Deep thoughts on shallow topics

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

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

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

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

Here are some interesting facts about today:

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

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

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

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

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

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

Catch a falling star

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

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

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

Overheard in front of the mirror

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

Christmas parties, past and present

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

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

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

Recent history of HSLDA Christmas parties and respective highlights:

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

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

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

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

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

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

On the ancient Greeks

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

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

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

Road rage and deadly force

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A study in exasperation

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

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

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

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

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

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

Remember Pearl Harbor

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

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

Correct me if I'm wrong...

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

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

Rudolph the Unlikely Social Hit

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

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

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

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

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

Ah, distinctly I remember...

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

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

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

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

Get it right already

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

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

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

Growing and glowing

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

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

More Random Lists

Names I Was Surprised to Discover Were In The Bible:

Malcolm
Jared
Jason
Jemima

Useful Things I Have Learned From Michael:

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

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

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

It's a lo-o-o-ng day in the world...

The afternoon is slowly crawling by, as if it just emerged from the primeval sludge and hasn't fully developed its legs yet. Molasses and tar pits! Why can't it be 5:00 already?

At least the radio is playing Christmas music. At last.

I really like secular Christmas music. I love the Christian Christmas carols, of course, but there's something catching about the classic Christmas tunes. Two years ago we watched the movie White Christmas, starring Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye. It was a great movie, although the song I remember the most wasn't the classic White Christmas but Love, You Didn't Do Right By Me.

Love, you didn't do right by me.
As they say in the song,
You done me wrong.

Somehow it suited my cynical streak, delivering just the perfect dose of Bah humbug.

Which reminds me, we have to go log a Christmas tree this weekend and it's going to cost us at least five times as much as trees cost in Oregon. Can you believe that when we lived next to a tree farm, we could cut our own tree for $1/ft? It's almost enough to drive one to artificial trees with fake fresh pine scent. And we also need to string white Christmas lights on our house. Why didn't we string lights up last year and just leave them on? Blah humbug.

Unmetred verse

For some reason I felt inspired to toss off a few lines of rant and rave, a la Ogden Nash.

Why do people approaching doorways at the same time as me feel compelled to give me such a wide berth?
Do they automatically assume that just because I am pregnant, I must necessarily have a substantial girth?
It’s so much nicer when people tell me I am not showing at all.
Such compliments are calculated to bring a pleased flush to cheeks that were not glowing at all.
It’s said that trials and tribulations and such experiences can expand our borders, metaphorically;
But that that principle is turning out to be a bit too literal in my case I can state, categorically.

Dragville

There is a home video that Leah and I watched when we went out to Oregon for Thanksgiving 2001, of Uncle Brad and Aunt Rosanne doing a 'candid' interview. With typical quirky Brad humour, the scene in question consisted of Brad and Rosanne sitting side by side staring blankly at the camera; somehow Brad had manipulated it so that there was the clip art of a big red heart cut-out surrounding them. 'Well, here we are, Rosie,' Brad began. 'Sitting in the middle of a big red heart.' 'Oh, groan,' Rosanne said. 'It's Monday tomorrow. Blah. Pit City. Dragville. Monday!' 'You might as well get used to it,' Brad said. 'I bet you spend at least 1/7 of your time on Mondays. In fact, you probably spend ten years of your life on Mondays!' That's a great line to quote whenever I'm inclined to feel azure about Mondays. This Monday wouldn't be so bad if it didn't follow up on four days of partying and laziness. There's nothing like a four-day weekend to spoil a good work ethic.

On Thursday morning we got up (not too early, thankfully; last whirlwind visit to Virginia we swore off early morning flights once and for all) and finished packing, and flew into Reagan National Airport. It was only the second time I'd ever landed there, and the first time was unintentional. We had a great Thanksgiving dinner of turkey and co. with family, and then sat around digesting all evening. Michael and some of the boys set up a game of Axis and Allies. Toward the evening we ran out to HSLDA to look around and see how much had changed, and endeavoured to buy a paper on the way home to ascertain the sales. There was no paper to be had, not even for ready money. We spent nearly an hour chasing geese, and finally returned empty-handed. So much for the biggest shopping day of the year.

Friday we spent with relatives and friends alike. Saturday the menfolk went to see the Air and Space Museum Annex while we ladies had tea with Mrs. Smith. I shall never fail to be impressed with Mrs. Smith's hospitality, graciousness, elegance, and cultivation. You recall Darcy's definition of a woman of accomplishment - the cultivation and improvement of her mind by extensive reading? Mrs. Smith exemplifies this to a nicety. The spread laid before us recalled to mind the glory and splendour of book tea, dearly cherished and keenly missed. It's amazing how filling trifles and tidbits can add up to be. On Sunday we went to church and got to see so many dear familiar faces. The time was far too short and I wish we could have lingered longer. However, we had a pleasant afternoon of eating popcorn and playing Scotland Yard. Michael was introduced to this game two years ago, during the first Thanksgiving he spent with my family, and made so bold as to play Mr. X this time. He did quite well, attaining the bottom of the second column before capture, despite being dealt an inconveniently located starting tile. Benjamin also took a turn at villainy, evading us for an impressive length of time. His final demise lay in failing to notice that a bus line ran between two critical points. Well, the web was tightening, anyway.

Our flight left at 8:05 from Reagan. Not sure of what to expect in terms of crowds, we left in plenty of time. It turned out to be a breeze. The airport was dead and security a veritable walk-through. We reached our gate well in time, and then Michael had the happy thought to wander over to another gate where the 7:05 flight to Atlanta was boarding, and ask whether we could fly stand-by on that one. Genius! Amazingly enough, they had room, and we arrived home an hour ahead of schedule, with no rush or frenzy and no wasted time on the front end. It was much the pleasantest flight in recent memory, in terms of ease of boarding, comfort level of the plane (cosy to my thinking, stuffy to Michael's), selection of beverages (whole milk!), brevity of flight time, and deliciousness of airport food. Despite saving an hour, though, it was still far too late when we got home and brutally early this morning. Yawn. Well worth the weekend, though.

Gratitude

On Monday we went to the doctor for my monthly checkup. We had so much other stuff to take care of (dental appointments, courthouse stops, etc.) that had to be done during business hours that we both took off the whole day to knock it all out at once. The benefit was that Michael was able to see the sonogram too. It was truly an amazing experience. Even more so than the first time, Baby is now very distinctly human. The technician was on a mission to get all the shots she needed, so she kept stopping at shots and typing in ‘Stom’ or ‘Blad’ with little arrows pointing to the pertinent parts. In between the freeze frames, while she was vying for the right angle, we got to watch live time images of our baby kicking, curling its fingertips, and pursing its lips. It was amazing to watch all the activity going on and to admit, ‘I can’t feel a thing.’ ‘Shouldn’t I be feeling that?’ I yelped, as Baby took a big swing upwards and kicked away with both feet. ‘How oblivious could I be?’ Apparently Baby is not very strong yet, and the environment is so cushioned and weightless that the impact is minimal.

Life is full of ups and downs, of course. I try not to wait until Thanksgiving each year to count my blessings, but endeavor to cultivate a spirit of gratitude and contentment whenever I’m tempted to do a little wistful gazing down the road. Sometimes it’s easier than at other times to maintain a level perspective, or what I call ‘a good dose of Pippin-style unquenchable cheerfulness.’ (‘There is a crumb of comfort in all this, at least, and perhaps more than a crumb: now we can sit down to breakfast.’ This after the Black Riders ravage their rooms and set loose all their ponies and spoil the start of their secret journey. Why can’t I always look on the bright side of things like that?)

So I’m grateful for the adventure that lies before us. We knew that having a baby would change our lives, but it’s impossible to grasp the full impact – it still keeps dawning on us in little ways, like when we were setting our next dental appointments for six months from now, and at first we went for the same time slot: just like on Monday, if we have simultaneous appointments, then we can drive together, save time, and be more efficient. Until I remembered, ‘Oh, wait, we’ll have the baby then…we’d better stagger our appointments, so we can take turns with the baby.’ That’s a consideration we haven’t had to make heretofore! And yet, though we could choose to see this as an impingement on our liberty, I am finding it an exciting and incredible chance for adventure – this is uncharted territory! All those years when I was pretty generally happy, content, perhaps occasionally complacent, even bored, what I most feared was falling into a rut. Now change is inevitable, and that makes Life very interesting.

I can’t help cataloguing all the specific things to be thankful for this year – good jobs, nice house, healthy baby, satisfying election results – and yet these are all part and parcel of the big picture, which is simply to acknowledge that God is sovereign. If it were a rotten year, if times were tough, wouldn’t it still be incumbent upon us to give thanks in all things? So not only do we have the underlying assurance and comfort of His blessing, come what may, but we also happen to have the temporal and very gratifying blessing of happiness in our present circumstances. And that’s just icing on the cake.

A blessed Thanksgiving to one and all!