Coming soon to a stoplight near you

When I traded my old car in recently, I braced myself for a difficult separation. After 14 years together, it was hard to imagine being without it. Hard to imagine not having to worry about the locks freezing up in the winter and having to crawl in through the hatch in the back. Or not worrying that the engine would decide it was too cold to start, or that the car would express its opinion that playing a CD when I hit Play was optional. Such good times we had!

I missed the car for maybe three and a half seconds. 

And then immediately embraced my new car, which is red. This caused the Hero to worry that I will get in an accident with it, because some studies show that red cars are involved in accidents more frequently.

"But mine is sort of a brick red," I said, to reassure him. "I'm sure they don't get into as many accidents as really red cars."

The car is actually a 3200-pound puppy, craving attention and always wanting to be on the go -- somewhere, anywhere. It's happy just to go to the library. It is a small SUV, but parked in the midst of several cars in our parking lot, it looks like a 10-pound baby in a preemie nursery. 

I thought it would be kind of unique, having a red car. I was wrong. Seemingly overnight, everyone has a red car. Which makes the Hero worry that there are going to be a lot more accidents soon.

"Maybe red cars get into more accidents because their drivers drive more aggressively," he said. "You are driving more aggressively since you got this car."

"It's a sporty car," I say. "You can't drive a sporty car all prim and proper. I'm driving it in a sporty manner."

For his part, the Hero is enthralled with all the technology in the car, which allows it to do pretty much everything except engage in time travel (that option was too expensive, plus you had to sign a waiver in case of "unforeseen technical difficulties," which sounded pretty ominous). 

Now, I admit that I used to pass rather harsh judgment on drivers who would jack up the bass on their car stereo. You know the ones I mean. You are stopped peacefully at a stoplight, perhaps enjoying the strains of Bach, when suddenly your car, and you, feel as if you have been thrust into a giant washing machine. You hurtle from side to side, courtesy of some booming car next to or behind you.

I noticed, in my new car, that I was on the verge of becoming one of these annoying booming cars. "Silver Bells" on the radio was suddenly "Silver BOOM...Silver BOOM...It's Christmas BOOM time in the city BOOM..." I checked the settings, which showed that the bass was set quite high. 

"Did you turn up the bass on my car?" I demanded of the Hero.

He denied it. "But," he said, "it's a sporty car, and you have to listen to the radio in a sporty manner."

So if you've recently had your jaw knocked out of alignment because of a shaking red car next to you at a stoplight, please accept my apologies. I'll try to be a little more prim and proper.

End of an era -- but a new beginning

We said goodbye to a beloved member of the household recently. This member has been a faithful companion throughout the last 14 years, making the transition from our single lives to married, going on trips with us, costing us money, etc. 

It never had a name, but it never complained. At least not about that. It complained plenty about other things, particularly about having to leave behind our garage when I moved to Maryland. 

"What do you mean, I have to stay out in the elements from now on?" my car complained. "I wanna see my contract. Doesn't my contract stipulate I have to have a garage? With heat?" 

"Look," I said. "No one wishes we had a garage more than I do, but that's how it is here. No one has a garage."

"Uncivilized," the car muttered. "I can't believe you've dragged me out to this uncivilized island-of-no-garages."

"At least you don't have the indignity of being pushed out of a garage by a bunch of junk, like lots of other cars."

The car did not seem overly thankful for being spared this. "I wanna move to Florida, then," it said. "My contract says something about Florida, I'm sure."

I was careful to never take it to a warmer state, however, lest it refuse to return to its less hospitable, garage-less home. The car's dream of someday retiring to Florida never died, and I racked up so many miles on it that I began to fear the car itself would die. Finally I decided that to keep it one more winter might do it in for good. Plus, I was beginning to notice that newer cars had a lot of nifty features that mine did not -- doors that opened when you wanted them to, for instance. 

As much as my car wanted to retire, however, I felt guilty for planning its send-off. I took to talking in whispers around the car so as not to arouse its suspicions. "So," I would say casually to the Hero, "when do you want to go look at n-e-w c-a-r-s?"

When we finally took the plunge and took the car to be traded for a new one, I was flooded with guilt. It had been such a faithful companion. It had been with me twice as long as the Hero. It must be feeling abandoned, lonely, worthless --

"Whoo hoo! Florida, here I come!" it yelled from the dealership parking lot.

I guess I needn't have worried. 

"Don't forget to write!" I yelled, but it paid no attention. It was figuring out how to make its way south.

As for me, I don't mind being left behind in garage-less Maryland. I am totally loving my new seat warmers...  

Yes, Virginia (and Maryland), there IS life after a snowstorm!

We have at last returned from our trip to the Great White North. Our plane to central Illinois landed in a blizzard, although in typical, stoic Midwestern fashion, the pilot never mentioned a word about blizzards. He also never mentioned, until after landing, that the plane had hit two birds during the flight. An unfortunate incident, but Midwestern birds are pretty stoic about such things. 

In contrast, landing in a blizzard in Maryland (legal definition: greater than .002 inches of snow) would never have been allowed. Planes would have been diverted to the nearest safe airport, perhaps Los Angeles, and passengers informed that to reach their destination they would have to hoof it back. "No one's getting in by air, rail, or road," officials from Maryland would say. "Not for a couple of months at least." 

We were supposed to meet friends for lunch after we landed, but after inching along in our rental car in the blinding snow and wind for some time, we called to cancel. We were exhausted from our efforts, and we hadn't even left the airport parking lot yet. 

The snow doggedly followed us through Illinois and Michigan. One morning in MI we woke  up to about six inches of snow (equivalent in Maryland snow: 60 inches). We got up, got dressed, got in the car -- and drove down a perfectly clean expressway. This is another situation that does not happen in Maryland. When we get that much snow here, the entire state just sinks into the earth, never to rise again until the following spring. 

We also couldn't help but notice that no matter where we drove in Michigan, the little compass in our rental car pointed in a single direction the entire time we were on one road. If we started out driving north on Road X, we continued to go north until such time as we turned off Road X onto Road Y, at which point we went due east until we turned off Road Y, etc. The same compass here in Maryland would appear to have a personality disorder: "West -- no, wait, north...uh, south-west? Now north-south..." In Michigan, you could turn a few right turns and end up exactly where you started. In Maryland, you could make a few right turns and end up in: Nome, Alaska. 

On the other hand, we only own heavy winter outerwear and boots for our travels to the Midwest. We once visited in January without such gear because it had been 60 degrees at home before we left. Fortunately our relatives treated our foolishness with characteristic gentle humor: "It's January and you're wearing windbreakers. Are you insane?"

Ah, winter. What brings families together. Unless they have to drive on Maryland roads ("East? How did we end up going east? I thought we were going north...").

Where is the blog??

The Princess and Hero are traveling, and the blog may not appear for an undetermined amount of time. Then again, you never know. Unlike some lucky people who are going to warmer climates for the holidays (we do not know any personally, or we would be inviting ourselves along), WE are heading right into Winter Storm Draco, which would not seem nearly so scary if it didn't have a name that sounded like a cross between Drano and Dracula.

How to eat healthy around the holidays -- we think

We have a holiday tradition in our household that involves the local grocery store, a grocery cart, several bags of cute holiday-wrapped candy, and very little willpower. You can probably discern what this tradition might involve.

Some people may have tried to circumvent such temptation by going about their shopping trip with a handheld basket instead of a grocery cart the size of the Louisiana Purchase. But consumer research suggests that people who shop with a basket are actually MORE likely to make impulse purchases -- but only if they are holding the basket with their dominant hand. Honest. I wish I had known this sooner. All this time I've been carrying baskets with my nondominant hand. Think of all the impulse purchases I've missed out on!

The research of course implies that to avoid buying more than we intend to, we should carry the basket in our nondominant hand, in the hopes that the other hand will calmly, rationally, start picking up loaves of 17-grain bread, organic/dairy-free/wheat-free/vegetarian/calorie-free beets, etc. and place it in all someone else's bas -- I mean, in our basket.  

Recently I read some tips about how to consume more healthful foods during this time of holiday overeating. The first tip was what to eat for breakfast the day after Thanksgiving. The sensible advice given in the article was: Have a slice of pumpkin pie for breakfast. 

I liked this author immediately. Not that I am particularly fond of pumpkin pie, but might not the principle extend to, say, chocolate cake for breakfast? Her reasoning went something like this: You KNOW you are going to want that pie sometime during the day. Yet in an effort to behave yourself gastronomically, you will eat sensibly all day, telling yourself you will NOT eat any pie, and believeing yourself until about 10 p.m., when a little voice says, "You DESERVE this pie," and in the pie goes. Boom! You have just gone 350 calories over your limit that day. Whereas, if you consume the pie first thing in the morning, you have already factored those calories into the day's equation, and you can set about being virtuous the rest of the day.

This rationale was soundly denounced by my coworkers, who declared that were they to choose such a course, they would STILL have a second piece of pie at night.

Yet the idea fits in nicely with my own personal philosophy of rewarding yourself BEFORE you have really done anything to merit the reward. And if it theoretically works so well the day after Thanksgiving, why not EVERY morning? Indeed, the Hero is lobbying for just such a lifestyle change, citing another group with similar wise, healthy eating habits: the Shakers.

After watching a documentary on the Shakers, he announced that the Shakers were the wisest people ever, at least in respect to their breakfast meals, which according to the documentary included apple pie EVERY DAY. 

"Apple pie for breakfast! EVERY day!" He was in awe.

Sadly, the Shakers have pretty much disappeared into  history now, and with them this fine idea of eating pie for breakfast. I can think of only one improvement to make upon their ritual: Have breakfast all day long.

This week

The Princess apologizes for the scarcity of blog posts this week. What started out as promising topics turned out, upon reflection, to be better relegated to the recesses of her imagination. And the Hero has not provided much material for her, being engrossed in pursuing his master's project in sonification, which is a word the Princess suspects he made up.

We sincerely hope next week will bring more exciting topics to pursue, or we may have to start making things up. It's not as if it hasn't been done here before.

Born to be...me

Dear Coast Guard,

This letter is in reply to your radio ad currently airing in Maryland, in which a very deep, confident-sounding male voice makes a stirring case for joining your establishment. In the ad this individual says, roughly, the following:

"I was not born to take it easy. I was born to test my limits--physically and mentally. I was made to stretch myself, to meet every test laid before me. To know who I am, to seek the edge of my abilities and then push myself beyond them. I was born to excel, to achieve. To exceed expectations. I was born for the United States Coast Guard."

I must say, this ad has stirred something deep inside my soul. It is difficult to describe, but I believe it can be summed up in one word: Laziness. 

Frankly, all this talk about pushing personal limits makes me really tired. I really WAS born to take it easy. To grab the Fritos that are lying within my reach. To be comfortable in the realm of my current abilities and to stay well away from their edges. My idea of pushing myself is to go pick up the mail that came through the mail slot in the door and is now lying on the floor. Stretching myself occurs only around Thanksgiving.

And not to be snarky, but what is all that "I was born to excel, to achieve, to exceed expectations" stuff? I am all for improving one's vocabulary, but your ad sounds like a thesaurus entry for "succeed." 

No, you are not talking about me in your ad. But should you get really desperate, you should have no trouble finding me: I'll be on the couch. With my Fritos nearby.