update on my reading...

Confession #1:
I should be reading more (I have the same problem with exercising...need to do it more...).

I'm what you'd call a s-l-0-w reader. Very slow.

It took me awhile, but I'm finally done reading that book on color (mentioned in a previous posts...). Took it slow and easy, savoring a few pages a night before beddy-bye time.

For anyone who dabbles in color (and who doesn't, really?), there is much to learn from this mini but mighty tome about the source of pigments that make up our lives. Some of it is pretty crazy. You won't believe what the most brilliant red is made from!
[Ladies, you may be smearing bug guts on your lips every day]

Confession #2: I have an issue with not being able to retain much of what I read anymore - even after just reading it. However alarming that may sound, it doesn't prevent me from taking great pleasure in the act of reading. But the vicious cycle of reading and forgetting is so very frustrating, yet continues.

My new approach, as some of you already know (from reading b's blog) is re-reading a book right after finishing it. Of course, this doesn't apply to just any book. It has to be one I'm making a conscious effort to remember significant bits from. The color book qualifies for a re-read. But get this: when I'm done with the second go round, I'll start it again.Why? I'm banking on the possibility that with each repeat perusal, I just might retain more and more of the wealth of information within those pages.

Go on - grill me on color. In about 2 years. By then, I should have something of it etched into my gray matter.

After having just expressed a desire to read MORE, re-reading may seem counterproductive. Why keep with the same book when OMG, there are endless read-worthy titles out there to last a lifetime.
It is so true what 'they' say: so many good books, so little time...

Confession #3: Aside from the read and re-read approach, I haven't quite figured out how to remedy my read n' forget affliction.
Would doing a book report work? In the last few years, I did some extensive book reporting for college courses. The kind of analytical research that picks a book and its meaning apart only to put it back together again (and hope for the best). Comparing and contrasting until blue in the face and/or earning an A for the course. Even having experienced that intense degree of focus on a book, if pressed to recall my analysis, most of the time I still can't...

It's been said that discussing what you've just read with someone is a great way to process the essence of the material. Hence book groups. I'm in one, and it does help a wee bit - but not enough.

I love books.
I want to read more.
Moreover, I want to remember what I read.

Aicheemama!
To be young and to be able to remember things!

Quote of the day - and it's a good 'un

You can only be young once. But you can always be immature. - Dave Barry

Somehow, when it comes to humorists, I've always managed to overlook Dave Barry. (Was his start in sports-writing? If so, that would 'splain it...).
But that quote just hit home for me, so there may be something here after all.

Say - he even has a blog.

For more laffs on the subject of immaturity, go here.

20 minute Zzzzzzzz's

Check it out.
Pictured is a MetroNap pod.

For those of you who nap during the day (I don't - unless ill or had a sleep-deprived night before) and swear by the 10-20 minute refresher (AKA power) nap, here's something just for YOU.

You aren't home or anywhere near a comfy bed. There's no quiet place, available sofa or chair (there's such a risk of neck strain napping on most chairs, though). The ol' bod just can't take catching a few quick zzzzzz's on the carpeted floor anymore.
Say 'hello' to Metropod.

Though touted as an office aid to increase productivity in the workplace, I fancy its significance as a tool to help folks get on with the social interaction of their day - without getting grouchy or party-poopery. Tired grumpy people just ain't no fun to be with, don't you agree?

Have any of you ever seen a Metropod, or (gasp!) actually tried one out?
(BTW, have you ever used the spray-down-with-disinfectant-after -use public toilets?)
(this link is scatological to da max!)

Anyways. Back to Metropod:
What happens after 20 minutes (or whatever the timed nap is set for) is up?
Does a loud and very rude alarm go off? Seems counter-productive.
Does a sanitizing pod spray wash over the napper? Nap + a shower = two bits?
Do the disturbing sounds of the city/office/airport seep slowly back into the pod environment, thereby awakening the sleeper? Reality check!

Haha.
Haha is only 2 steps away from Uh-Oh:
I KNEW the pods would someday return to take over our bodies...

Fo' Real or Fo' Fake?

Are you for a Real Christmas tree or are you for a Fake Christmas tree?

We've always had real.
Whether chopped down on the farm or purchased from a lot, we've always been die-hard afficionados and true to the attributes of Real.

This is the first year that I've even considered the idea of a Fake.
For several reasons - the most significant being that I get so sad when the gorgeous looking and delightful smelling Realtree begins its slow but inevitable drying once inside the house (no matter how faithfully the tree stand gets filled with H2O). By the 26th, the extra-crispy tannenbaum only serves to add significantly to my Post-Christmas melancholy.

We live in the forest so I do not want for bringing nature in. All I have to do is glance through any uncurtained window for a view of pines or step out for a 360º of the evergreens.

A live tree to haul in-then-out again is not an option. Too many live bugs.

Cost is another factor. Real has gotten ridiculously-high-priced. Talk about use and discard!

I'm not even going to get into the whole dropped needles issue...

Just thinkin'. Just askin'. Just wonderin' aloud....
Hmmmmmmmmmm...

(BTW, re: cost: no tree on our 1.3 acre property is of the right size/type for cutting down and hauling in as a free-in-the-house Christmas tree)

NO library...

There is one county in California that has no library. I'm not even sure if any version of Bookmobile makes the rounds there.

Sierra County (north of Lake Tahoe) is rural, and no - that doesn't translate to folks who don't read. Over 3500 residents there are in need of a new venue to house books as well as offer community classroom space and a children's center. Even with $2.3 milion dollars raised for the plan, the county is still $500,000 short towards financing construction of such a center. With the coffers already depleted, Sierra County may or may not be able to raise the extra money. No money, no library center.

Following the online article are reader's comments: one reporting that another CA. county has just been financed to erect two new libraries in a city east of Sacramento (where there are already quite a few existing libraries). Cost for new construction: 16 million dollars. Not surprisingly, this is in a high-growth, affluent, residential area which is certainly not lacking for much of anything.
One county struggling to build their very first modest-sized library center (which, at this writing, may or may not happen) and another erecting one of palatial (possibly ostentatious?) proportions. Population and economic differences between the two counties is obvious, but when it comes to libraries, all are equal in their need for one, wouldn't you think?

Everyone should have access to the wealth of information that a public library makes available. A library is a building which houses borrowable books, certainly. Yet the building represents so much more...

When I was a kid, the Chinatown Branch Public Library (posted photo) was my home away from home. Located two and a half blocks from our flat, it was an easy walk, and I could be found there every day after school hanging out with friends and doing homework. An avid reader who didn't own any books of my own, the library was my sole source of reading material (other than my younger brother's comic book collection). I'd peruse the shelves and bring home a stack of books every week. Those would be finished within days, and I'd be back for more.

Even at that young age I realized that the public library was a special place offering unique gifts of knowledge and discovery. A virtual treasure trove of books - all free to borrow, to pore over, to learn from. Every title holds promise of an exciting adventure to new worlds and existences different from one's own. Within the confines of its four walls, the library provides countless opportunities for adventure, travel, fantasy, mystery. Books that prompt questions. Books that provide answers.

In its own quiet way, the library was then and still is - exciting. Comforting. Always welcoming.
Come in, sit down, read a book.
Stay awhile. Or awhile longer.
Take the book home to read. Just be sure to bring it back so someone else can have a turn.

I loved the sounds and smells of the Chinatown Branch Library: old books, new books, the warm mustiness of the central heating system. The heavy swoosh of the big double wood and glass doors as they swung open on smooth hinges. The 'snap' as card catalog drawers were pushed closed. The 'due back' date stamp as it was inked and pressed onto a card by the librarian, then inserted into the front pocket of the book. Creaky wooden furniture.

It was MY library. I owned those sounds and those smells.

Back then, librarians shushed .
I know it's an outdated stereotype, but geeez, I even miss the shushing.

Everyone should have a library of their own 'to own'. A place to make friends with books. Somewhere to escape to from the world and to find new worlds to escape into.

Sierra County is in need of someone who can do an 'Andrew Carnegie'. Will anyone in the 21st century step up to the philanthropist plate for a cause such as this?

Good Gravy!

Seriously.
The turkey gravy I made on T-Day was good.
Damn good.
I whipped up about a gallon of it and there’s still some left.

Tasty! Lovely color! Perfect consistency! No lumps! Smooooooooth as silk! Nothing gooey about it!

The difference must’a been in the making of the roux to thicken vs. going the cornstarch route. All that butter and flour slowly cooked into a bubbling froth before being added to the mix. Really, the gravy was exceptional, if I must say so myself.

I'll be glad when all the leftovers are gone.
Unfortunately, they won't be until I eat them up. Everything (except the pies) smothered with that Good Gravy (topped with a heaping helping of cranberry sauce).
I can forego additional helpings of dessert, but simply cannot pass up the savouries.
I know I won't stop until there isn’t a drop of Good Gravy left.

Thoughts turn to exercise:
How I need to.
How very good it is for me.
How I really do dread doing it.

Arrrgh. Good Gravy vs. A Healthier Heart, Toned Muscles and A Considerably Less Poochy Tummy.
How/when do I turn my thinking around to loathe the rich foods and love the exercise?!?
Hark! Do these sentiments signal an early start of the Guilt Season?
And here you thought it was the official beginning of the Shopping Season. Not so, at least not in my kitchen...

[The photo posted is from an online image source. My gravy never makes it into a little biddy gravy boat. It's scooped with a BIG ladle directly out of the HUGE stockpot I make it in...]

Black Friday

I live under the proverbial rock.

I didn't know until today that the big shopping day after T-Day is referred to as Black Friday. Frankly, because I make it a point not to go shopping the day after Thanksgiving, I don't give a dang.

The bargain hunter in me fully appreciates sharply discounted prices and incredible deals - especially on top quality merchandise, but I reserve the day-after-Thanksgiving for other things:

• enjoying a quiet, lazy and leisurely morning = followed by
• a restful day hanging out with
• family & friends
• eating leftover T-Day foods (this is one time when leftovers actually taste better to me than when the food is originally served)
  
• staying in comfy PJs or other super casual clothing ALL DAY LONG
• doing crafts, reading and watching movies on TV (no football for me, please)
• cozying with my down comforter and taking a nap (who, me?)
  
• maybe, just maybe - stepping out for some fresh air
• and to take in some natural scenery

I covet this package-deal of activities, and am happy to report that I managed all of the above today.
I would not actively seek to do otherwise the day after my favourite holiday of the year. No matter how incredible the Black Friday Advertising Hype about early morning bargain prices.

It really does suit me better to have an affirmation of life rather than
an affirmation of shopping.

To each his/her own.
Whatever you did today, I hope it was super fun, rewarding, soul-satisfying, Chirstmas shopping productive and/or fattening.

P.S. For those of you who don't recognize it, pictured is Uluru (Ayers Rock) in Australia.

Thank You...

I thank you for reading my blog.
Y'all have a great T-Day, now!

EqualTime

When zee Mama posts a pic of zee older DollinkDaughter in 'cute mode', zee Mama feels she ought to post a pic of zee younger DollinkDaughter in 'Cute mode' as well.
Post haste, if not before.

Finding cute pix of those two gals is never a challenge.
However, I was hard-pressed to find a 'crying' photo of DDJrS.
She actually - smiles a lot. At least she did as a young'un.

So here's DDJrS at age 3:
She'd just finished having a bit of a cry and was wiping her snotty nose off on the back of her hand.

Who said it first?

This has been bugging me for some time. Have avoided bringing it up (until now) - mainly because I don't want to be challenged or proven wrong in my steadfast belief about:
'Who said it first?'.

I'm thinking that years before Chandler Bing uttered this line on 'Friends', DollinkDaughter LLS said it waaaaaaaay earlier: back in 1977. Matter of fact, I remember her using that phrase quite often in those days - especially when upset with her DollinkMama.

Dancin' Dancin' Dancin'

Today: a prominent newspaper in India featured an article stating that dancing is a great exercise to ward off heart disease. Think: 'Monsoon Wedding' and you get the impression that many in India (at least in the Punjab region) aren't shy about tripping the light fantastic. (We Americans are much more uptight about shaking our booties).

Dance as exercise isn't news to those of us who have oft-heard the refrain: Dance = exercise = aerobic = muscle building - ALL IN ONE.

Music?
Has it got a beat, can you dance to it?
With music, or without, we've all got the rhythm inside of us, and nothin' should stop ya.

"We're fools whether we dance or not, so we might as well dance." ...
Japanese Proverb

To-Do list for this Monday and Tuesday

1. Finish sewing dining room curtains
2. Hang dining room curtains!
3. Find new home for my stack o' paintings.
4. Move old furniture and other piles of purged stuff out to garage.
5. Wash car.
6. Make Turkey Day to-do list.
7. Begin T-Day food prep.
8. Wash kitchen floor so it doesn't look quite so gross.
9. Scrub bathtubs and sinks.
10. Finish reading That Color Book.
11. Begin re-read of That Color Book.
12. Finish watching Netflix rented movies that have been here for over 3 weeks.
13. Send those Netflix movies back.
14. Pay bills before they're overdue.
15. Make Monday phone calls before Tuesday gets here!
16. Touch-up paint on Art-Craft Room walls.
17. Tidy desk/office space.
18. Vacumn AND Dust everything!
19. Return library books before they are overdue.
    
20. Get white Ikea (!!) dinner plates from garage and wash 'em for T-Day.
21. Make more to-do lists....

Hey, I don't want to have ALL the fun!
You make one too!

I'm so confused!

Heather? Barbie? Barbie? Heather?

But y'know, it's been a long day...

Quote of the day

Every increased possession loads us with new weariness. - John Ruskin

Such truth!

After yesterday's missive on Ikea Madness, this quote is especially meaningful. Many of us must admit to having shopped to excess at some point in our lives. Others can confess to keeping most everything we've ever acquired for a lot longer than we need to wish to or that our lives require.

We all understand what it means to feel bogged down with too much stuff ...

A bi-annual purge of one's possessions can alleviate the weariness a tad. Purging serves to lighten and brighten the home environment, cleanse the emotional palate and re-settle the soul.
That is, until the void is filled with more.
Oh that vicious cycle.

I IKEA. You IKEA. We all IKEA.

Saturday afternoon = Looks to be that when the weekend rolls round, many folks have it first and foremost in mind to head for the nearest Ikea. Never no mind the entertainment to be had at local parks, theaters, museums and seasonal fests. They even eschew outdoor recreation offered by the idyllic natural surroundings, on a gorgeous autumn day - to be - HERE.

That said, so did I.
Last weekend was the only opportunity HubbyDear was able to accompany me to Ikea, so we braved the crowds. I had anticipated a lot of people, but didn't expect to meet with the multitudes. After parking waaaaay out in the back 40 of the lot, HD and I boldly entered the store with a decided purpose: to seek out a small piece of furniture for the guest bedroom. We targeted the upstairs furniture displays, weaving in out between and amongst - individuals, couples, small groups and entire families (quite a few multi-generational). Some, but not all - were - shopping.

We encountered a horde of All-American Folk engaged in the Disneylandesque ambience of Weekend Ikea.
Grandparents sat comfortably on the moderne furniture patiently waiting for (and no doubt bemused by) their adult children, who hassled and haggled over home decor decisions. HD and I dodged strollers (filled with clothes and purses) left and right. The toddlers who weren't in their strollers were running amuck, playing with the toys in Ikea for Kids, lying on cute beds, dancing about around as well as on the colorful furniture. They begged for tasty treats from the Ikea Cafeteria (is the food area always next to the Kid Area? Smart planning in this regard, Ikea!). Grandparents, parents and kids all seemed to be having A GOOD TIME. Go figure.

Yet, in the midst of all the carnival-like gaiety, there seemed to be some semblance of order (perhaps I just create a mental order to survive such situations). Even a bit of good ol' American Consumerism.

Guided by the directional arrows on the floor, the crowd managed to move (not quite en masse, but one could detect a flow) like lemmings from department to department. As if on a self-guided Universal Studios Tour. (Yes yes, I says to myself - this is fine, really it is....all is good...HD and I will get through this...).

And so we did. Well, sorta. Just us and all the other local folk enjoying quality weekend hours at Ikea. It was something of a joyous scene, albeit a bit surreal.
Ikea is a STORE after all, innit?
Who knew it could be so - recreational?!?

Thursday evening = HD and I are back for a second look. We needed to see if what we thought we saw on Saturday was anything close to what we actually want/need. There was no chance for reasonable decision-making last weekend. As most of you know, it's tough to make the right choices under Chaotic Shopping Duress.

There were no crowds whatsoever. No jostling. Lots of room to browse. Shopping at leisure. IKEA associates poised, with a smile and at the ready to assist with every little thing. It was almost a luxury to be able to take time to examine the merchandise and seriously consider to buy or not to buy. No urge to indulge in shark feeding-frenzied buying. Much accomplished in far less time than on a weekend afternoon. BTW, we ended up with something altogether different from our weekend choices.

On such an Ikea shopping trip, you can even walk into the delightfully furnished rooms / apartment vignettes and pretend you live there without turning the corner and discovering a 'stranger' in 'your' bathroom. Last Saturday, 'strangers' were in all my fantasy cribs. Geez, you could probably take a wee nap in one of the beds and no one would notice for....quite a few minutes. You can walk round happily filling your HUGE YELLOW IKEA SHOPPING BAG with all manner of cool stuff and not bump into anything or anyone.

Best of all: No need to queue up for Swedish Meatballs.
Nice. I mean, really n-i-c-e.
Like I'm never doing Saturday Afternoon Ikea Again Nice.
[Or Sunday for that matter]

Book me R/T to Ikea for my next mini-getaway vacation, will ya?
Just make sure it ain't on a weekend.
Or during the upcoming holidays.
Or on an Ikea Grand Opening Day.

cats or ketch

UP.
America's favourite condiment?

First of all, is it cats or ketch?
Secondly, where did this tasty sauce originate?
Thirdly, have any of you ever made it from scratch (Oooooh - just look at all the different kinds!!!).
Fourthly (does anyone actually say 'fourthly?!?), what's the secret for getting it out of the bottle (regular bottle, not the squeezy type)?

Finally, if this Lois only knew who Clark really was, wouldn't she feel out of line reprimanding him for pouring cats/ketch-up all over his sirloin steak?

[And just where the heck is the World's Largest Ketchup Bottle anyway?]
[the WHAAAAT?!?]

and a-three and a-four...

Even better ~ is this scenario from 2nd Grade:
March 17, 1959.
Every kid in Room 5 at Jean Parker Elementary School wore an article of green colored clothing that day. Each of us had a huge paper shamrock pinned to the front of our outfit.

At the annual St. Patrick's Day school assembly, our 3rd grade teacher Mrs. Sparks had us sing this song:

'When Irish Eyes Are Smiling' (music published 1912)

When Irish eyes are smiling,
Sure, 'tis like the morn in Spring.
In the lilt of Irish laughter
You can hear the angels sing.
When Irish hearts are happy,
All the world seems bright and gay.
And when Irish eyes are smiling,
Sure, they steal your heart away.

As with 'Chinatown My Chinatown', we sang just the chorus.
Mrs. Sparks made it a point to instruct us all to pronounce 'smiling' as 'smoylin'.
I guess that was supposed to make us all appear MORE Irish or something.

My favourite line in the chorus: 'and when Irish eyes are smoylin, sure they steal your heart away' - which I always imagined to be 'and when Asian eyes are smyleeeng', sure they steal your heart away'...
In 1959 I was eight years old.

and a-one and a-two

Picture this:

Who: Room 8, Grade 1
What: Students sing
When: 1958
Where: Jean Parker Elementary School
San Francisco, California
Why: To entertain schoolmates and guests (family and friends) at a school assembly

CHINATOWN, MY CHINATOWN
1910 Words by William Jerome Music by Jean Schwartz

Verse 1
WHEN THE TOWN IS FAST A-SLEEP, AND IT'S MID-NIGHT IN THE SKY,
THAT'S THE TIME THE FES-TIVE CHINK STARTS TO WINK HIS OTH-ER EYE,
STARTS TO WINK HIS DREAM-Y EYE, LA-ZI-LY YOU'LL HEAR HIM SIGH.

Verse 2
STRANG-ERS TA-KING IN THE SIGHTS, PIG-TAILS FLY-ING HERE AND THERE.
SEE THAT BROK-EN WALL STREET SPORT, STILL THINKS HE'S A MIL-LION-AIRE.
STILL THINKS HE'S A MIL-LION-AIRE, PIPE DREAMS BAN-ISH EV-'RY CARE.

Chorus

CHI-NA-TOWN, MY CHI-NA-TOWN
WHERE THE LIGHTS ARE LOW,
HEARTS THAT KNOW NO OTH-ER LAND,
DRIFT-ING TO AND FRO.
DREAM-Y DREAM-Y CHI-NA-TOWN,
AL-MOND EYES OF BROWN,
HEARTS SEEMS LIGHT AND LIFE SEEMS BRIGHT,
IN DREAM-Y CHI-NA-TOWN

Mind you, we only sang the Chorus.

Was this cute, or was it slightly weird?
My teacher, Miss Rose M. Crowley - thought it was cute.
I was 7 years old, and I thought it was slightly weird.

painting

HubbyDear and I are re-painting one of our little bedrooms, the one designated as the art-craft room.
The results will be fabulous, pretty, very lovely.
Without a doubt, I will be happy when all is said and done, but the fact remains:
I HATE interior house painting.

Particularly since our walls are textured.
Anyone else have problems with getting good coverage on textured walls?

We've got the extra fuzzy rollers, which help a bit.
My painting tool of choice are the fuzzy pads. I use a little one and load it with paint. Then I muscle those little fibers into the nooks and crannies in an up and down movement, then criss and cross. It always looks well-covered, yet there remain those stubborn little specks of unpainted wall here and there. Needing touch-up.

Also, I HATE the MESS of interior house painting.
The constant clean-up of brushes (ugh!).
The dripping of paint on the floor and carpet.
The dropcloths getting paint dripped on them, then that paint gets on your clothes, shoes (or bare feet).
Then everywhere else (double ugh!)
Needing that second (or third!) coat.
'Cutting in'.
TAPING (triple ugh!).
Painting trim.
Brushmarks on trim.

UGH.
PTUI.

Having bitched and moaned about all this, the room will be delightful when finished. It's always that way after painting.
But the process still sucks.

Twist 'n' Treat

Great dog toy presented by a breed of dog who knows from treaties.