Winter night

Last night was decidedly cold and I was decidedly sleepy, so I decided to throw an extra quilt on the bed and crawl under it at an early hour. That was a good decision.

It's decidedly cold again tonight.

This evening on my Kindle I finished a novel called Housekeeping, by Marilynne Robinson. I chose it because the author wrote a lovely novel called Gilead and a fine companion novel called Home. Although Housekeeping is good literature, I did not enjoy it as much as the other two. It was a downer for me. It put me into the mind of a sad, lonely person in unfortunate life circumstances. I wanted a happier, more hopeful resolution than I got. I can recommend the book as well-written (although I'll admit I skipped some descriptive passages) but not as likely to lift your spirits.



Gilead, on the other hand, will make you feel that you are a better person for having read it, and Home is satisfying.

Now it's time for me to crawl under that extra quilt again. My hair is wet. I may wrap it loosely in a towel to keep my head warm. "Mamma in her kerchief ... settled down for a long winter's nap" ('Twas the Night Before Christmas).

Very pretty

A couple of my Facebook friends have linked to this article, "How to Talk to Little Girls," by a woman named Lisa Bloom. Her premise is that you should not compliment them on their looks because that will teach "girls that their appearance is the first thing you notice," which "tells them that looks are more important than anything." Instead, she says, talk to them about what they're reading.

With all due respect to my friends who linked to it -- who are sincere, wonderful, good people -- I find that article annoying. Why?

Well, first and foremost, the author is a killjoy. I know a couple of little girls who love to be told that they have on a pretty dress or that their hair is pretty and that they look pretty. Why should I withhold that when I know it delights them?

Another thing is, why does it have to be either/or? You can compliment girls on their looks and encourage them to read. It's not like once you say, "What a pretty dress!" you're not allowed to mention books thereafter. What's wrong with being smart and beautiful? The women in my family do it all the time.

And, finally, the author is so smug and sanctimonious about her own conversation with one little girl. She withheld any remarks about how pretty she was but got involved in talking about and reading the little girl's favorite book, even though in her heart she disapproved of the little girl's choice ("Alas, it was about girls and what they wore"). The little girl, of course, was happy to have a grown-up paying attention to her and reading with her -- all to the good. But the poor naive little thing didn't realize this was not someone genuinely showing interest in her but a woman making a "statement" and preening herself on it:

So, one tiny bit of opposition to a culture that sends all the wrong messages to our girls. One tiny nudge towards valuing female brains. One brief moment of intentional role modeling. Will my few minutes with Maya change our multibillion dollar beauty industry, reality shows that demean women, our celebrity-manic culture? No. But I did change Maya's perspective for at least that evening.

Get over yourself, lady.

I do agree with her in deploring the sexualization of children -- that it's wrong and sick for little girls to worry about their figures and for teenage girls to want cosmetic surgery -- and I don't have an answer as to how to eliminate that sickness from our society. I think parents can probably have some effect by monitoring and limiting their children's consumption of popular culture, and I suppose if enough parents did that, the culture would shift.

So I appreciate her concern, but I will still tell little girls (and big girls) that they are pretty whenever I feel like it.

Because they are pretty. So there.

Beautiful music

Ah! I finally found the source for beautiful traditional Christmas music online. Through some Facebook friends, I connected with a website, or an app, or whatever, called Spotify. I clicked on a friend's choice of music and now am listening to the Worcester Cathedral Choir singing Christmas carols.

Joy to the World. Once in Royal David's City. I Wonder as I Wander.

Those ethereal boys' voices. Lovely.

Second Sunday of Advent - Bethlehem Candle

My Advent candles did arrive, so now I can use a picture from today instead of from a previous year (as I did last Sunday).

I googled "Bethlehem song" to see if I could find a nice song, possibly, "O Little Town of Bethlehem," but maybe another. "Mary's Boy Child" came up because it starts out, "Long time ago in Bethlehem." I like the Boney M. version, which mixes "Mary's Boy Child" with another song I don't know from anywhere else, "Oh, my Lord." It almost makes me cry.

Ho, ho, ho



Image courtesy of DailyClipArt.net

I did a whole bunch of online Christmas shopping this evening, but I did not click any check-out buttons yet. I'm leaving everything sitting in the virtual shopping carts while I sleep on my purchases.

One change I made already was to take things out that I wanted to buy myself. Sometimes when I chose something for someone else, I'd think, I'd like that, too, so I'd make the quantity "2." But when I saw the total prices, I changed them to "1" and figured I'll get my own later.

Getting Midwintry

Time again for a favorite Christmas poem. It's cold and frosty outside where I live, although the wind does not make moan right now. The earth my be like iron and water like stone, but snow has not fallen, much less snow on snow.

But it's close enough.

In the bleak midwinter
Christina Rossetti (1830–1894)

In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow,
In the bleak midwinter, long ago.

Our God, Heaven cannot hold Him, nor earth sustain;
Heaven and earth shall flee away when He comes to reign.
In the bleak midwinter a stable place sufficed
The Lord God Almighty, Jesus Christ.

Enough for Him, whom cherubim worship night and day,
Breastful of milk, and a mangerful of hay;
Enough for Him, whom angels fall before,
The ox and ass and camel which adore.

Angels and archangels may have gathered there,
Cherubim and seraphim thronged the air;
But His mother only, in her maiden bliss,
Worshipped the beloved with a kiss.

What can I give Him, poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb;
If I were a Wise Man, I would do my part;
Yet what I can I give Him: give my heart.

Asymmetry

At home I have an icon of Christ Pantocrator, a copy of a 6th Century icon in St. Catherine's Monastery at Mount Sinai, in Egypt. I also have a small card-sized copy of it taped to my keyboard tray at work.

This is one of, if not the, oldest images of Christ in the world. Some speculate that it is the most likely of any icon to portray Jesus' actual appearance, and they also say it has the same facial features as the Shroud of Turin. We can take that as we will.

Pantocrator is a Greek equivalent for Almighty. Christ blesses us with one hand and holds the Gospel in his other hand. The blessing hand, I've read, has two fingers raised symbolizing the two natures of Christ -- human and divine -- and the other three fingers touch each other to represent the Trinity.

What is striking, of course, is the asymmetry. The eyes are different from each other, as are the brows, the two sides of the mouth, and the cheekbones.

Here is one side:

And here is the other:

I've read that this, too, is a reflection of his dual nature. Hm. All of us have asymmetrical faces, just not always as noticeably. Here is a series of myself:

One side:

And the other:

I don't know that this says anything profound about anything, but it's an experiment I wanted to try. I thought how wonderful it would be if someday I could recognize Jesus from his picture. And if he looked at me from behind a door or pillar, I would see one side or the other of him.

I like to have a picture of him at work, just like I have pictures of some family members (and, okay, my dog) to remind me of the love I receive from him, my parents (and, okay, my dog). I have to turn away from my work to look at my family pictures, but while I am working I can see the picture of Christ by my keyboard and remember that he is present with me.

Egg nog

What is it? Eggs, sugar, milk, cream, and booze. I saw Martha Stewart make some on TV once that looked mighty good.

Who thought it up? I googled "egg nog history" and found dozens of articles saying the same things in almost the same words. Obviously there is one source somewhere for this information--if it is information and not invention--but I don't know the source and don't know if someone researched this or made it up. Most of what I read all over the web is present in this Wikipedia article.

That article also links to an article on advocaat, a Dutch drink or dessert topping that is much like egg nog. According to my sister-in-law, who is closer to her Dutch roots than I am to mine, advocaat was a ladies' drink--for her parents' generation anyway. Ladies had advocaat and men had jenever, a drink similar to gin.

Cheers! or if you're having advocaat or jenever: Proost!

Insert profundity here

Earlier today, I had an idea for a humorous yet somewhat profound blog entry. Wouldn't you like to read that? So would I. I can't remember what my idea was.

I looked back over old posts this weekend. I blog a bit too much about my sleep patterns: that I'm sleepy, that I want to sleep in, that I slept enough, or that I haven't slept enough.

Oh, well. It could be worse. I recently finished a biography of Martin Luther and it seems much of his personal correspondence was taken up with complaints about and updates on his constipation, hemorrhoids, kidney stones, and the like. No wonder the Great Reformer needed so much grace.

First Sunday of Advent - Prophet's Candle

Well, my four-day Thanksgiving weekend is almost over. I did not accomplish as many household tasks as I had hoped, which is certainly a shockingly unexpected outcome that no one could have foreseen, unless they knew me at all. But I did do a couple things, which is better than nothing.

One accomplishment was changing three light bulbs in two ceiling fixtures. I have quite low ceilings, so I stand on the lower step of a two-step ladder, less than a foot off the floor, but it still makes me quite nervous. I have to unscrew a little knob (after some googling, I believe the term is finial) and remove a frosted glass shade, then replace the light bulb(s), then hold the glass shade in place with one hand while twisting the final into place with the other. And somewhere in the process I also usually rinse out the glass shade with water at the kitchen sink because there are always dead bugs in it. Gross.

Another accomplishment was to put seed in the bird feeders in the back yard and hang out a couple of suet cakes nearby. Sometime this year I fell out of the habit of filling the feeders, which needs to be done pretty much every week. I've had two bags of birdseed lying around my house and suet cakes in the fridge for some time now. But today I finally got them out where the birds can eat them. And the squirrels. We get lots of squirrels at our feeders.

This morning in church we sang two of my favorite Advent/Christmas songs: "Of the Father's Love Begotten" and "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel."

One last bit of Thanksgiving

Before Thanksgiving ends and Advent begins, I want to sneak in this traditional Thanksgiving hymn. We didn't sing it at my church on Thanksgiving, so I found it on Youtube.



We Gather Together

We gather together to ask the Lord’s blessing;
He chastens and hastens His will to make known.
The wicked oppressing now cease from distressing.
Sing praises to His Name; He forgets not His own.

Beside us to guide us, our God with us joining,
Ordaining, maintaining His kingdom divine;
So from the beginning the fight we were winning;
Thou, Lord, wast at our side, all glory be Thine!

We all do extol Thee, Thou Leader triumphant,
And pray that Thou still our Defender will be.
Let Thy congregation escape tribulation;
Thy Name be ever praised! O Lord, make us free!

Words: Theodore Baker, 1894
Dutch folk tune

Tweede Thanksgiving

"Tweede" in Dutch means second. The Dutch often do celebrate a holiday for a second day: Tweede Kerstdag is Second Christmas, for example. So we had our "Tweede Thanksgiving" today with those who couldn't be there for Eerste Thanksgiving on Thanksgiving Day.

Sitting nicely at the table. Also, keeping hold of Thanksgiving
specialties such as a pumpkin and a glass of apple cider.
Note to followers in the Anglosphere: In the U.S., "cider"
is non-alcoholic apple juice. If it had alcohol, it would be called
"hard cider."

I joked the other day that we had had our quiet Thanksgiving and implied that this one would be our noisy Thanksgiving. There were a few noisy interludes, caused by inter-sibling conflict (who would guess that two kids would want to sit in the rolling desk chair at the table?), but also a lot of pleasant time together.

Behold how good and how pleasant it is for sisters to color
together in unity.

Thanksgiving Day, we had  rainy, windy weather, but today it was just rainy.

I'm glad I still have one more day before going back to work. Tomorrow will be the First Sunday of Advent, which is the beginning of the church year.

The Day After Thanksgiving

Yesterday, my parents, sister-in-law, and I had our "quiet" Thanksgiving. Tomorrow we will have a Thanksgiving get-together that will include four much-beloved children. It's likely to be less quiet, but even more joyful.

Today, as the day after Thanksgiving, is the first day of the pop-culture Christmas season in the U.S., as opposed to the catholic church year, in which the Christmas season doesn't start until December 25. It so happens that today is exactly one month before Christmas. I got out a nutcracker and my Nativity set for decorations. I already have a rosemary "tree" that I bought at the grocery store earlier this week. It's a potted rosemary plant cut into the shape of a Christmas tree. I hung some small Christmas balls on it and put it on my kitchen table. I hope it lives. It won't get much light.

My full-size Christmas tree will wait a while longer. I get a cut tree from a tree farm and set it up on a weekend approximately two weeks before Christmas. This year it will be exactly two weeks before Christmas. It's good for a couple weeks and then by New Year's or thereabouts when I take it down it's getting dried out. The local Boy Scouts usually do curbside pickup of trees on the Saturday after New Year's, but I wonder if this year they will do it the day before, since New Year's is a Sunday.

I have Advent candles on order from Monastery Greetings. I hope they arrive before Sunday, but I don't recall exactly when I ordered them. I know I didn't pay extra for any kind of speedy shipping, so if they're late, they're late.

It's nice having a four-day weekend. I met a Bellingham friend for breakfast at a restaurant (Hilltop Restaurant) and we caught up with each other. We both hoped to get lots done around our homes this weekend. We'll see how that goes.

I have Pandora playing Christmas music. I started with "Folk Holidays," which I generally like, but then a song came on that I don't know, when what I want are the old traditional songs. So I switched to "Joy to the World" radio where I had to give a "thumb down" to the first selection because it was some type of new, different way of singing one of the old traditional songs. The next two have been okay. It's so hard to find the perfect station. See, when I listen to Christmas carols, I just want people to sing them, not interpret them in some unique way. Please don't sing Christmas carols as they've never been sung before; please sing them exactly the way they've always been sung. Is that too much to ask?

Happy Thanksgiving

It's Thanksgiving morning, and I'm thankful to be here.

I wish you and yours a blessed Thanksgiving.

I (don't really) love a rainy night

I finally remembered. At a certain stoplight on my way home (at the corner of the Guide and Smith Road) I often see a big building, like a huge quonset building, that says Ural Northwest. I wondered if it sold Russian goods because I had a vague recollection that the Urals are in Russia. In a sense I was right, but it turns out Ural is the brand name of a motorcycle.

Tonight, however, I did not see that building down the road. I could barely see the road. It's dark outside now when I leave work, and this evening there was heavy cloud cover obscuring any of the lesser lights that rule the night. To complicate things further, rain covered the pavement with a sheen of water that created lengthened reflections of road signs, traffic lights, and car headlights and taillights. During the part of my commute that lay on Highway 5, the car tires kicked up spray so that it was a little scary to travel at highway speed. In spite of my tension over driving conditions, I struggled with drowsiness.

I struggled with drowsiness again just a few minutes ago when I tried to play Facebook Scrabble. I looked at my letters and started to doze off.

Tomorrow I work, then two days off (a four-day weekend) for Thanksgiving!

Wild night

It's a wild and windy night out there. I can hear it blowing. I should turn off my computer when I go to bed, in case we have a power outage. I should have turned off my computer at work, too, but I didn't think of it.

Will I feel cozy or sad when I lie in bed listening to the wind? I think I've written before how when I told my dad that hearing the wind at night made me feel ... and I paused, he said, cozy, but I was about to say, sad. He feels how nice it is to be warm and sheltered when he hears the wind. Right now, with the lights on, I don't think much about it, except that the power could go out. But when I lie in the dark I tend to picture a poor stray cat trying to stay warm out there. And the vast darkness with things moving in it.

When I thought of how wild it sounds out there, I knew there was a poem by Emily Dickinson about wild nights. It's fairly suggestive for a woman of her era, or so it seems to me.

Wild nights - Wild nights!
Emily Dickinson (1830–1886)

Wild nights - Wild nights!
Were I with thee
Wild nights should be
Our luxury!

Futile - the winds -
To a Heart in port -
Done with the Compass -
Done with the Chart!

Rowing in Eden -
Ah - the Sea!
Might I but moor - tonight -
In thee!

Early to bed

Going to bed in a timely fashion tonight because I want to keep getting well. Heading into a short work week. Thanksgiving on Thursday.

Reading on the Kindle:



Waiting in the wings on the Kindle:

Frightful

We are getting some precipitation in the form of the infamous "frozen mix," aka "wintry mix." Just what the doctor ordered. Not.

If you google "frozen mix," you will get a few links about weather but more about blended margaritas. This weather is less fun than a margarita.

So, the weather outside is frightful, but it's not letting it snow.



Oddly, there are no songs (that I know of) about wintry mix. Let it slush, let it slush, let it slush.

Much better

Lots of aspirin/Advil and a good night's sleep have helped. I still have a cough, but that's about it. Maybe a little tiredness, but that might just be the result of a day in the life.

What ails me

I started coughing Sunday night, continued Monday, last night could feel it in my throat and chest, coughed a lot today and feel achy. And I feel cold. Driving home from work, I cranked the heat in my car so it got so warm and toasty in there. I was as snug as a bug in rug. I thought of stopping at the drug store to buy cough syrup, but I couldn't stand the idea of getting out of my warm car into the cold, cold air any sooner than necessary.

Necessary was at the bank because I got paid today and I had to deposit my check at the ATM. It was imperative that I replenish my coffers, lest I stage my own private financial crisis.

When I got home I had to feed and walk the dog. His walk is necessary as the great outdoors is his restroom facility. I didn't even take off my commuter coat, though I did add a headband to cover my ears. I took him for the shortest walk possible that still accomplished our mission (if you know what I mean).

Then I went through the house turning up heater units just a little higher than I normally put them. I changed my attire to: long johns, a flannel nightgown, a flannel robe, cotton socks topped by wool socks (I cannot wear wool next to my skin because I am a delicate flower), and I currently have a shawl-like small blanket over my head and shoulders.

The microwave just binged that my Marie Callender's chicken pot pie is heated up. I'm hoping after I eat to work up enough energy for a hot shower. I very much want to go to work tomorrow because missing a day is more bother than working while sick, and I know if I go to work I'll want my hair to be clean. Then, unless I'm completely stupid, early bedtime.

I suspect this is the most exciting blog on the internet tonight. Top my adventure, if you dare!

A title

Reading on my Kindle: Wait for Me! -- a memoir by Deborah Vivien Freeman-Mitford Cavendish, Duchess of Devonshire, the youngest sister of novelist Nancy Mitford, and the 10th Duchess of Devonshire.



I love Nancy Mitford's novels The Pursuit of Love and Love in a Cold Climate.



Every one of the daughters in the Mitford family was unusual in some way. The oldest, Nancy, was a talented novelist and biographer; the next, Diana, married Sir Oswald Mosley, the leader of the British Union of Fascists; Pamela farmed and cooked and had a blue Aga stove to match her eyes; Unity Mitford idolized Hitler and tried to kill herself when England and Germany went to war, but only succeeded in inflicting brain damage on herself; Jessica Mitford went left where her sisters went right, married and became a true communist and wrote The American Way of Death; and Deborah, the youngest, married a duke's younger son, became a duchess, and helped preserve a great estate.

I've read a good biography of them, The Sisters: The Saga of the Mitford Family, but you would have to be quite interested in the Mitfords to read it. (I was.)

Too soon!

In the 7-day forecast, a week from today, there's a 40% chance of light snow!

The age meme

I got an e-mail from Facebook telling me a friend has a birthday and also how old he's turning. I thought, "Huh, he's older than I am." Then I realized, "No, wait. I'm older than he is."

Sometimes I forget how old I am.

Also, I'm not good at math.

Baby face

People around me seem younger than they used to. On Northwest Cable News (NWCN), every time I see one news anchor, I think, "What? Are you even a high school graduate yet?" Evidently he is.

A friend of my dad's, who's in his 80s, told my dad, "The older I get, the older 'old' gets."

Hymn sing

For some reason when I'm driving, one of two hymn tunes will come into my head, not necessarily my favorite hymns, although good hymns. I will unconsciously start humming either "How Great Thou Art" or "My Jesus I Love Thee." Other hymns require a conscious effort to produce.

Thursday is the new Friday

Tomorrow is the Friday of my work week, although it's the Thursday of reality. I'm happy to have just one more day to go. I'm anxious about how much I need to get done tomorrow. The down side of a 4-day work week is trying to squish 5 days worth of work into it.

50%

My work week is half over. Two down, two to go.

I'll be checking final election results tomorrow morning.

November Monday

Worked my work day and did a decent amount of work.

Filled out my local ballot this evening. It's due tomorrow. I could mail it, but I think I'll bring it personally to the Auditor's Office. Or maybe I'll swing through the Lynden Library on my way out of town and put it in the drop box.

I am particularly interested in the results for sheriff, county executive, and auditor, and for Initiative 1183 -- concerning "hard liquor."

How did I vote? That's my secret.

It's great to live in this great Republic. Voting is both my duty and a privilege.

November Sunday

A beautiful but cold autumn day. Some good hymns at church. Kind words and some talk about dahlias with a good church member. Visiting aunts and uncles. Pumpkin pie. Put more plants away. Laundry. Sandwiches for the coming work week.

It's a four-day work week, Monday through Thursday. Friday will be Veterans Day.

Herbsttag

Today I took down my hanging plants, which had been lightly nipped by frost this week, and swept the shady side of the deck. It is the beginning of clearing and straightening up the deck for winter.

Tonight we turn the clocks back, and now for a few months I will not see much of my deck and yard by daylight during the work week, only on weekends. I feel some melancholy about that but not an excessive amount. I will probably start seeing more light in February, and start thinking about and possibly buying (although it will be too early) new plants in March. Today I feel the value of a season of dormancy and darkness, although I may tire of it by next February.

Here is a good poem, originally written in German (below) and translated into English:

Autumn Day

Lord: it is time. The summer was immense.
Lay your shadow on the sundials
and let loose the wind in the fields.

Bid the last fruits to be full;
give them another two more southerly days,
press them to ripeness, and chase
the last sweetness into the heavy wine.

Whoever has no house now will not build one anymore.
Whoever is alone now will remain so for a long time,
will stay up, read, write long letters,
and wander the avenues, up and down,
restlessly, while the leaves are blowing.

Translated by Galway Kinnell and Hannah Liebmann, "The Essential Rilke"

Herbsttag

Herr: es ist Zeit. Der Sommer war sehr gross.
Leg deinen Schatten auf die Sonnenuhren,
und auf den Fluren lass die Winde los.

Befiehl den letzten Fruchten voll zu sein;
gieb innen noch zwei sudlichere Tage,
drange sie zur Vollendung hin und jage
die letzte Susse in den schweren Wein.

Wer jetzt kein Haus hat, baut sich keines mehr.
Wer jetzt allein ist, wird es lange bleiben,
wird wachen, lesen, lange Briefe schreiben
und wird in den Alleen hin und her
unruhig wandern, wenn die Blatter treiben.

-- Rainer Maria Rilke, Paris, Sept. 21, 1902

Nonsense

I was watching "Gardening with Ciscoe" while browsing the internet, and I muted during commercials. So while my attention was distracted, "Ciscoe" ended and another show started. What caught my attention was the closed captioning:

Huh?

Anniversary

Today is the 5th anniversary of my oldest brother's death. Today, I reviewed some of my memories of that day, but I can't share them publicly. It would somehow feel disrespectful.

I'll just share that as ALS took his physical strength away, the verse he repeated was from 2 Corinthians 12:9: "My grace is sufficient for thee, for my power is made perfect in weakness."

Just the usual

Well, I told the doctor about my knee. He checked it out and didn't see anything unusual. He didn't have a magic pill (darn!), but he did allow as how if I wanted to keep taking Advil I could, as long as it didn't upset my stomach. He referred me for an X-ray, so we can either diagnose or rule out arthritis. I also received a 'flu shot and a booster shot for tetanus and whooping cough, so I am well-inoculated.

Shots have come a long way in my lifetime. Medical professionals used to come at you with a terrifying hypodermic and an inch-long needle, but today's shots were minor prickles, and once I took off the Snoopy band-aids I could hardly find where I had been injected. I don't know exactly what type of tool they used for the shot because I averted my eyes from the action. I cannot watch a needle go into myself (or anyone else). I don't think I would faint, but it would horrify me.

Dave Barry once wrote about how when he was a kid in Armonk, New York, whenever his mom took him to the doctor's office, he was always anxious to leave as soon as possible because the longer his mom and the doctor chatted, the more likely the doctor would suddenly decide to give him a booster shot. Probably not in the arm, either.

In other news, I went to work and did my job. On my Kindle I downloaded the complete Anthony Trollope. That's a big file. At home, I am reading a thick biography of Beatrix Potter, which I bought on Saturday at the Katz book store in Lynden--a used book store.



What with walking the dog, microwaving a TV dinner (as they were called in the misty past of my youth), and brushing my teeth, I'm quite dizzy from the excitement of my day!

That reminds me that yesterday I was driving to work, when I started to think of things I could complain about, instead I named some things to be thankful for, and sang a rousing chorus of "Count Your Blessings." At work, a co-worker asked, "How are you doing?" I turned around and told her, "I'm counting my blessings." She found that amusing, in a good way. She also is a church-goer, so I think she caught my allusion. She even offered a suggestion, which was that coffee was a blessing. I heartily agreed.

Snap, crackle, pop

The title of this post signifies the sounds my joints make when I move around. Well, specifically, it's the one knee. After I sit a while, when I first stand up my knee hurts badly. After a few painful steps, it snaps audibly and then it still hurts but not as badly.

Tomorrow afternoon I have a doctor's appointment. I say that to anticipate my sister's question: When are you going to see a doctor about your knee?

Think they'll have a pill that will fix it?

Catching up

Oops. I last wrote Saturday and now it's Tuesday. It was a busier weekend than usual for me. I shopped on Saturday afternoon for a gift for my nephew's birthday. Saturday night I went to a Harry Potter-themed party. Sunday afternoon was my nephew's birthday celebration.

Last night, my niece and her kids came over to use our house as a base for trick-or-treating. They live in the country, where the houses are too far apart and the roads too dark and lacking shoulders or sidewalks for kids to trick-or-treat. So they come here and trick-or-treat in our neighborhood.

My youngest niece, age 4, was not along. She was sick -- sick to her stomach -- and had to stay home with daddy while her siblings went trick-or-treating. I heard she was very, very sad about this and shed many tears. I don't blame her. Just think, no Halloween again for a whole year. For her, that's 1/4 of her whole life! That would be like 12 years for me. Poor little sweetie.

Here she is with her mom on a happier day.

Everybody's working for the weekend

This morning I put on a pot of coffee before I took my dog for his walk so that when I came home I would smell the coffee when I walked in the door. My plan worked perfectly.

It was a pretty walk, though cold.  It was just getting light and the eastern sky was yellow. It was a little misty, and red, orange, and yellow colors were scattered through the neighborhood on the trees and bushes. When I came back into our cul-de-sac, I wished I had brought my camera because the maple tree looked so gorgeous. This is a picture from last week Saturday. It's like this, only more so.

It's such a pleasant, relaxing feeling to sleep until I wake naturally, get up gradually, take my walk when I'm ready, then come back in and be able to stay home and potter around my house. When I was spooning the coffee into the brewer, the line of the Loverboy song came into my mind, "Everybody's working for the weekend." I do feel, sort of, that my weekends are my reward for my work week. I work for a living Monday through Friday, then on Saturday and Sunday I live my living.

Excitement

How sad is it that a major high point of my week is sleeping in on Saturday morning? I am so looking forward to it.

Deep thoughts

A bottle of Pepto-Bismol is sitting on my counter. The "Pepto" is writ large, while "Bismol" is small. A old roommate of mine occasionally had recourse to Pepto-Bismol, but she didn't like the taste. She called it "Dismal-Bismol."

I don't mind the taste. Not that I would drink it by the cupful as a pleasurable beverage, but in its recommended dose it's quite tolerable. Peppermint flavored. I used to think the "Pepto" referred to peppermint, which is good for your stomach -- that's why Dutch people often eat a peppermint after a meal, particularly a spicy meal -- but I think it really refers to the word peptic, as in peptic ulcer. According to Merriam-Webster, the word pepsin derives from pepsis, the Greek word for digestion.

"Bismol" refers to the active ingredient, bismuth subsalicylate.

Anyway, the label reminded me of the Pepto-Bismol commercial that was on TV in my mis-spent youth, where someone would hold their hand to their mouth and gurgle, "Indi ... (urp) ... gestion," then the announcer would reply, "Pepto ... Bismol." While the person was burping, their picture would be all distorted like a fun-house mirror, but at the name "Pepto-Bismol" they would return to normal. That was quite explicit for its time about the problems Pepto-Bismol treats.

Then they went a little further. A man in the commercial would ask in a confidential manner, "Do you mind if I talk to you about ... diarrhea?" My dad would always yell, "Yes!" He minded. That commercial was also quite "out there" for its time.

Now, there's nothing you can't say on TV, and they sing and dance about stomach problems.



I wish I could say that I am shocked, disgusted, and dismayed by the vulgarity of this commercial, but I can't. It makes me laugh.

Medium

Well, the work week is more than half over. It's neither the fastest nor the slowest week I've had. Just medium.

This morning there was frost on the ground.

A couple little thoughts on prayer

Looking for time to pray. If I want to spend significant time in prayer, what's necessary is that I should like praying more than I like the other things that take up my time. Or at least that I should value it more. What we really spend our time on shows what we really value.

And trying to pray well. I can start by praying badly. I do some of that already  -- why not even more? It may be that the fruit of my unskillful, bumbling prayers will be better prayers.

Now I remember

Every now and then I have a night where I'm so sleepy that I crawl off to bed early and forget that I even have a blog until the next morning. That was last night.

Turning leaves

On a sunny fall afternoon, even the parking lot of a grocery store can be beautiful.

A fall Saturday

Earlier today (before the downpour), I went to see my great-nephew playing soccer. Here's a pretty good action shot of him.

He's the one with the yellow shirt and the long hair. I spotted him in the field while I was still driving around looking for parking because of his hair.

Here are his mom, my niece, and his "granny," my sister-in-law.

Afterwards I stopped off at Muddy Waters Espresso drive-through for some hot, caffeinated beverages for my folks and me.

At this time of year I enjoy seeing this bush around Lynden. It puts on some brilliant fall color. It is appropriately called a Burning Bush or Fire Ball.

Some local trees are also getting red leaves ...

... but it seems to me that yellow or golden leaves are the more typical around here.

The big maple in our cul-de-sac is starting to turn yellow. (I'm pretty sure it's a maple, based on the shape of the leaves.)

I love this tree's massive, bumpy, mossy trunk and limbs.

This is the kind of tree that could have been an ent.

Autumn rain

We had a downpour this afternoon. For some reason I like to take movies of the rain, so I stepped out the door with my camera. First I took this overview of rain on the deck and back yard.

Then I took movies of the rain on parts of the deck. Here is the rain on what I think of as the "sunny side" of the deck. Of course, it's not sunny in this movie, but when the sun is out, this is the sunny side.

And here is the rain on the pond. The manneken pis is not on -- no need for his contribution in this weather.

But my favorite movie of today's rain is from the "shady side" of the deck. I think I like the way it's dark, but then there are touches of red and pink.

The night before

I'm so excited about sleeping in tomorrow. I've been looking forward to it ever since I woke up this morning, not having slept in.

Who's your daddy?

I just watched the end of a program on PBS about children conceived by artificial insemination finding their "donor fathers." Specifically it was about one guy who "donated" a lot to a sperm bank so that he has about ten kids that they know of so far. The kids--young adults--are interested to meet him and each other. They guy lives in an RV near a beach in California with two dogs and a pigeon and believes in conspiracy theories about the world being run by a secret elite. I've heard of such a theory before, where the secret rulers are called the Illuminati. The dad is spiritual in a vague, hippie-ish way.

Interesting world we live in.

Occlusionally

Yesterday I received an occlusal guard from my dentist. It's supposed to keep me from grinding my teeth at night. Although my sleeping partner:

Your teeth seem okay to me.
How do mine look to you?

has never mentioned to me that I grind my teeth in my sleep, my dentist deduced that I do based on the condition of my teeth. They warned me when I received my occlusal guard that it might feel awkward at first and it could take a few weeks to get used to wearing it. I wore it last night for the first time, and it did feel weird but not too uncomfortable. What I chiefly objected to was the taste, but I intend to persevere so that I do not wear my molars down to little nubs.

This is about as much detail as I can go into. Much of what is involved in dentistry and proper dental care grosses me out, even though I am very thankful to be able to receive good dental care.

At the old ball game

This afternoon, I went with my dad, my brother, and my niece ...

... to watch my great-niece play softball on her middle school softball team.

Sunday afternoon

This afternoon I went to my sister-in-law's place. Our lovely fall weather is continuing. I love this bed of little pansies, which are all "volunteers."

The marigolds stay good late into the season. They are in the vegetable garden to act as a slug repellent.

My sister-in-law thought she was planting zucchini but got these lumpy yellow gourds. I suggested she harvest them and use them in her table decorations for Thanksgiving.

Same with these little pumpkins. We are at or near freezing temperatures at night now, so "The frost is on the punkin."

Just a couple of sweet peas were still clinging to their stems.

And a few roses ('Tis the last rose of summer / Left blooming on the vine).

Here's my sister-in-law cutting me a bouquet of larkspur. We were out in her garden because I'd caught sight of the purple blooms from a window.

Here's my sister-in-law's cat. His name should be Nimrod, but it's not.

Old friends

After the performance, I chatted with a good friend of mine, Gaye Davis, who is one of the planners of the Music Festival, as well as a talented musician in her own right. She plays the violin beautifully. I mostly get to hear her at church events, but she is also a member of the Whatcom Symphony Orchestra. She teaches violin and viola (at Studio Rue Avant) and also offers Kindermusik. I heartily recommend her as a knowledgeable teacher a wonderful human being.

Gaye and I have been friends since we started fourth grade together at Lynden Christian School. That's a few years now. As Anne of Green Gables would say, "She's a kindred spirit."