Posted on July 19, 2004
It isn’t our possessions that are problematic when Earl and I finally do the downsizing thing. With the exception of my piano, neither of us is so attached to most of our furniture that we couldn’t live without it. The real problem hides in the downsizing both Earl and I face in terms of our personal preferences.
For instance, Earl loves to work with both the radio and the television on . . . and loud. I prefer silence. Earl’s choice of favorite TV programs runs to sports and cop shows; I like a blank screen. Earl is a golden oldies guy; I’m a classical gal.
Earl’s office looks as if Office Max threw up all over the place; my papers are stacked in neat parallel piles. Additionally, Earl has framed pictures of President George W. Bush, his wife, and Charleton Heston of the National Rifle Association as dйcor in his office. I don’t. (Nor do I want them in any other room of my home either.) I have Winnie the Pooh and other mementos from my childhood.
Our current house accommodates one person’s preferences without imposing them on the other person. And, when Earl needs to listen to his conservative talk radio hosts (Think Rush Limbaugh here.), there’s always the garage. But what will we do in our next home if we have to share a family room or an office? If I have to watch NYPD to get equal time listening to classical music? If my half of our communal desk has to stare at his half in disgust?
Each of us likes our respective ends of the bell curve, and moving to the middle will be difficult.
See more 10 Minutes in category Changing Scene, Me/Family
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Posted on July 18, 2004
It’s Sunday. Earl is a real estate agent, so you can imagine what we do for fun on Sunday afternoons. Whenever he isn’t holding an open house himself, we often go looking at model homes.
It’s not that we’re in the market, because we have a beautiful home which we plan to inhabit for some years to come. But the urge to see what’s out there courses strong in his veins. And seeing the newer trends in homes makes us realize how difficult it will be for us to downsize when the time comes.
Our current home has four bedrooms, three baths, two family rooms, and a dining room, – as well as the standard living room, kitchen, garage, etc. Our next one will be smaller, since the purpose for the move will be to give up maintaining an acre of land and free our time and pocketbooks for more traveling.
It’s something to think about, so that we don’t continue purchasing “stuff,” only to have to give it away. Currently among our possessions are five computers, four couches, three dining tables, two desks and desk chairs, and a plethora of lawn and garden furnishings. The only thing missing is the pear tree for the holiday partridge.
I’m sure we could discard some of these things and not feel any poorer. But the one thing I haven’t mentioned, which has become the third member in our household, will never be on the endangered species furniture list. No, it isn’t a pet dog or cat. It’s my grand piano and wherever I go, it goes.
See more 10 Minutes in category Changing Scene, Me/Family
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Posted on July 17, 2004
We are plagued with a particularly heavy and resistant mosquito population this summer, and it keeps me inside at a time when our yard is at its loveliest. As I sit in the family room and stare out the window, I am making a list of things that seem unnecessary.
Mosquitoes top this list. I know various insects are important for the pollination of flowers while others earn their keep by eating smaller insects. But what good do mosquitoes do? Their reputation is based primarily on their skill at spreading malaria (another unnecessary thing!) and annoying attendees at back yard picnics. I’ve never heard anyone say anything good about them.
Other items that made my list include the necktie, the appendix, and different colored shells that fit over one’s cellphone. The unnecessariness of the first two has been well documented long before me, but nobody has asked what various colored cell phones do to improve reception or save money on your telephone bill. Why DO they exist, other than to provide choices that in themselves are unnecessary too.
Finally, there’s the brand name logo. I never understood why I should pay a lot of money to have a horse and rider on my tee shirt or a CK on my prescription eyewear. Instead, I think I’ll start a campaign to have designers pay me to advertise their names on the back of my car or the back of my jeans.
Posted on July 16, 2004
Why are most sunsets described from the sun’s point of view? We say the sun dipped, fell, dropped, slipped, and oozed. Sometimes it does these things into water or behind trees. At other times, it sets behind buildings or into the edge of the horizon.
Maybe it’s because the rotation of the Earth makes earthlings view the sun as a moving object. Consequently, we give it credit for the evening’s sunset when, in reality, it is stationary and we are the ones who are moving.
Technically speaking, we should probably say that the part of the Earth you and I are standing on when the sun “sets” has just rotated on its axis to a point where we cannot see the sun any longer. But this description doesn’t inspire poets, playwrights, or even plumbers.
I do have one idea for a different perspective. Instead of describing what the sun does, we could describe it from the point of view of the object that is in our way when we get to that point on the Earth’s axis. If Lake Michigan were in the way, the following verbs might be used: swallowed, consumed, bathed. If a grove of oak trees were involved, we might consider that the grove hid the sun from our view or caught it in leafy branches. This approach doesn’t address the issue that the sun is stationary, but it does give the poets, playwrights, and plumbers added creative ammunition.
See more 10 Minutes in category Things to Ponder
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Posted on July 15, 2004
My mother was a pragmatist when it came to stocking her kitchen with gadgets. She saw absolutely no reason to have a particular tool for one specific reason if she could figure out a way to get the job done by using something she already owned. If you’ll pardon the pun, she never pared her kitchen accessories to make room for new ones.
A butter knife was a handy screwdriver; a large water glass made a dandy rolling pin; and a dinner plate was often commandeered into action as a cutting board. For a whisk, Mother simply took one beater from her portable electric mixer and applied elbow grease. For a colander, she put the food that needed draining into a pot and positioned the lid at an angle to allow the liquid to seep into the sink as she held the covered pot upside down.
In spite of Mother’s creativity when it came to an egg slicer, a garlic press, or a lemon zester, she had one weakness. She could not throw out containers, even when their contents had been eaten or discarded long ago. Consequently, her drawers and cupboards held an astounding array of cottage cheese containers, soft butter tubs, berry baskets, jam jars, concentrated orange juice cans, and plastic bags. I must admit Mother found a use for many of these things. The jam jars reveled in new life as old-fashioned glasses while the juice cans lived in the refrigerator and held the grease that was left when we fried bacon. I doubt the juice cans reveled.
When Mother died, I was left with the task of dismantling not only her quirky kitchen but also the other parts of her life, quirky and sane. She has been gone a little over eight years now, but whenever I see jam jars or berry baskets, I think of her.
See more 10 Minutes in category Me/Family
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Posted on July 14, 2004
Today is Bastille Day in France; and, given the state of Franco-American relations, I doubt Tom Brokaw, Peter Jennings, or Dan Rather will mention it on their broadcasts. Historically, however, Bastille Day symbolizes the French Revolution and the overthrow of the French monarchy, just as the Fourth of July symbolizes our own revolution and the overthrow of the English monarchy.
I love Bastille Day for a variety of reasons, most of them non-political. I studied French in school for six years and enjoyed every minute of it. In fact, the State of Arkansas awarded me a certificate for being the best French scholar in high school in the entire state.
Bastille Day was also my grandmother’s birthday. She was born in 1891 and died in 1987. I never asked if she felt her day was more special because she shared it with the French, but I always thought it was cool.
After Grandma died, Bastille Day became a celebration between my second son, Keith, and myself. By this time, he too had taken six years of French and had spent one academic year in France as an exchange student. His fluency put my Arkansas certificate to shame.
For two or three Bastille Days, Keith and I stole away from our other obligations and family members to have a quaint little dinner in a bistro and practice our French. There we giggled at reading the menu; enjoyed the red, white, and blue of the French flag that graced the table; and shared secrets about what we wanted to be when we both grew up.
We’re almost grown now. Keith lives in New York City with his partner, Chris. And I live with my partner, Earl, in St. Joseph, Michigan. Neither of us has much opportunity to speak French these days, so I’m taking a moment to pull up old memories in honor of Bastille Day.
See more 10 Minutes in category Me/Family, Nostalgia, Politics, Special Events
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Posted on July 13, 2004
I have declared open warfare on the squirrels that populate our backyard, and I have done this in the interest of the birds that also live there. It goes like this:
We have bird feeders that hang from various shepherd’s hooks and are strategically placed around the yard so that we can enjoy watching our feathered friends feast at the birdfood buffet we provide. It’s free of charge to them but costs us about ten dollars a week. This isn’t something we begrudge the birds.
However, the squirrels believe the feeders are filled for them; and they make every effort to climb on them and steal the food. So we have a constant battle between the squirrels and ourselves in order to feed the birds. I believe Earl and I do not fall into the ‘bird-brained’ category; therefore, I am mortified when a squirrel outwits us and empties a feeder for himself and his furry family.
For a while, it was a personal affront that occurred with regularity, until I discovered an unheralded use for WD 40 oil. I now spray the metal shepherd’s hooks regularly with the slippery oil and wait in hiding to laugh at the next unsuspecting squirrel who makes a running leap up the pole. It is sweet revenge when it gets about halfway up and then slides down to the ground. If the squirrel were human, I would be hearing four-letter words.
See more 10 Minutes in category Flora/Fauna
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Posted on July 12, 2004
I have this creepy feeling that the upcoming National Conventions, both Democratic and Republican, are completely unnecessary even though the first is less than three weeks away.
In earlier years, these conventions brought various factions together to weave a fabric of unity for the given party. Most often, the week’s work culminated in the nomination of the presidential candidate and the approval of his running mate. And, until the convention, voters waited expectantly to learn who would be the official candidate for each party.
But this year all is changed. We already know that John Kerry will be the Democratic nominee and that he has announced John Edwards as his running mate. We also know George W. Bush will be the repeat Republican nominee and that his running mate may or may not be Dick Cheney. But even if it isn’t, we will know his preference long before the Republican National Convention scheduled for New York City the end of this summer.
Think of the dollars spent on convention activities, the balloons that fall from the ceiling at the appropriate moment, the security measures. New York City, in particular, must be struggling with the latter issue, since the President of the United States will be in attendance; and that fact alone could generate greater terrorist interest and more Tom Ridge alerts.
The risks are great, and the benefits seem to be few. I, for one, suggest, the delegates to these various conventions settle for a massive conference call on their cell phones to approve the party platform and then call it a day. In fact, I’m sending this suggestion to various convention email addresses. As one cell phone provider’s advertisement asks, “Can you hear me now? “
See more 10 Minutes in category 2004 Election, Personal Pleas
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Posted on July 11, 2004
Noreen and I were nothing if not enterprising in finding ways to challenge ourselves when our children were young and we were college-educated-women who stayed home to tend the hearth in the late nineteen-sixties. We thought we were liberated, but in reality we envied those women who came later.
We also turned to various creative or intellectual projects to fill our time and stimulate our brains. One Christmas we made placemats with matching napkins for our Mothers. They had a holly leaf motif, if my memory is still accurate. And they turned out more successfully than the candle experiment we’d tried at an earlier holiday.
Other projects Noreen and I also seriously attempted included sewing lessons, crochet lessons, classes in the Dewey Decimal System, and decoupage. The sewing lessons get an A, since both Noreen and I are capable of making clothing, draperies, and other accessories today. This is not to say that we still do; it just means we can. The crochet lessons fall into the same category. We can both yarn up a storm, and we talk about returning to the satisfaction of crocheting when we are old women together.
As for the Dewey Decimal System, its value has changed with the onset of computer file catalogs, and our plans to become school librarians are permanently on hold. It’s the same for decoupage. We were fairly good at it, but nobody seems to be doing it anymore. However, when the revival occurs, we’re ready.
See more 10 Minutes in category Nostalgia, Technology
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Posted on July 10, 2004
My long-time friend, Noreen, was about to throw out a back issue of Martha Stewart’s Living magazine, when a teaser for one of the articles caught her eye. It was about candles.
I don’t mean the kind you buy in kitchy gift shops or Hallmark stores, or the ones you use to decorate a festive table. Nor do I mean the ones made from pure beeswax that cost a small fortune and are often made for tourists by crafters dressed in Colonial costumes. I mean the down-home, do-it-yourself kind you make to give everyone on your Christmas list when you are young and have no money.
Martha Stewart has nothing on Noreen and me. When our children, who are now thirty-somethings, were barely able to walk, we decided to spend a couple days laboring in each other’s kitchens making such candle creations.
We are organized women, so we began saving variously sized milk cartons (This was before milk came in plastic containers with handles.) and buying paraffin in large quantities. We bought wicks, although I can’t remember where, and gathered double boilers in which to melt the wax.
Our favorite design required that the milk carton be filled with ice with the wick positioned down the center. When we poured the almost bubbly paraffin, it melted the ice and oozed around it. The milk cartons then went into the freezer until the wax rehardened and the carton itself could be stripped from the outside. This had to be done over the sink because, as the carton was removed, the water that had formerly been ice cubes, poured out.
The concept was that the candle would have interesting holes that would not impair its functionality. The reality was that some small pocket of water usually remained intact in the center of the candle near the wick. When the flame burned to that point, the candle went out. I suppose you could say our candles had their own extinguishing mechanisms.
Noreen and I don’t give up easily, but, after two attempts and a bunch of ripped cartons, wobbly candles, and two children who didn’t want to take another afternoon nap, we looked around for some other home grown craft to pursue.
More to come.
See more 10 Minutes in category Nostalgia
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