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.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Monday, November 14, 2011
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.
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.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
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.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
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.
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.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
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.
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.
Monday, November 7, 2011
Stay tuned
We regret the sudden cessation of posts last week. The Princess was away at a conference for work, which was held in a pleasantly warm part of the country. She did, however, return, and so will the blog.
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Halloween should bring out the adult in us
Every year at Halloween we adults are bombarded with messages about how we, as concerned, mature human beings, should show some responsibility for the impressionable youngsters who will knock on our doors and demand candy. We should do this, we are told, by refusing to give the youngsters any candy and instead give them something sensible, such as rice cakes, toothbrushes, illustrated brochures on how to avoid tooth decay, etc.
We heartily agree with this sentiment, as long as it is someone else giving out something sensible. If we are going to have anything left over from Halloween, it had better be chocolate.
A family member has a neighbor who is a dentist, and each Halloween the dentist takes quite seriously his responsibility to help children make positive choices in their lives. He offers a small cash bounty for every piece of candy the neighborhood kids are willing to bring him, thereby helping them learn that greed is a positive choice. I mean healthful eating is a positive choice! Healthful eating, yes.
No doubt this conscientiousness is due to the dentist's profession, and no doubt also due to his profession his wife buys sensible treats to pass out at Halloween, like toothbrushes, and therefore paying the kids to bring him candy is the only way the dentist can get any decent treats for himself.
But even though we adults have weighty responsibilities on this particular holiday, there are also some advantages to being an adult at Halloween. For instance, you don't have to worry about unscrupulous siblings infiltrating your stash of candy, taking your favorite kinds, replacing them with your least favorite kinds, telling your mom you ate too much candy, telling your mom that THEY are innocent, etc.
No, as adults, you and your spouse can divide any candy left over from your trick or treaters in a calm, rational manner, as shown here:
You: (reviewing the leftover candy in the bowl) Okay, here's what we have left: Hershey Kisses, Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, Mr. Goodbar, Hershey's Dark. Whatever we don't like I can take to work.
Spouse: I like the Reese's Peanut Butter Cups.
You: Me too.
Spouse: (grabs all the Reese's Peanut Butter Cups)
You: Hey, I want some, too!
Spouse: But you said you're just gonna take them to work.
You: But not the Reese's Peanut Butter Cups!
Spouse: Wellll...
You: (magnanimously, suddenly remembering that there is a convenient amount of candy left in the bag that did not make it into the bowl) That's okay, you can have them.
Spouse: Thanks!
Later...
Spouse: (spotting you with several Reese's Peanut Butter Cups) Hey, where'd you get all those peanut butter cups?? Did you raid my stash? (immediately counts to make sure none is missing)
You: (piously) Nope. I got them from the bag.
Spouse: You didn't say there was any in the bag! No fair! I'm telling. I'm telling...um...the Great Pumpkin!
Of course this is NOT what happens between the Hero and me. We are able to avoid such childish displays, mainly because we eat the candy BEFORE any trick or treaters come.
Though if we were truly the responsible adults we should be, we might also be able to avoid such childish displays if we did as we are urged in these responsible times, and handed out toothbrushes.
We heartily agree with this sentiment, as long as it is someone else giving out something sensible. If we are going to have anything left over from Halloween, it had better be chocolate.
A family member has a neighbor who is a dentist, and each Halloween the dentist takes quite seriously his responsibility to help children make positive choices in their lives. He offers a small cash bounty for every piece of candy the neighborhood kids are willing to bring him, thereby helping them learn that greed is a positive choice. I mean healthful eating is a positive choice! Healthful eating, yes.
No doubt this conscientiousness is due to the dentist's profession, and no doubt also due to his profession his wife buys sensible treats to pass out at Halloween, like toothbrushes, and therefore paying the kids to bring him candy is the only way the dentist can get any decent treats for himself.
But even though we adults have weighty responsibilities on this particular holiday, there are also some advantages to being an adult at Halloween. For instance, you don't have to worry about unscrupulous siblings infiltrating your stash of candy, taking your favorite kinds, replacing them with your least favorite kinds, telling your mom you ate too much candy, telling your mom that THEY are innocent, etc.
No, as adults, you and your spouse can divide any candy left over from your trick or treaters in a calm, rational manner, as shown here:
You: (reviewing the leftover candy in the bowl) Okay, here's what we have left: Hershey Kisses, Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, Mr. Goodbar, Hershey's Dark. Whatever we don't like I can take to work.
Spouse: I like the Reese's Peanut Butter Cups.
You: Me too.
Spouse: (grabs all the Reese's Peanut Butter Cups)
You: Hey, I want some, too!
Spouse: But you said you're just gonna take them to work.
You: But not the Reese's Peanut Butter Cups!
Spouse: Wellll...
You: (magnanimously, suddenly remembering that there is a convenient amount of candy left in the bag that did not make it into the bowl) That's okay, you can have them.
Spouse: Thanks!
Later...
Spouse: (spotting you with several Reese's Peanut Butter Cups) Hey, where'd you get all those peanut butter cups?? Did you raid my stash? (immediately counts to make sure none is missing)
You: (piously) Nope. I got them from the bag.
Spouse: You didn't say there was any in the bag! No fair! I'm telling. I'm telling...um...the Great Pumpkin!
Of course this is NOT what happens between the Hero and me. We are able to avoid such childish displays, mainly because we eat the candy BEFORE any trick or treaters come.
Though if we were truly the responsible adults we should be, we might also be able to avoid such childish displays if we did as we are urged in these responsible times, and handed out toothbrushes.
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