The year is on the wane

It's hard to believe that July is more than half over already. I passed up even Friday the Thirteenth and Bastille Day with nary a post, which is a fair indication of how busy I must be. Some quick highlights of last week:

* I discovered that Wal-mart will price match local competitors' sales. Apparently they have been doing this for some time, and if the item is under $10, you don't even need to flourish the competitor's sale flier to get the price, although it is up to the manager's discretion what qualifies as local. This is a tremendous boon in the cheap food department, as Aldi, my best source of cheap staples, is an inconvenient distance off my beaten path.

* I tried my hand at homemade granola, and it turned out scrumptiously. The cold cereal dilemma was really getting to me, but I wasn't quite ready to get up at the stroke of 6 a.m. and fry eggs and toast for Michael's breakfast every morning just to keep him from eating overpriced and unwholesome cold cereal. Besides, I really really really don't want to weird him out too much with any health kicks. He's been most long-suffering with my whole wheat spaghetti and the brown-rice-flour-in-the-brownies fiasco, but still. I'm delighted that he's delighted by this new discovery. Jane and I like it, too. We eat it the European way, with yogurt (although, alas, my spoiled palate requires a liberal dose of maple syrup).

* I watched a friend's two kids on Friday, and discovered what a handful four little children can be. They are delightful children, 25 months and 12 months old, but so active, so inquisitive, so requiring of attention! Even with naps spelling my two, I did not get a single thing done. I read books, I helped share toys, I helped the guests not climb onto the hearth, but there was no getting supper ready or cleaning the house. The wonderful thing is that it made the rest of the week feel that much easier. Oh, only two to juggle? Not a problem in the least. Three children next weekend will be a positive breeze.

*We've been a little addicted to X-Files recently. A friend burned Seasons 1-3 onto disc for us and we've been watching them rather later than we ought each night. I find the endings decidedly inconclusive. We are told that the movie ties loose ends up a bit, which it jolly well better. Meanwhile I cannot be left alone in a dark house and keep expecting giant leeches to crawl out of the drains.

* Jane now knows all her letters and what sounds they make. Ella will be six months old at the end of the month. We may have occasion to be using our passports again ere long.

Jaws

Jane's new favourite book is The Nutcracker. It's a beautifully illustrated children's book, with a marvelous retelling of the classic story. But even more marvelous is Michael's rendition, which I had the treat of listening to the other night as he read to her before bedtime. I sat nearby holding Ella and constantly dissolving into giggles at his reading.

'All the children loved Herr Drosselmeyer. Why, you ask? Because he had such a funny first name...

'"No, Fritz, no!" Clara cried, running after him, so she could beat him into a bloody pulp...

'The nutcracker crashed to the floor and broke into a million and one pieces. Sadly Clara picked up the million and one pieces and showed them to Herr Drosselmeyer. "Why, Clara," he said, quickly hiding the million pieces behind his back and tying his handkerchief around the jaw, "many good soldiers get wounded in battle..." And he handed the jaw back to Clara...

'Later that night Clara woke up and saw that tremendous mice were fighting with the jaw. "Leave him alone!" she cried, pulling on the tail of the largest mouse, who ran off frightened, because apparently it was more frightened of having its tail pulled than of being skewered by the jaw's sword...

'"Thank you for your help," said the prince, picking up the crown which had fallen from the mouse's head and placing it upon Clara's head. Now would you like to wear a crown that had just been on the head of a tremendous mouse? No. So be glad you don't live in Germany. "I would like to take you back to the Land of Sweets so all my friends can hear about how I had to be rescued by a girl...."

'When the prince and Clara arrived, he told his friends all about what a schlub he was...

'And then he called for his sleigh, which was drawn by two reindeer. Why, you ask? Because they were the best artists in the kingdom...'

It occurred to me to document just how many books we've read aloud to each other since our marriage. I was going to note that the pace has slowed drastically since the children showed up, but we actually read more books aloud now than ever before. It's just that now they tend to be very short, full of pictures, and titled along the lines of Goodnight Moon.

Books Rose has read aloud to Michael:

Pride and Prejudice
The Scarlet Pimpernel
Scaramouche
The Prisoner of Zenda
Beau Geste
Ella Enchanted
Johnny Tremain
Carry On, Mr. Bowditch
The Wind in the Willows
Farmer Boy
Little House in the Big Woods

Books Michael has read aloud to Rose:

The Sword of Shannara
The Elfstones of Shannara
Wizard's First Rule
Magic Kingdom for Sale
The Christian Mind
The Great Divorce
The Case for Christ
The Singer
The Knowledge of the Holy

Hmm, do we detect any sort of a pattern here? I am sure there are other books, but that's all I can think of off the top of my head. Probably even more telling is the list of books I want to read to Michael. Things like Little Women, the Anne series, A Little Princess, the Grandma's Attic series, and the like all involve books I read often growing up, so they have a lot to do with shaping my opinions and thoughts. But they're also rather girly books, so I'm going to have to put some thought into how to work them in. Not every series has a Farmer Boy.

Little house in Georgia

We read a lot to each other in the early days of our marriage. Most evenings involved reading at least a chapter or two of whatever book we were on, and it seemed we always had several going at once.

Nowadays, however, we don't seem to have as much time for lounging about, reading aloud, and talking over the ideas. Our evenings these days involve eating dinner, playing with the girls, putting them down, and then racing about trying to accomplish whatever it is we want to get done before we collapse. Pretty much nothing productive can be done while they're both awake, other than washing the supper dishes.

So I decided to remedy matters. Recently I tossed one of the books I want to read to Michael into the car, and started reading a chapter or two aloud whenever we were on the way somewhere. We started on the Little House books, which he has never read but has an aversion to based on his impression of the, in his words, cheesy TV show. So I started off with Farmer Boy, thinking that he might more easily identify with the adventures and escapades of a little boy growing up than those of a little girl.

We've just started Little House on the Prairie, and I'm realising, as I read these books, how much my perspective has changed since the last time I read them, which must have been all of ten years ago, at least. I read these books many times growing up, and I always identified with Laura, of course. She writes well, and it's easy to picture her life based on the vivid descriptions. Now, however, I'm seeing things from Ma's perspective.

Pa and Ma's constant battle for survival, facing the elements and bringing calm and comfort to the life they have chosen, is astounding. I read about Ma sitting at home doing the mending while Pa goes off into the Big Woods every day, and wonder whether I could be so calm if our lives involved facing death on a daily basis ('If Pa met a bear or a panther, he must kill it with the first shot, for a wild animal could kill a man before he could reload his gun'). Would I be sitting quietly at home, colouring the butter with carrot juice in the winter because I like everything on my table to be pretty, while Michael was out and about in the snowstorm? What about leaving all their family behind in the Big Woods, and loading up all their possessions in the wagon, leaving behind the beds, tables, and chairs, because 'Pa could always make more'?

These people knew so much about survival, about self-sufficiency and initiative and resourcefulness. When they came to a river, they knew they must cross it, and risked their lives making the ford. Pa and Ma worked so closely at everything, perfectly sizing up the situation and meeting it head-on. They had so little in material wealth, and so much in terms of character and practical experience.

I love this exchange from Little House in the Big Woods:

'No one'd ever starve on your cooking, Caroline,' said Pa.
'Well, no, Charles,' said Ma, 'not while you were there to provide for us.'

The white knight is sliding down the poker

When we were establishing the settings for our new computer, we had to choose both a short name and a long name for the domain or whatever it is that the computer uses to identify itself. Michael chose the short name, which meant that I got to pick the long name. This was a tough choice, and I felt rather put on the spot, as it was very late at night and I did not feel creative enough to come up with a clever and original yet comprehensive enough name that fully captured the nature of this machine. I tried to work in as many ideas as I could to represent what this bastion of our house and home would mean to us, but Michael stodgily whittled it down, and the final result was a computer name of Focht Arches at Pemberly-upon-Rivendell.

I was fairly delighted with this, albeit not without a lingering regret at not having gotten a chance to work Narnia and Star Wars in there too. But the glitter began to wear off quickly. The long name auto-filled in every time I tried to type my last name in online fields and such. This was a bit annoying. The long name is also the one that comes up in every application, so that the chess game always reads 'Computer vs. Focht Arches at Pemberly-upon-Rivendell,' a rather unwieldy title bar.

In the end, the long name had to go. The long name and short name are now the same. It's boring, uncreative, and easy to guess. But it's also practical and oh-so-much more efficient. This is why we have nine whole months to think about what we want to name our children.

Overheard at bedtime

Michael (singing to Jane): Let's get your pajamas, let's get your pajamas, let's get your pajamas, yes, yes, yes!
Jane: Yes, yes, yes!
Me: That's not a real song!
Michael: Well, Jane likes it.
Me (in a sing-song voice): Oh, Michael thinks he can just make up songs by putting notes on woooords, but it doesn't wooooork....
Michael (singing louder): Rose has rules for everything...

Whatnots and et ceteras

This past week has seen some amazing activity on the worldview-broadening front. Or so it would seem. Call me effusive and enthused, but currently I'm reading through/have read several items of rock-my-little-boat significance.

One book that I highly recommend is How To Be A Budget Fashionista, by Kathryn Finney. It's all about looking, feeling, and being fabulous on a budget. Now, the stuff about Louis Vuitton knock-offs and Seven jeans goes rather over my head, but it's an amazing and insightful read, nonetheless. It leaves me feeling all inspired and giddy and motivated to run around in the sunshine with lemon juice on my hair, wrap my feet up in vaseline and old socks at night, go out and get properly fitted for good-quality undergarments, and purge my closet down to the top ten essential items that every woman should have. If you are a) female and b) wear things on a regular basis then you should read this book.

Next on my reading list is Once A Month Cooking, a concept which I'd always known about but never investigated thoroughly. (I think it's gradually dawning on me that I actually qualify for reading homemaking books.) I won't go to the complete once-a-month model, of course, with chaotic baking day and all, but it's a very good idea to make up twice as much of something, as long as I'm making it anyway for dinner, and just freeze half of it. The revolutionary part comes when I realise that I can divide and conquer - freeze the stuff before I bake it, so it thaws out and bakes up fresh. Reconstituted leftovers are nasty. Plus, the book has some really great recipes in it.

I've also been following the discussion at True Womanhood on the so-called patriocentric view of the family. There are so many angles to this topic as to preclude my commenting on the actual site. Plus it already has 200+ comments on it. My thoughts have undergone a variety of permutations, from the 'Well, that's nice for them and I'm glad it works out for some girls if that's what they and their families want' to 'Oh, my, I know so clearly how this whitewashed view of the One Best Way To Be A Godly Daughter is going to vibe with impressionable young women.' Lots more could be said on this topic, but it probably will be already, by other tongues (hands?) than mine.

Finally, and most excitingly, I've ventured into the wonderful world of mystery shopping. I'd always dismissed this concept as a probable scam or a logistical impossibility, but a lady at church kept raving about the fancy restaurants she and her husband eat at for free, so I finally began to investigate and apply. I must say that the application process is daunting at the first, but promises to be very rewarding in the end. We went out for our first mystery shop last week, and while it took me nearly three hours to compile my report, I'm certain that this is an area of expertise that will improve with time. A dazzling prospect of infinite cheap dates unfolds before us.

Pretty in pink

I LOVE having girls!!

What celebrity do you think Jane looks like here?

Lowest common denominator

Here is Jane, helping to put away the silverware from the diswasher. I clear the knives and other dangerous things out, and then set the rack and the dish tray on her level, and finish emptying the dishwasher in about half the time it takes her to line up all the untensils carefully in place. It's so cute to have such a perfectionist! (Michael says just wait, it will get annoying soon enough. Pah!)

She has also begun to help put away the laundry, and is pretty much solely responsible for her and Ella's things. I bring the depleted laundry basket into the nursery, and then reach out items by category and hand her armloads of stuff. 'Go put this in the pajama bin!' I tell her, and off she trots to comply, feeling very proud of herself, no doubt, for the responsibility. Or, 'Put these in Ella's onesies drawer!' and so she does. She knows what goes in every drawer and bin now, and soon, I hope, will be at the point of recognising each item of clothing for herself. It helps that we don't bother with folding most clothes.

I am a very firm believer in the lowest common denominator thinking, which holds that the youngest member in the family who can possibly do something should, thus shifting the workload down as far as possible. We are fighting off an invasion of ants right now, and I half wondered why I am fighting them off with deadly poison, instead of welcoming them in and assigning them the task of wiping the kitchen counters clean of crumbs every night.

Just right

I remember when we were first breaking the news about Ella, I would generally respond to queries as to how far apart the babies would be with 'Almost two years,' because that seemed somehow more respectable than 21 months. Even before Baby #2 entered the picture, I thought that at least two years would be an ideal spacing, because then the older child would be, well, older, and more helpful and independent, and I didn't want to feel overwhelmed with a baby and a toddler.

As the pregnancy progressed, I was a little nervous and apprehensive about how things would work out, but also excited because Jane seemed to be learning and improving by leaps and bounds. Almost overnight, it seemed, she could walk and express herself. Her teeth came in. She covered ground rapidly such that when Ella arrived, Jane was in prime shape to be the older sister. If we'd waited until we thought Jane was old enough, by the time the little sibling arrived Jane might have been past all that and firmly and selfishly ensconced in the middle of her own little world.

More and more I see how perfect the timing was. Jane is going through issues right now that I would not have wanted to deal with when I was exhausted with the pregnancy. It was easier carrying around a 15-month-old Jane, three months pregnant, than it would be to carry a 2-year-old Jane now. Jane is learning so much now and forming memories so rapidly that she would probably have remembered a time without Ella if there were no younger baby on the scene yet. Although she was a little disoriented by Ella's arrival, she got over that quickly and now accepts Ella into her worldview, without question and without jealousy or resentment. Even though dealing with two little people requires a bit more logistical planning, it's so much easier to help Jane through a challenging task or to get down on her level and play with her if she asks.

So the moral of the story is that God's plans are always better than mine. After all, I thought I wanted to marry a man at least a foot taller than I. Ha! What was I thinking??

It really works!

I saw this post a few days ago and was hardly interested. I already use very ripe bananas in our daily smoothie ritual, and I didn't think that blending frozen bananas was such a great trick. I like bananas moderately well, but they're not my favourite, and I certainly don't care for banana-flavoured ice cream, chewing gum, candy, etc.

But yesterday I thought I'd give it a try. Lo and behold, it does taste just like soft serve ice cream! The banana taste is very mild - I tossed in a couple of frozen strawberries, and it really tasted like strawberry ice cream. Later that night I made some for Michael, and we added chocolate and caramel syrup, and you know what? The 'ice cream' tasted so rich and genuine and creamy that it showed up the fakeness of the syrup! I intend to try it again with cocoa powder and peanut butter, to see if it tastes just like soft serve chocolate peanut butter ice cream.

The trick is to peel the bananas before freezing them. I've tossed whole overripe bananas in the freezer before, and the only thing they are good for is banana bread or muffins - you can't peel them frozen, and when they're thawed they're completely slimy and gross. But frozen already peeled - into the blender they go, and the result is scrumptious. I've discovered my new summer treat.

Jane-isms

Jane: Balloon on a hearth.
Mama: Very good! What colour is the balloon?
Jane: Upside-down!

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

Looking at pictures of this past weekend, several with Aunt Leah: 'Leah...Leah...two Leahs!'

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

Pulling at a hairbow: Off!
Mama: Do you want the hairbow off?
Jane: Turn it off!

***************
Jane: Bus! Bus!
Mama: No, that's a truck.
Jane: All gone bus!

I swear, if I say it once...

Sunday was a very long day. The girls weren't thrilled to be strapped into their carseats yet again, and took turns hijacking each other's attempted naps (Jane actually didn't fall asleep at all that day). Just when we thought we had settled down and could push on through for a good long while at last, there would be a messy diaper or a shortage of gasoline and we would need to stop, which necessitated getting out and moving around for a moment, which made the girls hate starting up again all the more.

At one point I tried to amuse and quiet Jane by singing to her, 'I Love You (A Bushel And A Peck).' When I was done with the song, instead of falling lovingly off to sleep with a smile on her face, my little angel chirped, 'Heck!'

'No, no! Peck!' I corrected, hastily.

'Heck!' she repeated enthusiastically.

'Neck! Neck!' I insisted.

'Heck!'

Oh, blast. No, wait, I didn't say that! I didn't even think it!

Pictures from the wedding

Us











The bride











The kiss

Ha!

Good thing I didn't waste any time washing the car way back in pollen season.

See, procrastination really does pay off.

Must. Sleep. Now.

We are back from our whirlwind weekend (nyah to all the prospective burglars who lurk about my blog in hopes of catching a hint as to when the house will be vacant, for whose sake I am perpetually vague about planned outings) and rather much the worse for wear. This morning we woke up in Virginia, this time last night we were still in New Jersey, and it does not in the least feel like a Sunday. Please tell me I can sleep in tomorrow morning.

Oh, yes, pictures of the sword detail - which looked absolutely smashing: kiss + swords + wedding dress + MIU couldn't help but - will be forthcoming.

Talk about draconian measures

Recently we were discussing whether or not Michael should buy a sword for the sword drill he will be part of in Eric's upcoming wedding. Now I am all for swords and spit and polish and all that, but we wondered whether it was worthwhile to buy one. On the one hand, he needs a sword beforehand to practise with and he will definitely need a sword in the wedding. On the other hand, perhaps he could just borrow a sword, as this situation isn't likely to come up again any time soon. Since Michael's not in anymore, we probably won't be attending any Marine Corps balls in full regalia, and technically he wouldn't need the sword anyway since only officers wear them.

'Well,' Michael suggested, 'I could just re-enlist, and work my way up to becoming an officer, and that would justify the cost of the sword.'

'But then you might be sent overseas, and killed before you make officer!' I pointed out.

'Then you would have the life insurance money, in which case you certainly wouldn't begrudge the money for the sword!'

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

My blueberry bushes are dying. I didn't think they had survived last year, but two of them seemed to have pulled through this spring; however, the drought is taking its toll on them and the severe watering restrictions are limiting my ability to mitigate the situation. I deplored the course of events to Michael, who suggested that we improve the soil, as red Georgia clay isn't much good for growing anything.

That's a splendid idea, but in the three years I've lived here I still haven't gotten around to taking careful little soil samples and sending them off to the extension office for analysis and buying and applying the appropriate soil balancer, and I'm not likely to do so now. What I need is a quick fix. Quick and cheap. Requiring absolutely no effort on my part.

Late one night it came to me. 'Michael! I know! We can have another baby and then we can plant the placenta under the blueberry bushes!'

Links, at last

I finally discovered where all my formatting buttons were in this new computer. They were on the other browser! So everything I've learned about Safari this past week and a half is wasted and I'm back to square one in fiddling with tabs, scrolling, saving bookmarks, etc. But at least I can hyperlink now and use italics, which are so essential to an expressive post.

This is a website which everyone should have visited by now. I've been admiring the clothes for some time now, and appreciate something that can be appropriately modest without looking as if it's trying to be modest (aside from the swimwear collection, although that's not nearly as laughable as some of the deadweight sea anchors I've seen trying to pass themselves off as modest swimwear). Here is a picture of me in my, um, suit that I got for my birthday:

I do love this slick computer, with all its whiteness and nifty contemporary clear keyboard and camera feature, but I keep realising how cluttered it makes my kitchen look. I try not to let myself be photographed without lipstick; why can't I extend the same courtesy, or the equivalent, to my house? Here is the direct link to all the Mac ads, by the way.


This is the funniest birth story I have ever read. Perhaps it reads best late at night, but I was literally laughing out loud with tears in my eyes. The part about the trolls is priceless. (Note: as to be expected from a birth story, it's a bit graphic.)

Whew, I think that's everything for now. If I think of anything else I need to link to, at least now I know where to find it.

So much for that

We dashed out early this morning to accomplish errands and returned victorious but exhausted, with a longer-than-ever to-do list. So I put Jane down in order to proceed sans distraction, and realised that about half the things I need to do involved something in her room.

History repeats itself

So there we were, on our way home from an outing. We were stopped in a line of traffic when we heard a terrific crash and felt the impact as the car behind crashed into us. The girls were frightened but apparently unharmed, although I would love to get a recording of my 911 call to document their uninterrupted screaming for about five minutes until I could get off the phone and rescue them from their carseats.

I am grateful that:

- We always buckle them in and fasten their straps securely.
- We didn't hit anyone in front of us.

I am disappointed that:

- We are now going through this whole insurance hassle again. (We just settled from the last accident a few months ago.)
- Yet another car bites the dust.

Let's catalog the history of my cars and their mostly sad demises:

- Car #1 AKA The Motorcar: Hit by a deer, smashed in from the front, totaled.
- Car #2 AKA Fledge: Given away within two years, lucky for it.
- Car #3 AKA Black Rider: Rear-ended in an accident, smashed in from behind, totaled.
- Car #4 AKA Black Magic: Rear-ended in an accident, smashed in from behind, most likely totaled. (Still waiting for the appraiser.)

That's three out of four, a rather dismal track record. No car is going to want to come work for me now, despite my being SUCH a careful driver and NEVER having gotten a ticket.

Deja Vu

First Black Rider.

[No picture available, alas.]

Now Black Magic.

The substance of things hoped for

This was going to be a post moaning about the trials and tribulations we endure at the hand of our old computer, which has gotten increasingly impossible to deal with. At long last our new computer was ordered, and I waited impatiently for its arrival. It came, it saw, and it conquered. This it is on which I'm typing right now, and I absolutely love it! For one thing, it's a sleek white contraption, and for another, it's very compact (hence efficient): the whole thing fits on our kitchen desk. No more going upstairs for the hobbit! How, you ask? This is a Mac, and as such it comes with everything loaded onto its flat-screen monitor. That means that all we have of computer stuff sitting on the desk is the monitor, keyboard, and mouse. I wish I could post a picture of it. But our camera memory card is all filled up, and I need to transfer the pictures before I can take anymore. Meanwhile, we just sit in front of the computer and take pictures of ourselves, because the Mac comes with a lovely little camera mounted on the monitor.

If you want to know why we bought a Mac, you really must look at these hilarious ads from the Mac homepage. Well, I haven't figured out how to post hyperlinks yet, but go to the Apple home page, click on Get a Mac, and view the ads. Then do the same thing for the Mac UK site. The British ads are even funnier.

Actually, that's not the only reason we bought a Mac. Michael has been working with them for the past year or so at work and discovering that he really likes them. They run better, have fewer problems, have lots of really cool features, and are hardly susceptible to viruses. I never thought I would prefer one to a PC. But I certainly like this one. Especially the photo booth feature. As soon as I can figure out how to publish the photos I'll post some of us.

What's watt, what?

In the interests of saving even more money (as if snatching cheap butter from the world's population of poor people weren't enough), I have decided to shift my energy consumption to the off-hours. I read recently that electric companies charge less for energy used in off-peak hours, so as of this week I am trying to run all major appliances (excluding things like fridge, A/C, etc.) after 8:00 (p.m.). It's proving to be a good discipline for me, as it forces me to plan my days better and schedule my time such that I'll be loading up the dishwasher or dryer at the stroke of 8:00. We shall see if it makes a noticeable dent in the electric bill next month.

Woman Blogger Opines About Frugality

Recently I read this article, and it interested me enough to ponder it, and consider writing a post about it. Not necessarily a rebuttal, because I agreed with a lot of what was said, but I felt it raised some interesting points which required answering. [For more discussion, see QOC's take on it here.] But the more I thought over it, the more annoyed I got at the tone, which caused the mental composition of this post to degenerate rather quickly such that by the time I got to typing it up in Word it became a full-fledged rant.

In the first place. (Deep breath.) Why on earth appears in the first paragraph the unnecessary and completely irrelevant clause: 'and women in particular'? What's wrong with blogging about frugality? Nothing, perhaps. But why on earth should it matter whether women or men are blogging about it? If the author of the article means to go on to suggest that most people so blogging are missing the boat on this topic (which he seems to imply), does it matter whether more frugal bloggers are women than men? Are women bloggers missing the boat more egregiously on this topic than men bloggers? Is that why we have to throw that distinction in there? Are women, from centuries of not balancing the checkbook, peculiarly ignorant in all matters financial and are therefore ripe for enlightenment ('Duh! The way I can save more money is not by using coupons but by not buying it at all? Boy, did I have it wrong! Thanks, Male Blogger, for cluing me in!') Or are women just so patently ignorant on all topics in general that it naturally follows that if women in particular are blogging about it, they are missing the boat and need this fine fellow to write an article to set them straight? I mean, that clause was kind of thrown in there at the beginning as if it were an explanation for the need to write this article: this article was in response to the proliferation of frugal bloggers out there, and as if that weren't bad enough, many of those bloggers are women. This is reminiscent of R.C. Sproul objecting to women posting advice or spiritual encouragement on their blogs, because men might read it, and that would violate the Scriptural imperative that women must not teach men.

Moving on...

I agree that frugality is a matter of the heart. But both extremes - spending and saving - are equally wrong: spending too much money evinces a love of stuff, while hoarding money evinces a love of money. Both involve making idols out of something.

Under the heading of Necessity, this author states that 'Many people who attempt to be frugal could probably get along just fine without being frugal.' He proffers the example of spending days finding the perfect cheap cake pan in order to invite people over to evangelize them, and suggests that it might be worthwhile to just spend the money on the cake and have people over all the sooner. This seems like a straw man argument to me. Where do any of you read a blog advocating, as one of their frugal tips, 'Spend days scouring thrift shops looking for cake pans'? I mean, hello! Most frugal people probably already bake their own cakes, using pots and pans they got as wedding or graduation presents! I can't imagine a frugal Christian blogger advocating ignoring the prompting of the Holy Spirit in order to save a few bucks. If you really don't have the money, then you will invite people over for coffee or tea and skip the cake.

But what if you do have the money? This is where the author should stop writing his opinions about how things should be done and simply reference Exhibit A, Check Your Heart. And that's about as far as you can go in giving people advice and telling them what the holy thing to do is. You can share what works for you, you can explain how to you it is worth it to buy a cake, in the whole money v. time continuum, but you should not opine about what the better or holier course to pursue is.

I personally could afford to spring $20 for a Publix cake (ouch!), in terms of actually having the money in my bank account, but I don't think it would be a wise allocation of funds. Let's remember that all this hypothetical money and stuff and time belong to God already. 'The earth is the Lord's and the fullness thereof, the world, and they that dwell therein.' I am a steward of God's resources, both the money and the time, and I will answer to Him for how I allocate those resources. Acknowledging that is the key.

Moving on...

We have next a rather laughable application of the Old Testament gleaning principle to the notion of bargains. For one thing, the author assumes that 'of course the wealthy landowners would have wanted to pick these up and increase their profits,' but I say of course not necessarily. As a former farmer and agrarian, I know that there is a certain unavoidable margin of waste, and when you're working a field or a garden or whatever it is, you just write a bit off. Nowadays machinery has made that margin far smaller than it used to be, but when you have crops to get in and another field to harvest, you're not going to waste your time mucking about with the odds and ends. You have bigger fish to fry. If you're a generous soul, you'd be delighted to know that the stray wheat stalks aren't going completely to waste.

The notion that shopping at second-hand stores (or accepting hand-me-downs from friends, or whatever) deprives the genuine poor people of their source of clothing is ludicrous. Our society is so rich, so overflowing with bounty, that there's more than enough to go around. It's just as well that us rich people (as he seems to define anyone with the means) are willing to participate in the salvage operations, or even more decent stuff would go into the landfills than already does. (Have you seen what some snobs throw away??) By dressing my children in second-hand clothes, I am no more causing some poor child to go naked than I am starving some poor child in Africa by throwing out the leftover oatmeal (which, for the record, I don't actually do either).

There is a lot of stockpile-bashing and entrepreneurship-sneering going on in the comment thread, but since the author of the article wasn't responsible for that, I'll leave that be. Except to say that by what stretch of the imagination is it greedy, nasty, selfish, and cruel to the poor for me to snap up multiples of an item at a good price if it is something I will use for my family, give away to someone, or even sell? It is a matter of the heart, and I am pretty pipped that anyone would judge another for his motives in acquiring something. Joseph stockpiled grain for seven years, which was an incredibly wise decision that had the blessing of God on it and saved the whole known world. The rich fool stockpiled so much grain that he intended to tear down his barns and build bigger barns, but God saw his heart of greed and took it all from him. Let's not pretend that we can read minds and hearts.

Random economic observations:

'Is it not lawful for me to do what I will with mine own? Is thine eye evil, because I am good?' ~Vineyard owner, Matthew 20:15

'No one would remember the Good Samaritan if he'd only had good intentions - he had money, too.' ~Margaret Thatcher

Party shots

Recently Michael was talking with someone who mentioned that her daughter was graduating from high school this spring, and, though neither one really cared much about a party, she was going to throw one anyway because the girl really needed the money she expected people to bring in order to help her off to college in the fall. The daughter estimated that she could get as much as $800 out of her guests, which would help a lot with books and clothes.

I was aghast and appalled to hear of this cool and collected intention of, well, collecting. When I tried to express my sense of astonishment to Michael, he asked me how it differed in any way from a bridal or a baby shower. ‘You throw a party and expect people to bring gifts to you! How is that any different?’

Well. That one stumped me for a minute. I admit that I’ve gone through baby and bridal showers sans a blush of shame for the extraction of lovely presents from innocent party guests, but something about this scheme just affronted my sense of propriety. Naturally I could not rest until I had catalogued all the reasons why a graduation party, as a deliberate money-making venture, differed qualitatively from a baby or bridal shower.

First, showers are time-honoured, long-standing traditions with the stated purpose of blessing the guest of honour with the support of the community. A graduation is a big deal, too, but it stands for the completion of something, not the beginning of something. If our culture has changed to the extent that we now need to add college showers as a rite of passage and accept them into our way of thinking, then for heaven’s sake let’s be honest about that and admit that you’re throwing your daughter a going-off-to-college shower.

Which brings us to our second point, which is that immediate family members are not supposed to throw showers. Originally, I suppose, this came from the notion that families were so close and ended up supporting each other’s needs to the extent that a question of conflict of interest might arise. I don’t have a problem with a family member throwing another one a shower. I’ve participated in such showers. But it has to be handled tactfully so as not to give the impression of a money-grubbing domestic enterprise.

Those were the main objections I could think of right off. But there have to be a lot more. So I fell back on elaborating my original points more bashingly. A shower is a shower, with the stated intent of gifts. A party is a party, given in honour of someone, to celebrate with guests. In our greedy and mercenary culture, many people have come to associate parties with gifts. But it is wrong to do so. I am always torn between writing ‘No gifts please’ on invitations, because I truly don’t want loot, and not doing so, because, as Miss Manners admonishes, so doing will imply that one was actually thinking that someone might bring a gift.

(Just to clarify: I love presents! But I don’t really need anything, and I don’t expect them, so they’re always a pleasant surprise when they do happen. And I love being invited to parties, and always enjoy picking out a gift, and only very rarely feel under obligation, and that’s so uncomfortable that I never want to impose that on anyone else.)

So It’s All Downhill From Here?

Recently I was remembering the discussion on Queen of Carrots’ blog regarding the WorldView fiction contest finalist story on a miserable life and the virtue of not being fake. At the time I was pregnant with Jane and horrified at the grim prospect of a life of misery unfolding before me. I can handle a bad day or two now and then, but the idea of being kept forever down by perpetual runny noses and sleepless nights would be enough to frighten the most easy-going of personalities.

At the time, it was easy to explain away my general bonhomie by the fact that I didn’t have two small children underfoot (reportedly the most difficult stage) and therefore had no authority on the topic of inevitable unhappiness. Perhaps my tune would change when my life really became as difficult as the author’s clearly was, and I would lose all the moral high ground of being really, truly happy and fall into the impossible dilemma of fake optimism or honest drudgery.

So it was with a degree of tentative anxiety that I anticipated the arrival of Baby #2 and embarked upon this next stage of parenting, evidently the motherhood crucible intended to show up my mothering skills and character for what they really were and bringing a screeching halt to the era of blissful ignorance. No more coasting on my good fortune to have simply been dealt flow’ry beds of ease as my lot in life.

Well, here we are, three months in (by the time I ever manage to get this posted it will probably be at far past that. O for a new computer that will support something better than Windows 98!), and I really think that things are going to be all right. It’s long enough out to stop saying things like, ‘Well, maybe reality hasn’t sunk in yet,’ or ‘We’ll see how it goes when the meals stop coming,’ because the meals have stopped, the family doesn’t live nearby, and the baby is getting over her initial newborn sleepiness (surely the saving grace of every nap-needy new mother). This is apparently Real Life With Two Kids, and I absolutely love it.

Of course there are moments, and perhaps even days, when I feel worn out with the monotony and feel as if I must just stagger along on through until Michael comes home and rescues me from the incessant drudgery. But I had a few such days with Jane, and apparently survived just fine. It appears that these moments are short enough to be fairly easily bounced back from.

Before I formed a conclusive opinion – thinking that perhaps this easiness is just first-stage, and once Ella ceases to be so immobile, portable, and relatively undemanding, things will fall apart – I asked a friend, who has an almost-two-year-old and an eleven-month-old, how she finds her life. ‘Oh, it gets easier every day,’ she told me.

Now, unlike the sad stressed woman in the story, I’d like to think that I’d have the honesty to admit it if things really deteriorated. I’m all for not airing dirty laundry and all that, but the purpose of true friendships is to build one another up, and if I had a valid desperate need, I’d jolly well like to have my true friends come rally round.

I’m part of a wonderful group of friends who meet every week for lunch and playtime and talking, and I was half wondering whether this issue would ever come up. But so far I really, truly have nothing to complain about, and I don’t want to sound like I’m just faking it when I keep insisting that everything is perfectly all right. I’d be quite happy to dish out sympathy and compliments to any obliging soul, in my turn (‘You poor thing! Would you like some butter? Here, take 5 lbs.’), and sometimes wonder whether I should work up a little woe-is-me repertoire just to blend in a bit better (not that anyone in play group ever complains! But sometimes, in the nursing room at church, mothers get a little carried away in one-upping each other with lack-of-sleep, multiple spit-up, or exceeded diaper tragedies, and I cringe down in silence because the one really bad day I had has long since receded into distant memory).

Part of this might be a personality issue, as I tend to have a very high stress threshold. I can enjoy the pressure of adrenaline, and as long as I’m not physically hurting, drastically starving, or dreadfully sleepy, I can pretty much laugh anything off.

So we shall see. But for now, I shall persist in thinking that the cry-worthy vexations of raising lots of little children are rather overrated. (And yes, feel free to check back with me any time in the next few years on that. I may have a second opinion for you.)

Two years ago today

What Time Has Wrought

Note: This post was mentally composed and intended for publication several days ago, but the home computer is proving consistently recalcitrant and Michael's laptop distressingly unavailable during the day. We must buy that Mac this month.

Five years ago, at the end of April:

-I had a picture on my wall of the Canadians holding their gold medal from the Winter Olympics
-I was planning a trip to England for the summer
-I was helping several friends plan their weddings
-I looked forward to a full summer of conferences and horseback riding
-Marriage was not even on the distant horizon

Four years ago, at the end of April:

-I was freshly engaged and planning an August wedding
-Baghdad had been taken, the statue had fallen, and the war was going well
-I was getting pretty much no sleep, what with all the IM chats and phone conversations

Three years ago, at the end of April:

-I was settling into life in a new house
-I was looking for a job
-I went to the Blue Willow Inn for my birthday dinner (thanks to Janice for the cookbook!)

Two years ago, at the end of April:

-I was about to deliver my first child
-For the first time in seven years, I didn't wear my silk party dress on my birthday
-I quit my job

One year ago, at the end of April:

-I went to a Blue Angels airshow
-We were contemplating trying out for the summer musical Hello Dolly!
-I planted a garden (which promptly died)

And now:

-I have another precious daughter
-I own more butter than anyone else I know
-I'm going to make brownies, ice cream, and chocolate fudge sauce for dessert tonight

We all scream

Baskin-Robbins is hosting a $0.31/scoop night this Wednesday, May 2nd, from 5 to 10 p.m. Even if we all buy three scoops each (and I think Jane would need a little help with hers, at that rate) it would cost less than $3 total. Okay, so I know a half gallon of ice cream from the store could cost less than that, but you wouldn't get the variety of nine different flavours. Plus it's the experience.

I Was Mistaken

A few days ago I took the following pictures, intending to post them along with the caption ‘A Really Full Freezer’ or something to that effect. I thought I had really and truly maxed out the capacity of our little fridge-top freezer. I knew I was pushing it when I took out the ice cube trays to make room!

Right before our trip I had purchased eight gallons of organic milk for $0.99 each. Ninety-nine cents! I didn’t think I had room but I knew I would regret not snapping up such a bargain, so I bought all eight, pushed things around, made a bunch of yogurt, and somehow made it work.

Then, within the last week, I found bargains on 6 lbs. of strawberries and 10 lbs. of ground beef. Of course we didn’t have any room. But I would never get over it if I didn’t seize the day, so I pushed things around even more and somehow we found the room. I was so impressed that I took the pictures to prove what a totally-full-absolutely-no-room-left freezer looks like. Look ye and marvel:













Then. I was rushing past the butter aisle in Kroger, and happened to spot a sign: 2 lbs./$1. That can’t be right, I thought. But sure enough, REAL butter. One WHOLE pound. For FIFTY CENTS!!! You can’t buy margarine this cheap! I have NEVER seen such a price and I probably never will again. It would be the death of me to pass this one up, so I made several trips and eventually ended up with 102 lbs. of butter. Now, this is what a really, truly, absolutely stuffed-to-the-gills positively-NO-room-left freezer looks like:

Worthless movie log

On the flight to DR they showed us The Holiday. Owing to regulations on oxygen masks, there was a limit as to how many lap infants (non-ticket-holding passengers) could sit in one row, so Michael - with Jane on his lap - had to sit behind me the entire flight. This made for a complicated carry-on situation, what with passing snacks and diapers back and forth over the seats, but the real nuisance was that I couldn't nudge him and make sarcastic comments as the movie progressed.

When they first handed out the headphones, he declined a set. 'You'd better watch this movie!' I told him. 'If I'm going to watch this miserable, rotten, wretched flick, then I'd jolly well better have someone to talk it over with afterwards. But he resisted. So I am going to have to blog about it.

Well, you know the premise is that a rich LA movie producer and a British typesetter, both trying to get over broken hearts, swap houses for the Christmas holiday. The problem is that nothing in this movie is believable. There are so many cheesy sub-plots but you don't even care if they get wrapped up. One character is apparently unable to cry, and then realises she has just left the love of her life when she starts crying after bidding good-bye to him. Yeah right. One character is engaged to another character and then flies across country to persuade an old girlfriend to - what? He's still engaged, she knows he's engaged, and what sort of future does he envision for them? Another character, whom you just know is destined for someone, is inconveniently already with someone else, but because he's so patently a good guy who would never dump anyone, the movie conveniently has her go off and cheat with someone else so we can drop her from the storyline sans guilt or regret.

One of the most telling lines from the whole movie occurs early on, when a main character is breaking up with her live-in boyfriend because she suspects him of cheating. As she empties his drawers, occasionally pausing to hurl objects at him, she says something along the lines of, 'You know, this is exactly why I didn't want us to get married! I knew something like this would happen!' Oh. And so why did you let him move in with you in the first place, under such auspices? This is someone you will fall in love with, live with, etc., but not someone you will actually trust?

That's pretty much all there is to this movie. It's not about love, honour, decency, commitment, trust. It's all about self-gratification, personal happiness and self-discovery, the whim of the moment, and a fair dose of good luck. Just another shallow, forgettable piece of tripe. And now that I've sufficiently vented about it, I can forget it too.

Miss Potter (on the return flight) promised much better. I loved the styles and fashions, both of clothing and interior decorating, and I wish that I'd figured out the glitch in my earpiece a whole lot sooner so I could have listened more intently. At first, from the bits and snatches I was able to pick out, I was afraid it was going to be another tiresome feminist piece on the universal oppression of women in all circumstance prior to 1970s America, with the repeated harping by her parents on the importance of getting herself married suitably off. And the classic heroine rejoinder of self-assertion: 'I'm a published author. I have ample means, and I shall do as I please.' (clapclapclap.)

However, there came shortly after this speech of defiance a charming chat with her father and mother, in which the father says something to the effect that 'Whatever you may think, we have only your welfare at heart. We do not wish you to rush into an improper and ill-considered match. Let me therefore propose a compromise. Keep your engagement secret for now, and at the end of the summer, if you still wish to marry him, we will give you our blessing. If you truly love him, one summer will not cool your ardour. If, however, your mind has changed, we will give that our blessing as well, and there will be no scandal.' What a clever, wise, gracious path to take! I wanted to cheer. My earpiece gave out around here, though, so I have no idea how this story ended. She got on a train and went somewhere. Anyway, it's a fine movie.

Sometimes it pays to be behind the times

The advantage of waiting almost a full year to watch Pirates II is that you have only a couple of months more to wait for the finale.

Random political thoughts

-I find it hard to get enraged at Alec Baldwin over the angry message he left for his daughter, and think all the media attention the situation is getting is very annoying. Sure, it was a nasty message and involved a few nasty words, but we all know that these Hollywood types are pretty lacking in self-control in real life, anyway. Was anyone surprised when Russell Crowe threw that phone? It doesn't matter how nice/decent/genuine the characters they play on screen may be; these people are actors. They smoke and drink and sleep around and have bad marriages and poor parenting skills. (This is a sweeping generalisation, but it's true more often than not.) Aside from not leaving the country like he promised he would do, Mr. Baldwin hasn't really done anything that out of character.

-I still don't get the hoopla over Don Imus' firing. I never listened to him or liked him before, so it's no skin off my nose, but according to several articles, he's made nasty remarks and sarcastic, cutting comments about other people before. In fact, that's pretty much his shtick. Why this particular comment crossed the line is as puzzling to me as I'm sure it was to him. I'm not condoning his remarks, by the way, simply pointing out that it's rather hypocritical of whoever was listening to him before (I mean, for him to be on the air, there must have been a substantial market for whatever he was peddling) to decide that this kind of nastiness is suddenly not acceptable anymore. Kind of like if Howard Stern suddenly got canned for public indecency: one would have to wonder just which straw it was that broke the camel's back. And why no one warned him that they were suddenly changing the rules.

-I'm sure this VA Tech shooting is going to bring on another tiresome round of gun-control legislation, possibly banning whatever type of weapon it was that the shooter used, possibly banning a whole range of weapons. What such reactionary proceedings fail to take into account is that there were already laws against what this guy did, on several levels: there are obviously laws against murdering people, and there are already laws against having handguns on school property. Why do they think that another layer of legislation is going to stop someone from doing something wrong? If someone wasn't intimidated enough by the law against carrying a gun onto school property, is he suddenly going to be quelled by another, higher law stating that he must not carry even this type of gun onto school property?

-While I'm pleased at the decision of the Supreme Court to uphold the ban on partial-birth abortion (and frothing with rage at the spin the major media are putting on it: ''"so-called" partial-birth abortion'; oh, yeah, what else would you call it when a baby is partially birthed and then aborted?), it's a bit hard to muster the spirit for even a minor Hurrah when you consider the reasoning which allowed this decision to slip by: they got away with finding the ban constitutional - sans a health-of-the-mother clause - only because they pointed out that there are alternatives which do have that clause. It's a bit sad that the decision had to include the reasoning that, if all else failed, at least the fetus could still be dismembered in utero.

Words/phrases I love to say

But of course!
Yes, but still.
I think not. (Poof!)
Aha. So [delighted, perplexed] was I that I said it again, only backwards: Aha!
Ah.
Alas and alack.
We are not amused.

One of the Deadlies

It’s been my ponderation, on and off, whether we - as fallen sinners - are all susceptible to the same degree of accountability when it comes to the seven deadly sins. Obviously we are all subject to varying degrees of temptations, depending on what our weak spots are, but are we all equally culpable when it comes to any given action involving any given sin?

The case in point is gluttony. Now, this is not something I feel as if I’ve struggled with at all in my life, because I really don’t think I have any kind of eating/food/addiction problem. I eat a lot, I enjoy eating, and I don’t have any health problems resulting from my diet. I am very fortunate to have been blessed with a very high metabolism, which insulates me from the apparent consequences of my actions, in that I can eat pretty much as much as I want, of pretty much anything, without any adverse physical side effects.

So here’s the question. Am I or am I not subject to the sin of gluttony? If I didn’t have such a high metabolism, and I ate as much as I do, and didn’t exercise to compensate, then my weight would be a visible testament to my lack of self-control. So just because of my genes, do I get a free pass on this one? That doesn’t seem right. (I know, I know, life is not fair.)

'Twas the eighteenth of April in Two Thousand Seven

Cost of Living

So I’ve been thinking a lot about budgets recently.

The Iron Chef Mom’s Challenge really made me ponder the definition of frugality, because while I obviously respect these ladies and admire their ability to stick to a budget, I was surprised at the shock and awe occasioned by other readers at the ability of one of the challengers to stick to a grocery budget of $50 a week.

Of course, these ladies have more kids than I do. But then, we have people over for dinner and bring meals to families who need them, so it probably all evens out.

Also, they are accounting for more than just groceries: they’re including many household goods (tp, laundry detergent, personal care, etc.) because most of these things get bought along with the groceries. So I ran the numbers (which we have at our fingertips because we’ve been tracking our receipts with vicious accuracy for the past 2+ years) and found that our recalibrated totals, including all these household items, still beat out the experts’.

It’s delightful to feel really on top of one’s game. But after pondering what makes our food budget work, and why it seems so effortless to spend so much less on groceries than the average family, I decided that I have the personality factor in my favour. Quite simply, it’s easy for me to budget because I like bargains and I enjoy the things that bring our food costs down.

Therefore, it’s a personal fulfillment issue as well as a budgeting issue, and the quality of life is improved, not dragged down. If I didn’t enjoy budgeting and baking, then pinching pennies would merely be a drudge and a toil and I should probably resent the budget for its shackles and constraints.

The factor that enables me to keep our food costs down is the matter of convenience food. I really don’t rely on convenience food all that much, so in essence I am not paying someone else to do the work for me. I am not paying Betty Crocker to pre-mix my cookies for me, or Uncle Ben to strip down the rice to quick-cooking (and, incidentally, less nutritious) levels, or the instant mashed potato people to peel my potatoes for me, or Perdue to skin and bone my chickens for me. With a minimum of effort and time I complete these tasks myself, and thus save myself a lot of money in the process.

The fact of the matter is that I enjoy baking. I like to mix up recipes, and the two or three minutes that it takes to measure the dry ingredients is more than worth the dollar or two I save by not having someone else do it for me. If I hated the feel of flour on my fingertips, or detested touching a raw potato, then I might consider it worthwhile to hire someone else to do it for me. But that’s not my personality.

I could save even more money on our food budget by not buying, oh, cheese or mushrooms, or cutting way back on our butter consumption. But I like those things more than the money I would save, so I continue to work them into the budget.

There are obvious contrasts to this in my own life, which clearly illustrate the cost v. quality-of-life continuum: diapers and laundry. I could save a lot of money using cloth diapers, but I really detest the idea of washing them, so I spend a lot of money not to have to deal with that. Washing out diapers is not something I enjoy, it is not something that improves my quality of life, and it is not something I want to devote my time to. Hanging up laundry to dry would save a tremendous amount of money on the electricity bill, but it is not something I enjoy nor something I really want to budget time for. Therefore I continue to use my dryer even though it costs more money.

So budgets aren’t really about just scraping by on the bare minimum. They’re about seeking balance in a well-rounded life. Therefore I concluded that comparing budgets is so much more than contrasting the bottom line in dollar signs. Whatever your budget is, for whatever category, if you can afford it and it makes you happy, then embrace it and enjoy!

How Do You Spell Character?

On Wednesday nights we help serve dinner at our church. We enjoy the opportunity to serve people and say hello to everyone who passes through the line, not to mention the free meal afterwards. Generally I serve the kids’ meal and the salads (rocking Ella in her carseat underfoot) while Michael tends to the desserts, wearing Jane in the backpack.

Last Wednesday, as we were waiting for the rush to begin, I glanced down at Michael and caught his eye. He smiled back, so I wandered down and proffered my cheek for a kiss. ‘Hey, Little Miss Haughty,’ he whispered in my ear.

I was perplexed. I had indeed pointed my nose in the air to give him the best angle, but I couldn’t imagine that he would cast it up to me under such circumstances. ‘Well, I’m trying to be humble,’ I told him, thinking of some way to work it into a compliment, like adding, ‘Which is hard with such a handsome husband as you,’ thus heaping coals of fire upon his head.

Michael began to laugh. ‘Your Institute training is bleeding through! Who else would think I meant H-A-U-G-H-T-Y instead of H-O-T-T-I-E?’

Oh. Yes, that sounds much better.

A glimpse of the tropics

A Creature of Habitat

Jane is simply delighted to be back. She had a great time, and enjoyed all the attention from adoring relatives, but she was clearly overjoyed to be back in familiar surroundings. As soon as we arrived back home, she made a beeline for the dresser and came back with a pair of socks, begging us to put them on her hands (we packed only sandals, so she was a week without her socks). Clearly the glove obsession is still going strong.

She has recently begun to baby her toy animals, lining them all up in a row (in order of height!) sitting against the hearth. Or she will line them against the wall, face down (she still sleeps on her front), and kiss them ‘Nigh-night.’ We packed no toys for the trip, and yesterday she was simply thrilled to be back with all her beloved creatures. She runs around naming everything with delight. ‘Fridge!’ ‘Trash! Yucky, yucky!’ ‘High chair! Jane high chair!’

Yo Ho Ho And All That

Back from the Caribbean we are, and it’s just as beautiful as it was when Michael and I were there on our honeymoon. Warm sunshine, low humidity, cool tropical breezes, lush tropical fruits, and plenty of family to take a girl or two whenever we wanted to slip off for dance lessons on the beach. Pictures will be forthcoming.

This one's not so bad, either

What a cutie!

In like a lion, out like a lamb

So pleased were we with the success of our Indian dinner that we called for an encore, only this time we were determined to go entirely all-out with the inclusion of a mango lassi. I didn’t expect to find cheap lamb stew meat marked down again, but I did expect to at least find lamb. Alas, there was none apparent in the specialty meats section, so I settled upon some ground veal.

I told Michael about the change in plans.

Me: But don’t you think that ground lamb will be much the same as lamb stew meat? After all, after hours in the crockpot, the lamb was pretty shredded anyway. And this is very young lamb, hence very tender.
Michael: Veal isn’t young lamb. It’s young calf.
Me: What! I thought it would be young and tender lamb!
Michael: It’s young and tender all right, but it’s beef. Young lamb is lamb. Old lamb is sheep.
Me: So basically I paid a lot of money for very fancy, very tender, very expensive ground beef.
Michael: This is going to keep you up all night, isn’t it?

Off I scuttled, therefore, to the nearest grocery store to buy some genuine lamb. ‘Boy,’ I told Michael when all was said and done, ‘do I feel sheepish.’

Miss Rose’s Linguistics Lesson

Now today we are going to talk about a trendy little phrase that’s taken the colloquial mainstream by storm in recent years to express a sort of apology for one’s mistake: ‘My bad.’ As a gesture of accepting responsibility it’s not bad, and certainly it’s more polite to assume the blame in any way than to ignore the issue altogether. But is it entirely correct, grammatically speaking?

Ah. Let’s break it down into its two disparate parts, namely, the words my and bad. My is a possessive pronoun, implying ownership of or accountability for the object it modifies. So far so good. Bad is here used as the object of the sentence, which makes you think it is the main character, or in other words the thing being possessed. It could be something – anything – as long as it was indeed a thing, or in other words a noun. But alas, bad is not a noun; it is an adjective, meaning it can only describe a noun. An adjective is only a concept insofar as it describes a noun; it is not, in its own right, a real thing. Therefore you cannot own an adjective. You might just as well say ‘My green,’ or ‘My curious.’

This phrase always leaves us floundering in helpless suspense, wondering anxiously, ‘Your bad what? Yes, yes, but what is it you have that is bad?’

Ha. Can you tell we’ve been reading Lynne Truss recently?

Words which, we have noticed, are not so commonly used anymore

A pity:

Oblige
Shall
Should (as in, ‘I should not have thought of calling at so late an hour.’)
Fancy (as in, ‘Fancy an ice cream? Me too! Let’s go!’)
Hasty

A relief:

Gardyloo

Hurrah, it worked!

Apparently Michael's laptop was the key. Fortunately I've been saving a few of my posts in Word against this eventual development. Unfortunately the keyboard is different and long-term access is sketchy. Fortunately we'll be getting a new home computer soon and the browser problem (for such it appears to be) will be solved.

Any luck yet?

Let's try a change of location.