Further holiday hints

Last week we started a primer on surviving this hectic holiday season. Today we continue offering advice that may be useful, although we doubt it.


Christmas cards
With everyone wanting to extend warm holiday wishes to everyone they currently know, have ever known, or perhaps may someday fly over while on a plane to Europe, chances are there is at least one person you exchange cards with each year that you have no idea who they are. To keep your card list manageable, you must pare it down. Just stop sending cards to everyone except pets (they can't reciprocate).


Be warned, however, that this will not discourage a certain percentage of people on your list. They will keep sending you cards until you take more drastic measures, such as sending their card back, unopened, and stamped "Known terrorist. Destroy contents."


Wrapping gifts
Some people find it stressful to sit down with large numbers of gifts and transform them into colorful packages with matching ribbons and bows, because when they do so, the packages come out resembling something attempted by a tree fungus. I am one of these people (my apologies to any actual tree fungi). My suggestion is to explain to each of your gift recipients that this year, out of great concern and respect for the environment and trees and tree fungi, you are doing the responsible thing, and wrapping their gifts in 100% recycled toilet paper.


Holiday treats
'Tis the season to be avoiding the office break room, where lurk all manner of things not good for us. Although scientists have not yet been able to prove it, they highly suspect that if two or more holiday goodies are left in a room, alone, they will multiply prodigiously until they fill every surface, whereupon they will flow onto the floor and out the door and start harassing workers in their cubicles until finally, worn down, the workers consume them. 


At least this seems to be how it works at our office. Although we all complain loudly about the excess food hanging around this time of year, we will consume anything that resembles calories. Chocolate-covered rubber bands could start proliferating in the kitchen, and we would eat them.


The only real remedy for this situation is January. In January, the typical office break room is either a) completely bare of food, or b) transformed into a Health Bar, overflowing with fruits and vegetables and other natural, twig-like foods. Enjoy them! And try not to think about Valentine's Day candy, which, for all I know, is already on its way to a store near you.

Behold the white elephant!

The Hero and Princess are freshly back from the Midwest, where they visited numerous of the Hero's relatives and participated in various Christmas traditions, including eating 30 pounds of chocolate and seeing how many people could be squeezed into our host's living room (Answer: 53 pre-chocolate, 41 1/2 post-chocolate).


Each year the Hero's family also traditionally holds a white elephant gift exchange. Most participants search thoughtfully for the perfect gift to bring, defined as "the item in my house or garage or storage unit that I most abhor and would delight in passing along to some unsuspecting friend or family member."


For some people, this item jumps right out at them: It is the gift they received at the white elephant exchange LAST year. In our family exchange, some items have made an appearance every year since 1984. 


For other people, choosing an appropriate white elephant gift is a bit more difficult. ANYTHING in their house could qualify.


Since the Hero and I come to this gift exchange from a great distance, we carefully and thoughtfully choose a NEW item that is purchased about five minutes before the exchange is set to take place. The Hero's strategy is to buy something he likes so that there will be at least one gift that he can live with. This item is also generally something other participants would NOT enjoy getting, such as an advanced textbook on the theory of orthogonalized factors and vector field partitioned matrices, thereby guaranteeing that no one will steal it from him.


Because yes: participants in the gift exchange are allowed to steal a gift already chosen by another participant. Sometimes an item is so popular we almost come to blows over it. This year that item was a set of four Peanuts drinking glasses, which remarkably matched not only each other but also the box they were wrapped in (because we had just bought it at Target five minutes before).


Coming in close behind the glasses in popularity were 64 rolls of Scott toilet paper. I confess that this item also was donated by us, and must stress that it was a completely NEW item, in the sense that it came right from Target and not from our own personal stash of toilet paper. So, although technically it was not a used item, which white elephant gifts usually are, the recipient generously overlooked this particular breach of the rules.


I picked out this item while the Hero was on the phone at Target, and when he hung up he marveled that I hadn't found a BIGGER box of toilet paper. Luckily the Target employees seem very used to customers doing odd things, and did not question why we were attempting to fit a ginormous box of toilet paper into a gift bag.


One item that did NOT go over well was a large wooden jewelry display case, whose recipient spent the better part of the exchange trying to interest the other participants in stealing it from her. "Now, remember, folks, you can have this LOVELY, broken jewelry case for FREE!" she said each time it was someone's turn to choose a gift.


In the end the Hero agreed to give this recipient a book he had received in the exchange, on Marilyn Monroe, as long as the trade did NOT involve his having to take the jewelry case in return. We are not sure what the eventual fate of the case was, but we fully expect to see it at next year's gift exchange.

Ho-ho-holiday advice

Ho ho ho...it's time for some reminders on how, at this potentially stressful time of year, you can remain calm, happy, and unaffected by all the chaos around you (hint: drink lots of eggnog). One suggestion is to find a quiet place and just stay there. The entire month. Do not leave your quiet place. Order delivery, arrange for someone to bring your mail right to the door, etc. Whatever you do, do NOT go to the post office, mall, Walmart, Target, supermarket, or any other establishment that is not located within the confines of your personal property.


If this suggestion does not work for you, you could choose to spend the busy holiday season in some location where Christmas is generally a little more low-key, such as in the Arctic. You could also spend the season in bed, which sounds pretty good to me right now.


But if you absolutely must participate in society, here are a few tips for getting around all those crowds and maintaining your sanity (if you didn't have it in the first place, we can't help you):


At the airport
If you are traveling by air this holiday season, remember that so is pretty much everyone else in the known universe. Plan to arrive well before your flight is scheduled to leave, such as several months. 


Packing for your return flight
If you've been good this year, chances are you'll have quite a few gifts to bring home with you. Where to put them? One solution, which requires advance planning, is to bring several empty suitcases with you and graciously request that givers simply place your well-deserved gifts in one of these suitcases. This is a clever strategy to use when you really DON'T want any gifts, because that is what you'll be likely to get: nothing.


Some people advocate making room in your luggage for gifts by sending your dirty laundry home through the mail or package delivery. This does not make much sense to us. Statistically, your checked bags are more likely to get lost than anything you send, so why wouldn't you check your laundry on the plane and mail all your gifts home? You could even attach a note to the bags of laundry to this effect: Please take, wash, and return to [your name and address]. Note: Please use only gentle, hypoallergenic, organic, corn-fed, free-range detergent.


If you have not been good this year, ignore all these instructions. You'll have plenty of room in your carry-on for your coal.


We regret that our tip-giving has been cut short today. There has been a minor emergency involving some laundry and free-range detergent. We shall return.

Where we are

We regret the limited appearance of postings this week. All writing energies (such as they are) have been reassigned to work on the Princess and Hero's annual Christmas newsletter, which due to procrastination sometimes threatens to become a Groundhog's Day newsletter. We are working very hard to avoid that this year.


Stay tuned, as eventually we will return. For SURE before Easter.

Welcome to Midnight Madness! Please check your sanity at the door

Our nearby historic town offers several cultural opportunities throughout the year. One such anticipated event in the early part of December is Midnight Madness, during which the stores and restaurants are open until midnight, and many stores have free cider, or perhaps hot chocolate, and little cookies. Unless you get there too late like we do, and then there are only little cookie crumbs. (But they're still FREE.)


Midnight Madness is always highly anticipated and well attended. Basically, the idea is that even though the stores and restaurants are open during the week and on weekends, with quite adequate hours, and people can generally enjoy a crowd-free visit during these times, it is MUCH more fun to visit as part of a great mass of people descending on the town all at once, at night, in temperatures usually reserved for places like the Ellsworth Mountains, Antarctica.


All these people compete with each other for sidewalk space. Due to heavy vehicle traffic, the cars are also competing for use of the sidewalk. This year the organizers seem to have instituted a new rule that you had to visit the town in large groups, preferably at least 10 people. (Small dogs count as .5.) From what we could tell, all the people in a group were required to proceed abreast down the sidewalk, such that no other group (or smaller groups in violation of the rule) could possibly pass them. All 10 in a group  also evidently had to pass into and out of stores together, creating huge jams. A great many people enter a store during Midnight Madness and get caught up in a vortex, going around and around inside the store, and never emerging. Some people are still missing from Midnight Madness 1975.  


If you wish to actually purchase something during Midnight Madness, you are advised to get in line as early as possible. 4 p.m. is not too early. Even then, you will merely inch up toward the counter, so slowly that your body might start to go into hibernation, and when you are finally within sight of the cash register, you will hear someone announce, "Sorry, it's now midnight and we are closed!" So, forget whatever it was you wanted to buy, just grab whatever's closest and get in line. (We suggest the cookies.) 


Other attractions include costumed madrigal singers singing old-fashioned carols to passersby, and Santa playing a saxophone. This year, the costumed madrigal singers seemed to be merely costumed madrigal walkers, as we passed them several times but never heard them singing. Or maybe they WERE singing, and we just couldn't hear them above Santa's saxophone.


Elvis often makes an appearance, and always graciously consents to having his picture taken with fans, particularly those of a certain age and gender. Curiously, we have noted that while Elvis is willing to pose for photos, in all the times we have seen him we have never heard him sing. Call us cynical, but we are beginning to doubt that this is the REAL Elvis.


Surprisingly, parking presents no real issues during Midnight Madness. This is because drivers do not feel the need to fight over limited, actual parking spaces. Instead, they cheerfully make use of no-parking zones, the sidewalk, grass, dry riverbeds, tall trees, rooftops, the church clock tower, etc. 


All in all, it is a successful evening, particularly for the store and restaurant owners, most of whom spend most of the year in preparations for this one evening, and the rest of the year in therapy.


Next year, please leave us some cookies.

Happy nonholidays

Well, it's that time of year again, the time when select groups of employees at businesses and organizations everywhere huddle in a secret room somewhere to undertake an extremely important mission: how to plan and throw a holiday party that is not actually holiday-related.


In an effort to make the annual year-end celebration inclusive of everyone, committee members look at every aspect of the event -- food, decorations, music, etc. -- and attempt to be sensitive to all beliefs, practices, traditions, backgrounds, and food preferences found on the staff, as well as whether they are side sleepers, back sleepers, front sleepers, etc. If the committee members are successful, this results in a nontraditional, nonoffensive, nonholiday, nonseasonal -- yet festive! -- nonevent.


This year I have joined the "holiday committee" at our company, which consists of the year-round Spirit Committee and anyone else they can rope into helping. The committee is making a valiant effort to provide an enjoyable gathering for all staff, and has hit upon what it considers an acceptable theme: childhood memories. Committee members figure it is safe to assume that everyone attending has, at least, had a childhood. (The committee is considering a disclaimer stating that by announcing this theme, it is by no means making a judgment as to what sort of childhood anyone may have had.)


So committee members and staff are being encouraged to bring games to the party, which will be held on the organization's premises, because it is a nonprofit and therefore, according to U.S. law, "ineligible for any organization-wide event costing more than several dozen cupcakes."


In keeping with the theme, the games will be favorite childhood games. The committee is fervently hoping that no one on staff enjoyed an occasional childhood game of setting fire to objects or people or animals, as this will not be allowed, and therefore that person would feel un-included at the party.


Of course there will be food, and the decorations will be distinctly nonholiday related. 


We also decided to hold a door-decorating contest. This proved to be a difficult topic, with heated debate on what the theme for the door decorations should be.


"Uh, shouldn't the theme be...Christmas? the holidays?" one member asked tentatively, as if afraid of being nominated for the Duh Award.


Not everyone celebrates Christmas, this member was reminded.


It was then suggested that the theme be "winter holidays." That was certainly more inclusive, wasn't it?


"But not everyone celebrates a holiday in the winter," someone noted. "Or they might not celebrate any holidays at all." No one could think of anyone on staff who might fit into this category, but fearful that we might have been overlooking someone, we abandoned the winter holiday theme.


"How about we tie it into the theme of the party, childhood memories?" someone suggested.


"Yeah -- maybe WINTER childhood memories."


It was pointed out that if someone had grown up in, say, Florida, THEIR childhood memories would not include any snow, or any other recognizable "winter" events.


We soon drifted into two factions: those who desperately clung to wanting the door decorating contest to have SOMETHING, no matter how remote a connection, to do with the current season, or holidays. Commercialism. Something. Anything.


The other faction felt equally strongly that doing so would inevitably leave someone out, and that would not spread holiday cheer. Or winter cheer.


In the end, just plain "childhood memories" won out.


Though it was decided that one game would be Pin the Tail on the Donkey, there was a lengthy discussion about the appropriateness of changing it to Pin the Tail on Rudolph. In the end it was decided to go with Rudy, because pretty much everyone loves Rudy. (You may be forgiven if you are confused about why, if everyone loves Rudy, we would find it amusing to stick him with pins. It's complicated.)


The one possible concession to Christmas that we are considering is a holiday-related movie to run during the party (silently). It was decided that pretty much everyone (everyone being all eight of us on the committee) also loves Charlie Brown, so a Charlie Brown movie it will be. Whether or not it will be the Charlie Brown Christmas movie, however, remains to be seen, mainly depending on whether anyone on the committee has this DVD and can bring it for the party. We may have to settle for The Great Pumpkin.


Maybe we can play Pin the Stem on the Great Pumpkin.

Does this scarf make me look big?

It's important in life to be flexible, to not always insist on doing things as you have always done them. My sister and I heartily embraced this philosophy during our Black Friday shopping, deciding that the day's endeavors need not be entirely given over to purchasing gifts for others.


Of course we are not so selfish as to not buy any gifts for anyone else. As noted in the previous blog post, we bought numerous gifts for each other.


But this time we decided that a new approach was needed to shopping for clothes for ourselves. We agreed that we should be open to new types and combinations of clothing items. No longer could we think of an outfit as a couple of separates sharing the same body. We needed to think in ensembles. 


"Layers," my sister said. "We need to layer. Blouse, sweater, scarf..."


The problem with this approach, it turned out, was -- as my sister declared -- "it makes me look like a house."


This offers a good example of why women like to shop together: so they can persuade each other that, despite the evidence they plainly see in the mirror, they do NOT look like a house. Exchanges like the following are common in women's dressing rooms:


First female, trying on some item of clothing: Ugh. This makes me look like a house!


Supportive female: No, it does not.


First female: Are you SURE?


Supportive female: I think it looks great on you!


First female: It doesn't make my butt look like a house?


Supportive female: No!


First female: OK, I'll get it.


Sometimes, if the females are closely related or have otherwise known each other since childhood, you might hear this: 


First female: Does this sweater make me look like a house?


Second female: No, that sweater does not make you look like a house.


First female: Thank you.


Second female: It makes you look like a factory.


In an effort to be supportive of my sister, I said, "Remember, we're being open...willing to try new things..."


She glared. "I will NOT be open to looking like a house."


So while not giving up entirely on the ensemble idea, we turned our attention to scarves. Scarves are easy, right? They're small. They can go with many different outfits. But we soon figured out that scarves are easy only if you know what the heck to do with them after putting them around your neck.


My sister remembered a technique she had watched someone do with a scarf, and we practiced this, right there in the department store, although we had to wander around the store for a while to find a mirror. As we practiced, other female would-be scarf-wearers joined us, sharing advice, techniques, their cell phone numbers in case we needed further advice after we took the scarf home and forgot what to do with it, etc.


After many treks back and forth to the mirror, I purchased an off-white scarf, which I realized later did not exactly contribute to the brightening of my wardrobe. But it did add some visual interest, particularly when I could not remember exactly how to tie it.


Of course I had to wear the scarf to work the first day I went back. I quickly discovered that while scarves are handy for creating the ensemble look, they are not so handy when you go to wash your hands in the restroom sink at work and there are puddles of water all over the counter, just at the height of the scarf. Or worse, the scarf is eager to check out the sink itself while you wash your hands.


But, as the Hero often says, maybe I can start a new trend: the soggy scarf look.

Black Friday or...play date

The Hero continues to participate in new social experiences, which are broadening his horizons and making him wonder what the Princess is going to drag him into next.


A few weeks ago he attended his first-ever baby shower, which was chronicled here. Over Thanksgiving weekend he was involved in another cultural pastime usually reserved for individuals of a somewhat different age group than his: a play date.


After a very pleasant Thanksgiving feast at a Certain Relative's house, and agreeing to stay in the area for a few days, the Hero firmly expressed his opinion on participating in Black Friday shopping ("No way"). My sister and I therefore dropped him off to spend some time at the home of the Certain Relatives, which includes a mother and father and two young children. The father stuck his head out the front door before we drove away and yelled, "What time are you coming to pick him up from his play date?" he said.


My sister and I, being Serious Shoppers, chafe at having any restrictions placed on our outings. "Can it be open-ended?" she asked.


"Sorry," he said. "We like to have a definite pickup time for our play dates."


We managed to skirt a definite return time by promising to bring pizza when we did come back, which met with rousing approval from the Certain Relatives.


We set off to the mall to do our small part to help boost the economy and spread Christmas cheer, which we accomplished chiefly by buying things for ourselves. Then we assuaged the guilt that was beginning to settle on us by buying things for each other. The process went pretty much like this:


One of us: Oooo, I've been looking for a nice ________ like this. But -- I guess I've already bought enough stuff for myself.


The other one of us: Hey, want me to get it for you for Christmas? 


The first one of us: Thanks!


And then the favor would be returned at the next store, with the result that Christmas is going to be pretty sweet for the two of us, although maybe not so much for everyone else on our list. They should have come shopping with us.


Along toward dinner time, when we were really just getting started shopping, the Hero texted that the play daters were hungry and wanting to know when they could reasonably expect the pizza to come. We were in the middle of an important shoe transaction, wherein my sister had asked to see a particular shoe, and the young, earnest salesman had brought out not only that pair but four others.


"It's store policy to bring a customer at least five pairs," he said, somewhat apologetically.


As she tried the shoes on, my sister's interest remained fixed on the pair she had requested, while the young, earnest salesman (Mike) was endeavoring to interest her in another pair he had brought out. This pair was considerably more expensive. Never mind that it was not comfortable on my sister's feet. Mike would take it in the back and "work with it."


It was no more comfortable after he had worked with it, and my sister declined that pair. Mike hid his disappointment well, and turned his attention toward yet another pair he had brought out. 


About at this point the text came, and my sister declared to Mike that hungry children were awaiting our arrival, their health and emotional state hanging in the balance, and she must conclude her transaction. She did not mention that most of the "hungry children" were rather over 40. Mike, for whom it appeared challenging to switch gears unexpectedly but who apparently understood hungry children, made a valiant effort to wrap things up quickly.


After we had picked up the pizza and satisfied the hungry children of all ages, I asked the Hero how the play date had gone.


"Great," he said. "We went bowling" (he was terrible, he said), "and decorated the tree, and watched a James Bond marathon. Some people took a nap" (but not him, he said). 


"Well," I said, nodding at my purchases, "I'm glad you had a good time, 'cuz I think we're gonna have to go back to the mall tomorrow...."

That cold you feel? Not a wind chill

The National Weather Service is experimenting with a new concept to replace the wind chill factor. For many years, the wind chill has been used to describe certain conditions of cold and wind, particularly when a storm is moving in. The problem with this system, it seems, is that after a storm has passed through an area, the actual temperature may have plummeted, but because the wind has dropped, the wind chill warning expires. This leads people to think, "Cool, no more wind chill. Let's go surfing!"


You can see that this would cause problems in North Dakota and Minnesota, which is where the weather service has chosen to conduct this experiment. This is because the average winter temperature in those states is -400 degrees. (It warms up a few degrees for a day or so each July.)


This is nothing to the people of North Dakota and Minnesota, though. When someone is born in these states, their skin immediately takes on super-insulating properties, allowing them, as they grow, to be impervious to cold. People who are not born in the state, but merely move there at some point, must undergo psychological testing to determine their sanity.


Just kidding! I meant that they do not develop this protective exterior as do individuals native to these states. One example is my mother, who lived in North Dakota for several months with my father on an army base, including the summer months, and she has summed up her stay like this: "It was freezing."


But back to the wind chill. The weather service's idea is that instead of issuing wind chill warnings, it will now issue warnings of "extreme cold."


Extreme cold in North Dakota and Minnesota, according to a meteorologist familiar with the pending change, would kick in around -40 degrees, possibly -45 degrees. At this temperature, he says, "People should make sure they're properly dressed." Like, they should think about wearing a jacket. And maybe some shoes if their feet tend to get cold easily.


Also at -40 degrees there, he says, "kids don't generally go outside to play at recess. There is a general feeling that maybe that's a little cold for them."


Really, the adults are getting quite lax, allowing their kids to be such wimps. Where is that pioneering spirit?


Meanwhile, an extreme cold warning where I live, in the "Middle Atlantic" (which is not, despite its name, located IN the Atlantic), would mean something quite different to people. We, as a group, are a little more delicate than people of the northern plains. In fact, we are so sensitive that such a warning would be issued here whenever it is issued in North Dakota and Minnesota, because merely knowing that it is -40 degrees 1500 miles away would make US feel cold. And we do not like to feel cold.


There is some concern that the new terminology may not go over well with the public. Being used to a wind chill factor, the meteorologist wondered, will people think "extreme cold" is sexy enough?


Given this country's fascination with extreme sports, extreme foods, extreme hair, extreme body piercing, etc., I have no doubt that many people will find the idea of "extreme cold" sexy.


For us in the Middle Atlantic, that will be only if the extreme cold is somewhere else.

Let the games begin

There are only two more days until Thanksgiving, which means you had better get into gear and start your preparations, if you haven't already. I'm talking here about strategizing for Black Friday.


More and more, Black Friday requires sophisticated survival and attack tactics. With stores opening earlier and earlier -- some even on Thanksgiving itself, resulting in Black Friday being usurped by Black Thursday -- you can no longer afford to lounge leisurely about after the meal is over. Doing so will cause you to miss incredible sales, and your holiday season will be off to a miserable start.


And forget about a post-Thanksgiving nap. If you do insist upon it, you will have to move dinner back accordingly, say to around 9 a.m. If you are the host of Thanksgiving, you should avoid serving leftovers later in the day, and make sure you hide any second helpings of dessert, as the promise of additional food will only encourage people to stick around when you need them to clear out. You need a cool head, and a quiet house, to ready yourself. 


A second vital tactic for Black Friday shopping is assembling your store coupons. This is no easy task, as coupons are increasingly complex, requiring legal assistance for interpretation. Some have time restrictions on them, such as "Valid only from 2:00:01 a.m. to 2:01:36 a.m., in countries whose names contain three consecutive Qs."


Others restrict the type of item you can use the coupon for, with so many restrictions that the only thing the coupon is actually good for is a piece of carpet lint (stains not included).


Some additional coupons you may encounter:


Extra 15% off all sale items only. All sale prices expire at 6 a.m. Friday. This coupon good only after 6:01 a.m. Friday.


30% off entire line of children's clothes. Expires at 10 a.m. Friday, or when child's attention span for shopping expires, whichever comes first.


55% off any item approved for sale, except those which are actually for sale.


Coupon good for entire day of shopping. Not valid on today's date or any future date.


35% off one-time purchase of $1,000 or more (metric).


Extra 99% off all items, except those covered by, or excluded by, any other coupon.


$50 off purchase greater than the square of the sum of the ages of all your aunts (by blood).

20% off all store items, except those heretofore on sale, whereupon the value of this coupon is reduced therewith to 10%, notwithstanding any prior such advertisements undertaken by this store or any other, in accordance with current local retail or exotic animal handling guidelines.

In the face of all these obstacles, I have developed my own survival tactic: I carefully gather my coupons, approach a harried-looking salesperson, smile politely, and throw all my coupons at her while pleading, "Is there anything I can use here?"


And if this fails,  I happily head back home to take a nap.

Free appliances -- u clean

For some time now, our stove and refrigerator have been lobbying for us to replace them so they can retire. This lobbying takes various forms. The refrigerator emits a number of interesting noises, particularly when we are attempting to sleep, and it leaks, especially when we are away for a while. The stove will either operate as a stove OR an oven, but is extremely unhappy when asked to do both at the same time. Every time I go into the kitchen I expect to see the two of them picketing:


We want mandatory retirement!


Don't force senior citizens to work!


"We should really get some new appliances," I said to the Hero. "We could get brought up on charges of abuse with some appliance commission or something."


For a while the refrigerator required continual nursing care. Every few days enough water would leak inside to fill a largish bowl, and we would have to empty it. And if we didn't put the bowl in EXACTLY the right place, the water would run all over the inside of the fridge.


Once when a family member was visiting, I found the bowl sitting on the counter. 


"Aaaaagh!" I said. "Who took this out of the fridge?" I hurried to put it back before the fridge noticed it was missing and decided to shed more water than usual.


"Uh, the bowl was empty," the family member noted.


I explained why the bowl never, ever leaves the refrigerator, feeling like a nurse admonishing a patient's family member to never, ever remove a tube of any sort from the patient. The family member was very interested in watching me try to replace the bowl EXACTLY where it had been. 


After months of dumping the water that collected in the bowl every few days, the refrigerator suddenly stopped leaking. 


"I'm worried about the fridge," I told the Hero.


"But it hasn't leaked for a while," he said.


"That's what worries me," I said. "What is it doing that we don't know about?"


You'd be hard-pressed to find more ancient, basic models than these two appliances, short of something that's actually antique. Yet there are good reasons we haven't replaced them. One, appliances are not as glamorous to shop for as, say, patio sets. Two, if we were to get rid of them, I would have to clean them first.


See, I have been using the fact that a new appliance purchase is imminent as an excuse to not clean either the stove or the refrigerator. But should we actually decide to make a purchase, as we await delivery and installation, I will be seized by the need to thoroughly clean both appliances.


"Why?" the Hero said. 


I can't let the guys who take them away see what filth we live in!" I said.


So in the meantime we dream about the features we would like to have in our new appliances, such as a refrigerator that tells us what items we're about to run out of and makes a list of them. Preferably, it would send this list electronically to the grocery store, where someone would fill our order and have it waiting when we went to pick up our items.


"It'd be nice to have one that weighs the food and tells you how many meals you can still get out of it," suggested the Hero.


Given our propensity to put off cleaning, we would also need a frige that tells us -- gently -- when it is time to clean the inside.


But of course we would ignore this, and the refrigerator would be forced to go the next level of reminder, involving some sort of sound alert and a verbal message: "It is time to clean out the bottom shelf. These leftovers have been here too long."


This, too, would probably be ignored, and eventually the refrigerator would rebel. It would sound a louder alert, worthy of the emergency broadcast system, and a voice sounding suspiciously like a mother's would say, "YOU MAY NOT PUT ANYTHING MORE IN THIS REFRIGERATOR UNTIL YOU CLEAN IT OUT!" And it would promptly lock its doors from the inside.


Whereupon we would threaten to replace it with a NEW refrigerator, at which it would sneer. "Do you think any self-respecting fridge would agree to come to this house? You're blacklisted!"


So yeah, we may have our old appliances for a while yet.

A letter to commuter train officials

Dear Sirs and Madams,


I would like to express my strong disapproval of several changes recently implemented on my line. These changes have severely interrupted the ability of your passengers to operate on autopilot when boarding your trains. On the morning train, for example, many of us stand in the same exact location on the platform waiting for the train to arrive (if you look closely, you may be able to see the imprint of our various shoes in "our" spots). This is because we know, after months or even years of riding this train, precisely where the train is going to stop, and how many steps it is to the closest door of entry. 


Why, then, have your drivers begun messing up our perfectly choreographed formation by stopping a half-car further up than previously, forcing us to a) look back and forth from the door in the front of the car to the door in the back of the car, b) calculate which is closer and which seems to be the less popular choice, and then c) shuffle several feet to whichever door the person in front of us is going to? As you can see, this requires the simultaneous operation of gazillions of brain cells and our conscious will to move, which most of us simply do not have at our disposal when it is not even light yet in the morning.


Another alarming trend is that, after months of arriving several minutes late, the morning train has, without any warning whatsoever, begun arriving on time. This has forced many of us to actually leave the house on time, which I'm sure you can appreciate is quite disruptive to our morning routines. Perhaps, to ease this burden on us, instead of sending text messages that tell us when the train will be delayed, you could instead send messages such as "The train will be arriving on time today. We regret any inconvenience this may cause."


But the changes instituted on the morning train pale in comparison to what we have been facing in the evening. Previously, the train has consisted of a single-level car in the front, another in the back, and several double-level cars in the middle. Now, the train resembles a child's string of beads, with alternating beads: single, double, single, double, etc. Is this because, perhaps, you recently hired someone who is obsessed with order and pattern? If so, please take the earliest opportunity to transfer this person to some other position, preferably one in another state.


This new arrangement of cars, while perhaps aesthetically pleasing, has severely disrupted our usual routines. In the past, for instance, we have always been able to board, say, the fourth car from the rear. This is OUR car. We know exactly where it is. There is no thinking involved. NOW, however, with this mixing of single and double levels and fewer seats, we have no idea WHERE to get on. Start at the back and keep walking forward? Start somewhere in the middle? It taxes the brain overly much, and distinctly goes against the sage advice of the great philosopher Abraham Franklin,* who said, "Too much thought destroys brain cells."


(*An obscure but very wise common descendant of Abraham Lincoln and Benjamin Franklin. He also declared, "Let them eat chocolate!")


Another complaint has to do with the recent time change, which has resulted in the evening commute taking place almost entirely in darkness. While this is, perhaps, not entirely your fault -- although I would not be surprised to know that you had a hand in it somehow -- nevertheless you have made it a little more difficult in one respect. 


Before, when it was still light out, your conductors would make several announcements about each upcoming stop to allow passengers time to ready themselves to disembark. Now that it is dark, and we have no idea where we are or how close we might be to the next stop, suddenly the conductors have become very secretive about when and where the train will be stopping. Announcements are now made as an afterthought: "Thank you for traveling on this train and oh, by the way, that was Seabrook we just stopped at."


I hope that you will seriously consider reversing these policies, which will no doubt result in far happier passengers. In the meantime, I remain your faithful, brain cell-challenged, ever-tardy passenger.

The end of Daylight Savings...and daylight

With the recent time change and ending of Daylight Savings Time, some of us have entered a new season: the Months of Never Being Home During Daylight (Except on the Weekends).


Our entire daylight hours are spent somewhere other than where we live. We inhabit our houses only during the hours when it is dark outside, like some sort of reverse vampire. It is dark when we leave the house in the morning, and dark when we come home. We have no idea what things look like outside our house. When the weekend comes, and we finally do get a peek at our environs, we wonder where all the leaves have gone. Entire new housing developments could spring up around us. Santa could establish a workshop on the roof of our homes. And we would have no idea, although it might be difficult to keep the reindeer quiet.


We rarely see any of our neighbors during these months, and we may forget who they are entirely by the end of the winter: "You live here? Really? Huh. I guess you do look familiar, though."


After coming home, eating, and puttering around, our bodies declare that since it has been dark for several hours now, it is time to go to bed. 


"It's 8:30," we say. "We are not going to bed at 8:30."


Things are not all bad, however. The darkness is a very good excuse for putting off certain items on the outdoor to-do list.


"You've been wanting to get that garden stuff put away," the Hero reminds me one morning. "It's going to be warm tonight, maybe you could do it when you get home."


"Can't," I say smugly. "It's dark by then." 


Yep, all there is to do in the evening is stay indoors. Read. Be a couch potato.


Maybe even go to bed at 8:30.

You want me to go to what?

The Hero has lived through an event that probably few other men have who are not personally responsible for that particular event: a baby shower.


This event, held in honor of our neighbors, was preceded -- in our house, at any rate -- by a game of Twenty Questions.


"Guys are invited?" the Hero said, with heavy disbelief. 


"Yes," I said.


"But are they usually invited?"


"Sometimes," I said.


"Why?"


"Why not?" I said. "Look. Just think of it as a social event. And there'll be food." I said it would be held at one of our favorite restaurants. He perked up. 


But even food only sustains faith for so long.


"Are you sure I'm actually invited?" he said. "It wasn't just 'Oh, bring him along if he's not doing anything'?"


"No," I said. "Your presence, and that of several other men, has been formally requested." I showed him the invitation with his name on it.


"How many guys?" he said suspiciously.


I told him I didn't have an exact head count, but there would be several.


"Are any of them not related, besides me?"


I said I thought so.


His concern turned to whether he might be called upon to do anything embarrassing.


"What do you do at a baby shower? Do I have to play games? Like melt the baby stuck in the ice cube, or something?"


"Where did you hear that?" I said.


He shrugged. 


"Well, you're in luck, because there won't be any games at this shower."


He gave a sigh of relief. "So what will we do, then?"


"Eat, open the presents, and talk. Lots of talking."


He wanted to know what gift we had gotten the couple. 


"Baby books," I said, proudly. As a writer, editor, and former educator, I pride myself on choosing books that are not only entertaining and attractive but also developmentally appropriate for children.


"Books..." he said. "Is that an okay gift?"


One of these books, about cats, weighed about 12 pounds, and this I was tempted to use to make contact with a part of his person. But I didn't want to hurt the book.


I informed him that when I had signed the card, I had also offered to babysit the new Little Person if the parents ever needed someone to help out. He thought this was a very nice gesture.


After the shower, which was lovely, the Hero said that it had been a very nice time.


"Good, I said. "Because when I said in the card that I would babysit, I actually said WE would babysit."


Luckily, we'd already handed over the 12-pound baby book.

Bible study gets a little rocky...and weighty

Last night the Hero and I went to our weekly Bible study meeting, where we typically discuss topics of deep importance with a small group of people, such as how to better serve God each day and whether or not there is any food that powdered sugar does not make taste better.


Because our leader, Bob, was not in attendance this time, we decided to vary the format a little. When Bob returns next week and asks us how we spent the evening in his absence, we will say, truthfully, that we all weighed ourselves and talked about our favorite rock songs.


The intent of the evening was to share a little about ourselves, thereby getting to know each other better. "Sharing" is a favorite pastime among Christians, particularly if it is accompanied by, or followed by, food. Preferably accompanied AND followed by food.


So a series of questions was asked, and we went around the circle so everyone could answer. The questions started off benignly, things like your favorite holiday, a treasured childhood memory, and places you absolutely loathe to go.


When the question was posed about what you like to do for fun, one woman, in preparation for her answer, whispered loudly to her husband, "Do I DO anything?" 


"Nothing that's fun," he answered.


This same couple declared that the place they most loathe to go is the dentist's, and that the dentist's staff, although caring and sensitive, pretty much reciprocate this feeling.


We were also asked how many pillows we sleep with. One man answered five. Our hostess said she, too, slept with five pillows, and that she had never met anyone else who used five pillows.


"I just made that up," the man confessed. "I really only use one."


We will have to tell Bob that we were not entirely truthful during this Bible meeting.


Another attendee, who later declared that he had MEANT to ask us all what our favorite popular songs were, asked instead what our favorite ROCK songs were. You probably know, if you have ever discussed a song with another individual, that it is difficult to merely talk about the song -- particularly if you are past a certain age and the song in question is now considered a "classic" -- without eventually beginning to sing at least certain parts of it. And once YOU start, other people cannot remain silent. So, ahem...we did not remain silent.


Later we pondered questions of deeper import, finally coming to a point where we felt we had revealed enough about each other for one night. We then moved on to the food portion of the evening, which involved various tasty, caloric treats that inevitably led to discussions of weight.


Our hosts prevailed upon someone who had recently visited a doctor's office, and had had his official weight recorded, to try out their bathroom scale. "We think it's a little off," they explained. They moved the scale into a discreet part of the hallway, and the man stepped up on it.


Soon cries of dismay filled the house, as he informed us that the scale was indeed off: He weighed almost twenty pounds less on it.


"Twenty pounds!" our hostess moaned. "And here I was feeling so good about my weight!"


Naturally everyone was curious to see if THEY weighed less, too, so we all tried out the scale in turn. And all reported that they, too, weighed significantly less than usual.


Everyone declared that this was the greatest scale EVER, and that they were going to have a second piece of cake AND some powdered sugar on their brownie. Finally, after many adulations heaped upon the scale, everyone left enriched in soul and body.


And once he finds out about our evening, Bob will never be absent again. 

All aboard! But first an announcement

Each day those of us who commute by train to the nation's capital are given several repeated, important announcements by those operating the train, most of which are promptly ignored. These announcements range from admonitions to read the safety instructions in the seat pocket in front of us to instructions on where and where not to stand in the train if we have to stand (in the middle of the car -- OK; blocking the stairways or doorways -- not OK; on another passenger's lap -- ask first).


But once in a while an announcement is made that commands our attention. These are usually related to some reason the train is not moving when it should be moving. We all strain to listen to these announcements, and not just because we want to know why we are stopped and when we can expect to become unstopped. It is also because the loudness of any message is directly proportional to its importance: When the conductor is intoning about the necessity of reading the safety instructions, his or her voice is clearly audible. When we have not moved for the last hour or so, and a voice comes on to provide an eagerly anticipated explanation, the voice appears to come from another train over in, say, Vladivostok, and sounds as if it is being carried to us by tin can. 


Once in a while there is an enlightening announcement concerning proper etiquette in the Quiet Car. The Quiet Car is a designated car on the train particularly for passengers who could cheerfully pass their travel time without learning that, for instance, the sister of the person behind them is embroiled in a love triangle, or what is being served at the funeral dinner for the father of the person sitting next to them.


I once was unwillingly privy to an entire conversation about how far particular funeral attendees were or were not likely to travel in order to, as the speaker behind me kept saying, "eat some fried chicken." I gathered that the person on the other end of the phone felt strongly that the attendees would drive a great distance to eat HER fried chicken. 


But back to the conductors' announcements. Here are some noteworthy examples:


"Our first car today is our Quiet Car. No cell phone conversations should take place in this car, no electronics making loud noises, and no loud talking in this car, please. Your conversation is to be a whisper." There is a great deal of emphasis on "whisper."


Apparently people in the afternoon Quiet Car have been whispering too loudly, for now we have been admonished the following:


"The last car today is the world-renowned Quiet Car...We prefer that you do not talk in the Quiet Car, but if you DO talk in the Quiet Car, we ask that you please talk silently."


Next thing we know, the Quiet Car will become the Silent Car ("Ladies and gentlemen, please refrain from breathing while traveling in the Silent Car. If you are heard breathing you will have to move to another car").


Occasionally I hear the announcement of stops for an Amtrak train at Union Station, which one particular day proceeded like this:


"This train stops in Alexandria, Richmond, Lynchburg, uh -- what IS this? I have no idea what that says -- Newport News, Norfolk..."


Just as I am typing this, there has been an important announcement of something on my afternoon train. By the barely audible voice I could tell that this was important, and I strained to listen.


"Starting tomorrow, there will be some changes on this train," the conductor said, in a voice that indicated plainly that we were all in trouble for some infraction -- perhaps for not talking silently enough? -- and punishment would be delayed a day. "One thing we will NOT do," the voice said sternly, "is --" 


But here the already lowered voice almost completely died away, leaving us with no idea of what is going to happen to us tomorrow. Stay tuned.

A Liliputian in the Land of Gulliver

I recently attended the annual conference run by the organization I work for, which included a large gathering of teachers and vendors and was held in a warm part of the country. As is common in locations with warmer temperatures, the convention center itself is kept at a constant -78 F degrees year round, so that, although you might boast -- which of course you do -- to friends and relatives back in colder climates about being in a warm, sunny locale, you are actually, though you do not mention this, much colder than they are. 


Nevertheless, I learned much useful information at this conference, including things about myself that were enlightening. For one, I realized I would cheerfully have committed acts of violence in order to acquire a Segue, which some individuals used to get around the convention center. This violent thought was owing to the size of the convention center, which could comfortably include several car dealerships, airports, medium-size countries, interplanetary bodies, etc., inside it.


Although this expanse enabled the 8000+ participants to move about without bumping into one another -- indeed, without even SEEING one another, except when needing to use the restroom, and then all 8000 were in line at once -- the sheer size of the building overwhelmed our physical resources, particularly our feet. As the days wore on, choosing a session to attend progressed from "Which sessions would help me understand the current critical topics in the field, and allow me to gain knowledge that would help us address our market's needs?" to "Which room is within crawling distance?"


(One area that attracted a great deal of traffic, in addition to the restrooms, was the vendor exhibit area. This was true particularly at the beginning of each day, when there were free gifts involved. Teachers LOVE free gifts. They don't care HOW far they have to walk or how early they have to stand in line to get them, by golly, they are going to get their free gifts.)


But it is not just the convention center that is oversized. Everything in this city appears to be built on the possibility that the entire population of Europe might suddenly, unexpectedly, decide to visit here, all at the same time, needing hotel rooms, meeting space, and a large collection of shopping venues, and the city had better be ready! 


Moreover, there seems to be a general feeling among city planners that visitors need to be encouraged to stop and smell the roses. To that end, sidewalks meander through charming gardens and fountains, but they do not actually lead anywhere. If you want to leave Point A and arrive at Point B, you should get a taxi, although even by this manner of transport it is not possible to get to your destination by the most direct route. Roads simply do not go straight. They have been designed to accommodate, perhaps, long victory parades. I can say that you certainly feel like celebrating when you finally do reach your destination. 


The perfect landscaping found throughout the city (city motto: "Landscaped to within an Inch of Our Life") engendered some discussion among our group. Despite plentiful trees and bushes, not one leaf clutters the ground. I suspect that there must be people whose full-time job it is to make sure that when a leaf falls, it is immediately whisked away before contaminating the perfectly manicured lawns. "No leaf left behind" seems to be the motto there. 


My only regret about the conference is that I was not able to make it to one particular session, titled (seriously) "The Adventures of Captain Underpants." I am sure that, even if this session hadn't been within crawling distance, it would have been worth it. Although maybe I would pass on any free gifts.