Range Rant

Today I'm doing having a very domestic day, which includes a lot of cooking. I have a post percolating about it, but I thought that first I'd let you see what I wrote to the manufacturer of my stove yesterday.

Dear Jenn-Air people:

My husband has already written the logical, masculine letter regarding the failure of our stove. This is the other side.

When my mother died in 2004, I came into a modest inheritance. My parents were simple people, a teacher and a pattern-maker, and frankly, my brother and I were surprised that they had managed to save so much. We used the money to pay for our daughter's wedding, and paid off our credit cards. And I had some left, and since our stove was old and worn out, I decided to replace it.

Our local, trusted appliance shop had lots of choices in stock, but the owner recommended that I consider spending a little more than I had planned. He knew that we are the type of people who use appliances until they are worn out, and suggested that this Jenn-Air stove would serve us better and longer than some of the other models I was considering. Boy was he wrong!

In the last four years our stove has needed repair THREE times. The first time was under warranty, and that was fine, but last year the same part (the right front burner thermostat) failed. That repair cost us almost 20% of what we paid for the stove. This summer, the same part failed. My husband , knowing that the stove was no longer under warranty, contacted you and asked if there was anything your company could do on this obviously defective product. You DID pay for the visit of the same repairman, who confirmed that it was indeed the same part. His comment was “Yeah, they fail all the time.”

Since we bought the stove with inheritance money, there are now no spare funds to pay for repairing it AGAIN, and likely again in another year or two. Why bother? I will limp along, using that burner for things like boiling water for pasta, where the temperature doesn't matter. And I won't ever buy a Jenn-Air product again. (The representative on the phone offered us 25% off on another stove. Why would you think we'd throw more money away?)

Sincerely,

(OK, yeah, I'm trolling for a little sympathy from you guys. What else is the internet for?)

Fluff and Nonsense

Since that last post was so heavy, I thought that this one should be just what the title says. I was going to talk about "The Lotion Song", but Arwen pretty well covered it in her post. (But read the footnote* here after you've read the backstory.)

George has returned "home" to his apartment in Duluth after the big cruise. I would post a picture of him passing by upstream, but it happened at 9:15 at night in a rainstorm. We went down and waved (we could barely see him; he could see us because of streetlights), but we left the camera at home.

The other big event of last weekend was the great-crosstown-rivalry football game. Our team (the blue) was defeated by the red team 20-14, in a downpour. Roger and I were there, sitting in light rain, for the pre-game show --which included our band's halftime show, since we were "away" this year (our schools share a stadium)-- and the first half. But we skipped out at the start of halftime, because it had started to POUR, and Tommy assured us he could get rides, first to Pizza Hut, which is the band's after-game hangout, and then home. Unfortunately, he doffed his uniform in the car of the friend who gave him the first ride, and came home with someone else, so we didn't get the uniform back until Tuesday. Phew! It's going to the cleaners after this week's game, but I would have had to pay extra for rush service -- only one cleaner in town can safely do the uniforms -- and Tommy can live with it for this week. It looks OK (I pressed it) but smells musty.

I just realized that since I haven't finished Tommy's or Katie's stories yet (NaBloPoMo here it comes!) most of you may not know that Tommy is a drummer, or that Katie was Drum Major these last two years. Obviously I need to get my act together. (I just tried to post band pictures, but no luck.)

I have been sewing madly on a wedding present (personalized aprons, place mats, napkins) for a long-time friend of my daughter Maggie's, and also altering her mom's mother of the bride dress. As another friend who knew us all way-back-when, and with whom I recently reconnected on Facebook, says "What! 'Joyce' getting married?? Isn't she only 10 years old???" But the bitter truth is -- nope, they grow up. Both Rosie and Arwen were married younger than Joyce is now.

Incidentally, if those (few) of you readers who I "know" fairly well here online would like to connect on Facebook as well, email me, and I will let you in on my "real" identity. And I'll probably do something dumb like send you "rolled heel marching shoes" with the "Marching Band Geek" application. ;-D Or if you like word games, challenge you in "Ladder Mode" on Word Twist. (What, you think it's odd that a grandmother is on Facebook? My mother-in-law, a GREAT-grandmother, is on Facebook!! We are up-to-date old codgers!!)

My (three) typing fingers are getting tired, so I will end this post. And I hope to be back sooner, even if it's just more fluff.


*I personally think "My bottom is over the lotion.." fits the melody better. But then I've had more than twice as much lifetime to practice parody as Bryan has. :-D

It's Not Really about Politics

As my sidebar "About Me" section says, I live in Michigan. We're the 11th largest state, and the eighth most populated. (If our largely-unoccupied Upper Peninsula was as densely populated as the rest of the state, we'd be fifth.) Unfortunately, we are also the state with the highest unemployment rate, which means that many people are moving elsewhere to find work.

The "Big Three" automakers are responsible for much of the employment slump here. But some people also place blame on the state government, which is currently run by Democrats. Of course, when we had a Republican governor, people blamed things on him. I'm not a student of economics; I even avoided taking a class in it in college, which was unusual for math majors. And I have never liked dealing with the political process -- in fact I was over thirty when I voted in my first presidential election. But over the last twenty-odd years I have become very well informed on Michigan (and national) politics for a very simple reason: I'm pro-life.

My husband, who grew up in Michigan, remembers his parents working hard to defeat a ballot proposal which would have overturned Michigan's laws against abortion. That proposal went down to defeat by a two-to-one margin. Unfortunately, that was in November of 1972, and the following January the US Supreme Court handed down Roe v. Wade and Doe v. Bolton, which overrode the abortion laws of all fifty states. Since we have been married, Michigan has dealt with votes on taxpayer funding of abortion (not anymore!), informed consent (yes!), parental consent (with the mandated judicial bypass), assisted suicide (NO --70 to 30%), partial birth abortion (still being fiddled with), and more.

I know some people for whom working on these campaigns is a challenge but a joy, because all this political stuff is right up their alley. Me, I do it because it's right, not because I like it. And this year I get to do it again.

In all the election years when Michigan didn't have some kind of a specific vote going, I still worked hard for the election of candidates at all levels who believe that life and death should be in the hands of God, not a doctor or any other individual. And this has been on both sides of the political aisle; my current state representative is from the "other" party. And he knows me by name and face, even though we disagree on just about every issue but this.

But this year Michigan pro-lifers have a bigger challenge. Yes, we will work to get candidates elected. Our main focus, though, is on the innocuously-named Proposition 2. Prop2, for short, has an attractive website called "CureMichigan". You can go there if you want (it's dot com), but I won't link there because I refuse to inflict the half-truths you'll find there on anybody without a warning. The crux of the matter is that the proponents of Prop2 are claiming that if only Michigan would relax its archaic (passed in 1978) law banning research on embryos which is not for the therapeutic benefit of the embryo, lots of other non-embryonic people would be cured of everything from diabetes to Parkinson's disease.

The facts don't bear this out. This site shows the large number of cures achieved with non-embryonic stem cells, while so far embryonic stem cell (ESC) research has come up empty. But leaving that aside, (and also, if you like, the morality of ESC research), the most dangerous part of Prop2 is "in the fine print."

Prop2, which is a proposal to amend the Michigan constitution, says in part :

All stem cell research and all stem cell therapies and cures must be conducted and provided in accordance with state and local laws of general applicability, including but not limited to laws concerning scientific and medical practices and patient safety and privacy, to the extent that any such laws do not:

(i) prevent, restrict, obstruct, or discourage any stem cell research or stem cell therapies and cures that are permitted by the provisions of this section; or

(ii) create disincentives for any person to engage in or otherwise associate with such research or therapies or cures.

That's a bunch of legal language which boils down to "and nobody's allowed to make any new laws which might stop us from doing any of this, or even make us fell bad about it." So this would be a constitutional amendment that could never be changed. Even scientists found out we didn't need to do any of this stuff. Even if the culture changed, and most people agreed it was wrong.

History shows that at least some laws always need to be amended. As far back as Biblical times, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednigo wound up in the fiery furnace, and Daniel in the lion's den, because the king couldn't change the laws that put them there. And the American constitution has needed to be changed. When my mother was born, my grandmother had no legal right to vote. When my grandmother's mother was born [she's the one for whom I'm named] African-Americans weren't even citizens. Those things needed to be changed, even though they were "sensible" at the time when they were enacted. But Prop2's framers figure they're wiser and more enlightened than America's founding fathers.

So this election season I'll be out there dealing with yard signs and get-out-the-vote phone calls and fund-raising and all the other stuff of a political campaign, and hating it. But I'll be doing it anyway, because it's not really about politics -- it's about Life.

If you live in Michigan and are interested in helping -- or even if you think I'm off-the-wall --log on to MiCause.com and see where you fit in. And for those of you who live somewhere else, all prayers are appreciated!

Down the River We Go. . . .

The title of this post is from a song that was in one of the music books my elementary school used. I don't remember which grade, but the series was published by Silver Burdett, before they merged with Ginn. If anybody half-remembers it, the lyrics are here. I can remember singing this song with great verve, which is rather funny considering that the largest bodies of water I had seen at that point were some creeks (pronounced "cricks"), a couple of ponds, and the murky, muddy, "lake" in which I learned to swim, more or less... Roger would say less.

But then I married my man from Michigan, and now live in a town on the shore of a Great Lake. And although it's not the O-hi-o river from the song, we also have a river. It's a big enough river that our town hosts its own tall ship. And we have lots of sidewalks right at the river's edge, from which this picture was taken. And this morning, Roger and I were down there with our camera.

George was on board this cutter, headed down the river. He's the tiny little dot about halfway up the superstructure, directly above the G in Coast Guard. He waved, we waved, and then down the river he went. And I, of course, went on my morning errands with a little bit of a tear in my eye. (In a week or two they'll be coming back up!)

Cop-Out Photo Post

I think I've had a post like this already, but somebody did ask for pictures, and it's been another crazy week, so here you go, Lindsay! This is Matthew the day of his baptism. He looks very much like Daniel at his baptism, but Daniel was several weeks older. Rosie and Anthony and the boys flew to Idaho yesterday for Anthony's parents' 40th wedding anniversary celebration, so they had the baptism earlier than they would have otherwise. But since Daniel came early and Matthew was overdue, both boys were about the same size. And in ten or fifteen years, nobody will be able to tell the pictures apart. Already we are doing it by what background and which outfit!


This next one is Matthew on Thursday the 14th. I think his new nickname should be "Chubster." He was 8# 1oz. at birth, 8# 3oz. at his four day checkup, and 9# 10 oz. at two weeks. This is a day short of three weeks. Ten and a half pounds, anybody??

This is Rosie with Matthew, at Arwen's house. Although I came home on Friday, (the day Matthew was two weeks old) it was only to help Maggie and Katie pack up their stuff to fly off to college in Florida tomorrow. Since Maggie was scheduled to take the GRE on Friday (yesterday), we drove both girls and a LOT of stuff to Arwen's on Thursday. Arwen and Bryan will take them to the airport tomorrow, after they have (we hope!) consolidated their stuff into two suitcases and a carry-on each. And since due to the rising cost of flying, we won't see them again until Christmas, the whole family except George/Brandon came over for dinner.


There's nothing like a couple of nephews to take your mind off the GRE!!

I Should Have Known Better...

Somehow I believed that even though I am spending the week at Rosie's house helping her with Daniel and Matthew since Anthony is done with paternity leave, I would be able to post. I am typing this with one hand standing up holding Matthew while Rosie is in the shower. See you next week!

Welcome, Matthew Benedict!

Rosie had her baby Friday evening. She had, slow, boring, not-quite-labor all day, and then a very lively time from about 6PM onward until Matthew was born about 10:15. I drove down to be with her in labor, but this is the last grandchild birth I'll try to attend. Sad-but-true fact -- I'm just getting too old. She and Anthony sent me away just about the time things picked up, because it was obvious that I was approaching "basket case" from fatigue. But they did superbly on their own, and Matthew is a sweetie!!

And there is something I'm not too old for -- holding the baby!

Pet Pictures as Per Request

Callebaut above, Joe below






And two of Lucas with Tommy

Response to "George"

As some of you may have seen in the comments, my older son "George" chose to take issue with how I named the pets in the previous post. He said:

"I find it somewhat ridiculous, mother, that you have no problem openly naming Lucas, or putting quotation marks around "Joe", as some sort of pseudo-pseudonym, yet feel the need to fake the nickname of our first dog, Callebaut, aka Cal. Not "Bo", Cal. And while I'm not sure what Uncle Bo called his childhood pet, I'm betting it wasn't "Cal". This internet anonymity stuff is a bit odd, I know, but the 35,600 Google results for "callebaut dog" aren't likely to lead anyone to find out who were really are."

So, for clarity --

Dear Only-slightly-pseudonymous George,

You are absolutely right! I should have just used the real names. But I wanted to avoid explaining how each animal was named, so I started with a never-used call name, and went downhill from there. I was just too lazy to fix it.

So the real names, in order, are:
Calico Snifter Boogie -- a beagle of high lineage but unfortunate "printed' pattern on his nose.
Callebaut -- a half-Aussie shepherd/ half chocolate Lab who was too classy to be called Hershey or Nestle
Aborigine Joe -- never called anything but "Joe" (or "Joe-dog" by Daniel and Camilla), half Aussie shepherd, half black Lab (we think)
Lucas -- a cute little black and white no-breed kitten

And by the way, son, if you don't stop picking on me (and your sister), I will tell the whole world that you don't have a weird name like your siblings, but are actually something totally commonplace and boring, like "Brandon". ;-D

Love you!

Mom

The Tail of a Cat

I have never wanted a cat. Or a dog, either. Or a gerbil or a bird or any other kind of a pet, for that matter. I had one week's custody of the class hamster in third grade. He bit me! And I had one or two ill-fated turtles, before they stopped selling them in every dime store for fear of salmonella, and once an Easter chick that everybody knew from the start was destined to wind up in my grandparents' chicken yard, to provide eggs or meat depending on its gender.

But I didn't mind. My friends read dog stories, or horse stories, or both. I read mysteries, or ballet stories. And anyway, I was "allergic to animal dander." My brother, however, minded a lot. He NEEDED a dog. And so my parents got him a beagle puppy, who lived strictly outdoors, in respect for my allergies. When "Cal" died when my brother was in high school, he was never replaced.

Many years later (he was forty-two), my brother married a lovely lady who was a cat person. It was understood that if he wanted her, Gypsy was part of the deal. And as Gypsy moved on to cat heaven, she was replaced by Samantha and Thomasina. One of them (I can only tell which under direct coaching) has adopted my brother. And the other one (I think) usually deigns to jump on me a couple of times whenever I visit. I have always considered that cat exposure enough for me. I choose not to remember that my allergies have departed along with my NOT LAMENTED allergy to chocolate.

However. . . . I also married, a man whose family had a succession of both cats and dogs all through his childhood, and even after he left home. And he is observant enough to know that I don't have my chocolate allergy any more. So ten or so years ago, when our children begged for a dog, I was outvoted seven to one. I could have cast a veto, but I was assured that they were old enough to take care of a dog, and I wouldn't have to do anything. That was as true as most such promises are. But I kind of got used to "Bo", and when he had to be put down because of lymphoma after only four years, I sent a baggie of cheese and chocolate -- his favorites -- along with the brave souls who were taking him to the vet.

We were pet-free for about a year after that, but I, at least, am incapable of telling a group of wistful children "Nope, no dog again ever." We eventually adopted "Joe", who has been a member of our family ever since. He is definitely Roger's dog, which is good because walking him makes my sedentary computer guru get some exercise. But not so good is the fact that when we want to make a weekend trip out of town to visit the grandchildren we have to find someone to take care of him. We have some awesome friends and neighbors who are willing to do this, but as the kids leave home and the grandchildren multiply we'll want to be gone more often, so we had determined -- no more pets.

Allow me to backtrack a little . I have not yet finished writing the Mom's-eye-view of Katie, our fifth. And I haven't begun at all on Tommy, our youngest. This has partly been because I've realized that they are still living through the parts of life I've described for the others. But I need to give Tommy a couple of sentences here.

Tommy is smart, articulate, computer-savvy, and self-confident. He gets his good looks from his dad, and his pig-headed stubbornness from me. He is wonderful with Daniel and Camilla; patient, kind and willing to have their kind of fun. And a couple of months ago, he got himself into hot water. It wasn't a big deal, really. I almost had a sense of relief that now we knew what the "wrinkle" in raising this one was, since each of the other five had had one. (Some of them I've mentioned here, some not.) But the result was that he wasn't too happy with us for while.

But ten days ago Tommy came into the room where I was ironing with an interesting smile on his face. "Hello, dear beautiful sweet intelligent mother.." Can you tell where this is going? He wanted to know if he could adopt a kitten! He and Katie assured me that the kitten was free (true), that it had had all its shots (not true), and that they would do all the work and pay all the expenses (true so far, except that sometimes I have to open a door that we keep closed in the summer for cooling so that Lucas can reach his litter box.) Obviously, I eventually I said yes.

And I'm very glad I did. Tommy, who begged us for a little brother or sister until it became obvious that it wasn't going to happen, now has something younger and smaller to care for. He spent his entire last paycheck on Lucas' vet visit. He wakes up reasonably cheerful in the morning to the sound of a bell on a collar. He cleans the litter box without being reminded.

Of course, right now, Tommy, like all red-blooded American boys, is taking a Sunday afternoon nap. And Lucas, who seems to have an insatiable urge to be "UP" as high as possible, has made his way onto my desk and is blocking my view of the monitor as has chases his tail. I still don't have any desire for a pet. But I guess I don't mind being entertained by somebody else's!

Wednesday Afternoons

(This is the post that was percolating when I pinched my finger into a giant blood-blister trying to remodel a lampshade. All better now. AND the lampshade works just fine.)

I am a creature of habit. My kids would probably tell you that I am rigid and stuck in a rut, and Roger will politely say that I'm "not as spontaneous" as he is, but the truth is that I am just more comfortable when I have a general idea of what's coming on any given day. For the next year! We have a giant wall calendar in our kitchen that literally has "Major Grocery Shopping" written on every other Thursday from here through December -- which is when it ends -- with deviations for things like Thanksgiving. Somewhere on September is written "buy new planning calendar", because I need a while to get all the birthdays and regular monthly meetings and grocery days and suchlike transferred before November, so that I can start writing in things for January as soon as I find out about them. I prefer to believe I am organized! ;-D

So it should be no surprise to you that I have a regular weekly "plan of action". Sundays are big family breakfast, mass (unless choir sings on Saturday night), dinner, and our couples' group once a month. Monday is music planning stuff, or sewing, or nasty big jobs like cleaning out the basement. (The rationale is that I'll be well rested after the weekend.) Tuesday is laundry, ironing, and menu planning and grocery list. Wednesday is changing beds, sheet and towel laundry, and bathroom cleaning. Thursday is grocery shopping (and maybe some random stuff like mending on non-major shopping weeks), and choir practice in the evening. Friday is more laundry and ironing, plus going over the schedule for the upcoming week. And I usually cook an extra-nice dinner because some of the family fasts breakfast and lunch most Fridays. Saturday is mopping, vacuuming, housecleaning. Lather, rinse, repeat.

To be perfectly honest, most weeks are not that cut-and-dried. This week, for example, I did grocery planning on Monday because we have a funeral to attend on Tuesday. And in the summer, the kids do more of the work than during the school year. And when that next grandbaby arrives, I'm out of here no matter what day of the week it is.... But getting back to what I was saying, I like knowing what's on my agenda for any given day.

Those of you who work outside the home probably are thinking "That's all she does?!! I do all that stuff in my evenings!" But I promise you I don't sit around and eat bonbons and watch soap operas. For one thing, we don't have a television. For another thing, I need to be frugal with my grocery money, so I cook mostly from scratch and spend several hours with the weekly ads figuring out which of the things I need are cheapest where this week. (I have a regular route that includes five to eight stores on one loop with no gas wasted. When we had six kids at home "major shopping" took about five hours, with another two or so for putting things away.) But I spend $160 a week for our current family of four, including all paper, cleaning, and hygiene supplies, which is only $16 more than the government's "Thrifty" plan for just food. And we eat VERY well. I could probably cut back to below the thrifty level, and we'd still be healthy and happy. I'd just have to bake cookies more often instead of buying them!

When I had six kids at home, especially when all of them were under twelve, the weekly schedule listed above took ALL my time. In fact, at that point I didn't have time for choir. The kids started helping as soon as they were able, but some things (changing the sheets on top bunks for example) were just not in their ability range. And that Wednesday list of beds, bathrooms, laundry took the whole day.

Somewhere along the line, though, it got easier. Even when a kid can't make a top bunk, he can strip it. And when older siblings can entertain younger ones, you stand a chance of getting a bathroom cleaned all in one shot, instead of stopping several times for childcare responsibilities. About the time Tommy started kindergarten, I discovered that I could (usually) get out of the house for a Wednesday mid-morning Eucharist. I would then grab a Coke or a mocha at the Tim Hortons' drive-thru, pick up Tommy, and finish my work. Later, when he was gone all day (waaah, all of my kids are gone!), I had a mental breakthrough. If I worked REALLY hard I could finish all the work (except maybe folding that last load of towels) before time to leave for the noon service. And then I'd be free until school was out. To go to the library. To go sit by the river and watch the freighters go by. To hit Barnes and Noble, make a list of new books to look for at the library (frugal? me??), and get a real mocha in the cafe. Heaven!!

Tommy will be a junior next year. He's the only kid without a driver's license. It's been years since I needed to be home by the time school let out. I can go places any day of the week, and I often do. But I still clean bathrooms like a dervish on Wednesday mornings, because Wednesday afternoons?? They're all mine!

Just in Case You Didn't Notice . . . .

When I got home from the weekend, I was too tired out from having fun with Daniel and Camilla to do a proper post. But I did manage to change my blog header. Did you notice?

I am now the grandmother of FOUR! Arwen and Bryan let us know that Camilla will have a sibling, due in February. Hurrah! Rosie and I wouldn't mind at all if we had to share our birthday. Maggie thinks that she should get to share hers, since we already have someone to share with. Actually, any February birthday will be fine! (And as Tommy's birthday is at the end of January, that's a possibility too.)

New grandbaby! Thank You, God!

Where I'm spending my weekend

I have an actual post percolating, but I hurt my finger while trying to modify a $6 lampshade to fit an antique lamp that only $60 lampshades fit, and I'm typing with three fingers instead of my usual four. But I'm going to have a great weekend hanging out with these folks and their parents, and will be back next week, unless Daniel's baby sister or brother arrives!

Rain

Right now it is not raining here. I am assured by Roger – and also by weather.com – that this is a temporary condition. It was raining earlier, complete with thunder, lightning, and some substantial hailstones. About ten minutes ago the sun came out. But it is gray again, and the windows which we reopened will need to be closed again.

In C.S. Lewis' That Hideous Strength, which for many reasons is one of my favorite books, the characters Camilla and Arthur Dennison relate that one of the reasons they got married was that they both like weather. Not any special kind of weather, just weather in general. Camilla says that most children like weather, and playing in it, until the adults force them not to. I am not sure that I liked weather as a child, but it is definitely true that one of the reasons I regularly give for liking living in Michigan is the experience of all four seasons. Summer thunderstorms, winter snow, wind, heat, cold; I want them all in my life.

As an adult, rain is the weather I probably appreciate least. It can make grocery shopping a trial. My exercise walk is even less pleasant in the rain. I really hate rain spots on my glasses. And yet ... one of the best memories I have of the camp where I spent parts of twelve summers, first as a camper, then on staff, is a walk in the rain.

That particular summer, my first on staff, the staffers were divided into two groups. For two weeks one group were counselors, spending from Sunday afternoon to Saturday morning riding herd on “cabin groups” of campers. The other group served as support staff, cooking and serving meals, cleaning bathrooms, mowing grass. After two weeks the groups switched.

This particular week I was on kitchen duty, which was the longest working day. In the kitchen by 6AM, breakfast on the table by 7:45. Clean up from breakfast, start lunch – and some of the dinner prep as well. Serve lunch (12 noon sharp), then clean up. And then you were free for a couple of hours, until 4PM for serving dinner at five thirty. (I don't mean to imply that this was drudgery. Actually, we played music, and talked, and had a generally good time. But it was long.)

We were free to do whatever we liked during our off hours, which usually boiled down to sleeping and/or swimming in the pool/lying in the sun. But this particular day it was raining, with enough chance of lightning that the pool was closed. And Anna and I weren't sleepy.

This was before the days of lightweight plastic ponchos and raincoats. Such things were made of treated fabric, even canvas, and they were heavy. Plastic trash bags, however, were new and wonderful and easily available in the kitchen. Anna and I grabbed a couple, poked holes for our heads, and spent our free hours running, laughing, singing and playing in the rain. We got back to the cabin just in time to put on dry sneakers and report for dinner duty. Our hair was wet, but since this was, after all, a (rather rustic) camp, that was fine.

I find it intriguing that of all the many many hours I spent at camp, these two rainy ones come to the top of my mind most often. Maybe I should take off my glasses, grab a trash bag, and go!

(As predicted, it's raining again.)

Take Me Out to the Ballgame!

When I was a kid I loved baseball. My brother and I had our favorite teams, with player pictures hung on our bedroom walls in the shape of ballfields. His teams were the Yankees and Giants, mine were the Dodgers and Mets. We had countless arguments about whose teams were better, but since in those days the only inter-league games were the World Series, and not more than one of our teams -- usually the Yankees* -- ever reached that level at the same time, such disputes were purely theoretical.

We read baseball stories, notably John Tunis' The Kid from Tompkinsville series. My favorite was The Kid Comes Back. We went to occasional Baltimore Orioles games, mostly at the instigation of my Aunt Ethel. Aunt Ethel was my mom's older sister, and I have countless memories of her sitting in front of the TV, watching the Orioles play, knitting away at her current project and keeping score at the same time. I learned a lot of baseball terminology from her. One of the saddest things of her descent in to Alzheimers was when she could no longer follow a baseball game.

And then, well, I grew up. I moved from Oriole territory to the mid-west, and we decided not to have a television in our house. For a few years our congregation had a church-league softball team (for which I was scorekeeper), but that ended when Rosie was a baby. Baseball scores in the newspaper are not the same, and the only MLB [Major League Baseball] team in Michigan is the Detroit Tigers, about whom I care very little, and who play in the middle of a scary city. Since my reading of the sports pages is limited to a glance at the front of the section, I knew two player names, and that's about it. Baseball became a very marginal, almost forgotten part of my life.

Until last Friday night. A friend of the family has occasional access to a set of corporate season tickets, and six weeks or so ago we made plans for him, Roger, me, and Katie to attend the Tigers/Dodgers game at Comerica Park. It sounded like a fun time with a friend, but right up until Thursday I was waffling about actually going, since "I didn't care that much about baseball anymore," it was supposed to rain, and Tommy needed transport to and from an end-of-the-school-year party. Roger finally persuaded me to go, since Tommy had arranged to get a ride from a friend, but I tossed the afghan I'm crocheting for Rosie and Anthony's coming baby into my backpack, figuring I'd have something interesting to do.

We got to Detroit about 30 minutes after stadium opening time, and parked our car in a not-too-near but not-too-far $10 game-night empty lot parking area. I was glad I had packed umbrellas, since it was misting lightly. We walked the several blocks to the stadium, and our friend suggested that we get something to eat at Hockeytown Cafe (warning--link has sound), across the street from the stadium. As usual, I was unimpressed by another sports bar, but the food was acceptable, despite no T in the BLT/Club because of the salmonella scare. By the time we finished, about 40 min before game time, it was raining, hard.

We decided to go over to the stadium and get our tickets scanned so we would be eligible for rain checks. Since we were in, we walked around to our assigned section, and decided to stand by the entry-way to our seats (between two hot dog stands!) to see if the rain would let up. It was actually quite pleasant -- there was a breeze from the field, which can be seen very well from the whole concessions/walkway ring. In the Orioles old park -- since replaced -- you could only see the field from the seats proper. About 10 minutes before scheduled game time, we noticed that the rain had tapered to a mist. Since I had brought rags to dry our seats, we decided to go and sit in them (with our umbrellas) and see what happened.

The seats were amazing! Fourteen rows back, right behind the home dugout. Aunt Ethel always preferred the view over the plate, and our budget was NOT corporate, so I'd never before been in the "good" seats. By the time we'd been in them 15 minutes the rain had totally stopped, and the grounds crew came out to uncover the infield. For about 2 minutes we wondered what they were going to do with all the water standing on the tarp. The answer -- dump it on the outfield! By then the scoreboard showed that the game would begin about one hour late, and it was a good choice; there was no more rain that evening.

I had decided before we took our seats that I wouldn't bother getting out my crocheting, because I didn't want to get it wet. But during the extra time of the delay, I pulled it out. By the time of the National Anthem, I had finished a row and a half. And then the game began. For the first inning, I divided my attention, looking up for the pitch and then down at my afghan. But somewhere along the line -- maybe it was the first line drive third baseman Guillen snared too fast for me to see -- I remembered: THIS is what I love about baseball. Not the team or player stats; not loyalty to any particular team. What I loved , and to my astonishment still love, is the actual game play itself. Long flies caught just short of the fence. The batter acting irate if a pitch comes too close. The tag -- or missed tag -- on the steal to second or third. I just love baseball.

Roger, who has always been little mystified by my baseball knowledge (football is his game), was glad to hear that my rediscovered passion is not for the Tigers, but for baseball. We are already researching going to see the Lansing Lugnuts, where the best (non-suite) seats in the house cost $9. I can't wait!

And, oh yeah, the afghan? Despite getting caught up in the game, I still finished 6 rows. Aunt Ethel would have been proud.

* Although the 1969 Series, where the Mets "lost last place", lives so clearly in my memory that when I saw the movie Frequency, and the date flashed on the screen at the beginning of the movie, I knew exactly what was going on on that day.

Happy Birthday Daniel!

My grandson turned two today! Despite the early morning wake-up call and long drive, being there for Daniel's birth was, as I mentioned here (scroll down), one of the high points of my life. And the two years have simply flown. Then he looked like this; now he looks like this -- all boy and marvelous.

Happy birthday, grandson!

IRL

I'm not sure how many of you are familiar with the acronym that titles this post. Most of you probably do know URL, which stands for "Uniform Resource Locater", and is what any techno-geek you may know will call the address of this blog, or anything else on the internet. (When I asked Roger a little while ago exactly what the letters stood for, so that I could use them in this post, I got a three-minute discussion of why they're called that, and how it's supposed to work but doesn't always. TooMuchInformation, to use another acronym!)

IRL, on the other hand, is a blog and text-message abbreviation which stands for "In Real Life." I know most of the people on my blogroll only from the internet, but obviously I know Arwen IRL, since she's my daughter! One of the benefits of meeting people online, however, is that if you really hit it off and find you have a lot in common, you can meet IRL. This is not without its dangers, of course, since people can lie on the internet, but adults who have a common interest in knitting, or theology, or literature, or whatever, are in my (NSH) opinion less likely to actually meet up with a weirdo than kids who just want to meet a "friend".

Arwen has met several online friends IRL, and a couple of them have become the kind of friends that you take an airplane trip to visit, and stay in their house, and invite to your in-laws condo, and generally do all the things with that you do with any real friend. I, however, (partly since I am newer to blogging) had never done so before yesterday.

But yesterday I hopped in my car and drove the 90 minutes (or two hours home during rush hour :-( ) to Arwen's town to meet up with "Liz." Liz doesn't appear on my blogroll, because hers is password protected. Arwen and I have been reading her for several years, since before her password, and leaving comments of the kind that caused her to deem us nice enough people to be let in to a blog that's now family and IRL friends only. Thanks, Liz, for the compliment! Liz normally lives half a continent away, but is doing a three month training stint in a city only 2 1/2 hours from Arwen. So we decided to meet up in Arwen's town due to the logistics of transporting Camilla, who is an important part of the package. It was wonderful!

Liz is just like her online personality -- I hope I am, too; I know Arwen is! -- and we chatted about this, that, and the other thing for five hours. And then I had to head home for choir practice and Liz had to go in the opposite direction for what I hope was a hot date! Since she returns to her home state in three weeks, I don't know if we'll have another chance to meet her IRL. But I surely am glad we had this one!

Note to all 3 of my readers -- if you ever expect to be in Michigan, email me and we''ll see if we can work something out!

Disclaimer from last post -- It appears that a lot of DaVinci's Notebook's songs are raunchier than I would care to listen to. Rats, and I'm sorry if I steered you in the wrong direction.

Random 2.0

Maggie is home from college, and she and I were talking this morning before she headed out to help with her best friend from high school's engagement party. Maggie is part of the reason this couple is engaged -- there was a time when they weren't talking to each other, but they were both talking to her. Whatever the problem was (and I have absolutely no idea), Maggie's good sense and insight helped them work it out. I'm excited for them!

Anyway, I was sitting at the computer (playing Peggle, of course) and mentioned to Maggie that I should post to this blog, but I didn't always feel like I had the time or energy to do anything but ramble. Her response was "But Mom, at least when you ramble it's coherent and has proper grammar and spelling, so it's still easy to read." So I'm rambling!

Katie's graduation from high school is next Tuesday, and we will have the joy and pleasure of having all our children there, even George. Slightly to my surprise, he chose to take his summer leave now, instead of at his birthday in August. And Arwen, Bryan, and Camilla, and Rosie, Anthony and Daniel will be making the 90+ minute drive to be here. And then they'll all come again on the weekend so that we can celebrate Fathers' Day a week early. Rumor is that Anthony is bringing steaks "imported" from his family's ranch in Idaho, so we will eat well!

I also have a new musical group that I need to learn more about. This morning while Katie was mopping the kitchen floor, she put on some music from George's iPod, and I discovered that DaVinci's Notebook, whose Title of the Song I have always found wonderful and hilarious, is totally a capella -- I'm a big Rockapella fan, (and also The Swingle Singers, for anybody that old) -- so I've got to hear more. I may have a new favorite!

Random Explanations

I would try to explain why the Katie#4 post is still not done, except that anything I said would be an out-and-out lie ("Giant tarantulas ate our house!") or a rationalization ("Well, um, I'm not sleeping very well because of the hot flashes, and so when I sit down to the computer I really NEED to play more Peggle because that rests my brain and anyway... You get the idea.)

But the truth of the matter is that I simply haven't disciplined myself to sit down and keep writing. I am a slacker in this area. Which is no surprise; I have always been a slacker in some area or other, and as I gain discipline in one place, it pops up somewhere else. But I am RESOLVED to conquer it here. [I think I've said that at least once already :-( ]

In place, therefore, of the next installment of Katie (on which I will work after I post this) I am going to list all the extra things I've been doing that I could but won't use as excuses.

1) cooking several meals for the judges and officials when my kids' band hosted the state festival
2) the very next day, singing in the choir at two masses, because our parish splits first communion to make room for all the relatives
3) attending the out-of-town wedding of a dear family friend
4) goofing off playing Peggle.

These are obviously not good enough excuses. So I'll be back.

AArgh!

I had the Katie #4 post half done, and Blogger ate it! Grrrrr! Sigh. I guess I need to get into the habit of working in Word and doing copy/paste, although I always have to re-format when I do. But it's coming, it's coming.

AArrgh!!

Ten to One Meme -- The Finale

List THREE pieces of your furniture you'd like to replace.

1. Our sofas. They match, so I’m going to count them as one. They are beyond beat-up and dog-chewed, and even the “new” slipcovers are getting tattered, but I refuse to buy new until know what our post-buyout house will be like.

2. My bedside table. It’s a used-to-be-painted particleboard thing that once belonged to a friend of mine when I was single. I haven’t replaced it because I’ve never seen anything I liked/could afford that would fit in the narrow spot available in our current house.

3. Our porch chairs. They’re fake Adirondack chairs made of molded plastic, and half of them are cracked, so that you can’t sit with your head back.

Name TWO skills and/or personality traits which you are still developing.

1. Seeing from the other person’s point of view.

2. Doing the right thing when it takes effort.

Find (or recite if you're just that good) ONE quotation that expresses something you find profoundly true.

This is more “profoundly beautiful” than profoundly true, but it’s my favorite quote of all time. It's from Chapter 4 ("The Field of Cormallen") of the last "book" of The Lord of the Rings, and if you've never read the whole thing, getting to this quote is a good reason to take a stab at it.

“And all the host laughed and wept, and in the midst of their merriment and tears the clear voice of the minstrel rose like silver and gold, and all men were hushed. And he sang to them, now in the Elven-tongue, now in the speech of the West, until their hearts, wounded with sweet words, overflowed, and their joy was like swords, and they passed in thought out to regions where pain and delight flow together and tears are the very wine of blessedness.”

I take that back. It’s ALSO profoundly true.

THE END! I won't tag anyone, but do the meme yourself if you feel like it, in whole or in part, on your own blog or in the comments section here. I'd love to read your responses.

Ten to One Meme -- Days 6 & 7

Wow, have I messed up! I never got here yesterday -- I was cooking all day for this great weekend with Arwen and Rosie and their families -- and it appears that I titled two posts "Day 4". (I'm going to fix that after I post this. So here are two for the price of one..

List FIVE movies you have seen at least FIVE times and/or would be willing to watch at least FIVE times in the future.
1. Sabrina (the newer one with Harrison Ford) (swoon)
2. You've Got Mail With my daughters, I have most of #’s 1 and 2 memorized.

3. The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe We are a Lewis and Tolkien family.

4. Curly Top (or anything else Shirley Temple) These were on TV every Sunday afternoon when I was growing up

5. White Christmas I can’t believe Arwen missed this one. The most awesome time was when a local theater showed it on the big screen.

Name FOUR features of your own body that you like.
1. Blue eyes
2. Long fingers
3. Eyebrows Some of my kids got their dad’s family uni-brow, poor things.
4. Ankles

Ten to One Meme -- Day 5

Name SIX of your own acquired skills or personality traits of which you are proud. (Brag on yourself, dude! Own it!)

1. My prodigious vocabulary. I play Free Rice in the mid-50's.

2. The ability to cook without a recipe and alter and invent recipes for things that taste good.

3. The ability to read quickly, and remember a lot of it. ("Garbage-can memory")

4. Being able to sew things without the precise pattern I need. I’m not as good as those old-fashioned seamstresses who could measure you and cut all your clothes to fit, but I can get whatever sleeves/neckline/skirt I want.

5. My musical memory. I'm not a great musician, but if I've heard it, I probably remember it.

6. My test-taking knack

Ten to One Meme -- Day 4

New grandbaby is due in early July. Last time Daniel came almost five weeks early; this time Rosie'll probably go three weeks over and drive herself and us crazy.

List SEVEN tasks you'd be happy never to have to do again.

1. De-crudding the shower walls. I clean bathrooms regularly, and I don’t mind wiping them down, but they really need to invent shower walls that repel soap scum.

2. Recaulking the bathroom, or cleaning the caulk.. Once they get the soap repellent down, they should figure out how to make bathrooms all in one piece. The cracks are what make the cleaning hard.

3.. Cleaning the oven with that smelly stuff. One of the first things I bought after I got the money I inherited from my parents was a new flat-top stove with a self-cleaning oven. No regrets.

4. Clean up after the dog in the yard. I wasn’t the one who wanted the dog. (To be fair, the kids are supposed to do it, but it’s never all cleaned up, because somehow some of it is always invisible to non-mature eyes.)

5. Make phone calls to strangers for any organization. I will cook a full meal from scratch for 125 people before I will make five phone calls asking for donations.

6. Deal with head lice. (Knock on wood!) The time we had our visit from those nasty critters, I was clinically anxious but undiagnosed, which made it 500 times harder, but it’s a lot of work no matter how you slice it.

7. Clean out the basement after a sewer backup. This was 6 weeks before Arwen’s wedding. Ugh!

Ten to One Meme -- Day 3

It looks like it's Little Women in yesterday's list, although I'd certainly like to find one of those combined volumes Jen mentioned. Now on to today . . . . .

Name EIGHT moments in your life that you're proud or happy to remember.

In chronological order, because Arwen's fussy like that:

Please note – there are no academic items on this list, not because I don’t have any good memories, but because there was never any doubt in anybody’s mind, least of all mine, that I would do academic stuff, and do it pretty well. I might as well be proud of breathing.

1. The time in college gym class where we were playing mixed basketball (two guys and three girls on a team) and the other team made a technical foul against my team. The guy who was captain of my team picked me to shoot it! You must understand that I am klutz personified – NOT an athlete in any way. But when I stepped up to the foul line and shot, the ball not only went in, it swished! (For you other non-athletes, that means it went straight through without touching the rim.) Never before or since, not that I’ve tried recently, but oh, what a moment!

2. The day I decided to move from home in Pennsylvania, where almost all my relatives still live, to Ohio. And by extension, when I moved from Ohio to Michigan. It took courage I didn’t know I had, and didn’t fully understand at the time, but that I’m glad I used.

3. My wedding. I can clearly remember looking down the aisle to where Roger was standing at the front of the church, and realizing that I was the reason for all that happiness on his face. Awe is a mild word.

4. Having my kids. This really needs subheads a). through f.). If I listed each child’s birth individually, I’d use up most of my eight moments, and though they’re all distinct and differently precious, they’re all the same KIND of moment.

5. Letting 15-year-old Arwen get into a car and drive away with her 16-year-old new driver friend. (Just to a soccer game.) I haven’t been the perfect mother, but this is one area I think I did mostly right – letting the kids go when it’s time. I’m glad I had practiced this a lot, because it’s the only way I was able to say a calm goodbye to George when he left for boot camp. With each kid it’s something different.

6. The day I got a thank-you note from my mother for the 50^th anniversary celebration my brother and I had for my parents. It was all positive. This was probably the first unmixed praise I ever had from my mother. Looking back on it, I’m pretty sure she was in early Alzheimer’s, and had simply forgotten that “you’re NEVER supposed to tell your child that they did a good job.” My mother learned some real junk from my grandfather, and I now can feel sorry for all of us, instead of thinking that there was some innate problem with her, or with me.

7. When I realized that I had the mental tools and force of will to never have another panic attack . I had always been the anxious type, and had various run-ins with severe anxiety and panic attacks before I knew what they were, but the spring of Arwen’s junior year in high school I reached the point where I really couldn’t function. Fortunately, a friend recognized what was going on, and steered me to a great counselor. She recommended a particular workbook, and for me, knowledge truly is power, at least in this area. I learned that most of my symptoms were caused by bad emotional responses to normal physiological changes, and that I could learn to change my responses. [This is called Behavioral-Cognitive Therapy, and it worked wonders for me.] I still have to be careful to short-cut negative patterns, and I practice conscious relaxation once or twice a day, but I haven’t had even a heavily anxious 10 minutes in several years now.

8. More subheads – the births of grandkids Daniel and Camilla. Can’t wait to add letter c.) to this one this summer!

Ten to One Meme -- Day 2

You may only own NINE books for the rest of your life. What are they?

1. Bible

2. A hymn book of some sort. I’m leaning toward the one I grew up with (called simply The Hymnal and published by a no-longer-existing denomination that merged itself into oblivion.) This is not the best hymnal out there, but it’s the most familiar to me. I’d also hope that I could have all the CD’s I wanted for the more modern stuff!

3. Unabridged dictionary

4. The Lord of the Rings, by J.R.R. Tolkien

5. The Chronicles of Narnia (one volume edition) by C.S. Lewis – I’d really rather have the Space Trilogy, but as far as I know it’s never been published in one volume.

6. The Complete Sherlock Holmes vol.1, by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

7. ditto vol. 2 – I love mysteries, and although there are thousands I’d hope I could borrow, these are the ones that never lose their twist.

8. Jane Eyre, by Charlotte Bronte The best example of a romance-with-morals.

9. _________, by Louisa May Alcott. My top three choices (in no particular order) are Little Women, Rose in Bloom, and Jack and Jill. Pick one for me!

Ten to One Meme -- Day 1

Arwen created this as a reaallly long meme, but since it has ten parts, I'm doing one a day for ten days. (And with any luck, getting back in the habit of blogging.)

Someone gives you TEN million dollars, but you have only TEN weeks to spend it or it's lost (and it can't be invested in any sort of accounts - you've got to spend it on services or material things). What TEN things do you do with it?

1. Buy out all the houses in my neighborhood. We have been sitting under the shadow of a major public-works project for six years now, and they just announced another delay. We all want OUT; I’d make that happen. The state could reimburse me or not, when it finally gets its act together.

2. Buy at least a nicer house for us. AWAY from the project zone. And furnish it lavishly.

3. Make big ol' charitable donations. Lots of them. This should really be number one, but I’m too lazy to move it.

4. Plan and fund a family reunion for my husband’s family. They live all over the country, and the cousins never are all in the same place. And add an extra week for my family!
5. Buy some really beautiful shoes and clothes. And some leather handbags that won’t wear out in one season. I’m picky, though, so I’d probably have these custom made. And maybe the shoes and clothes, too.
6. Buy a HUGH freezer, or maybe two, and load it up with top end meats and seafood. And stock my dream pantry.
7. Spend a lot of money on kitchen equipment, linens, drapes, wall hangings, and other domestic appointments.
8. Hire a cleaning service that does contracts, then pay ahead for as much time as they'll let me. (Thanks, Arwen. Who could mess with this one?!)
9. Replace all the aging technology in our household – computers, cars, stereo, third generation iPods. Also all the appliances.

10. Use the remainder of the money to buy some beautiful and very valuable jewelry, which I can sell off as I need more cash. I would use Arwen’s cheat here, but frankly my guess is that I’d be about broke by now.

Coming soon.....

To a blog near you (or one you've almost forgotten about) -- ten days of meme!

Courtesy of Arwen, except that I'm too lazy to do it all at once..... (but you knew that.)

Katie #3 -- The word's "Tenacious!" Really.

I have been seriously deficient in finishing off this NaBloPoMo-inspired series about each of my kids, including going back and giving a Mom's-eye-view of Arwen. I can't promise a post every day until next November, but I am going to work very hard at finishing at least one per week. Call me on it if I don't!

When our children were born, one of the first things Roger did for each of them was pray for them -- hand on tiny head, -- a personal blessing, which then became that child's bedtime blessing. Most of the blessing is the same for all the children, but there's a different special word for each one of them. (".....May God give you strength, and peace, and _______ all the days of your life....") George's word is "courage." Rosie's is "joy." Katie's -- "tenacity."

I have no idea how Roger came up with the specific word for each child (revelation? luck? randomness?) but it is clear that being prayed for in such a way has given each of them the quality named in their blessing. Of course in Katie's case, it's quite possible that she'd have had it anyway. At least we have a nice word for it. "Tenacious" is so much more positive than "pigheaded."

I've already called Katie stubborn, independent, and feisty. To that list you can add, in capital letters, CREATIVE. She's our only left-handed child, which indicates a differently wired brain, and while no less intelligent than her siblings she shows it much more in artistic rather than academic arenas. It took me a while to adjust my mothering style to her. I would walk into the room she shared with Maggie, see the mixture of scissors and paper scraps and ribbon and what-not and begin to yell -- "Katie, clean up this mess!" (Maggie's my tidy one; I knew it wasn't her mess.) Only after years, and a breakthrough in understanding, did I learn to look around first, and say "Oh, Katie, what a lovely mobile! Now don't you think it's time to clean up the stuff you used?"

Katie had some adjusting to do as well. Kindergarten went just fine for her, but when she got into first grade and began to have spelling words -- oh, my! I had gone over spelling words with all the older children, but with Katie... I'd ask her to spell "then", she'd think for a minute, and triumphantly pronounce "T-E-N-H!" A long argument would follow about whether that was right or not. From Katie's point of view, she'd said all the right letters; what was wrong? Getting them in the right order was an unnecessary waste of time.

(This has been in my drafts folder for too long. .. To be continued....)

Quick hello!

I am working on my third post about Katie. I would like to get through all the kids' biographies before anything major changes! But I am dealing with a Katie-induced flurry of costume production and modification (stay tuned for details) and I simply can't do as much as I'd like to.

However, several people have gently inquired as to how I can read in the shower. There are two facets to this: 1) non-valuable lightweight books and 2) long arms. I hold the book in my left hand and wash with my right. I don't usually read while I'm washing my hair, but since it's almost to my waist and is rather a production to wash, I only do it three times a week.

I honestly didn't know this was strange until I was out of college and mentioned it to my roommate. I had always read in the bathtub at home -- we didn't have a shower -- and kept it up in the showers in college, because it was always smart to take a book along anyway since you might have to wait for the few showers per floor. And I couldn't carry a big, heavy textbook down there, so light reading was permissible!

Actually, I guess I should just admit that I'm a book junkie. I have even read while kneading bread dough. (Not such a good idea. Do not try this at home!) If you have any further questions, just ask! And I hope to be back shortly with Katie #3.