Fruitcake as Lump of Coal:

Borrowing today's post from Michael G. Howell who has given permission for me to copy his work on my blog.

Fruitcake as Lump of Coal: A Derridian Deconstruction of a Loathed Holiday Icon

by Michael G. Howell

Close your eyes for a moment and try to explain what comes to mind when I say Fruitcake. With any number of people with any other word; cat, for example, everyone will have a different mental image of a cat. But with fruitcake the results would appear to be almost universally similar. Similar and negative. It’s hard to imagine a more despised holiday pastry than the fruitcake. The dense, dark cake, heavy like a tumor, impregnated with impossibly bright and sweet chunks of candied fruit appears as appetizing as a loaf of steamed leather. Yet the fruitcake still remains firmly seated in our collective consciousness as a symbol of that most wonderful time of the year. But to be sure, receiving a fruitcake, while once upon a time thought of as a kind gesture, has transformed over several generations to the equivalent of receiving a lump of coal in the stocking. In other words; if you get a fruitcake this year you must have done something very, very wrong.

How could something seemingly so fantastic have drastically turned into the Grinch of pastries? On the one hand you have cake. Who doesn’t enjoy cake? Cake is delicious. Cake brings people together. Cake is used to celebrate just about every major and minor accomplishment a person could conceivably achieve. Cake is a cornerstone of any and all festivities in myriad social gatherings.

And fruit. Since the dawn of time (save for that one minor set back in a garden long ago involving a serpent and an apple) fruit has been one of the most important food items in every culture. And the sheer variety of shapes, sizes, colors, and tastes in the fruit world pretty much guarantees there is at least one fruit somewhere in the world growing on a tree or bush that is just right for you. It tastes great and it’s good for you. What better to offset the empty calories of cake than fruit?

Perhaps the fruitcake represents that old adage “too much of a good thing.” Cake is good, fruit is good so shouldn’t good + good = freaking awesome? But it doesn’t. At least not anymore. At one time, perhaps, fruitcake was beloved by all. Around the 16th century a popular way to transport fruits was by storing them in strong concentrations of sugar. This practice lead to the inevitable sweetening of the fruit and enhancing the color, as well. Eventually fruits not native to an area could be transported from far away lands leading to a virtual cornucopia of colors and flavors hitherto unknown in the civilized world (which at the time was western Europe). By the 19th century the fruitcake became a staple because, well, what else are you going to do with a bunch of candied dry fruit?

The result was a brick-like “food” with bits of fruit embedded inside. From the outside you might mistake it for a shoe box (though some traditional fruitcakes took on a more round, pound cake appearance). Usually the fruitcake in everyone’s mind is this impossibly heavy, possibly armored, dense, soul-sucking block that, in all probability, would withstand a nuclear holocaust. But before you go hoarding fruitcakes to build a bunker I should tell you that a fruitcake fort probably won’t withstand anything stronger than a 5 megaton detonation. And in all likelihood anything we get hit with will probably be at least 10 megatons.

It’s appearance should be your first clue that maybe something isn’t quite right with this so-called cake. I mean, really, cakes aren’t supposed to look like they’ve just been dug out of the ground. That might be why the British (and what greater culinary experts are there) started putting icing on the tops of their fruitcakes. Lipstick on a pig? A coat of paint on ancient ruins ain’t gonna make it the Taj Mahal. Icing on a fruitcake, while a noble endeavor, is merely a cosmetic change and merely attempts to hide the otherwise disturbing product. Upon closer inspection the subterfuge won’t last.

But certainly something that looks just so incredibly inedibley wrong must have some redeeming feature. What about taste? Surely it is a delicious tasty culinary phenom. I’m sorry to say, no. A slice of your average fruitcake will more than likely send you into a diabetic coma. The amount of sugar guarantees that a slice is nothing less than a tooth melting disaster. Some people have a sweet tooth and might be able to handle it. For some reason the Japanese seem to enjoy fruitcake. But if you’re like me you stopped trying to figure out the Japanese a long time ago. If you could somehow just have small bite-sized fruitcake nuggets (patent pending) then fruitcake might just be tolerable. But no. You have an entire loaf of this stuff taking up precious counter space in your kitchen. And you and it both know that it won’t move until the following year when you give it to someone who did you wrong.

Apart from icing there weren’t many more attempts to pretty up a fruitcake. It’s as if a council of cooks got together to head scratch over what to do about this food brick. They squirted some icing on it and called it a day. That was the ultimate fix, the best and only thing they could think of. So taste had to be addressed. Enter the 19th and 20th century southern United States.

The Southern half of the United States has some wonderful culinary traditions. I won’t get into them here since we’re talking about the opposite. But you’d figure that the South would find a way to rise (the fruitcake) again. Their solution to the tragically sweet taste: just add nuts. Ok, so now not only is it so dense that it has its own gravitational pull, elephant man hideous, sweeter somehow than sugar alone, but now, NOW, it has crunchy bits in it as well. Hold a piece of nutty fruitcake in your hand and you might mistake it for a broken piece of concrete. I am reminded of taking a bite of sausage only to find my teeth striking then rolling around one of those mysterious hard chunks. Imagine that . . . got it . . . ok now add two tablespoons of sugar.

At one point someone tried to offset the terribly sweet taste with alcohol. The result did help in cutting down the sweetness and made it a tad more edible. But with so much alcohol in the cake the unintended result (or for some, very intended indeed) was that people were getting loaded off of their fruitcakes. Trust me, you don’t want to have to puke up fruitcake when you’re three sheets to the wind.

So the fruitcake’s not looking so good. Literally and figuratively. It looks terrible and it tastes so sweet it’s hardly edible. But it is still here. It is still around. Year after year fruitcakes are prepared, bought, and given as gifts. How could something so incredibly bad have lasted so long (eh hm, George W. Bush).

Part of the fruitcake’s prominence in pop culture relies on the fact that it IS so bad. The horrifying disgustingness itself is what propels the mystery of this cultural phenomenon. Fruitcake is still around for the same reason we slow down to see car wrecks or watch reality TV shows. It is just so bad you can’t help but be interested in it. Johnny Carson once posited that there is only one fruitcake in existence and that it has been passed around for decades. This of course is not true as there are still many bakeries that not only make fruitcakes, they specialize in them. Others suggest the longevity of the fruitcake in popular culture to be part of a generation gap in which aging grandparents give fruitcakes to their adult grandchildren who then just throw them out or re-gift them in essence seeing the fruitcake as a symbol of a bygone era.

The fruitcake has reached post-modernity. Given as a gift it can be seen as ironic. Popular culture poking fun at itself. Or, for those with less of a sense of humor, giving a fruitcake can be interpreted as something much more sinister. Something a kin to receiving a lump of coal in your stocking if you were a bad little boy or girl that year. Giving coal is no longer environmental friendly and for the average household it isn’t easy to come by. In the early 20th century coal was used as a fuel to heat homes so it was readily available to place under the tree or in a stocking for a bad little boy or girl. That time has passed. Coal is not used in our homes anymore. Tell a child they might receive a lump of coal for being bad and the prospect may intrigue them. Something has to take its place and the next best (worst) thing is the fruitcake. As we have already determined in many ways the fruitcake is very coal-like. At least, perhaps in appearance.

If you give a fruitcake to someone as a gift it could mean any number of things:
1) You phoned it in this Christmas putting zero thought into your choice of gifts

2) You don’t really like the recipient but a gift is obligatory as is the gratitude you’ll receive back

3) You don’t like the recipient and the fruitcake is a symbolic slap in the face

If you receive a fruitcake it means that the giver doesn’t like you, wants you to suffer, or doesn’t have the audacity to slap you in the face. You must have done something to really piss off this person and I suggest that you should probably just end it now before things get out of hand.

So now you have a fruitcake (or if you have given one, be prepared for retaliation next year). What do you do with it? You could eat it but we’ve pretty much covered why that is something you should probably avoid. You could just give it away to the mailman or someone else. The question is, do you want to keep receiving your mail? You must be very careful to whom you give a fruitcake. It’s the atomic bomb of the gift world. Don’t wield it without some responsibility.

You could through it away but that might prove to be an environmental hazard. The half life of one of these things has got to be an easy 50 years. Not to mention all the weighed down garbage trucks and sanitary workers with herniated discs from hauling around all those trashed fruitcakes.

So what to do with them? In Manitou Springs, Colorado they have an annual fruitcake toss where you can even rent one if you don’t have your own. You could build some sort of structure but good luck getting the safety inspector to approve such a monstrosity. You could bury it but even the slightest threat of a fruitcake tree is a chance no one should take.

I have my own modest proposal for what to do with these unwanted pastries. I say we should make them even more than their lump of coal counterparts and use them for fuel. Burn them, in the hearth, a bonfire, in burn barrels. The density will guarantee they’ll burn for hours (the ones with alcohol might go up quicker). You could save hundreds on your heating bill and your home will smell like fruit and cake for days. If the fruitcake is the cloud, free fuel is the silver lining.

Merry Christmas

Money and Meat go together like...?

Answer: subsidies and government.

"Why does a salad cost more than a Big Mac?"

Answer: The U.S. Farm Bill mandates government subsidies for key livestock feed and neatly ties to what school lunch programs feed children.

"The Farm Bill, a massive piece of federal legislation making its way through Congress, governs what children are fed in schools and what food assistance programs can distribute to recipients. The bill provides billions of dollars in subsidies, much of which goes to huge agribusinesses producing feed crops, such as corn and soy, which are then fed to animals. By funding these crops, the government supports the production of meat and dairy products—the same products that contribute to our growing rates of obesity and chronic disease. Fruit and vegetable farmers, on the other hand, receive less than 1 percent of government subsidies."

Why is America fat?

Answer: Farm states receiving subsidies have strong representation in congress which writes the bills and provides the subsidies for fattening foods we can afford to eat.

Why is obesity a problem for America?

Answer: Obesity correlates to health costs because obesity is not a healthy way to live. The discussions about health care reform largely depend on a congress ruled by people who get subsidies for feeding children and the rest of us cheaper, chronic disease producing diets.

If salads and fruit were cheaper to grow due to governement subsidies, resulting in less expensive healthy choices in stores and restaurants would people choose less expensive ingredients and meals?

Beware of Earthlink

We have been trying to cancel an email account with Earthlink for several months. Each time we call they either say we do not have the right telephone number, password, or such information as is necessary to verify the account. The charge of nearly $5 a month for an email account that gmail, yahoo, and others offer for free requires greater imagination than I have to figure why I would want to pay Earthlink $5. It's a leftover account from the dark ages of internet when we chose Earthlink for our internet service. I won't go into why we still have the account, but let's just say someone in the household needed the contacts in the Earthlink email account.

On a live chat with Andrew at Earthlink, we were given a number to call. And when we did, the auto-voice did not offer any choice for canceling email account billings. Here is the live chat with Andrew at Earthlink. I'm recording it here because it is difficult to believe anyone could be less helpful.

Welcome to Earthlink LiveChat. Your chat session will begin shortly. Feel free to begin typing your question.
'Andrew A' says: Thank you for contacting EarthLink LiveChat, how may I help you today?

me: I want to terminate my earthlink e-mail account and my automatic charging to a credit card.

Andrew A: Hi, I will certainly help you with your query.
Andrew A: Just to confirm, do you want to cancel your entire account or just the payment mode?
me: i would like to cancel both

Andrew A: In this case you may have to call 1-888-EARTHLINK (1-888-327-8454) 24 hours a day, 7 days per week for cancellation and further help.
Andrew A: Is there anything else I may help you with today?

me: well since i have been trying to do this for months, can you at least stop the charges to my credit card?

Andrew A: We can stop that right away, but we are not the department to take care off, that is reason I provided you the above number.

me: so just to confirm - you can not help me stop payment to my credit card?

Andrew A: I apologize, I do not have the access to the resources in order to accomplish this task.

me: the phone number you have given me is only for technical help

Andrew A: The above number is for our Customer support as well.

me: well i can not get through to the proper assistance,

me: how else can i get my credit card charges cancelled?
Andrew A: Please click the below link.
Andrew A: http://support.earthlink.net/contact/phone/
Andrew A: You will see the same number for billing issues too.

me: that is where I started and the number you had me dial simply tells me to dial another number HELP PLEASE!!!

Andrew A: Like Explained earlier, we are not authorized to do any changes or cancel your account. We do not have the access to cancel it.
Andrew A: I do understand your concern, but we are not the right department.

me: the phone number does not seem to offer a choice for email disconnect.
me: and we have just tried 866.408.8305 and he says that he cannot do email disconnect.
me: when we do find the right number and person, can you tell me what information they will require to stop the account?

Andrew A: They will have to verify your account in order to close the account.

me: Who would we call to change the payment from our credit card to a home bill?
me: What will they need for verification?

Andrew A: The above customers support number is the total solution for your issue.
Andrew A: I kindly request you to contact them as you have reached an in-correct department.,

me: Actually, it is not. There is no selection number offered by the operator voice for cancelling email accounts.
me: The first question is are we existing earthlink customers. We do not have cable, dsl, or internet service with earthlink anylonger. But I have dialed twice. Once I answered yes, and the next time no. Neither time did the operator offer a choice for canceling email.

Andrew A: In this case I kindly request you to call on Monday.

me: Andrew, I know you are trying to help. But do you think there is anyone there with you who knows what number to dial on Monday or anyday who can cancel our email with earthlink?

me: Andrew, I believe you are trying to help-- But do you think there is anyone there with you who knows what number to dial on Monday or any day who can cancel our email with earthlink?

Andrew A: I assure you, Once you call the above number, you will get the desired help. As it is Sunday that could be the issue you are not able to get anyone.

me: By the way, I have copies this chat dialog and will place it on my blog and send it to the Earthlink hmf because no one will believe that I am having this much trouble cancelling an email account. Or wait....maybe they will believe me, but I'm posting it online anyway. And sending it to Earthlink, Andrew. You are not being helpful.

Andrew A: I aplogize, As explained earlier you have reach to a department which do not handle these queries.
Andrew A: Thank you for using EarthLink LiveChat. Should you need further assistance, please contact us again.

meister@earthlink.net: Thank you.
meister@earthlink.net: Goodbye

AFter an hour or so and several phone calls to various Earthlink service numbers we spoke to Michelle Richardson, quiet voice with an Indian English accent, who attempted to brush off the request because we did not have the right phone number, though we assured it has been the only bloody phone number we've ever had. Eventually, she was able to give us a confirmation number to track the record of actually canceling the Earthlink email account and our credit card should not be billed again.

We'll see!

Meet the Joeys

Red Wiggler Worms may be the best pets ever!

When my daughter started her "worm composting" several years ago, I have to admit that I grimaced. My familiarity with worms at that point began and ended with the garden variety, sometimes hooked onto the end of a fishing line. One day the worm farming daughter moved away and left behind the large black worm composting bin.

Eventually, overwhelmed with how much kitchen waste we throw away in the garbage each day, I thought, Why not compost this waste? I looked into the traditional compost bins and decided to look for one that rotates or tumbles in one container.

And then I remembered the worm bin sitting empty in the garage.

The biggest hurdle to the worm compost process is finding the Red Wigglers. I searched the internet for sources of Red Wigglers in our city or near by. Nothing in my neck of the woods. I continued to look at the tumblers and talk about composting with friends. Then, quite by accident I saw them. In a booth at craft fair a woman had a display of her "home-made" plywood worm bin with directions and WORMS.

How much for the Red Wigglers? I asked her with more enthusiasm than she'd ever witnessed in her booth. She told me she happened to have a bucket of 1,000 Red Wigglers, and I bought them. We brought them home and tucked them gently into the black worm bin per internet instructions. They eat all our kitchen vegetable waste, coffee grounds, egg shells, and shredded newspapers.

We call them the Joeys. Naming 1,000 worms seemed impossible, so I called them Joey. If anyone asks, and people do, I recite a litany of Joey names: Mary Jo, Billy Jo, Jonny Jo, Kelley Jo, Peppy Jo, Slowy Jo, you get the idea. They appear after three weeks or so to be pretty happy. It's relatively free of odors and the Joeys live in the kitchen or laundry room most days. This week I opened the lid to check on the Joeys and found ten of them headed for the lid. In fact, some of them crawled all the way to the lid. Probably this means they want something more than what they've found in the bin. I added more garbage and spritzed a little water on the newspaper cover. Fewer and fewer of them climb to the top now.

I have no photos of our worm composting bin, but here is a website that gives great directions with photos.

One day my daughter will come to claim the worm bin and the Joeys will go to live with her. I will miss them. I think I'll buy a tumbler next time.

On Being Five

On August 19, Jon stayed home from pre-school with Mommy.

They ate breakfast and played with trains. Late in the morning Jon asked Mommy, "When am I going to be five?"

"You are five today; it's your birthday," Mommy reminded him.

"Today! Today I am five?"

"Yup."

"But when did I turn five?"

"Today. It's your birthday and you are five now."

"No, but when. Right now?"

"I guess," she paused and wondered where he was going with this line of questioning. "I guess you turned five this morning. So, you are five now."

"Right now I'm five."

"Yes, now you are five-years-old."

He thought about it. And in quiet, pensive voice he wondered aloud, "So, this is how it feels to be five."

The next day, Jon woke up, got out of bed, dressed, and asked Mommy, "Am I six today?"

July in Ireland

Ten days in Ireland began in New Grange. Amazing pre-pyramid tombs in Ireland. Restoration of the tombs allows visitors to enter the ancient burial mounds and experience the ingenuity of an ancient culture. Giant's Causeway on Ireland's northern coast can hardly be believed. The volcanic formation of geometrically shaped columns of basalt provide a natural staircase for exploring this wonder of Mother Nature. The last photo was taken of the "Gap" on the northern Irish penninsula of Inishowen, north of Buncrana.

 

 

 

 

Tinker Toy Radio Show

What do you build with Tinker Toys?

Jon and I arrived at the table filled with TT pieces. He brought his 4-yr-old enthusiasm for random pieces in bright colors. I brought my 50-something enthusiasm for Public Radio. Spotting a wheel, Jon said, "We can make it go!"

I built a tower, inserted a flat plastic disc through a horizontal, red TT stick and said, "On today's show, ladies and gentleman, we'll be talking to Jon Cxxxxx Hxxxxx, whose just returned from an adventure with trains. Good morning JON, what can you tell us?"

"Yeah, I fell off a bench in Kirkwood watching trains."

This interview played out over the course of 45 minutes. The guest on the show waxed eloquently about his many adventures for all things pre-school promises. The story of falling off the bench, complete with the list of injuries led to his sage advise for others who might be game to try standing on a bench and jumping off after the train pulls away. "Don't do it."

My husband arrived late into the broadcast and asked, "Ooooh, what's that?"

"We'ew havin' a wadio sow."

"A radio show! I wonder who thought of that," he said a little too sarcastically, I thought. "I've been building with Tinker Toys for over 50 years and I never once thought of building a radio." And then the engineer sat down and became caller number 7 with a question about trains for the guest on the show.

Bishop Robert Carlson, meet me in St. Louis, Louis!!

The faithful of Saginaw and Sioux City welcomed Bishop Carlson to his last appointments. As St.Louis prepares to roll out the red carpet for the new Archbishop, some may wonder what the expectations of his former dioceses were and how he lived up to them.

For a look back:
The Saginaw Blessing



Guidance in Voting

and again here

"The decisive leadership of Bishop Robert Carlson is causing a vocation surge in the Diocese of Saginaw, Michigan. Bishop Carlson led the vocation-rich Diocese of Sioux Falls from 1995 to 2004 before his transfer to the vocation-poor Diocese of Saginaw, which ranked 150th in the nation early last year. In his February 2005 installation homily, he announced: I am Bishop Robert J. Carlson, and I come to you as an apostolic missionary and a servant of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. I consecrate my ministry among you to the intercession and care of the Blessed Virgin Mary . . . I promise as your bishop to teach only authentic Catholic doctrine . . . And, as of today, I am the vocation director for the Diocese of Saginaw, and I invite the men of this diocese, young and old, who have the necessary gifts and state in life, to seriously ask God if they have a vocation to the diocesan priesthood."


In Sioux Falls, the bishop also developed a reputation for being a good listener. The Detroit Free Press reported that in one year he had hosted 2,000 people for coffee, cake or dinner.

Ordains Grandfather

Lifestyle Choices and More
"it became public over the weekend that the incoming bishop of Saginaw, Bob Carlson -- an appointment I previously referred to as the "American Chur" -- had decided on a
$330,000 home before he even takes possession of the diocese. (For those in need of briefing, Carlson's predecessor, Ken Untener, spent every month or so in a different rectory in the diocese, eliminating the need for a central bishop's residence.)

How Happy is Saginaw - survey




If you have links to add, place them in your comment and I'll load them here.

Intergalactic Deb Day

Today is the first Intergalactic Deb Day ever.

I had a latte and a warm raspberry with white chocolate scone to celebrate.

One of my coworkers proclaimed today as Intergalactic Deb Day. That's all it takes. Holidays start that way, don't they?

What will tomorrow be?

Diet Experts

Someone I know explained to me today about the fine art of dieting. "It's all about calories," she said. If you want to know how to lose weight, according to her, ask a fat person. Heaven knows they've tried everything and yo yo up and down.

She explained that "studies" at one time showed that eating fiber was the way to lose weight. Everyone ate fiber. Didn't matter how much fiber. They bloated and corked themselves up with fiber, she said. If they'd asked her, she could have told them what it would happen, but the studies carried a lot of weight. Fat people carry a lot of weight, probably more than studies. We should ask fat people how to lose weight, fat people like her. And she would let us know that it is all about calories.

Doesn't matter if it's a 500 calorie lunch containing only Fritos. Those 500 calories will not make you fat, if that's all you eat. Five-hundred calories is five-hundred calories. She learned this from experience, back in her college days when she ate 500 calories of Fritos and a Three Musketeer bar everyday for lunch. She was thin. Not healthy, but thin.

Now studies tell us that it's all about calories. Next time ask a fat person, and you'll be ahead of the game.

Peeking into the Single Life-style

I'm married. Happily. But I have friends who are single and lookin'. The hunt for the date life is a distant memory for me, honestly. So, wasn't I intrigued with a recent evening spent with a single, attractive girlfriend who introduced me to match.com.

Most nights, I spend with a book, a magazine, making yogurt, talkin' with the princely spouse, or netflixing. And I spend an inordinate amount of time on my realtor's site hunting for houses. The listings are endless and photos help a great deal in deciding which houses to see in person.

One night this week, keep this under your hat, I looked at petmatch.com or some site with a similar name. You put in the criteria you want, like dog or cat, f or m, big or small, etc., and it gives you photos and personality traits of potential pets that could work for you.

Looking for a date is not much different. I had a blast looking at the photos of these gentlemen who, quite frankly, should not put their photos online if they want to get a date. Granted, some are decent sorts. Though not cover-dudes, some have charming descriptions, and I'd be thinking --if I was lookin'-- that someone who can take the time to write about himself with a touch of humor and dash of humility may be worth meeting at the pub one night.

My girlfriend has done exactly that. And she pointed these fellas out to me. I had to agree, they were good choices. But they didn't last long. Too quiet, too tall, too old, too young, too married...yup, that's problem.

And then there's the moment when you actually recognize one of the eligible chaps. Someone you went to school with, someone you work with, the brother of someone you know--and the someone's a priest. Add wine, olives, and cheese to this evening and it beats looking for a house. Or a puppy.

Doodling all over

The post on this blog that gets the most hits is the one on doodling.


NPR has a story on doodling with some interesting insight.

I like to doodle. I'm a squiggle line doodler. Nothing frame worthy. I go over the letters in my notes, darkening and outlining them. Sometimes I sketch the person speaking. If the speaker catches me staring and drawing, and staring and drawing, it's a little uncomfortable. Usually the sketch is not flattering.

Now that I know, if NPR is to be believed, that doodling helps the mind concentrate on the speaker, I will doodle more freely.

Text messaging, however, during meetings or conversations leads to precisely zero comprehesion of what is being spoken in the room.

Those Charities Are Calling

Dinnertime, peaceful evenings, and just when I thought it safe to sit down in front of the television--the phone rings. Caller ID tells me its a charity. Sometimes they hide behind "unknown" caller. I always know who it is.

Fireman's Fund, Policeman's Fund [never mind the lack of PC, you know who I mean], Special Olympics, Democrats, Republicans, Kidney Foundation, Cancer Society, the calls keep coming. How to decide who to give to? Give them each a few dollars and they'll call in a month. One wants to be charitable, but at the same time, one hopes to offer money to the the group that will spend it well.

Frankly, I find the calls annoying. When I say, "Please send me something I can look over. And if I like what you are doing, I'll be happy to make a donation." The reply is always something to the effect that they'd like to send something but budget demands they ONLY send something if the prospective donor has agreed to make a donation. At this point, I could say, fine, $5, send it. And when it arrives, I could trash it or send $5.

One day, I realized that the Rockefeller Fnd., the Rasko Fnd., the Gates Fnd., and the A-Busch Fnd. among others have a process. Why shouldn't I have a process?

Now I tell the charity caller, "My family meets once a year to review all proposals for charitable giving. Please send me your information, I will present it to our Family Invitational Non-necessary Expense board (FINE). We invite you to submit your plan for taking care of your part of the world, and we will consider a donation from our earned income that we have budgeted for non-essentials this year." To which... they argue and complain and whine and say they want to know NOW. I keep calm and speak slowly and repeat the same invitation. Usually, they say thank you and hang up. The Policmen's Fund just hangs up. The caller NEVER says thank you.

These funds have hired folks who are gifted with, let's call it, persuasive gab. Yak yak yak, he says, crime rising, drug dealers on the street, protect your family, he says. he tries to make me very afraid. Persuasion by fear. A common tactic, often heard in church's and political rallies. I wholeheartedly agree with him and invite him to submit the proposal to FINE. He hangs up.

None of them have ever agree to send me anything to submit. They want money. They don't want to prove to me that the money will be spent on those who need help. Who's paying the persuasive gab caller, by the way? Why do people give them money when they call? That's why they keep interrupting our quiet dinners. Just like the SPAMMERS who use the same rational because some people, even just a few, buy Viagra and who knows what else in response to the email spam.

If you want to be as generous as Bill Gates, you need to give to charities who are willing to request money respecfully, as they do when they submit to the Gates Fnd, or any other group. Like my family fund. And we will meet and we will donate. We did this year, and we even had fun reviewing the mailed requests.

Another new year

Several times today I practiced in my head saying two-thousand and nine. 2009. I imagined two-thousand years ago when they might have practiced saying the year "nine." Then, I remembered they didn't ever practice saying the year NINE. The year hadn't been "invented," yet. Instead of the year 9, they named the whole year after the magistrate with all the power. In these terms, we'd be leaving the year of W and entering the year of Obama. Not until the year 46 CE did anyone pay attention to a numerical designation of the year. And suddenly it was 46, no 45 or 44?

I would be practicing in my head saying The Year of Obama. That would be cumbersome to write on checks as the date. Rather than 09 (oh-nine), I like to write just 9. Why 09 anyway? It won't be 010 or 011. We could shorten it to "O" as in Obama. Jan. 2, Oh--for "O." Or B.O. I think I'll stick to 9.

ZENdom

While you tidy up the kitchen, storing the Thanksgiving leftovers in the Chinese Tupperware, how about some Buddha music.

Comes in three colors and costs $25.

Tupperware by any other name

I'm comforted to know that anywhere in the world I can store food in airtight containers.

Tupperware changes ever so slightly as travels around the world.

My Kind of Town

CHICAGO! CHICAGO!

Wonderful weekend in Lincoln Park for a Saturday wedding. A visit to Navy Pier on Sunday in the downtown surprised us with a visit to the SOFA exhibit.
http://www.sofaexpo.com/

I don't know how may galleries had installations in the hall, but it's more than my feet could stand. In spite of the name, there are no sofas to sit upon and rest the weary tootsies. On Sunday the crowd was manageable. Easy to move about and view all objects d'art. And their prices.

Lost keys?

Lost your house keys? Car keys? Not to worry.
Take a photo of your keys with your cell phone. The photo can be used to create a copy of your key.

Of Architectural Dreams

Beauty in the daily environment of homes.
Architecture of St. Louis featured in this blog.

The blog links to many other great architecturally focused sites like this one -Vanishing St. Louis

Found this site on my own. Great place for viewing St. Louis architectural styles.

I am impressed with the number of folks looking after St. Louis' architectural heritage of modern design. Several blogs and sites like this one which is one of the best.

Fight Depression Through Your Anus

No kidding.
Who knew?
Somethings are just meant to be shared. You can thank me later.

In How-Good-bye-Depression, the author explains tips for clearing up your depressed mental state.

Here's the info from Amazon: Product Description

I think constricting anus 100 times and denting navel 100 times in succession everyday is effective to good-bye depression and take back youth. You can do so at a boring meeting or in a subway. I have known 70-year-old man who has practiced it for 20 years. As a result, he has good complexion and has grown 20 years younger. His eyes sparkle. He is full of vigor, happiness and joy. He has neither complained nor born a grudge under any circumstance. Furthermore, he can make love three times in succession without drawing out.

In addition, he also can have burned a strong beautiful fire within his abdomen. It can burn out the dirty stickiness of his body, release his immaterial fiber or third attention which has been confined to his stickiness. Then, he can shoot out his immaterial fiber or third attention to an object, concentrate on it and attain happy lucky feeling through the success of concentration.

If you don't know concentration which gives you peculiar pleasure, your life looks like a hell.

What more can I say? Published in 2000 and sells for $15.25--eligible for free shipping.

Mr. Jon Turns Four

On Tuesday Jon will be four-years-old. Today we had cake, sang, and opened gifts. Before the party started, while the cake was being iced, he proclaimed, "THIS is the birthday ever." All he wanted was a helicopter, which he received; complete with lights, sound, and a rescue hoist hook and basket. He does not know that Pops got a fly around the house remote control helicopter for his grandson's birthday. We thought we'd wait awhile to break it out of the box--some quiet rainy day.

Jon is still a big fan of trains. Two Fridays ago we spent the evening --ALL evening, until 10:30--in Kirkwood waiting for the AmTrack, for no good reason, mind you. Just because we wanted to see the train come in. We, that is, as in JON.

We waited, it was late, we waited, it was later, we waited and we watched the station attendant erase the board to fill in the new arrival a time. Another patient little boy(5), waiting for his grandparents from KC, said to Jon, "Hey, you could take the train home." To which Jon replied, "No, I tan't; it won't fit frough the door." I leaned over to Jon's ear and suggested his friend might mean that he could RIDE the train home. We all chuckled. And Jon could not figure out why.

Friday, Jon has his peanut challenge. They stick him in a room at the hospital and give him teeny bits of peanuts until he has an allergic reaction. Starts at 8:30 AM and could go until 4:30 unless he goes into anaphylactic shock - or not That's what the doc wants to know: just how allergic is he. Sound like one of those days we'll all be happy when it is over.

Mile High

Record temperatures welcomed me to Denver on Thursday. And after frigid indoor temperatures I welcomed the 101 heat outside. My room at the Hyatt had a thermostat which I prompty set at 72--five degrees warmer than when I checked in.

When I arrived at the Sheraton to check out the L. booth in exposition hall, I walked into a lobby filled with large, burly men of all ages. In the same lobby, I noted all the women of a certain age dressed mainly in blue, black, and white. Not religious order habits, actually, but clearly they represented religious orders. The women and the men made for an unusual picture. I chuckled to myself.

Later, I asked what conventions were being held at the Sheraton. The burly dudes were gathered for the John Deere convention; the nuns were attending the Leadership of Religious Women Conference. The juxtaposition of the two tickled me.

Having nothing to do that evening, because I could not set up the booth until morning, I ventured out to the 16th street mall. Somebody in Denver knows what's what about drawing people into a downtown area. FREE shuttles travel up and down the mile long mall, closed to all other traffic. Cross streets have long lights giving pedestrians ample time to cross. Shops and restaurants line the street on both sides. No shortage of things to see and do.

Not enough time this trip to head off into the mountains. And due to the clouds and haze, I can't really see them clearly. But in the evening when the sun sets--it's a stunning view from the top of the Hyatt.

Salvation Army and bells

I put money in the big red can while the bell ringer rang his bell outside of Schnucks last night. As I put the dollar bill and some change in the can, I paused and caught the bell ringer's eye.

"I have an idea," I said. "How about when people put money in the bucket, you stop ringing the bell."

"Ok," he said.

"I think if you STOP ringing the bell when people give you money, people would give you more money," I suggested.

"You think so? Maybe. I can try that."

"Good, I'll put my money in the bucket, and you can't ring the bell until I get into my car."

"Ok," he laughed, "it's a deal."

I placed my bill and change in the slit and waved goodbye. He raised the bell like he was going to ring it, but held it up in the air. "Go ahead, then. I'll wait." And he did.

Put money in the bucket and ask the bell ringer to stop ringing the bloody bell. If we all keep putting money in the bucket, the bell will never need to ring in annoying, constant ding dong ding, and they'll have lots of money to feed the poor.

It's a good idea.

Guess who is having a birthday in December?

Recognize this fellow?
It's Jesus. Yes, of Nazareth. Or Bethlehem, depending on the source.

We have all of Advent to have ready what he wants most for his birthday this year. He's been asking for the same thing for over 2000 years.

Arrr, what's your pirate name? Savy?

I'm Red Morgan Bonney....and who might you be, matey? ARRRR.

My pirate name is:

Red Morgan Bonney

Passion is a big part of your life, which makes sense for a pirate. You can be a little bit unpredictable, but a pirate's life is far from full of certainties, so that fits in pretty well. Arr!

Get your own pirate name from piratequiz.com.
part of the fidius.org network

Workin' For a Livin'

In france they have an expression that I like for the quotidian of life.

Expression: Métro, boulot, dodo

Pronunciation: [may tro boo lo do do]

Meaning: same old routine, work work work

Literal translation: subway, work, sleep

Sad that daily life can be capsulized as such.

Jon Goes Fishing

NOTE: Several of my posts were bombarded with spam comments. So, I reset moderating comments and reposted the old posts.

Luckily, Jon had no hook on his line. Just a bobber. He only LOOKS like a fisherman. Photo album below--click on photo.

Jon and Pops Go Fishing

Meg Popp is trying to win a trip to Australia Zoo. View her video and vote for her to win. You have to register in order to vote but it takes NO time at all. Here's how:
Voting started today on the "win a trip to australia" site. I've been voting all day.

http://freetrip.australiazoo.com.au/?p=watch&v=e8tevkcign

Over-thinking Disney?

The whole film is longer than this snippet from U Tube, but you'll get the idea.
I'm using this in class with regard to evaluation of an argument.
What do you think?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=byaMd_PNyIY
U Tube: micky mouse monopoly

BOOK TO READ

I needed something to read that had nothing to do with anything I am involved in at the present time. My library shelves are double deep, but I know I have not read every book. Shoving some books aside, pulling several out in order to read the back cover, I finally found one. West by Night.

With the first page, my adventure began. This woman is amazing. As the book opens we learn that she is a pilot in the 1930's on the African continent at a time when only very few men were flying over Africa. Hemingway has said of Markham that after reading her book he is embarrassed to call himself a writer. Each chapter begins a new story from her life in Africa--from her childhood through adulthood. What a courageous soul. Nearly impossible to believe.

The book is easy to read, a page turner from beginning to end. I would guess that you could check it out of the library. Take it home and enjoy the adventure.

KIN U spell?

Now, in the privacy of your own computer screen, you can test yourself in spelling.
SPELLING TEST

Oh, go ahead. It's fifty words. Takes a few minutes.

If you need to improve. Try this technique.
Visualization

Good memory, just short

Every day I speak to someone who thinks she/he is losing memory power. We forget dates, past events, names of books, movies, where we had dinner last Sunday. When my children were small, I was busy with many things. As soon as I was overly busy, I'd forget things like picking up the carpool (and my own children). Often, I lost my keys or forgot where I'd placed them. I still do all those things; luckily both of my kids grew up and drive their own cars. And I wonder, with the other people who are forgetful, where did my memory go?

The key, so it seems experts tell us today, is to forget unnecessary things in order to have the space to recall the important information. They explain is with this example:

"Using fMRI machines to monitor brain activity, the researchers showed that when volunteers searched for a fact they had committed to memory while being distracted by new but irrelevant information, their prefrontal cortex, a part of the brain involved in decision making, was very busy. Once they recalled the information and were easily able to remember it when faced with continued distractions, prefrontal activity slowed considerably--meaning their brain had edited out the info clutter and was now free to do important things like make decisions."

One thing I have found that helps is to never commit anything to memory that you can look up. Frees up a lot of memory cells. So, when we meet next time and I've forgotten your name, don't be offended. I've simply downloaded that info in order to remember where I left my keys.

What's the buzz?

The buzz is no doubt a mosquito scouting your fleshy parts for a landing site. Evey time I walk outside at or after dusk, I am bitten ALL over by mosquitoes. I googled "How to not get bitten" and found this horrible bit of information.

Can garlic keep mozzies away? The answer given was ‘No’ but the article contained a vital piece of information – that drinking alcohol attracts mosquitoes!

So, it's the wine with dinner that attracts the little buggers. Argh. Looking further into the problem at hand, I found the following advise

"B1 Vitamins (Thiamine) are another homemade remedy to keep mosquitoes away. Taking B1 supplements helps your body metabolize carbohydrates and fats and turns them into energy. It's also great for the heart. Not only that, but taking 25 to 50 milligrams of Thiamine three times a day makes your body produce an odor. Don't worry, other humans can't smell it, but female mosquitoes hate it.

You need to take Vitamin B1 for two full weeks before they kick into effect as an effective mosquito repellent.

Rubbing apple cider vinegar on your skin or taking vinegar capsules is another homemade remedy you can use. You need to drink two tablespoons of vinegar every day for this to work. If you can't stomach the idea of taking it straight, mix it in a few ounces of cold water and drink it down that way. Besides protecting yourself from those bloodsucking insects, apple cider vinegar has many other other health benefits as well. It can help relieve arthritis, lower cholesterol and more."

I'm ok with the B1 but the vinegar might not be my answer. My mother tells me to rub my arms and legs with a dryer sheet. She read it in a magazine. Mosquitoes do not like Bounce or whatever.

Other search engines generated a diverse pile of hoe to avoid being bitten. Most of them too bizarre to even think about.

No More Curls

Handsome boy with new haircut.

Sweet Dreams are Made of Lemons

Carrie Hudson (Kansas City area; extended family in St. Louis) has what I'd call double vision. She sees her own life with the joys and struggles of a cancer survivor, and she sees the greater joys and struggles of exercising her vision to make life better for other people. She's 12 and cancer free after 26 long months of treatment. She's also our great-niece, and great in this case is totally appropriate. Here's the story:


Leawood — Everyone’s heard the old adage: “When life hands you lemons, make some lemonade.”
But seldom has someone as young as Carrie Hudson been called upon to heed its advice — or taken it so literally.
For a couple of days this past June, however, the 12-year-old parishioner of Curé of Ars Parish in Leawood, ran her own Alex’s Lemonade Stand as a way to take the lemons she’d been dealt — cancer — and turn them into “lemonade” for others facing their own cancer journeys. The proceeds from the lemonade stand went directly to pediatric cancer research for treatment and cures.

"Truly, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven (MT 18:3)." Children see with bigger imaginations than grown-ups; maybe because they are so small their egos don't stand in the way, blocking the vision of what is possible in life.

Fun on the dock

Whose legs are these?



Grammy teaches Jon how to unhook the fish.

New York in the Summer

The people in New York stand out in a crowd.

The artist of this bejeweled "girl" stood next to me in the audience at the Today show. The cameras did not scan our section until AFTER she left. But she did get to talk to Natalie in person off camera.

Other photos of the NY trip can be viewed here.
second attempt
http://picasaweb.google.com/meister.home/NewYorkSummer07

Ordination Photos

This past weekend we celebrated another Sacrament. Bill only has one more and he'll have them all! But we can wait a long long time for that one.

All went well. Celebrations continued all evening and I slept all day Sunday.

To view the day click

Ordination 2007

Memories...

Some things are best forgotten. Like, say, someone's breath. And, yet, if you just can't live without smelling the faint odor of your loved one's life breath, prepare ahead:
Breath Capture

Why I don't go whale watching

Last time I had the opportunity to whale watch, off the coast of Vancouver, I opted not to sign up. The sea craft that would take me to the whales was a kayak. I'd seen video of a kayak overturned by a whale with a playful spirit. Though I am a good swimmer, I could not imagine swimming WITH whales, being eaten by a whale or another sea creature, or even just drowning in the cold sea.

Now, I have a new fear: Family scrambled to survive as boat sank off Hawaii
If you haven't heard the news, told today in the St. Louis Post, go read the story. I assume they've been on some number of tv shows; I'm a little behind in the news. This family will remember the day forever. And it won't be a pleasant memory.

The article doesn't say, but I don't think they saw any whales.

Math IS useful!

As a liberal arts thinker, I have often dismissed math as something we have to put up with, like menstruation (we, being women--and men if you're married to one). I married an engineer so that I wouldn't have to really LEARN math myself. Having graduated from an engineering university, I have many friends who also like to do math; and while I enjoy their company, I've pondered the existential meaning of their mathematical nature.

Until now. Here is math put to [good] use. [from Mirabilis blog] Not necessarily useful, you understand. But if there's beer involved (and most of the math minds I know like beer) it must have been useful for them.

Mathematicians have come up with a formula that predicts how the head on a pint of beer will change after pouring.

Their advance could shed light on why the foam on a pint of lager quickly disappears, but the froth on a pint of Guinness sticks around.

The research could not only provide tips for better brewing, but could also have applications in metallurgy, say the authors.

I wonder if there's a study group formed to compare the speed of women and men's pouring technique. I'd like to volunteer for such a study. Particularly if I get to drink the beer.

I wonder if the equation takes into consideration how much beer someone has consumed before pouring the beer.

I wonder if they have thought to apply Heisenburg Uncertainty principle to the study of the foaming.

I wonder if there are graduate students getting credit [extra] for assisting the genius professor in the lab with the beer.

I wonder...

Sometimes a red hat

Sometimes a red hat, that doesn't go and doesn't suit me, is just NOT enough!

When I'm 80, I'll wear a gold bow on my head,
that doesn't match and doesn't make any sense.
And I will know I am pretty.

When I'm over 80 I'll wear balloons on my head or any place I want!



[First I tried a copy and paste to get photos in post--doesn't work. Here they are!]

Have You Seen?

This video came out ahwile back. If you haven't watched it, you don't know.





Did You Know?

Be Happy AND SMART

I want some:

[from Science Daily] Antidepressants increase the presence of a growth factor in the brain, which then leads to a proliferation of new cells, according to a study by Yale School of Medicine researchers in this week’s Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences.
New cells, huh? Does that translate as the more you have the smarter you are? If it helps memory, I'm likely to benefit.

However, "Happiness in intelligent people is the rarest thing I know." Or so says Ernest Hemingway, author and journalist, Nobel laureate (1899-1961).

Thus, we might ponder why "adults tend to believe that intelligent kids can deal with anything because they are intellectually superior. This inevitably includes situations where the intelligent kids have neither knowledge nor skills to support their experience. They go through the tough times alone. Adults don't understand that they need help and other kids don't want to associate with kids the social leaders say are outsiders.

As a result we have many highly intelligent people whose social development progresses much slower than that of most people and they have trouble coping with the stressors of life that present themselves to everyone. It should come as no surprise that the vast majority of prison inmates are socially and emotionally underdeveloped or maldeveloped and a larger than average percentage of them are more intelligent than the norm."

I've never thought that criminals were smarter than the average bear....at least not the ones that get caught. In fact, we probably have all concluded that a life of crime is S-T-U-P-I-D. Maybe they are all depressed and need antidepressants to be smarter and happier and find a way to live within society with, say, more concern for the welfare of others and not so much their narcisstic selves.

Narcissistic individuals, those who live as though the world revolves around them. Infants and young children understand the world in this way, but they are young. As they gain more experience and begin to realize the self as separate from the ego, poof: the world begins to turn in another direction, one that involves others. One that results in relationships, healthy ones.

The neurotic tendencies of those who have not passed successfully through the stages of [Erikson's] human development with a positive slant toward moving into the next stage, drive the rest of us nuts. Neurotic people drive other people crazy. Psychotic people go crazy themselves.

Some people benefit from antidepressants. Having come full circle in this post, what have we learned? Not much. Feeling the need for Paxil, Prozac, or Zoloft? Know someone who could use a few more brain cells? I do. But this is NOT the place to mention any names.

WINTER: Bah Humbug!

February can be the cruelest month in the midwest. We can see spring o'comin' but it ain't here soon enough. More rain, more ice, more ---don't say it...

Think of more pleasant climates, like Miami in the winter.

Here, take a vacation--

Miami photos

This day was born

George Harrison

(1943–2001)

Born in Liverpool, England, musician George Harrison played lead guitar and sang with the Beatles, developing an interest in Eastern music and religion. After the Beatles’ break-up, he made solo albums, including All Things Must Pass (1970), and performed with other artists, notably ‘super-group’ The Traveling Wilburys (1988–90). He also produced several films, such as Monty Python's Life of Brian (1979). Harrison died after a long battle against cancer.

Takin' the Day Off

As if I have nuffin' to do. But it's President's Day, and the world rests in their memory. Quite a creative lot of souls, I'd say, those presidents all; some more memorable than others. They inspire my creativity, and I searched for ways to doodle on the day we have off.

Here are some to view.
Doodle one
Forget therapy--analyze this, Freud.
Other medium for doodlers
Even presidents doodle.
Exposing some interesting insights.

There's a science to everything. I thought doodling was just, you know, doodling. How can there be rules?

Of course you can do art doodles any way you please, but we recommend the following rules:

1. Working space refers to the entire area of the graphic file - in this case 300 x 300 pixels. Image refers to the actual shapes, pictures or lines on the working space when you first open the file. Picture refers to the completed picture after you have finnished doodling.

2. You may enlarge the working space to 600 x 600 pixels.

3. You may not erase any part of the image nor change the colours of the image nor cover more than 5% of the image (this allows for dithering or drawing a few lines over the image in order to complete your picture.

I think the rules are made to broken. Doodling relieves stress.
And some people are better than others. Do scroll down to see the cartoon.

I thought doodles were those shapes and scribbles I make while I am talking on the phone or listening to a speaker and pretending to take copious notes. I usually sketch the speaker. Passive aggressive behavior, I guess.

Aside: If you wear reading glasses--fun thing to do when someone is boring you: Look at the person in the room with you and tilt your head so that your reading lens is right about half way down their face. Shrinks the face. Makes it squatty and distorted. Don't laugh out loud, though. Every face looks different. Try it with various people in the room. Especially fun at bored, oops, board meetings.

Living on Another Planet

Do you know who Anna Nicole Smith is?
Of course you do.

Thursday, 8 February, I was the chaplain on the sixth floor of the FP Hospital, making my rounds to make initial visits like I always do. After the fifth visit, as I was sitting in the nurses station writing my chart notes, one of the nurses rushed into the station and grabbed a rolling chair and slid over next to me.
"I got somethin' to tell you," he said nudging my arm. I looked up from the chart with interest.
"Anna Nicole Smith just died. In her room. They don't know why she died," he told me.
"Anna Nicole Smith," I repeated, more a question than a statement.
"Yeah, Anna Nicole Smith."
My mind was turning. Had a seen a Smith this morning, I wondered.
He saw my perplexed look and continued, "She died, in her room. No one knows how she died."
"Smith." My mind was spinning. Smith, Smith, Smith. I didn't recall any Smiths. I hadn't heard them call a "code" and I had not gotten a page. I looked at my pager. When someone dies they always call a chaplain. Maybe they called the CCU chaplain. So I opened my folder to check the patient census sheet. No Smiths on the 6th floor. Maybe she was in CCU.
"What floor is she on?" I asked.
"What?" What what, I thought. Something is not right about this conversation.
"Is she a patient?"
"No! Anna Nicole Smith." He looked at the other nurses in station. They looked at him and then at me. "Anna Nicole Smith?" one of the offered, "You, know?"
"Um, I guess not. But I'm guessing she was not a patient," I admitted.

They took turns explaining the story behind Anna Nicole Smith. Intriguing, I thought, and said so. None of it sounded even vaguely familiar.

They all said it's ok not to know who she is or was. But I know they were all wondering what planet I live on when I am not at the hospital. Obviously one that does not care about Anna Nicole Smith.

The World Turns

Cultural disaster or turning point that will be noted by hisotrians to come? Perhaps print media has entered its end stage. I'll agree that holding paper in the form of a magazine or book adds a tactile sense to the reading experience. But the newspapers are a hassle and I for one will not mind their extinction.

STOCKHOLM, Sweden - For centuries, readers thumbed through the crackling pages of Sweden's Post-och Inrikes Tidningar newspaper. No longer. The world's oldest paper still in circulation has dropped its paper edition and now exists only in cyberspace.

The newspaper, founded in 1645 by Sweden's Queen Kristina, became a Web-only publication on Jan. 1. It's a fate, many ink-stained writers and readers fear, that may await many of the world's most venerable journals.

Can you spell SPA....................

Welcome back to midwestern winter! Temperatures will not reach above freezing for the next several days. Pinch me, somebody, so I can wake up back in Key Biscayne.

Last week I died and went to the Ritz Hotel on an island off the coast of Florida for four days. In addition to lounging by the waterfall at the pool, I enjoyed the spa amenities. The first thing I noticed is the scent of the entire spa and fitness area. A quick look in the gift shop and the nose found mango candles. Ah ha! The smell of the spa.

Entering through the spa doors, I walked down a long, softly lit, softly carpeted, well appointed hallway, through French doors surrounded by the hint of mango. The door to the women's spa opens into a warmly lit and cozy lounge where each guest is greeted by the hostess who gives you sandals and offers you a key to a locker. I thought the lounge was cool enough just to stay right there! An inviting couch, magazines, botanical prints, live orchids, healthy snacks, water or light cranberry refresher or hot herbal tea whisper, "relax, time has stopped, be here, be you , be now." Filled with an other worldly Zen-like transcendental peace I sipped my lemon water, slipped into the spa slippers, and floated through the next door to the locker area, which is nicer than most people's bedrooms. Much!

I changed into my silky robe with terry lining and ascended into the mango scented spa area. First, the steam room, then more water, then the jacuzzi, then more water and five minutes of sinking my body into the cushions of the wicker chair. Ready set go...into the sauna. Ah, but I brought with me a fluffy washcloth, folded and chilled in cucumber water to place on my eyes.

How can I recreate this in my own bathroom? I wondered. Well, the sauna and steam rooom will take a major rehab. But the mango scent and soft lighting, cucumber towels and robe are an easy addition to any home. Chilled lemon water with a splash of cranberry can be stored in the fridge for spa day.

The locker room [really far to harsh a description for the lovely environment] was complete with hair products, disposable razors for the shower, lotions, conditioners, body gel soap, and personal hygiene products. Silly me; I brought from home in my 1 quart zip locked baggy for the plane all those personl items! Who knew? The spa also offered the hair dryer and the flat iron and the curling iron and the hot rollers. And more fresh soft white towels than Macy's.

I found mango tea candles at the Fairchild Tropical Botanical Garden.
First step to home spa accomplished!

For years I've kept potpourri in a Lenox bone china bowl that I bought for nothing at a flea market in Paducah or somewhere. It's filled with water, now, waiting for ice, cucumber slices, and water to soak the hand towels in. I noticed the hotel room bathroom had a lovely silver tray that held the shampoo and lotion. Finally, an everyday use for the wedding gifts of silver bowls, trays that have slept for years in the dining room hutch. And orchids! Don't forget the orchids. I've killed two in the last two years. Better to buy artificial ones in pots that last forever and look more real and never drop their leaves. Every bathroom needs an orchid.

The memory of the Ritz spa is etched in my mind. Each pore and cell of my body remembers the creature comforts of the otherwordly environment. May be a slight problem in creating the time I'll need to lock myself in the bathroom at home and light the tea candles.


Next post: I hope I'll have photos downloaded and ready to share.

Puttin' On the Ritz

Run along the island shore. Soak up the early morning sunshine. Lunch on the beach. Fun in the sun. Relax poolside. Mild Florida winter temps. Fresh seafood, vegetables, prepared by the french chef. Tomorrow replay the whole day.

Relatively speaking---

I want a president with good judgement. The president doesn't have to have be the smartest person on the planet because the president has a steady stream of advisors with lots of information, numbers, and plans. The president needs to have good judgement in order to sift through all the muck and make the right choice.

Has Hillary Clinton forgotten that we all know she married Bill Clinton? That does not show good judgement. And we remember his presidency and the endless stream of media attention that distracted from governing our nation with reagrd to his sexual exploits. Definitely a lack of good judgement in the whole family.

Is it too much to ask that we have a choice to elect someone who is not related to anyone who has ever been president? I'm tired of Kennedy relations, Bush relations, and Clinton relations. I think I might be tired of Arkansas, Texas, and the North Eastern states, as well. Californian is a weary topic, too. Maybe Indiana or Illinois or Kansas are states that breed people who have good judgement and have no genetic relation to anyone who has ever been president. We can only hope.

Another Shade of Pale: the Other White Meat

I think I'll pass on those juicy BBQ ribs. After reading the Smithfield article my taste buds are still numb. I didn't need the photo they show, either.

I hear Australian cattle ranchers give red wine to their beefy herd. If red wine tastes good with a steak, they thought WHY not go double or nothing. Like free range chickens, these will be HAPPY cows.

[via: Boing site; Mirabilis, respectively]

Don't Delay Happiness

Reliving childhood memories is sweet. Here's a clip from a movie I watched over and over and over as a child. Shirley's feet barely move. I thought she was always dancing.

this post has been edited to direct you to a new ST movie

Hello Mudder,

These are photos taken with the new camera, explained below. But FIRST!!!

Everyone say hello to Muzzy. C'mon. Just click on "comment" below. Muzzy has found this blog and enjoys reading it. She says I should write a book. As long as I don't write it about her--but she didn't say that! To see the comments, Mum, just click on comments and they should pop up. To add your own, follow the directions.

I have a new camera. A Fujifilm V10. There is nearly NO delay time when you snap a photo. Here's a sample of the first pictures. The new foosball table is awesome. The little winter village is quaint, and that is the Great Wall of China behind the houses. Nice effect.

I can't wait to go out and take s'more pictures. The old digital Kodak is finding a new home with a graduate art student in Minneapolis. The fuji V10 has a 3" display screen--that's the same size as the camera itself. It's just the size of a a deck of cards. The Cnet link is a keeper; they review all kinds of stuff. Aaaaanyway, the V10 only has x3 zoom and I wanted x6 or more, but those are pricey and large. So, I went for FAST, excellent photos, and orange. Mine's orange. Nice.

Just When...

Just when I've figured out most of the idiosyncracies of Blogger and posting, they invite me to RE-up with the NEW and IMPROVED version. One click and they do all the work. I'm looking for differences on this build a post menu....no, don't see any. Looks the same. Well, now, there's a post options icon to click on which allows or disallows backlinks and comments. Ok. And a place to change the date and time. A place for labeling the post--in addition to the title.

I'll check the template.

What's Next? St. Oscar (Wilde)?

I hear Catholics warning others about one author or another, some condemned by the church or some who have written things opposed to Church teaching. Take for example Fr. Anthony DeMellow S.J., whose books and lectures were banned from local Catholic bookstores a few years ago. Too Eastern in his thought, the Vatican judged.

What about the "poet, playwright, gay icon and deathbed convert to Catholicism," who " has been paid a rare tribute by the Vatican"?

"Wilde [as in Oscar] (1854-1900) had long been regarded with distaste by the Vatican — a dissolute and disgraced homosexual who was sentenced for acts of gross indecency over his relationship with Lord Alfred Douglas." And now, one of the pope's closest aids has included quotations from Wilde in a new book. "Father Sapienza said that he had devoted the lion’s share of Provocations: Aphorisms for an Anti-conformist Christianity to Wilde because he was a 'writer who lived perilously and somewhat scandalously but who has left us some razor-sharp maxims with a moral.'"

In contrast, the congragation for the Doctrine of the Faith condemned Fr. DeMello, stating, "But already in certain passages in these early works and to a greater degree in his later publications, one notices a progressive distancing from the essential contents of the Christian faith."

The final statement of the documet regarding Fr. De Mello warns: "With the present Notification, in order to protect the good of the Christian faithful, this Congregation declares that the above-mentioned positions are incompatible with the Catholic faith and can cause grave harm." Have they read Fr. Sapienza's new book? Have they read any biography of Oscar Wilde?

Mr. Wilde was, however, not a Jesuit. And we all know how dangerous those Ignation warriors can be. While the Church later lifted the ban on Fr. De Mello's work, they did issue a word of caution to readers who may not understand the full context of his lectures and teachings. And now they have lightened their opinion of dear Oscar, a gay rascal, albeit a deathbed Catholic.

At the Bistro

On the last day of the semester, I scheduled a hair cut at the salon located in an ever popular shopping mall. The second week of December is not the time to go to the mall, especially on a Friday afternoon. Long ago, I found a double-secret parking area where I've never been left without a spot nearest the door. And this Friday, even in December, was no exception.

Inside the mall, however, was standing room only. The Food Court was a zoo. Hungry and tired from teaching, answering questions like, "Do we have to take the final?" "When is the final?" for hours in a row, I had to eat before sitting in the salon chair, or I knew I'd faint.

Suddenly, I remembered the Bistro at Nordstroms. Someone recently told me I should check it and today was the day.

Standing in line, a long line, I became aware that these patrons were a different lot from the Food Court zoo. Strollers, toddlers, shoppers, and clerks stood in this line with a different attitude. What a great idea, I thought. Here I am far from the madding crowd.

Two blonde 30-something sisters with their daughters about four or five-years-old, one child slighlty taller than the other, holding hands and dressed in pink, come out of the Bistro looking calm and happy. Practically skipping into the Nordstrom's women's department.

Standing next to me in line is a man I identify as distincly non American. He is casually dressed in tan cuffed slacks and a black rather sporty zipped down jacket revealing a dark naby dress shirt. His black leather shoes have a decorative buckle partially hidden under the cuff. His hair is perfectly cut, with the front, now gray, combed straight back where it mingles with the black wavy hair in the back. It's a European style.

A woman walks up, "Hi, sweetie!" I think that if I were meeting this man for lunch, I would not say Sweetie. "Darling" I'd say, or I'd use his name. She's not gorgeous. She's not blonde. She's not trim. She's not well dressed. She's average. Medium height shorter than I'd expect, 5'3"), wearing jeans, a little rump heavy, but average. She has a coat length jacket on and a striped turtle neck (from Macy's when Macy's was Famous; I saw them two years ago; a friend of mine has one). Her hair shows no gray and comes a bit past her shoulders with highlights about a year old. When she speaks I notice braces--the invisible kind you aren't supposed to notice. She's American, mid-western accent. He speaks to her with an accent which sounds Greek to me.

They converse about the day, his day, her day. Soon it sounds medical. A doctor. She holds her own, asking diagnostic questions, and shows an understanding of his dilemna with a patient. Maybe he married a nurse. More likely she married a doctor whom she met when she was a nurse at Barnes-Jewish. I see the ring. It's gargangtuan. They are next to order.

The line moves ahead and I step up to the counter to order my Nicoise Salmon Salad and Michelobe Ultra; I pay, turn around and look for a table. I see a booth seat with no chair across the small table--perfect a single diner. No one is seated at the next table with whom I'll share the long booth seat to my right. But there's a jacket on the back of the chair.

After two or three minutes, the nurse and doctor return to the table. I now recognize the jacket on the chair as his. I continue to write in my notebook, details of the Bistro and them. They are 18 inches away from my elbow. Now this is surreal. She'a on the booth seat, he's facing her and kitty cross from me.

I notice the St. Louis Blues insignia on his navy shirt. I can't hear the details of their lunch conversation over the droaning voices of fellow diners and the clatter of dishes in the Bistro. His pasta arrives and her soup of the day. They share fries. They drink ice-tea.

The Bistro is crowded. All the table are filled now. I see no other patrons dining alone. And no one esle is drinking beer. I'm impressed with myself. Mothers and daughters, girlfriends taking time away from shopping, and gray haired couples relax in the chic Bistro enjoying heaping bowls of Ceaser salad and sandwhiches made with fresh, crisp bread.

My Nicoise salad arrives. Presentation is splendid. I'm ravenous. A large piece of warm salmon rests atop the greens with a hard boiled egg quartered and evenly arranged at the edge of the shallow bowl. Long thin green beans, "French" the menu said, peak out from under the colorful assortment of lettuce, olives, red onion, and potatoes. I dig in, with good grace. Delecious. Better than I could expect salad to be. The beer is refreshing, too, between bites. I'm totally distracted from my neighbors and barely notice that they are finished their lunch.

I look up when they stand to leave. They don't look in my direction and they don't say good-bye.

A Job is a Job is a Job

By any other name, a job is a job. I was reflecting on my past jobs. Make your own list and be surprised at what you are willing to do for pay.

First job: washing dishes for eighty cents an hours at St. Agnes Nursing home. Prying off the sticky, pastey, no need for chewing, hardened food from 100's of plates and sloshing them around in hot water is a JOB.

Stix Bare and Fuller kitchen help: prime responsibility of placing rolls on plates with butter, and filling water glass, and keeping catsup bottles filled. $1.25. Any idiot can do this job.

Life guard. Definitely a better job. Things are looking up. Wisely I kept the job for two (3?) summers. Pay was poor but the job was great.

Plaque Shack sales clerk. Relatives owned the store and I worked there one summer. No complaints.

Newspaper reporter--features. UMR paper. Very little pay! And a former judge threatened to sue the university over one of my article. Thus ended my life as a journalist.

Volunteered for three months after graduation to feed and read to the dying patients at a hospital in Rolla, MO.

First REAL job: Houston, TX. Records Management at the Offshore Company. Very interesting and good pay.

AEROBIC DANCE instructor-- i know, i know, you can't believe it. But it's true. Got my picture in the Peoria Newspaper--FULL PAGE. Really embarassing to see oneself so large in print. I have a copy. I'll have to make a copy and put it on the blog. Yeah, right!

Univ. of IL--Springfield co-host, director, writer of an NPR show for children. Absolutely a favorite job. Tons of fun. Never like the sound of my voice on the air, though.

Lincoln Land Community College-- English Instructor.

Antelope Valley Community College --English Instructor

[I'm beginning to see a pattern; though it sounds like I work an amusement park.]

Pikeville College --Coordinator of Corporate and Private Grants, Editor of Colleg Paper, Education feature writer for city paper [oops, back into journalism]

Music Teacher --grade school, part-time, including directing Christmas Pagent each year.

Kent State Univ. -- English Instructor. We didn't live there long enough to really even mention this job, but they hired me to teach. It counts.

Univ. of Southern Indiana -- Professor of English

Newburgh Historic Society --grants and publicity, mostly volunteer.

Meramec Community College--Prof. of English

UA campus minister

Teacher for Lay Ministry program

Editor for Catholic book publisher

Writer of x# of publications for various Catholic publishers

Hospital chaplain.

Teaching English at MCC, once again

And the winner is LIFE GUARDING. Great tan, good hours, free swimming, when you save someone from drowning or even if they die, you get the rest of the day off--but they don't pay you after you go home. I'm thinking of getting recertified and applying at the Y.

That's 22 total jobs. And still going.

How Old Is Esther Williams?

Well, the first question might be who the hell is Esther Williams? She's a movie star that swam in all of her films. Glitzy, splashy Hollywood style movies (couldn't resist the pun).

Muzzy (nearly 80) saw a commercial with a young, really young, mom cooing to her adorable, chubby baby. "That's Esther Williams' baby. Isn't it cute?"

"Nah, nah, that's not Esther Williams. THE Esther Williams, you mean?"

"YE-E-E-S," she said sarcastically, "Esther Williams. You know Esther Williams?"

"The swimmer."

"Yes. She's wonderful in all her movies."

"That's not Esther Williams. She's like 80."

"What? Oh, stop. That was her right there."

"Mom, she's older than you. That woman was in her twenties."

"Esther Williams is maybe 40 at the most."

"FORTY!!!"

Then, she used my full name, middle name and all! "Yes, she's young. That's her baby."

"Her daughter's baby, maybe, or her granddaughter's baby. But Esther is OLD. Too old for babies."

"She is not. Don't be ridiculous." Now she's angry.

"Ok, I'll go google her." And I left the room knowing that no matter what I found out she wouldn't believe me.

When I returned, I said, "She was a member of the 1940's Olympic Team and her first movie was with Mickey Rooney. And I think he's dead. She's old."

"Now I know you are making things up. He is not dead, he's about 50."

I'm thinking I should just give up about now. Obviously, she wants Esther to be young, eternally, as she is in all the films. But something drives me pursue this ludicrous venture. "When did you see her movies?"

"I don't know. They're on from time to time."

"No, I mean first see her in the movies." Then, I jump to the chase. "She was born in 1922. You were born in 1927. It be--like you having a baby."

"Well,............................ she's just 40. You're wrong. Not 1922, that must be someone else."

Here we go, I pushed her wheelchair through the house to the computer and showed her the Wikepedia on Esther Williams which was showing a photo of Esther at about 20.

"Yes, that's her. Look, see, she's still young."

"IN THE PHOTO, mom. Not today. Read this--born in 1922."

"Oh. I can't believe that."

So, we go back to the kitchen and she says, "I bet no one knows that."

"Everyone knows she's 80 something. I'll call someone and ask. I bet your sister knows." She scowlls at me as I pick up the phone and dial. "Hi, hey, do you by chance know how old Esther Williams is?"

"I guess she's about 40. Why?"

I am shocked and appauled. Has the world gone mad? Is this a dream? "When did you first see her movies?"

"I guess when I was young."

"How old?"

"When we were in school we used to go watch her in the movies."

"It's 2006. How old is Esther Williams."

Gasp! "She must be in her 80's."

"I am handing the phone to my mother. Tell her how old Esther Williams is."

My mother's face says it all. Esther, we now all agree, is 85.

Why do I feel NO relief, no sense of having won the battle. I feel guilty. I've taken away their false reality. What difference does it make if Esther Williams is 25, 40, or dead? I really did think she was dead actually. So, I guess I'm happy to find out she isn't. We should all be happy she's alive and well and recuperating from an infection for which she was hospitalized in sunny California.

Moral of the story: We are only as old as we feel until someone comes along and throws cold water with an old swimmer in it right in our lap.

(note 6.7.2013: RIP)

What was Once Lost But Now Is Found?

You may have answered Grace, and you'd be right, of course. But this week it is BLUE LOVIE. Seems BL was hiding near the front door under a big ball. Tricky bear.

WANTED!!

Some of us remember losing our favorite stuffed friend, truck, or doll when, against your mother's advise, we took the favored toy out of the house (e.g. say the favorite Lime Sherbert Strawberry Shortcake doll you lost at the ARCH!). The experience may have required you to have counseling later in life. Or maybe you are considering having counseling, unaware that the lost bunny or doll haunts your psyche to this day.

A certain little fella we all know has lost his Lovie. We knew it would happen one day. If you see a blue Lovie somewhere in the vacinity of Cape Girardeau, MO, let us know. Or if you see one for sale in your neighborhood, do give us a call. Here's what they look like. The distraught child would like the blue bear.

http://www.aspecialgift.com/lovies.asp

The Russians Are Coming!

Actually, the Russians have been here and gone. The business associates that B. works with in Russia came to St. Louis, rather than the Americans going over to Russia, as has been the habit. One Russian engineer and his translator [V. and N. the same folks featured in B's blog] were here for the last week. We visited the Wine Country, Lake St. , Louis complete with kayaking and pontoon party boat, the Arch, the Blues game, Halloween in Wildwood, and various restaurants. They were impressed with our fair city. I gained five pounds!

Problem with losing weight is that I always know where to find it, so it isn't actually lost.

The translation between me saying something to the Russian, the translator phrasing it into Russia, his reply in Russian, translated to English left plenty of time to eat whatever was in front of me. Over and over. And chase it with beer, scotch, wine.... The Halloween jokes brought to the door by the children trick or treating were NOT so funny after being translating into Russian. Consider how much is lost in the following joke:
Why doesn't Piglet have more friends? Answer: Because he plays with Pooh.
Not even after the Russians had LOTS of Anheiser Busch products.

In Russian, the joke makes NO sense. Explaining the humor is a lost cause. There were worse jokes, I won't even go into here. The Wildwood home owners had NEVER heard of asking the trick-or treaters for jokes. Can you imagine? GADZOOKS. Silly people in West County. Well, these people are actually Candians, but really they HAVE lived in the states for 50 years.

St. Louis is the only city we've lived in (and we've lived in seven or so) where trick or treaters tell jokes when they come to the door. But you have to ask them. The home owners were amazed that all the children had jokes ready. Geez.

Speaking of St. Louis traditions--we let the Russians go home without eating toasted ravioli or White Castle. I know I know, we are such poor tour guides and hosts. But the one remaining British chap who is here for the rest of the week has tried the toasted ravioli. He was not quite sure what to make of it.

I lost seven pounds while I was in England for thirty days. They NEED toasted ravioli. British food is only as good as the ethnic restaurant you find to eat in.

When all the visitors have gone back across the pond, I'm going on a diet. This week we've still got The Hill, The Loop, and White Castle to look forward to. And beer. Lots of beer.