These are the days of miracle and wonder

Jane Victoria is ten days old now, and it's hard to imagine life without her. Last Sunday Benjamin and Amanda came over to bring by some meals for us (it's been SO wonderful - I haven't cooked a meal yet since coming home from the hospital!) Benjamin told us later that he mentioned to Michael, 'So how is...um...the baby doing?' and thought afterwards, 'Wait a minute. Michael and Rose have known her just as long as I have. They don't remember her name any better than I do!' Her nickname to us is often Baby, because that's what we called her for so long. And not to be a tiresome doting Mama, but she is SUCH a model child! She is really and truly sleeping through the night now, weighed eight lbs. on her one-week check-up, hardly ever cries, smiles in her sleep, and loves her car seat.

Motherhood is such a fulfilling and satisfying role. I know that having children is supposed to polish us up by highlighting our areas of selfishness, but so far there's been so little suffering involved that I'm questioning the value of having children as a character reformation device. =) I expect that things will change as the novelty of having her around wears off and the reality of her sin nature asserts itself, but for the present she is absolutely lovable and I want to serve her and take care of her, and don't mind the sacrifice a bit.

We still get out of the house every day, and it's such a fun thing to gad about with her. She hasn't slowed us down a bit, which is exactly what I had hoped for, because I value my independence so much that I couldn't imagine being laid up for weeks according to the old-fashioned notion of a decent period of confinement. I often think of the A.A. Milne poem that begins, 'Wherever I go, there's always Pooh; there's always Pooh and me.' She's my little buddy, and even though our conversations are a bit one-sided at this point, it's delightful to have her as a daily companion.

Meanwhile this article (http://www.worldnetdaily.com/news/article.asp?ARTICLE_ID=44210) provides interesting food for thought. One thing I appreciate about Buchanan is that he is so not a pandering politician; he is not afraid to speak his mind and to speak out honestly. The disadvantage is that his forthrightness is often just too forthright. Sometimes he has valuable things to say, but he blunts his effectiveness by being so abrasive about it. Plus sometimes he's just plain wrong. This time he really misses the boat. For one thing, to say that Germany didn't invade France/Holland/Belgium until after Britain declared war on Germany is ludicrous, because he had every intention of doing so: he just hadn't gotten around to it yet. Here Buchanan invokes the logical absurdity post hoc ergo propter hoc. As if Hitler would have stopped at Poland had Churchill had the sense to leave him alone! For another thing, we didn't enter the war with the intention of swapping one cruel dictator for another. At the beginning of the war, Russia was still our enemy. The alliance with Stalin was a necessary evil to get the job done. Now, I'm not happy with the agreement at Yalta either, but to equate the results of that summit with the motivations for fighting the whole war is incredibly naive and simplistic. Buchanan needs to study up on his history a bit more.

Bringing up Baby

It didn't even have to be Mother's Day yesterday for me to realise how wonderful this life is. I'm reveling in the throes of motherhood with all my might. Jane is such a practically-perfect-in-every-way baby that it really seems almost too good to be true. She doesn't cry very much, is generally happy (meaning she's not crying; judging from her expressions of furrowed brows she's profoundly puzzled and slightly detached from this world) when awake, almost slept through the night the last two nights (meaning she lasted for 3- and 4-hour stretches at a time, and I was the one waking her up to feed, which at this age is as close to sleeping through the night as you can get), and is adorably cute to boot. Moreover we both (Michael and I) feel great despite having not caught up on sleep yet, and I'm gradually easing back into all but the most fitted of my pre-pregnancy clothes, and I haven't taken any of those painkillers they sent me home from the hospital with, and the weather is beautiful and the flowers are in bloom and the birds are singing. Things are so good that I'm half worried lest we break out in boils presently and our cattle and sheep all get slain by the Amalekites.

Yesterday we went to church, after much deliberation about germs and such. We decided to risk it since by leaving Jane in her car seat/stroller combo, we could open both canopies and shield her from the adoring public in a virtual incubator. Plus I was sure I would win the Mother's Day prize for youngest baby. And would you know it, they asked all mothers to stand and just gave everyone a book! I felt so ripped off. But later we were standing in the hallway talking with Joy, another young mother whose baby is nine months old. Joy was exclaiming over how disappointed she was that the only mothers they recognised were the youngest mother and the oldest mother present. 'And if only that 22-year-old hadn't been there, I so would have won!' she exclaimed to the associate pastor. 'Look at Rose. If you'd given the prize for youngest baby, she would have gotten that! Five days old and they bring her to church!' 'Wait here,' the pastor told me, and came back with a whole stack of Dr. Stanley books for us!

Today is my first day of parenting solo. Reality set in at last and Michael had to go back to work today. But I am relieved to report that after one hour of being alone with the Baby, post-partum depression has not set in, so I think at this point we are safely past that risk. We are going to have a splendid time together, and already have a fun week lined up. As soon as JC Penney opens this morning, we're going in to get Jane's portrait taken, courtesy of a really wonderful coupon I got from Parenting magazine, the one useful contribution that circular has made to my life. (Rachelle learned the hard way that you look at the fine print very hard to make sure there is no hidden sitting fee. This was going to be a family portrait until I noticed that only the first person is free.)

Random political thought of the day (proving that I can momentarily tear my mind away from Jane and notice the outside world): Hmmm, and I thought Chippendales was a furniture store.

Tuesday's child

We are pleased to announce the birth of Jane Victoria Focht, who graced us with her arrival yesterday morning around midnight. She weighed 7 lbs. 6 oz., measured 20.5 inches long, and looks, well, like a standard baby as far as we can tell. (Of course we think she's the most adorable one in the world, but it would look a bit partial for us to make that assertion.)

All went well. We came home from the hospital today, and are doing splendidly except for a colossal lack of sleep. Pictures to follow soon.

Stork watch

Meaning, as Michael pointed out, that none have been sighted yet, although conditions are ripe.

Wrapping up

I left work for the last time today, and much as I loved my job and enjoyed my time there and appreciated all the dear people with whom I worked, I have the most glorious end-of-term feeling! Not that I anticipate any long stretch of sleeping in of mornings or anything like that, but it's a very buoyant and free sensation.

I have only the best things to say about the place I've worked for the past almost-year. And I've so enjoyed the friendships I've made while there. This past week has been a perfect capstone to a satisfying career. Yesterday Amy in HR asked me what I wanted for my going-away party. There's not so much turnover that this is a real issue, but it just happened that one lady left just last Friday, and we had cake for her party. Then of course we had pie and ice cream for Monica's and my party on Monday (fortunately I shared a birthday with someone who was up for a creative alternative to store-bought cake and cardboard icing), and after agreeing that everyone was probably caked-out by now, we decided to have a going-away brunch instead. So we had bagels and orange juice in the kitchen this morning, and it was all so pleasant and cheery. Also I found out that they've started an office pool on when Baby comes, how much Baby weighs, and whether Baby is a boy or a girl! The funniest part is that all the guys in the back warehouse have all gotten on board most excitedly with this pool, happy to have something to bet money on even if they don't really have much of an idea. It's so cute - they're guessing like 15 lbs. and random days that are probably notgoing to come true, but it's all in good fun...plus Jennifer told me they want to give me half of the money in the end! Isn't that sweet? And gambling is actually against the rules in the employee handbook, and dear Mr. W, the owner, apparently put up one of the biggest stakes of all. Yes, I'm sad to leave, but I can't think of a better reason to do so.

Storks and storms

Overheard on last night’s walk:

Me: So do you think it would be a worthwhile investment to spend, say, $5 on a plastic stork for our yard in the hopes of eliciting free cookies and maybe other food from the neighbours?
Michael (horrified): What a mercenary idea! Where do you come up with these things?
Me: Okay, okay, I was just kidding! We don’t have to do it.
Michael: It’s pretty scary the way your mind works sometimes. I mean, you would think they would have to send people away to training camps to indoctrinate them to think like that.

So last night we were watching a show when this background tune came on. The only line I caught was, ‘“Come in,” she said; “I’ll give you shelter from the storm.”’ It was very catchy, and I liked it so much that I looked up the lyrics online afterwards, only to discover that it was a Bob Marley song! Now, I don’t know anything about Bob Marley except that I am supposed to hate his music; I’ve heard so many bad things about his voice and style that I’m totally prejudiced against him, and here the only song of his that I’ve actually heard I find that I like very much indeed! This is a pretty kettle of fish.

‘Twas the eighteenth of April in 2005…

Listen, my children, and you shall hear
How Paul Revere drank all the beer.

Thus began one of our poems from the inimitable Poem Game, a Penney family tradition wherein all the participants write the first line of a famous poem, then pass the paper one person to the left, rhyme the line and write a new one, and pass it on. There are several variations, including the four-line doggerel, the eight-line poem, or simply passing the paper around until it ends up back with the person who starts it. Terribly fun, even in circles of people who protest themselves not literary. (Actually, when it involves those without the writing bug, the results can be even sillier than ever.) My personal favourite and a Penney family classic:

The windshield factor was fifteen below;
On that frigid terrain only real men could go.
Did they venture for fortune, for love, or for fame?
Or did they attempt to rescue a dame?
Yes, the rains came down and the winds did blow
And all they could cry was, ‘Oh, oh, oh!’
They wondered why they’d ever left
(Their jaws were square and their chins were cleft.)
They faced the challenge with derring-do;
Their motor-bikes in a circle they drew
Not giving the villains a single clue
As to what they were doing; I leave it to you.

So anyway, it’s now been 230 years since the midnight ride of Paul Revere, although according to Paul Harvey, it was really Israel Bissel who deserves the credit for spreading the alarm. We were trying to remember at breakfast if the alarm was the night of the 18th and therefore it the morning of the 19th when the battle of Concord happened. And we just finished reading Johnny Tremain, so we should know! Alas, we’re still stranded halfway through The Great Impersonation; need to get cracking if we’re to finish that before Baby arrives.

It was such a nice weekend, though not nearly so restful as it should have been. I had the girls I’ve been mentoring over for a slumber party on Friday night, and after a lesson, pizza and Pepsi, a movie, and a rousing game of spoons, I was falling asleep by 11:00. The girls, not being old and boring yet, stayed up until who knows when, and still got up early the next morning for bacon and eggs. Saturday was lovely; Michael mowed the lawn and assembled the stroller while I organised the nursery a tiny bit more and ran hundreds of loads of laundry. We took a chicken out of the freezer and determined to go to church the next morning with the explicit intention of inviting someone over for dinner (the fun thing about hospitality is that Michael really enjoys it too, and half the time it’s his idea – ‘We don’t have anything planned for Sunday, do we? We should really have someone over’). Benjamin and Amanda came over, and we showed them The Court Jester, which they had never seen before. Plot we’ve got – quite a lot.

And now we’re trying to keep the schedule gloriously unfree because we know not what the morrow may bring!

Living and Dyeing

On New Year’s Eve 2003 we had several friends over to celebrate. We were all newly married, and we drank sparkling cider and enjoyed a sit-down dinner in our formal dining room, which to this day remains bereft of furniture, since we’re still saving up for a nice dining room set. All this information is incidental to the point of this post, and merely sets the stage for the astounding events to follow. The party left us with tablecloths and napkins to launder, most of which were fresh from the wedding registry (sad to admit that this was the first time I’d used this tablecloth since we were married in August? Well, at any rate, it was the first time it needed washing). It was a blue-and-white checkered print, and since it was sort of fuzzy and soft, much like our master bath towels, I blithely tossed them all in the laundry together. Our towels, previously a lovely warm vanilla colour, ended up a rather dingy blue-grey, while the tablecloth and napkins escaped apparently unscathed. Michael expressed some surprise at this apparent lapse of common sense – washing un-like colours, especially on a first washing (Me: ‘But I washed it on the cold cycle! I thought nothing bad could happen in cold water!’) – but was generally forbearing and understanding of the situation, and hasn’t complained at all in the past year-plus about our master bath towels not looking quite so sprightly as they ought.

So this last weekend I thought I had spotted a brilliant solution. I picked up a few really cute maternity tops at the local upscale Goodwill (all Motherhood or Mimi brand names, except for like $5 each instead of $45) and brought them proudly home to wash. One was a rather bright red top, and I was seized with the notion of tossing it in with the unfortunate towels, to compensate for the blue hue with a good red shift. Of course I didn’t really expect it to work, because of course colours don’t bleed in cold water, only hot, but I thought it couldn’t hurt to try.

Well. Michael pulled the towels out of the washer, clean and fresh and complete with random pink spots on them. It reminds me a bit of The Cat in the Hat Comes Back, with an inexorable pink stain that just gets progressively worse and worse. It actually doesn’t look bad, and I’m trying to look on the bright side: it’s sort of like one step away from having monogrammed towels! Now Michael and I can have our own personalised towels without having our initials sewn on to them. But I have now officially given up on the towels and will try no further attempts at rectifying the situation.

By the way

Now that I'm about to quit my job, here is where I work:

http://www.colonial-lighting.com/home.htm

Pictures and Conversation, Part 2

We have been getting dreadfully erratic about our Sunday Pregnant Picture of late. This time around it was well into the week before we got to take it. (We forgot on Sunday and then it was many days before I felt pretty enough to document my condition.) So in addition to our standard pose, I also wanted a couple of free-standing, carefully scripted candid shots, to give the appearance of breezy elegance and casual, carefree ease and happiness.

The first picture I relaxed completely, to allow the full effects of the expansion to be visible. ‘This will be the “Wow, I can’t believe how pregnant I looked then!” picture,’ I explained to Michael, who was patiently working the camera. ‘It will be a curiosity piece, because I’m never going to be this big again, except under similar circumstances.’

Next I wanted one a bit more controlled, for the exact opposite effect, to prove how non-pregnant it is possible to look at 8+ months along. ‘Now I’m going to suck it up a bit, so I can look back and think, “And that’s how I looked at 8+ months pregnant!”’ And held the pose (with some difficulty. It reminded me a bit of those corset-tying scenes in old Victorian novels. ‘Don’t breathe, Mabel! Don’t breathe!’)

Michael peered through the viewfinder. ‘Okay,’ he called. ‘Go ahead and suck it up!’ Distressed yelps resulted from me and evil cackles from Michael. Funny, funny man.

(This is all very silly and I readily admit it. I don’t know why it’s so important to me to prove by pictures how un-pregnant I look when I’m perfectly happy being pregnant, feel great, and wouldn’t wish a thing otherwise. Sigh.)

Further thoughts on Holland

And yet, for all that, there are some things that the Dutch (possibly Europeans in general) do better (or, shall we say, we could take a page from them):

-European hospitality. You can’t enter someone’s house without being offered coffee or tea. You always linger around the table after dinner sipping drinks, laughing, and talking. Sure, I know we drink coffee here, and when you go over to someone’s house for dinner you usually get offered water or juice or coke or something, but for the most part people don’t keep their tea sets and coffee creamers always at the ready here. It’s a social ritual over there. And it’s GOOD stuff!

-European diet. The bread you buy in the bakery is generally far better quality than your typical sandwich bread here. Even the cheapest run-of-the-mill sandwich bread there is hearty and nutritious. Breakfast often consists of yogurt, bread and cheese, bread and meat, jam, and of course the classic chocolate sprinkle sandwiches! Overall, the foods seem far less processed, possibly one reason why Europeans manage to look so thin compared to their American counterparts (either that or the fact that everyone smokes like crazy over there).

-European roundabouts! I fell in love with these in England and still adore the notion of not having to come to a dead stop when it’s perfectly obvious that no one’s coming from all directions. Plus if you’re scrambling to decipher a map (NOT lost, just momentarily confused of bearings) it’s so convenient to be able to circle without having to make a snap decision and end up heading off to the wrong corner of the country.

I must say, the Euro was a big disappointment. We took a trip into Germany one day since the border was so nearby. Wandering around the fairy-talish city of Bremen, I was delighted to see a coin glittering at me from the ground, and went through the great effort of bending over and picking it up (no mean feat at my current girth), delighted with the prospect of adding a German coin to my collection, only to realize that, of course, it was just a common 1-cent Euro piece, like I had tons of already. Blah.

Pictures and Conversation, Part 1

‘And what,’ thought Alice, ‘is the use of a book without any pictures or conversation?’

Overhead at the dinner table:

Michael: This is really good. What is it?
Me: ‘Hearty Chicken and Rice Soup.’
Michael: Hmm, that’s funny. It looks and tastes like it has barley in it.
Me: Well, actually it does. That was just the soup’s name in the cookbook.
Michael: What a funny cookbook! I wonder why it would call for barley in a rice dish!
Me: Ummm…actually, it did call for rice, but I thought barley would be better.
Michael: Ah. And did you actually use chicken for the chicken part, or maybe some leftover quail that you had lying around?

Later:

Me: What would you like, a cinnamon roll or a slice of peach cobbler?
Michael: I’ll take a cinnamon roll.
Me: What! You’d rather have a cinnamon roll than a slice of juicy peach cobbler fresh from the oven, all crunchy and crisp, with ice cream melting over it??
Michael: Oh, boy! I’ll take peach cobbler then. Silly me!

Overheard on the nightly walk:

Me (breathing deeply): Ah, the fresh scent of spring!
Michael (sniffing): Actually, it smells a lot like a dryer vent.
Me: Well, maybe it’s Spring Fresh fabric softener.

America for me!

There's a poem somewhere beginning, 'Oh, the old world...' and goes on to describe the wonders and delights of Greece and Rome and all that, but winds up each verse with '...America for me!' After two weeks of touring on the continent, I am delighted with all that I saw and ate but immensely glad to be back on home soil once more and incredibly proud to be an American!

Fortunately daylight savings time works right into the whole jetlag thing, so we're so zombied-out with the time change anyway that we won't even feel the injustice of waking up an hour earlier tomorrow. Baby already makes me feel hungry all the time, so the meal weirdness isn't as much of an issue as it usually is with travel.

Well, what can I say about Holland? Wonderful food, fabulous chocolate sprinkles (I ate a chocolate sprinkle sandwich for breakfast every day), incredibly warm and friendly people, and really uncharacteristically good weather for us the two weeks we were there. It was really too fabulous of a trip - and so much better than expected, considering my apprehensions about timeframe, pregnant travel, expense of the euro, etc. - to complain about anything, so let's just briefly catalogue the ways in which I come away with an improved opinion of America (the following are sweeping generalisations):

-American plumbing. In America you usually have warm water in the powder rooms. The sinks are usually big enough to fit both hands under the faucet at once. The towels are usually big and folded over a rack rather than hung from a rivet on a hook on the wall. The toilet paper is usually white (not brown, except in some environmentally nutty stores where they sell recycled toilet paper) and actually soft.

-American cuisine. In America, if you order water in a restaurant, it is usually a good way of indulging your cheapness and acknowledging that you don't want to pay for a drink. It is not common to order water, explicitly specify that it be tap water and not bottled, and be brought bottled water (and charged a hefty price in Euros for it). It is furthermore not common in America, should such a situation befall you, to be told by the waiter, after you are caught sneaking off to the WC with the bottle to covertly fill it up because you are dying of thirst, that you are not allowed to help yourself to water from the WC.

-American customer service. In America, there are signs everywhere. There are people in the airports to direct you if you are confused. Now, in all fairness, not everyone in America can speak a foreign language for the assistance of any hapless tourist who happens by. But at least we try. And we generally have good, prompt, and attentive service in public places. This may be because, without a minimum wage of 8-10 euros/hour, many people in the service-oriented industry are working for tips and actually have a vested interest in keeping the customers happy.

Hmm, that should do it for the basic observations. In general, Holland is still a country of windmills and canals (most without railings and many with narrow, cobbled streets directly adjoining along which it is a harrowing nightmare to parallel park) and tulips (although it wasn't tulip season yet when we went). Because most of the country is polder (reclaimed from the sea), meaning it was dyked (sp?) in and pumped dry across the centuries, its architecture isn't nearly as old as that in England. No castles, and the charming stone churches don't go back much beyond the 1600s. But there are thatched cottages and farms aplenty.

It was never meant to be a sight-seeing vacation; it was always about the people and the family that my Oma (Dutch word for grandmother) wanted us to visit. That was our expectation, and everything else that happened was a bonus. That being said, it was a bonus - full of serendipity and happiness.

But I'm glad to be back!

(Observation: Baby is a very helpful traveling companion. Owing to Baby's presence, we got to skip the long line at check-in and got a whole extra meal on the flight back.)

Knock me over with an F

Found out today that Susan, one of my co-workers, is expecting. She’s the last person I would have pegged for that sort of thing, and we’re all still sort of in a state of shock. She seems happy, and her husband, Greg, who spilled the beans (talking about ‘the baby’ on the two-way radio this morning so that half the showroom could hear) is definitely thrilled. But I’m still agape.

Also I just learned that Holland, like much of Europe, has mainly pay toilets in all the public restrooms. Not a happy prospect for a pregnant woman who’s supposed to be drinking a lot of water.

We leave in two days. It hardly seems real. Right now we’re in our desperately-eating-up-all-the-leftovers-in-the-house stage. And – I thought I timed it just right, but it looks like we’re going to run out of milk tonight. Which means that I have to buy another whole gallon of milk, and then we’re going to have to drink it like crazy so it won’t go bad while we’re gone.

Highway robbery

So a few weeks ago it dawned on me that I’m six weeks out from an international trip and my passport is still in my maiden name. Now you would think that after a year and a half of marriage I would have thought about this at least once. And if I’d even thought about it, I could have bought the plane tickets in my maiden name, and all would have been well (the ticket simply has to match the name on the passport). But no. I did not think of it in time. So I called the Department of State to find out what my options were, and there is apparently no fee for an amended passport, and it only takes 6-8 weeks. Big whew! I even told the representative my dates of travel, since it would be cutting it close, and she assured me that the 6-8 week figure is an estimate, and that if I wrote down my dates of travel I should receive the passport back by then. So far so good.

Last week I still hadn’t heard anything, so, getting a little nervous, I called the Department of State to check on the status. ‘Oh,’ the customer service representative said brightly, ‘that’s scheduled to be mailed back to you on the 18th of March.’

‘I am leaving on the 19th of March,’ I explained. ‘I need it sooner than that. I even called several weeks ago to verify that it wouldn’t take the whole eight weeks to get the passport back. They said to write down the dates of travel on my request and it shouldn’t be a problem.’

‘Well, our website clearly states that you need to allow up to eight weeks for your passport to be returned to you. So it’s been scheduled for processing and return on the 18th of March. I would be happy to take your credit card over the phone if you want to apply for the expedited service.’

Several things instantly occurred to me:

- I called several weeks ago to verify that I was in plenty of time NOT to have to pay for expedited service.
- March 18th is actually not precisely the right number of business days to allow. Did my writing my date of travel on my request give you the weapon you needed to decide when to schedule my passport return?
- I can understand being busy and all that, but what is so hard about putting a stamp in the back of a passport to amend it? How much of a backlog can you have to make it take that long AND how disorganised can you be to allow that margin of time, if you’re so well organised that you can track it in the system and if I pay you the fee right now, you can immediately locate it, process it, and return it to me, no questions asked?
- Where in the private sector would your respect for your clients be so low that you as good as tell them, ‘Someone in charge set an absolute outer limit on our slovenliness and low standards of customer service, and by gum, we’re going to take every excuse to use that to our advantage!’ ???
- This is highway robbery.

But instead of saying any of it I gave them my credit card number over the phone and politely requested the expedited service. What else could I do? They held all the cards. They had the monopoly. Within three days I received my passport back, duly stamped and updated. Isn’t our federal government a marvel of efficiency and service?

Serendipity

Yesterday was a Very Long Day which ended on the happiest note possible. I walked through the door late at night, having gone straight from work to help serve Wednesday night dinner at our church, feeling very tired and extremely pregnant, groaning to Michael how we needed to go to bed early and all that. Five minutes later I leapt up from the computer, having just read Amy's wonderful post (http://kevin-amy.blogspot.com/) about free ice cream from Baskin Robbins on Yahoo's birthday. 'Michael! Do we have a Yahoo account? Well, let's get one!' Never mind that it was late and we were full from our Wednesday night dinner. Michael is extremely rational and practical, but he is also the dearest man in the world and very kind about humouring me, so we printed off our coupons, grabbed our coats, and dashed out to the nearest Baskin Robbins to collect our free scoops of ice cream.

It's snowing!

I stepped out of my Dr.'s office this morning to discover small white flakes flurrying around me. Of course it's not sticking, but it's cold and wintry-looking, the skies are grey, and it's very exciting for the first day of March!

Speaking of doctor visits, Baby is developing into quite the acrobat here. No more mere flutters or even kicks. Last week I was sitting at my desk holding a piece of paper in one hand and comparing it against the master copy on the screen, when I noticed that the paper kept moving. Were my hands trembling? No. I was resting my forearm on my abdomen, and my entire hand was actually shaking with every kick. Baby's gotten into this new 'rebound' thing, when I'll feel a strong kick on one side, and then almost instantaneously a strong thump on the other side. Baby is literally bouncing off the walls.

Last night we watched The Dish, a very good movie based on a true story involving the landing on the moon. It's set in Australia, so it's fun to watch just for the accents. The characters are likeable (except for one annoying brat), and there is absolutely nothing objectionable except some bad language. Very wholesome, amusing, and interesting. I called Michael this morning on my way in and said, 'Carrier pigeons!' and we both burst out laughing.

I think we have something happening every single evening before we leave for Holland. Two and a half weeks and counting!

Overheard last week

Michael (coming home): Hi!
Me: Welcome home!
(Attempt to hug)
Michael: You know, it feels like someone has come between us…I just don’t feel as close to you as I once did…

Hailstones and coals of fire

Life has gotten so busy that I am keeping a calendar for the first time in my life. No longer can I depend on keeping it all in my head, and so I write things down, and good thing, too. It leaves a distinct paper trail of exactly how busy we are.

Last weekend my dad and three brothers drove down to help install a central vacuum system in our house. What ease and convenience! Daddy has always installed one wherever we lived, so I’ve grown up with one. Being without and dealing with clunky upright models for the past two years has been quite the rude awakening. Some people, when I tell them about it, have never even heard of such a concept, and others tell me horror stories of people who tried vacuuming out the still-smouldering ashes from their fireplace and burned the house down. I think the worst I ever did was to stick the nozzle in the toilet (when I was very young) and watch the water get sucked away.

Last night we had a terrific hailstorm. It was loud and almost frightening, and I was greatly relieved not to lose electricity at all. Michael made a bowl of truly excellent guacamole, which we devoured entirely, and we watched Fried Green Tomatoes. I was disappointed that I was too tired to think it through thoroughly, because it begged further reflection. It reminded me strongly of Gone with the Wind, with the parallel story line of an unlikely friendship between two women of very different personalities, one extremely strong and rebellious and the other meek and good-spirited. There was the same sense of desolation and poverty, of sadness for an era gone by and a frustration at the sense of social injustice. Then there’s the question of why two wrong don’t make a right, and whether it’s right to threaten a man who’s beating his wife. Was it right for her to leave him? Why was there no legal protection for her? Why was the jury so prejudiced against her, insisting that no good Christian woman would leave her husband? Why was the law so corrupt as to prevent innocent bystanders from prosecuting ruthless vandals who attacked their private property? If I had lived in that era, what could I have done to fight against the wrongs of the system?

Happy Birthday Oregon!

Which, of course, is the real significant thing about February 14th.

Three years ago yesterday we were in the throes of the 2002 Winter Olympics. I went to a girls’ party, where we watched a cute musical, ate lots of food, painted our nails, and each parted with a yellow rose (for friendship). The next morning there was a flurry of She Said Yes emails and gem studies, and Amy recounted how at dinner SHE was reminiscing about last year, when SHE went out with the girls, watched chick flicks, and painted her nails, whereas here she was, one year later, getting engaged.

Two years ago yesterday I was in Oregon for a wedding and spent the whole evening online exchanging emails with Michael, who observed, ‘Midnight on a Friday night all alone in my apartment reading Emma and writing emails and not feeling a bit depressed about Valentine’s Day? Must be in love.’ There were a dozen roses waiting for me when I got back to Virginia, which was quite the comeuppance for someone who had expressed her sentiments on fresh flowers rather explicitly in years past:

Don’t send me no flowers;
The effect will fall flat.
Flowers will die in a couple of hours.
What lame allegory is that?

One year ago yesterday we went out to dinner with several of our couple friends and had a lovely evening.

Yesterday two dozen NON-red roses were delivered to me at work. It brightened my day and cheered my olfactory senses. We cooked an elegant dinner and drank sparkling cider.

Life just gets better and better, I decided.

A question of great doctrinal import

(…as pronounced by Jane to Mr. Collins in the A&E version of P&P.)

I’ve just begun meeting with a small group of girls on a weekly basis. It’s a mentoring/discipleship program sponsored by our church, and we’re doing a Bible study called Undercover Princess, written by one of the youth interns at the church. I’m very excited to be doing something like this; it’s my first such involvement since AWANA, and I really missed the challenge and the discipline.

Last night was our second meeting, and I think our group is really going to click. There are four girls, all fourteen, and we had such an interesting conversation. The lesson was on getting to know you: WHY is it so important to build a relationship with God? Because we only trust that which we know. And then the lesson took us on a whirlwind tour of the Old Testament sacrifice system, in order to set the stage for WHY the sacrifice of Christ on the cross was such a necessity and what a burden it was that He freed us from.

When the girls came, I told them we were going to start off with a game, and forthwith played a few rounds of Tri-Bond to set the stage. Then, without further explanation, I directed their attention to three items I’d set out on the table: a tube of concealer, a tin of tic-tacs, and a picture of an Old Testament sacrifice. I was so delighted at the end of the evening when one of the girls suddenly got it!

Anyway, at one point the topic of Christ’s location after His death came up, and we wondered where He was during that three-day interval. Somehow all of us had had the impression that He spent those days in Hell, which was what made it all so awful: the separation from God the Father, the reason why He so wished to have the cup pass from Him, etc. We pulled out our Bibles to find a verse to support this theory, and couldn’t exactly nail it down, but all of us had the distinct impression of being taught that Christ spent the time between His death and resurrection in Hell. Then followed the logical question: how could He promise the thief on the cross that that very day he would be with Him in Paradise? If He wasn’t going to be there for three more days Himself? Hmmm. Very puzzling.

Black Magic

At long last we have our 'new' car. We picked it up last week, after nearly a week of Michael dropping me off at work each morning and me hitching a ride home each night because the rental car had to be returned the previous Friday. (Long rabbit trail potential here: did you ever stop to consider how much better off we are than our parents? In so many ways, we are standing on their shoulders. I was all of fifteen years old, I think, before we got a second vehicle in my family, and here Michael and I take our independent forms of transport SO for granted! And cell phones, and computers, not to mention size of starter houses...anyway, a good thought for a spare five minutes.)

The good news is that it is black, sleek, about the same size as Black Rider, gets good gas mileage, and has a CD player. The bad news is that I had to spend an extra $20 at the tag office to buy a WHOLE NEW TAG, even though I had the old license plate and completely unexpired registration in my hand ready to transfer over, because the car dealer had typed up the title with both our names on it, Michael's coming first, whereas on the old registration, my name had come first, since it was my car first and we added Michael's name to it after we got married. So, in other words, I had to pay for a whole new license plate and registration, instead of a mere title transfer, because of a minor bureaucratic hang-up. Whatever. After I'd fought traffic on my lunch hour and waited over fifteen minutes in line, trying to look as pathetically pregnant as possible in the feeble hope that some good soul would volunteer to give me his place in line ('You look pregnant, Ma'am. Here, take my place and step right up to the counter.' Yeah, right!), and discovered what my options were, I decided to fork over the extra $20 instead of trying to track down the dealer, get him to print out a whole new title, sign all the forms and paperwork all over again, and come back another day. It will only take me another fifteen years or so of picking up pennies in parking lots to make it up.

Anyway the new license plate was your standard-issue plate, because pretty plates and vanity plates cost far more than they do in Virginia, and at first I was mildly puzzled by the unassuming AGC. Suddenly on Saturday it hit me. We were out shopping, and had driven separately to drop off Michael's truck for tire rotation, and as I walked up to my car it dawned on me: Agincourt! This was so marvelous that I just about called Michael on my cell phone to tell him about it, but I decided against it since, after all, it was a proper name. Then Michael himself came up with the brilliant, elegant, devastatingly simple tour de force: Magic. Aha! Of course! How could it have escaped us? What better word can you make with the letters AGC?

It does put us in a bit of a dilemma, though. The obvious conclusion, judging from the colour and all, is Black Magic. I'm not really sure I want to name my car that, though. How else does one propose to top Black Rider, though? I've already decided emphatically against Black Rider II or anything of that sort.

I sit in solemn silence simmering stew on the stove while my husband works late. And it's only Monday already!

Introducing Baby

…who for the present remains invisible but clearly noticeable.

October 2004
This is the last time I wore my silk party dress in quite some time, the one I traditionally wear each year to a wedding and for my birthday. It was long after this picture was taken that I began to realise that I wouldn’t be wearing this dress for THIS birthday, at any rate.

October 2004
Our first in the ‘cute couple pregnancy’ series, which we decided to start taking once a week to document progress. We’ve missed, well, a few weeks here and there. Sara ably observes the halo above Michael’s head, aptly illustrating his cherubic nature in posting the pictures for me as well as his general all-round….thing-ness (as Bertie would say).

November 2004
At this point there was really nothing to see on the front front yet (ha, ha!), but there was a whole series of pictures I cut from the roster circa this month because I looked so second-trimester from the pose.

November 2004
The week after Thanksgiving.

January 2005
Second week in January. This wasn’t part of our scheduled Sunday series, but after a birthday party when everyone remarked how not-pregnant I looked, I had to get a picture of the I-will-never-look-this-good-five-months-pregnant-again me. Michael is very forbearing. Does he think I am vain because I beg him to whip out the camera every time someone tells me I look nice? Nooo, he whips out the camera and tells me I look nice.

January 2005
Third week in January. And after this point, Baby went on a big growth spurt. I am officially into maternity clothes now.

Overheard late one night

Michael: I love you. Good night.
Me: I love you too. Good night.
Michael: I love you more, ’cuz I’m bigger!
Me: I love you more, ’cuz there are two of me.
Michael: No, there aren’t.
Me (sleepily): Oh. Well, anyway, we both love you.

Let it snow

Yesterday we came across the name Peter Beagle, in reference to some literature anthology or other. Michael asked me, ‘What does the name Peter S. Beagle mean to you?’ Instantly I quoted, ‘“Long before ‘Frodo Lives!’…”’ and Michael chimed in, ‘“…began appearing on subway walls…”’ Peter Beagle wrote the introduction to the Ballantine edition of The Lord of the Rings, which it turns out we both have read (many times) cover to cover. ‘Amazing,’ I told Michael. ‘Who would have guessed that in addition to everything else, each of us would have found someone so absolutely compatible in every way, right down to the passion for Tolkien?’ I mean, if you start quoting an obscure line from an introduction to a specific printing of a specific book, what are the odds that someone else will recognise it to the extent of being able to finish the quote with you??

Warnings of wintry weather swirled around us as we hurried home Friday night. It was time to return the rental car, and my ‘new’ car wasn’t ready for pick-up yet, so Michael met me at the rental place and we drove home together. On the way I happened to spot a Ledo’s Pizza, as of the days of yore. Many the happy mealtime I spent at the Ledo’s in Leesburg. We pulled over and went in. It had just opened, and the food was as delicious as I remembered. What a happy blast from the past!

Ice covered the roads the next morning. All our plans for a busy Saturday were thus rendered moot, but it turned out to be a lovely weekend after all. We had a cosy time taking down Christmas decorations, cleaning the house, and baking. We did brave the roads and dash out to Target long enough to set up our baby registry. (Now that’s an adventure!) Then we curled up for a long winter afternoon. Toward evening the lights went out, and we spent three hours by the flickering glow of candlelight. I had ambitiously decided to make cinnamon rolls, and had the bread already kneaded by the time the lights went out, so I rolled out the dough and made up the rolls by candlelight. Church was canceled in the morning, so we baked the cinnamon rolls and had a leisurely morning. Ron and Catherine came over for dinner and two episodes of Bertie and Jeeves, and then we tried sight-singing some Psalms. We must try this again around a piano.

I told Michael, ‘There is no one in the world with whom I’d rather be snowed in than you!’

Michael and Math

Ah, the two extremes of my life…my dearest love and my private detestation. What do they have in common? (Besides the fact that Michael is very good at math.) Off the top of my head, I can think of funny anecdotes for both.

In the realm of mathematics…we finally settled with the insurance company on the auto claim (the personal injuries claim, the health claim, and the pain-and-suffering claim are all still to come). On Monday they called us and made us their initial offer. The loss adjuster gave me a series of figures to explain her reasoning, and I wrote it all down carefully, because it was very complex and logical. First she started with the initial cash value of the car, as determined by Blue Book averages and all that. Let’s say she called it $1,000. From this figure she deducted a loss for pre-existing damage (referencing minor scratches and imaginary dents), calling that, say, $100. ‘But I’m only going to take off half of that for you,’ she hurried to say. (This felt like sleight of hand to me.) Then she added in the $10 tag fee and the $100 taxes we’d need, to give us a grand total of, say, $1,060. (Non sequiter: do we see a pattern emerging here? For the sake of simplicity, my math story problems always tend to rely on factors of ten.) For some reason, the day she called I was not in my assertive mood, and felt like an absolute pushover as I murmured that that seemed rather low…I’d discuss it with my husband and get back with her – and then spent the rest of the morning berating my lack of backbone and rehashing what I ought to have said. So I had Michael call her back and deal with it from there, and of course he challenged her on the ‘pre-existing damage’ write-off, insisting that the scratches were minor and that we had never noticed any dents. Poof, just like that she agreed to take off that deduction. When we finally settled with them, the final notes looked something like this:

$950 agreed value of car
+ $110 tags and taxes
+ $50 misc. adjustments
= $1,110

Ha, ha, ha! Do you see the subtle psychology at work here? The implication is that they’re giving us a better deal, by working in the reverse loss as a credit. Note that the beginning figure is NOT the initial agreed-upon value of car, but THEIR final valuation of car, counting the (imaginary) loss, which they then generously turn around and give to us. Whatever. It made me laugh.

Now, on the Michael front…for some reason we’ve been getting a superfluity of junk calls lately. If they happen during dinner I usually let Michael take them, and then clatter my spoon as loudly as I can against my bowl to create the cacophonous impression that we are RIGHT in the middle of dinner. But if I don’t succeed in scaring them off at first, then it can be terribly amusing to listen to Michael’s response. Some of my favourites: ‘Wait a minute. You can’t even pronounce my last name. How can this be a special offer just for me if you don’t even know my name?’ ‘Oh, boy! It sounds too good to be true! Does it cost? What?? Oh, sorry. If it were free I might be interested.’ ‘You called me at 9:00 on a Saturday morning to tell me that??’

Yesterday morning I was borrowing his automatic shaver to work the tricky parts around my knees. ‘There you go again, running down my batteries,’ he remarked. ‘Batteries are expensive, you know. Yup. They don’t just grow on trees. We may have to cut down our ice cream budget just to make up for the extra money we spend on batteries now.’ ‘I’m sorry,’ I said sleepily. ‘I’ll buy you more batteries today.’ Only later did I realise that it was an electric shaver, which plugs in and recharges and doesn’t need new batteries.

We’re baaaaaack!!

Home at last, and it’s great to be settled once again, nice as the interlude in Florida was. We had a fabulous week. It was great to see everyone again, and we came back with great pictures and memories, suntans, and an addiction to Battlestar Galactica, which happened to be having a season premiere on the one rainy day of the week. It’s a terrible sci-fi series, badly scripted and acted, with impressive special effects and just enough of a plot to keep you guessing. We’re just dying to find out which of the supposed crew members is actually a cylon.

The camp had an archery range this year, a wonderful addition. Nearly every day found us out there dropping arrows. Michael perfected his bulls-eyes. I was happy when I hit the target. Michael actually won the midnight archery tournament toward the end of the week, although he insisted it was a very flaky scoring system. (Okay, so it could have been better organised, but that doesn’t change the fact that he was the best archer of all who participated! Basically they let you score your best three shots out of five, and pretty much let you have as many rounds as you wanted, so you could theoretically keep trying to improve your score indefinitely. Michael took one practise round and then two rounds of shots – same opportunity as everyone else – and won!)

Back to Real Life. We picked up our new rental upon our return. Now, I had joked that after the sleek Volvo we had the week before, anything would seem crummy by comparison, but this car actually is really crummy in its own right. Michael, sitting on the driver side, can touch the passenger door without even leaning over. It reeks of cigarette smoke. It gets terrible gas mileage. (We picked it up full, and within three days, it was empty. I growled that for it to have any kind of decent mileage, it had better have about a four-gallon tank, but no such luck.) And the sound system is pathetic. As Michael said, you know it’s a cheap sound system when you can adjust the volume just by moving your leg (it has a speaker on each door, which you can cover and thus muffle the sound). Hmm, that all sounds terribly whiny. Really, it’s more funny than stressful at this point, and we hope that its stay with us will be of short duration.

So we came back on Saturday, and went on to a surprise birthday party for Michael at Benjamin and Amanda’s place. I had really wanted to plan something fun for him, but it was tricky being out of town the entire week preceding, so I kept dropping ideas to divert his attention. ‘Wouldn’t you like to go out to dinner with Benjamin and Amanda to celebrate your birthday? Hmm, maybe we should just stop at their place and drive to the restaurant together.’ There were lots of friends to wish him well, and we had a great evening full of food, fun, and games.

Baby kicks quite a bit now. Sometimes I think I can identify a head or a foot, but that’s probably just imaginative projection. I am now officially feeling unwieldy and cumbersome.

It’s freezing out, quite literally as well as hyperbolically. Glad to be working indoors. Glad to be living in America, as opposed to Siberia, for instance.

Happy Birthday Michael!!!

Merely the briefest of en passant posts to proclaim the happy tidings that Michael's birthday is today! Happy for the world the day he was born. Happy for me the day I married him. Happy for me every day since then, too.

'First check,' said Pippin grimly.

All is not such sweetness and light with the insurance companies as I had thought at first. We found out this week that my car has been ruled a total loss. Black Rider will ride no more. And now, instead of providing us a rental car for up to thirty days while completely repairing the car and restoring it to us in pre-accident condition, the insurance company gives us an ultimatum of three days from the time we settle our claim with them to return the rental car, and offers us a mere pittance for the value of the car. Going out of town for an unavoidable week in the middle of all this does not help with the timeframe. So it had better really help on the stress front.

Gloomy thoughts. Here are some cheerful thoughts to counteract the despondency.

We opened our personal Christmas presents on New Year's Day. We had agreed, since we spent the big bucks on the TV for each other, to exchange only inexpensive but thoughtful presents for the rest of our Christmas gift. These were a great success. I gave Michael a picture of me for him to take to his office (he's been wanting one for over a year), which I got for free from a coupon, and which I framed with a $2 frame from Goodwill. Michael gave me a CD he burned of some of my favourite tracks from my favourite CDs, so now I have a Best Of collection that has exactly the tracks I want. See, half the fun of exchanging these presents was in gloating over how cheap they turned out to be. Efficiency and thrift are virtues as admired in our house as in the Gilbreth house (Michael read a few chapters from Cheaper By the Dozen aloud to his family while we were there over Christmas. What a great book!)

Baby is very active. Must be healthy. Some people are still surprised to learn that I am pregnant. This is very gratifying. It's not that I'm not glad to be pregnant, but it's terribly reassuring to discover that it's not so obvious as all that. This won't last much longer, I'm sure. But it's nice while it lasts.

I'm up 5+ games of rummy to Michael in the unofficial tournament we've had since getting back from Ohio. We haven't played any more Euchre since I kept losing that. Rummy is such a nice game.

We had such a time of it trying to calculate the total points possible in any given game of rummy. This discussion was started over breakfast one morning this week after a game in which all but two (non-face) cards had been played. One of us had scored 170 and the other 180, so we deduced that there must be 360 total points out there. But we couldn't get the math to add up. Tens through aces scoring 10 points each offered a total of 200 for all the face cards, all suits, and then the nines and below should add up to 180 (9 cards x 4 suits x 5 points per card). We were twenty points off. We laughed long and hard when we realised our error.

It's been such fun reading Christmas letters from friends. I love hearing from people and it's so nice to read my friends' letters just as if they were real grown-ups. Having a Christmas card list is such a grown-up thing. I really, really, really do mean to be good and do it next year. Quotha.

Off to finish packing. Let's see if going off and ignoring the pile of stuff to be done has improved the situation any. Sometimes just ignoring problems makes them go away. Maybe if I go back and look at the bags now I will have clearer insight into what I should pack and everything will be a breeze.

Aloha for now! Have a great week, y'all!

Speak not with a stiff neck

Getting hit by a car is a more grueling ordeal than I've ever suspected.

I've heard of people who do this kind of thing on purpose (like swerving in front of a semi, and then slamming on the breaks to get rear-ended) to extract settlement money from insurance companies. They must be crazy.

The first thing we're grateful for is protection and health. Baby seems to be unaffected and it appears that I am not going to be messed up for life. I'm hurting more than I was the day of (still in shock) but less than I thought I would be the day after. Nothing is broken or even misaligned and it seems to be a straightforward case of hyper-tensed muscles that are just going to take a few weeks to relax. Toward that end, I had a massage therapy appointment on Saturday and it was so helpful. I ended up feeling sorer than ever the next day, almost bruised from the kneading, but the stiffness seemed better. We'll see if I can get another one or two this week. I really don't want to turn up at our family reunion next week unable to tilt or turn my head without pain. ('I feel kind of like an owl,' I told Michael, 'except the opposite.')

The second thing we're grateful for is provision. It looks like one way or another, between them, the insurance companies are going to cover everything and we won't end up being out anything out of pocket. That is a real blessing, since had we been at fault we would have had a steep deductible.

The third thing we're grateful for is the convenience. The day after the wreck, I dropped my car off at the insurance-recommended repair shop (no running around and wasting our whole Saturday getting multiple quotes and estimates to submit to our insurance) and picked up the rental car which was on-site and ready for me. It was all so smooth and painless.

The thing that astounds me the most is how the insurance industry operates. I have the equivalent of a whole essay jumbled up in my head, which I want to write but don't have the time to organise into coherent thought, on the topic of insurance fraud and ethics, just based on my conversations with the claims processors with both insurance companies. I'm sure this is old stuff to my lawyer friends out there, but no wonder insurance costs are so high!!!

So between running around to the doctor, auto place, and getting ready for a week out of town, the blog has been and is going to be sketchy. Don't worry. All is well.

Speaking of thoughts that must be uttered but that require more space and time than currently available (like Rosie Cotton's question that required a week's thought for an answer, or none), having just bought our tickets to Holland this past week at long last, do I ever have a piece of my mind to air about our skymiles credit card!!

Providence

Sometimes it’s the big miracles that catch my attention, but as often as not it’s the little things that make me catch my breath and recognize God’s hand of protection in my life.

For instance, a few months ago, I was driving home from work stressing over something that obviously wasn’t important because I don’t remember it anymore. Probably something ended up costing more than I wanted it to, and I was mentally whining over all this money I didn’t want to be spending, and how stressful my life was. In the midst of my thoughts I felt a slight bump, and realized that I’d let my foot off the brake and drifted gently into the car in front of me. We pulled over, got out, examined our cars, and found not even a scratch. So we didn’t even exchange ID, just ascertained that the other was fine, and drove our separate ways. All the way home I was struck with gratitude at God’s protection of me. He could have taken it all away from me if He had wanted to, but He didn’t. I could so easily have been involved in a major accident that cost us lots of money and endless hassle, and quite honestly, drifting off into thoughts while driving (or looking into the mirror instead of at the road) is perhaps not as uncommon for me as it should be, so the truly amazing thing is that nothing bad had happened to me yet, not the other way around. It was a very welcome reminder that my life is in God’s hands at every moment of every day; it was an experience to put tangibility to the verse, ‘It is of the Lord’s mercies we are not consumed.’

Yesterday on my way to work I was reminded again of the frailty of our earthly security and how our fortunes can change in the twinkling of an eye. I was driving to work and had stopped behind a line of traffic while we waited for what Grace Matte once referred to as a yellow incarceration vehicle (school bus). I heard a wild squealing of brakes and almost immediately felt a jarring impact as a car slammed into me from behind. It was the most serious accident I have ever been involved in, and I was shaking as I pulled over to a safe place. I was about to get out and exchange info with the other driver, and had visions of getting stabbed and left for dead in a hit-and-run….better call someone first to alert them to the situation, I reasoned, so I’d have a card up my sleeve if the other driver proved eager to cover his tracks. (I’m full of instincts about bluffs and cards up your sleeve, and know you never, EVER say ‘no’ if you’re revealing a secret to someone, no matter how much you trust them, and they say, ‘Interesting. And you haven’t told anyone else this yet, correct?’ because that’s the obvious cue that they’re the double-crossing traitor and are going to silence you, so instead you bluff them and say, ‘Actually, I have written out an entire synopsis of my theory, along with proof, and it’s sitting in a safe-deposit box and the key is with a person I trust along with instructions to open and read the contents in the event of my mysterious death or disappearance…’ Yes, all this was going through my head as I pulled over and decided I really should call someone, just in case I ended up dead or missing.) So I called Michael and gave what, in retrospect, probably was not the most comforting or helpful news bulletin. ‘I’ve just been in an accident, but I think I’m okay…don’t worry, I’ll call you when I get a chance.’

It was pretty scary, actually. The back of my car was all smashed in, and we were both rattled as we tried to remember what you do in this situation. I thought we should write down each other’s license plates. But wasn’t there supposed to be an exchange of insurance information, too? (By the way, everyone should read an article about what to do in this type of situation. I thought I had at some point or another, but I didn’t know for sure exactly what to do. Were we supposed to call the police? But no one was hurt, as far as we could tell.) Michael called back then and said that we were supposed to call the police, simply so they could file an accident report. A police officer arrived on the scene shortly thereafter, wrote everything up, gave me his card with the accident report, and told me I could go if my car was drivable.

The really amazing thing is how God has protected us in spite of the serious circumstances. Everyone at work was very sympathetic, supportive, and full of good advice. My boss told me to check in with my doctor even if I felt all right, so I was able to get an appointment with my OB. They were concerned about trauma and possibly premature delivery, so I spent the rest of the afternoon resting in a back room hooked up to a fetal monitor and listening to the soothing sound of Baby’s heartbeat. (Have you ever put a stethoscope over your ears and tapped the sensor pad with your finger to hear the thump? Baby kept kicking the monitor and interrupting the heartbeat with static – sounded very similar.) The insurance company has been great, and is providing a rental car while mine is in the shop – I drop it off tonight at their recommended repair shop, and pick up the rental car that they will have on-site for me. It is all so painless, so easy, so stress-free.

Despite my best intention of not suffering from whiplash, because that seems like such a cliché, and I was positive that if I felt any soreness yesterday it would only come about from the power of suggestion, I really am hurting. More so today than yesterday, my neck and shoulders are really sore and stiff. However, I’m grateful that it wasn’t worse; I’m grateful that Baby is so apparently all right; I’m grateful that everything is being so well taken care of by insurance. Yet another reminder that God governs in the affairs of man.

Sunny days

After the cold and snow of Ohio, this past week back in Atlanta has seemed incredibly breezy and balmy. Of course, with temps in the 60s and the sun shining every day, that perception isn’t far wrong.

Another exciting feature about Christmas this year was that the day after, Michael got to feel Baby’s kicks for the first time. We were sitting on the couch at his parents’ house watching The Court Jester, and Baby started in with a workout routine that I felt certain simply must be perceptible externally. Sure enough, he caught the action, and pronounced it absolutely staggering. Sometimes, when I think it’s big enough to be noticeable and get all excited, Baby takes the cue and falls silent. But Michael catches it enough to notice, and sometimes even provides helpful dialogue – ‘Help! Help! Let me out! I’m trapped!’

2005 has been a wonderful year so far. We rang in the New Year with fun and merriment, had two long weekends in a row, slept in substantially through the course of it all, enjoyed every single Christmas present, and the house is clean and the larder stocked. We’ve played two-handed rummy practically every night while eating our surfeit of Christmas chocolates, and we are getting in the habit of going for a walk around our neighborhood every night. Most nights are clear, and we mean to brush up on our constellations so we can admire them eruditely together. This past week it’s been so mild that we don’t even need jackets, even after dark. Two weeks from now we’ll be in Florida for a reunion with my family, and two months from now – if all goes well – we’ll be preparing to leave for two weeks in Holland with my grandmother. Life is good.

Happy New Year!

Here we are in the brave new world of 2005! Last year was a fabulous year, and it went by so quickly that I fully expect this one to do the same. But the plan is to savour it while it lasts.

We had a wonderful Christmas in Ohio with Michael’s family. Lots of snow. Very cold. We ate lots of good food, watched scads of movies, introduced Michael’s family to The Court Jester, and learned to play euchre and another version of rummy. Came back mid-week, on a much-delayed flight (but I asked for and got a meal voucher, so we got a free milkshake out of the delay), and had only two days of work before it was another long weekend. (The trouble with all these three- and four-day weekends is that they absolutely ruin us for Real Life. I actually feel ripped off that I have to work every blessed day this week.)

Deep thoughts on shallow topics

On Saturday we went to the theatre (yes, the full-price theatre, because we were too impatient to wait for it to come out in the cheap theatre) to catch the matinee of Ocean’s Twelve. Okay, so maybe the plot was less believable than the first time around, but the movie was still incredibly well-made. I kept my eyes open, expecting a surprise at every turn, and still didn’t know what was really going on. Very funny, too. But what strikes me as odd about modern movies is that no matter how general an audience the feature presentation is intended for, they always manage to sneak in at least one scary preview. As soon as the scary people started showing up, I closed my eyes. Michael leaned over and whispered, ‘I don’t care what it’s about – I don’t want to talk about it later!’ Ha! He is referring to my habit of analyzing things that don’t make sense until I have them figured out. (For instance, recently I woke up early on a Saturday morning, struck by a brilliant thought. ‘Michael! I know how you could avoid getting attacked by hordes of mating anacondas in the middle of the jungle if your numbers were dwindling and you couldn’t count on your buddies to shoot them before they latch on to you and start squeezing!’ The problem, you see, is not the venom – they bite you only to get a good grip, so they can wrap themselves around you and start crushing. Usually they are too quick for you to get your arms free, so your arms are pinned to your side and you can’t fight them off or shoot them before they crush you. The solution, obviously, is to strap sharp metal discs to your arms, such that anything that wraps itself around you and starts tightening slices itself to death in the process.)

Later, however, a thought re: latest scary preview occurred to me. ‘You know what the problem was with that movie? The basic premise was that heaven wouldn’t accept him, and hell wants him. That construct doesn’t provide any dramatic tension. For any story to be effective, there has to be conflict and tension. Now, it would be different if BOTH heaven and hell wanted him, or if NEITHER would accept him. But as it stands, there is no dilemma, and hence no story or plot.’ ‘Good,’ Michael said. ‘So we’re not going to talk about it any more, are we?’

A light shineth in the darkness…and the darkness comprehended it not

Hurray for sunlight and laughter on the shortest and darkest day of the year!

Here are some interesting facts about today:

Today is the winter solstice. After today, the days will get longer, although the change in daylight from day to day will be gradual, picking up speed as we approach the equinox. The winter and summer solstices come from a word meaning ‘To stand still,’ because the sun seems to stand still on the plane of the elliptic. Hence the gradual change in daylight.

Although the days get longer, the cold intensifies through January and February. You can remember this little aphorism:

When the days begin to lengthen,
The cold begins to strengthen.

It is dead week at the office. Fortunately vendors and reps are still bringing us edibles on a daily basis. One need hardly bring in a lunch anymore.

A party is a party…but a Christmas party! –

Catherine, having been thwarted in her plans to wear a long blonde wig to our Valentine’s Day party, is planning with all enthusiasm a costume party for New Year’s Eve. In theory I love the idea of a masquerade, although I can’t think of a suitable disguise. It would be really clever if Michael and I could find a theme and dress up to match – like the husband and wife from American Gothic, only that’s way too much trouble. I think I’ll dress up as a pregnant woman with a small pillow stuffed under her shirt.

Catch a falling star

Last night we went for a walk to catch a glimpse of the famed meteor shower. This was rumoured to be the best of the year, better even than the one in August. Although the peak was supposed to be between midnight and dawn, during which there were supposed to be in excess of two shooting stars a minute, we hoped to see a good show before bedtime.

It was bitterly cold. We bundled up, and we were still shivering. But the wonder was well worth the effort. It was a dark and moonless night, and the winter sky shone brightly. (I loved learning, in astronomy class long ago, why it is that there are so many bright stars in the winter sky: because in the winter we are facing outwards, toward the dark emptiness of space, but since our solar system is located on the edge of one of the spiral arms of the galaxy, we are close to the stars in the spiral arm. In the summer, we are facing into the centre of the galaxy, but first we gaze across a vast emptiness of darkness before the Milky Way. So in the summer, you have a splendid sprawl of hazy brilliance but not so many stars of high magnitude, whereas in the winter you have a spectacular line-up of bright stars.) We walked for three minutes before the wind became bitterly cold and we turned back. Before going in we stood for a little while gazing up at the sky. And there was a glorious shooting star which we both saw quite distinctly! It all seemed very magical. 'What are we supposed to do, make a wish or something?' Michael asked. 'I don't know, something special,' I said. So we kissed, and then ran indoors to warmth, blessed warmth.

Speaking of which, plans are underway (we're 2.5 weeks out now, that's a head start compared to last year) for some kind of New Year's Eve party for our circle of newly-married friends, a.k.a. People Who Have Someone To Kiss At Midnight.

Overheard in front of the mirror

Michael: That’s a lovely dress you’re wearing. And a lovely lady inside.
Me: Ha, ha! Maybe two!
Michael: Don’t count your chickens before they hatch. We could have a really ugly kid.
Me: How can you say such a thing? Of course our child will be beautiful!
Michael: You never know what kind of recessive genes we have floating around inside of us, love.

Christmas parties, past and present

For the second year in a row I missed the HSLDA Christmas party. I heard it was really great. I hope y'all enjoyed it.

Through no fault of my own Michael has never been. I invited him two years ago, but he turned me down (like a bedspread, as Bertie would say). Something about having to attend a friend's wedding that weekend.

Friday night found us well consoled for missing out on the biggest party of the year, though. We went out to dinner with Benjamin & Amanda and Ron & Catherine to celebrate Benjamin's birthday. The subject of the HSLDA Christmas party came up, and Catherine and I revisited her intern skit of '99, HSLDA Pages of History. 'Remember Mike Smith's page about Scott Woodruff and Doggie Auschwitz?' Ron and Michael looked on while we dissolved into laughter trying to explain how you could always tell when a Mike Smith page was about to come over the airwaves.

Recent history of HSLDA Christmas parties and respective highlights:

1999: The Y2K bug skit. Intern Pages. The first of Tech's unforgettable GroupWise Guys skits (Answer: three walls and a door. Question: What's all that John Moore needs to have a complete office?). Receptionist Jam, where Sherri Wilson donned sunglasses while we jammed to headphones.

2000: In Re: Bear Family, with Darren as a judge, Amy as a redhead, and Dana as a ditzy blonde. Tech's NitWit Mover's spoof of our traumatic move. Sara's first HSLDA Christmas party, and her 'surprise' announcement.

2001: The Twelve Working Days of Christmas ('Yes, that's H as in Harry Potter, S as in Shrek, L as in Legally Blonde, D as in...hello? Hello?'). The conference skit (Kerin Bloom as a gum-chewing Chicken a la King sales rep - 'Elvis Brand chicken'; Jonathan Bechtle as the Airline Nazi - 'No strangulating objects, including shoelaces - this is a velcro-only flight').

2002: New Employee Orientation ('You don't want to work down that hallway. Here's a can of Romance Guard - $10.99 on E-bay.') Tech Dept. runs HSLDA for a day (John Moore pours MiracleGro on Bill Bloom's head; John Bullock pays members to join HSLDA).

And that's where my first-hand experience drops off. I did hear, however, that this year's party was the biggest yet, that the skits were funny and my own brother did a cameo in one of them, and that Jim Mason won the Co-Laborer of the Year award. I sincerely hope, since all the skits were taped this year, to get a copy someday.

Sunday night found us at our Sunday school's Christmas party. We met at the church, had more than enough food (as always happens at potlucks), and enjoyed a rousing white elephant gift exchange. It was so satisfying, because we brought two gifts that seemed pretty blah to us - but which were a surprising hit and got stolen to the limit - and came away with a brand-new DVD. 'Tis the season!

On the ancient Greeks

As part of their schoolwork, my brothers are now presenting some form of public speaking every week: their choice of a speech, a recitation, a poetry reading (yeah, right), etc. 7-year-old Thomas wrote out his own speech:

GReeKS WeRe PeOPLe WHO WeReNt EXACtLY SUPeRStItIOUS BeCAUSe tHe AZteCS AND MAYANS SACRIFICeD HUMANS BUt GReeKS SACRIFICeD ANIMALS WItH tHeIR GODS tHEY WeRe A LIttLe BIt SUPeRStItIOUS BUt tHE MAYANS AND tHe ASteCS WeRe BAD tAKING OUT BEAtING HeARtS tHe ANIMALS tHAt tHe GReeKS SACRIFICeD WeRe SINLeSS BUt tHe GReeK StILL KILLeD tHeM.

In a recent email, Joseph told me, 'We are now studying the ancient Greeks, soon to be ancient Romans.' Apparently he thought the ancient Greeks actually turned into Romans, instead of being conquered by them.

Road rage and deadly force

We had an interesting conversation while shopping over the weekend. Traffic was busy, and at one point Michael switched lanes, where there was a perfectly good opening. He used his turn signal, and traffic was moving slowly enough that no one had to slam on brakes to make room for us. However, the driver behind us did not appreciate our invasion of what he apparently considered his privacy bubble, and expressed his disapproval most strongly and sustainedly. He honked loudly and repeatedly, flashed his lights at us, and gunned his engine while tail-gating us closely, for perhaps fifteen seconds. 'Temper, temper!' I said. 'Bite me,' Michael said.

Nothing further came of it, fortunately, but Michael remarked later, 'So if he had started ramming us, would that have occasioned me hopping out and shooting him?'

'Surely not!' was my first reaction. 'I don't think that would count as self-defense.'

Michael pointed out that the supersize truck was substantially bigger than our car, and could have totaled our car had it gotten violent. Such aggression would constitute deadly force. I wasn't sure that we would really have been at risk of death under such a circumstance. After all, we were seatbelted in, right?

'If he had really started coming after us, he could have rammed us, set the car spinning, and easily crumpled through the body of the car, killing us. Or he could have rammed the car off the overpass.'

'Well, but by the time you had jumped out of the car to shoot him, you would be free of the car and the imminent danger would have passed, right?'

'If we were outside of the car, we would be sitting ducks. It's much easier to run down and kill a pedestrian. So if we were getting out of the car, it would be to stop him.'

Next I thought that jumping out of the car, smashing the driver's window, and yelling, 'Stop or I'll shoot!' would be enough to halt his rampage. (I'm always of the opinion that the mere sight of a gun should stop an attacker dead in his tracks. Michael always reminds me that the only way you can be sure of stopping an attacker dead in his tracks with a gun is by shooting him. 'If you pull a gun, you have to be prepared to use it. Pulling a gun without intent to use it is worse than useless - it's an invitation to wrest the gun from you.') I also suggested the possibility of dialing 911 as soon as the attack started - 'Help! I'm being rammed by a vehicle - license plate ### - if I get out he'll run me down and if I stay he'll wreck my car, not to mention me - what should I do?' Michael observed that there wouldn't be time to get any police help from a 911 call, and that you don't call 911 to ask permission to shoot someone in self-defense.

Hmmm. Is puzzlement. If I were certain that we were at risk of being killed, then certainly shooting in self-defense would be justified. Next I thought that the problem arose from determining the intent of the aggressive driver. But even that doesn't cover it. He could be so angry that he was actually out to kill us, or he could just be expressing his anger such that killing us was an unintended side-effect. 'Deadly force' doesn't mean force applied with the intent to make you dead, but force with the capacity to make you dead.

Well, I guess it's a good thing he didn't start ramming us.

A study in exasperation

Last weekend Michael and I finally purchased a 'new' TV. This is something we've been looking forward to for the last year, ever since we decided that a TV didn't make the first cut of priorities from all the wedding present gift cards and such. We wanted to get the right model, so we took our time and planned carefully and saved up and researched for the perfect TV that would meet our needs, be nice enough to want to keep for many years, and be modern enough to accommodate the changing technology demands of the next few years without being so close to the cutting that it would be horrifically expensive. Our current TV turns ten years old this year, and isn't compatible with modern DVDs - older videos that have been made into DVDs without getting digitally remastered, such as our A&E P&P or Bertie & Jeeves, work fine, but most new releases flicker badly, so we pretty much have to watch anything on DVD on the office computer. So this will definitely be a welcome Christmas present to each other.

There we were in the electronics department, and Michael found the perfect model - big enough, but not so big as to be pretentious; HDTV compatible, which is apparently going to be important a few years down the road; sleek and silver; and best of all, discounted at a great price. It was an open box model, meaning that it had been purchased and then returned, so it couldn't be re-sold as new, even though it was essentially brand-new. I do love bargains. We tried to take it home that day, but it didn't fit in my car, so Michael came back the next day with his truck. When we finally got it home and unwrapped it, Michael noticed several scratches and other minor cosmetic defects on the front and side panels that certainly weren't there when we saw it in the store. Obviously, this must have occurred when they tried unsuccessfully to load it up the first time - I must admit, I had my doubts when I saw them trundling the TV out there on a barren dolly, with no padding or wrapping at all. 'I wonder whether we could call them up and demand a further discount?' Michael pondered. Good idea - we even looked at the label, and it was clearly labeled Used but clearly NOT labeled Damaged. Certainly if it had looked defective in the store, we would have asked about getting a cosmetic discount. So yesterday when I got home from work, I gamely sat down in front of the computer and dialed the store.

By the end of the next hour, I had decided that, regardless of how willing I was to overlook or forgive any cosmetic imperfections in our new TV's sleek silver exterior, I was by jingo going to demand a discount just for the time spent in addressing the problem. The saga became reminiscent of The Place That Sends You Mad, from The Twelve Tasks of Asterix. The trouble was that I was deeply into the mire before I fully grasped the absurdity and ridiculousness of the situation, so it wasn't until about half an hour in that I started writing down times, phone calls, and names.

It started innocently enough. 'Hi. I need to talk to someone in the Electronics Department,' I said brightly enough, after spending about three minutes navigating the phone system and finally getting a live person, the operator. I was transferred and the call was lost. Repeat scenario (another three minutes). This time I made sure to ask that she call over there first and make sure someone was there to answer. Turns out the electronics department's phone was out of order (at this point, early on, I was still amused enough to chuckle privately at the irony of the electronic department's phone being out of order, who of all people should be able to fix or replace it) and all the associates over there were busy anyway. 'Well, then I need to speak to a manager.' I was told I was being transferred to customer service. Hold. Then, 'I'm sorry, but that line is busy. Please hold while I try again.' (A recording.) The attempt was not successful. 'We are unable to transfer your call. Please call again later.' Argh. Another three minutes. This time the question of the TV was shadowed by the question of the phone system. 'Hi, I called just a moment ago. I need to speak to someone in electronics, but don't transfer me there because their phone doesn't work. Please get me a manager and make sure someone picks up.' 'Of course, ma'am.' And we had the same scenario all over again. Three more minutes. This time I am more explicit. 'I need to speak with a manager, and I need for you not to transfer me, but to put me on hold. I have called several times, and each time I call the call is lost.' So I finally got to talk to someone, and was about a minute into explaining my tale - to which he was sympathetic, at least: 'Oh, dear. That's not good. Yes, let me look this up for you. Do you have your receipt? What was the transaction ID? Let me put you on hold a moment while I look this up'- and there I was, cut off by the same busy recording. The situation was clearly becoming unreal. I called again. At this point I began taking names, so that there would be a clear paper trail should history repeat itself. I started from square one again with some other manager or sales associate, who was likewise sympathetic but with whom my conversation was again cut short by the untimely interruption of the busy recording. At this point I became convinced that it was not just the electronics department with a defective phone. 'Hi. I have been trying to call for the last forty-five minutes-' 'I'm so sorry, ma'am!' (Very friendly, helpful people! All of them! They just have a wretched phone system!) 'That's okay, but I just need to get through to someone. Please page a manager, make sure someone live picks up, and do not try to transfer the call.' No good. I am halfway through explaining my situation when the phone cuts me off. By now I am more than a little pipped. We go through the whole voice mail saga again. Once again I talk to a live person, who asks cheerfully, 'How may I direct your call?' Okay, a normal conversation is obviously not going to happen on this turf. 'Hello. I need you to take my name and number, and have a manager call me back immediately on a cell phone. I have spent the last hour on the phone trying to reach someone, and your phone system has consistently cut me off. Please have a manager call me back immediately.' 'All right ma'am, hold just one moment.' 'No, don't put me on hol....' No use. Busy. I repeat this scenario a few times, until I can get someone to believe me when I say, 'Do not transfer me and do not put me on hold. I need you to take my name and number and have a manager call me back.' Then this paragon of a helpful person reveals to me that it is not a function of the hold, nor of the transfer, but of the fact that the phone line cuts off after three minutes when the call comes in through the switchboard. I am floored. My problem cannot be explained in less than three minutes. 'That is why I need you to take my name and number and have a manager return my call on a valid line.' She transfers me to someone who offers to page a manager for me, and I barely manage to leave my number before the phone cuts off. At this point I conclude to leave well enough alone and hope that someone with whom I left my number will make sure a manager calls me back.

I cannot recall ever experiencing a runaround as bad as this before. And I was glad to note that even though I was frustrated with the situation, I was never inclined to be mad with the people themselves. Michael came in toward the end of some of my conversations, and I even asked him, 'Did you think I sounded mad? Because I wasn't, really, and was trying to achieve the right tone of firmness without irritation.' I've been on the answering end of a phone enough to know that angry callers accomplish nothing by belligerence or impatience, besides making helpless underlings who had nothing to do with the original problem feel miserable.

Perseverance pays off. Later that evening I did indeed get a call back from a manager who apologised handsomely for the confusion and offered an additional 10% off the purchase. I think that was worth an hour of my life.

Remember Pearl Harbor

Also remember Earl Hall's birthday, which falls on a most memorable date. Well do I remember decorating his office four years ago today with Lindsay, Kevin, Nathan, and Megan - no, no, we decorated his office with streamers and balloons and confetti. His first comment on coming in the next morning: 'What a mess.'

Also memorable is Daniel and Rachel's wedding, two years ago today. Were they the first PHC students to get married? Well, to each other, anyway. A winter wedding is such a gamble, but if it comes off - as it did splendidly - it can be so grand. Snow on the ground and sun in the sky and Christmas decorations up all over the dining hall...it was the perfect day for it.

Correct me if I'm wrong...

...but judging from the previews, the new Tim Allen movie Christmas with the Kranks looks really, really stupid.

My cell phone battery has been running down something awful lately. It seems unable to sustain a charge for any length of time and is constantly running on low battery. Apparently this is because of something called battery memory retention, or something like that, which I knew about in the context of laptop computer batteries because I once sat through a whole meeting on it but which I never thought to apply to cell phone batteries. Basically if you plug in your cell phone before the battery is completely run down, your battery will remember how low it ran and set that level as its new 'dead battery' level. So gradually you lose battery charge. This does not make sense. I don't want my cell phone battery to remember things like this. How about if my car worked like this? I explained this to Michael. 'Say I'm half a tank down, and it's not going to be convenient for me to fuel up for awhile. So if the car worked like my cell phone, if I fill up the car now, I lose half my tank capacity! And every time I decide not to tempt Fate by running as close to empty as possible - poof! That much more tank capacity gone! What this battery memory thing does, in essence, is to punish thinking ahead! By that reasoning, the Foolish Virgins were on the right track after all, not buying extra oil until they had run out of the current batch!'

Rudolph the Unlikely Social Hit

The legend of Rudolph and Santa’s sleigh is charming, if you like that sort of thing, and as long as you don’t believe in it; and it’s kind of fun to be able to rattle off all of Santa’s reindeer. But the song itself has always annoyed me for being a completely unrealistic portrayal of human social interactions. (Perhaps that’s a bit of an unfounded gripe, considering that the song is actually about animals. Okay, okay! But start imposing human characteristics on animals, and it’s impossible to miss the role-playing.)

These beastly little beasts are obviously portraying young children, perhaps at the junior high stage. They have their snobby little pecking order and their exclusive Santa clique going strong, when along comes an outsider who wants to play with them. Not only is it an outsider, though, but it’s a problematic outsider, who sports a very obvious physical abnormality. You just know Rudolph couldn’t be any more of an outcast if he had worn glasses. So far, so standard. But then along comes an authority figure and picks out Rudolph to be Special, and suddenly all the little beasts love him? How ridiculous is that? The sharks circling for blood are only going to be more likely to despise and reject him now that he’s become Teacher’s Pet. Did Santa really think he was doing Rudolph a favour by picking him out for special attentions?

What bothers me about this yarn is that little kids who don’t know any better are going to identify with poor little Rudolph. Who wouldn’t? He’s the underdog, the unlikely hero – of course we’re all rooting for him. But the Santa myth holds out the illusion that the answer to unpopularity lies in securing the attentions of someone important, someone who cares, someone who can elevate you to prominence, at which point social affirmation and adoration will simply pour in. So this insidious little jingle reinforces the notion that it matters what other people think, that it’s important to be liked, and that our self-worth is directly linked to how important and accepted we are in the eyes of our peers. Why can’t the poor little lambs be taught, instead, that their identities are not irrevocably linked to who likes them or to temporal external physical characteristics, but are inextricably rooted in the truth and nature of their Creator? Why set them up to dream about the great Santa tapping them to lead his sleigh and put an end to all their troubles when the Lord of all Creation has already chosen them from before the beginning of time to be His children?

So I guess what really bothers me about this song is that the Santa myth attempts to cover for the stark realities of fallen human nature with humanistic feel-good platitudes about universal love and peace. It’s substituting a false god for the overwhelming greatness and sufficiency of the Creator, and that wears a little thin.

Whew. I don’t know where all that came from. I’m sure it’s a perfectly harmless little jingle.

Ah, distinctly I remember...

Wednesday night is my office Christmas party. Nothing spectacular, just going out to dinner at a nice restaurant, which of course is fun and all that but doesn't involve any skits or barbershop quartets. I looked up the place - Little Gardens - online this morning, and it appears to be quite the pacifist place - the website described in great detail the 'anti-bellum' plantation-style estate, which was perfect for weddings. Hmm. Well, it looks elegant, anyway, and should afford a good feast. We don't know yet when Michael's office Christmas party is because it still hasn't been decided. Last year I think we found out the week before.

Christmas shopping and decorating continue apace. We have made great strides, but my attention span has waned considerably, and we still don't have the tree up. We decorated up at the office on Friday, and that put me into a jolly holiday mood, all enthused and inspired to do up our house. Somehow the weekend slipped away without much progress on that front, though. On the plus side, the house is clean and we're supplied with a fresh supply of edibles for the week. Priorities, priorities!

Mitch came up to Michael at Sunday school yesterday and said, 'Hey, if you need any help with putting up your Christmas lights...don't call me!' Apparently they had a real decorating push this weekend, to mixed success. Mitch described renting an extension ladder to string the lights along the peak of the eaves, and recounted how he had finally attached the last of them, climbed down the ladder, and pulled it away from the house...only to have the ladder catch on the lights and rip them off. The lights came crashing into the driveway and half the bulbs shattered. Our Sunday school leader chimed in that the exact thing had happened to him, too! So, Christmas light enthusiasts, take warning!

Over the weekend we went out to the cheap theatre to see Captain Sky and the World of Tomorrow. It was a very cleverly done 40s-era comic book adventure. I loved the classic 40s hats and styles and the black-and-white gritty cinemactography: it was a unique juxtaposition of futuristic technology and retro culture. There was an occasional big, big D, but overall it was very clean.

Get it right already

BlogSpot has apparently been having some problems lately. Earlier this week I had the dickens of a time trying to post comments on various blogs, and ended up giving up on most of the attempts. For the last two days I've been trying to Enable my Profile, to no avail. I wasn't going to make much of it, just show my real name and specify my gender (both already apparent), but it doesn't take when I click the Save My Profile button. Do these people think I have no life? I may check my blog ten times a day, but do I have the time to mess with the behind-the-scenes nonsense? As if!

I do love hearing non-stop Christmas music all day long. I love the Christmas carols and the jolly holiday spirit dispensed. But I wish some of the recordings wouldn't try so hard to push the envelope of creativity. I suppose they're trying to give a unique twist to a song that's been released in at least thirty other Christmas albums already - give it some deformity so it will be personalised with a mark of ownership. But honestly, the reason the song is such a classic must be that it was written right the first time! Therefore it is not necessary to scatter rests, holds, and (most annoying of all) innumerable superfluous flourishes and warbles wantonly throughout the music. Any artist who tries to cram more than three notes into the one-syllable 'of' from 'O Little Town of Bethlehem' is overusing his poetic license, in my opinion.

So...do you approve or disapprove of going up a whole step on 'This' in 'What Child is This?' as opposed to the traditional half-step?

Growing and glowing

That's how one pregnancy book describes the second trimester. Well, we have the growing part down all right. We have officially moved past the 'Blah stage' into the 'Ravenously hungry stage.'

Speaking of food (though it doesn't take the mention of food to make me think of it) I am all set for the Christmas festal board. Right now I'm in the mood for eggnog and almond roca. I am heartily missing this season from the days of yore when I'd breeze through the office every day and not even need to pack a lunch for the over-abundance of treats scattered throughout the various lunch rooms. Ginger assures me that very soon, the vendors here will start bringing in Christmas baskets. I hope the vendors have good taste and bring us a sparkling array of crackers and cheese, nuts, meats and sausage balls, cookies, chocolates, popcorn, and fruits. I could certainly do with an overflowing cornucopia.

More Random Lists

Names I Was Surprised to Discover Were In The Bible:

Malcolm
Jared
Jason
Jemima

Useful Things I Have Learned From Michael:

* Do not throw away the plastic liner from the graham cracker crust you buy from the store. When you finish filling the pie crust, the liner, inverted, becomes the lid.
* Use knuckles instead of fingertips for pushing things like microwave buttons, elevator summons, etc. This not only preserves the cleanliness of your fingertips in case you need to rub your eyes later on, but ensures that you won't go around leaving your fingerprints on surfaces.

Not-So-Useful Things I Have Learned From Michael:

* Two of the friends on Friends are brother and sister.