I know it's a drag to have entire columns copied & pasted into a blog post. But then again, it makes it easier to read the whole thing. As a lifelong wannabe economist (Me, at 10: "Mom, how does Claire's pay for its overhead if they sell their earrings for only $1.00?"), albeit a wannabe with no economic knowledge, I rely on the experts of economists. I read their words in a sort of translation; I do not speak their language but can translate, slowly, into my tongue. As Liz Lemon (on 30 Rock) says to Jack Donaghy: "Tell me how you do that thing rich people do, where money turns into more money. How do you do that?" That's me, asking "How do you do that?"
Re: my informal, sporadic study of economics: I enjoyed a book recommended by our friend Brent, Everything For Sale, as well as the popular Freakonomics. The Earth is Flat by Thomas Friedman is very readable. I haven't tackled an actual textbook yet (yikes!), but have seriously considering auditing an econ class one of these years here at Blinn.
My preferred economist is Paul Krugman. Thank you, Mr. Krugman, for winning the Nobel Prize in 2008 and validating my faith in your conclusions. It looks like I done picked a good one!
Despite my interest in econ, the numbers are incomprehensible. When I hear of these billions of dollars being bandied about, it scares me. I should think we should all be scared. The cable car of our United States economy appears to be hanging by a few thin ... cables. Or split cables. Shredding cables? I don't want this money misspent or wasted. None of us do. The Government doesn't always have the best, uh, track record of effective spending. And yet, as Krugman says, stimulus spending is the last arrow left.
Here's his take on the situation (with my red emphasis on the metaphor I like best!). Here's to $800 billion - may it secure the stability of our nation for us and future generations!
Op-Ed Columnist: Bad Faith Economics by PAUL KRUGMAN
Published: January 25, 2009
As the debate over President Obama’s economic stimulus plan gets under way, one thing is certain: many of the plan’s opponents aren’t arguing in good faith. Conservatives really, really don’t want to see a second New Deal, and they certainly don’t want to see government activism vindicated. So they are reaching for any stick they can find with which to beat proposals for increased government spending.
Some of these arguments are obvious cheap shots. John Boehner, the House minority leader, has already made headlines with one such shot: looking at an $825 billion plan to rebuild infrastructure, sustain essential services and more, he derided a minor provision that would expand Medicaid family-planning services — and called it a plan to “spend hundreds of millions of dollars on contraceptives.”
But the obvious cheap shots don’t pose as much danger to the Obama administration’s efforts to get a plan through as arguments and assertions that are equally fraudulent but can seem superficially plausible to those who don’t know their way around economic concepts and numbers. So as a public service, let me try to debunk some of the major antistimulus arguments that have already surfaced. Any time you hear someone reciting one of these arguments, write him or her off as a dishonest flack.
First, there’s the bogus talking point that the Obama plan will cost $275,000 per job created. Why is it bogus? Because it involves taking the cost of a plan that will extend over several years, creating millions of jobs each year, and dividing it by the jobs created in just one of those years.
It’s as if an opponent of the school lunch program were to take an estimate of the cost of that program over the next five years, then divide it by the number of lunches provided in just one of those years, and assert that the program was hugely wasteful, because it cost $13 per lunch. (The actual cost of a free school lunch, by the way, is $2.57.)
The true cost per job of the Obama plan will probably be closer to $100,000 than $275,000 — and the net cost will be as little as $60,000 once you take into account the fact that a stronger economy means higher tax receipts.
Next, write off anyone who asserts that it’s always better to cut taxes than to increase government spending because taxpayers, not bureaucrats, are the best judges of how to spend their money.
Here’s how to think about this argument: it implies that we should shut down the air traffic control system. After all, that system is paid for with fees on air tickets — and surely it would be better to let the flying public keep its money rather than hand it over to government bureaucrats. If that would mean lots of midair collisions, hey, stuff happens.
The point is that nobody really believes that a dollar of tax cuts is always better than a dollar of public spending. Meanwhile, it’s clear that when it comes to economic stimulus, public spending provides much more bang for the buck than tax cuts — and therefore costs less per job created (see the previous fraudulent argument) — because a large fraction of any tax cut will simply be saved.
This suggests that public spending rather than tax cuts should be the core of any stimulus plan. But rather than accept that implication, conservatives take refuge in a nonsensical argument against public spending in general.
Finally, ignore anyone who tries to make something of the fact that the new administration’s chief economic adviser has in the past favored monetary policy over fiscal policy as a response to recessions.
It’s true that the normal response to recessions is interest-rate cuts from the Fed, not government spending. And that might be the best option right now, if it were available. But it isn’t, because we’re in a situation not seen since the 1930s: the interest rates the Fed controls are already effectively at zero.
That’s why we’re talking about large-scale fiscal stimulus: it’s what’s left in the policy arsenal now that the Fed has shot its bolt. Anyone who cites old arguments against fiscal stimulus without mentioning that either doesn’t know much about the subject — and therefore has no business weighing in on the debate — or is being deliberately obtuse.
These are only some of the fundamentally fraudulent antistimulus arguments out there. Basically, conservatives are throwing any objection they can think of against the Obama plan, hoping that something will stick.
But here’s the thing: Most Americans aren’t listening. The most encouraging thing I’ve heard lately is Mr. Obama’s reported response to Republican objections to a spending-oriented economic plan: “I won.” Indeed he did — and he should disregard the huffing and puffing of those who lost.
Jan 27, 2009
My daughter, the plumber?
Scene: the kids' room, this morning
Me: Annie, I like those jeans you're wearing (they have a sparkly star on the pocket). You look very cute this morning!
Annie: These jeans are much better. Those other jeans are not good. Yesterday, people kept were saying, 'Could you please pull up your pants, Annie?' for the morning and after recess!
Me: Let's put those other jeans away until you're taller & they fit better around the waist.
Me: Annie, I like those jeans you're wearing (they have a sparkly star on the pocket). You look very cute this morning!
Annie: These jeans are much better. Those other jeans are not good. Yesterday, people kept were saying, 'Could you please pull up your pants, Annie?' for the morning and after recess!
Me: Let's put those other jeans away until you're taller & they fit better around the waist.
I'm an institutionalist
"New generations don’t invent institutional practices. These practices are passed down and evolve. So the institutionalist has a deep reverence for those who came before and built up the rules that he has temporarily taken delivery of. “In taking delivery,” Heclo writes, “institutionalists see themselves as debtors who owe something, not creditors to whom something is owed,” writes David Brooks in his column, "What Life Asks of Us".
You know that marvelous way that ideas come together when you read more than one thing at a time or in a short space of time - synthesis? I've been synthesizing Little Heathens with a wonderful book by Mary Pipher, The Shelter of Each Other, plus listening to Little House in the Big Woodswith my kids. There is so much that is wonderful about the world we live in now, and I am very cognizant of advances, developments, progress, the whole lot of it!, i.e. women's rights, civil rights, bottled insulin. But as Pipher repeatedly discusses, we need to find a way to balance what is open and accepting in our world today with the duty and responsibilities of previous generations. As Laura Ingalls Wilder records, she and her sisters received mittens and an orange for Christmas, and they were thrilled for hours by the peppermint stick in the stocking. This stopped my children in their tracks a bit, but in a good way.
Pipher shares in her book a conversation with her elderly grandmother; a brash young Pipher, then a student at UC Berkeley, kept asking her grandmother if she had had a happy life. Finally, Pipher's grandmother said that she did not think of life that way. Instead, she had always tried to be useful. Pipher was struck by the difference in perception, and concludes that we need more of that 'useful' approach in our communities.
I suppose most active members of the church are institutionalists too, to some degree. I've never heard the label before, but I like what David Brooks (one of the 'conservative' op-ed columnists for the New York Times has to say about it), in this smaller snippet from the larger piece:
This is a more old-fashioned view of the world. I also think it is ultimately a more satisfying way of living one's life.
You know that marvelous way that ideas come together when you read more than one thing at a time or in a short space of time - synthesis? I've been synthesizing Little Heathens with a wonderful book by Mary Pipher, The Shelter of Each Other, plus listening to Little House in the Big Woodswith my kids. There is so much that is wonderful about the world we live in now, and I am very cognizant of advances, developments, progress, the whole lot of it!, i.e. women's rights, civil rights, bottled insulin. But as Pipher repeatedly discusses, we need to find a way to balance what is open and accepting in our world today with the duty and responsibilities of previous generations. As Laura Ingalls Wilder records, she and her sisters received mittens and an orange for Christmas, and they were thrilled for hours by the peppermint stick in the stocking. This stopped my children in their tracks a bit, but in a good way.
Pipher shares in her book a conversation with her elderly grandmother; a brash young Pipher, then a student at UC Berkeley, kept asking her grandmother if she had had a happy life. Finally, Pipher's grandmother said that she did not think of life that way. Instead, she had always tried to be useful. Pipher was struck by the difference in perception, and concludes that we need more of that 'useful' approach in our communities.
I suppose most active members of the church are institutionalists too, to some degree. I've never heard the label before, but I like what David Brooks (one of the 'conservative' op-ed columnists for the New York Times has to say about it), in this smaller snippet from the larger piece:
I thought it worth devoting a column to institutional thinking because I try to keep a list of the people in public life I admire most. Invariably, the people who make that list have subjugated themselves to their profession, social function or institution.
Second, institutional thinking is eroding. Faith in all institutions, including charities, has declined precipitously over the past generation, not only in the U.S. but around the world. Lack of institutional awareness has bred cynicism and undermined habits of behavior. Bankers, for example, used to have a code that made them a bit stodgy and which held them up for ridicule in movies like “Mary Poppins.” But the banker’s code has eroded, and the result was not liberation but self-destruction.
Institutions do all the things that are supposed to be bad. They impede personal exploration. They enforce conformity.
But they often save us from our weaknesses and give meaning to life.
Jan 22, 2009
Remembrance of Things Past
A few thoughts ... then a question
1) I took 2 or 3 semesters of French at A&M (and 1 or 2 at Ricks College) from a very eccentric French woman who brought her poodle to class.
No, I am not making that up.
I love French and reached the meager height of my prowess in my last semester with her. Oh, how I wish I had a natural facility for speaking French. One of my most shameful memories is trying to practice my French with Bill Langen in his kitchen. As sometimes happens to me when I'm asked a question while feeling stressed, I could not remember anything, not any of my vocabulary: Uh, je ... parle ... uh ... francais ... un peu, peut-etre ... um ... gotta go!
2) During this class, my teacher assigned us a small portion of Marcel Proust's A la recherche du temps perdu. Nowadays, it's been translated into English as In Search of Lost Time, but back in the 90s, we translated it as Remembrance of Things Past. (Yes, I know my capitalization is inconsistent, however, it feels correct this way.)
Perhaps you've heard of this 3,000 page work, even if you haven't read it in French like me.
(Ha ha - I'm joking! I read a few pages, aloud, in halting French, while struggling to comprehend his meaning.)
Wikipedia gives a helpful little summary that fleshes out my memories from my French Phonetics class:
3) Involuntary memory is a beautiful idea, and whenever I share it with my students during our poetry unit, they promptly share some of their triggers. In fact, I've found that discussion of involuntary memory is an effective trigger of involuntary memory as well.
Here are a few of my song & scent triggers from my Hill life (pre children, spouse, full-time employment), and no, we don't really get to choose our memory triggers, so sometimes our 'madeleines' may have been insignificant or peripheral things in our lives that somehow stuck around or embedded themselves in our conciousness. Some of the trigger songs I've listed below were never my favorite songs, but they certain connect me to my past lives:
When I hear ABBA (not just the well-known songs, but all of them, B sides too) or smell Watkins vanilla cologne, I am awakened to my memories of 8th Avenue in St. Cloud.
Bryan Adam's song "Heaven" takes me right back to Tech HS, and so does the smell of Ralph Lauren Polo. (Yes, I graduated in the 20th century!)
Prince's "Purple Rain" fills me with nostalgia like almost nothing else and can bring me to tears nearly every time I listen to it.
When I hear "Somebody" by Depeche Mode (as I did at our church youth dance on Saturday), I am transported back to the MC at Ricks College, and I am once again slow dancing with an LDS stranger.
The smell of stovetop-popped popcorn also brings me back to Dorm 6 at Ricks College, and not necessarily in a good way, since we burned many an oil-coated batch.
Although I never owned the album, and am actually neutral about the singer, hearing Alanis Morrissette, especially anything from "Jagged Little Pill", is a time travel ticket back to Texas A&M and the Battalion newsroom, circa 1993 or 94. That album must have been on repeat in somebody's walkman because it burned itself into my memory.
Though this is more of a taste than a smell, homemade veggie burgers connect me to Elizabeth's house and her wonderful cooking on Day Street.
Now, how are madeleines different from favorites? I suppose they could be the same thing, sometimes, but to me, madeleines bring us to another place involuntarily (right backatcha, Proust!). They choose us, not the other way around. Elizabeth might rather that I think of her every time I smell a cookie, but it's those fried oat flakes that trigger her kitchen for me!
4) What are your madeleines, and where do they take you?
Forgive the font stylings. I've never tried it before ... and may never again.
1) I took 2 or 3 semesters of French at A&M (and 1 or 2 at Ricks College) from a very eccentric French woman who brought her poodle to class.
No, I am not making that up.
I love French and reached the meager height of my prowess in my last semester with her. Oh, how I wish I had a natural facility for speaking French. One of my most shameful memories is trying to practice my French with Bill Langen in his kitchen. As sometimes happens to me when I'm asked a question while feeling stressed, I could not remember anything, not any of my vocabulary: Uh, je ... parle ... uh ... francais ... un peu, peut-etre ... um ... gotta go!
2) During this class, my teacher assigned us a small portion of Marcel Proust's A la recherche du temps perdu. Nowadays, it's been translated into English as In Search of Lost Time, but back in the 90s, we translated it as Remembrance of Things Past. (Yes, I know my capitalization is inconsistent, however, it feels correct this way.)
Perhaps you've heard of this 3,000 page work, even if you haven't read it in French like me.
(Ha ha - I'm joking! I read a few pages, aloud, in halting French, while struggling to comprehend his meaning.)
Wikipedia gives a helpful little summary that fleshes out my memories from my French Phonetics class:
À la recherche du temps perdu) is a semi-autobiographical novel in seven volumes by Marcel Proust. His most prominent work, it is popularly known for its extended length and the notion of involuntary memory, the most famous example being the "episode of the madeleine".
Madeleines are perhaps most famous outside France for their association with involuntary memory in the Marcel Proust novel À la recherche du temps perdu (Remembrance of Things Past in the first translation, more recently translated as In Search of Lost Time), in which the narrator experiences an awakening upon tasting a madeleine dipped in tea:
“She sent out for one of those short, plump little cakes called petites madeleines, which look as though they had been moulded in the fluted scallop of a pilgrim's shell. And soon, mechanically, weary after a dull day with the prospect of a depressing morrow, I raised to my lips a spoonful of the tea in which I had soaked a morsel of the cake. No sooner had the warm liquid, and the crumbs with it, touched my palate than a shudder ran through my whole body, and I stopped, intent upon the extraordinary changes that were taking place…at once the vicissitudes of life had become indifferent to me, its disasters innocuous, its brevity illusory…”
— Remembrance of Things Past, Volume 1: Swann's Way.[3]
3) Involuntary memory is a beautiful idea, and whenever I share it with my students during our poetry unit, they promptly share some of their triggers. In fact, I've found that discussion of involuntary memory is an effective trigger of involuntary memory as well.
Here are a few of my song & scent triggers from my Hill life (pre children, spouse, full-time employment), and no, we don't really get to choose our memory triggers, so sometimes our 'madeleines' may have been insignificant or peripheral things in our lives that somehow stuck around or embedded themselves in our conciousness. Some of the trigger songs I've listed below were never my favorite songs, but they certain connect me to my past lives:
When I hear ABBA (not just the well-known songs, but all of them, B sides too) or smell Watkins vanilla cologne, I am awakened to my memories of 8th Avenue in St. Cloud.
Bryan Adam's song "Heaven" takes me right back to Tech HS, and so does the smell of Ralph Lauren Polo. (Yes, I graduated in the 20th century!)
Prince's "Purple Rain" fills me with nostalgia like almost nothing else and can bring me to tears nearly every time I listen to it.
When I hear "Somebody" by Depeche Mode (as I did at our church youth dance on Saturday), I am transported back to the MC at Ricks College, and I am once again slow dancing with an LDS stranger.
The smell of stovetop-popped popcorn also brings me back to Dorm 6 at Ricks College, and not necessarily in a good way, since we burned many an oil-coated batch.
Although I never owned the album, and am actually neutral about the singer, hearing Alanis Morrissette, especially anything from "Jagged Little Pill", is a time travel ticket back to Texas A&M and the Battalion newsroom, circa 1993 or 94. That album must have been on repeat in somebody's walkman because it burned itself into my memory.
Though this is more of a taste than a smell, homemade veggie burgers connect me to Elizabeth's house and her wonderful cooking on Day Street.Now, how are madeleines different from favorites? I suppose they could be the same thing, sometimes, but to me, madeleines bring us to another place involuntarily (right backatcha, Proust!). They choose us, not the other way around. Elizabeth might rather that I think of her every time I smell a cookie, but it's those fried oat flakes that trigger her kitchen for me!
4) What are your madeleines, and where do they take you?
Forgive the font stylings. I've never tried it before ... and may never again.
Jan 20, 2009
Double the joy
Yes, I will get choked up today. I will cry when I hear Barack Obama take a solemn oath of office. I will savor the pomp & circumstance of this momentous day (or as much of it comes through streaming video).
After seasons of the Aggies failing to live up to their potential, after a year and a half of loss, self-doubt and personal pain, after six months of living in a house with a shabby exterior in terrible need of new paint, after my devastating loss in the Battle of the Bulge, after realizing that children come to earth as they are and not as little clones of my best traits, that they bring challenges & joys that will allow me to grow and love (but not sit proudly on a mother throne confidently surveying my work), after the economic meltdown that has all of us feeling insecure, after a year of health challenges for my family members, after accidentally putting "Blades of Glory" in my blockbuster.com queue and then watching half of it...
It's nice to have picked a winner.
It's nice to feel confident in the judgment and character of the president-elect.
It's nice to be an Obama-maniac, people!
After seasons of the Aggies failing to live up to their potential, after a year and a half of loss, self-doubt and personal pain, after six months of living in a house with a shabby exterior in terrible need of new paint, after my devastating loss in the Battle of the Bulge, after realizing that children come to earth as they are and not as little clones of my best traits, that they bring challenges & joys that will allow me to grow and love (but not sit proudly on a mother throne confidently surveying my work), after the economic meltdown that has all of us feeling insecure, after a year of health challenges for my family members, after accidentally putting "Blades of Glory" in my blockbuster.com queue and then watching half of it...It's nice to have picked a winner.
It's nice to feel confident in the judgment and character of the president-elect.
It's nice to be an Obama-maniac, people!
First day of spring semester classes
I love the first day of classes. I get energized when I meet my new students, discuss expectations, review all the amazing/cool concepts we're going to cover during the semester (like how to achieve paragraph unity or integrate literary criticism in essays - thrilling stuff!). I think I make a good impression, too, since I have lots of little stories and laugh at my own jokes.
It's later, when the red ink begins to flow, that I get significant attitude from Today's Youth (the name Marni, Jonathan & I came up with for surly, entitled teenagers in groups when we saw such a cluster tubing down the river one long ago summer in Minnesota).
But today will be fun and will remind me how much I love teaching English. When I was a junior in High School, sitting in Ms. Braun's class (thank you, Jan, for making us read "Bartleby the Scrivener" even though I may have rolled my eyes and certainly chatted with my friends), I had the thought: I would like to do this too.
I've already shared my epiphany with Ms. Braun, years ago in a St. Cloud grocery store aisle, but I like to remember my good fortune, that I have a vocation - gifted to me when I was 16 years old - not just a job, and that I am stunningly lucky to be able to do something I really love.
It's later, when the red ink begins to flow, that I get significant attitude from Today's Youth (the name Marni, Jonathan & I came up with for surly, entitled teenagers in groups when we saw such a cluster tubing down the river one long ago summer in Minnesota).
But today will be fun and will remind me how much I love teaching English. When I was a junior in High School, sitting in Ms. Braun's class (thank you, Jan, for making us read "Bartleby the Scrivener" even though I may have rolled my eyes and certainly chatted with my friends), I had the thought: I would like to do this too.
I've already shared my epiphany with Ms. Braun, years ago in a St. Cloud grocery store aisle, but I like to remember my good fortune, that I have a vocation - gifted to me when I was 16 years old - not just a job, and that I am stunningly lucky to be able to do something I really love.
Jan 16, 2009
Oh, Graham
Last night, we had to leave Jen's birthday cake eating get-together after 1 hour. The kids knew this would be the duration of our stay, but of course, when I gave them a 10 minute warning, they replied, "We're just starting to play!" In the van ahead of time, 1 hour seemed like a long time, but when kids are playing with their best friends, 1 hour is nothing.
Graham was not a happy camper, but I took the hard line (in a private "conference" with him in a spare room) and told him that if he gave me (any more) trouble about leaving, he wouldn't be able to go to Boy's Book Club tonight. Amazingly, this worked ... maybe/probably because I was dead serious and willing to follow through.
As we got in the van, both children having left the party without any (apparent) fuss,Graham asked me a few questions: "Can I invite whoever I want to my party?", "Can I only invite the people I want to be there?", "Can I choose who comes to my birthday?"
"Yes," I said. "You can choose who you want to invite."
"Is there someone you don't want to invite?" I added.
short pause.
"You," he said, quietly.
Ah!
"That's fine too," I said pleasantly. "What do you think you'll do about your birthday cake? And what kind of invitations are you going to make? Where do you think you'll have the party?" I continued, rather sweetly.
short pause again.
"I need to think about it," he said, and didn't mention the topic again.
Graham was not a happy camper, but I took the hard line (in a private "conference" with him in a spare room) and told him that if he gave me (any more) trouble about leaving, he wouldn't be able to go to Boy's Book Club tonight. Amazingly, this worked ... maybe/probably because I was dead serious and willing to follow through.
As we got in the van, both children having left the party without any (apparent) fuss,Graham asked me a few questions: "Can I invite whoever I want to my party?", "Can I only invite the people I want to be there?", "Can I choose who comes to my birthday?"
"Yes," I said. "You can choose who you want to invite."
"Is there someone you don't want to invite?" I added.
short pause.
"You," he said, quietly.
Ah!
"That's fine too," I said pleasantly. "What do you think you'll do about your birthday cake? And what kind of invitations are you going to make? Where do you think you'll have the party?" I continued, rather sweetly.
short pause again.
"I need to think about it," he said, and didn't mention the topic again.
Jan 15, 2009
Parenting and anger
As mothers it’s impossible to not lose it sometimes. A wise parenting expert I know said you should strive to be a great parent 80 percent of the time. The rest of the time you just need to realize you could have done better and move on. It’s that 20 percent that inducts us into the sorority of on-the-edge mothers and also lets us off the hook when we so desperately need it.So says Susie Orman Schnall, as reported in today's Motherlode blog.
That got me thinking about my own percentages. I hope I'm hitting 80% at least 80% of the time.
Jan 13, 2009
A fun question to ponder
I believe it was my friend Heather who first posed this question to me years ago. I've thought about the choices in the question many times since then. I think I even added one of the choices along the way.
Would you rather have?
a) a maid
b) a chauffeur
c) a chef
d) a secretary
e) a nanny
My pick would be a maid ...
but secretary gave it a run for its money!
If my home was consistently spic-n-span, my head would be clearer for tasks like bill paying and budgeting. That said, I would love for someone else to take care of the paperwork.
While having a chef would be tempting, I love to cook, especially if someone else is cleaning up, so a maid would allow me to be my own chef.
I don't want a chauffeur because I enjoy driving around with my kiddos, listening to books on CD and having (mostly) fun conversations with them.
A nanny is probably last on my list since they are in school much of the day; I already have plenty of hours when I'm not with them (7:45 a.m. - 2:45 p.m.) so my daydreams lean toward enjoying our afternoons, evenings and mornings in a spotless abode. "Anyone for a game of Go Fish on this shiny floor?" I would ask.
How about you - what support staff would most enhance your life?
Would you rather have?
a) a maid
b) a chauffeur
c) a chef
d) a secretary
e) a nanny
My pick would be a maid ...
but secretary gave it a run for its money!
If my home was consistently spic-n-span, my head would be clearer for tasks like bill paying and budgeting. That said, I would love for someone else to take care of the paperwork.
While having a chef would be tempting, I love to cook, especially if someone else is cleaning up, so a maid would allow me to be my own chef.
I don't want a chauffeur because I enjoy driving around with my kiddos, listening to books on CD and having (mostly) fun conversations with them.
A nanny is probably last on my list since they are in school much of the day; I already have plenty of hours when I'm not with them (7:45 a.m. - 2:45 p.m.) so my daydreams lean toward enjoying our afternoons, evenings and mornings in a spotless abode. "Anyone for a game of Go Fish on this shiny floor?" I would ask.
How about you - what support staff would most enhance your life?
My all-time favorite NPR quiz show
Well, it's also the only NPR quiz show I listen to, but it's still my favorite: Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me.
It's the only quiz show that features, as its prize for winning, the voice of Carl Kasell (pronounced Castle, but without even a hint of a 't') on your home answering machine.
When I'm out and about on Saturday mornings and tune in to WWDM, I experience a feeling of belonging, a feeling of 'Here's my tribe of goofballs and they broadcast each week from Chicago.' How to explain the format? There's lots of commentary on the week's news, but jokes and humorous anecdotes and stories from mildly famous participants. It's low-key fun, and here in BCS, it's on KAMU 90.9 FM on Saturdays from 10 a.m. - 11 a.m., right after Car Talk.
I hope this blog isn't turning into a mere interactive recommendation list. I don't think so, but it is fun to share favorites, especially radio shows. I guess I'm tweaking my fall pattern of politics - kids - design, with favorites - kids - other people's wedding photos (not necessarily in that order).
Stunning engagement photos induce jealousy
First of all, here is a link to a gorgeous, impressive engagement photo shoot. I was literally drooling. The photos seem to tell the whole story of their relationship (well, the parts of their relationship involving a pink balloon), and the pictures capture their happiness. Plus, I love the muted color scheme and city locale. Totally, totally charming.
No, I do not know this couple. I found this on another blog I enjoy frequenting, but not knowing the couple has nothing to do with enjoying their pictures. I can only imagine how lovely their wedding will be!
Second of all, sometimes reading other people's totally, totally charming blogs makes me feel wildly insecure. Know the feeling? I *get* that blogs are a facade, but some people's facades make me feel, um, envious of their happy lives.
This is why I continue to teach "Othello" year after year. That, and I know the play pretty well and already have all of the assignments done. Othello is all about the destructive power of jealousy, the green-eyed monster and all that. It is a monster 'that doth mock the meat it feeds on'. Shakespeare understood it well.
That said, I am happy for other people's happiness. But it seems like an unavoidable sidetrack of the wonders of blogging/facebooking/flickring is comparison ... and comparison often turns into contrast which differentiates and indicates superiority/inferiority. True comparison is about finding similarities, so really what I need to watch out for is contrasting myself with others.
That, or learn how to take pale pink pictures from far, far away.
Jan 11, 2009
Annual Hill family portraits
It's no easy task getting everyone to smile at the appropriate time and look in the correct direction, but my mom got the shots right, even with a self-timer, which required a quick dash to the designated spot!
Jan 6, 2009
Washing machine anecdote of interest to (only) me
One week before Christmas, my washing machine broke. Water was leaking everywhere. Kyle came over and checked the hoses & didn't feel any moisture, so he figured it was leaking out the bottom. I didn't have time to wait for a repairman in those few days before we left, so I washed clothes by hand. I've done it before and was reminded again that stirring clothes in hot water and detergent is really harsh on the skin.
I was fearing worst case scenario, that I would have to buy a brand-new washing machine in January. Then I had a new worst case scenario when we arrived home: Knight had mistaken fabric for cat litter and made a mess of many, many a blanket/pillow/sock/towel/shoe/mind. That darn cat!
My friend Jennifer had kindly bagged the bulk of the filthy stuff in my laundry area, but I knew I needed to wash, and soon.
Today, the repairmen from Buddy's Appliances arrived. They examined the machine and told me that the problem is with the transmission. The 'tub' of the washer isn't supposed to spin while it drains, but mine was spinning, thus making the water level rise up and spill out.
Total estimated cost for a new transmission = $200. Total cost for a new washing machine = $388, they said. Total desire to buy a new washing machine this month = 0.
But then 'Carl' mentioned I could still use the washer as long as I kept it on the medium or small setting. Oh, really? Jojavascript:void(0)y returns. I can use my washer! I can wash my things. No more pioneer wife hunched over a tub for me.
He said repeatedly, "Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, ma'am!" But I only heard that I could wash again. I know that small loads use more water and aren't as environmentally sensitive, but let me tell you, even a small load is going to use less water than rinsing in a tub.
I was fearing worst case scenario, that I would have to buy a brand-new washing machine in January. Then I had a new worst case scenario when we arrived home: Knight had mistaken fabric for cat litter and made a mess of many, many a blanket/pillow/sock/towel/shoe/mind. That darn cat!
My friend Jennifer had kindly bagged the bulk of the filthy stuff in my laundry area, but I knew I needed to wash, and soon.
Today, the repairmen from Buddy's Appliances arrived. They examined the machine and told me that the problem is with the transmission. The 'tub' of the washer isn't supposed to spin while it drains, but mine was spinning, thus making the water level rise up and spill out.
Total estimated cost for a new transmission = $200. Total cost for a new washing machine = $388, they said. Total desire to buy a new washing machine this month = 0.
But then 'Carl' mentioned I could still use the washer as long as I kept it on the medium or small setting. Oh, really? Jojavascript:void(0)y returns. I can use my washer! I can wash my things. No more pioneer wife hunched over a tub for me.
He said repeatedly, "Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, ma'am!" But I only heard that I could wash again. I know that small loads use more water and aren't as environmentally sensitive, but let me tell you, even a small load is going to use less water than rinsing in a tub.
White Christmas
Minnesota delivered on the snow front!
We had heaps and piles, freezing rain, moist, moldable snow (best for making snowmen and snowballs), hard, packed snow on the sled hills, softly falling snow in the evenings, bitter, biting gusts, and tasty clumps to eat. There was one contingency urging restraint on the eating of snow ("It could be fatal!" "It chills your internal organs!"), but Uncle Andrew urged everyone to remember childhood is so precious, so short that they should be able to eat all the snow they want!
Resolved
This year, I resolved to make only manageable resolutions. That's a new thing for me. Usually, my January list reads like an itinerary for invading a foreign country and is totally undoable, i.e. "Grow out hair for Valentine's Day" or "Lose weight" or "Learn HTML". (What are some of your crazy resolutions from years past?)I did chuckle with my sisters, wondering if there will ever be a year when I don't resolve to lose weight. What would such a year feel like? (Valerie Frankel's memoir Thin Is the New Happy has some ideas, and does provide a road map of sorts: don't worry about food and exercise at least four times a week, she concludes.)
But I don't want my resolutions to become another burden, another source of nagging failure. So making them realistic is the way to go in 2009.
I took a bag of rocks that I purchased years ago and wrote in Sharpie on each rock one verb phrase, i.e. Enjoy children. Laugh with them every day. Continue to hold meaningful family home evenings. Faciliate Graham's Cub Scouts. Follow the Spirit in church stewardships. Lose weight. Whiten teeth. Work on novel (the big unstarted albatross that makes me dread each passing year) each week. Improve grading comments to better help students improve writing. Back up iphoto files.
And so on.
Although I have about 20 rocks, most of the tasks are things that I'm trying to do already. The enjoying children is probably the most important resolution. I want to have fun with them more often and with fewer backwards glances to unswept floors.
However, I'm not one of those people who says, Don't worry about the floor. It doesn't matter. Because it does matter to me. Dirty floors make me antsy and unproductive, so I need my house to maintain a certain level of tidiness, otherwise we spiral into disarray. Hence the rock that says, Maintain adequate cleaniness for productivity. No more, no less.
I'm going to put the rocks in a jar with sand, of course. Which LDS woman among us doesn't live and die by the rock/sand metaphor? Or is it just me? I love the image!
If, at the end of the year, Graham has successfully completed his Wolf and is working on his Bear, if his A1C is below 7, if Annie has solidified her reading and is working on the piano, if my teeth are bright white and my jeans less snug, if I've held strong in making the kids take their Omega-3 supplements, if I've finished the Book of Mormon with the Young Women in our ward, if I've strengthened my friendships and family relationships, if I've moved even further away from emotional reactivity in my parenting (see upcoming post on the a-maz-ing book ScreamFree Parenting!) and if I have some chapters completed, well, I'll feel like it was a good year.
p.s. I've already started working on my smile with an Oral B Super Turbo Brush Hog. It blasts plaque right off. Yes, I was a little alarmed at the fine print: Seek the advice of your dentist if gum bleeding persists for more than two weeks. But beauty comes at a price. $19.99, to be exact. :)
The Splendid Table's How to Eat Supper
I keep going on and on about this cookbook, and it totally deserves it.
Last fall, I happened to see it on the library's New Books shelf. I'm a sucker for glossy cookbooks, and love to check them out just to drool at food styling. This one was a bit different, however. I could see myself making many of the dishes, like pan-fried deviled eggs. And I was halfway through the book when I realized many of the dishes were meatless or had meatless adaptations. One of the nifty features of How to Eat Supper is a variations-on-a-theme list after the main recipe. I renewed the book, then returned it, then checked it out again, then requested it for Christmas.
It's funny and instructive and full of recommendations and not at all full of itself. It gives lots of shortcuts, like how to make quick pho (vietnamese soup), which I've been wanting to do, ever since I read Anthony Bourdain's A Cook's Tour (his conclusion was that Vietnam has the world's tastiest cuisine).
Here's the plug from Publisher's Weekly, taken from The Splendid Table's website:
You can even sign up for an e-newsletter with tips & recipes.
For someone like me, someone who loves food and wants to be a great home cook, but often lacks time and/or technique, The Splendid Table makes me feel like my goal is within my reach
Last fall, I happened to see it on the library's New Books shelf. I'm a sucker for glossy cookbooks, and love to check them out just to drool at food styling. This one was a bit different, however. I could see myself making many of the dishes, like pan-fried deviled eggs. And I was halfway through the book when I realized many of the dishes were meatless or had meatless adaptations. One of the nifty features of How to Eat Supper is a variations-on-a-theme list after the main recipe. I renewed the book, then returned it, then checked it out again, then requested it for Christmas. It's funny and instructive and full of recommendations and not at all full of itself. It gives lots of shortcuts, like how to make quick pho (vietnamese soup), which I've been wanting to do, ever since I read Anthony Bourdain's A Cook's Tour (his conclusion was that Vietnam has the world's tastiest cuisine).
Here's the plug from Publisher's Weekly, taken from The Splendid Table's website:
... this superb book should grace the shelves of even the most infrequent of cooks. ... Given the show's popularity, the accessibility of the recipes and the authors' practical and useful advice, this excellent book is sure to become a kitchen staple."
You can even sign up for an e-newsletter with tips & recipes.
For someone like me, someone who loves food and wants to be a great home cook, but often lacks time and/or technique, The Splendid Table makes me feel like my goal is within my reach
Graham's testimony
Graham was asked to share his testimony during Primary this past Sunday. We sat down at the computer so he could tell me what I should type. This is what he came up with, and what he shared during the meeting. My only prompting was that I told him a testimony often started with "I believe", and then after the second 'paragraph', I asked him if he wanted to add anything about church or family.
If you know Graham, you know he enjoys making pronouncements. Picture him standing in my room, ruminating, then sharing his insights in a megaphone-volume voice. (I'm including a couple of baby pictures because, of course, it's hard to believe he's already eight years old!)
If you know Graham, you know he enjoys making pronouncements. Picture him standing in my room, ruminating, then sharing his insights in a megaphone-volume voice. (I'm including a couple of baby pictures because, of course, it's hard to believe he's already eight years old!)
Graham’s testimony
January 4, 2009
I believe that God is the most powerful thing in the universe. I believe that God loves me and will never stop loving me, even if I do something wrong.
We should repent if we do something wrong. Jesus who died for our sins lets us repent. Jesus loves me as much as God does. He is my older brother.
I like that at church you don’t have to stay as long as at school. Also, I like learning about history and the gospel.
I am grateful for my family and that they do not dislike me. I’m glad that we are sealed together.
Jan 3, 2009
Family pictures, of course
As I peruse my fellow bloggers' post-Christmas postings, I love reveling in everyone's Christmas memories and recollections. It helps extend the season just a bit longer.
But this isn't that post.
There are many things I want to record, for me, if no one else. Things like Graham's excitement at receiving baseball chess (Who knew Santa had such toys in his sleigh?) Things like Graham drinking - and begging for - Aunt Courtney's spinach/strawberry smoothie. Things like Annie waking up with sponge rollers in her hair and brushing out the beautiful curls. Things like cousin fun and kisses from Miles. Things like the perfect, perfect, moist snow that presented itself on our first night at the cabin. Things like The Splendid Table How to Eat Supper Cookbook, a very special gift in my pile.
But this isn't that post.
I have to unload groceries, take out the trash, tidy up, settle down, find places for the new gifts.
However, I have some darling photos of the three of us taken by my mother in her traveling studio. So while the words start gathering in my brain, I'll share some images.
But I promise to get the video of Graham joyfully using his Christmas Whoopee Cushion (Aunt Marni knew what this 8 year old would like!) pronto.
But this isn't that post.
There are many things I want to record, for me, if no one else. Things like Graham's excitement at receiving baseball chess (Who knew Santa had such toys in his sleigh?) Things like Graham drinking - and begging for - Aunt Courtney's spinach/strawberry smoothie. Things like Annie waking up with sponge rollers in her hair and brushing out the beautiful curls. Things like cousin fun and kisses from Miles. Things like the perfect, perfect, moist snow that presented itself on our first night at the cabin. Things like The Splendid Table How to Eat Supper Cookbook, a very special gift in my pile.
But this isn't that post.
I have to unload groceries, take out the trash, tidy up, settle down, find places for the new gifts.
However, I have some darling photos of the three of us taken by my mother in her traveling studio. So while the words start gathering in my brain, I'll share some images.
But I promise to get the video of Graham joyfully using his Christmas Whoopee Cushion (Aunt Marni knew what this 8 year old would like!) pronto.
Travel conclusions
We returned to the Lone Star State yesterday, well, today, actually. Many lessons were learned in transit. Many prayers were uttered. Many desires for a magic genie (a la Aladdin) bubbled up in my brain. Many pieces of gum were chewed.
So what did I learn?
1st lesson, a somewhat surprising one: I'd rather fly out at the crack of dawn than later in the day. Our departure to Minnesota was a 6 a.m. flight. I bought the tickets this summer (rather desperately since I kept trying to book on Priceline.com only to receive 3 messages that, "This fare is no longer available"), and postponed my dread of the earlier departure until after Thanksgiving. Obviously, 6 a.m. flight means 4:30 a.m. airport arrival. Yikes. Especially when we live 1.5+ hours from the airport.
In an attempt to lessen the earliness of our departure, we stayed in a motel just down the road from the airport, and the kids loved it. They loved the beeping alarm clock and the Parking Spot shuttle bus too. They even loved being in the airport and taking the moving sidewalks. At 4:30 a.m., the airport is just waking up. People are fresh and friendly. I had a TSA agent carry all my bags from the shuttle bus to the ticketing area. Most appreciated, since we had 3 bags, 4 carry-ons (including Graham and Annie's own darling pull bags from Meme and PawPaw), and assorted sweatshirts tied around waists. The security line was ... not really a line. We got right in at 4:45 a.m. There was even a friendly employee who sold me chocolate filled croissants at the little newsstand, even though the bakery portion wasn't supposed to open until 5 a.m.
Although it meant getting up early - major yawns all around - we had excitement on our side.
Our return flight left Minnesota at 2:45 or so. A great time in that I was able to visit with Kara & Sara, dear high school friends, before the flight. But after arriving in Atlanta - my favorite comment from my mom during our packing-up frenzy was "Have you checked the weather in Atlanta? Are you sure you don't need these coats?" For no other reason than the frightening prospect of having to make a second trip through the security checkpoint, we stayed inside Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport. Our only Georgia ambiance came from JukeJoints, a BBQ place near our gate - the kids were getting tired.
Even before we left Minnesota, I could feel the stress of the later time. The airport was full, the security line stalled. The bags felt heavier & the sweatshirts were dragging behind our bags. We didn't have time to play in the KidZone before boarding our plane because it took so long to have our belongings x-rayed.
Once in Georgia, our flight was supposed to leave Atlanta at 8:55 p.m. Eastern time. We sat on the aircraft for 1 hour. Hell on wheels, people. The temperature alternated between stale heat and gusts of cold air from the blowers above our heads. My children were "soooooooooooo thirsty" that they couldn't stop saying the word thirsty. I'm not proud to admit this but I resorted to pinching, as in pinching Graham's behind on the (literally) 36th time he said "10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, blastoff" while we waited on the tarmac without blasting off.
Once in the air, Annie fell sweetly asleep and Graham watched a movie. I listened to a bit of satellite radio and read old issues of O Magazine, a favorite airplane activity! But once we landed at 11:10 p.m., Annie awoke very un-sweetly, and who can blame her? Her zip-up boots were giving us fits, and she sobbed, "These boots fit in Minnesota but my feet have grown."
I could feel my hair actually beginning to curl as we walked through Houston Hobby. I could feel my emotions curl too as we waited for 25 minutes before the bags arrived. My children were rolling their lucky coins on the filthy floor and bickering over who could sit on top of the SmartCart. There was definitely no friendly TSA agent to help me maneuver my Beverly Hillbillies-style cart to the waiting zone.
We got home home at 2 a.m., and they woke up a little as I carried them in the house. Both were excited to see the cats and the completed nativity set, but both were half zombies. Graham peeled off all of his clothes and hopped into bed stark naked. Annie was past the point of sanity. She looked at him with tears in her eyes and said, "You disgust me!" Then she got in her bed and fell asleep before her head was on the pillow. As I lay beside her in the narrow twin bed, since as my friend/wonderful cat care technician Jennifer had warned me, Knight got "confused" about his litter box and used my bed, I vowed never to try a late arrival by myself again. It's one thing where there is a wonderful Grandpa Fred waiting at Baggage Claim to help. It's another when there are no reinforcements on the horizon.
2nd lesson, a somewhat short-lived one: AirTran is a swell airline. For some reason, probably word connotation gone wild, I thought it was a cargo freight-type operation. It's the "Tran" part of the name. I associated the airline with people sitting next to cardboard boxes, hanging on to loops of canvas on the wall.
The planes themselves were very nice, very new, quite clean and powerful. I've gotten used to flying MD-80s. These were Boeing 727s and 707s that flew at 40,000 feet. (3rd lesson - I think I prefer flying at 29,000 feet.) As we took off from Atlanta to Minneapolis, the surge was so powerful I was sure we were headed for the International Space Station. I guess I prefer to be a bit closer to terra firma, as in lips to the ground.
But all fear aside, the flights were buttery smooth. They served SpriteZero and offered refills multiple times. They gave out little headsets for the satellite radio. Hey, AirTran, I'm going to fly you again, I thought.
Then today I saw the news headlines: AirTran apologizes for kicking innocent Muslim family off flight in an embarrassing way because of an innocuous conversation about the safest place to be seated in the plane amidst glares from suspicious fellow travelers.
Oh, AirTran. I had just opened my heart to you.
So what did I learn?
1st lesson, a somewhat surprising one: I'd rather fly out at the crack of dawn than later in the day. Our departure to Minnesota was a 6 a.m. flight. I bought the tickets this summer (rather desperately since I kept trying to book on Priceline.com only to receive 3 messages that, "This fare is no longer available"), and postponed my dread of the earlier departure until after Thanksgiving. Obviously, 6 a.m. flight means 4:30 a.m. airport arrival. Yikes. Especially when we live 1.5+ hours from the airport.
In an attempt to lessen the earliness of our departure, we stayed in a motel just down the road from the airport, and the kids loved it. They loved the beeping alarm clock and the Parking Spot shuttle bus too. They even loved being in the airport and taking the moving sidewalks. At 4:30 a.m., the airport is just waking up. People are fresh and friendly. I had a TSA agent carry all my bags from the shuttle bus to the ticketing area. Most appreciated, since we had 3 bags, 4 carry-ons (including Graham and Annie's own darling pull bags from Meme and PawPaw), and assorted sweatshirts tied around waists. The security line was ... not really a line. We got right in at 4:45 a.m. There was even a friendly employee who sold me chocolate filled croissants at the little newsstand, even though the bakery portion wasn't supposed to open until 5 a.m.
Although it meant getting up early - major yawns all around - we had excitement on our side.
Our return flight left Minnesota at 2:45 or so. A great time in that I was able to visit with Kara & Sara, dear high school friends, before the flight. But after arriving in Atlanta - my favorite comment from my mom during our packing-up frenzy was "Have you checked the weather in Atlanta? Are you sure you don't need these coats?" For no other reason than the frightening prospect of having to make a second trip through the security checkpoint, we stayed inside Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport. Our only Georgia ambiance came from JukeJoints, a BBQ place near our gate - the kids were getting tired.
Even before we left Minnesota, I could feel the stress of the later time. The airport was full, the security line stalled. The bags felt heavier & the sweatshirts were dragging behind our bags. We didn't have time to play in the KidZone before boarding our plane because it took so long to have our belongings x-rayed.
Once in Georgia, our flight was supposed to leave Atlanta at 8:55 p.m. Eastern time. We sat on the aircraft for 1 hour. Hell on wheels, people. The temperature alternated between stale heat and gusts of cold air from the blowers above our heads. My children were "soooooooooooo thirsty" that they couldn't stop saying the word thirsty. I'm not proud to admit this but I resorted to pinching, as in pinching Graham's behind on the (literally) 36th time he said "10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, blastoff" while we waited on the tarmac without blasting off.
Once in the air, Annie fell sweetly asleep and Graham watched a movie. I listened to a bit of satellite radio and read old issues of O Magazine, a favorite airplane activity! But once we landed at 11:10 p.m., Annie awoke very un-sweetly, and who can blame her? Her zip-up boots were giving us fits, and she sobbed, "These boots fit in Minnesota but my feet have grown."
I could feel my hair actually beginning to curl as we walked through Houston Hobby. I could feel my emotions curl too as we waited for 25 minutes before the bags arrived. My children were rolling their lucky coins on the filthy floor and bickering over who could sit on top of the SmartCart. There was definitely no friendly TSA agent to help me maneuver my Beverly Hillbillies-style cart to the waiting zone.
We got home home at 2 a.m., and they woke up a little as I carried them in the house. Both were excited to see the cats and the completed nativity set, but both were half zombies. Graham peeled off all of his clothes and hopped into bed stark naked. Annie was past the point of sanity. She looked at him with tears in her eyes and said, "You disgust me!" Then she got in her bed and fell asleep before her head was on the pillow. As I lay beside her in the narrow twin bed, since as my friend/wonderful cat care technician Jennifer had warned me, Knight got "confused" about his litter box and used my bed, I vowed never to try a late arrival by myself again. It's one thing where there is a wonderful Grandpa Fred waiting at Baggage Claim to help. It's another when there are no reinforcements on the horizon.
2nd lesson, a somewhat short-lived one: AirTran is a swell airline. For some reason, probably word connotation gone wild, I thought it was a cargo freight-type operation. It's the "Tran" part of the name. I associated the airline with people sitting next to cardboard boxes, hanging on to loops of canvas on the wall.
The planes themselves were very nice, very new, quite clean and powerful. I've gotten used to flying MD-80s. These were Boeing 727s and 707s that flew at 40,000 feet. (3rd lesson - I think I prefer flying at 29,000 feet.) As we took off from Atlanta to Minneapolis, the surge was so powerful I was sure we were headed for the International Space Station. I guess I prefer to be a bit closer to terra firma, as in lips to the ground.
But all fear aside, the flights were buttery smooth. They served SpriteZero and offered refills multiple times. They gave out little headsets for the satellite radio. Hey, AirTran, I'm going to fly you again, I thought.
Then today I saw the news headlines: AirTran apologizes for kicking innocent Muslim family off flight in an embarrassing way because of an innocuous conversation about the safest place to be seated in the plane amidst glares from suspicious fellow travelers.Oh, AirTran. I had just opened my heart to you.
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