The Important Things

The men's and women's NCAA basketball tournaments now seem unimportant next to the tragedy of a lost life. Jason Ray, the 21-year-old student who played Rameses, the Carolina ram mascot, was struck by a car the afternoon of the men's eastern regional game. He died three days later from his injuries. My deep sympathies go to his family, his friends, and the UNC and Chapel Hill communities he served.

Leftover Ragout

Just some odds and ends here, catching up on what's been going on.

***

My daughter AC turned two yesterday. She's my special little girl who looks nothing like me. She loves "reading" books to me, drawing, saying nursery rhymes, building with blocks, pretending there's a tiger in the living room, tumbling, and stomping in mud puddles.

She is almost potty trained. I'm shocked, frankly, because I had absolutely nothing to do with it. She just decided to make the leap herself.

***

I've signed us up for another CSA subscription this year, from Calvert Farm in Maryland. We tried them two or three summers ago, but that season saw a terrible drought. Consequently, the boxes weren't near as full as usual, they told us. I'm hoping for more from them this time. Apparently, they are joining forces with a number of area small farms to offer more variety and fill in any gaps. They'll deliver a weekly box of organic fruits and vegetables from May through September to a local pickup point.

I invested in this partly because I decided not to do my raised bed vegetable gardening this summer, and partly because I love the "pot luck" aspect of cooking from what they give you. And of course, there's the satisfaction of helping local growers and eating fresh, organic produce. It's all good.

***

The Tarheels (both women and men) forge ahead into next weekend's tournament games. We are optimistic. Dook is out. We are joyful.

It's a Co-Ed Dance!!!

So, the Lady Tarheels are a number one seed in the NCAA Tourney, too. Can they, CAN THEY, finally win another championship? I was in grad school at Carolina when the men won, and then the women won, and, well, we were just floating around for a few years in glory-land. I WANT TO FLOAT AGAIN. Help me float, ladies.

It's Good Being First

My title is currently being used as a (trademarked) marketing slogan for the state of Delaware, whose motto is "the first state" because it was the first state to ratify the U.S. Constitution. Who knew? Who cares? The motto was forgotten as soon as the billboards were taken down. I'm not infringing, though, because I'm talking bout the 'Heels. Yes, the men's Tarheel basketball team are ACC champions for the umpteenth time and are now the number one seed in the East region for the NCAA championships.

GO HEELS!!!

Sharing the Waste, Sharing the Wealth

So, if you've read my blog for a while you've probably gleaned, or been hit over the head with, the idea that I like to save money on some things so that I can enjoy certain other things. For instance, I can't stand to pay full price for groceries or clothes when I know that, with a little research, I can save enough on those two things to pay for a fine dinner out with my husband. We also economize in order to pump up our retirement savings, our kids' college funds, and our "rainy day fund" (recently re-titled, "our rain-coming-through-the-old-roof fund"). So we drive our cars into the ground, never buy anything on time (i.e., with interest), hang-dry clothes, shop second-hand, etc. Yeah, I guess you could call me cheap. Fine.

Last night, I was reading through The Complete Tightwad Gazette, by Amy Dacyczyn, and came upon a money-saving idea I had never thought of: split the cost of garbage pick-up with a neighbor. So, for example, my neighbor and I would decide that she would get the contract with the collector, and then I would walk our garbage over to her bin (ten steps from ours) on pick-up day. When she got her quarterly bill, we'd pay half of it. Brilliant. Those ten steps alone would save us $135 a year. The problem: I don't think neighbors particularly want to talk garbage with each other, much less finances. Is a short-term discomfort worth $135/year to you? I'm giving that one some serious thought.

I'm Still Full

My dear and darling and thoughtful and still-forty-one-year-old-for-eight-more-months husband took me out for a surprise birthday dinner last night to Krazy Kats, at the Inn at Montchanin. And I still haven't quite recovered from the feast--in a good way, of course. Everything about the night was magical, from the drive in through the winding chateau country, through the hostess's warm greeting of, "Happy birthday!", to the lit candle on my espresso cheesecake. I'll be 42 on Tuesday, and this evening out was a gentle entree to the milestone, which has been troubling me lately.

I heartily recommend the restaurant for a special occasion dinner.

Wounded Iraq War Veterans

I just finished reading the current Newsweek (March 5, 2007) cover story, "Failing Our Wounded." See the web version here. It shocked and deeply saddened me. I have family and dear friends serving in the military, and one young nephew has done duty in Iraq twice. Now he is back in the middle east--not in Iraq, but we all know he is not out of harm's way.

I wrung my hands throughout the piece, but the authors predicted my and countless others' feelings of helplessness. They wisely included a sidebar on the last page, aptly entitled, "HOW YOU CAN HELP." (The following info is also in a box on the web version of the article linked in the previous paragraph.) Here's the skinny:

HOW YOU CAN HELP

These charities were highly rated by multiple philanthropy watchdog groups:

• Intrepid Fallen Heroes Fund (fallenheroesfund.org): Built a topnotch rehab facility at Brooke Army Medical Center in Texas that opened this year. Similar projects on the horizon.
• Fisher House Foundation (fisherhouse.org): Constructs housing spaces at medical facilities so injured vets can be with their families while they heal.
• Armed Services YMCA (asymca.org): Gives vets YMCA access, where they can do physical rehab. Offers paying YMCA jobs to help vets get reacclimated.

No matter your politics, surely you can find somehow to help those who are suffering pointlessly.

A Trip to NY Without Leaving Delaware

This afternoon, D and I experienced for the first time a sold-out, live performance of the Metropolitan Opera. It was Tchaikovsky's superb Eugene Onegin (say it, yev-gen-ee on-yay-gen), which I had never seen--nor have I read Pushkin's novel in verse from which it was adapted. Fantastic thing is, we wore jeans and shared a tub of popcorn and a large soda. IT WAS BROADCAST IN HD AT OUR MOVIE THEATRE. Do my capital letters sufficiently convey my thrilldom?

Thank you, NCM Fathom, for creating HD broadcasts of the Met's productions at movie theatres across the country, including one near me. And thank you, WHYY, for providing a limited number of FREE tickets ($18 regular price) for station members. We love you.

any excuse

so...c-c-c-cold...
blanket...hot chocolate...sudoku...two dogs...
to hell with the housework

Belated Thank You to Pet PTs

I have been meaning to post this for many months, and had some time today.

Almost a year ago, my dog W's left knee was rebuilt by a kind and capable surgeon named Dr. Franczuszki. See this blog post. He suffered from a condition called "luxating patella," widespread among Italian Greyhounds (although our other fellow, who came from careful breeding, does not have it). W had endured it all his life, but the constant slipping of the kneecap eventually caused him so much wear and pain that he had stopped using that leg altogether, several months before we decided on surgery.

The operation was a success and his new joint was A-OK. However, W persisted in not using his new knee, despite my applying all the recommended therapies at home. W was not only stubborn, he was comfortable with things how they were. Enter the two experts at West Chester Veterinary Rehabilitation Specialty Center.

Dr. Ann Caulfield and Michelle Lazarski treated my sweet but timid rescue hound like their own child. They walked him in the underwater treadmill, they massaged him, they talked cuddly to him and they, in short, made a friend of my quivery paranoid pet. And over the three or so months we made our visits to their facility, W improved. Of course, he put on his brave face and used his leg in front of the two therapists, but when we would get home and he was free in the backyard, he'd revert to his three-legged lope. It was frustrating, but I continued our homework. And by the end of the summer, he was walking on all fours again, where he remains to this day.

We know that his right knee is deteriorating from the same condition, but he doesn't seem to be in any pain. Yet. When he first shows those signs, I will be consulting with the surgeon again, and will then be sure to use Caulfield and Lazarski for our follow up PT. They are miracle-workers.

If you are in the vicinity of West Chester, Pennsylvania, and have a pet that would benefit from therapy, I would highly recommend the rehabilitation center and the two women that head it. Thanks, ladies, from W and me!

Hey, Buster! Who You Corruptin' Now-Now-Now?

I sit and watch the occasional PBS kids' show in the a.m. with my two children, AC (22m) and N (3.5y). For some strange reason, Wednesday at 5pm we turned on the t.v., and landed on NJN, the New Jersey public station. POSTCARDS FROM BUSTER came on, a show we've seen only three or four times. For those unfamiliar with Buster, he is a bunny originally from the popular animated PBS kids' show, ARTHUR, which features all-animal characters in a world usually inhabited by humans (think Berenstain Bears). PFB is a spinoff show from ARTHUR that features the animated Buster (he's eight, by the way) and his dad--a pilot-rabbit--flying around the country to take a musical group--of rabbits--to their gigs. The show focuses on what Buster finds and videotapes in these locations they visit--and all of the visiting is with live, non-actor human beings, in non-animated situations. It's a little strange to watch the people pretend to "interact" with a fictional/animated character behind the camera.

Enough background on the show. Here's the hoot: Wednesday, we happened to catch THE BANNED EPISODE!!! Buster & Co. traveled to Vermont, where Buster hung out with some kids his age (real kids, again), who showed him around the town. He watched and learned how maple sugar was made; he visited a dairy farm and saw how the cows were milked and how farm kids have some fun. Oh, and by the way, he had a Shabbat dinner with a family who had--shhhhh--two moms. Then they went to another family's house to sit around a bonfire and say goodbye to winter! Don't tell, but that family had two moms too.

There was so very little to do with the two moms thing, and so much to do with the children going about their business in rural Vermont, that I am astounded that the Bush administration demanded in January 2005 that PBS not distribute the show. Several PBS stations, however, got the episode and have run it. Apparently, NJN was one. This particular episode is NOT on the official Buster site: http://pbskids.org/buster/. Nowhere is there mention of Buster visiting Vermont, even though the episode is now over two years old!

Nyah-nyah, Bush! Now my children will be sad and confused individuals who think that family love is unlimited. They might even find out about Mary Cheney some day.

Props and Slops

THE PROPSI love giving props to people and things who make me happy. In no particular order, here are my latest true loves:

Budget Rental Car
Saved $200 on a week's rental just by stopping by the Budget desk on a whim while on my way to the Avis desk where we had already reserved a car for the week. No reservation? No problem. AND THEY WERE SO FRIENDLY!!!
Hyundai Sonata
This is the car we rented. We've always owned Camrys or Accords (plus my new fave, my Subaru Forester), but this Sonata was the CANDY. Who knew??? Comfortable, spacious, get-up-and-go. And a pretty thing! We fit all our luggage, we two adults, the two kids, and their car seats into that baby with LOTS of trunk room to spare.
Commerce Bank on Concord Pike & Silverside
I read recently in the News Journal (local-local!) that the most convenient place to cash in your coins was this bank's machine. No waiting in the supermarket lines, no "store credit" instead of cash. TRUE TRUE TRUE. And not only that, but the whole bank's staff was friendly, helpful, and SMILED at me when I didn't even stand in their lines! They even gave me two free checkbook registers when I asked, and I'm a freakin Wachovia customer. Hell they are open on WEEKENDS, people. Maybe I'll look into it.

THE SLOPS

Hanes socks for my boy
I didn't think a huge name like Hanes could make a stinky product, but the white ankle-high athletic socks I bought my 3.5yo are PILLING. I have never owned an athletic sock that pilled. Have you? It is strange and very UGLY, seeing that the fabric lining of his sneakers is navy blue. The fuzz pills on his white socks are GREY, and the socks are but a week old.

Microsoft Windows 7
Can you just shoot me now? I didn't observe my usual rule of letting a few months go by before upgrading to the next version. The NEW and IMPROVED Windows treats ANY link that is designated to open in a new window as a pop-up and blocks them. Weather.com local alerts, for example. Also, links on my blog (I always tag them to open in a new window so you don't leave me--*snif*). So you have to press Ctrl at the same time as clicking the link now. And the TABS on that mutha? I just can't figure it out. And I'm not dumb. At least I didn't useta think so.

And the battle's just begun...

From the CNN.COM story, "Bush: Congress Can't Stop Troop Increase":

Asked if he believes that he, as commander-in-chief of the armed forces, has the authority to order troops to Iraq in the face of congressional opposition, Bush said, "In this situation, I do, yeah."

I just threw up a little in my throat.

Christmas Leftovers: Cats-in-law

A few scraps from our recent holiday vaca at the in-laws' house.

Today's topic: The Cats-in-law.

For seven days it was me versus five cats, four inside, one outside. Every time we visit, because I am allergic, I have to keep our bedroom door closed at all times to prevent the cats from lounging on, rooting through, vomiting on, or peeing in our suitcases, beds, pillows, sleeping bag, and pack and play. Did I mention this house is in Florida? And my mother-in-law gets cold at night when the temperature drops below seventy? Thus little to no AC at night. The room is poorly ventilated anyway, and with the four of us heavy breathers sweating through the night with the door sealed shut, our windows fairly drip with condensation by morning. Might I add that the cats make themselves comfortable in this very room the other fifty-one weeks of the year. Their ghosts linger.

I had a pile of our dirty clothes outside our door for five minutes while I did something in our room, then I stepped out into the hallway, shutting the door behind me of course. The hairiest cat, a beautiful Ragdoll, lolled playfully on top of the pile. I tried to shoo her away without touching her. That is apparently cat-sign language for, "Let's play a while!" She swatted at me and the clothes as I tried to get them out from under her, and she actually laughed when her nails snagged one of my favorite shirts. Every time I tried to get the shirt away, she'd pierce and pull at it anew. And I thought dogs were destructive.

My husband's parents' cats are beautiful things, but I can't touch a one of them, or the swollen itchy masses that used to be my eyes will get worse. Washing my hands is futile, considering that the towels I use to dry them apply more cat hair to my skin than the washing removed. As I prepared for dinner one night I hung a clean shirt over a towel bar and began locating my shower stuff. I knocked the shirt off accidentally, and it didn't just fall onto the floor, it fell into the cats' water dishes. I shrugged, laughed a little, then sought out a towel. When I opened the shuttered doors of the linen closet, an orange cat stared me straight in the eyes from its cozy perch atop the bath towels.

The ILs got new couches for the family room last year, and the cats have already had their way with them. There's a carpet-covered scratching post in front of one of the corners to try to prevent the inevitable, but all that fur-covered toy attracted during our visit was my children. They pushed it, pulled it, stepped on it, kicked it, sat on it--everything but licked the damn thing--ALL WEEK LONG. Their joyous play kicked up huge tufts of the combined fur of the cats, which settled happily on my person. Wouldn't you know it, any cat toys (balls, fur mouses, fishing pole type thingies) are far more interesting play pretties than any distraction actually created for human children.

Seven days. Running nose, puffy eyes, failing contact lenses.

Why didn't we stay in a hotel? I prefer histamine attacks to bedbug infestation. And there's that half-a-G we saved...

We Interrupt this Absence for Two More Recommendations

This is rather yummy:



So is this:



That is all I have to say.

The Home Stretch (and a book rec)

Folks, it's the time of year when my mania for getting stuff done bumps up to 11 on a ten-point scale, and would you believe that blogging is at the bottom of the to-do list? I'll be taking a leave of absence from this forum until early in the New Year. But before I go, I have to tell you about the wonderful novel I'm reading--and it's just the right time of year to read it--Marisa de los Santos's Love Walked In. She's a local author, and even better, she's an extremely gifted author. I'm hoping to get to her booksigning at Borders in a week or so. Pick up her book and bask in its warmth, hope, and humor.

May your days be merry and bright, my friends.

He's Done it Now

O.J. Simpson has a new book coming out November 30: If I Did It, preceded by a t.v. special, entitled "O.J. Simpson: If I Did It, Here's How It Happened."

according to the Chicago Tribune,

Although Simpson has denied committing the crimes, he will describe how he would have carried out the murders if he were guilty, according to a Fox news release.

Okay. My wife--the mother of my children--was brutally murdered. However will I heal from this trauma? Oh, of COURSE! Well, yes, the golf is helping, but I now see that if I can find a public forum in which to fantasize in gruesome detail about being the psychotic son of a bitch who did it, then not only will I find some kind of inner peace, but I will also cement my innocence in the eyes of the world.

The money I'll get? Oh, yeah! That'll be cool too.

Bulbs are in

I finally finished putting in all my bulbs for spring. I had to move some daffodils which had become impenetrably dense in the last few years, and I added some muscarii (grape hyacinth), tulips, and some smallish alliums. I try tulips every few years, and have been satisfied only one year, when I was living in North Carolina. Either I never get them deep enough and they freeze/rot/get eaten, or they just don't have enough nutrients where I put them. I tried to prepare their beds better this year. I'll try to post a photo this spring if there's any action in the tulip department.

I laid some wire fencing over the beds to deter deer or other rodents, but there are always the underground dudes who'll eat the bulbs with no trace. I am going to try to scratch in some fertilizer today and mulch a little bit. I have a feeling, though, that I won't have time. It's D's birthday and the kids are incredibly restless.

It's Carmen Tonight!

Now just pray with me that the babysitter doesn't forget as she did once before. I reminded her Tuesday when we trick or treated at her house. She is 17. And you know they have brains like...well... like that of a 41-year-old mother of two toddlers.

A Boy and His Whale

(minus the boy)



Hope you can make out the picture--N draws with a light hand. He did this whale about a month ago when he was 3y 2m old.

Thanks for indulging the proud mommy.