Women and men are different. Now, that's no surprise to anyone with a pair of eyes. As my mother used to say, "Boys are just cut from a different cloth." What made me start thinking about this obvious truth are the unwritten rules. It seems to me women live their lives according to a very intricate set of unwritten rules.
We went to a bridge party last week. (No, not celebrating a structure being built, but playing cards and eating snacks.) It's an example of an event when the rules start kicking in. These unseen, unspoken rules seem to be in effect for all women no matter what age. Eighty year old women have the same basic set of rules in common with twenty something women. Anyway, the woman hosting the party called to invite Drake and I. And after I'd accepted, I said, "What can I bring?"
She replied, "Oh, no, that's OK. You don't need to bring anything, but what I'm doing won't be fancy."
I reiterated, "I don't mind; I'll be happy to bring anything you'd like for me to."
She said, No, really, I'm good."
There you have a rules situation: First, SHE extended the invitation. Men never do this kind of calling. Second, it's a rule you have to offer to bring some type of food or drink item. Third, you have to offer a second time to indicate you're really sincerely want to help her. And if you get the turn down twice, you don't have to offer a third time - that's being pushy and intimating her food will be substandard.
Speaking of food, there are lots of rules about food. These rules HAVE gotten somewhat simplified since more and more women don't cook as constantly as they did when I was growing up. According to the 2010 census statistics, 67% of American mothers work outside the home. (Here's a fun fact - that number is up 800% since 1867 - just another way American women have of adapting to changing realities.) Back to my point, women don't cook as much because they don't have time to cook as much. The old rules of the 1960's decreed food was to be taken to a friend in a large number of situations and at the drop of a hat. The streamlined set of 21st century rules have shaken down to two occasions when a women is expected to offer food: Birth and death. A woman is still expected to provide food to a new mother and to a grieving family. It's an expression of her feelings and understanding of the nuts and bolts of the situation. When's the last time you heard any husband, father or brother say, "Well, I need to think about what I'm going to take over to the Johnson's." If three wise women had shown up at Jesus' birth, forget gold, frankincense, and myrrh, they would have brought, food, baby clothes and diapers.
Another food rule is you have to eat something prepared by the hostess at a gathering and compliment the food item she is the most proud of. This is generally anything made from scratch. If she bagged and boxed it, then you are expected to compliment the appearance of the table. I screwed up at the last gathering of women I attended. You have to pay close attention to these rules if you expect to make any new women friends. It was a Circle meeting of Methodist women. The meetings are held in the member's homes, so you have to be vigilant about the rules. I didn't eat anything. BIG mistake even though I was limiting everything I was eating because of the intestinal bug. The fact I didn't eat the luscious looking angel food cake with home made fruit topping upset the equilibrium of the party. When it dawned on me what an idiot I'd been, I tried hard to make up for my faux pas by admiring her house.
When a young woman observes all the unwritten rules, her mother gets to bask in glory. It's as if she's passed on the Holy Grail, and her daughter has not only accepted the burden but buffed it up to a shine. Looking good in front of your mother's friends, especially her inner circle, is a way of validating her parenting. Sarah Lynn and I have been at this game for a long time. We started when she was a very small child, under the age of 6! When we would attend a function, I would carefully explain what behavior was expected and give her the rationale her job was to make me look good by delivering acceptable behavior in public. At home in private, she could be a hellion if she so chose.
And, of course, at some point you launch your daughter and hope she 'gets it'. She's on her own as a woman. We all belong to that club, and everyone has to pay the membership dues. Those who don't are mentally if not physically shunned. I was basking with rays of golden light shooting out of me during Sarah's wedding week. Sarah and almost all of her friends were hitting the unwritten rules on all cylinders. There was one, however, who was flaunting the rules repeatedly. Her behavior completely changed how I thought about her while some of the young women I didn't know well understood the rules so perfectly, it made me proud Sarah had chosen them as friends.
As a woman, you can't escape the rules. It's the price we pay for intimacy with one another. Following these unwritten rules are the way we sum one another up and decide which level of intimacy we will allow with another woman. That's the reason for thank-you notes. That's the reason for offers of help. That's the reason you take food.
Thursday, February 26, 2015
Friday, February 20, 2015
Absolutely Nothing
I've been trying to write an entry to my blog for over a week. I promised myself the way to get going again was to write regularly - each and every week. Well, it's been 14 days since I posted. Sometimes it just feels like life has hold of me like a rip tide in the ocean. It's in control, not me. What's that old saw, "The road to hell is paved with good intentions." Well, I've been paving instead of writing.
Right now...I'm trying to write, and Drake is talking to me about the Newfoundland reservation. He's oblivious to what I'm doing. The upcoming trip has consumed us both. We sit together with dueling computers. Toronto? Try finding a place that's not a high rise with an underground garage. We learned in New Haven that the trailer has to have air, lots of air above it. Major screw-up today - we discovered the ferry from Nova Scotia to St. John's, Newfoundland doesn't start running until one week AFTER we are booked to arrive. Now, we are trying to flip our reservations from one side of the island to the other since the ferry on the opposite side runs all year long. (We could go and come from that side, but it's a 561 mile drive added in if we can't flip the house reservations. We are going to have to endure the French Canadians for an extra five days because it's cheaper to stay in Gatineau than Ottawa. Drake unearthed the Berlitz book of French which I bought in 1980 before I went to Europe. I'll need it. Gatineau is in the Quebec Province (official language FRENCH), and Ottawa is in Ontario (HELLO, ENGLISH). They are separated only by a river. We have managed to hammer out a trip timetable that starts May 5th and end October 23rd.
Then, there's exercise. I know I need to exercise. I have to exercise. I hate to exercise. It's sort of like a conjugation. Today, I finally felt so guilty I proposed a bike ride. You can not write while riding a real bicycle. We took a three hour bike ride. Don't be impressed, Sun City is FLAT. If you can't ride a bike here, you can't ride a bike anywhere. My carrot for the exercise is we rode to various garage sales. I didn't find anything in the jackpot category, but I managed several small treasures. Garage saling is big pleasure for me, so the three hours flew by. We also managed to work our way over to the new ice cream store. Yum. (I had maple walnut.)
Let's don't forget the family obligations. Our Arizona relations are always extremely busy. They are really like a rolling circus when there are family events. We've all been waiting for the babies. We've been expecting one human and three horse babies within a 30 day window. So far, we've got two. Drake Ryder was born just over an hour ago (he's the human baby). That little sucker weighed in at 9 pounds 12 oz. Yes, he's a giant. As Drake's sister just said, "Better return all those newborn clothes!" The horse baby, Arthur, born last week, came with less fanfare - he just appeared when Dee was making her morning stable rounds. I guess the stork dropped him from heaven. Two more horse babies are being expected.
In the midst of all the babies, babies, babies, we attended the Scottsdale Arabian Horse Show, or THE BIG HORSE DEAL as I call it. We took Drake's mom and her friend and watched Arabian horses prance around with their tails in the air and their nostrils flaring. Fortunately, we had a shady spot to sit. I've learned over the years, it doesn't matter about the temp - if you sit in the desert sun, it's freaking hot. There were also four family boys rolling around, eating ice cream, climbing, running, etc. You know, being little boys. The family ranged from the 4 year old to the 87 year old at the horse show. What would have completed the family circus atmosphere would have been adding the pregnant daughter-in-law - the one who dominoed TODAY. Saner heads prevailed, and she stayed home resting.
Drake's sister is raising Arabians; she is at this two week show constantly since she is having her horses shown in these competitions. Plus The Big Horse Deal is a way to advertise their business. It's very lucrative to sell hay (www.wesellhay.com) to finicky show horses. The Big Deal Horse Show is a great place to advertise that fact and a way to get to know the horsy people. Horses are Drake's sister's dream as long as I've known her - which is more than 40 years. She works hard promoting the business, but she loves her horses too.
Oh, and did I mention that Drake's mother is now in a memoir writing class? It meets once a week, and I volunteered to help get her started each week with her next memory. So.....Merilyn is getting her writing done, but it's not helping me get mine done. I am learning what a really interesting life she's had. I think I'll ask her to guest blog her favorite memoir when she gets a few more done. Hey, that's a way to meet my writing deadline; have someone else do it.
And then there's my health. I came back from Texas at New Year's Eve with an intestinal bug. I've been to the doctors who've done all the tests, and the consensus is I picked up an intestinal buy, and it will eventually go away. It's getting better, but especially in January, I was really tired by constant diarrhea. I wouldn't recommend this as a dieting strategy, but I've lost 12 pounds. It hasn't done a thing for my writing schedule.
I guess I need the proverbial desert island. Probably wouldn't work. I'd just make instant friends with whoever else was stranded and be chatting away in no time. Would I actually want to be without all the demands on my time? Boy, talk about having trouble finding a writing subject. Even I don't think my naval is interesting enough to write about. Sometimes, though, it would be nice to write uninterrupted and under no time pressure. OK. OK. OK - Drake is now talking to me about Pagosa Springs. Back to trip planning, and I've managed to write an entry about absolutely nothing. I feel like Jerry Seinfeld.
Right now...I'm trying to write, and Drake is talking to me about the Newfoundland reservation. He's oblivious to what I'm doing. The upcoming trip has consumed us both. We sit together with dueling computers. Toronto? Try finding a place that's not a high rise with an underground garage. We learned in New Haven that the trailer has to have air, lots of air above it. Major screw-up today - we discovered the ferry from Nova Scotia to St. John's, Newfoundland doesn't start running until one week AFTER we are booked to arrive. Now, we are trying to flip our reservations from one side of the island to the other since the ferry on the opposite side runs all year long. (We could go and come from that side, but it's a 561 mile drive added in if we can't flip the house reservations. We are going to have to endure the French Canadians for an extra five days because it's cheaper to stay in Gatineau than Ottawa. Drake unearthed the Berlitz book of French which I bought in 1980 before I went to Europe. I'll need it. Gatineau is in the Quebec Province (official language FRENCH), and Ottawa is in Ontario (HELLO, ENGLISH). They are separated only by a river. We have managed to hammer out a trip timetable that starts May 5th and end October 23rd.
Then, there's exercise. I know I need to exercise. I have to exercise. I hate to exercise. It's sort of like a conjugation. Today, I finally felt so guilty I proposed a bike ride. You can not write while riding a real bicycle. We took a three hour bike ride. Don't be impressed, Sun City is FLAT. If you can't ride a bike here, you can't ride a bike anywhere. My carrot for the exercise is we rode to various garage sales. I didn't find anything in the jackpot category, but I managed several small treasures. Garage saling is big pleasure for me, so the three hours flew by. We also managed to work our way over to the new ice cream store. Yum. (I had maple walnut.)
Let's don't forget the family obligations. Our Arizona relations are always extremely busy. They are really like a rolling circus when there are family events. We've all been waiting for the babies. We've been expecting one human and three horse babies within a 30 day window. So far, we've got two. Drake Ryder was born just over an hour ago (he's the human baby). That little sucker weighed in at 9 pounds 12 oz. Yes, he's a giant. As Drake's sister just said, "Better return all those newborn clothes!" The horse baby, Arthur, born last week, came with less fanfare - he just appeared when Dee was making her morning stable rounds. I guess the stork dropped him from heaven. Two more horse babies are being expected.
In the midst of all the babies, babies, babies, we attended the Scottsdale Arabian Horse Show, or THE BIG HORSE DEAL as I call it. We took Drake's mom and her friend and watched Arabian horses prance around with their tails in the air and their nostrils flaring. Fortunately, we had a shady spot to sit. I've learned over the years, it doesn't matter about the temp - if you sit in the desert sun, it's freaking hot. There were also four family boys rolling around, eating ice cream, climbing, running, etc. You know, being little boys. The family ranged from the 4 year old to the 87 year old at the horse show. What would have completed the family circus atmosphere would have been adding the pregnant daughter-in-law - the one who dominoed TODAY. Saner heads prevailed, and she stayed home resting.
Drake's sister is raising Arabians; she is at this two week show constantly since she is having her horses shown in these competitions. Plus The Big Horse Deal is a way to advertise their business. It's very lucrative to sell hay (www.wesellhay.com) to finicky show horses. The Big Deal Horse Show is a great place to advertise that fact and a way to get to know the horsy people. Horses are Drake's sister's dream as long as I've known her - which is more than 40 years. She works hard promoting the business, but she loves her horses too.
Oh, and did I mention that Drake's mother is now in a memoir writing class? It meets once a week, and I volunteered to help get her started each week with her next memory. So.....Merilyn is getting her writing done, but it's not helping me get mine done. I am learning what a really interesting life she's had. I think I'll ask her to guest blog her favorite memoir when she gets a few more done. Hey, that's a way to meet my writing deadline; have someone else do it.
And then there's my health. I came back from Texas at New Year's Eve with an intestinal bug. I've been to the doctors who've done all the tests, and the consensus is I picked up an intestinal buy, and it will eventually go away. It's getting better, but especially in January, I was really tired by constant diarrhea. I wouldn't recommend this as a dieting strategy, but I've lost 12 pounds. It hasn't done a thing for my writing schedule.
I guess I need the proverbial desert island. Probably wouldn't work. I'd just make instant friends with whoever else was stranded and be chatting away in no time. Would I actually want to be without all the demands on my time? Boy, talk about having trouble finding a writing subject. Even I don't think my naval is interesting enough to write about. Sometimes, though, it would be nice to write uninterrupted and under no time pressure. OK. OK. OK - Drake is now talking to me about Pagosa Springs. Back to trip planning, and I've managed to write an entry about absolutely nothing. I feel like Jerry Seinfeld.
Friday, February 6, 2015
Mascots Galore!
Baseball is coming. Loyal readers, lucky ducks, do NOT have to endure the daily Texas Ranger updates which are peppering my first cup of coffee now. After all, it's getting CLOSE - we got season tickets to Spring Training in the mail today. It's not I don't want the update information. It just takes me a bit longer to get into the baseball frame of mind than it does Mr. Texas Ranger, AKA Drake. A friend decided I didn't have quite ENOUGH baseball information, so she sent me a podcast about mascots together with a photo of herself and the Astro mascot, Orbit.
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| That's Sherri under Orbit's left arm |
The initial purpose of mascots were they were 'lucky'. Fans began to associate their very appearance at a game with the team winning: Some recognizable mascots who are considered lucky charms would be Dan, the Yale Bulldog. Bevo, the Texas Longhorn, and The Sooner Schooner pulled by 'Boomer' and 'Sooner'. These type mascots tended to involve some type of actual live animal, and they still do - especially on college campuses.
The Ranger's mascot is "Captain". He's a 'horse' in a Ranger's uniform. I've always felt sorry for this guy. Can you imagine how hot his polyester fur suit is in August in Texas? Captain is Mr. Nice Guy; he's all sweetness. He wanders around the stands during a game and has his picture made with any pretty girl who will allow it, and every kid who wants one. He isn't usually on the field harassing the players or umpires. He even has a specially made baseball cap he sometimes wears. Another job of the mascot is to appear at team sanctioned functions and charity events. The Captain shows up at Special Olympics, at schools, and anywhere else the Ranger club is trying to promote goodwill for the team. This aspect of the mascot job is probably Captain's highest and best use. Compared to the Philly Phanatic, the Ranger's mascot, Captain, is as boring as dishwater.Foam head mascots have proliferated in the league. Every team has its version. Some are muppet like, some are recognizable animals, and some are just weird - like Mr. Met with his baseball head.
My favorite mascots involve people wearing dashing costumes. The Texas Tech Masked Red Raider really has the Zorro/Lone Ranger persona down pat. Dashing, masked, dressed all in black with a gaucho hat and riding the most gorgeous horse on a football field, this mascot falls into the 'what's not to like?' category.
The very best mascots who aren't technically mascots but eye candy are the pretty college girls running the between inning promotions for any minor league team worth its name. These peppy, smiling, usually blond girls do wear skin tight T-shirts with the team logo and 'short shorts' as they run out onto the field with sappy volunteers participating in the between inning challenges to win tickets to a future game or products stamped with the team logo. Sometimes the girls stand on the home team dug out roof and heave cheap T-shirts into the stands. As with the players, their arm strength improves during the season.
My Spring training starts SOON, and one of the many things I like about going to these games is THERE ARE NO MASCOTS. We do, however, have pretty girls who heave cheap T-shirts into the stands once during a game.
Monday, January 26, 2015
Party Planning
Super Bowl Sunday is party day all over America. If you aren't giving a party or going to a party for the Super Bowl, it's like you're not going to the Prom. This year we've decided to have the party. We were the party hosts for many large parties during our 20's and 30's. Here I am, age 27 in the Gaymoor house actually at one of our parties. I was growing my hair out for the one and only time, and I was also trying to wear contacts. Some of my readers WENT to this party. Sigh....so young.
We bought two houses in Houston and one house in Hurst in part because they had great floor plans for parties.
Now, though, this is our first time to have a party in this tiny little doll house in Sun City. We've been so nervous about not having enough chairs to sit in, we only invited six people - plus Drake and I for eight. Hopefully, it's going to be a small, but fun party. Fortunately, we don't have any die hard football fans coming who want to agonize over every football play. Drake is moving the small TV into the Arizona room, so everyone can see every play if they are so inclined. The best Super Bowl parties we ever went to were big parties hosted by what would now be called 'foodie' hosts. They were some of our New Orleans friends, and boy, did they know how to cook.
I spent part of today figuring out what food I'm going to make for this party. Of course, there will be too much, because I'm bad at determining exactly how much food I need. 90% of it is going to be made in advance. We are only doing finger food because Drake doesn't want to eat anything that drips or needs a utensil. He's making an exception for the pecan pie. I'm making three kinds of deviled eggs.
When I went to the library today AFTER I WENT TO EXERCISE, I found the Southern Living Cookbook for 2014 - every recipe they published for the entire year. Fortunately, they had a good index and a 'how to make deviled eggs section'. I'm also making a Mexican layered dip - Jean Brandt's recipe out of the St. Paul Blue Cookbook - you can never go wrong with hers. She understands terrible, unmotivated cooks, so her recipes use recognizable ingredients and not too many of them. I'm also going to create my own cheese platter with salami and ham. I found a lot of appetizer recipes that had 20 ingredients and took an hour and a half to make. After I finished laughing, all I could internalize was, "I don't think so." My answer to those recipes is my cream cheese, olive, pastrami spread. Also, I wasn't too proud to ask the other three women to bring something. We'll supply wine and beer and soft drinks. This is a change - used to just buy a couple of cases of champagne - bubbly kicks a party off.
A staple of Superbowl Sunday is the squares game. It's a grid game in which the participants purchase squares and the money is parceled out at the end of each quarter based on the score at that time. You sign your name on your 'squares', then the numbers are drawn at random & filled into the squares. It spices up the party. With 8 people, I figured out that our squares will cost $.25 each, and everyone should buy 12 - that $3.00 per person plus each couple buys a 'couple' square. That's all 100 squares covered at a cost of $6.25 per couple. Shoot, that's cheaper than a cover charge. Drake says you can't force people to play, but I say, "Why not?"
It's always hard to determine what time to start a Super Bowl party. I'm figuring 30 minutes before kickoff. If I refuse to turn on the television before then, I'll get all the hype I'll ever need. The Super Bowl is at a weird time, don't you think? That's what makes serving food so hard. Yes, it's kind of over dinner time, and you can serve some kind of meal at halftime. There are two problems with that approach: Drake's edict of 'no utensils' and the people who really don't like football don't want to miss the halftime show to eat something. I'm not a big half-time show person. At least Katy whatshername won't be doing rap music this year. Who knows? Maybe there will be another boob flash. The bottom line is if you're coming to our party, you'd better fill up on the finger food. I guarantee there will be plenty.
We are having a 'green' party. I'll be using real dishes and cutlery and real wine glasses. I might buy a few plastic cups for the soft drink folks. However, we won't be hauling out the big bag of plates, cups and cutlery to the trash can on Monday. I started using my own real stuff to eat and drink from about 15 years ago. After all, it all goes into the dishwasher. I've also decided no cheesy decorations, centerpieces, or napkins imprinted with footballs. That's just garage sale/goodwill fodder. Think about it....kind of fun to use all that stuff that lives in your cupboards, and a table covered in food is the most attractive thing about any party.
Super Bowl party time here we come. I can hardly wait to see the commercials. Let's root for a close game.
Now, though, this is our first time to have a party in this tiny little doll house in Sun City. We've been so nervous about not having enough chairs to sit in, we only invited six people - plus Drake and I for eight. Hopefully, it's going to be a small, but fun party. Fortunately, we don't have any die hard football fans coming who want to agonize over every football play. Drake is moving the small TV into the Arizona room, so everyone can see every play if they are so inclined. The best Super Bowl parties we ever went to were big parties hosted by what would now be called 'foodie' hosts. They were some of our New Orleans friends, and boy, did they know how to cook.
I spent part of today figuring out what food I'm going to make for this party. Of course, there will be too much, because I'm bad at determining exactly how much food I need. 90% of it is going to be made in advance. We are only doing finger food because Drake doesn't want to eat anything that drips or needs a utensil. He's making an exception for the pecan pie. I'm making three kinds of deviled eggs.
When I went to the library today AFTER I WENT TO EXERCISE, I found the Southern Living Cookbook for 2014 - every recipe they published for the entire year. Fortunately, they had a good index and a 'how to make deviled eggs section'. I'm also making a Mexican layered dip - Jean Brandt's recipe out of the St. Paul Blue Cookbook - you can never go wrong with hers. She understands terrible, unmotivated cooks, so her recipes use recognizable ingredients and not too many of them. I'm also going to create my own cheese platter with salami and ham. I found a lot of appetizer recipes that had 20 ingredients and took an hour and a half to make. After I finished laughing, all I could internalize was, "I don't think so." My answer to those recipes is my cream cheese, olive, pastrami spread. Also, I wasn't too proud to ask the other three women to bring something. We'll supply wine and beer and soft drinks. This is a change - used to just buy a couple of cases of champagne - bubbly kicks a party off.
A staple of Superbowl Sunday is the squares game. It's a grid game in which the participants purchase squares and the money is parceled out at the end of each quarter based on the score at that time. You sign your name on your 'squares', then the numbers are drawn at random & filled into the squares. It spices up the party. With 8 people, I figured out that our squares will cost $.25 each, and everyone should buy 12 - that $3.00 per person plus each couple buys a 'couple' square. That's all 100 squares covered at a cost of $6.25 per couple. Shoot, that's cheaper than a cover charge. Drake says you can't force people to play, but I say, "Why not?"
It's always hard to determine what time to start a Super Bowl party. I'm figuring 30 minutes before kickoff. If I refuse to turn on the television before then, I'll get all the hype I'll ever need. The Super Bowl is at a weird time, don't you think? That's what makes serving food so hard. Yes, it's kind of over dinner time, and you can serve some kind of meal at halftime. There are two problems with that approach: Drake's edict of 'no utensils' and the people who really don't like football don't want to miss the halftime show to eat something. I'm not a big half-time show person. At least Katy whatshername won't be doing rap music this year. Who knows? Maybe there will be another boob flash. The bottom line is if you're coming to our party, you'd better fill up on the finger food. I guarantee there will be plenty.
We are having a 'green' party. I'll be using real dishes and cutlery and real wine glasses. I might buy a few plastic cups for the soft drink folks. However, we won't be hauling out the big bag of plates, cups and cutlery to the trash can on Monday. I started using my own real stuff to eat and drink from about 15 years ago. After all, it all goes into the dishwasher. I've also decided no cheesy decorations, centerpieces, or napkins imprinted with footballs. That's just garage sale/goodwill fodder. Think about it....kind of fun to use all that stuff that lives in your cupboards, and a table covered in food is the most attractive thing about any party.
Super Bowl party time here we come. I can hardly wait to see the commercials. Let's root for a close game.
Wednesday, January 21, 2015
Whew! A Close Call.
We just escaped buying a travel trailer. It only took a 350 mile drive, and an 8 hour investment of time to finally clarify our collective mind. For those of you out of the 'loop', I came up with this dream scheme to buy a travel trailer, pull it up to Connecticut, watch Sarah graduate from Yale (Yea, Sarah!), then pull it all the way across Canada, east to west, and sell the travel trailer in the northwestern United States whenever we finished the trip. Then, we would return to Arizona with wonderful stories to tell about our RV'ing experience. Sounds great, doesn't it...on paper.
Since I came up with this idea, Drake has been subconsciously dragging his feet while his mouth has been mostly agreeing with the dream scheme. For several months, there were legitimate things we had to do before we could get serious about buying a trailer. Drake claims he can only manage to do one major thing at a time in his straightforward, project management style. This approach to issues leaves no time or energy to invest in multiple projects simultaneously. Nevertheless, I checked out some library books, began monitoring RV/Campers For Sale in Craigslist, surfed the internet, and began to try and educate myself about trailer life.
January was the date picked to start serious TRAILER SHOPPING. There was still a lot of feet dragging on Drake's part. I should have clued in there was a problem with the dream scheme since Drake and I were almost constantly arguing or agitating about buying a trailer. Normally, we do not have arguments which last for days. We did instantly agree we were not buying 'new'. Talk about depreciation! Trailers lose about two thirds of their value within five years. Weight was a big issue. How much could the Aviator really pull? Would we have to trade it for Navigator, a car which will not fit into our Arizona one car garage. Lack of practical knowledge about trailering was making Drake very uneasy. I was having trouble visualizing what we were actually looking for. This went on, and on, and on as we tried to get up to speed in learning the minimum we absolutely had to know to be able to buy something intelligently.
Finally, by driving all the way to Kingman, Arizona to see a potential purchase, we were able to really understand what the RV life is really about. We got to thoroughly look at and actually get a tutorial in setting up, breaking down, and hauling a travel trailer around. As we sat in the 27' long trailer, for half an hour after having been given an hour's lesson in how many gizmos, gadgets, switches, toggles, levers, and hoses there are on trailers and what you have to do with them, we both realized how very uncomfortable spending any significant amount of time in a trailer actually is.
We are no strangers to living in small spaces. The first eight months of our relationship we lived in a dormitory room. At age 19 never even noticed how small that was. The next year we lived together in one-half of a garage - not a garage apartment - a garage. Mostly, we still only noticed one another and the freezing wind that billowed the curtains even with the windows shut in the winter. It's a wonder we didn't die of carbon monoxide poisoning at Crazy Betty's (my name for our digs) since the garage was heated with a space heater. Our first accommodation after we married was eight feet wide by twenty-four feet long, and after one-half of a garage, this seemed like a palace. In that place, there was actually a COUCH. More recently, we spent the summer in Connecticut sub-leasing Sarah and Jay's Yale apartment which is only 545 square feet, and while small, had a great bed and two recliners.
As we sat in the potential trailer purchase, it came as a revelation there was no comfortable place to sit. I realized the counter tops in the kitchen area were six inches lower than the standard counter top height and a prescription for backache. There were darn few drawers and cabinets to store utensils much less food. The only clothes closet was 18" wide. There were no end tables or lamps. The bathroom was a joke which would become more and more unfunny with use. After a half an hour, it dawned on us we did not want to join the RVing life even for a few months.
So, the revised travel plan for 2015 is to go to Connecticut to see Sarah graduate, spend two months in Maine, and drive across Canada for about a month, then spend the rest of our time away from Arizona in Portland, Oregon drinking wine. Since we settled on this plan, all our arguments have simply vanished confirming we do not wish to become trailer trash. The RV life is one we will not be indulging in. What a narrow escape!
Since I came up with this idea, Drake has been subconsciously dragging his feet while his mouth has been mostly agreeing with the dream scheme. For several months, there were legitimate things we had to do before we could get serious about buying a trailer. Drake claims he can only manage to do one major thing at a time in his straightforward, project management style. This approach to issues leaves no time or energy to invest in multiple projects simultaneously. Nevertheless, I checked out some library books, began monitoring RV/Campers For Sale in Craigslist, surfed the internet, and began to try and educate myself about trailer life.
January was the date picked to start serious TRAILER SHOPPING. There was still a lot of feet dragging on Drake's part. I should have clued in there was a problem with the dream scheme since Drake and I were almost constantly arguing or agitating about buying a trailer. Normally, we do not have arguments which last for days. We did instantly agree we were not buying 'new'. Talk about depreciation! Trailers lose about two thirds of their value within five years. Weight was a big issue. How much could the Aviator really pull? Would we have to trade it for Navigator, a car which will not fit into our Arizona one car garage. Lack of practical knowledge about trailering was making Drake very uneasy. I was having trouble visualizing what we were actually looking for. This went on, and on, and on as we tried to get up to speed in learning the minimum we absolutely had to know to be able to buy something intelligently.
Finally, by driving all the way to Kingman, Arizona to see a potential purchase, we were able to really understand what the RV life is really about. We got to thoroughly look at and actually get a tutorial in setting up, breaking down, and hauling a travel trailer around. As we sat in the 27' long trailer, for half an hour after having been given an hour's lesson in how many gizmos, gadgets, switches, toggles, levers, and hoses there are on trailers and what you have to do with them, we both realized how very uncomfortable spending any significant amount of time in a trailer actually is.
We are no strangers to living in small spaces. The first eight months of our relationship we lived in a dormitory room. At age 19 never even noticed how small that was. The next year we lived together in one-half of a garage - not a garage apartment - a garage. Mostly, we still only noticed one another and the freezing wind that billowed the curtains even with the windows shut in the winter. It's a wonder we didn't die of carbon monoxide poisoning at Crazy Betty's (my name for our digs) since the garage was heated with a space heater. Our first accommodation after we married was eight feet wide by twenty-four feet long, and after one-half of a garage, this seemed like a palace. In that place, there was actually a COUCH. More recently, we spent the summer in Connecticut sub-leasing Sarah and Jay's Yale apartment which is only 545 square feet, and while small, had a great bed and two recliners.
As we sat in the potential trailer purchase, it came as a revelation there was no comfortable place to sit. I realized the counter tops in the kitchen area were six inches lower than the standard counter top height and a prescription for backache. There were darn few drawers and cabinets to store utensils much less food. The only clothes closet was 18" wide. There were no end tables or lamps. The bathroom was a joke which would become more and more unfunny with use. After a half an hour, it dawned on us we did not want to join the RVing life even for a few months.
So, the revised travel plan for 2015 is to go to Connecticut to see Sarah graduate, spend two months in Maine, and drive across Canada for about a month, then spend the rest of our time away from Arizona in Portland, Oregon drinking wine. Since we settled on this plan, all our arguments have simply vanished confirming we do not wish to become trailer trash. The RV life is one we will not be indulging in. What a narrow escape!
Friday, January 16, 2015
Bookmarks for the Ages
I've been collecting bookmarks sporadically for many years. I read a lot of books, and I often read several books at once stashed in various locations around the house thus necessitating several bookmarks in circulation at once. As a kid, I also read stacks and stacks of books. The Florence Park Branch of the Tulsa Library was one half block from the Warehouse Market, my mother's grocery store of choice. Every time she went to the store, I went to the library lugging at least 10 books back and forth each time.
By the time I was 11, I had read ALL (literally) of the books in the children's section. Young Adult literature was in it's infancy in 1961, so my solution to having reading material was to jump to Adult Fiction. Since I knew nothing about the authors, and there weren't book blurbs on those hard as iron book covers adorning the library shelves of my childhood, I can remember picking books by titles that caught my interest or even by the color of the spines! In practicality, it meant I started and stopped several books at a time. My solution was to leave them open lying all over the house. This habit drove my mother insane. (It was my inability to turn off electricity that made my father froth at the mouth.) She was always closing my books with a spare scrap of paper to mark my place, none of which inspired me to use bookmarks.
I've actually collected fridge magnets longer than bookmarks. These are bulky, and I like to display them. Drake has made me two large black lacquer frames around a piece of sheet metal which are discreetly hung in the Sun City house. As small as this house is, it's difficult to find a discreet place for a 3' by 4' frame. The picture is a tiny section of one of these frames. As you can see I have
LOTS of magnets. The more I collected, the more repetitive they seemed. Every National Park has the same type of panoramic picture of its famous view. It has been getting harder and harder to find unique magnets, and my collecting has slowed. Now to be a purchase, a magnet has to be quirky to get my attention.
The world of bookmarks has opened up to me gradually as I've rejected more and more magnets. Bookmarks come in lots of forms. Sometimes I use a favorite card as a bookmark - like the one I have from Willie Dale, a friend who has passed from this life. I have bookmarks Sarah bought me on some of the vacation trips we took when she was a child. A friend of mine collects Gilbert and Sullivan memorabilia some of which comes with forms of advertising from the early 20th century. These look like colorful and quaint business cards. He's given me his 'discards' as bookmarks. My New Orleans bookmark is a slender piece of gold metal with a pelican on the end. This was a gift for dancing with a crew member of a Mardi Gras social club at their annual Mardi Gras Ball in 1984.
My current favorite bookmark is the skyline of New York City I purchased at the Metropolitan Art Museum. It's three inches of metal with a cord on the end to hang out of the book. In the three inches are the outlines of every famous NYC landmark from the Brooklyn Bridge to the Statue of Liberty and every famous building in Manhattan. I just got a postcard to use as a bookmark from Van Horn, Texas. It's from Rodney's Coffee Cafe, "Where passing through meets here to stay!" The postcard is a reproduction of an original painting by Winston McInnis - painted on the wall of the cafe.
I have two layers of bookmarks in the house - the favored ones currently in circulation, and the ones that are resting until I rediscover them. It's like having a museum with personal archives. Sometimes I buy bookmarks to remind me of a famous person we've encountered in our travels. My Harriett Beecher Stowe bookmark says, "Women are the architects of their society." I have a bookmark from Richmond of Phoebe Yates Levy Pember, a famous woman in her time who's unknown today. She can be considered the Clara Barton of the Confederacy. Another current cool one not designed to be a bookmark is from Chocolatier Blue, a chocolate maker in Berkeley. It's the card describing their various chocolates. (My fave of the 25 concoctions on the card: Chili: "crushed red pepper flakes steeped in fresh-farm cream and blended with organic butter for a fiery dark chocolate creation".) One of my new bookmarks is an original watercolor painting from an artist in Lake Tahoe. I'm also a sucker for a bookmark with a tassel. A swinging tassel hanging out of a book just means good times to me.
If all goes according to plan, we will have a travel trailer by this time next week, and since weight and space are going to be an issue next summer, bookmark collection as we traverse Maine and Canada is going to thrive.
By the time I was 11, I had read ALL (literally) of the books in the children's section. Young Adult literature was in it's infancy in 1961, so my solution to having reading material was to jump to Adult Fiction. Since I knew nothing about the authors, and there weren't book blurbs on those hard as iron book covers adorning the library shelves of my childhood, I can remember picking books by titles that caught my interest or even by the color of the spines! In practicality, it meant I started and stopped several books at a time. My solution was to leave them open lying all over the house. This habit drove my mother insane. (It was my inability to turn off electricity that made my father froth at the mouth.) She was always closing my books with a spare scrap of paper to mark my place, none of which inspired me to use bookmarks.
I've actually collected fridge magnets longer than bookmarks. These are bulky, and I like to display them. Drake has made me two large black lacquer frames around a piece of sheet metal which are discreetly hung in the Sun City house. As small as this house is, it's difficult to find a discreet place for a 3' by 4' frame. The picture is a tiny section of one of these frames. As you can see I have
The world of bookmarks has opened up to me gradually as I've rejected more and more magnets. Bookmarks come in lots of forms. Sometimes I use a favorite card as a bookmark - like the one I have from Willie Dale, a friend who has passed from this life. I have bookmarks Sarah bought me on some of the vacation trips we took when she was a child. A friend of mine collects Gilbert and Sullivan memorabilia some of which comes with forms of advertising from the early 20th century. These look like colorful and quaint business cards. He's given me his 'discards' as bookmarks. My New Orleans bookmark is a slender piece of gold metal with a pelican on the end. This was a gift for dancing with a crew member of a Mardi Gras social club at their annual Mardi Gras Ball in 1984.
My current favorite bookmark is the skyline of New York City I purchased at the Metropolitan Art Museum. It's three inches of metal with a cord on the end to hang out of the book. In the three inches are the outlines of every famous NYC landmark from the Brooklyn Bridge to the Statue of Liberty and every famous building in Manhattan. I just got a postcard to use as a bookmark from Van Horn, Texas. It's from Rodney's Coffee Cafe, "Where passing through meets here to stay!" The postcard is a reproduction of an original painting by Winston McInnis - painted on the wall of the cafe.
I have two layers of bookmarks in the house - the favored ones currently in circulation, and the ones that are resting until I rediscover them. It's like having a museum with personal archives. Sometimes I buy bookmarks to remind me of a famous person we've encountered in our travels. My Harriett Beecher Stowe bookmark says, "Women are the architects of their society." I have a bookmark from Richmond of Phoebe Yates Levy Pember, a famous woman in her time who's unknown today. She can be considered the Clara Barton of the Confederacy. Another current cool one not designed to be a bookmark is from Chocolatier Blue, a chocolate maker in Berkeley. It's the card describing their various chocolates. (My fave of the 25 concoctions on the card: Chili: "crushed red pepper flakes steeped in fresh-farm cream and blended with organic butter for a fiery dark chocolate creation".) One of my new bookmarks is an original watercolor painting from an artist in Lake Tahoe. I'm also a sucker for a bookmark with a tassel. A swinging tassel hanging out of a book just means good times to me.
If all goes according to plan, we will have a travel trailer by this time next week, and since weight and space are going to be an issue next summer, bookmark collection as we traverse Maine and Canada is going to thrive.
Thursday, January 8, 2015
It's the New Year
One is supposed to write about New Year resolutions as the calendar year turns over. The older I get the less I'm resolved. This year is a milestone year for me: I'm 65. Of course, I changed my age as soon as the calendar turned Jan 1. According to Drake and the rest of the world, I won't be 65 until September, late September at that. One would think at least Drake would take into account my poor arithmetical skills. Born in 1950, if it's 2015, then that's arithmetic I can do to calculate my age.
At 65, I qualify as old.
I always knew I would be old. As a teenager, I looked at the family tree, and supposed that four grandparents who lived to 90+ made my longevity a foregone conclusion. In my misbegotten youth cigarette smoking didn't seem that big of a risk - so knock 10 years off the end of my life; big deal. That calculation was the medical conclusion in 1970 when I took up the miserable habit. Now in hindsight, we've all learned the medics lied to us about smoking for years and years, and now we all know smoking is a quick and ugly way to end your life. Still....all the resolutions in the world didn't help me quit smoking. Stopping smoking took divine help.
Some businesses make their nut on New Year's Resolutions. Just ask the health clubs. Most of those clubs would be in bankruptcy by March except for those deluded souls who RESOLVE to get into shape each January 1st. They blissfully sign contracts, pay enrollment fees, and never see the inside of the place after February 1st. I can surely identify with those souls; Lordy, how I hate to exercise. Those resolutions last for me only as long as Drake's willpower. Drake's willpower tends to last the entire damn year.
It was interesting to see how the only magazine I read in paper form handled the New Year. Each issue of Real Simple has a 'theme', and the theme for the January issue is "Letting Go". Interestingly, it's less about specific resolutions to lose weight, quit smoking, give up internet porn, watch less TV, or read more books than it is about learning to live in the moment. The point of the issue was all about micromanagement. The editors did concede their target audience (women who are 'having it all') must use time and resource management skills to just make their lives and the people they are responsible for function, but micromanagement turns into helicopter parenting, as well as constantly striving for some definition of perfection, and sleep deprivation. The magazine is divided into sections, and the 'food' section always has five ordinary nutritious meals you can cook - they will even send you a weekly grocery list. The January issue had five meals you didn't have to cook. All in all, a different twist on the New Year.
As I've aged, I've discovered a certain satisfaction in being here to start a New Year. It still feels like being poised for another great adventure as the New Year kicks in. So....while vowing not to make idiotic resolutions, I am going to try and blog more consistently in the coming year. My writer's block is still sort of with me, but it's waning and I don't feel quite so paralyzed. Must be the starting of a New Year that's invigorating me. Happy New Year!
At 65, I qualify as old.
I always knew I would be old. As a teenager, I looked at the family tree, and supposed that four grandparents who lived to 90+ made my longevity a foregone conclusion. In my misbegotten youth cigarette smoking didn't seem that big of a risk - so knock 10 years off the end of my life; big deal. That calculation was the medical conclusion in 1970 when I took up the miserable habit. Now in hindsight, we've all learned the medics lied to us about smoking for years and years, and now we all know smoking is a quick and ugly way to end your life. Still....all the resolutions in the world didn't help me quit smoking. Stopping smoking took divine help.
Some businesses make their nut on New Year's Resolutions. Just ask the health clubs. Most of those clubs would be in bankruptcy by March except for those deluded souls who RESOLVE to get into shape each January 1st. They blissfully sign contracts, pay enrollment fees, and never see the inside of the place after February 1st. I can surely identify with those souls; Lordy, how I hate to exercise. Those resolutions last for me only as long as Drake's willpower. Drake's willpower tends to last the entire damn year.
It was interesting to see how the only magazine I read in paper form handled the New Year. Each issue of Real Simple has a 'theme', and the theme for the January issue is "Letting Go". Interestingly, it's less about specific resolutions to lose weight, quit smoking, give up internet porn, watch less TV, or read more books than it is about learning to live in the moment. The point of the issue was all about micromanagement. The editors did concede their target audience (women who are 'having it all') must use time and resource management skills to just make their lives and the people they are responsible for function, but micromanagement turns into helicopter parenting, as well as constantly striving for some definition of perfection, and sleep deprivation. The magazine is divided into sections, and the 'food' section always has five ordinary nutritious meals you can cook - they will even send you a weekly grocery list. The January issue had five meals you didn't have to cook. All in all, a different twist on the New Year.
As I've aged, I've discovered a certain satisfaction in being here to start a New Year. It still feels like being poised for another great adventure as the New Year kicks in. So....while vowing not to make idiotic resolutions, I am going to try and blog more consistently in the coming year. My writer's block is still sort of with me, but it's waning and I don't feel quite so paralyzed. Must be the starting of a New Year that's invigorating me. Happy New Year!
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