isn't infinite and is probably less than 20,000, and it's obvious to me that almost none of the clipped recipes will ever be used. After all I have dozens of cookbooks, and unless I am baking I seldom follow a recipe anyway even when I do cook. I like the ideas, and the new ways of using ingredients and seasonings.
The other day in Harris-Teeter I heard a woman ask for Waverly crackers, saying that her recipe called for them specifically and wondering why that would be. Possibly because the Waverly people sponsored the recipe? I have never really been that kind of cook. I am horrified to hear that there are people who try to use olive oil with a boxed brownie mix, but I often get creative with appropriate substitutions, my idea of "appropriate" anyway. For me, it's never been worth a separate trip to the store to get that certain thing. Yes, there's a difference between bread crumbs and panko, but I can work with it.
Whatever is the reality, I still have to have a kitchen to house my cooking equipment and all its good karma. There is my lucky brownie pan, that is aluminum and that I have been using since it was my mother's and I was a teenager. Now it has a couple of pin holes in it, but, again, I can work with it. There is also my original newlywed (the first time) Tupperware measure and mix pitcher bowl. It too leaks, but it's good for dry ingredients. Et cetera, except that one newer thing, from a Pampered Chef party, where I just felt pressured to buy SOMEthing, has become essential. It's a 1-quart plastic pan with a handle and a vented lid and it's great for heating a meal for one person. That's what the reality of cooking is for me these days, but I'm never giving up on fantasy cooking.
The problem I have is that I am still clipping recipes. There is a kind of disconnect here because I know that the number of meals in my future isn't infinite and is probably less than 20,000, and it's obvious to me that almost none of the clipped recipes will ever be used. After all I have dozens of cookbooks, and unless I am baking I seldom follow a recipe anyway even when I do cook. I like the ideas, and the new ways of using ingredients and seasonings.
The other day in Harris-Teeter I heard a woman ask for Waverly crackers, saying that her recipe called for them specifically and wondering why that would be. Possibly because the Waverly people sponsored the recipe? I have never really been that kind of cook. I am horrified to hear that there are people who try to use olive oil with a boxed brownie mix, but I often get creative with appropriate substitutions, my idea of "appropriate" anyway. For me, it's never been worth a separate trip to the store to get that certain thing. Yes, there's a difference between bread crumbs and panko, but I can work with it.
Whatever is the reality, I still have to have a kitchen to house my cooking equipment and all its good karma. There is my lucky brownie pan, that is aluminum and that I have been using since it was my mother's and I was a teenager. Now it has a couple of pin holes in it, but, again, I can work with it. There is also my original newlywed (the first time) Tupperware measure and mix pitcher bowl. It too leaks, but it's good for dry ingredients. Et cetera, except that one newer thing, from a Pampered Chef party, where I just felt pressured to buy SOMEthing, has become essential. It's a 1-quart plastic pan with a handle and a vented lid and it's great for heating a meal for one person. That's what the reality of cooking is for me these days, but I'm never giving up on fantasy cooking.
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