Crunchy Cons

I'm reading this new book by Rod Dreher about the organic, natural, alfalfa conservatives and why some elements of what we'd consider flaky left-wing philosophy - environmentalism, small-town farming, expensive organic produce - are really conservative ideals in nature, and how the modern conservative movement when taken to the extreme seems strangely isolated from Christian ideals.

A very interesting read, and I find myself agreeing with a lot of what he says. For instance, it's considered fashionable in conservative circles to sneer at the excesses of the environmental movement and put down the validity of global warming claims, etc. But there's nothing Christian about adopting an arrogant contempt for the environment, in mere snide reaction to the dangerous philosophies that would over-glorify it. And I for one agree with his point: I have very little patience with those people who seem to delight in antagonising the opposing cause with such bumper stickers as I love spotted owls - fried, because the fact of the matter is, some degree of responsibility is called for. That's what taking dominion is all about.

But, as it's the negatives that jump out at me and demand my attention and disagreement the loudest, I'll point them out here.

On page 46, he recounts his shock upon learning that a family he knows had been featured in the local paper, facing hard times because their business has been suffering. Unbeknownst to him, in their financial straits they had been relying on the state's Children's Health Insurance Program, a government subsidy of low-income families. The Republican legislature had led to cutbacks in the program, forcing the family to choose, as the author put it, between 'filling their children's teeth or their bellies.' His wife called up the family and offered to help financially, but the family graciously refused, saying that they would manage by having the mom go to work to help support the family. The author denounced the Republicans who pushed through the cuts, pointing out that they were sacrificing family values and undermining the institution most necessary for society to conserve, on the altar of efficiency.

Now, I agree that capitalism can be brutal, and that as Christians we should not be intent first and foremost on efficiency and saving money. We are warned in Scripture about setting our heart upon riches, and cautioned not to love money. But I can't agree with the author's scathing rebuke of the policy that would deny government subsidies to (even well-deserving) poor families. He is confusing individual virtues (charity, self-denial, forgiveness) with institutional requirements (honesty, integrity, responsibility). This is a common enough mistake, but it can be very dangerous when Christians try to apply individual Christian virtues to the government. We as Christians are called to be forgiving, but we as officials are called to be just. It's not up to the courts to forgive offenders; it's their job to punish wrong-doers.

This is a hard situation, and this struggling family certainly has my sympathy, but look at the situation. Even their friends didn't know the financial struggles they were going through. Why hadn't they made their needs known to the church? As pointed out, the friends offered to help them out, but they turned them down, choosing instead to have the mom go to work (which is a tough decision) rather than to take 'charity.' But they were already taking charity from the government! Why was it okay for the government to pay for their kids but not the church family? The author rips into the Republican government for not acting like a compassionate church family should do, when the family denied their church family the opportunity to demonstrate generosity and love to them by turning to the government to meet their needs first.

Second, the author lauds the whole organic, natural, non-processed food movement, and explains how they bought their food at farmer's markets, first in New York and then in Dallas. He explains how horrible the commercial mass-produced food market is (granted, hot dogs are nasty things), and encourages everyone to make the sacrifice to shop organic and natural:

To be sure, this costs more money. I wince when I have to pay almost twice the price for a roasting hen from Texas Supernatural Meats as I do for the same chicken from the supermarket. But that price difference is about the cost of a single venti latte from Starbucks. If you do an inventory of where the family's food budget goes, it's not hard to find ways you can save by cutting out unnecessary and even unhealthful food (chips and soda, for example), and apply that money toward buying ethically and nutritionally superior food. And there are ways to save money in other areas of the household economy - the entertainment budget, for example - to free up funds to purchase healthier food. It's all a matter of priority.

'If anyone says that being crunchy is fine for those who can afford it, you have my guarantee that they have no idea what they are talking about....'

Well, excuse me, but I know exactly what I am talking about when I say that being crunchy is fine for those who can afford it. Now before I go off ranting and raving, let me remind myself that this author is addressing the majority of Americans who are living in mainstream culture, complete with 'McMansions,' SUVs, and an addiction to eating out, in hopes of persuading them of adopting a more sensible lifestyle. All well and good. But that being noted, I shall continue with my rant. Now then! I've already done careful inventory of our family food budget, and I know exactly where the money goes! The fact is that we don't have the wiggle room to pay twice as much for our chickens, because we're not already in the habit of splurging for venti lattes from Starbucks. We've already cut our expenses pretty much to the bone, and I guarantee you that there's not the price of an organic chicken coming out of our entertainment budget. Chips and soda? Ha! Of course it's a matter of priority, and my priority is to have the money to pay for groceries at all, on one income, considering that we're not bestselling authors and columnists.

Sorry, that was a little snide, but my point is that you can never tell someone what is best for him, because you can never assume that you know all the facts about his situation. It's all well and good to say what worked for you, and to enthuse on the benefits that came to you from cutting out your Starbucks habit and putting that money into organic chickens, but don't go around assuming that everyone else is as irresponsible as you were before your eyes were opened.

But other than those two irritations, it's a very good book so far. Back to reading it.

And a good time was had by all

This weekend we had an impossibly long to-do list. We had a significant amount of fencing (garden, not rapiers) to run, a garage-door opener to install, a lawn to mow and spread chemicals on, and various odds and ends which had crept up on us. So when Ron and Catherine called us up to see if we wanted to spend the day in Helen, we immediately said 'Yes!' Why not seize the day?

Alpine Helen is a little Bavarian town about an hour north of here, very quaint and full of cute shops and delicious fudge. We spent the afternoon wandering around, poking into the shops, admiring the scenery, eating free samples of fudge, and taking pictures of the babies who played together so nicely.

Splashing in the fountain.

No, Catherine and I did not plan this. =)

And what are those babies looking at?

Books and blinders

This last weekend we finally attacked the daunting project of moving books and shelves around. We'd been avoiding it for long enough, on the reasoning that before we did any major furniture moving we wanted to buy a carpet cleaner and clean the carpets thoroughly, since we need to do that anyway and it makes sense to do it before any moving so as not to move heavy stuff twice. We still intend to purchase a carpet cleaner when a good enough deal comes up. But we cannot let that be an excuse for avoiding necessary work any longer.

So we moved the two bookshelves in the office up to the bonus room, and moved two bookshelves from the nursery into our bedroom and another two into the office. Now the nursery actually has wall space, allowing us to move the crib out from in front of the window (my nightmares about shattering glass falling over sleeping Baby as clumsy burglars trip over her in the middle of the night are now over) and making the room safe for Jane to crawl around in without everything being a no-no.

The first half of the job took far longer than it had to because we kept stopping and flipping though books. Eventually we learned better and strictly charged ourselves to concentrate on getting the job done, deciding what to keep later. But I read quite a bit of interesting stuff, including an extract from a political science textbook from one of Michael's old classes. Because of the subject matter I was sure it would be controversial, but as I read it it actually made a good bit of sense.

Basically, it presumed a hypothetical race where a white runner and a black runner are competing, only the authorities make the black runner run with weights. Naturally, he falls behind. Eventually, the authorities decide that this is unfair, and take the weights away, but the black runner is still behind. What should they do? Would it be fair to let the black runner catch up? That might reduce the inequity of the overall race, but would that be fair to the white runner, who after all didn't make the rules in the first place? Maybe the white runner really was faster, anyway.

Of course, it was presenting some of the dilemmas of affirmative action, which I still don't believe is a good solution. History is full of inequality, and there is no way any 'authorities' can even things out by changing the rules around to let anyone 'catch up' to anyone else at any given time. The best thing to do is to make sure that the rules are as fair as possible, right now, and let things take their natural course. However, the little analogy did help me to understand some of the reasoning behind some people's philosophy, and to resolve more than ever not to be so wrapped in my 'right' way of thinking that I miss out on the opportunity to hear what the other person is saying. I likely won't change my mind, but I might learn something about the other side, and I certainly wouldn't get anywhere with smug self-confidence or antagonising patronage.

However, this in turn made me question how far to go in any sort of open-mindedness. Obviously I want to be teachable where there is room for error. But I don't want to be tossed about by every wind of doctrine, susceptible to the least convincing. At some point I must keep my blinders resolutely on and not even consider veering from the path of truth. How tightly these discernment blinders must be kept is a puzzling question.

Let me count the ways

Last week Michael called me from work to say that he loved me. It was very sweet, sincere, and much appreciated, and indeed was the sole purpose of the call. But it reminded me of another conversation I overheard once, when I worked next door to a person whom I'll call Mr. H, which conversation I overheard because Mr. H was fond of using speakerphone:

Mrs. H: Hello?
Mr. H: (pause) I just wanted to call you and tell you that I love you.
Mrs. H: Riiiiiiiight. You hit me by accident on speed dial, didn't you?
Mr. H: That too, but also I love you.

Not for the faint of heart

This may be the worst thing I have ever heard of. It's worse than the Black Death.

You really should not click on the link. But if you do, don't read the article.

Ever since I read it, I've been experiencing some of the symptoms. So far, just the itchiness.

Short stuff

- Something is chomping its way through the green beans. I went out and bought a powerful insecticide today, in case it's bugs, and I'm dreading having to buy finer fencing should it turn out to be rabbits. Michael thought I was being overly dramatic when I told him how perturbed I was that wild animals are devouring our food supply. Ha! I'll fight them to the death (theirs, at least) over this matter of property rights.

- It seems impossible to find properly fitting sheets for a deep mattress. We have only one set that works, which was a wedding present, and I jolly well wish we'd snapped up a few more sets of the same kind. I have bought several sheet sets over the past couple of years, only to be disappointed in the size of the flat sheet. Sure, they make the fitted sheet big enough to fit over the deeper pocket, but forget to lengthen the flat sheet accordingly, so that there is never enough overhang to tuck it in. Very frustrating. If any of you happen to spot a queen sheet set boasting a flat sheet with dimensions of 105 inches in length, let me know and I'll buy it.

- I'm reading through Anna Karenina right now. Bleah. It's very depressing. Is anyone going to end up happily ever after? Probably not.

- But the dreary, complicated, fatalistic Russian philosophy is nicely counterbalanced by the sarcastic and comical Tristam Shandy, of which I've read only a few pages but which already had me laughing out loud at the author's account of his certainty on the date of his conception:

"My father, you must know...was, I believe, one of the most regular men in every thing he did, whether 'twas matter of business, or matter of amusement, that ever lived. As a small specimen of this extreme exactness of his, to which he was in truth a slave, -- he had made it a rule for many years of his life, -- on the first Sunday night of every month through-out the whole year, -- as certain as ever the Sunday night came, ---- to wind up a large house-clock which we had standing upon the back-stairs head, with his own hands: -- And being somewhere between fifty and sixty years of age, at the time I have been speaking of,-- he had likewise gradually brought some other little family concernments to the same period, in order, as he would often say to my uncle Toby, to get them all out of the way at one time, and be no more plagued and pester'd with them the rest of the month."

The May Tea Party

To celebrate Jane's first birthday, we had a tea party consisting of luncheon, tea, and parlour games. It was a splendid success, and though the guest of honour didn't quite catch the drift, she very much enjoyed the guests and all the attention. We dressed up in hats and gloves, and then ate delicacies aplenty, and after feasting retired to the drawing room to play the Poem Game, and then we gave our guests their gifts (because we want to start a tradition of holding birthday parties in the hobbit style, where the guest of honour gives gifts to the guests), and then we ate cake. It was all very pleasant and jolly.

The cake

The guest of honour amusing herself while I frost the cake

The tea service

The princess

The feast

The little ladies

The guests

A mouse has cut the wire. Goodbye!

Oh, how I hate doing without the small comforts of civilisation to which I have grown accustomed! A terrific thunderstorm came through on Tuesday night and knocked out - not our electricity, but something almost as bad: our cable connection, which encompasses our phone and internet. Thus I was stranded and isolated all day, on a day on which of all days I most sorely needed a computer, to print off the free ice cream coupons for Jane's birthday, to renew my nearly-overdue books at the library, and to cancel our free trial subscription to Netflix before it stopped being free. Many frantic cell phone calls were made to Michael at work, who went on in to the office anyway because he couldn't do anything until the cable company came out to fix it.

Meanwhile I discovered all sorts of other random things that the power surge had fried:

- The dishwasher. Now we're back to handwashing dishes. I used to do this all the time until I got pregnant and became too tired to keep up, at which Michael took over and used the dishwasher, and I found it so convenient not to have a drainboard and dripping dishes on the counter at all times that I fell into the habit. Of course the dishwasher was full up of dirty dishes when this was discovered, so I had a huge backlog to catch up on. Now it should be easier to keep up.

- The garage door remotes. The opener still works from the button on the wall, which means I can open it before setting off and then, after backing the car out, push the button and make a mad dash while ducking under the falling door. This is rather exciting at first, but it's not so exciting to get back in again, which requires turning off the car to free up the front door key, opening the front door, going around and opening the garage door, and pulling the car in. I would personally be inclined not to bother and simply park the cars in the driveway until the door is fixed, but it's getting to be hot season now, and Michael will not have this.

- The sound card on our downstairs computer, and pretty much everything on the upstairs computer. My grasp of all this is a bit more vague, but since I never use the upstairs computer and all our stuff is stored on the downstairs computer, it's not an insurmountable tragedy.

All of these things will be fixed or replace in good time. Meanwhile I'm just grateful to have phone and internet again. I can see clearly now!

Mayday

Today should be a day of sunshine and flowers, of cupcakes and lemonade. But it's grey and chilly weather, and I'm forced to wear long sleeves and socks instead of the traditional flowered prints, short sleeves, and sandals. Blah.

Yesterday we went to an air show at Dobbins Air Force Base. We got there just in time to see the grand finale, the Blue Angels. I think I've seen them perform once before (a long time ago, in Oregon, we went to air shows fairly frequently), but if so, I wasn't sufficiently impressed. They are spectacular and breathtaking. I wish we hadn't forgotten to take our camera, because there were so many photogenic formations! I shall just have to go online and order a poster of them. To my surprise, it turns out that they are military planes, which is why the air shows in which they perform are generally free.

While we were there, we wandered around looking at various other birds on display, climbing inside the cockpits of some and admiring others from a distance. I did not know this, but apparently there is ongoing friendly rivalry between fixed-wing pilots (airplanes, etc.) and swing-wing pilots (helicopters), sort of like between the Army and the Navy (there is also apparently some rivalry between the Navy and the Marines, but that's not official, because technically the Marines are a branch of the Navy). Michael exchanged a bit of good-natured chaff with one of the helicopter pilots, who said he had heard them all but still laughed and told us a few.

Q: How do helicopters stay up?
A: Well, you might think it's the propeller, but actually they're so ugly that the earth's gravity naturally repels them.

Growth spurt

Any time Jane's behaviour alters or her routine changes or she seems fussier or hungrier or sleepier or less hungry than usual, we explain it away by remarking, 'Oh, she must be going through another growth spurt.' This time it is unmistakable. For about the past two weeks, she has been uncharacteristically ravenous, and solid foods have moved up from being experimental occasional snacks to becoming an essential source of nutrition and sustenance. She can down half a baked potato or a small bowl of oatmeal in one sitting, and has become hooked on homemade yogurt.

The other night, when we went out to dinner, she was so well behaved: I kept giving her cucumbers from the salad to chew on, which kept her entertained for long stretches. I didn't think she actually ate much of it, merely gnawed on it, until later, when she made a very unladylike digestive sound while I was in the vicinity of her mouth and I distinctly smelled cucumbers.

Meanwhile, the garden does well. The tomatoes I started have all officially died, so I ran out yesterday and bought two flats of seedlings from Walmart. It was so pleasant to plant them with my new gardening gloves (and just last week I read that a lady does not get dirt under her fingernails by way of wearing gloves!) and kneeling pad. The two hills of squash are sprouting and flourishing, and there are volunteer vines all over our backyard. For the past couple of years, it has irked me so much that we don't have a compost that, if at all possible, I have taken pains to throw organic waste out in the back instead of dumping it in the trash. I know there have been various pumpkin and zucchini scrapings over the past year, so I'm assuming we are seeing their descendents, hardy and vigourous, making their way in the world. It's too bad squash isn't nearly as nice as tomatoes, but at least it's nutritious, versatile, and prolific.

Freedom!

Growing older has its advantages, after all.

Both Cold Stone Creamery and Baskin-Robbins offer a free ice cream cone on your birthday. Hollywood Video offers a free movie rental. And various restaurants offer various incentives, ranging from a song to a free dinner and dessert. I spent a little time looking online, and have determined where we shall go for dinner tonight.

It all seems too good to be true. But it's not. Jane and I spent a happy hour this morning earning Starbucks points for walking around a mall (I'm sure it's a merchant-driven incentive to motivate people to window-shop) and eating a free ice cream cone. And you can even sign up your kids in the birthday club at the aforementioned establishments! Next week, Jane and I are going to 'share' a cone for her birthday.

This and that

I planted our garden (consisting of tomato and pepper seedlings, and two hills of squash) last week, and the little plants are coming along nicely. Crops of weeds have sprouted up like anything, though, and astounded me with their rapid progress; hence the phrase, 'Growing like a weed.' Why aren't my little tomato starts flourishing this profusely?

I also planted three blueberry bushes last week. I've been wanting blueberries for years now, and though it was an unpropitious time (none were available in January, the proper time to plant, and I waited too long on a promised plant sale that never materialised), I felt I must do it now, or risk losing the inertia forever. You are supposed to pinch off the buds the first year, but I can't bear to kill off all those baby blueberries, so we're going to harvest all two cups of the blueberry crop this summer or die in the attempt (they will - not us).

I received a yogurt-maker as an early birthday present, and after considering not opening it until my actual birthday, opened it anyway. I've made four batches of yogurt in the last week and am thrilled with the notion of turning cheap, marked-down, about-to-expire milk into fresh, nutritious, bursting-with-the-right-kind-of-bacteria yogurt. It's a little tart, not being doped up with fruits and preservatives and sugar like the store-bought kind, but I am determined to get used to it and cultivate a taste for the tangy stuff. Also I am determined to teach my children to appreciate it, just as I am going to cook and bake for my children without sugar (Ha!) so they will grow up healthy and never know what they are missing. It's too late for me, of course.

Overheard last evening

Me: Well, that was a nice day of rest.
Michael: Yes, and we didn't fight even once.
Me: But we never fight!
Michael: Oh, come on. We argue all the time.
Me: No, we don't!
Michael: As I was saying...

Gag law

Last night my car was in need of gas. Now the price has been rising something awful here, and I've been checking this very handy website that lists the best prices in the area. The problem is that the website is not always current. According to the site, the best price was at a gas station about five miles away, but since my experience has led me to believe that our neighborhood Kroger gas station is usually cheaper than that one, I wondered if the site was simply inaccurate. Rather than drive five miles out of my way to check, I decided to call and find out so I could comparison-shop. And what did the station manager tell me? That it was against the law for him to give me the price of gasoline over the phone!!!

I am aghast and shocked beyond measure at this appalling state of things. I am assuming that it is a state law, since I haven't heard anything about this on a federal level (but if it is a national law, and everyone else already knows all about it, please do clue me in), and I already have a call in to my GA state legislator to find out the details on what this law is, when it passed, who sponsored it, and who's behind it. Clearly it's an unfair attempt to smother competition and healthy shopping, perhaps lobbied for by the oil industry, perhaps by the gas station owners. As a consumer, I most definitely have a right to know what the price of any item is without driving out there to inspect the shelf myself.

I feel like the avalanche of ents after entmoot. I will take this law down.

Overheard last night

[Note: the bathroom scale has been reading 5 lbs. lighter for several weeks now.]

Me: Did you adjust the scale recently?
Michael: Yes, I fixed it today.
Me: Oh. But it's been off for several weeks now. Did you adjust it awhile ago?
Michael: No, I'm sure you knew that the earth's gravitational field was deteriorating, so that's probably it.
Me: Oh, and you just need to adjust for it, like Leap Year?
Michael: Something like that.

He is risen indeed!

Last year we spent Easter Sunday in Holland. We inquired at the little hamlet where we were staying and ascertained that Easter services were held in the little country church down the road at 10:00. Accordingly we went there the next morning at 10:00, only to discover that Daylight Savings Time (or whatever they call it over there) comes a week early in Europe, and we had missed church. That is probably the only time in my life I can recall missing church on Easter Sunday.

This year we have a baby on our hands, and we made it to church (Michael even sang both services). Also we are having friends over for a proper Easter dinner of ham and green beans (or, to be Seussian, green beans and ham) this evening. I love Easter!

Spring is here in shoes of green

I love this time of year. The trees are in full bloom, the grass is green again, and flowers are everywhere. The only drawback to an early spring is that the height of the blooming misses my birthday.

When I was growing up in Oregon, the cherry trees were always in full bloom right around my birthday, and it was a tradition to take a birthday picture of me among the blossoms. When we moved to Virginia, the spring came a bit sooner, and the cherry blossoms were long gone by late April. So my birthday pictures were taken in front of the dogwood.

Now that I live in Georgia, spring comes sooner still, and hardly any blossoms will be left at the end of the month. Our dogwoods have been blooming for two weeks now, and are already mostly leaves. Last year we were lucky to find a flowery bush to pose in front of. We'll probably have to resort to the same sort of thing this time around.

Death and taxes

Last week we finally got around to doing our taxes. And can I just say, Hurrah for the child tax credit! If you had a great insurance plan (to cover the cost of delivery) and lots of generous friends (as we did) you could actually make money off of having children, despite all those pretentious studies in magazines that prove the average cost to raise a child is $164,000 or some such nonsense.

And as for the other sure thing...most of the tomato and pepper sprouts I started from seeds have withered and died. Bother. It all comes of too much forgetting to water.

Eleven months old today

Recently we took Jane to an Underwater Sea Odessy at our church. Watch those toes!

Outside of a dog

1. How many hours a day do you spend reading?
Oh, goodness, it varies so much. Right now I get about 1-3 hours, but that doesn't include online. And it's gone up a bit since I can trust Jane to crawl around and play quietly with toys in the background; previously reading was limited to her nap time, which needed to be dedicated to other chores.

2. How fast do you read?
Very quickly. My all-time benchmark is finishing all 1200+ pages of Les Miz in two days (but that was back before I had a job and could stay up half the night).

3. What is your favorite book?
The Bible, of course.

4. Who is your favorite author?
Mmm, that's a tricky one, but I'll go with Jane Austen.

5. What is your favorite action/adventure novel?
And we have a five-way tie between The Scarlet Pimpernel, The Prisoner of Zenda, Scaramouche, Beau Geste, and A Tale of Two Cities.

6. What is your favorite mystery novel?
The Eleventh Hour.

7. What is your favorite romance novel?
Pride and Prejudice, far and away.

8. What is your favorite character novel?
But all of the people in my favourite books are characters!

I would say either Little Women, the Little House books, Caddie Woodlawn, or the Grandma's Attic books, because they're all excellent moral character books without sounding a bit preachy.

9. What is your favorite fantasy/sci-fi novel?
Sci-fi would be Asimov's Foundation trilogy. Fantasy would be, of course, Lord of the Rings.

10. What is your favorite history book?
No contest - The Story of Liberty.

11. What is your favorite biography?
If a biography of a pretend person counts, then Ben-Hur. Otherwise, Carry On, Mr. Bowditch.

12. What is your favorite other non-fiction book?
Probably Stepping Heavenward, in sheer terms of how many times I've read it.

13. What is your favorite play?
The Importance of Being Earnest, by Oscar Wilde. Other plays by Oscar Wilde rank very high up there, as do a few plays by Shakespeare and Moliere. Gilbert and Sullivan go without saying. Of course, I love a lot of the plays that were turned into movie musicals.

14. What is your favorite of the genres mentioned in questions 5-12?
As if I could answer that!

15. What is your favorite type of character?
The one I married: clever, intelligent, handsome, dashing, witty, charming, gallant, thoughtful, and surprising.

16. If you could host a party with 7 literary characters, who would they be and why?
Eliza Bennet, because I want to meet her.
The Princess from The Lady or the Tiger, because I want to ask her which door it was.
Anne Shirley, to make me feel better about forgetting the sweet potatoes and setting out the wrong napkins.
Atreyu from The Neverending Story, because every good dinner party needs an adventurer.
Dad Gilbreth from Cheaper by the Dozen, because he would be the life of the party.
Henry Tilney from Northanger Abbey, to talk nonsense and make us all laugh.
Tommy Hambledon from Drink To Yesterday, because I need another Brit and and another gent.

17. Do you like film adaptations of books? If so, which is your favorite? Which is your least?
Yes, if they're done right. Not if they're mangled. Perhaps my favourite is Mary Poppins, which I actually like better than the book, one of only five such cases known to man. As for worst, it's hard to differentiate between so-bad-because-it's-such-a-badly-done-movie, like those dismal 50s-60s attempts at Prisoner of Zenda, Pride & Prejudice, and Little Women, and it-would-be-a-great-movie-if-it-didn't-steal-the-title-of-the-book-to-which-it-bears-no-resemblance, such as Lord of the Rings, Count of Monte Cristo, etc.

18. Who is your literary role model?
Eliza Bennet, because she is intelligent, pretty, modest, and confident, but is open to reproof and improvement.

19. Which literary house would you like most to live in?
Probably the Last Homely House. I'd have the best neighbors. Of course, Cair Paravel wouldn't be too shabby, either.

20. Which literary couple would you like most for parents?
Probably Percy and Marguerite Blakeney, or Tommy and Tuppence. I like books that have a romance between married couples.

21. Pick 3 literary characters you would like to have as siblings.
Michael Geste, Caddie Woodlawn, and Christopher Robin.

22. Who is your favorite literary villain?
After Rupert of Hentzau? Probably Messala.

23. Name a character that most people dislike, but that you do not. Why do you like them?
Ooh, I much prefer the reverse, of explaining why I don't like all the characters that most people like! But definitely Boromir. He's far under-rated, especially in the movie. I love the bit in the appendices that says something along the lines of, 'Faramir believed that his older brother was the most valiant in arms in all of Gondor, and Boromir thought so too.' He's brave, patriotic, loyal, cynical, and dislikes Aragorn, which is enough of a recommendation in its own right.

24. Which minor character deserves a book all to themselves, in your opinion?
Puddleglum, certainly. Also Tom Bombadil. Also Rosencrantz & Guildenstern - oh, wait, they already got that.

25. Which character do you identify most with in literature?
Emma Woodhouse.

26. If you could go into a novel, which one would it be and why?
Ooh, tricky, tricky! If I went into a novel, I'd have to be sure to go in as the right character, with the right location and social standing and amount of wealth. But it would probably be an English 18th-century novel.

27. Do you prefer hardback or paperback?
Hardback.

28. Do you like dustcovers?
Yes, they make fabulous bookmarks.

29. Do you like introductions, forwards, afterwards, and appendices?
Depends on how interesting they are. Usually they are boring, in which case I skip them.

30. Do you like reading literary criticism?
Sometimes it gives me insights and good ideas, but most of the time it just frustrates me.

31. Do you like new or used books? What about ex-library?
Yes.

32. Are you likely to buy new books without having read them, or would you buy a used copy (or check it out from the library) to see if it is good or not?
I would never buy a new book never having read it. That's as dangerous as ordering something brand-new from a catalogue you've never tried the clothes of before.

33. Name 3 - 7 books that you rarely see on people's favorite book lists, that are high on your own.
Skipping through all the ones that appear on other people's lists we arrive at:

Lost Horizon
Winnie-the-Pooh & House at Pooh Corner
King Solomon's Mines
The Last Days of Pompeii
Our Mutual Friend
Queen Margot
The Accidental Detectives

34. Which is your least favorite book of those that are considered "classics"?
The Iliad and the Odessy. Still can't get through them.

35. Do you like books read aloud, or do you prefer silent reading?
Both very much.

36. When you read, do you see things in your mind like a movie, or just in vague pictures?
Both, although seeing a credible movie version of it tends to mess with this phenomenon.

37. Do you like to read in silence, or with backround noise/music?
Doesn't really matter.

38. Can you read in the car without getting carsick?
I never get carsick.

39. Do you go to booksales?
No, but I'd like to. *sigh* I really should not buy any more books until I have bookshelves for all the ones I've got.

40. Name one literary quirk of yours.
I obsessively count commas. Usually it's pretty subliminal, but if a sentence has seven or eight commas then I have to go back and make sure all the clauses come out right.

At least I won't be so surprised by spring forward this weekend

There is absolutely nothing to do at 7:30 in the morning. This is after I've had breakfast, waved Michael off, read my Bible, and fed my baby. It's too soon to put Jane down for her morning nap; too early to go shopping; too chilly yet to do anything outside; too soon to sit down to a nice little second breakfast on the lawn; and far too early to call any of my friends to chat.

Recently Michael couldn't find his other pair of jeans, and asked me if they might be in the laundry. 'Maybe,' I told him. 'Just wait a few days, and it will all come out in the wash.' (Ha, ha!) But they didn't turn up, so yesterday I checked my closet and pulled out a pair of Wranglers with rolled-up cuffs that were definitely not mine. I remember now that a few weeks ago, when we were doing yard work together, I grabbed a pair of jeans that were so big I assumed they must be a spare pair of grubby jeans because I had to roll up the cuffs. Oops.

Mumble's the word

So I went to the dentist this morning to fill some more cavities. (This cannot keep up much longer; at some point I am bound to run out of original tooth material.) Two of the fillings were so shallow that I didn't need any anesthesia at all, which was nice, because I hate the taste and the numbness. But the others left me feeling predictably rubbery, and I kept gnashing my teeth all the way home and not feeling a thing other than dull impact. I couldn't even apply lipstick properly: I tried putting the stuff on, and then simply could not purse my lips to rub it in. But I did make such hilarious faces in the rear-view mirror while trying that I couldn't help but laugh, which was a healthy thing.

And now I've discovered that I can't whistle properly. Now I have an inkling what Botox patients feel like. I ask you, why would anyone do that to herself?

Goodbye to a dear friend

They never quite leave us, our friends who have passed
Through the shadows of death to the sunlight above;
A thousand sweet memories are holding them fast
To the places they blessed with their presence and love.

The work which they left, and the books which they read,
Speak mutely, though still with an eloquence rare;
And the songs that they sung, and the dear words that they said,
Yet linger and sigh on the desolate air.

And oft when alone, and as oft in the throng,
Or when evil allures us, or sin draweth nigh,
A whisper comes gently, ‘Nay, do not the wrong,’
And we feel that our weakness is pitied on high.

We toil at our tasks in the burden and heat
Of life’s passionate noon. They are folded in peace.
It is well. We rejoice that their heaven is sweet,
And one day for us all the bitter will cease.

We, too, shall go home o'er the river of rest
As the strong and the lovely before us have gone;
Our sun will go down in the beautiful west
To rise in the glory that circles the throne.

Until then we are bound by our love and our faith
To the saints who are walking in Paradise fair;
They have passed beyond sight at the touching of death
But they live, like ourselves, in God's infinite care.

~Margaret E. Sangster

A day of pleasant bread

It's the small things in life that really add up to more than the sum of their parts and make the world go 'round. Yesterday was just such a day. Jane was happy, I was happy, the First Day of Spring was rainy so I got to wear my beloved winter sweaters for at least one day longer, and we snapped up tremendous bargains while out and about.

In the first place, I've been looking for invitations for a shower I'm co-hosting soon. Something simple, elegant, classy, and not too expensive, while not looking as if it's trying not to be too expensive. Last week I saw a package of simple white embossed blank cards that I can print off my own invites on, and decided to get them, but also decided to wait a week first. Yesterday I went back and found a box of those very invites, opened but with all the cards and envelopes, marked down to $2.48. Yippee! I felt as if I had just saved ten dollars, but since we are now officially on a budget the extra money was not spendable but goes toward next month's gift allowance.

I hate budgets. Somehow we've made it thus far in our marriage without anything etched in paper, our general rule of thumb being to spend as little as possible and use the rest for savings, giving to missions, buying new cars after destructive car wrecks, etc. But this book on finances that we've been reading strongly recommends a fixed budget, so last week we itemised all expenses and actually drew up a budget. Ugh. Whether we'll actually stick to it is another matter.

The morning of errand-running was topped off in fine style by a free cup of premium roast coffee from McDonalds. I had found a coupon in the Sunday paper (which we do not pay for but which persists in showing up in our front yard every week, so I gamely flip through it and clip coupons for anything free), and having spotted a McDonalds while out and about, whizzed through the drive-thru and collected my token. Then it was such fun walking through Target, holding a cute baby in one hand and a styrofoam cup of coffee in the other. Only a straitened and sheltered youth could eke such feelings of opulence and luxury from a disposable coffee cup.

Beware already

I give you a few random quotes in honour of the Ides of March.

Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears;
I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their bones;
So let it be with Caesar....

~from Julius Caesar, by William Shakespeare


Claudius: What'll ya have?
Flavius: Give me a Martinus.
Claudius: Don't you mean a MartiNI?
Flavius: If I wanted two, I'd ask for it. By the way, could I have a bite to eat?
Claudius: Sure thing. What'll ya have?
Flavius: I could do with some pizzum.
Claudius: Don't you mean pizza?
Flavius: If I wanted more than one, I'd say so.

~from Rinse the Blood off My Toga, by Wayne and Schuster.


"The first date in English History is 55 B.C. in which year Julius Caesar (the memorable Roman Emperor) landed, like all other successful invaders of these islands, at Thanet. This was in the Olden Days, when the Romans were top nation on account of their classical education, etc....
"Julius Caesar was therefore compelled to invade Britain again the following year (54 B.C., not 56, owing to the peculiar Roman method of counting), and having defeated the Ancient Britons by unfair means, such as battering-rams, tortoises, hippocausts, centipedes, axes and bundles, set the memorable Latin sentence, 'Veni, Vidi, Vici,' which the Romans, who were all very well educated, construed correctly.
"The Britons, however, who of course still used the old pronunciation, understanding him to have called them 'Weeny, Weedy, and Weaky,' lost heart and gave up the struggle, thinking that he had already divided them All into Three Parts."

~from 1066 And All That.


A Pict Song

Rome never looks where she treads.
Always her heavy hooves fall
On our stomachs, our hearts or our heads;
And Rome never heeds when we bawl.
Her sentries pass on -- that is all,
And we gather behind them in hordes,
And plot to reconquer the Wall,
With only our tongues for our swords.

We are the Little Folk -- we!
Too little to love or to hate.
Leave us alone and you'll see
How we can drag down the State!
We are the worm in the wood!
We are the rot at the root!
We are the taint in the blood!
We are the thorn in the foot!

Mistletoe killing an oak --
Rats gnawing cables in two --
Moths making holes in a cloak --
How they must love what they do!
Yes -- and we Little Folk too,
We are busy as they --
Working our works out of view --
Watch, and you'll see it some day!

No indeed! We are not strong,
But we know Peoples that are.
Yes, and we'll guide them along
To smash and destroy you in War!
We shall be slaves just the same?
Yes, we have always been slaves,
But you -- you will die of the shame,
And then we shall dance on your graves!

~by Rudyard Kipling

Give me a sign

Last night Michael was telling me about this book his boss had mentioned, which advocates teaching your babies to sign so you can communicate with them before they can even speak. It's a fascinating idea, and I know I just heard about this recently, maybe chatting with someone at church, so I was already intrigued with the idea.

He brought the book by this morning, and I read it with great interest. Apparently infants' manual motor skills develop far sooner than the speech capacity, and babies as young as six months can be taught to sign! Jane is ten months old, so she should pick it up in no time. Today we learned three signs ('We' as in me, with Jane very soon to follow) and are going to rehearse them until Jane is fluent.

Part of why this fascinates me so much is that sign language actually counts as another language. Infants who sign are already bilingual when they begin to speak, and therefore have an advantage in learning another spoken language. This book uses the symbols of American Sign Language, which is something I want my kids to know anyway. This way, we get a head start on the learning and can actually have conversations meanwhile!

I am very excited about this. Will keep you posted as to whether or not it works.

A quick post

Busy times make few blog posts. We had houseguests this past weekend, which means that the fridge is satisfyingly full of leftovers that will probably last the whole week. We went to Kennesaw Mountain on Saturday, where we had a picnic, toured the museum and Civil War battlefield, and climbed to the top and back. Babies who hate being trapped in backpacks will gladly cheer up as long as you stop at every tree and let them pat the trunk and try to eat a few leaves. Two water bottles do not contain enough water to keep you hydrated for a mile-long hike.

On Sunday Michael sang in the church choir for the first time. We've started going to church on Wednesday nights, which is when choir practice is held, and even though it makes for a very long Wednesday, I've really enjoyed it. I think mid-week service must just be a southern thing.

Jane is officially crawling now (previously it was just a very adept scoot) and has a new friend: Ethan John Owens, born to Benjamin and Amanda last Friday.

The other 6:00

Ever since Michael started his new job six months ago, he's been getting up earlier to compensate for an hour-long commute. Fortunately, there are several other co-workers who live at our exit with whom he can carpool, which saves on gas, time (HOV lane), and stress in only having to drive once a week or so. Plus he has more time now to read on the drive.

Last week, one of his fellow carpoolers, who also happens to be his boss, offered the challenge that they all start getting up at 5:00 and spending that extra hour in prayer. Previously, I slept right through the alarm and only got up when it was time to get ready for my day and feed Jane, around 7:30-8. I do need more sleep than Michael, but switching to that wide of a divergence would probably not be a good idea, as if I'm too caught up on sleep I might be likely to stay up late talking and thus hijack Michael's resolve on early rising. The only solution is to make sure I'm as sleepy as he is when it's time to sleep.

So for this past week, Michael has gotten up at five, and then awakened me at six, and I have fixed breakfast for him, which we eat together. It's been very nice to have breakfast together and to be able to serve him a hot meal, and then I have a bit of quiet time after he leaves and before Jane wakes up.

What I'm most struck with is how long the morning is when it starts that early. I'm hungry long before lunch time, and I have to be careful, when running errands, to make sure that the stores are actually open. Apparently only grocery stores and pharmacies are usually open before 8:00 am.

Here it is 10:00, and I've already been awake for four hours. Jane is already down for her morning nap, and I've gotten groceries, cleaned the kitchen, de-boned the chicken from last night, and read a good bit. One can certainly accomplish a good bit with an early start. Even if I have to compensate with a nap this afternoon, I'll still feel ahead.

We'll see how long it lasts. I really hate the new system during the first ten minutes of the day. But after that, the advantages are manifold and glorious.

Let's try this again...

The abundant life

Now, I am usually not one for kicks or programs, especially on the Christian scene, so it may come as a surprise that I am as of this week enthusiastically embarked upon Dr. Charles Stanley's 49-day Abundant Life Challenge. But this is not so surprising when one discovers that this program (for so I must resort to calling this collection of books and the study guide, including a thorough online assessment) was given free to all employees of InTouch Ministries.

The course starts with an online assessment to gauge one's fitness in the spiritual, financial, and physical arenas. (It is a very thorough, comprehensive personality/behaviour-type assessment quiz, which I find particularly irresistible, as I love answering questions about how I think or feel.) The study guide directs one's progress through the assigned books, which are Dr. Stanley's Living The Extraordinary Life, Dave Ramsey's Total Money Makeover, and Jordan Rubin's The Great Physician's Rx for Health and Wellness.

I must say that this whole challenge is an excellent and fascinating idea. There is something very powerful in the agreement of a body of believers to commit themselves corporately to seeking God's will, like the weekly prayer times at HSLDA, and I'm very glad that Michael works for a place that encourages employees to spend time in pursuit of excellence. Now for the subject material itself, which is so enthralling that I feel as if I'm simply bursting with new ideas and insights (Ugh! What a pity 'Insight' is such a loaded word to my subconscious!)

Dave Ramsey is a popular money advice guru, though I hadn't heard of him before; I read his book on Monday (very easy reading) and am quite impressed with the way he combines sound financial advice with strong scriptural principles. The premise of his book is that you want to build wealth to have money to give away. Very good point. Much of his total money makeover seems directed at people who are in financial straits, and he has a solid strategy for digging out of holes. That doesn't seem to apply to my situation so much, although I gather that it would be a lifesaver for most Americans, who are according to the statistics drowning in consumer debt. Some of the stuff he says just makes sense, and some of it was rather eye-opening. All in all, it gave me a lot to think about. I always enjoy expanding my horizons and learning about everything I can, so I was glad to learn his recommendations on retirement savings, at which point to concentrate on retirement v. paying off the house, etc.

Jordan Rubin, who also wrote The Maker's Diet, is also a strong Christian who approaches his topic from the perspective that the body is a temple of the Holy Spirit and his mission is to encourage Christians to be vibrant, healthy witnesses to the power of God, like Daniel and his companions. Why don't people look at Christians and say, 'Wow, he is so strong and healthy and glowing! What is his secret? How can I have what he has?' Instead, Christians are just as plagued by obesity, cholesterol, heart disease, and other problems, much as divorce runs as rampantly through the Church as through the secular world.

I just finished the introduction and the first chapter, so I haven't much to report beyond the fact that I am simply brimming over with new ideas. I am not about to make any drastic changes to my diet, of course, but he has such harsh things to say about pork, catfish, shrimp, and lobster (filthy, polluted, corrupt bottom-feeders living off the waste of other creatures - nature's toxic waste dump) that I may just find myself naturally avoiding them in the future, much as I gradually and without any internal conviction weaned myself of ever eating hot dogs again just by virtue of learning exactly how nasty they were.

The biggest drawback to eating natural and organic foods, of course, is not convenience, preference, taste, or habit - it is cost. Most people are hooked on junk food because they're addicted to the cheap pleasures of hamburgers and pizza. I'd gladly trade in my canola oil and peanut butter and homogenized cow's milk for a Mediterranean diet of olive oil, feta cheese, and alfalfa sprouts if it didn't mean my grocery budget would triple. I'd happily buy tilapia and mahi-mahi if my local Super Walmart ran sales on that instead of catfish. Some whole grains and fresh, organic foods simply aren't available most places, and the ones that are are prohibitively expensive. So for now, I'll muddle along as best I can and slip as much whole wheat flour into my muffins as I can get away with and plant LOTS of blueberry bushes in the meantime.

That was odd

For some reason, Blogspot didn't like the last batch of pictures I posted, the really cute ones of Jane in the sand wearing a swimsuit. The internet would crash and send an error report every time I tried to log in, and I was on the brink of asking Michael to fix the computer for me when a call to a friend confirmed that this was a universal problem with the blog site, not my individual computer. What a pity.

Saints alive

Recently I heard that an old family friend, an elderly lady in Oregon, had died. She had always told us, 'When you hear I'm gone, don't be sad - be happy for me! I know I'll be happy!' I almost forgot to mention it to Michael, and just remembered before falling asleep, at which the following conversation (if you can call it a conversation, as one-sided as it was) took place:

'Oh, by the way, I heard that Blanche B- died....You remember her? We visited her last time we were in Oregon, in that red farmhouse....She was quite elderly, so it was to be expected, and she always told us not to be sorrowful at her death....Her husband was quite the inventor...patented lots of useful things, I believe, and was a very brilliant man - he died a few years ago...so she's with him now...not that she cares....he's just another saint to her.'

That's the one drawback of heaven: the universal specialness of everyone. As far as my mortal mind can comprehend, I don't want to be so ubiquitous, nor do I want everyone to be so equally special to me.

As requested

We're baaaaaack!

Vacations are wonderful things, but they absolutely ruin you for real life. I feel so ripped off now that I have to put my own dishes in the sink again.

We had a fabulous time visiting with family, and everyone doted on Jane, who really was a model child. ('I think I could be a model child if only I were invited to tea at the manse every day.') She took everything in stride, and we got some adorable shots of her on the beach, in a very cute swimsuit, playing with sand.

Yes, Janice, I did do the acrobat thingy, but only a few times. Brother Benjamin and cousin Walter were the stars of the show, meaning they actually performed in the flying trapeze show one night. Which meant that they got to wear tight, shiny pants and do tricks under bright lights with loud music. We were very proud of them.

We went sailing, played putt-putt golf (thank goodness for the rule that you max out at six shots per hole!), went roller-blading, played tennis, and ate lots of good food. I always mean to weigh myself at the beginning and the end of the week to see if I gain weight (lots of good food) or lose weight (lots of exercise) or gain weight (because muscle weighs more than fat). But once again I forgot until nearly halfway through the week.

Today we will slowly ease ourselves back into our normal routines. It is very cold and cloudy out. We are glad that we live no farther north than we do.

Tally ho - and away we go!

Tomorrow we're leaving to spend a week with family in sunny Florida. Well, in Florida, at any rate. I've decided that traveling with a baby is just about as much of a bother whether you're going for a week or a weekend; this is our first long trip with her, and it seems like I'm packing just about as much as I've packed for her during our two other weekend trips. So it's a good thing it's worth our while.

Bad things about Florida:

- Fire ants
- Alligators
- Jellyfish
- Closer to the West Nile virus
- More UV

Did you know that UV actually shoots tiny holes into your body? That's exactly how x-rays work. And you're body is constantly at work repairing the damage, but eventually your skin loses the battle. Eek. And yet I'm still excited about going. Adios, everyone! Have a happy week while we're gone!

The day is not sunny...and teether am I

By Jane Victoria

Cutting teeth is not nearly as wonderful as the baby book made it out to be. Oh, sure, fresh sharp teeth can provide hours of amusement for an idle tongue, but I think I'd just as soon go back to scooting around and licking the carpet for fun. Mama says that cutting teeth is not so bad, but that is not true. It is terrible. It is the worst thing that has happened to me in my entire life.

The one advantage, you would think, is that now I can gnash my teeth. But the irony of it is that, with no teeth on top, I simply end up biting my gum. Ow! Hence the wailing.

Apparently teeth are supposed to help me eat my food, but I can't see that I need any help. I've been eating food for three months now just fine. Why couldn't things just stay the way they were??

More on aging

Sometimes I try to catalogue all the things in the world to decide if I fall over or under the average age of stuff. For instance, all products of anything that was invented in my lifetime are going to be younger than I am. That means that I am automatically older than every single VCR, DVD, DVD player, microwave, and MP3 in the universe. Then, of course, there's all the stuff that has been around for awhile but whose individual lifespan is less than mine, so it's likely that I am older than most light bulbs, SUVs, hamsters, etc.

It comes down, of course, to whether you count the recycling of materials into something new as the date of origin, since all matter is constant, and whether you count things in terms of numbers of items or absolute mass. So in terms of absolute mass, I am probably toward the young side of things, considering the earth's molten core; but if you count all that as one object, and factor in the trillions of insects that have lived and died since I was born, then I'm probably on the aged end.

A merry heart

I've read in many places of the documented health benefits of laughter, even forced and unspontaneous, and for a time (usually concurrent with my other Being Good kicks of exercising and flossing) I practised the discipline of daily laughter. It is surprisingly hard to laugh voluntarily: you pretty much have to be in private to feel uninhibited enough, and even then you usually end up feeling a bit silly at first. I used to try for at least two minutes of laughter on my drive to work every morning.

But now I've found the perfect outlet for this very healthy and desirable pursuit: make a baby laugh. Laughter is so contagious that you feel right at home, and the silliness of breaking out into sudden, maniacal laughter isn't nearly so potent when you're already doing silly stuff like making funny faces and using funny voices around said baby anyway.

On aging

Michael remarked that this was a very pleasant birthday, although nothing spectacular. We've pulled off surprise parties for each other for the last couple of years, and I think we both sensed that it was time to end that genre, since we can't possibly top every masterpiece. Better quit while we're ahead. So no more surprise parties, and the major milestones only come around every five or ten years at this point (Twenty-one is, I think, the last major non-divisible-by-five milestone birthday).

But that's all right. We decided that the antidote to not-so-special birthdays anymore is the more special everyday existence. Sure, the cards only come from family and the obligatory co-workers now. But what's a bit of fleeting recognition compared with overall quality of life? I couldn't buy Michael anything that spectacular because he doesn't really need anything. Which means, by implication, that everything he needs/wants has come along throughout the year, instead of having to save up all year hoping and waiting, like the bike on a tenth birthday or something. I did bake a layer cake for him, which was special, as I've never done an actual layer cake before, with frosting between the layers, but not that spectacular, as I bake fresh yummies every week anyway. I cooked his favourite meal and set the table nicely with all the silverware and candles - but I've been setting out all place settings at every meal anyway for the last few months. That doesn't make his birthday seem any more special by contrast, but it does make our everyday living style more elegant.

So I guess the moral of the story is, birthdays for kids are really grand because the rest of the year is miserable enough to provide a sufficient contrast. Adults, by comparison, can have a nice enough life that birthdays are only marginally more exciting.

Octophobia

What is it about spiders, giant squid, and octopus that makes them so universally horrible? At first glance one might think that it must be their eight-leggedness. But that can't be the only factor, because the 50-foot squid arm they found in the stomach of a sperm whale means that there's a seven-legged giant squid swimming around out there, and that's just as bad.

Tag time

So Sara is passing the torch to me, and I, nothing loath, am happy for the opportunity to toss off another list.

Four Jobs I Have Had in My Life:
1) Pig-sty swiller
2) Ball chaperone and greeter
3) Office mover
4) Proofreader

Movies I Could Watch Over and Over Again:
1) Princess Bride (of course!)
2) Ever After
3) Mary Poppins
4) Star Wars Trilogy (at least I think so; I watched it 37 times the first summer I saw it) (but that may just be a sixteen-year-old thing)

Four Places I Have Lived:
1) Dallas, OR
2) Alexandria, Egypt
3) Leesburg, VA
4) Atlanta, GA

Four TV Shows I Love to Watch:
Love? That's a bit strong of a word for the occasional Frasier re-run and the Alias kick we were on a few months back

Four Places I Have Been on Vacation:
1) Cyprus
2) Holland
3) England!
4) Florida

Four Websites I Visit Daily (or at least weekly):
1) Amy's blog (because she has the links to all the other blogs I like to read)
2) The Wondering Minstrels (not quite every day, but it's a wonderful website)
3) Modesty Zone
4) The Daily Su-do-ku (we'll see how long this kick keeps up)

Four of My Favourite Foods:
1) Ice cream, of course
2) Pineapple pizza
3) Lasagne
4) Oreos

Four Singers I Can't Live Without:
1) Enya
2) ABBA
3) Pat Benatar
4) The Beatles

Four Places I'd Rather Be:
1) England!!
2) Scotland (because then I could hitchhike to England)
3) Italy
4) Heaven

Four Bloggers I Am Tagging:
See, well, now, that's the tricky part. Tagging someone is kind of like a Tupperware party: I'm always eager to go, but I'm reluctant to invite anyone because it may not be their cup of tea, and besides this little quiz has been circulating for long enough that it's likely most people have already had the opportunity to play. I'd tag the Queen of Carrots, who's such a good sport and so up for tagging that she even went out of her way to tag herself recently, but for the fact that I think it might have been this very quiz she answered. So I'll throw in this twist: O Queen, answer as if written by D1 and/or D2. Hee, hee! Won't that be cute?

Many happy returns...

...to Michael, the love of my life, who celebrates yet another birthday today!

Things We Still Like To Say And Think Are Clever, No Matter How Often We Say Them:

Michael: I'm afraid that's the last one.
Me: Oh, don't be afraid! Everything's going to be all right!

Michael: Well, to be honest-
Me: I want you to be honest with me, Michael.

Me (coming home from church or something): Well, I think I'm going to go change.
Michael: Oh, don't change, Love! I like you just the way you are!

A-pun my word

Recently we were trying to eat our meal in peace and quiet, and Jane simply would not settle down. She had been fractious all day, and I was writing her off as tired, but I feared that her peevishness would adversely affect Michael, who, like most men, tends not to tune out the sounds of a baby's crying so well. I apologised for her behaviour. 'I don't know why she's being so cantankerous,' I said, and went on to make such excuses for her that he finally assured me such excuses were unnecessary, adding, 'I hope you don't think I'm being cantankerous.'

'Well, no,' I admitted, 'but you were looking so tense that I figured you were getting a bit can't-take-her-ous.'

*************************************************************

For a very long time, puns were considered strictly lowbrow humour. Their obvious play on well-known words guaranteed a wide and appreciative audience, and a form of humour that was readily enjoyed by people of all education and literacy was not considered highbrow or subtle enough to entertain those of refinement. Any self-held wit could transform himself into a punster, and cheap puns appeared en masse in the daily papers for the guffaws and amusement of the common readership. High-class society entertained itself with such dainties as the double-entendre, which we already know must be far cleverer and more refined because it has a foreign name. Those who did venture a pun were quick to disavow their wit, insisting 'No pun intended,' which became quickly seized upon as a humble form of saying, 'Did you catch that? You may be too thick-headed to notice that I just made a pun, but I simply cannot let this example of my cleverness get by without acknowledgement.'

I am glad that in our less class-conscious society, puns are making a respectable comeback, because I think they can evince such cleverness of word tricks and give us an opportunity to play with the language. Tom Swifties are among my favourites of the genre. I think I may have mentioned these before:

'That's my gold mine,' Tom claimed.
'But that used to be my gold mine!' Tom exclaimed.
'I used to be a pilot,' Tom explained.
'I dropped the toothpaste,' said Tom, crestfallen.
'I lost a fight with a lion,' Tom said off-handedly.

Tooth and consequences

Yesterday Jane sprouted her very first tooth, a sharp spar protruding from the bottom gum. Henceforward no inflatable toy shall be safe from her. I discovered it while she was chewing on my finger yesterday morning, and all last evening as we fed her a practise cup of water we could hear the chink of tooth on glass. It's the end of an era...and the beginning of a new one.

For his birthday, Michael is teaching me how to play Axis and Allies. At first I asked him to teach me as a splendid gesture on my part, because I thought it would be such an incredible Good Wife thing to do. But I find I'm not doing any martyristic favours, because the game is really riveting in its own right. It's very hard to learn, and very difficult to pry one's mind away from; I'm seeing East Front maneuvers in my mind's eye as I fall asleep. I just wish it weren't so intense and so absolutely emotionally draining. (No! No! You can't sink my transport! I'm on an island - I need that transport to move my troops!)

An interesting article about blogging

Miss Manners has such a delightful way of putting things:

'[B]logs have served as an outlet for those unable to book their confessions on television. Whatever this does for the general tone of society, etiquette has no rule against people spreading unflattering gossip about themselves.'

The article also berates those using blogs to betray confidences of others, something I try to avoid doing by referencing friends anonymously, as in the following anecdote:

Once, I decided to call a friend. She answered the phone with a rather suggestive greeting, which took me so much by surprise that I could only manage a feeble 'Who, me?' Obviously she was expecting the call to be from her husband, and it is hard to say which of us was more thrown for a loop. We both got a hearty laugh from it, and I still feel inclined to giggle whenever I think of it.

Note: this trick doesn't work so well when trying to relate an anecdote about one's spouse. That kind of anonymity is a little harder to pull off. I suppose one could try the old third-person dodge, a la Once I had a friend who was so delighted to find what appeared to be a great sale on toilet tissue that she stocked up and bought dozens of rolls, only to find that it was of such cheap quality that her husband insisted it was not allowed in the house, and she ended up giving it all away to her family on their next visit, because her five little brothers didn't care about such niceties as double-ply toilet tissue. Ha! How's that for subterfuge and discretion??

Undeck the halls and untrim the tree

On Saturday we took down the Christmas lights, a thunderstorm having prevented this activity last weekend. I was secretly glad for the delay, because I love to revel in the Christmas spirit as long as possible. Anyway, Michael was up on the ladder unthreading the lights from the clips and tossing them down to me, and I was shivering in the chill wind, wearing a sweater with the hood pulled tightly around my face.

Michael: It's so nice that you're not vain.
Me: What? Are you saying that I don't look pretty?
Michael: No! It's just good that you care more for practicality.
Me: I'd rather be pretty than practical!
Michael: Well, lucky for me that you're both.

That was a very diplomatic reply.

Reverent and relevant Christianity

Last night as we were reading the Bible together, Michael started laughing. We were in the last chapter of Ezekiel, involving dimensions for the city, and I am afraid that I was not being quite as attentive as I ought. I asked what was so funny, and Michael replied that he had suddenly imagined what would happen - and if I would even notice - if he read some outrageous number. 'Like a gazillion cubits to the eastward! But then I thought you would notice a number like a gazillion, and anyway, it's the Bible.' We both agreed that the Bible is too revered to be treated lightly in that manner, misquoting deliberately for frivolous amusement, but couldn't quite put our finger on the determining factor for what degree of levity is allowable. We don't have a problem making word plays or jokes about Bible facts or characters (such as Bildad the Shoe-height). I suppose it's an individual conviction.

I was recently reflecting on what degree of importance I accord to my faith, and decided that it's either a very good sign or a very bad sign how intrinsic it is to my life. It's a good thing that my faith is so central and assured, but it might be a bad thing to take it for granted. This comes up in any sort of question about important decisions or books, where a qualifier is always required. 'List the three books that have had the most impact on your life - excepting the Bible, of course.' 'Marriage is the most important decision you'll ever make - after salvation, of course.'

It occurred to me that, in some ways, I really don't feel that scale all too keenly. I felt clearly that the decision to marry Michael was the most important decision of my life - maybe because the salvation question was resolved so long before, and is not a matter open to debate? I was scribbling a mental note to Michael the other day, and thought of saying, 'You're the best thing that's ever happened to me,' when it occurred to me that Christ's love and redemption is actually the best thing that has ever happened to me, or can ever happen. But of course, that's a given. As Michael soberly pointed out when I mentioned this all to him, 'If the Bible really were our favourite book, we'd read it a lot more often.' Of course we read it every day. But did I really want to know all that about the temple and the tribes? Hmmm. Is puzzlement.

A question of modesty

There are so many uses of the word modesty. One definition, of course, relates to personal humility, a la not Toad, as in the programme offered up for his house re-warming party ('Other songs will be sung during the evening by the Composer'), in anticipation of reading which I chortle over with glee, because I just received my very own copy for Christmas, and I'm now reading the delightful book aloud to Michael.

But another use, obviously, relates to clothing, and I was recently pondering whether there is any universal standard by which we can determine what is and is not appropriate wear. Even the most conservative dressers today would have been considered shockingly disreputable a hundred years ago, so we must grant some leeway for current culture, but we can't get too far down that path, or we end up with no standards at all, based on prevailing trends.

The most annoying standard of modesty, in my opinion, is the purely anatomical one, which measures certain landmarks on the body and dictates modesty according to the coverage. What makes this particularly irksome is the fact that different body sizes end up apportioning certain landmarks rather differently, and what may be passable for one person may look totally inappropriate on another. Or vice versa. The knees as the determining factor for hem length is of course the preferred measuring rod for skirts, and the knees' only saving grace, as far as I can see, is the geographical monopoly they have on the legs. A hem that hits just below the knee, to satisfy rigorous modesty requirements, smacks of drab Eighties business suits, and doesn't really flatter many figures. Yet without that rule, we're left with an arbitrary 'Not too short,' which can't get too specific without sounding ridiculous. ('Two inches above the knee' is a whole lot higher up the leg on a petite person than on a tall one.) What a bother. And yet, short skirts (within reason) can be worn very classily by the right person, while certain long skirts can push the envelope.

I wonder whether there is any final universal rule on what is modest. Probably not, since so much of what is appropriate depends on cultural connotations. So a real standard for modesty would probably consist of an individual custom fit rule, which combines the answers to the following questions, rather like a personality quiz, to deliver up a personally tailored rule for each person:

1) What is your intention in dressing like that? (i.e. What attitude do you hope to inspire in your on-lookers?)
2) What is your attitude as you wear that? (i.e. How well are you carrying it off?)
3) Do you realise what message that colour/style conveys in this society?

Of course, the trouble with that system is that it presupposes taste, discernment, intelligence, and good intentions on the part of the wearer. So I don't think they'll be reforming the dress code at strict places anytime soon.

A week of Sundays

The week between Christmas and New Year is just about the cosiest time to be alive. You drift along, basking in presents and eating chocolate and drinking hot cocoa and wearing casual clothes, with nothing pressing to accomplish and nothing on the calendar (unless it were parties). Even in my working days, I always enjoyed dead week at the office, when the kitchens were still full of goodies brought in by pre-Christmas cheer or sent by helpful vendors, and there was always a good chance of getting let out early.

This week has been no exception. We had a fabulous holiday weekend with my family, and there was good food in plenty, although I was absolutely astounded at the expanded appetites of my little brothers. I thought I could cook for ten people, and handily doubled and tripled every recipe, and they still asked for oatmeal after dinner. I guess it really is true what they say about teen boys' appetites.

After they left, we tidied things up and drifted around, enjoying Michael's time off work and glowing with the satisfaction of having all three extended LotR DVDs at last. We must watch those all in a row, perhaps on New Year's Eve. It took us the better part of three days to solve a Monster su-do-ku, rated Very Hard and far too hard for my taste. I'd rather spend ten minutes solving an easy one, and enjoy the satisfaction of feeling clever, even if it's cheaply earned. Somebody gave us a huge bag of the most luscious chocolate truffles, and those have been disappearing at an alarming rate. And I got the new Enya CD, so the house has been filled with airy, ethereal music every day. It's been such a pleasant week, I won't know what to do with another weekend.

Overheard late last night

Michael: Oh, by the way, we never did get each other anything for our anniversary.
Me: Wasn't it supposed to be clocks? I need a new battery for my watch.
Michael: I think it's cotton.
Me: Well, you bought that big box of cotton balls awhile ago. Does that count?
Michael: Maybe we can count the robe you got for Christmas.
Me: Do they even make cotton balls out of cotton any more?
Michael: Um, yeah, hence the name.
Me: So if you put them in the laundry, would they wrinkle? Ha, ha! Or if you put them in the dryer, would they shrink?
Michael: Go to sleep!

Merry Christmas!

God bless us, every one!

Happy shortest day of the year!

Darkest, too.

On the ongoing saga of the differences between men and women

Last night we were getting ready for bed, and I was fiddling with my hair in front of the mirror. I mentioned how one particular style turned out surprisingly well, considering that I used to think it was not at all flattering, and Michael commented that it looked nice. I went on to say how interesting it is that tastes change, faces change shape, how much I would have disliked it a few years ago, how unattractive I would have thought it would have looked, etc. Then there was a pause.

(Now, I am not one to let innuendos and hints litter the air, going off and sulking when my mind is not being read. One of my most despised female cliches is the classic 'If you don't know, then I'm certainly not going to tell you.' Silly! If he doesn't know, then all the more reason to tell him!)

Me: And the silence grows long as my statement remains uncontradicted.
Michael: Oh, did you want me to say something else? I already told you that you looked nice, so I didn't want to be redundant.
Me: Never mind that! Compliments are never redundant!
Michael: Is that what you wanted? Of course you look beautiful!

Mystery and guesswork are all very well, but a straight line is always the shortest distance between two points.

Babies are such fun

Bibliophilia

'If any man despises [books], for him I have no liking.' ~Martin Luther.

Okay, so Herr Luther originally said that about music (and I agree with him on that point too, actually), but it's an apt expression of my thoughts at the moment. I never feel so cosy and well-prepared to meet a dose of flu or snowbound-ness as when I have a stash of books in tow, as now. (Although even the stash of books did not make the cold and isolating ice storm of last week palatable.)

I was recently thinking about what made good books good, and decided that for the purposes of my immediate thought trail there were mainly two kinds of books: those with closure and those that were problematic.

In the former category fall all the happy endings, as well as the good solid tragedies such as A Tale of Two Cities or Les Miz. It may not necessarily end happily for all involved, but there's triumph and resonance and something that rings true.

Then there are the odd ducks that don't exactly coalesce, and that still have me puzzled and pondering, such as Till We Have Faces. Is it a good book? Perhaps. It's powerful and well-written, certainly. But what is the moral? Is it pagan? Is it allegorical? Is it worth reading? I find it useful for two reference points, at the very least: 1) the idea of Psyche growing up and imperceptibly moving past her sister's reach and sphere, so that suddenly she was older, wiser, and more mature; 2) the idea of the Queen and Bardia being fellow soldiers and strategists, and having so much in common that at the end of the day the Queen feels cheated and deflated when Bardia goes home to his wife and family and she realises that his life really tilts that direction despite his best efforts being spent for Queen and country. Is it ever possible to outgrow people through sheer life experience? Must home and work be forever in conflict, and must one inevitably drown the other one out? Ugh. Back to Ivanhoe and simple, elegant, understandable, predictable plots.

Narnia

So Michael and I went to see it last night. His company sponsored a movie night, and we all got discounted tickets and pizza beforehand. Very fun!

I love the movie. Beautiful scenery, beautiful clothes, lovely accents, excellent characters, great music. I'd love to see it again, and probably wouldn't mind owning it. Of course it did depart from the book in many (mostly minor) ways, but most of the time it wasn't jarring at all. I missed some good dialogue, but what they put in was excellent. I have two major complaints to make, and then I'll cease:

1) The witch wasn't nearly beautiful enough.

2) The children shouldn't have been so insistent on giving up and going back to their own world. That never came into the book, and it really didn't do anything for their characters or the development of the story. They could have been easily cast as reluctant heroes without seeming like cop-outs or cowards. Also Susan seemed a bit shrewish - a pity, as she was so very pretty.

A splendid movie!

Roughing it

It's been a long week and no mistake.

On Tuesday I had the girls from my Bible study over for a cookie bake. I discovered that I have managed to run a household for 2.5 years without ever using food colouring, which of course is essential if you're going to be frosting sugar cookies. (Sugar cookies' only function is to provide a nice backdrop for the frosting, since they taste pretty bland on their own. But we continue to make them, nonetheless. One instance where being pretty is all it takes.) Off to the store to buy food colouring. We had fun, and ended up with plates and plates of cookies. Couldn't possibly get through the Christmas season without at least one cookie bake!

On Wednesday the cable was down. We have VOIP, so this meant no internet connection and no phone line. I felt desolate and isolated without access to email or news, but fortunately I had a cell phone to call Michael just in case. He had cleverly set up the phone such that if the cable connection ever goes down, the home phone automatically forwards to his cell phone, so there was no risk of missing any calls. But it felt grueling to me.

Yesterday grew even more dire. Scarcely had I gotten up and admired the pretty trees, all covered with frost and icicles from the ice storm, than the lights flickered and went out. For five long hours Jane and I languished in a dark, quiet house, amidst the flickering light of candles (which, like Bob Cratchit's spark, did not heat the room much) while the temperature steadily dropped. I was afraid to open the fridge or run hot water, not sure how long we'd be without power. Of course there was no electricity for the internet, which meant, again, no phone. No way to heat up anything to eat, so I gnawed plain bread slices and drank tap water. I daren't open the door lest more precious heat escape, so no checking the mail or peering down the street to see whether lights were coming on in other neighbourhoods. I couldn't even escape to warmth and light because, with no internet or phone, I had no way of knowing how many other areas were affected. No guarantee the library offered a warm haven. And besides, the garage door opener runs on electricity anyway. Michael by cell phone was my only contact with the outside world, and he did walk me through the manual release on the garage door just in case, but I doubted I would be able to lift it or prop it up. And I had to ration my cell phone minutes lest the battery die, because the only way I could recharge it would be to plug it into the car charger, which I couldn't run without the garage door being open!

You don't realise how completely helpless and dependent on others you are until one of the props that you unconsciously rely on is pulled out from under you, and you didn't even know how much you took it for granted. How would I ever survive without all the trappings of civilisation? I thought we were well prepared to handle any moderately major crisis, with a pantry well-stocked with canned goods and a pile of wood in the back yard. But practically speaking, I've never built a fire in this fireplace before, fireplaces are no good at heating a house, and most of the cans contain vegetables, which would not be enough to sustain life for any length of time.

The worst of it was (and Michael laughed to think that this was my main worry) that I was supposed to make a dessert for him to bring to work today, and I couldn't do a thing without electricity! I couldn't bake anything, obviously, but I couldn't even make no-bakes on the stovetop! I couldn't even melt the ingredients in the microwave! I briefly considered trying to melt chocolates for fudge over a candle, but I didn't think that would work too well.

I could bundle up, and I bundled Jane up, but her little fingers were quite purple from the cold. Mostly I put her down for naps, since it was dark enough outside that she fell asleep readily and she could keep warm best under the covers.

Finally the electricity came back on, in late afternoon. And there was great rejoicing. And I don't think I will ever want to move to Alaska.

Gargling salt water

Yesterday I woke up with a scratchy throat, and today it has degenerated into misery and wretchedness. Jane, who ran a slight fever last week, probably fought it off herself and wonders why I bothered succumbing to something so obviously nasty and draggy. Ugh. I hate being sick.

Meanwhile I'm trying to console myself with a stack of books. I checked out Ivanhoe last week, and I mean to read through it, which will be only the second time for me. It's definitely from the romantic genre, and already I'm remembering how over the top it is ('[Lady Rowena's] complexion was exquisitely fair, but the noble cast of her head and features prevented the insipidity which sometimes attaches to fair beauties.' Oh, whew, you had me worried there for a moment. Beautiful, rich, good, noble, but not insipid. Because that would just be too cruel of Fate.)

Also I'm still sputtering over a series of book reviews I read last week, which have C. S. Lewis pigeon-holed as not Christian (because Mere Christianity is far too logical and intellectual to be a heart-felt apologetic of Christian zeal), Grandma's Attic labeled as not wholesome or edifying (because Mabel's parents often decide that the consequences of her actions are punishment enough for her sins, thus letting her off the hook and teaching bad moral behaviour to children), and Narnia described as occult. This irritated me so much that I went off and composed several mental diatribes about it, but decided not to post any of it after all. We all know what good writing is, and classic literature doesn't need us to defend it. Let the facts speak for themselves.

Splutter. Sniffle. But it's still a lovely day.

Give credit where credit is due

I love being married. More specifically, to Michael, who thinks of such clever things as requesting our free credit reports.

This is something that the government requires to be offered free of charge every year, which degree of interference I don't exactly hold truck with but from which I will gladly profit as long as it's there. Earlier Michael asked me to check into getting our credit reports, so I found out all about this. If this is not something you have done before or even regularly, take note. You should do it. It is free and helpful.

There are three major credit report companies - Experian, Equifax, and Transunion - each of which is required to give up to one free credit report a year. So theoretically, you could get three a year, if you plan it right. Getting your credit checked every four months should allow you a good handle on what's going on and enable you to monitor all your credit cards and make sure no one has stolen your identity.

Interesting note: You can also request credit checks on your children (although you have to jump through a few more hoops to establish identity). This is a good idea, since infant identity theft is rampant, and if you don't check up on this it's unlikely you'd notice anything until the child turns 18 and starts applying for credit, only to discover that his credit rating is trashed.

The best place to go is annualcreditreport.com, which has all the information you need and links to easy phone requests. This is the official site - no point in giving away personal information to a phony phisher.

It's amazing to see how closely they keep track of everything - every credit account I have ever held and the promptness of all payments. Michael's history has a lot of addresses, but I beat him in the alias department (getting married helped).

Faith of a child

As I sit here at the computer Jane sits on the bed nearby (safely blockaded in by pillows, ever since that little science experiment where she compared apples to little girls in their gravitational properties) and happily plays with the empty box in which the new office phone came. After Michael installed it, we tossed the box on the bed to remind us to fill out the warranty/product registration stuff, and Jane has had fun playing with it ever since. It's amazing to see the simplicity of the things that keep her happy: simple games, simple sounds, simple objects. Aside from the obvious hugely demanding physical needs for which she relies on us to keep alive, she is surprisingly contented and unspoiled. And within reason, I'd like to keep it that way.

I've given presents to greedy little kids before, and it's just so demoralising when the effort goes unappreciated because the little tots had their sights set on something much grander. Whatever. My brothers may jolly well be underprivileged, but it's so FUN to see their eyes light up with delight over the simplest things. Michael pretends to be horrified that, at current standing, my Christmas present to Joseph consists of a dead butterfly and a turkey wishbone. But he LIKES that stuff! And it makes him happy. And he really doesn't need any junk. And it's the thought that counts.

What I really want is for my kids to be able to appreciate the finer things in life (to actually develop a taste for champagne would be nice) without coming to expect that such things are owed to them. I want them to be delighted every time something nice happens their way, and perfectly content when it doesn't. There now.

Christmas party

Here we are on the way to Michael's office Christmas party, right before leaving Jane with Benjamin and Amanda for the evening. The party was very elegant and the food was delicious, although there were, alas, no skits.

Neither rain nor snow

I have never lived in a place where the mail was delivered in the morning.

I love getting the mail, just as I still hop up with eagerness to answer the phone whenever it rings, so it's a great hardship to have to defer this pleasure until late in the afternoon.

You'd think that with all their appointed rounds, the mailmen would get around to some neighbourhoods in the morning, if only to space out all the mail delivery in the postal district. But I have never been on the early side of that assignment. Is it just my bad luck, or do they actually not do anything in the mornings, and just let everyone think that whenever you don't see them, they're obviously off working some other neighbourhood?

I'm also pipped at the local post office for charging me in excess of $12 for mailing a Christmas package just because one of the sides was longer than 17 inches (it wasn't all that heavy). Plus I hear they're going to raise the rates for a first-class postage stamp yet again.

The most annoying thing is that since it's government subsidised and not reliant on turning any kind of a profit, there isn't even any point in trying to boycott the system.

Here is a new game

Last night we were watching Annie Get Your Gun (of 'Oh, you can't get a man with a gun' fame) when I started thinking about all the Indian names I could list off the top of my head. 'Hey!' I told Michael. 'How many Indian tribes can you list off the top of your head?' We were on the I'm an Indian Too song, which gave us Chippewa, Iroquois, Omaha, and Sioux right there. 'Let's have a contest! I'm telling you now, so you can start thinking, which won't give me any unfair advantages.'

So as soon as the movie was done, we grabbed two sheets of scratch paper from the recycling bin, set the microwave timer for two minutes, and started scribbling furiously. It was tremendously fun, and Michael ended up with more names than I did! I fully expected to win, since I had thought of it first, but I gave him the option of picking another topic to even the score anyway. We played for states, which actually relies more on fast-writing skills, since there are a finite number of states and either you know them or you don't. It was spontaneous, creative, educational, and fun, and I want to do it again, except the problem is that we have to drop everything and play a round as soon as either of us thinks of a category or else that person gets an unfair advantage from having more time to mull it over.

Afterwards, Michael, ever the thorough one, hopped online to look up Indians of North America. There were far more than either of us had ever heard of. So many Indian tribes have names that I recognise now as places, and so many of the funny place names in Oregon and Washington (Puyallup, Luckiamutte, Molalla, Skagit, Umatilla, Umpqua, Walla Walla) as well as not funny, totally normal place names (Klamath, Alsea, Clackamas, Columbia, Multnomah, Siuslaw, Tillamook) are Indian in origin!