Milestones the Baby Books Miss: Bibbing
Bibs serve multiple functions throughout infancy. At first, they help catch spit-up. They are quite inadequate to this task, since spit-up goes all sorts of places besides immediately below the chin. But one puts them on in a show of good faith. (I still recall with some bitterness when my eldest nephew, now five, celebrated his first Christmas by nailing my brand-new Pendleton wool skirt--even though someone else was holding him! Fortunately the skirt seems to have survived.)
Later on, bibs will become necessary for catching stray food particles when the solid food process begins. (My nephew got his due back and more when I tried to feed him later in life.)
In between these two times, one reaches the Unending Drool point. At this point, bibs are a sort of diaper on the top end to absorb an unending stream of dampness before it soaks through everything in sight.
Last night DOB inspected D1 and decreed we had reached this point.
While on the topic of my niephlings, that reminds me that my sister-in-law would always laugh at my inadequate diapering skills. She would have had convulsions had she seen that, despite two months of practise, I somehow diapered D1 without even bothering to attach the tab on one side. Fortunately no calamities ensued. I really do much better with cloth diapers.
Friday, September 10, 2004
Thursday, September 09, 2004
Retirement Planning
Both of our fathers believe that having several children should be one's primary form of retirement planning. We're rather inclined to the same view, although people shouldn't get too carried away with the idea, or DOB will be out of a job. But consider the differences:
Both of our fathers believe that having several children should be one's primary form of retirement planning. We're rather inclined to the same view, although people shouldn't get too carried away with the idea, or DOB will be out of a job. But consider the differences:
- A brand-new IRA isn't at all cuddly.
- You can only put $3,000 a year into an IRA--you can put way more than that into your kids (especially when they turn 16).
- Sure, some kids are undutiful, but an IRA never calls.
- No matter what Congress does, mooching off your kids will remain tax-free.
- Mooching off your children makes a more interesting literary topic:
A man was meant to help support his children,
Which is the right and proper thing t' do.
A man was meant to help support his children, BUT
Wiv a little bit o' luck, wiv a little bit o' luck,
Wiv a little bit o' luck, they'll work for you!
Cheap is Good, Free is Better
Despite still feeling a bit draggy (still no definitive flu symptoms, but napping like Garfield), I decided I couldn't bear to miss the Labor Day Weekend sales. So I went to a couple mid-day on Saturday, though I feared all the good stuff would be gone.
I don't know what was gone at the first one, but what was remaining the proprietress was so sick of that she was giving it away for free. So we got some baby toys, a game of Pictionary, Valentine's day decorations (kids love that kind of stuff), lace curtains (if they don't work in the living room D1 can have them in her dress-up box), a couple of shirts, and a whole bunch of interesting-looking books, which I am checking out during feeding times. Right now I'm reading one on Eli Whitney, both his mechanical ingenuity and his less brilliant attempt to engage in monopoly and price-gouging. (Which the cotton farmers of the South found ways to combat without bringing anti-trust suits--amazing, isn't it!)
The second sale wasn't quite so desparate, but I got quite a few baby clothes for half-garage-sale price, which is decent.
Then Monday DOB, rather than expending not-yet-existent money taking me out, called a farmer friend of his and arranged for us to go boating on his pond. The farmer then loaned us his Gator and we went riding through the woods together--a rare treat since DOB's feet limit his ability to walk in the woods. Finally, the farmer took us down to his garden. It was one of those gardens that gets planted with great ambition every spring, and by September has gone entirely to weeds and more produce than anyone can keep up with. He helped us pick as much as we could carry.
Now I just have to get up the energy to deal with all this stuff.
Despite still feeling a bit draggy (still no definitive flu symptoms, but napping like Garfield), I decided I couldn't bear to miss the Labor Day Weekend sales. So I went to a couple mid-day on Saturday, though I feared all the good stuff would be gone.
I don't know what was gone at the first one, but what was remaining the proprietress was so sick of that she was giving it away for free. So we got some baby toys, a game of Pictionary, Valentine's day decorations (kids love that kind of stuff), lace curtains (if they don't work in the living room D1 can have them in her dress-up box), a couple of shirts, and a whole bunch of interesting-looking books, which I am checking out during feeding times. Right now I'm reading one on Eli Whitney, both his mechanical ingenuity and his less brilliant attempt to engage in monopoly and price-gouging. (Which the cotton farmers of the South found ways to combat without bringing anti-trust suits--amazing, isn't it!)
The second sale wasn't quite so desparate, but I got quite a few baby clothes for half-garage-sale price, which is decent.
Then Monday DOB, rather than expending not-yet-existent money taking me out, called a farmer friend of his and arranged for us to go boating on his pond. The farmer then loaned us his Gator and we went riding through the woods together--a rare treat since DOB's feet limit his ability to walk in the woods. Finally, the farmer took us down to his garden. It was one of those gardens that gets planted with great ambition every spring, and by September has gone entirely to weeds and more produce than anyone can keep up with. He helped us pick as much as we could carry.
Now I just have to get up the energy to deal with all this stuff.
Tuesday, September 07, 2004
Do Re Mi
We spent part of Labor Day at a singing school, learning to sing from shape notes. Actually it was only the last day of the school, so we missed all the learning and practice and just got in on the singing, but even so it was fun and educational. DOB's family went to the other four days and took notes, so we will no doubt have the chance to learn what we missed.
I love that style of singing. We have the hymnal they use now (though there are definitely some songs we'll skip due to doctrinal differences). But we'll be working on four-part a capella harmony much more now. And Abbey's going to know her do re mi before she knows her A B C.
In other exciting events of Labor Day, a man hunt went through DOB's family's neighborhood. The helicopter spotted one of his brothers out tending to the chickens and sent a patrol car down to tell him to get inside. This delayed any outdoor sports but the excitement and speculation seemed to make it a worthwhile tradeoff.
We spent part of Labor Day at a singing school, learning to sing from shape notes. Actually it was only the last day of the school, so we missed all the learning and practice and just got in on the singing, but even so it was fun and educational. DOB's family went to the other four days and took notes, so we will no doubt have the chance to learn what we missed.
I love that style of singing. We have the hymnal they use now (though there are definitely some songs we'll skip due to doctrinal differences). But we'll be working on four-part a capella harmony much more now. And Abbey's going to know her do re mi before she knows her A B C.
In other exciting events of Labor Day, a man hunt went through DOB's family's neighborhood. The helicopter spotted one of his brothers out tending to the chickens and sent a patrol car down to tell him to get inside. This delayed any outdoor sports but the excitement and speculation seemed to make it a worthwhile tradeoff.
Monday, September 06, 2004
One year ago today . . .
I was in the Pacific Time Zone, so I was just waking up. I called DOB to wake him up, so he could pass the morning playing foos ball.
Let's see, since then we've had one car wreck and endless car repairs, one major injury and countless minor ones, months of illness, a job change, rapid bank account-emptying, two moves and a baby.
It's been the best year of my life.
Happy anniversary, DOB. Here's to many more.
I was in the Pacific Time Zone, so I was just waking up. I called DOB to wake him up, so he could pass the morning playing foos ball.
Let's see, since then we've had one car wreck and endless car repairs, one major injury and countless minor ones, months of illness, a job change, rapid bank account-emptying, two moves and a baby.
It's been the best year of my life.
Happy anniversary, DOB. Here's to many more.
Friday, September 03, 2004
The Flu Descends . . . perhaps
DOB and I think--think--we may have come down at last with the dread disease that plagued his family for most of last month. It is difficult to tell, though, because our only symptoms is a general feeling of fatigue and achiness that descends after any minor exertion. According to report, the disease can take that minor form and never worsen if one takes it easy. If one does not take it easy, various extreme forms of congestion and even rashes may ensue. Therefore, it behooves everyone suspecting the disease to let the chores pile up, go into work late and come home early, and generally kick back.
Can you imagine a better illness?
The only downside is that we had to miss the YR party to watch the President's acceptance speech last night, on the grounds that we couldn't have stayed awake that long even if we had tried. This is the problem with living in the eastern time zone. On the west coast, all events of national significance happen before bedtime.
But we finished the first book of King Arthur. My favorite knight is Gawain; DOB's is Percival. Now I must reserve the remaining two in the series from the library.
We can't tell if D1 is sick or not. Since she's likely to sleep as much as she feels like, she will probably stay with the more mild form of the illness, too.
DOB and I think--think--we may have come down at last with the dread disease that plagued his family for most of last month. It is difficult to tell, though, because our only symptoms is a general feeling of fatigue and achiness that descends after any minor exertion. According to report, the disease can take that minor form and never worsen if one takes it easy. If one does not take it easy, various extreme forms of congestion and even rashes may ensue. Therefore, it behooves everyone suspecting the disease to let the chores pile up, go into work late and come home early, and generally kick back.
Can you imagine a better illness?
The only downside is that we had to miss the YR party to watch the President's acceptance speech last night, on the grounds that we couldn't have stayed awake that long even if we had tried. This is the problem with living in the eastern time zone. On the west coast, all events of national significance happen before bedtime.
But we finished the first book of King Arthur. My favorite knight is Gawain; DOB's is Percival. Now I must reserve the remaining two in the series from the library.
We can't tell if D1 is sick or not. Since she's likely to sleep as much as she feels like, she will probably stay with the more mild form of the illness, too.
Thursday, September 02, 2004
In which my weird aunt interviews me
1. What is the fiction book that you have read that you were most surprised to have liked? Why?
It would probably be War and Peace. Prior to reading it, my only strong association with it was Charlie Brown struggling through it in "Happy New Year, Charlie Brown." I was expecting something I would have to slog through for the sake of having read it, as I did with Moby Dick. Instead I found Tolstoy's insights into the human psyche to be fascinating. Of course, it may have made a difference that I was 20 when I first read War and Peace and twelve when I tackled Moby Dick. I should probably try Moby Dick again.
2. Where would you most like to visit that you have not been?
Scotland.
3. What talent that you don't have would you most like to have? Why?
I'd like to be able to sing well. I love singing but I know full well I'm much better in the chorus with someone strong to follow than I am trying to sing on my own. Most other things that I would like to be better at I think I could improve to where I would like to be if I just had the patience to work at it, but I don't think I could with singing.
4. Assume that you are going to spend 300 years as a tree. Describe your ideal tree-life.
I first read this as spending 300 years in a tree and spent a couple hours designing a fancy tree house. . . . OK, as a tree. I'd be a California Redwood in a remote valley within sight of the ocean on one hand and the mountains on the other. The redwoods forest is the treeiest place I've ever been, and if I were a tree I wouldn't mind living in California.
5. What are your three favorite fairy tales (folk tales, fables, myths)?
King Thrushbeard, Sir Gawain and the Loathely Lady, and the homecoming of Ulysses. I realized once I compiled this list that all three hinge on disguise, and disguise of a particular type: the friend disguised as a foe, the beautiful disguised as the ugly, the master disguised as a stranger.
All right, now according to these chain-letter like rules, I must offer others the option of requesting interviews from me. I wonder if I broke the chain I would have seven years of bad luck?
1 -- Leave a comment, saying you want to be interviewed.
2 -- I will respond; I'll ask you five questions.
3 -- You'll update your blog with my five questions, and your five answers.
4 -- You'll include this explanation.
5 -- You'll ask other people five questions when they want to be interviewed.
1. What is the fiction book that you have read that you were most surprised to have liked? Why?
It would probably be War and Peace. Prior to reading it, my only strong association with it was Charlie Brown struggling through it in "Happy New Year, Charlie Brown." I was expecting something I would have to slog through for the sake of having read it, as I did with Moby Dick. Instead I found Tolstoy's insights into the human psyche to be fascinating. Of course, it may have made a difference that I was 20 when I first read War and Peace and twelve when I tackled Moby Dick. I should probably try Moby Dick again.
2. Where would you most like to visit that you have not been?
Scotland.
3. What talent that you don't have would you most like to have? Why?
I'd like to be able to sing well. I love singing but I know full well I'm much better in the chorus with someone strong to follow than I am trying to sing on my own. Most other things that I would like to be better at I think I could improve to where I would like to be if I just had the patience to work at it, but I don't think I could with singing.
4. Assume that you are going to spend 300 years as a tree. Describe your ideal tree-life.
I first read this as spending 300 years in a tree and spent a couple hours designing a fancy tree house. . . . OK, as a tree. I'd be a California Redwood in a remote valley within sight of the ocean on one hand and the mountains on the other. The redwoods forest is the treeiest place I've ever been, and if I were a tree I wouldn't mind living in California.
5. What are your three favorite fairy tales (folk tales, fables, myths)?
King Thrushbeard, Sir Gawain and the Loathely Lady, and the homecoming of Ulysses. I realized once I compiled this list that all three hinge on disguise, and disguise of a particular type: the friend disguised as a foe, the beautiful disguised as the ugly, the master disguised as a stranger.
All right, now according to these chain-letter like rules, I must offer others the option of requesting interviews from me. I wonder if I broke the chain I would have seven years of bad luck?
1 -- Leave a comment, saying you want to be interviewed.
2 -- I will respond; I'll ask you five questions.
3 -- You'll update your blog with my five questions, and your five answers.
4 -- You'll include this explanation.
5 -- You'll ask other people five questions when they want to be interviewed.
Things People Say
"She's so tiny!"
She seems pretty big to me. You try carrying a thirteen-pound weight everywhere you go. More than that, though, I think the difference of perspective arises from our standard of comparison. Other people are subconsciously comparing her to the individual who will be guiding thousands of pounds of metal at high rates of speed in just sixteen years. I am subconsciously comparing her to the individual who three months ago fit in my abdomen.
"Having kids sure changes your life, doesn't it?"
DOB does identify with this one, because we don't get to spend time alone together like we used to. (Though not even ten months passed between when we stopped having a younger sibling in the back seat and started having a baby there. But then babies don't make deliberate rude noises or snicker.) Maybe it's just that my life has had a few more changes than his in the past few years, but as far as I'm concerned the changes from a baby have been no more of a fluctuation than all the other changes that have rolled on through.
"What a precious little girl."
OK, I can't really argue with that one.
"She's so tiny!"
She seems pretty big to me. You try carrying a thirteen-pound weight everywhere you go. More than that, though, I think the difference of perspective arises from our standard of comparison. Other people are subconsciously comparing her to the individual who will be guiding thousands of pounds of metal at high rates of speed in just sixteen years. I am subconsciously comparing her to the individual who three months ago fit in my abdomen.
"Having kids sure changes your life, doesn't it?"
DOB does identify with this one, because we don't get to spend time alone together like we used to. (Though not even ten months passed between when we stopped having a younger sibling in the back seat and started having a baby there. But then babies don't make deliberate rude noises or snicker.) Maybe it's just that my life has had a few more changes than his in the past few years, but as far as I'm concerned the changes from a baby have been no more of a fluctuation than all the other changes that have rolled on through.
"What a precious little girl."
OK, I can't really argue with that one.
Wednesday, September 01, 2004
Making Money
You may have noticed that ads no longer appear at the top of the blog. But we bloggers do have the option of getting those ads back. The incentive is that we could get a share of the revenue from visitors who click on the ads. Blogger has a whole instruction sheet on how to do it, including tips on how to have strategic product placement to make the ads more effective.
It all reminds me of that episode in Anne of Avonlea where Diana takes a story of Anne's, puts in some strategic references to a particular baking powder, and wins a story contest for Anne. Anne is horrified, feeling that she has been sold out to commercialism when she should write for fame alone.
Personally, although I'd prefer fame (or at least wide readership) to fortune, I wouldn't turn down a fortune if it showed up on my doorstep. (After reasonable efforts to ascertain if it was anyone else's.) Nonetheless, I'm squeamish about putting ads back on, for some reason. They're ugly, I guess. Besides, I'm not sure people would want products placed the way I would place them:
"Our Ford Taurus just broke down again."
"I cannot get the stains out of D1's Carter outfit with my Arm & Hammer Detergent."
"The E-Machine computer had its hard disk freeze."
You may have noticed that ads no longer appear at the top of the blog. But we bloggers do have the option of getting those ads back. The incentive is that we could get a share of the revenue from visitors who click on the ads. Blogger has a whole instruction sheet on how to do it, including tips on how to have strategic product placement to make the ads more effective.
It all reminds me of that episode in Anne of Avonlea where Diana takes a story of Anne's, puts in some strategic references to a particular baking powder, and wins a story contest for Anne. Anne is horrified, feeling that she has been sold out to commercialism when she should write for fame alone.
Personally, although I'd prefer fame (or at least wide readership) to fortune, I wouldn't turn down a fortune if it showed up on my doorstep. (After reasonable efforts to ascertain if it was anyone else's.) Nonetheless, I'm squeamish about putting ads back on, for some reason. They're ugly, I guess. Besides, I'm not sure people would want products placed the way I would place them:
"Our Ford Taurus just broke down again."
"I cannot get the stains out of D1's Carter outfit with my Arm & Hammer Detergent."
"The E-Machine computer had its hard disk freeze."
The Great Imposition
Imagine that you take a total stranger and, without so much as a by-your-leave, set him down in a strange place, attach him for life to a host of people he knows nothing about, and proceed to control every aspect of his life. For a month or more thereafter he spends his time (when not sleeping) either staring glumly at you or weeping in despair.
With that picture in mind, you can understand why a baby's beginning to smile is greeted with such eagerness. At last his parents have some hope that they are not creating unabated misery in the child's life.
Imagine that you take a total stranger and, without so much as a by-your-leave, set him down in a strange place, attach him for life to a host of people he knows nothing about, and proceed to control every aspect of his life. For a month or more thereafter he spends his time (when not sleeping) either staring glumly at you or weeping in despair.
With that picture in mind, you can understand why a baby's beginning to smile is greeted with such eagerness. At last his parents have some hope that they are not creating unabated misery in the child's life.
Tuesday, August 31, 2004
Auto-ignorance
I can't tell cars apart. I can tell a car from a truck or even an SUV. I can identify colors and age (within a decade). Once I get close enough, I can read the vehicle name. But apart from that, a car is a car.
DOB sees things differently. He can identify a car going 75 on the opposite side of a six-lane freeway. If we are driving through his hometown, where he used to work in car insurance, he can also tell you who owns the car. I have trouble identifying our car in a parking lot.
Recently, DOB has decided that he would like to purchase a Pontiac (I think) Bonneville someday. In furtherance of this goal, he has instituted a game of "Spot the Bonneville." I still have trouble remembering he's not talking about a public utility, and pleaded for a game of "Slug Bug" instead (I can identify them), but to no avail. He did establish the rule that there would be no detriment to points from an incorrect identification.
So one day he had just spotted a Bonneville and was trying to point out to me the virtues of the Bonneville in styling so that I could better identify it. I tried to notice the shape and features of the car. Then, emboldened by the knowledge that it wouldn't hurt me to be wrong, I pointed at the next likely candidate and shouted, "Bonneville!"
Then I realized I was pointing at the lot of a Saturn dealership.
I can't tell cars apart. I can tell a car from a truck or even an SUV. I can identify colors and age (within a decade). Once I get close enough, I can read the vehicle name. But apart from that, a car is a car.
DOB sees things differently. He can identify a car going 75 on the opposite side of a six-lane freeway. If we are driving through his hometown, where he used to work in car insurance, he can also tell you who owns the car. I have trouble identifying our car in a parking lot.
Recently, DOB has decided that he would like to purchase a Pontiac (I think) Bonneville someday. In furtherance of this goal, he has instituted a game of "Spot the Bonneville." I still have trouble remembering he's not talking about a public utility, and pleaded for a game of "Slug Bug" instead (I can identify them), but to no avail. He did establish the rule that there would be no detriment to points from an incorrect identification.
So one day he had just spotted a Bonneville and was trying to point out to me the virtues of the Bonneville in styling so that I could better identify it. I tried to notice the shape and features of the car. Then, emboldened by the knowledge that it wouldn't hurt me to be wrong, I pointed at the next likely candidate and shouted, "Bonneville!"
Then I realized I was pointing at the lot of a Saturn dealership.
The bag of clothes finds a home
After some pondering on the specific characteristics of our nearest neighbors, I came to the conclusion that the only likely target was the house next door to the left. So when I saw the lady next door out tending to her flowers, I showed her the bag and asked her if she had any idea where it came from. She did not, but volunteered the information that they took clothes downtown to a mission working with Mexican immigrants. I figured the clothes could not serve a better purpose, and gave her the bag. The end.
On a related topic, I have enough frilly dresses for D1--between hand-me-downs and things other people found at garage sales, etc.--that she could go to a party every day for a couple of weeks. She's not even going to have opportunities to wear them all before she outgrows them. I guess I shall just have to pick out a few favorites and save the rest for a garage sale, a hand-me-down bag, or in case I ever have twin girls and need more dresses at once. Or perhaps D1 will like to put them on her dolls.
After some pondering on the specific characteristics of our nearest neighbors, I came to the conclusion that the only likely target was the house next door to the left. So when I saw the lady next door out tending to her flowers, I showed her the bag and asked her if she had any idea where it came from. She did not, but volunteered the information that they took clothes downtown to a mission working with Mexican immigrants. I figured the clothes could not serve a better purpose, and gave her the bag. The end.
On a related topic, I have enough frilly dresses for D1--between hand-me-downs and things other people found at garage sales, etc.--that she could go to a party every day for a couple of weeks. She's not even going to have opportunities to wear them all before she outgrows them. I guess I shall just have to pick out a few favorites and save the rest for a garage sale, a hand-me-down bag, or in case I ever have twin girls and need more dresses at once. Or perhaps D1 will like to put them on her dolls.
Monday, August 30, 2004
Monday Morning
The station wagon broke down again. Won't start. Fortunately it did it close to DOB's work (at his partner's house, in fact) instead of in Hicksville this time. And his partner was kind enough to loan us his car to get home in. So we drove out in a 95 Taurus and home in a 01 Saturn. But we have to return it, so it doesn't count.
We've been gone all weekend again and the house looks it. Why don't the fairies ever come and do the dishes while I'm gone?
Marsha has become a regular blogger at last and has good comments on her political philosophy. (Which resembles mine except I'm less of an ideological purist.)
Time for me to start work. My first task is inputting various financial data from the Wall Street Journal. After that I shall try to clean off the desk so that when I have more work to do I have room to do it in.
The station wagon broke down again. Won't start. Fortunately it did it close to DOB's work (at his partner's house, in fact) instead of in Hicksville this time. And his partner was kind enough to loan us his car to get home in. So we drove out in a 95 Taurus and home in a 01 Saturn. But we have to return it, so it doesn't count.
We've been gone all weekend again and the house looks it. Why don't the fairies ever come and do the dishes while I'm gone?
Marsha has become a regular blogger at last and has good comments on her political philosophy. (Which resembles mine except I'm less of an ideological purist.)
Time for me to start work. My first task is inputting various financial data from the Wall Street Journal. After that I shall try to clean off the desk so that when I have more work to do I have room to do it in.
Low-Budget Operations
One of the local radio stations plays a variety of music--swing, classic country, polka--according to the tastes of whomever the host happens to be. We appreciate the diversity, but apparently not enough other people do to make it particularly lucrative. The other evening we were listening to it on the drive home and the DJ came on saying, "Could the person who called a couple of minutes ago please call back? I was on the air at the time and couldn't answer the phone." Now I'm not surprised they can't afford a second person around the station--but not even an answering machine?
One of the local radio stations plays a variety of music--swing, classic country, polka--according to the tastes of whomever the host happens to be. We appreciate the diversity, but apparently not enough other people do to make it particularly lucrative. The other evening we were listening to it on the drive home and the DJ came on saying, "Could the person who called a couple of minutes ago please call back? I was on the air at the time and couldn't answer the phone." Now I'm not surprised they can't afford a second person around the station--but not even an answering machine?
Thursday, August 26, 2004
Real Life Mysteries
Last night, while we were out running errands, someone left a bag of clothes on our front doorstep. Had these been a bag of baby clothes, I would not be particularly surprised. But these were a bag of women's clothes.
In the Sunday School stories, someone receives such a bag of clothes after praying for clothes they desparately need. But I don't need clothes. And if I did have to pray for clothes I do hope--with all due respect--that God would have better taste. These garments are not my color, not my style, and not really my size. (The term "my size" has a different amount of flex to it after pregnancy.) They would be better suited to someone three times my age.
Now that is a fair description of most of our neighbors. It may be possible that, in this neighborhood of somewhat similar houses, someone mistook the doorstep and I am holding the clothes that some lady down the street is wondering why her friend never dropped off. But if this is true, how do I find it out? It seems awkward to go door-to-door, holding up a bag and asking, "Excuse me, are these your clothes?" On the other hand, it would be just as awkward for them to go door-to-door asking if anyone has taken in a mysterious bag of clothes. Maybe I should just take them out and set them in the yard for all comers.
Last night, while we were out running errands, someone left a bag of clothes on our front doorstep. Had these been a bag of baby clothes, I would not be particularly surprised. But these were a bag of women's clothes.
In the Sunday School stories, someone receives such a bag of clothes after praying for clothes they desparately need. But I don't need clothes. And if I did have to pray for clothes I do hope--with all due respect--that God would have better taste. These garments are not my color, not my style, and not really my size. (The term "my size" has a different amount of flex to it after pregnancy.) They would be better suited to someone three times my age.
Now that is a fair description of most of our neighbors. It may be possible that, in this neighborhood of somewhat similar houses, someone mistook the doorstep and I am holding the clothes that some lady down the street is wondering why her friend never dropped off. But if this is true, how do I find it out? It seems awkward to go door-to-door, holding up a bag and asking, "Excuse me, are these your clothes?" On the other hand, it would be just as awkward for them to go door-to-door asking if anyone has taken in a mysterious bag of clothes. Maybe I should just take them out and set them in the yard for all comers.
Football Season
The fall football season has begun. I refer not to the NFL season, about which I know nothing unless I happen to notice DOB has football articles up on ESPN.com instead of baseball articles, but to the season of plotting and training for the annual family football game on Thanksgiving.
Somehow I didn't fully comprehend, before marrying DOB, how important this would be. They should put this in premarital counseling: "Will your family traditions require your wife to learn to play contact sports?" Fortunately DOB did not make prior ability a qualification, since I didn't even know how to throw a football until he taught me. (This was not because I was prissy--my brothers don't play football, either. We prefer individual sports without rule books. We're not team players and we'd rather argue than look things up.)
But willingness to play was a necessary feature. His brothers also expect their wives, whenever they may appear, to play football as well. I mentioned the possibility that these theoretical young ladies might not want to play football. They countered that all girls worthy of consideration would be willing to play football; since they define a worthy girl as "one who is willing to play football," I couldn't really argue with them.
Last year I escaped on the grounds of being pregnant. That not being a good idea this year, I shall have to play. The teams have been designated, the players ranked in their various skills, and our team has a significant point deficit. DOB nonetheless thinks we can win, due to his superior strategic and leadership abilities. But I had better get in training. I ranked high on catching ability--or at least colliding with the ball ability--but low on throwing and stamina. So I will make my daily walks more vigorous and begin playing catch in the evenings. Can't let those Bengals win.
The fall football season has begun. I refer not to the NFL season, about which I know nothing unless I happen to notice DOB has football articles up on ESPN.com instead of baseball articles, but to the season of plotting and training for the annual family football game on Thanksgiving.
Somehow I didn't fully comprehend, before marrying DOB, how important this would be. They should put this in premarital counseling: "Will your family traditions require your wife to learn to play contact sports?" Fortunately DOB did not make prior ability a qualification, since I didn't even know how to throw a football until he taught me. (This was not because I was prissy--my brothers don't play football, either. We prefer individual sports without rule books. We're not team players and we'd rather argue than look things up.)
But willingness to play was a necessary feature. His brothers also expect their wives, whenever they may appear, to play football as well. I mentioned the possibility that these theoretical young ladies might not want to play football. They countered that all girls worthy of consideration would be willing to play football; since they define a worthy girl as "one who is willing to play football," I couldn't really argue with them.
Last year I escaped on the grounds of being pregnant. That not being a good idea this year, I shall have to play. The teams have been designated, the players ranked in their various skills, and our team has a significant point deficit. DOB nonetheless thinks we can win, due to his superior strategic and leadership abilities. But I had better get in training. I ranked high on catching ability--or at least colliding with the ball ability--but low on throwing and stamina. So I will make my daily walks more vigorous and begin playing catch in the evenings. Can't let those Bengals win.
Sunrise, Sunset
D1 has outgrown her first clothes. Amazing. A month ago we had such a tiny, helpless baby and now we have . . . a slightly larger and more wiggly tiny, helpless baby. But it feels significant to us!
She has enough clothes in this size that I'm wondering if I'll ever have to do laundry. (Hint to people giving gifts to new babies: they'll need clothes after they're six months old, too.)
Here's hoping for a cool, early fall because at the current growth rate she'll have outgrown this next set by late October and if the weather stays warm all the fuzzy fall outfits she has won't be any good.
D1 has outgrown her first clothes. Amazing. A month ago we had such a tiny, helpless baby and now we have . . . a slightly larger and more wiggly tiny, helpless baby. But it feels significant to us!
She has enough clothes in this size that I'm wondering if I'll ever have to do laundry. (Hint to people giving gifts to new babies: they'll need clothes after they're six months old, too.)
Here's hoping for a cool, early fall because at the current growth rate she'll have outgrown this next set by late October and if the weather stays warm all the fuzzy fall outfits she has won't be any good.
Wednesday, August 25, 2004
Small Miracles Gratefully Received
Yesterday I tried to get on the deceased computer long enough to copy off the files I had neglected to back up. It allowed me to get on (good), open the CD burning program (better), line up the documents I needed to copy (yes!) . . . and then I could not find my emails! Every combination of versions of Outlook and Windows hides them in a different place, and while I was searching for the current hiding place, it crashed again. (arrrrrghhhh!) And wouldn't come on again, no matter how hard I tried. Add to this that I was trying to feed a fussy baby, we had people coming over in two hours and the house wasn't ready, and I knew I was in trouble because I hadn't taken the nap I should have taken, and things were getting a bit hairy.
But today, after the meeting was over and the house had recovered, after I'd had a good night's sleep and a nap, while D1 was taking her nap, I tried again. And it booted up. And let me open the CD burning program. And grab the documents. And I found my .pst file. And they all got written onto the CD. And then the computer crashed.
Now I can ponder what to do with the computer at my leisure. Meanwhile, as the Oracle constantly points out, I had better back up more often. I haven't had a backup since he did it last summer before I got married. And if I only do a backup once per name change, my data is going to be in constant danger.
Yesterday I tried to get on the deceased computer long enough to copy off the files I had neglected to back up. It allowed me to get on (good), open the CD burning program (better), line up the documents I needed to copy (yes!) . . . and then I could not find my emails! Every combination of versions of Outlook and Windows hides them in a different place, and while I was searching for the current hiding place, it crashed again. (arrrrrghhhh!) And wouldn't come on again, no matter how hard I tried. Add to this that I was trying to feed a fussy baby, we had people coming over in two hours and the house wasn't ready, and I knew I was in trouble because I hadn't taken the nap I should have taken, and things were getting a bit hairy.
But today, after the meeting was over and the house had recovered, after I'd had a good night's sleep and a nap, while D1 was taking her nap, I tried again. And it booted up. And let me open the CD burning program. And grab the documents. And I found my .pst file. And they all got written onto the CD. And then the computer crashed.
Now I can ponder what to do with the computer at my leisure. Meanwhile, as the Oracle constantly points out, I had better back up more often. I haven't had a backup since he did it last summer before I got married. And if I only do a backup once per name change, my data is going to be in constant danger.
Alternative Lifestyles
D1 has spent an unusual amount of time either playing by herself or being held by someone else the past several days. Also I am planning on starting working from home for DOB tomorrow. These factors have caused me to realize that if I worked a normal job, I would be putting D1 in daycare about now, and thus caused us to ponder how our lives would be different:
We'd have a much bigger house, because my income would qualify us for a bigger loan and we'd need it because that's the kind of house financial professionals and lawyers live in.
And nicer cars. And we would just go out and buy an infant car seat instead of making the all-four-years one from the hospital work until one of the people who've promised to give us their old one finally remembers to do it.
In another month, when D1 started putting things in her mouth, she'd get sick all the time because she'd be putting toys in her mouth that twenty other kids had put in their mouths. So she'd be on antibiotics all winter, and I'd be stressed out because I'd have to keep taking time off work to take her to the doctor or stay home with her if the daycare wouldn't let her come.
With all that going on, we'd never get enough sleep. We'd drink a lot of coke and coffee to stay awake at work. We'd be grouchy.
I would be too tired to cook. We'd rely on frozen dinners and take out. Our food budget would probably be double or triple what it is now. And with the processed foods and D1's constant sickness, we'd be catching things all the time, too.
When we both got home, we'd be too tired to talk or read together. We'd watch TV for a little while and then go to bed.
Then again, we probably would have realized this would be a problem, and what with all our house and car and credit card (gotta furnish the big house) debts to pay off, we would put off having kids for another five years or so. No D1, D2 or D3. And by the time we did decide to have kids, I'd be older, we'd still have eaten a poor diet because I'd still be too tired to cook, and several years on the Pill might have messed up my hormones, so we might need fertility drugs. Maybe we'd get triplets to make up for lost time. :-P Even one kid would seem like a huge interruption, though, after we'd forced ourselves to get comfortable with life without them. My career would be that much farther along, and I'd probably want to get back to it ASAP. I'd take a few years off to get the (two) kids off to a good school, and then return to my more important work. We'd never have the time to know them--or each other.
D1 has spent an unusual amount of time either playing by herself or being held by someone else the past several days. Also I am planning on starting working from home for DOB tomorrow. These factors have caused me to realize that if I worked a normal job, I would be putting D1 in daycare about now, and thus caused us to ponder how our lives would be different:
We'd have a much bigger house, because my income would qualify us for a bigger loan and we'd need it because that's the kind of house financial professionals and lawyers live in.
And nicer cars. And we would just go out and buy an infant car seat instead of making the all-four-years one from the hospital work until one of the people who've promised to give us their old one finally remembers to do it.
In another month, when D1 started putting things in her mouth, she'd get sick all the time because she'd be putting toys in her mouth that twenty other kids had put in their mouths. So she'd be on antibiotics all winter, and I'd be stressed out because I'd have to keep taking time off work to take her to the doctor or stay home with her if the daycare wouldn't let her come.
With all that going on, we'd never get enough sleep. We'd drink a lot of coke and coffee to stay awake at work. We'd be grouchy.
I would be too tired to cook. We'd rely on frozen dinners and take out. Our food budget would probably be double or triple what it is now. And with the processed foods and D1's constant sickness, we'd be catching things all the time, too.
When we both got home, we'd be too tired to talk or read together. We'd watch TV for a little while and then go to bed.
Then again, we probably would have realized this would be a problem, and what with all our house and car and credit card (gotta furnish the big house) debts to pay off, we would put off having kids for another five years or so. No D1, D2 or D3. And by the time we did decide to have kids, I'd be older, we'd still have eaten a poor diet because I'd still be too tired to cook, and several years on the Pill might have messed up my hormones, so we might need fertility drugs. Maybe we'd get triplets to make up for lost time. :-P Even one kid would seem like a huge interruption, though, after we'd forced ourselves to get comfortable with life without them. My career would be that much farther along, and I'd probably want to get back to it ASAP. I'd take a few years off to get the (two) kids off to a good school, and then return to my more important work. We'd never have the time to know them--or each other.
Writing Our Own Job Descriptions
Judges deciding they could legislate was only the first step; now executive branch officials are deciding they can judge. Michigan election officials voted to deny ballot access to an initiative with plenty of signatures because they don't think it's constitutional. Note to election officials: That's not your business to decide. From the language given in the article, which is unusually broad, I suspect it could be construed in an unconstitutional manner--to prohibit, say, a private employer from granting benefits to same sex partners, or even preventing a private wedding chapel from conducting a same-sex ceremony. But a judge could also construe it to refer only to government actions, in which case it would likely be constitutional. Regardless, it's the judge's job, not theirs.
And in Louisiana, it seems they're up their old "one subject" trick. As if legislative bills are ever held to this standard. For some reason an initiative that addresses same-sex marriage and civil unions violates the one issue rule, but the Consolidated Multiplied Omnibus Bill passed at midnight just before adjournment never does.
Judges deciding they could legislate was only the first step; now executive branch officials are deciding they can judge. Michigan election officials voted to deny ballot access to an initiative with plenty of signatures because they don't think it's constitutional. Note to election officials: That's not your business to decide. From the language given in the article, which is unusually broad, I suspect it could be construed in an unconstitutional manner--to prohibit, say, a private employer from granting benefits to same sex partners, or even preventing a private wedding chapel from conducting a same-sex ceremony. But a judge could also construe it to refer only to government actions, in which case it would likely be constitutional. Regardless, it's the judge's job, not theirs.
And in Louisiana, it seems they're up their old "one subject" trick. As if legislative bills are ever held to this standard. For some reason an initiative that addresses same-sex marriage and civil unions violates the one issue rule, but the Consolidated Multiplied Omnibus Bill passed at midnight just before adjournment never does.
Tuesday, August 24, 2004
Cheap Thrills
- Making a casserole using leftover rice, leftover turkey, leftover cheese, and leftover broccoli, that turned out delicious.
- Sewing a birthday card using scrap fabric and tissue paper on a blank card that turned out really cute and took about five minutes, less time than looking for one that wasn't obscene or too mushy. (Just stack a couple different scraps of paper and fabric artistically and sew them on with a regular sewing machine.)
- Saving $35 over the previous month's electric bill by hanging four loads of clothes a week and turning off the A/C during a week of cooler weather. (I've discovered I really like hanging laundry. It is an excuse to get outside that doesn't get dirt under my fingernails.)
Monday, August 23, 2004
Milestones the Baby Books Miss: Burping
True, burping has been part of D1's life since day one. But in the early days, coaxing her to burp was a huge problem, requiring the united efforts of all adults in the vicinity, involving a dozen variations of position and patting techniques, and generally taking as long or longer than the meal itself. She would inform us of her misery intermittently until the burps were gone. If we misjudged the absence of further burps and set her down too soon, we would be punished with wails of anguish.
Due to improving skills at nursing, increased torso and neck strength, and perhaps DOB's fine coaching and example in the activity, matters have improved greatly. Now all I have to do is sit her up on my lap for a few seconds and we both wait calmly until she emits a noise that would attract admiration in a junior high cafeteria. After that, all is well.
Such a noise is, of course, loud enough to attract attention in other venues as well. Like last night in church.
True, burping has been part of D1's life since day one. But in the early days, coaxing her to burp was a huge problem, requiring the united efforts of all adults in the vicinity, involving a dozen variations of position and patting techniques, and generally taking as long or longer than the meal itself. She would inform us of her misery intermittently until the burps were gone. If we misjudged the absence of further burps and set her down too soon, we would be punished with wails of anguish.
Due to improving skills at nursing, increased torso and neck strength, and perhaps DOB's fine coaching and example in the activity, matters have improved greatly. Now all I have to do is sit her up on my lap for a few seconds and we both wait calmly until she emits a noise that would attract admiration in a junior high cafeteria. After that, all is well.
Such a noise is, of course, loud enough to attract attention in other venues as well. Like last night in church.
Very Briefly, Before D1 Wakes Up:
- DOB's mother's 50th birthday party on Saturday came off as a complete surprise. A good time was had by all. We have plenty of leftovers, which are essential after a party because you don't feel like cooking.
- Cardamon is the cayenne pepper of baking spices. Do not attempt to include it in equal quantities to things like nutmeg and allspice.
- My computer has, reputedly, died. I was not present when the death occurred. I am using the home office computer, which I hope does not jeopardize its tax-deductible status any more than DOB using it to check ESPN does. E-mail will not be functioning until I find a workaround with the laptop (which was broken when we moved in, so we've never bothered to set it up with an Internet connection). I hope the data can be recovered.
- We were essentially gone all weekend, yet the house is a disaster. I've never understood that phenomenon. And we have guests coming tomorrow.
Saturday, August 21, 2004
Interesting Thoughts Afoot
Some people refuse to understand the natural law concept. (I wanted to reply but it required an email address. I need to get me a throwaway address for online use.)
Our school email group is having a rousing (and so far quite civil) debate on whether minor, non-dangerous, traffic infractions are unimportant and should not be enforced (or observed) or whether the Law is the Law. It's a difficult matter because on the one hand a) you can't pull over every speeder, so some enforcement will be selective, yet b) any acknowledgment that enforcement will be selective opens one to charges of prejudice and profiling. And I don't think anyone is arguing that we can abandon the vehicular code altogether. We could perhaps make the code entirely a question of prudence, but that wouldn't really solve the problem in b).
I'm thinking about writing a defense of why women should vote, in response to this. In very brief form, I think that while household voting is not necessarily a bad idea (a sort of mini-federalism), it is certainly not the way things are now and there is nothing illegitimate about individual voting, as the civil government must deal with us as individuals in other aspects.
But all these thoughts must await further pondering. Great things afoot today, on which more later.
Some people refuse to understand the natural law concept. (I wanted to reply but it required an email address. I need to get me a throwaway address for online use.)
Our school email group is having a rousing (and so far quite civil) debate on whether minor, non-dangerous, traffic infractions are unimportant and should not be enforced (or observed) or whether the Law is the Law. It's a difficult matter because on the one hand a) you can't pull over every speeder, so some enforcement will be selective, yet b) any acknowledgment that enforcement will be selective opens one to charges of prejudice and profiling. And I don't think anyone is arguing that we can abandon the vehicular code altogether. We could perhaps make the code entirely a question of prudence, but that wouldn't really solve the problem in b).
I'm thinking about writing a defense of why women should vote, in response to this. In very brief form, I think that while household voting is not necessarily a bad idea (a sort of mini-federalism), it is certainly not the way things are now and there is nothing illegitimate about individual voting, as the civil government must deal with us as individuals in other aspects.
But all these thoughts must await further pondering. Great things afoot today, on which more later.
Friday, August 20, 2004
A day that will live in . . .
I don't usually post birthday greetings here (so nobody else get offended that you weren't mentioned, ok?) But today is unique for being both DOB's mother's 50th birthday, and my big brother's 33rd birthday. (I think. I need to get together with my nephew on this question. He was once reciting the family's ages and he came to Papa and said, "Papa is two and . . . I can't remember what other number he is." Well, I can remember the first number, Judah, so you just tell me the last one.)
Today is also the second anniversary of a significant telephone call from DOB to His Majesty, one of a very, very few occasions when DOB found himself tongue-tied.
I don't usually post birthday greetings here (so nobody else get offended that you weren't mentioned, ok?) But today is unique for being both DOB's mother's 50th birthday, and my big brother's 33rd birthday. (I think. I need to get together with my nephew on this question. He was once reciting the family's ages and he came to Papa and said, "Papa is two and . . . I can't remember what other number he is." Well, I can remember the first number, Judah, so you just tell me the last one.)
Today is also the second anniversary of a significant telephone call from DOB to His Majesty, one of a very, very few occasions when DOB found himself tongue-tied.
Thursday, August 19, 2004
Nomenclature
DOB and I have few areas on which we just do not understand each other. Less than most couples, I think. But we still have a few.
One of the primary ones is tie descriptions.
Every morning, DOB puts on the shirt and pants I have ironed and then calls out, "Which tie should I wear?" (Even if he always wears the same tie with that shirt.)
I call back from the kitchen, "The dark blue one with light gray spots."
"Which one is that?" he asks. He only has one tie currently in use that remotely resembles this description. I don't think he even looks.
"The one I bought in February when I went shopping with Kitra for maternity clothes," I elaborate.
"Oh, OK," he says. A few moments later, he emerges wearing the right tie.
What is so hard about matching a clear description to the tie in question? And what is so much easier about recalling the precise circumstances of its purchase?
It might be easier to just go with the description that he understands. But I refuse to concede my ground that visual descriptions are more logical than recounting the life history of the tie.
Thus, we are working on yet another tie descriptor that we can both agree on. Following Deontologist's example, we are starting to name the ties.
Today's tie, the dark one with the light gray spots, is called "Nuclear Fallout."
Alas, DOB's ties are much more conservative than Deontologist's ties. It's going to be tricky coming up with memorable names.
Or I could just lay his tie out with his shirt. But why make things boring?
DOB and I have few areas on which we just do not understand each other. Less than most couples, I think. But we still have a few.
One of the primary ones is tie descriptions.
Every morning, DOB puts on the shirt and pants I have ironed and then calls out, "Which tie should I wear?" (Even if he always wears the same tie with that shirt.)
I call back from the kitchen, "The dark blue one with light gray spots."
"Which one is that?" he asks. He only has one tie currently in use that remotely resembles this description. I don't think he even looks.
"The one I bought in February when I went shopping with Kitra for maternity clothes," I elaborate.
"Oh, OK," he says. A few moments later, he emerges wearing the right tie.
What is so hard about matching a clear description to the tie in question? And what is so much easier about recalling the precise circumstances of its purchase?
It might be easier to just go with the description that he understands. But I refuse to concede my ground that visual descriptions are more logical than recounting the life history of the tie.
Thus, we are working on yet another tie descriptor that we can both agree on. Following Deontologist's example, we are starting to name the ties.
Today's tie, the dark one with the light gray spots, is called "Nuclear Fallout."
Alas, DOB's ties are much more conservative than Deontologist's ties. It's going to be tricky coming up with memorable names.
Or I could just lay his tie out with his shirt. But why make things boring?
Wednesday, August 18, 2004
The Good Divorce
This month's Reader's Digest had an article on the broader acceptance of the reality that there is no "good divorce" and all parental divorces traumatize children.
So what should be done about it, according to the article? Get the kids counseling to help them deal with the trauma.
I'm not sure this perspective is an improvement. Is it better to be irrationally optimistic or pragmatically calloused?
This month's Reader's Digest had an article on the broader acceptance of the reality that there is no "good divorce" and all parental divorces traumatize children.
So what should be done about it, according to the article? Get the kids counseling to help them deal with the trauma.
I'm not sure this perspective is an improvement. Is it better to be irrationally optimistic or pragmatically calloused?
King Arthur and His Syncretistic Knights
Setting aside mysteries for the time being, DOB and I started reading Rosemary Sutcliff's retelling of the Arthurian Legends, The Sword and the Circle. So far I'm impressed with the version (but I have always enjoyed Sutcliff): it has the right tone for an ancient legend while remaining entirely readable, and it handles the immorality and occultism at the heart of the legend well, neither glamourizing it, camouflaging it, nor going into excessive detail. Alas, unlike the gorgeous illustrations for her retelling of the Iliad and Odyssey, there is only a cover illustration and it looks like three modern teenagers in Halloween costumes.
When you look at the whole story, the mix of beliefs is indeed strange. People go to the church feasts, yet they still look for omens from the stars. Children are raised in convents, but also study black magic. Incest is taboo, but adultery is acceptable--and so is revenge killing, or even killing for the fun of it, as long as it's a fair fight. It is not yet a Christian world, but a syncretism of Christianity and the old practices. There is a God, but He seems too far away for practical purposes. It reminds me of what I've read of some areas in West Africa today, where people may profess Christianity or Islam, but still do voodoo on the side.
Because the pagan beliefs are still strong, there are a lot of random or unknown quantities in the stories. Sitting at the end of centuries in which the universe has been accepted as orderly, first as created by God and then by the laws of science, it is harder for modern inhabitants of Western civilization to appreciate the world of Merlin, where things just happen, and don't have to make sense. But it has been a common outlook on the world, and is likely to become more so, as a society that no longer has an intellectual faith in God begins to lose its faith in science.
This is not the world of the Middle Ages, whose romantic lens we usually see it through, but the Dark Ages, in which semi-barbaric peoples struggle to survive after civilization has disintegrated. People commonly muddle the two, and then blame the resulting mess in their minds on the ascendancy of the church. But the Dark Ages were so dark precisely because the church had so little influence. It was in the Middle Ages, when the church became the final arbiter of morals and manners, that civilization was able to stabilize enough to move forward after the wreck of Rome.
Setting aside mysteries for the time being, DOB and I started reading Rosemary Sutcliff's retelling of the Arthurian Legends, The Sword and the Circle. So far I'm impressed with the version (but I have always enjoyed Sutcliff): it has the right tone for an ancient legend while remaining entirely readable, and it handles the immorality and occultism at the heart of the legend well, neither glamourizing it, camouflaging it, nor going into excessive detail. Alas, unlike the gorgeous illustrations for her retelling of the Iliad and Odyssey, there is only a cover illustration and it looks like three modern teenagers in Halloween costumes.
When you look at the whole story, the mix of beliefs is indeed strange. People go to the church feasts, yet they still look for omens from the stars. Children are raised in convents, but also study black magic. Incest is taboo, but adultery is acceptable--and so is revenge killing, or even killing for the fun of it, as long as it's a fair fight. It is not yet a Christian world, but a syncretism of Christianity and the old practices. There is a God, but He seems too far away for practical purposes. It reminds me of what I've read of some areas in West Africa today, where people may profess Christianity or Islam, but still do voodoo on the side.
Because the pagan beliefs are still strong, there are a lot of random or unknown quantities in the stories. Sitting at the end of centuries in which the universe has been accepted as orderly, first as created by God and then by the laws of science, it is harder for modern inhabitants of Western civilization to appreciate the world of Merlin, where things just happen, and don't have to make sense. But it has been a common outlook on the world, and is likely to become more so, as a society that no longer has an intellectual faith in God begins to lose its faith in science.
This is not the world of the Middle Ages, whose romantic lens we usually see it through, but the Dark Ages, in which semi-barbaric peoples struggle to survive after civilization has disintegrated. People commonly muddle the two, and then blame the resulting mess in their minds on the ascendancy of the church. But the Dark Ages were so dark precisely because the church had so little influence. It was in the Middle Ages, when the church became the final arbiter of morals and manners, that civilization was able to stabilize enough to move forward after the wreck of Rome.
Tuesday, August 17, 2004
Hints from Heloise
- Don't try to take stains out of white shirt collars immediately after washing the windows using old newspapers.
- Poached eggs make a great quick meal on toast or fried potatoes, but they're really not all that hot on popcorn.
- It's not a good idea to open shampoo bottles with your mouth, but if you keep forgetting to open it before putting the baby in the bathtub, that's what you'll be stuck doing.
Monday, August 16, 2004
I have found them at last
There is an Apostrophe Protection Society in the world. They even have pages of photos of actual apostrophe abuse. (Note: The images are graphic and may be disturbing to some readers, at least those who care about grammar.)
The particular abuse that annoys me the most right now is the one on the box of hair clippers I picked up at a church rummage sale a few months ago. The cover shows a young boy in a bowl-cut with the chirrupy title in large letters of "Getta' Haircut!!" (The quotation and exclamation marks are on the box.)
Every time I look at it, I am filled with questions. Who are they quoting? Why do they have an apostrophe when no letters are missing? What are they exclaiming over? Why did they need to come up with a name--what was wrong with plainly labeling it "Hair Clippers?" How does one use hair clippers to do a bowl cut, and why would anyone want to?
It's almost enough to make me regret buying the clippers. Maybe I should glue something over the cover. (I have to look at it fairly often, as DOB gets it out every week to trim his goatee. And he claims he can't figure out how to get the cord back in the box, so it doesn't get put away until I do it.)
There is an Apostrophe Protection Society in the world. They even have pages of photos of actual apostrophe abuse. (Note: The images are graphic and may be disturbing to some readers, at least those who care about grammar.)
The particular abuse that annoys me the most right now is the one on the box of hair clippers I picked up at a church rummage sale a few months ago. The cover shows a young boy in a bowl-cut with the chirrupy title in large letters of "Getta' Haircut!!" (The quotation and exclamation marks are on the box.)
Every time I look at it, I am filled with questions. Who are they quoting? Why do they have an apostrophe when no letters are missing? What are they exclaiming over? Why did they need to come up with a name--what was wrong with plainly labeling it "Hair Clippers?" How does one use hair clippers to do a bowl cut, and why would anyone want to?
It's almost enough to make me regret buying the clippers. Maybe I should glue something over the cover. (I have to look at it fairly often, as DOB gets it out every week to trim his goatee. And he claims he can't figure out how to get the cord back in the box, so it doesn't get put away until I do it.)
It was a dark and stormy night.
Two girls, camping on a beach, seek shelter. By mistake, they stumble into a rickety old house. In one derelict room they find an elderly couple bundled up in a decaying bed. With hollow eyes and sepulchral tones, the old man cackles fiendishly at them and says,
"You might as well die now. There's no hope for you now that you've been exposed to it."
And what is the loathsome disease the girls have unwittingly been exposed to? The man continues.
"You can litter one box, and you'll escape. But as soon as you litter the second box . . . you . . . will . . . DIE!!!!"
No, that's not supposed to make any sense. But it's what I dreamed last night. Why littering? Why boxes? Why the one free toss? I have no idea.
Two girls, camping on a beach, seek shelter. By mistake, they stumble into a rickety old house. In one derelict room they find an elderly couple bundled up in a decaying bed. With hollow eyes and sepulchral tones, the old man cackles fiendishly at them and says,
"You might as well die now. There's no hope for you now that you've been exposed to it."
And what is the loathsome disease the girls have unwittingly been exposed to? The man continues.
"You can litter one box, and you'll escape. But as soon as you litter the second box . . . you . . . will . . . DIE!!!!"
No, that's not supposed to make any sense. But it's what I dreamed last night. Why littering? Why boxes? Why the one free toss? I have no idea.
Mysteries of the Modern World
What's the point of a baby outfit with a matching bib? If I don't care if she spits up on the outfit, I'm not going to bother to put a bib on her. If I do care if she spits up on the outfit, the matching bib is not going to be an acceptable target either. The end result is I use the matching bibs from the former outfits when she's wearing the latter outfits and use the matching bibs from the latter for--I don't know, display pieces?
What's the point of a baby outfit with a matching bib? If I don't care if she spits up on the outfit, I'm not going to bother to put a bib on her. If I do care if she spits up on the outfit, the matching bib is not going to be an acceptable target either. The end result is I use the matching bibs from the former outfits when she's wearing the latter outfits and use the matching bibs from the latter for--I don't know, display pieces?
Friday, August 13, 2004
Too Much Thyme On My Hands
Last night I was making dinner. I grabbed the marjoram, noticed it had a cover for shaking, and gave it a few shakes over the dish. I grabbed the thyme, gave it a few shakes over the dish, and noticed it did not have a cover for shaking. Sometimes I think my spice cupboard is deliberately set up to entrap me. I retrieved what I could and scraped the rest off and threw it away. It was a terrible waste of thyme.
Last night I was making dinner. I grabbed the marjoram, noticed it had a cover for shaking, and gave it a few shakes over the dish. I grabbed the thyme, gave it a few shakes over the dish, and noticed it did not have a cover for shaking. Sometimes I think my spice cupboard is deliberately set up to entrap me. I retrieved what I could and scraped the rest off and threw it away. It was a terrible waste of thyme.
Thursday, August 12, 2004
Sherlock Holmes and the Drug War
A combination conspicuous for its absence. The crimes Sherlock Holmes unravels pertain to theft and murder, motivated by the usual assortment of human passions. Drugs are present neither as a crime themselves, nor as motives for other crimes.
(At least to my recollection, but it's been awhile since I read through all the stories. DOB and I are reading through them at the rate of about one a month, so it will take me awhile before I have a more definitive thought on this.)
To be sure, literature is not criminal statistics, but nothing conveys the mores and social realities of a time better than its literature. Sherlock Holmes is meant to be sensational--to tell the tales of the dregs of society. So it ought to be an excellent place to look to see how drugs influenced Victorian England.
Drugs were readily and legally available at the time. Opium dens operated; Holmes himself shoots cocaine from time to time when the casework gets slow. It's not evident from Sherlock Holmes, but opium and cocaine were commonly used in patent medicines.
And the dangers of drugs were known. Watson lectures Holmes from time to time on his cocaine use, rather as a doctor might today lecture a patient on smoking. In one story, Watson must go to an opium den to retrieve a friend who is tragically addicted, much to the grief of his friends and family.
But drugs still are not perceived as a societal problem per se. Certainly they sometimes cause problems for individuals, but even there the drug of choice for home-destruction is alcohol. (As it has been since Noah planted a vineyard and will be until the cup is passed in the New Jerusalem.) Because drugs are legal, they do not attract the attention of organized crime. Imagine what Professor Moriaty could do if he also headed up a drug cartel.
In short, the record of Victorian England gives us historical precedent that the legalization of drugs not only means no need to prosecute people for having drugs, but also gets rid of crimes committed over drugs--and without an increase in drug abusers. Then today's police, like Sherlock Holmes, could focus on thieves and murderers and let the mere addicts alone.
A combination conspicuous for its absence. The crimes Sherlock Holmes unravels pertain to theft and murder, motivated by the usual assortment of human passions. Drugs are present neither as a crime themselves, nor as motives for other crimes.
(At least to my recollection, but it's been awhile since I read through all the stories. DOB and I are reading through them at the rate of about one a month, so it will take me awhile before I have a more definitive thought on this.)
To be sure, literature is not criminal statistics, but nothing conveys the mores and social realities of a time better than its literature. Sherlock Holmes is meant to be sensational--to tell the tales of the dregs of society. So it ought to be an excellent place to look to see how drugs influenced Victorian England.
Drugs were readily and legally available at the time. Opium dens operated; Holmes himself shoots cocaine from time to time when the casework gets slow. It's not evident from Sherlock Holmes, but opium and cocaine were commonly used in patent medicines.
And the dangers of drugs were known. Watson lectures Holmes from time to time on his cocaine use, rather as a doctor might today lecture a patient on smoking. In one story, Watson must go to an opium den to retrieve a friend who is tragically addicted, much to the grief of his friends and family.
But drugs still are not perceived as a societal problem per se. Certainly they sometimes cause problems for individuals, but even there the drug of choice for home-destruction is alcohol. (As it has been since Noah planted a vineyard and will be until the cup is passed in the New Jerusalem.) Because drugs are legal, they do not attract the attention of organized crime. Imagine what Professor Moriaty could do if he also headed up a drug cartel.
In short, the record of Victorian England gives us historical precedent that the legalization of drugs not only means no need to prosecute people for having drugs, but also gets rid of crimes committed over drugs--and without an increase in drug abusers. Then today's police, like Sherlock Holmes, could focus on thieves and murderers and let the mere addicts alone.
Wednesday, August 11, 2004
New Income Source
The Wall Street Journal had a consumer review of various plain white T-shirts, which apparently are the latest rage. The one that received the poorest quality rating was also one of the most expensive, at over $40. But this was not that odd, considering that the fashion company's stated goal is to create a T-shirt that feels like it's been worn for 12 or 13 years.
Instead of cutting up DOB's remaining premarital T-shirts for rags, I clearly should be selling them. I wonder if armpit holes are now a hot fashion item?
The Wall Street Journal had a consumer review of various plain white T-shirts, which apparently are the latest rage. The one that received the poorest quality rating was also one of the most expensive, at over $40. But this was not that odd, considering that the fashion company's stated goal is to create a T-shirt that feels like it's been worn for 12 or 13 years.
Instead of cutting up DOB's remaining premarital T-shirts for rags, I clearly should be selling them. I wonder if armpit holes are now a hot fashion item?
First Lessons
Last night we were sitting down for family devotions. DOB, noticing he had D1's rapt attention (or seemed to), pointed to the book in his hand and said, "This is a Bible."
I waited, wondering what lesson he would choose for our daughter's first spiritual instruction.
"Don't spit up on it," he continued.
Well, I guess that's a good place to start.
Last night we were sitting down for family devotions. DOB, noticing he had D1's rapt attention (or seemed to), pointed to the book in his hand and said, "This is a Bible."
I waited, wondering what lesson he would choose for our daughter's first spiritual instruction.
"Don't spit up on it," he continued.
Well, I guess that's a good place to start.
Very Disturbing Thought
In a conversation at church this Sunday, the question of diapering before the invention of plastic came up. A friend related that she had known a very elderly woman who could remember her mother walking around, a baby on one hip, and her skirt constantly stiff and smelly with you-kn0w-what.
Ewwww. Did everybody really do that?
On a more pleasant note, D1 is developing the theory that the small objects that periodically strike her face are subject to volitional control. Firm proof has not yet been established, but experiments are ongoing.
And on a less pleasant note, polyester covers or no, it's time for a change.
In a conversation at church this Sunday, the question of diapering before the invention of plastic came up. A friend related that she had known a very elderly woman who could remember her mother walking around, a baby on one hip, and her skirt constantly stiff and smelly with you-kn0w-what.
Ewwww. Did everybody really do that?
On a more pleasant note, D1 is developing the theory that the small objects that periodically strike her face are subject to volitional control. Firm proof has not yet been established, but experiments are ongoing.
And on a less pleasant note, polyester covers or no, it's time for a change.
Gender Conflicts
D1 has a few distinctly boyish outfits, picked up at garage sales before she was born or inherited from her uncles. (They're mostly in the size I expect her to outgrow any second now.) Today she was wearing one of them, a blue onesie with a little bear and fish on the front, when we headed out for a walk. Wanting to keep the sun out of her eyes, I decided to get her hat. It's shocking pink with a bow and lace trim. I think the pink won out.
Of course, that was just to make up for last Saturday, when she was wearing a pink onesie and a Milwaukee Brewers hat. (The kind that nachos come in. DOB discovered it was a perfect fit.)
Let's face it, we need a boy, too, to straighten this out.
D1 has a few distinctly boyish outfits, picked up at garage sales before she was born or inherited from her uncles. (They're mostly in the size I expect her to outgrow any second now.) Today she was wearing one of them, a blue onesie with a little bear and fish on the front, when we headed out for a walk. Wanting to keep the sun out of her eyes, I decided to get her hat. It's shocking pink with a bow and lace trim. I think the pink won out.
Of course, that was just to make up for last Saturday, when she was wearing a pink onesie and a Milwaukee Brewers hat. (The kind that nachos come in. DOB discovered it was a perfect fit.)
Let's face it, we need a boy, too, to straighten this out.
Tuesday, August 10, 2004
Core Functions of Government
Apparently a WA state legislator wants the state secretary of health to publish pamphlets promoting small families. I'm not sure what her definition of "population sustainability" is since families of two or fewer children result in a declining population because they don't fill in for those unable to have children at all. Government moralizing is generally despicable, but this is one case where the moniker "Nanny State" doesn't quite fit.
Apparently a WA state legislator wants the state secretary of health to publish pamphlets promoting small families. I'm not sure what her definition of "population sustainability" is since families of two or fewer children result in a declining population because they don't fill in for those unable to have children at all. Government moralizing is generally despicable, but this is one case where the moniker "Nanny State" doesn't quite fit.
Sunday, August 08, 2004
The Inevitable Baby Post
Anytime you see a timestamp this late you can bet I'm up with D1. Tonight we were going to Get On Schedule and all go to bed on time. We did. D1 decided she didn't want to go to bed yet. So I'm out with her in exile, trying to get her to settle down while letting DOB get his sleep. Last night D1 went 5 hours straight--giving me the longest chunk of sleep I've had since she was born. But two good nights in a row is probably too much to ask for at this stage.
This afternoon we were over with DOB's family and one of the uncles was holding D1. She was defying all his attempts to get her to look him in the face. Finally as a last defiant gesture she flung her bib up over her face so that she couldn't see him.
Anytime you see a timestamp this late you can bet I'm up with D1. Tonight we were going to Get On Schedule and all go to bed on time. We did. D1 decided she didn't want to go to bed yet. So I'm out with her in exile, trying to get her to settle down while letting DOB get his sleep. Last night D1 went 5 hours straight--giving me the longest chunk of sleep I've had since she was born. But two good nights in a row is probably too much to ask for at this stage.
This afternoon we were over with DOB's family and one of the uncles was holding D1. She was defying all his attempts to get her to look him in the face. Finally as a last defiant gesture she flung her bib up over her face so that she couldn't see him.
First Amendment Watch
In other news, the First Amendment is threatened, once again, by the people who ought to be most concerned about protecting it. The ABA is considering making part of its ethics rules for judges one that forbids them from joining a group that discriminates against homosexuals. This would mean judges would have to leave groups like the Boy Scouts and, presumably, conservative churches as well.
Now, judges do need--more than any other member of society--to both be and appear impartial. But this can only go so far. Would we ban judges from joining the Sierra Club on the presumption that they then could not judge fairly when large chemical-producing corporations came before them? For that matter, why shouldn't a judge belong to, say, an all-female or ethnic club? (Which apparently would be prohibited even under the current rules.) As long as a group does not call for violence or oppression of another group, simply belonging to a group that has restrictions on membership does not intrinsically call into question one's ability to judge fairly.
In other news, the First Amendment is threatened, once again, by the people who ought to be most concerned about protecting it. The ABA is considering making part of its ethics rules for judges one that forbids them from joining a group that discriminates against homosexuals. This would mean judges would have to leave groups like the Boy Scouts and, presumably, conservative churches as well.
Now, judges do need--more than any other member of society--to both be and appear impartial. But this can only go so far. Would we ban judges from joining the Sierra Club on the presumption that they then could not judge fairly when large chemical-producing corporations came before them? For that matter, why shouldn't a judge belong to, say, an all-female or ethnic club? (Which apparently would be prohibited even under the current rules.) As long as a group does not call for violence or oppression of another group, simply belonging to a group that has restrictions on membership does not intrinsically call into question one's ability to judge fairly.
Fourth Amendment Watch
After taking His Majesty (aka my dad) to the airport on Saturday, DOB and I sat in a McDonald's parking lot while I fed D1. At the motel next door the police had pulled over a car, arrested the driver, and proceeded to search and impound the car. We initially parked on the far side of McDonald's, but then a few cars obstructed our view, plus it looked like the situation was well under control, so we drove over to the near side of the parking lot. (Shameless gawkers that we are. We tried to gaze only intermittently, though.) The female passenger was standing against the motel wall, watching with a passive-resistant demeanor, and finally made some calls on her cell phone, presumably for other arrangements. Meanwhile the police took a dog and rubber gloves and dug everything out of the car--pillows, clothes, etc.--and strewed it around the ground.
Studying criminal procedure tends to take the blood out of it. (Law can make any subject boring. One could read the Supreme Court case Jones v. Clinton cover to cover without finding anything to appeal to the prurient interest.) Watching the thing live and imagining the same thing happening to me on my next vacation makes the Fourth Amendment a vividly important string of words. Even just a search is a huge infringement on personal freedom. The Fourth, Fifth, and Sixth Amendments aren't just about protecting the rights of criminals (as an occasional law-and-order conservative seems to think)--they're about protecting all of us from the dangers of an overzealous state.
After taking His Majesty (aka my dad) to the airport on Saturday, DOB and I sat in a McDonald's parking lot while I fed D1. At the motel next door the police had pulled over a car, arrested the driver, and proceeded to search and impound the car. We initially parked on the far side of McDonald's, but then a few cars obstructed our view, plus it looked like the situation was well under control, so we drove over to the near side of the parking lot. (Shameless gawkers that we are. We tried to gaze only intermittently, though.) The female passenger was standing against the motel wall, watching with a passive-resistant demeanor, and finally made some calls on her cell phone, presumably for other arrangements. Meanwhile the police took a dog and rubber gloves and dug everything out of the car--pillows, clothes, etc.--and strewed it around the ground.
Studying criminal procedure tends to take the blood out of it. (Law can make any subject boring. One could read the Supreme Court case Jones v. Clinton cover to cover without finding anything to appeal to the prurient interest.) Watching the thing live and imagining the same thing happening to me on my next vacation makes the Fourth Amendment a vividly important string of words. Even just a search is a huge infringement on personal freedom. The Fourth, Fifth, and Sixth Amendments aren't just about protecting the rights of criminals (as an occasional law-and-order conservative seems to think)--they're about protecting all of us from the dangers of an overzealous state.
Friday, August 06, 2004
Keyes to Illinois
So it appears that Keyes is going to run for Senate in Illinois. I initially thought this was a bad idea--Keyes isn't even from Illinois (don't want to go pulling a Hillary) and doesn't exactly have a spectacular record of vote-getting.
But after reading some discussion on it, I'm starting to think maybe it's a good idea. The Republican party needs somebody to run in Illinois, but after all that's happened it's too late for a Republican to seriously expect to beat Obama. The GOP's real goal would be to go down fighting, without wasting the prospects of up-and-coming Illinois politicians. Keyes will run a good race, conduct interesting debates with Obama, and generally keep things moving without hurting his career if he loses.
If DOB had time to post on this his thoughts would no doubt be much more profound, but he's supposed to be finishing up work and coming home. ;-)
So it appears that Keyes is going to run for Senate in Illinois. I initially thought this was a bad idea--Keyes isn't even from Illinois (don't want to go pulling a Hillary) and doesn't exactly have a spectacular record of vote-getting.
But after reading some discussion on it, I'm starting to think maybe it's a good idea. The Republican party needs somebody to run in Illinois, but after all that's happened it's too late for a Republican to seriously expect to beat Obama. The GOP's real goal would be to go down fighting, without wasting the prospects of up-and-coming Illinois politicians. Keyes will run a good race, conduct interesting debates with Obama, and generally keep things moving without hurting his career if he loses.
If DOB had time to post on this his thoughts would no doubt be much more profound, but he's supposed to be finishing up work and coming home. ;-)
Money to Burn
I am cheap. OK, you all knew that already. Cheapness is neither virtuous nor sinful; it is just a habit of not spending money that may be good (as when it causes me to forgo unnecessary expenditures and remain solvent) or bad (as when it tempts me to avoid paying my own fair share).
Thriftiness, on the other hand, is a virtue. In essence, it is the practice of getting maximum value and enjoyment out of your money. Because bankruptcy is no fun, it requires ensuring that money first goes to paying bills and meeting the necessities of life. Next, it would require some level of preparation for the future, appropriate to one's means and future plans. (DOB runs into people making six figures who can't find money to plan for the future. There's something warped there.) After that, thriftiness just means spending less money on things that aren't important to you, so that you can spend more money on things that are.
Part of this whole equation is realizing that time is money, too. Thus, thriftiness may involve spending less money so that you need to spend less time earning money and can spend more time on things that are more important or more fun. Or it might involve spending less money so that you can have a job you enjoy more that pays less.
Thus, there are few particular behaviors or lifestyles that are necessarily thrifty or not. A thrifty person might live on a farm in the middle of nowhere, accessorized with things scrounged from dumpsters and collapsing barns, or they might live in a downtown apartment and spend a thousand dollars on shoes a month. The issue is whether they are living within their means and spending their money on the things that matter to them.
The trouble is, most people don't stop to think about what's important to them and make sure their money is maximized in that direction. Suppose you spend $5 more on lunch and/or coffee every day than you would spend by making these items yourself. (Ha, Marsha, you knew I'd bring it up, didn't you?) Over the course of a year, that's going to be about $1500. Is the taste and convenience of the purchased lunch or coffee worth that much more to you than the house payments/vacation days/donation to your favorite cause that the money could instead be used for? If so, go eat your lunch in peace. (On the other hand, it takes DOB and me less than 5 minutes to pack up leftovers for his lunch. That makes lunch packing an activity worth about $60 an hour--tax free.)
Everybody has to spend at least some money on food, shelter, and clothing. After that, their priorities are going to differ wildly. There will be things that they'd have to be flat broke to give up (for me, internet service would be one); things they'll spend money on as soon as they have any extra (a bigger house on acreage); things they'd spend money on if they had plenty of extra (attending live performances); and things they wouldn't spend money on if you paid them to (convenience food--beans and rice from scratch are healthier for millionaires, too). The important thing is not what order your secondary priorities are in, but whether you spend in that order.
The only action that defies thriftiness across the board is waste, which is simply putting something that still has some use out of reach of any use. No matter how rich I was, I would turn out lights in empty rooms (or maybe set up a snazzy system of automatic sensors ;-) ). If a wealthy person can afford to buy a new outfit for every day they're alive, that's not necessarily wasteful--as long as they dispose of the old ones in a way that lets someone else make good use of them. Even blatant overspending--buying for $150 something that could easily be purchased for $20, say--is not in itself wasteful. At least the money is going to someone engaged in some sort of productive activity.
Other "thrifty" activities may be thrifty or not, depending on your circumstances. Right now, garage saling is a thrifty activity for me because I live in a neighborhood with lots of garage sales, and I can get a lot of the things I need right now (children's clothes and toys, household furnishings) at them. Before this year I didn't have those factors and I had never shopped at a garage sale. On the other hand, in the past I have driven very decrepit cars because I had my dad and brother to do a fair amount of the work on them. Now I live on the other side of the country, and DOB and I don't have the space or skills to do the work ourselves, so that's no longer a thrifty strategy.
I'm cheap, and I can't help it. I work on being thrifty--which for me usually means being willing to spend money on the things that really do matter to me, and when necessary accepting the tradeoff of spending more money to save time and energy.
I am cheap. OK, you all knew that already. Cheapness is neither virtuous nor sinful; it is just a habit of not spending money that may be good (as when it causes me to forgo unnecessary expenditures and remain solvent) or bad (as when it tempts me to avoid paying my own fair share).
Thriftiness, on the other hand, is a virtue. In essence, it is the practice of getting maximum value and enjoyment out of your money. Because bankruptcy is no fun, it requires ensuring that money first goes to paying bills and meeting the necessities of life. Next, it would require some level of preparation for the future, appropriate to one's means and future plans. (DOB runs into people making six figures who can't find money to plan for the future. There's something warped there.) After that, thriftiness just means spending less money on things that aren't important to you, so that you can spend more money on things that are.
Part of this whole equation is realizing that time is money, too. Thus, thriftiness may involve spending less money so that you need to spend less time earning money and can spend more time on things that are more important or more fun. Or it might involve spending less money so that you can have a job you enjoy more that pays less.
Thus, there are few particular behaviors or lifestyles that are necessarily thrifty or not. A thrifty person might live on a farm in the middle of nowhere, accessorized with things scrounged from dumpsters and collapsing barns, or they might live in a downtown apartment and spend a thousand dollars on shoes a month. The issue is whether they are living within their means and spending their money on the things that matter to them.
The trouble is, most people don't stop to think about what's important to them and make sure their money is maximized in that direction. Suppose you spend $5 more on lunch and/or coffee every day than you would spend by making these items yourself. (Ha, Marsha, you knew I'd bring it up, didn't you?) Over the course of a year, that's going to be about $1500. Is the taste and convenience of the purchased lunch or coffee worth that much more to you than the house payments/vacation days/donation to your favorite cause that the money could instead be used for? If so, go eat your lunch in peace. (On the other hand, it takes DOB and me less than 5 minutes to pack up leftovers for his lunch. That makes lunch packing an activity worth about $60 an hour--tax free.)
Everybody has to spend at least some money on food, shelter, and clothing. After that, their priorities are going to differ wildly. There will be things that they'd have to be flat broke to give up (for me, internet service would be one); things they'll spend money on as soon as they have any extra (a bigger house on acreage); things they'd spend money on if they had plenty of extra (attending live performances); and things they wouldn't spend money on if you paid them to (convenience food--beans and rice from scratch are healthier for millionaires, too). The important thing is not what order your secondary priorities are in, but whether you spend in that order.
The only action that defies thriftiness across the board is waste, which is simply putting something that still has some use out of reach of any use. No matter how rich I was, I would turn out lights in empty rooms (or maybe set up a snazzy system of automatic sensors ;-) ). If a wealthy person can afford to buy a new outfit for every day they're alive, that's not necessarily wasteful--as long as they dispose of the old ones in a way that lets someone else make good use of them. Even blatant overspending--buying for $150 something that could easily be purchased for $20, say--is not in itself wasteful. At least the money is going to someone engaged in some sort of productive activity.
Other "thrifty" activities may be thrifty or not, depending on your circumstances. Right now, garage saling is a thrifty activity for me because I live in a neighborhood with lots of garage sales, and I can get a lot of the things I need right now (children's clothes and toys, household furnishings) at them. Before this year I didn't have those factors and I had never shopped at a garage sale. On the other hand, in the past I have driven very decrepit cars because I had my dad and brother to do a fair amount of the work on them. Now I live on the other side of the country, and DOB and I don't have the space or skills to do the work ourselves, so that's no longer a thrifty strategy.
I'm cheap, and I can't help it. I work on being thrifty--which for me usually means being willing to spend money on the things that really do matter to me, and when necessary accepting the tradeoff of spending more money to save time and energy.
Thursday, August 05, 2004
Some people carry the "fairy-tale wedding" concept a bit too far.
OK, I can picture the bride in wings attended by fairies, but where on earth did they find groomsmen willing to be "frolicking elves"? It's hard enough to get a guy into a tux. Now if they were playing Tolkien elves, armed for an Orc attack, I could imagine it better.
I would thank Deontologist, but I bet he just gakked it from Dave Barry.
OK, I can picture the bride in wings attended by fairies, but where on earth did they find groomsmen willing to be "frolicking elves"? It's hard enough to get a guy into a tux. Now if they were playing Tolkien elves, armed for an Orc attack, I could imagine it better.
I would thank Deontologist, but I bet he just gakked it from Dave Barry.
How brightly shines the moon
I was finally able to show The Taming of the Shrew to DOB last night. And he enjoyed it as much as I hoped he would. It's such a great story about real love: not namby-pamby niceness, but the desire to see someone become the person they were meant to be, whatever it costs to help them get there. On what it means to be a leader. On the difference between a marriage that's a true team and one where each person maintains their own separate objectives and tries to manipulate the other.
And it's hilarious.
I was finally able to show The Taming of the Shrew to DOB last night. And he enjoyed it as much as I hoped he would. It's such a great story about real love: not namby-pamby niceness, but the desire to see someone become the person they were meant to be, whatever it costs to help them get there. On what it means to be a leader. On the difference between a marriage that's a true team and one where each person maintains their own separate objectives and tries to manipulate the other.
And it's hilarious.
Wednesday, August 04, 2004
Something We Can All Cheer . . .
It's rare that a bill comes out in Congress that deserves unmixed support, and when it does it's usually repealing something. Surely this is one we can all get behind: repealing the unconstitutional (still is, no matter what the Supreme Court says) restrictions on talking about politicians shortly before an election. It's good for Michael Moore. It's good for the NRA. It's good for candidates who happen to own car dealerships. It's good for America.
It's rare that a bill comes out in Congress that deserves unmixed support, and when it does it's usually repealing something. Surely this is one we can all get behind: repealing the unconstitutional (still is, no matter what the Supreme Court says) restrictions on talking about politicians shortly before an election. It's good for Michael Moore. It's good for the NRA. It's good for candidates who happen to own car dealerships. It's good for America.
College Expenses
We have received a comment that, cheaply as we may think we can get by with babies, vast expenditures are lurking eighteen years down the road. Now, we may only have a baby so far, but remember we were just in college ourselves and are still pursuing additional credentials. Also DOB is a financial planner and helps people save for their children's education, so we are not blind to the costs.
First of all, let me make a shocking pronouncement: Parents have no moral obligation to put their children through college. None. If you feed and clothe your child until he is able to work for himself, and give him enough education to read fluently, write coherently, and do enough math to not get cheated, you have fulfilled your financial obligation towards the child.
Further, parents aren't required to fund a college education for all their children, even if they do it for some. My parents funded some of their children's post-high school training and not others, depending on a wide variety of factors, including their own inscrutable reasons. We don't hate each other.
And not every child needs to go to college. None of my grown brothers has a college degree. One works in construction, and one is in the navy. One is a manager at a large software firm, and has never been held back by his lack of a degree. There are still a lot of fields where what you can do is more important than how many extra letters you have.
But there are many fields where credentials are necessary, and it's likely enough some of our children will want to pursue some of them. If we have the money to help them out, we might want to do so. And if we do so, I will repeat the lecture my mother gave to all teenagers: "Getting the credentials is just a game. Find the quickest and cheapest way to jump through the hoops that you can, and get it over with."
There are scholarships. There are work/study programs. There are much cheaper schools than Harvard. There are equivalence tests. If they really want an education, they can work and study for it. If they don't want it enough to help reduce the costs in one of the above ways, why should we pay for it?
This mindset leaves out two important aspects of a college education. One is the social aspect. About this, I am heartlessly indifferent. Any advantage of meeting different people and ideas they miss out on they can have while engaged in productive activity; any advantage of hanging out with other juveniles they can fund on their own. The other is the possibility of pursuing a great liberal arts education, broadening the mind and joining in the Great Conversation. Most colleges don't do this anymore, and those that do are by no means necessarily the most expensive. Besides, it is my hope that we'll raise them so that they will be broadening their minds and thinking about great ideas for their whole lives.
We have received a comment that, cheaply as we may think we can get by with babies, vast expenditures are lurking eighteen years down the road. Now, we may only have a baby so far, but remember we were just in college ourselves and are still pursuing additional credentials. Also DOB is a financial planner and helps people save for their children's education, so we are not blind to the costs.
First of all, let me make a shocking pronouncement: Parents have no moral obligation to put their children through college. None. If you feed and clothe your child until he is able to work for himself, and give him enough education to read fluently, write coherently, and do enough math to not get cheated, you have fulfilled your financial obligation towards the child.
Further, parents aren't required to fund a college education for all their children, even if they do it for some. My parents funded some of their children's post-high school training and not others, depending on a wide variety of factors, including their own inscrutable reasons. We don't hate each other.
And not every child needs to go to college. None of my grown brothers has a college degree. One works in construction, and one is in the navy. One is a manager at a large software firm, and has never been held back by his lack of a degree. There are still a lot of fields where what you can do is more important than how many extra letters you have.
But there are many fields where credentials are necessary, and it's likely enough some of our children will want to pursue some of them. If we have the money to help them out, we might want to do so. And if we do so, I will repeat the lecture my mother gave to all teenagers: "Getting the credentials is just a game. Find the quickest and cheapest way to jump through the hoops that you can, and get it over with."
There are scholarships. There are work/study programs. There are much cheaper schools than Harvard. There are equivalence tests. If they really want an education, they can work and study for it. If they don't want it enough to help reduce the costs in one of the above ways, why should we pay for it?
This mindset leaves out two important aspects of a college education. One is the social aspect. About this, I am heartlessly indifferent. Any advantage of meeting different people and ideas they miss out on they can have while engaged in productive activity; any advantage of hanging out with other juveniles they can fund on their own. The other is the possibility of pursuing a great liberal arts education, broadening the mind and joining in the Great Conversation. Most colleges don't do this anymore, and those that do are by no means necessarily the most expensive. Besides, it is my hope that we'll raise them so that they will be broadening their minds and thinking about great ideas for their whole lives.
Laundry Room Meditations
DOB was horrified to discover that I have a racist, segregationist, laundry scheme: Whites on Monday, Darks on Tuesday, Coloreds on Wednesday. He dreams of the day when our clothes will be judged, not by the color of their skein, but by the content of their fiber.
And I've long wondered why, when I get detergent or stain remover on my hands, I feel compelled to wash it off with soap. Isn't what I am washing off essentially soap?
Another developmental landmark: D1 has learned to make spit bubbles. (This will no doubt soon have consequences in the laundry department.)
DOB was horrified to discover that I have a racist, segregationist, laundry scheme: Whites on Monday, Darks on Tuesday, Coloreds on Wednesday. He dreams of the day when our clothes will be judged, not by the color of their skein, but by the content of their fiber.
And I've long wondered why, when I get detergent or stain remover on my hands, I feel compelled to wash it off with soap. Isn't what I am washing off essentially soap?
Another developmental landmark: D1 has learned to make spit bubbles. (This will no doubt soon have consequences in the laundry department.)
Tuesday, August 03, 2004
Shameless Self-Promotion
Another article published here. (It's on my mother's lectures. Those of you who knew her can probably add a few of your own.)
Another article published here. (It's on my mother's lectures. Those of you who knew her can probably add a few of your own.)
Monday, August 02, 2004
Minor Developments
Everybody knows the big Baby Book Milestones: first tooth, walking, first word. But the fun of being a parent is watching the gradual development of a full-fledged human being, in steps so tiny anybody else would miss them.
The other evening, DOB set D1 on her back on the bed, with a couple of stuffed carrots on her arms to keep her company. We expected her to pretty much flail her arms and ignore them. Instead, she grasped one of the carrots with both hands and patiently manipulated it until she had its nose (so some stuffed carrots have noses) in her mouth, and tried sucking on it. Whereupon she screamed in annoyance to find no milk forthcoming.
Now, this seems small. But consider all the development that goes into it. Not only is she aware that there is a world around her, she has come to the realization that she can manipulate and control objects in the world. She can form theories about what will happen and then test them to see if they will work. It's the beginning of all work and play, of hand-eye coordination, and of interacting with the world rationally, as a human being, rather than by instinct alone. She's made giant strides from the passive newborn of six weeks ago.
Of course, this deepens our speculation on whether she has figured out that parents are manipulatable, too.
Everybody knows the big Baby Book Milestones: first tooth, walking, first word. But the fun of being a parent is watching the gradual development of a full-fledged human being, in steps so tiny anybody else would miss them.
The other evening, DOB set D1 on her back on the bed, with a couple of stuffed carrots on her arms to keep her company. We expected her to pretty much flail her arms and ignore them. Instead, she grasped one of the carrots with both hands and patiently manipulated it until she had its nose (so some stuffed carrots have noses) in her mouth, and tried sucking on it. Whereupon she screamed in annoyance to find no milk forthcoming.
Now, this seems small. But consider all the development that goes into it. Not only is she aware that there is a world around her, she has come to the realization that she can manipulate and control objects in the world. She can form theories about what will happen and then test them to see if they will work. It's the beginning of all work and play, of hand-eye coordination, and of interacting with the world rationally, as a human being, rather than by instinct alone. She's made giant strides from the passive newborn of six weeks ago.
Of course, this deepens our speculation on whether she has figured out that parents are manipulatable, too.
Friday, July 30, 2004
Pyramid Schemes
The Wall Street Journal yesterday covered the conflict over the USDA's impending adoption of a revised food recommendation chart. (They might even ditch the pyramid. Perhaps they hope to adopt a more eye-catching model shape, such as the Venus de Milo.)
Like any other government process, it is attracting hordes of lobbyists for the various food industries, all vying to proclaim their product as essential for good health. The Atkins people want a bigger chunk for protein; the Harvard people want more emphasis on whole grains. The white flour folks are suffering, as are the potato farmers. (I'll speak a word for potatoes, if no one else will. They're cheap, they taste good, and if you mash them with butter and milk and serve them with roast beef, as God intended, they won't spike your blood sugar. But no doubt the Potato Caucus will see their place is protected.)
So while the bureaucrats are hearing from the Low-Carb People, the High-Carb People, the Potato People, the Squash People, and the Styrofoam-With-Sugar-and-Artificial-Flavors people, one has to wonder: Just who thought the government could do a better job at this, anyway? Do we really think the final result will be some all-wise pronouncement from on high on the best nutritional actions? (If so, consider the critique of the Harvard People: "wishy-washy, scientifically unfounded advice" that contributes to "overweight, poor health and unnecessary early death.")
The truth is, the government doesn't know more about nutrition than any other particular guru. And why do we need tax dollars to pay for one more voice in the clamor?
The Wall Street Journal yesterday covered the conflict over the USDA's impending adoption of a revised food recommendation chart. (They might even ditch the pyramid. Perhaps they hope to adopt a more eye-catching model shape, such as the Venus de Milo.)
Like any other government process, it is attracting hordes of lobbyists for the various food industries, all vying to proclaim their product as essential for good health. The Atkins people want a bigger chunk for protein; the Harvard people want more emphasis on whole grains. The white flour folks are suffering, as are the potato farmers. (I'll speak a word for potatoes, if no one else will. They're cheap, they taste good, and if you mash them with butter and milk and serve them with roast beef, as God intended, they won't spike your blood sugar. But no doubt the Potato Caucus will see their place is protected.)
So while the bureaucrats are hearing from the Low-Carb People, the High-Carb People, the Potato People, the Squash People, and the Styrofoam-With-Sugar-and-Artificial-Flavors people, one has to wonder: Just who thought the government could do a better job at this, anyway? Do we really think the final result will be some all-wise pronouncement from on high on the best nutritional actions? (If so, consider the critique of the Harvard People: "wishy-washy, scientifically unfounded advice" that contributes to "overweight, poor health and unnecessary early death.")
The truth is, the government doesn't know more about nutrition than any other particular guru. And why do we need tax dollars to pay for one more voice in the clamor?
Major Offense
I burnt the carrots the other night. It seems that, in the Duchy, this should be tantamount to high treason.
Actually it is merely a symptom of a deeper problem, namely: my lack of a mid-sized saucepan with a lid that fits. Instead I use a very small saucepan and balance a plate over the top, which stops the steam from escaping only to condense it and run it down the edges of the plate and all over the stove, while the pot rapidly boils dry. (Note to self: try putting the plate on right side up instead of upside down, so it doesn't curve down.)
One of these days I'll get a proper set of pans, and work out more storage space in the kitchen, and install a reverse osmosis water system, and solve all the hundred and one other minor difficulties that keep the house from running as smoothly as I would like. And the Ducklings will grow up thinking that is just the way things are and not until they marry will they discover what a long and arduous process setting up housekeeping is.
I burnt the carrots the other night. It seems that, in the Duchy, this should be tantamount to high treason.
Actually it is merely a symptom of a deeper problem, namely: my lack of a mid-sized saucepan with a lid that fits. Instead I use a very small saucepan and balance a plate over the top, which stops the steam from escaping only to condense it and run it down the edges of the plate and all over the stove, while the pot rapidly boils dry. (Note to self: try putting the plate on right side up instead of upside down, so it doesn't curve down.)
One of these days I'll get a proper set of pans, and work out more storage space in the kitchen, and install a reverse osmosis water system, and solve all the hundred and one other minor difficulties that keep the house from running as smoothly as I would like. And the Ducklings will grow up thinking that is just the way things are and not until they marry will they discover what a long and arduous process setting up housekeeping is.
Thursday, July 29, 2004
Cost of Living
Does it really cost that much to have a baby? Of course not. It's sort of like weddings. If your goal is to get married, it's cheap. If your goal is to outdo and impress your friends, it's expensive.
Just look at the things in this article that few, if any, people need:
Does it really cost that much to have a baby? Of course not. It's sort of like weddings. If your goal is to get married, it's cheap. If your goal is to outdo and impress your friends, it's expensive.
Just look at the things in this article that few, if any, people need:
- Breast pump, bottles, etc: just take the baby with you. This also saves on babysitter costs.
- Baby classes: that's crazy. If you want to expose your baby to Mozart, switch on the radio. If you're really concerned about brain development, you can get all the ideas you could want for free from the library and Internet.
- Picture taking and distributing equipment: OK, we may be a bit derelict in this department. We are going to get a digital camera one of these days, really we are. And we don't have the expense for everything else needed to distribute them because we already have it. So I can't be too critical here.
- Books at $20 apiece: Thanks to aunts who know how to shop thrift stores, we have a good, low-cost collection. We also have several library cards.
- New car: huh?
- First birthday party: Give the kid some paper to crinkle up, cake to smash in his face, and adults acting like lunatics to watch, and he'll be happy.
Babies are the craziest thing to spend a lot of money on, because a) they have no idea you're doing it and couldn't care less as long as they get fed, and b) there is so much perfectly good baby stuff out there for next to nothing, because of all the people out there who are spending thousands of dollars on stuff for their kids--and then they only have two, so it's still in great condition when they're done with it.
Time to hit the garage sales again.
Tuesday, July 27, 2004
Very Bad Advice
A test-prep company is planning to do formal testing to find out exactly what minor activities (choice of food, clothing worn, etc.) might boost scores a few points on tests like the SAT.
This is all well and good, but the conventional advice on the side contains one very erroneous piece of advice: avoid candy.
Right before I took the bar exam, I was told on good authority that the secret to passing was consuming sufficient chocolate. Though not customarily much of a candy-eater, I procured a bag of chocolate. (I did not steal it. Or, of course, pay for it. Someone had leftover Christmas candy, I think.) I dutifully consumed chocolate at each break. And I passed. Now, how can you argue with that?
A test-prep company is planning to do formal testing to find out exactly what minor activities (choice of food, clothing worn, etc.) might boost scores a few points on tests like the SAT.
This is all well and good, but the conventional advice on the side contains one very erroneous piece of advice: avoid candy.
Right before I took the bar exam, I was told on good authority that the secret to passing was consuming sufficient chocolate. Though not customarily much of a candy-eater, I procured a bag of chocolate. (I did not steal it. Or, of course, pay for it. Someone had leftover Christmas candy, I think.) I dutifully consumed chocolate at each break. And I passed. Now, how can you argue with that?
Following the Democratic Convention Closely . . .
Via Dave Barry, of course:
"The convention continues tonight, with the theme being: ''Making America Stronger through the Strength of Strongness.'' The idea here is to convince doubtful voters that the Democrats can be trusted to be tough on terrorism and won't create some kind of feel-good liberal bleeding-heart program like enrolling terrorists in bowling leagues.
Emphasis on this theme will continue through Thursday night, when, to climax the convention, an actual live terrorist will be released onstage, and John Kerry will beat him senseless with a hockey stick, after which John Edwards will sue him."
Via Dave Barry, of course:
"The convention continues tonight, with the theme being: ''Making America Stronger through the Strength of Strongness.'' The idea here is to convince doubtful voters that the Democrats can be trusted to be tough on terrorism and won't create some kind of feel-good liberal bleeding-heart program like enrolling terrorists in bowling leagues.
Emphasis on this theme will continue through Thursday night, when, to climax the convention, an actual live terrorist will be released onstage, and John Kerry will beat him senseless with a hockey stick, after which John Edwards will sue him."
Monday, July 26, 2004
The Real Difficulty
I have been reading what is probably far too much on the merits of scheduling babies or not. I try to follow a perfect balance. (Translation: I do things the way that suits me.) Abbey is generally quite happy eating every three hours or so, but will go longer at night, and I don't have a problem if some days she decides she needs to eat more often. Some days I need to eat more often, so why shouldn't she?
The main things I would like to establish is going to bed at the same time (however many times we eat thereafter) and getting up at the same time every day, and not being awake between nighttime feedings. We are doing pretty well, except that she seems to prefer sleeping from 7 to 9 p.m., and then waking between 9 and 11. Tonight we are working on staying awake until 9.
Any schedule I might try to implement, however, has a fatal weak point. Me. If I don't wake up at a certain time, she won't either. (Unless, of course, she happens to be hungry.) One cannot schedule a baby more than one is scheduled one's self. So what do the schedule people do about that?
I have been reading what is probably far too much on the merits of scheduling babies or not. I try to follow a perfect balance. (Translation: I do things the way that suits me.) Abbey is generally quite happy eating every three hours or so, but will go longer at night, and I don't have a problem if some days she decides she needs to eat more often. Some days I need to eat more often, so why shouldn't she?
The main things I would like to establish is going to bed at the same time (however many times we eat thereafter) and getting up at the same time every day, and not being awake between nighttime feedings. We are doing pretty well, except that she seems to prefer sleeping from 7 to 9 p.m., and then waking between 9 and 11. Tonight we are working on staying awake until 9.
Any schedule I might try to implement, however, has a fatal weak point. Me. If I don't wake up at a certain time, she won't either. (Unless, of course, she happens to be hungry.) One cannot schedule a baby more than one is scheduled one's self. So what do the schedule people do about that?
Comments on Comments
I'm trying out a new comment system that allows anyone to post as somebody besides "Anonymous," even if they don't have a blogger account. It's the "Comment" link on the left. The old comment format is on the right. Try them out and see which you prefer.
Unfortunately, I haven't had this all along, and I don't want to lose my former comments. So it looks to me as if I will have to have two comment possibilities from now to the end of time. Is it worth it? Or does anybody know how I can change this short of re-entering all the comments myself?
I'm trying out a new comment system that allows anyone to post as somebody besides "Anonymous," even if they don't have a blogger account. It's the "Comment" link on the left. The old comment format is on the right. Try them out and see which you prefer.
Unfortunately, I haven't had this all along, and I don't want to lose my former comments. So it looks to me as if I will have to have two comment possibilities from now to the end of time. Is it worth it? Or does anybody know how I can change this short of re-entering all the comments myself?
Saturday, July 24, 2004
Non Sequitur of the Day
The following paragraph appeared in a letter to the editor in our local paper:
"In 1663 a Bible was translated for a Massachusetts Indian tribe and shortly after that the Puritans killed the Indians. Then came the witch trials and years of religious bigotry."
Apparently it's translating the Bible that creates the urge to kill people. Hey, that would cover all the wars in Europe since the Reformation! We would all be better off if the Bible had stayed in Latin.
The rest of the letter makes about as much sense.
The following paragraph appeared in a letter to the editor in our local paper:
"In 1663 a Bible was translated for a Massachusetts Indian tribe and shortly after that the Puritans killed the Indians. Then came the witch trials and years of religious bigotry."
Apparently it's translating the Bible that creates the urge to kill people. Hey, that would cover all the wars in Europe since the Reformation! We would all be better off if the Bible had stayed in Latin.
The rest of the letter makes about as much sense.
A Modest Proposal
This is a lengthy but worthwhile article on the current state of family law. Many good points on the problems with the current no-fault divorce system. Where else in life can the one who breaches a contract still go to court with no prejudice against them and ask for all the benefits from the contract? Why on earth have such a crazy system for the most important agreement in life? (The article proposes one answer: the more divorces there are, the more divorce lawyers and courts and social workers there are.)
No-fault divorce was sold because people shouldn't be "forced" to remain married. But it's no more fair to force them to get divorced. At least the marriage they voluntarily chose at some point.
The fad for "covenant marriage" laws seems to have passed. But I see no reason why people shouldn't accept a simple, fair proposal with no religious trappings: treat marriage like any other contract. If two parties both want to rescind the contract, they can do so on whatever terms they want. But otherwise, the one who breaches the contract can claim no benefits under it and may be liable for damages.
How would this work in real life? There would basically be three potential divorce scenarios:
1. Both parties want to get divorced. They would draw up their own divorcing contract, negotiate between themselves who gets the kids, the house, etc. The court would then certify and enforce this contract, freely negotiated between the parties.
2. One party breaches the marriage contract in some way other than filing for divorce. (The classic grounds for fault: adultery, abuse, abandonment.) The other party can, if he or she wishes, file for divorce by establishing one of those grounds for fault. If they establish it, they are presumptively entitled to the children, the house, child support, etc., since they were injured by the breach of the marriage contract. (The other party can of course keep their own personal belongings and may have an equity claim to some portion of the marital property, as would be the case under any other contract.)
Some would say that this puts us back to the bad old days of evil, acrimonious divorces where everyone's dirty laundry is aired. Yes, and we're so far from that now. Does the name Jack Ryan ring a bell? Especially when children are involved, all that dirty laundry is going to be aired anyway, even if it has to be soiled for the purpose at hand.
3. One party wants a divorce but the other does not, and no fault is shown. In that case, the party who wants a divorce gets one--but that's all they get. In fact, they may be liable for damages (alimony, child support, etc.), to the extent the other party can prove them.
Now, there's nothing religious about that treatment of marriage and divorce--just simple, straightforward contract law. Who could object? And it would result in a nosedive in the divorce rate, as people discovered it wasn't worth the cost to go off and "find themselves."
And on the side, it might dampen the push for same-sex marriage. If marriage really was marriage, would they want it?
This is a lengthy but worthwhile article on the current state of family law. Many good points on the problems with the current no-fault divorce system. Where else in life can the one who breaches a contract still go to court with no prejudice against them and ask for all the benefits from the contract? Why on earth have such a crazy system for the most important agreement in life? (The article proposes one answer: the more divorces there are, the more divorce lawyers and courts and social workers there are.)
No-fault divorce was sold because people shouldn't be "forced" to remain married. But it's no more fair to force them to get divorced. At least the marriage they voluntarily chose at some point.
The fad for "covenant marriage" laws seems to have passed. But I see no reason why people shouldn't accept a simple, fair proposal with no religious trappings: treat marriage like any other contract. If two parties both want to rescind the contract, they can do so on whatever terms they want. But otherwise, the one who breaches the contract can claim no benefits under it and may be liable for damages.
How would this work in real life? There would basically be three potential divorce scenarios:
1. Both parties want to get divorced. They would draw up their own divorcing contract, negotiate between themselves who gets the kids, the house, etc. The court would then certify and enforce this contract, freely negotiated between the parties.
2. One party breaches the marriage contract in some way other than filing for divorce. (The classic grounds for fault: adultery, abuse, abandonment.) The other party can, if he or she wishes, file for divorce by establishing one of those grounds for fault. If they establish it, they are presumptively entitled to the children, the house, child support, etc., since they were injured by the breach of the marriage contract. (The other party can of course keep their own personal belongings and may have an equity claim to some portion of the marital property, as would be the case under any other contract.)
Some would say that this puts us back to the bad old days of evil, acrimonious divorces where everyone's dirty laundry is aired. Yes, and we're so far from that now. Does the name Jack Ryan ring a bell? Especially when children are involved, all that dirty laundry is going to be aired anyway, even if it has to be soiled for the purpose at hand.
3. One party wants a divorce but the other does not, and no fault is shown. In that case, the party who wants a divorce gets one--but that's all they get. In fact, they may be liable for damages (alimony, child support, etc.), to the extent the other party can prove them.
Now, there's nothing religious about that treatment of marriage and divorce--just simple, straightforward contract law. Who could object? And it would result in a nosedive in the divorce rate, as people discovered it wasn't worth the cost to go off and "find themselves."
And on the side, it might dampen the push for same-sex marriage. If marriage really was marriage, would they want it?
Thursday, July 22, 2004
Get 'em while they're hot
An article in the Wall Street Journal today on political memorabilia said the hottest market is in very limited-edition materials:
"Very local buttons, such as Hockly County Texas Democrats for John Kerry, can fetch as much as $150 new mainly because so few are made," dealers say.
Loyal readers of this blog, for a limited time, have the opportunity to purchase a special, limited edition, "Carrot Duchy for Bush" pin for the low price of $100. After all, there's only three of us, and there are probably more Hockly County Texas Democrats than that. So you can hope to double the price when you resell on Ebay!
An article in the Wall Street Journal today on political memorabilia said the hottest market is in very limited-edition materials:
"Very local buttons, such as Hockly County Texas Democrats for John Kerry, can fetch as much as $150 new mainly because so few are made," dealers say.
Loyal readers of this blog, for a limited time, have the opportunity to purchase a special, limited edition, "Carrot Duchy for Bush" pin for the low price of $100. After all, there's only three of us, and there are probably more Hockly County Texas Democrats than that. So you can hope to double the price when you resell on Ebay!
Turning into a Jewish mother
I have a new ambition for my children. I want one of them to be a scientist. (In fairness to them, I won't be particular as to which one. Of course, I only have one so far.)
I have always had an interest in science, including two first-prize winning exhibits at the State Science Fair in grade school. And I grew up in a family that heavily emphasized the creation/evolution debate. I think we owned every book the Institute for Creation Research and Answers in Genesis ever published. There's even a book on science in my current reading stack.
But I bet anything I might attempt to say on scientific matters would sound to anyone with any scientific training like people who've watched two videos on the topic sound to me when they start discoursing on the Constitution. Those who look down their noses at the scientific knowledge and interest of the evangelical community at large may be arrogant jerks, but they do have a point. There's a great deal of room for improvement.
I don't like just having vague ideas about things . . . I want to know. And if I can't know, I'd like to be related to someone who did.
Thus my real motivation for having children is evidenced. I have too many things that I'm interested in and must make more people and warp their minds so they will go out and do them for me.
I have a new ambition for my children. I want one of them to be a scientist. (In fairness to them, I won't be particular as to which one. Of course, I only have one so far.)
I have always had an interest in science, including two first-prize winning exhibits at the State Science Fair in grade school. And I grew up in a family that heavily emphasized the creation/evolution debate. I think we owned every book the Institute for Creation Research and Answers in Genesis ever published. There's even a book on science in my current reading stack.
But I bet anything I might attempt to say on scientific matters would sound to anyone with any scientific training like people who've watched two videos on the topic sound to me when they start discoursing on the Constitution. Those who look down their noses at the scientific knowledge and interest of the evangelical community at large may be arrogant jerks, but they do have a point. There's a great deal of room for improvement.
I don't like just having vague ideas about things . . . I want to know. And if I can't know, I'd like to be related to someone who did.
Thus my real motivation for having children is evidenced. I have too many things that I'm interested in and must make more people and warp their minds so they will go out and do them for me.
Tuesday, July 20, 2004
Requiem for Brain Cells
Shortly after noon I turned on the oven to heat lunch. About one I told my sister, "We should go eat--I'm sure the food is hot by now." I went into the kitchen, opened the oven, and remarked, "I'm sure the food would be hot by now if it had been in the oven instead of in the refrigerator." It worked just as well as she was then able to reach her goal of finishing the crib skirt before lunch. (The nursery looks quite charming thanks to her work. Now we just need a sunflowery quilted hanging on the wall over the crib.)
A little bit later I noticed Abbey was soaking through all cloth in the vicinity, and realized I had completely forgotten to change her at her last feeding--two hours earlier.
I tried taking a nap this afternoon to recharge my brain cells. I'm not sure how much it accomplished.
But I probably needed it. Because I am trying to resolve an anomaly in Abbey's schedule. She was quite happily functioning on a three-hour feeding cycle, with the ability to stretch longer during the night. Somehow this longer stretch at night always threw the schedule off enough that this longer stretch would only put us down to one feeding every other night, and on the alternate nights, she would wake up hungry at 3 a.m., giving me just enough time to feed her, get her back to sleep, and drift off to sleep myself before the alarm would go off at 4:30 and I'd have to get up to feed DOB and get him off to work. I found it very difficult to arise under these circumstances.
So my theory was that if I fed Abbey every night about 9 or 9:30, she would sleep until 1 or so, then I could feed her, and she'd sleep to 4:30 and all would be well. So tonight I woke her up at 9 and fed her. As custom for her last evening feeding dictated, I sang her a few songs and put her in bed. Her eyes were wide open. She cried. And kept crying. Intermittently for the next two and a half hours. She's not crying now because I'm feeding her. But what is up with her? Did someone bring her a latte?
And tomorrow, how do I stay awake enough to keep her awake to keep this from repeating?
Shortly after noon I turned on the oven to heat lunch. About one I told my sister, "We should go eat--I'm sure the food is hot by now." I went into the kitchen, opened the oven, and remarked, "I'm sure the food would be hot by now if it had been in the oven instead of in the refrigerator." It worked just as well as she was then able to reach her goal of finishing the crib skirt before lunch. (The nursery looks quite charming thanks to her work. Now we just need a sunflowery quilted hanging on the wall over the crib.)
A little bit later I noticed Abbey was soaking through all cloth in the vicinity, and realized I had completely forgotten to change her at her last feeding--two hours earlier.
I tried taking a nap this afternoon to recharge my brain cells. I'm not sure how much it accomplished.
But I probably needed it. Because I am trying to resolve an anomaly in Abbey's schedule. She was quite happily functioning on a three-hour feeding cycle, with the ability to stretch longer during the night. Somehow this longer stretch at night always threw the schedule off enough that this longer stretch would only put us down to one feeding every other night, and on the alternate nights, she would wake up hungry at 3 a.m., giving me just enough time to feed her, get her back to sleep, and drift off to sleep myself before the alarm would go off at 4:30 and I'd have to get up to feed DOB and get him off to work. I found it very difficult to arise under these circumstances.
So my theory was that if I fed Abbey every night about 9 or 9:30, she would sleep until 1 or so, then I could feed her, and she'd sleep to 4:30 and all would be well. So tonight I woke her up at 9 and fed her. As custom for her last evening feeding dictated, I sang her a few songs and put her in bed. Her eyes were wide open. She cried. And kept crying. Intermittently for the next two and a half hours. She's not crying now because I'm feeding her. But what is up with her? Did someone bring her a latte?
And tomorrow, how do I stay awake enough to keep her awake to keep this from repeating?
Monday, July 19, 2004
Top Five
Last night we (my sister is still visiting) got talking about meeting famous people and came to the conclusion it seemed pointless to wait a long time in line merely to shake hands with anyone. Given the opportunity to actually sit down and talk with them, however, we all had plenty of famous people we'd like to meet.
So the challenge is: list the top five living, more-or-less famous people you'd like the opportunity to have a prolonged conversation with (or if the thought of talking to them is too intimidating, to be part of a conversation they were having with someone capable of intelligent dialogue with them).
Here are our lists:
QOC:
1. Justice Scalia
2. Thomas Sowell
3. J. Budziszewski
4. Paul Johnson
5. Mike Antonnucci
DOB:
1. William F. Buckley
2. Robert Novak
3. Chief Justice Rehnquist
4. Thomas Sowell
5. Jesse Helms
DOB then made a second list, in no particular order:
Mel Gibson
Margaret Thatcher
President Bush
Curt Schilling
Haley Barbour
Becky didn't finish her living people list, but so far she has:
1. Elisabeth Elliot
2. Ben Rich (The guy in charge of Skunkworks, the stealth plane project)
3. Whoever runs the logistics at the White House
Then we decided to come up with a dead people list, too.
QOC:
1. G. K. Chesterton
2. C. S. Lewis
3. Winston Churchill
4. Deborah (from Judges)
5. Jane Austen
DOB:
1. Abraham Lincoln
2. John Adams
3. Senator Robert A Taft
4. John Bunyan
5. David
Becky:
1. Hudson Taylor
2. Winston Churchill
3. Ernest Shakleton
4. Joseph
5. Jonathan Edwards
Clearly DOB favors politicians, Becky favors people who run things, and I favor writers. Although it seems redundant to want to talk to a writer, since one already has their books.
Anybody want to post their own list?
Last night we (my sister is still visiting) got talking about meeting famous people and came to the conclusion it seemed pointless to wait a long time in line merely to shake hands with anyone. Given the opportunity to actually sit down and talk with them, however, we all had plenty of famous people we'd like to meet.
So the challenge is: list the top five living, more-or-less famous people you'd like the opportunity to have a prolonged conversation with (or if the thought of talking to them is too intimidating, to be part of a conversation they were having with someone capable of intelligent dialogue with them).
Here are our lists:
QOC:
1. Justice Scalia
2. Thomas Sowell
3. J. Budziszewski
4. Paul Johnson
5. Mike Antonnucci
DOB:
1. William F. Buckley
2. Robert Novak
3. Chief Justice Rehnquist
4. Thomas Sowell
5. Jesse Helms
DOB then made a second list, in no particular order:
Mel Gibson
Margaret Thatcher
President Bush
Curt Schilling
Haley Barbour
Becky didn't finish her living people list, but so far she has:
1. Elisabeth Elliot
2. Ben Rich (The guy in charge of Skunkworks, the stealth plane project)
3. Whoever runs the logistics at the White House
Then we decided to come up with a dead people list, too.
QOC:
1. G. K. Chesterton
2. C. S. Lewis
3. Winston Churchill
4. Deborah (from Judges)
5. Jane Austen
DOB:
1. Abraham Lincoln
2. John Adams
3. Senator Robert A Taft
4. John Bunyan
5. David
Becky:
1. Hudson Taylor
2. Winston Churchill
3. Ernest Shakleton
4. Joseph
5. Jonathan Edwards
Clearly DOB favors politicians, Becky favors people who run things, and I favor writers. Although it seems redundant to want to talk to a writer, since one already has their books.
Anybody want to post their own list?
Friday, July 16, 2004
Summertime
Last night we stopped at a farm and bought fresh sweet corn. I sat on the back steps and shucked it. We had it with chicken pasta salad, coleslaw, and apple waffles. (My visiting sister reminded me of this trick for when one doesn't have the time or right pans to make muffins.) I felt like a kid again, probably too much so as DOB had to remind me that we do in fact have air conditioning and can't just leave doors open at random to increase the feeling of fellowship while shucking corn.
The only thing missing was a picnic table to eat at under the prickle ball tree.
Last night we stopped at a farm and bought fresh sweet corn. I sat on the back steps and shucked it. We had it with chicken pasta salad, coleslaw, and apple waffles. (My visiting sister reminded me of this trick for when one doesn't have the time or right pans to make muffins.) I felt like a kid again, probably too much so as DOB had to remind me that we do in fact have air conditioning and can't just leave doors open at random to increase the feeling of fellowship while shucking corn.
The only thing missing was a picnic table to eat at under the prickle ball tree.
Thursday, July 15, 2004
Flashbacks
One of my former law school classmates had an essay of his chosen as a model answer by the New Jersey Bar. It's been nearly three years since I last took a bar exam. It's been almost two years since I thought about bar exams. (DOB took his bar in July 2002.) And yet, somehow, just reading the first few lines brought it all back. "Murder is the unlawful killing of a human being with malice aforethought . . . "
Both bar exams stand out vividly amid the mush of memories of 2000 and 2001. I guess traumatic experiences have a way of doing that.
One of my former law school classmates had an essay of his chosen as a model answer by the New Jersey Bar. It's been nearly three years since I last took a bar exam. It's been almost two years since I thought about bar exams. (DOB took his bar in July 2002.) And yet, somehow, just reading the first few lines brought it all back. "Murder is the unlawful killing of a human being with malice aforethought . . . "
Both bar exams stand out vividly amid the mush of memories of 2000 and 2001. I guess traumatic experiences have a way of doing that.
Wednesday, July 14, 2004
Gotta Dance
The New York Times today covers the efforts of same-sex couples to be allowed into competitive ballroom dancing.
It may seem a bit trivial to make a fuss about the symbol when the substance is so far under attack. But symbols are important, at times of more immediate importance than reality. They provide a lens to understand the reality.
Ballroom dancing, as Henry Tilney pointed out in Northanger Abbey is, and always has been, a symbol of marriage. It is the exclusive union of one man and one woman for a mutual purpose. It beautifully illustrates the complementary nature of marriage: Men lead and women follow, not because men are generally better dancers, but because someone must lead and within the parameters of the dance it makes sense for the man to do so.
Submission in the dance does not lead to the man trampling the woman, but empowering her to do things the man could never do, and she could not do alone. It brings to mind that old line, "Ginger Rogers did everything Fred Astaire did--only backwards and in high heels" that beautifully illustrates the strength and grace of the traditional woman's role.
(Can a Baptist speak so warmly about ballroom dancing? But after all, any Baptist objection to it is based on the grounds that it provides such an excellent symbol of marriage that it ought not to be engaged in promiscuously. So the analogy holds.)
Even those promoting same-sex ballroom dancing acknowledge that it's a different art form than opposite-sex ballroom dancing. A man can't move the way a woman does. The leader-follower relationship must be changed. And even the emotional dynamic of the relationship symbolized influences the dance. Two men dancing is not the same thing as a man and a woman dancing. And thus the symbol draws us back to the reality.
I'm reminded of C.S. Lewis using the analogy (and another Jane Austen insight) of a ballroom dance in analyzing why women should not be ordained in the church. He argues that, on the fringes, one can treat men and women as interchangeable--that at a factory or at a ballot-box their sex indeed does not matter. But the closer you get to the center, to the realities at the heart of the universe, the more important the distinction becomes.
Ballroom dancing is the symbol of a symbol. Marriage and the church hierarchies are symbols of the reality. I doubt we will fully grasp the reality symbolized until we look into the face of our Father (not Mother or Parent) in heaven. But it has something to do with otherness. The delight of one person in another like himself could be merely narcisstic. Sex shows us the potential for delight in someone different; indeed, that part of the delight is the very differentness. Equating a same-sex relationship with an opposite-sex relationship hides the reality that God planted within human beings when he made them male and female: that although He is not like us, yet He desires us.
The New York Times today covers the efforts of same-sex couples to be allowed into competitive ballroom dancing.
It may seem a bit trivial to make a fuss about the symbol when the substance is so far under attack. But symbols are important, at times of more immediate importance than reality. They provide a lens to understand the reality.
Ballroom dancing, as Henry Tilney pointed out in Northanger Abbey is, and always has been, a symbol of marriage. It is the exclusive union of one man and one woman for a mutual purpose. It beautifully illustrates the complementary nature of marriage: Men lead and women follow, not because men are generally better dancers, but because someone must lead and within the parameters of the dance it makes sense for the man to do so.
Submission in the dance does not lead to the man trampling the woman, but empowering her to do things the man could never do, and she could not do alone. It brings to mind that old line, "Ginger Rogers did everything Fred Astaire did--only backwards and in high heels" that beautifully illustrates the strength and grace of the traditional woman's role.
(Can a Baptist speak so warmly about ballroom dancing? But after all, any Baptist objection to it is based on the grounds that it provides such an excellent symbol of marriage that it ought not to be engaged in promiscuously. So the analogy holds.)
Even those promoting same-sex ballroom dancing acknowledge that it's a different art form than opposite-sex ballroom dancing. A man can't move the way a woman does. The leader-follower relationship must be changed. And even the emotional dynamic of the relationship symbolized influences the dance. Two men dancing is not the same thing as a man and a woman dancing. And thus the symbol draws us back to the reality.
I'm reminded of C.S. Lewis using the analogy (and another Jane Austen insight) of a ballroom dance in analyzing why women should not be ordained in the church. He argues that, on the fringes, one can treat men and women as interchangeable--that at a factory or at a ballot-box their sex indeed does not matter. But the closer you get to the center, to the realities at the heart of the universe, the more important the distinction becomes.
Ballroom dancing is the symbol of a symbol. Marriage and the church hierarchies are symbols of the reality. I doubt we will fully grasp the reality symbolized until we look into the face of our Father (not Mother or Parent) in heaven. But it has something to do with otherness. The delight of one person in another like himself could be merely narcisstic. Sex shows us the potential for delight in someone different; indeed, that part of the delight is the very differentness. Equating a same-sex relationship with an opposite-sex relationship hides the reality that God planted within human beings when he made them male and female: that although He is not like us, yet He desires us.
Tuesday, July 13, 2004
Baby Book Update
OK, this is not supposed to have happened yet. Last night I left Abbey lying on her tummy on the bed while I quickly went in the other room to get ready for bed. She was in a state where she was not pleased with the world, no matter what position she was in, but the tummy is supposed to be more calming. Instead she just cried and flailed her arms and legs.
Then I heard DOB saying, "You can't do that anymore." I came back in and sure enough, she had flipped herself over on her back, perilously close to the edge. She was still crying just as hard.
She's not supposed to be doing this for two or three more months. Maybe it doesn't count because it was an accident.
And now how am I going to park her when I need to run do something?
OK, this is not supposed to have happened yet. Last night I left Abbey lying on her tummy on the bed while I quickly went in the other room to get ready for bed. She was in a state where she was not pleased with the world, no matter what position she was in, but the tummy is supposed to be more calming. Instead she just cried and flailed her arms and legs.
Then I heard DOB saying, "You can't do that anymore." I came back in and sure enough, she had flipped herself over on her back, perilously close to the edge. She was still crying just as hard.
She's not supposed to be doing this for two or three more months. Maybe it doesn't count because it was an accident.
And now how am I going to park her when I need to run do something?
Monday, July 12, 2004
Menu Mysteries
Why is it that telephone menus always offer you the final option of "For all other inquiries, press '0' or stay on the line and your call will be answered in the order it was received"?
Does pressing '0' somehow nudge you up in the lottery of phone menudom? Or is it just there to satisfy compulsive control freaks who have a need to feel like they are doing something?
Why is it that telephone menus always offer you the final option of "For all other inquiries, press '0' or stay on the line and your call will be answered in the order it was received"?
Does pressing '0' somehow nudge you up in the lottery of phone menudom? Or is it just there to satisfy compulsive control freaks who have a need to feel like they are doing something?
Friday, July 09, 2004
What's In a Name?
So now it turns out McCain-Feingold might prohibit car dealerships from advertising before the election. That is, car dealerships founded by a candidate who is running in that election. Ironically, the seat targeted is none other than that of Senator Feingold himself.
Mr. Darrow doesn't even seem to run the dealerships anymore--CEO is his son, of the same name. So isn't it arguable the name doesn't refer to him, but to his son? And if that's not permitted what's next: suppose a candidate happens to have the same name as a notable business, but no actual connection to it--will the business have to take their ads off the air?
At least Feingold's campaign doesn't seem to want to make an issue of it. But the Common Cause fellow still thinks that name recognition is inherently evil. So I have to ask: What about Senator Feingold's name ID? (Which is being spread even by tales of his opponent's legal quandries.) Isn't that an unfair advantage? Perhaps we should require incumbents to change their names every election cycle so that everyone runs on issues alone.
So now it turns out McCain-Feingold might prohibit car dealerships from advertising before the election. That is, car dealerships founded by a candidate who is running in that election. Ironically, the seat targeted is none other than that of Senator Feingold himself.
Mr. Darrow doesn't even seem to run the dealerships anymore--CEO is his son, of the same name. So isn't it arguable the name doesn't refer to him, but to his son? And if that's not permitted what's next: suppose a candidate happens to have the same name as a notable business, but no actual connection to it--will the business have to take their ads off the air?
At least Feingold's campaign doesn't seem to want to make an issue of it. But the Common Cause fellow still thinks that name recognition is inherently evil. So I have to ask: What about Senator Feingold's name ID? (Which is being spread even by tales of his opponent's legal quandries.) Isn't that an unfair advantage? Perhaps we should require incumbents to change their names every election cycle so that everyone runs on issues alone.
Baby Blues
All right, I concede, DOB was right. If you dress a baby in blue, no matter how gender-neutral the decorations, everyone will think she's a boy. Next time we go out I will have to dredge up something vaguely feminine.
I still think it's wrong. Who says girls don't wear blue? I have a sister who rarely wears any other color. (Of course, at 19, she has other indicators of her gender than color-coding.)
All right, I concede, DOB was right. If you dress a baby in blue, no matter how gender-neutral the decorations, everyone will think she's a boy. Next time we go out I will have to dredge up something vaguely feminine.
I still think it's wrong. Who says girls don't wear blue? I have a sister who rarely wears any other color. (Of course, at 19, she has other indicators of her gender than color-coding.)
Wednesday, July 07, 2004
Technological Advances
Even in pre-parenthood days, I could not help but notice that the primary selling point for any particular brand of disposable diapers was how their latest advances helped keep baby comfy and dry.
Today I received a Pampers ad extolling a new line of products for toilet training with an exciting new feature: they stay wet so that baby will be uncomfortable (and hie him to the potty chair next time).
Even in pre-parenthood days, I could not help but notice that the primary selling point for any particular brand of disposable diapers was how their latest advances helped keep baby comfy and dry.
Today I received a Pampers ad extolling a new line of products for toilet training with an exciting new feature: they stay wet so that baby will be uncomfortable (and hie him to the potty chair next time).
Online Identities
We have been referring to Abbey by her real live name long enough. Obviously if DOB and I have online identies (actually a whole host of them, but only one each for purposes of this blog), she should, too.
The question is, what? I am inclined toward picking a title that can apply to all future offspring, with the addition of a number. Two ideas that come to mind:
Hobbit (H1, H2, etc.): She's short, cute, and likes to eat six meals a day (and two a night). She also has big feet, but they are not hairy.
Duckling (D1, D2, etc.): It just seems logical to me that the inhabitant of a duchy should be a duckling.
Any thoughts?
We have been referring to Abbey by her real live name long enough. Obviously if DOB and I have online identies (actually a whole host of them, but only one each for purposes of this blog), she should, too.
The question is, what? I am inclined toward picking a title that can apply to all future offspring, with the addition of a number. Two ideas that come to mind:
Hobbit (H1, H2, etc.): She's short, cute, and likes to eat six meals a day (and two a night). She also has big feet, but they are not hairy.
Duckling (D1, D2, etc.): It just seems logical to me that the inhabitant of a duchy should be a duckling.
Any thoughts?
NPR Covers the Kerry Campaign
Since Abbey likes classical music, I turned on the radio (she started bobbing her head up and down in time with Liszt's Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2). But then the news came on with the following report on the Johns first joint campaign stop, today in Cleveland, Ohio.
John E: "The American people are going to reject the negative campaign tactics of the past and embrace hope and opportunity, because this is America!!!"
Reporter: John Kerry then attacked President Bush for high gasoline prices.
John K: "The days are over when we put a single young American in harm's way over foreign oil."
Apparently the irony was wasted on the reporter.
Since Abbey likes classical music, I turned on the radio (she started bobbing her head up and down in time with Liszt's Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2). But then the news came on with the following report on the Johns first joint campaign stop, today in Cleveland, Ohio.
John E: "The American people are going to reject the negative campaign tactics of the past and embrace hope and opportunity, because this is America!!!"
Reporter: John Kerry then attacked President Bush for high gasoline prices.
John K: "The days are over when we put a single young American in harm's way over foreign oil."
Apparently the irony was wasted on the reporter.
Tuesday, July 06, 2004
The Fifth of July
DOB's family celebrated Independence Day yesterday. DOB and his brothers staged a brief play which seemed to be about the Boston Tea Party, Paul Revere's ride, and the Battle of Lexington. It was short on scripted dialogue and long on cardboard box throwing and air gun firing. I got to light the lanterns in the belfry (flashlights behind the refrigerator).
Afterward they experimented and discovered that all six of them could, in fact, fit inside a dryer box.
The reason they had a dryer box is because our old dryer (inherited from DOB's parents and nearly as old as he is) started shooting sparks on Saturday. Providentially, DOB's dad and brother were standing in the utility at the time, working on drains and such. (The drains work great now, btw.) So the house did not burn down, and since it was Saturday DOB could drive right down to the appliance store where we bought the washing machine, held out the manual and said, "Get me the one that matches this." He was out the door with our new dryer in five minutes. And now we have a matched set, even! With the current diaper situation, going even one day without a dryer was not an option.
DOB's family celebrated Independence Day yesterday. DOB and his brothers staged a brief play which seemed to be about the Boston Tea Party, Paul Revere's ride, and the Battle of Lexington. It was short on scripted dialogue and long on cardboard box throwing and air gun firing. I got to light the lanterns in the belfry (flashlights behind the refrigerator).
Afterward they experimented and discovered that all six of them could, in fact, fit inside a dryer box.
The reason they had a dryer box is because our old dryer (inherited from DOB's parents and nearly as old as he is) started shooting sparks on Saturday. Providentially, DOB's dad and brother were standing in the utility at the time, working on drains and such. (The drains work great now, btw.) So the house did not burn down, and since it was Saturday DOB could drive right down to the appliance store where we bought the washing machine, held out the manual and said, "Get me the one that matches this." He was out the door with our new dryer in five minutes. And now we have a matched set, even! With the current diaper situation, going even one day without a dryer was not an option.
Saturday, July 03, 2004
The Fourth of July
Traditions are the sauce in which a medley of years blends together into a single dish called the "Fourth of July."
Traditions string every Fourth from infancy to last year into one grand meld of sand and green water, fried chicken and orange bowknot rolls, relatives I don't know and those I do, squealing bottle rockets and Uncle Walt's harmonica that still lingers over the festivities though he's been gone for a decade. I still have my blue checked jumper and red t-shirt that matches the rest of the family.
Indeed, it is the Fourth's that weren't spent at Aunt Winnie's that stick out in my mind. The year we were waiting for Sarah to be born (she wasn't born for another week, but one of our cows had a calf that day, which we named Uncle Sam and revised to Aunt Samantha when we got a closer look). The year Dad had to work and we watched my weird aunt's friends come close to lighting Grandpa's field on fire. The year I spent most of the day in a hotel room in North Carolina, wishing DOB was online. (I did go to a quite enjoyable party that evening, where I learned several hilarious equipment-free games and that yellow squash makes a terrible pie.)
Last year was the pinnacle of Fourth of July celebrations. DOB came out on one of his rare visits before the wedding. The day was perfectly warm, dry, and sunny. (Generally in Washington summer weather arrives on the Fifth of July.) A musician was playing celtic harp on the ferry up to Whidbey Island. We rowed around the lagoon and got ourselves marooned on a floating dock until some distant cousins came to the rescue. The food was all as it should be, though we almost missed the homemade chicken and got stuck with the stuff somebody picked up at the deli. In the evening we went down to camp to watch several kids under slight supervision by the camp director and my brother (who are technically too old to be kids) set off fireworks wildly in all directions. We narrowly escaped being struck by an errant explosive--instead it hit the camp director in the seat of the pants, to the delight of all.
But this year all that was very far away. We made it to church with Abbey for the first time (though just for the potluck and afternoon service). I couldn't find anything patriotic that fit and seemed suitable for nursing. (Abbey wore her Fourth of July outfit, though.) The potluck was good, but nobody knows how to make orange bowknot rolls out here. We were too tired (well, Abbey and I were) when we got home to go to the band concert or fireworks display in town. So we went to bed. After Abbey went down we tried singing some patriotic songs and that helped, but it still didn't feel much like the Fourth.
Over the next few years no doubt we'll blend our own sauce of traditions that Abbey will look back on and think, "But if we don't do ________________ it won't feel like the Fourth of July!"
Traditions are the sauce in which a medley of years blends together into a single dish called the "Fourth of July."
Traditions string every Fourth from infancy to last year into one grand meld of sand and green water, fried chicken and orange bowknot rolls, relatives I don't know and those I do, squealing bottle rockets and Uncle Walt's harmonica that still lingers over the festivities though he's been gone for a decade. I still have my blue checked jumper and red t-shirt that matches the rest of the family.
Indeed, it is the Fourth's that weren't spent at Aunt Winnie's that stick out in my mind. The year we were waiting for Sarah to be born (she wasn't born for another week, but one of our cows had a calf that day, which we named Uncle Sam and revised to Aunt Samantha when we got a closer look). The year Dad had to work and we watched my weird aunt's friends come close to lighting Grandpa's field on fire. The year I spent most of the day in a hotel room in North Carolina, wishing DOB was online. (I did go to a quite enjoyable party that evening, where I learned several hilarious equipment-free games and that yellow squash makes a terrible pie.)
Last year was the pinnacle of Fourth of July celebrations. DOB came out on one of his rare visits before the wedding. The day was perfectly warm, dry, and sunny. (Generally in Washington summer weather arrives on the Fifth of July.) A musician was playing celtic harp on the ferry up to Whidbey Island. We rowed around the lagoon and got ourselves marooned on a floating dock until some distant cousins came to the rescue. The food was all as it should be, though we almost missed the homemade chicken and got stuck with the stuff somebody picked up at the deli. In the evening we went down to camp to watch several kids under slight supervision by the camp director and my brother (who are technically too old to be kids) set off fireworks wildly in all directions. We narrowly escaped being struck by an errant explosive--instead it hit the camp director in the seat of the pants, to the delight of all.
But this year all that was very far away. We made it to church with Abbey for the first time (though just for the potluck and afternoon service). I couldn't find anything patriotic that fit and seemed suitable for nursing. (Abbey wore her Fourth of July outfit, though.) The potluck was good, but nobody knows how to make orange bowknot rolls out here. We were too tired (well, Abbey and I were) when we got home to go to the band concert or fireworks display in town. So we went to bed. After Abbey went down we tried singing some patriotic songs and that helped, but it still didn't feel much like the Fourth.
Over the next few years no doubt we'll blend our own sauce of traditions that Abbey will look back on and think, "But if we don't do ________________ it won't feel like the Fourth of July!"
Friday, July 02, 2004
Rising Temperatures
It's being alleged that ads for "Farenheit 9/11" might run afoul of campaign finance law. It is not an absurd interpretation of the law--it shows the absurdity of the law itself. If you can't run ads saying "Bush is evil," you can't run ads saying, "Come watch our movie about Bush being evil." Is this an infringement on free speech? You bet.
Somebody--maybe Gephardt, I forget--commented during the adoption of the campaign finance law that we couldn't have both free speech and fair political campaigns. True indeed. Freedom is never fair. It just so happens under the Constitution of our country that freedom is protected, not some abstract "fairness" standard where every campaign is equally funded and has equally clever ads.
It's possible Moore will get a free ride by being part of the media, which further underscores the problems with this law. Since when did the media have a greater right to free speech than the rest of us? What does one have to do to get in the protected "media" class? And if the government decides who the "press" is, how much freedom of the press do we really have?
Upholding the campaign finance law has to have been one of the stupidest and most dangerous SCOTUS precedents of recent years. There's a reason the First Amendment is First--free political speech is our first line of defense against every other abuse government might deploy. Unfortunately under current First Amendment law, political speech, the bastion of a free nation, is less protected than erotic dancing, whose benefit to society is only slightly less dubious than its relevance to "free speech" at all.
On an only slightly related note, is it just me or is "Farenheit 9/11" a really dumb title? I assume it's a takeoff on "Farenheit 451" (which I haven't read but my sister says it's good), which made sense: the temperature at which paper burns as the title for a book about bookburning. But what kind of temperature is 9/11? .8182 degrees?
It's being alleged that ads for "Farenheit 9/11" might run afoul of campaign finance law. It is not an absurd interpretation of the law--it shows the absurdity of the law itself. If you can't run ads saying "Bush is evil," you can't run ads saying, "Come watch our movie about Bush being evil." Is this an infringement on free speech? You bet.
Somebody--maybe Gephardt, I forget--commented during the adoption of the campaign finance law that we couldn't have both free speech and fair political campaigns. True indeed. Freedom is never fair. It just so happens under the Constitution of our country that freedom is protected, not some abstract "fairness" standard where every campaign is equally funded and has equally clever ads.
It's possible Moore will get a free ride by being part of the media, which further underscores the problems with this law. Since when did the media have a greater right to free speech than the rest of us? What does one have to do to get in the protected "media" class? And if the government decides who the "press" is, how much freedom of the press do we really have?
Upholding the campaign finance law has to have been one of the stupidest and most dangerous SCOTUS precedents of recent years. There's a reason the First Amendment is First--free political speech is our first line of defense against every other abuse government might deploy. Unfortunately under current First Amendment law, political speech, the bastion of a free nation, is less protected than erotic dancing, whose benefit to society is only slightly less dubious than its relevance to "free speech" at all.
On an only slightly related note, is it just me or is "Farenheit 9/11" a really dumb title? I assume it's a takeoff on "Farenheit 451" (which I haven't read but my sister says it's good), which made sense: the temperature at which paper burns as the title for a book about bookburning. But what kind of temperature is 9/11? .8182 degrees?
Midnight Screaming in Perspective
We received an email this morning from one of the other couples in our birthing class. Their little boy was born a day after Abbey . . . and has been in NICU ever since, due to meconium inhalation and pulmonary problems. They're looking forward to bringing him home this weekend.
I can put up with any amount of screaming to have my baby here with me.
She didn't scream at midnight last night, although she did have quite a fussy session this morning while she was supposed to be blissfully sleeping so we could get DOB off to work.
We received an email this morning from one of the other couples in our birthing class. Their little boy was born a day after Abbey . . . and has been in NICU ever since, due to meconium inhalation and pulmonary problems. They're looking forward to bringing him home this weekend.
I can put up with any amount of screaming to have my baby here with me.
She didn't scream at midnight last night, although she did have quite a fussy session this morning while she was supposed to be blissfully sleeping so we could get DOB off to work.
Thursday, July 01, 2004
The Duke Returneth
DOB has finally found a way to work blogging into his schedule. So go check it out. This has been precipitated by the discovery of Blogger's email posting function, so that he can simply email the text he wants to the site. For some reason this makes him feel that it is easier to post, although I have trouble understanding why, since the email posting function always messes up the formatting and he winds up having to tinker with it via the regular posting format anyway. But whatever works, I guess.
DOB has finally found a way to work blogging into his schedule. So go check it out. This has been precipitated by the discovery of Blogger's email posting function, so that he can simply email the text he wants to the site. For some reason this makes him feel that it is easier to post, although I have trouble understanding why, since the email posting function always messes up the formatting and he winds up having to tinker with it via the regular posting format anyway. But whatever works, I guess.
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