Why Won't You Grow?!

Cesarea, Haifa, Acco

noreply@blogger.com (David) — Sat, 18 Feb 2012 18:37:00 +0000

Thursday night after Jerusalem, some of Lynda's coworkers began their trip home to Ohio. On Friday, Lynda and I went with a few of our remaining trip-mates to take a tour north from Tel Aviv to visit some of Israel's Roman Era past.

We left the hotel at 7:15 and boarded the tour bus with some strangers, then left for our first stop at Cesarea, an old port city built from nothing by Herod the Great back in the First Century A.D. Herod built a sea wall and constructed a deep water port for trading ships, making Cesarea an important port on the trade routes between Rome and the Far East. With the port in place, the city grew large by the standards of the era. But, as I can tell from my visit, the Mediterranean Sea can be a turbulent place.

Even though Cesarea grew to feature an amphitheater, a hippodrome, and lots of impressive buildings and towers, the sea won in the end. One storm that was too strong damaged the break wall and the harbor was also broken. Combined with the growing decline of the Roman Empire, Cesarea began a slow decline and the population began to go elsewhere.

Our tour took us to the amphitheater, across the excavations of the remaining portions of the hippodrome, and gave us the chance to see some bits of the decorations from when Herod lived by the sea. The tour guide and driver--named Menachem--also showed us a cornerstone of a house that (supposedly) Pontius Pilate built to gain favor of one of his superiors. I admit that I wasn't paying as much attention to all that Menachem was telling us because I was intent on taking pictures and looking for interesting stones to take home. (Don't worry, I never pried anything out if a wall, but made sure to only collected rocks that we were walking on. This probably ensured that it was trucked to the site fifteen years ago during a rehabilitation of the tourist site.)

Also, Menachem was very conscious of keeping us moving from place to place. We did have a full schedule of places to see and driving in between, but there was the added pressure of getting places and finishing before Sabbath (Shabbat) began at sundown. Not that Menachem was particularly Orthodox--that I could tell--but when a fair portion of restaurants and services shut down for the next 24 hours, there was a stopwatch on us.

In Cesarea and for the rest of the day, Menachem would lead the group from location to location, give a five-minute lecture on why we were seeing what we were seeing, then let us loose to wander and take photographs. He normally gave us five minutes . . . ten if the spot was bigger or somehow more complicated. I tried my best to capture the feel of places, but the camera lens always narrows the field of experience and the eye's memories are always so much more impressive. (I also never figured out how to get the Panorama feature to operate on my camera.)

I also tried to keep including my touring friends in the pictures. Though it might make some of them harder to use later in my "btw" country profile on Israel, I didn't want my memories to be confined solely to rock, wall, and water. I am quite sure I got a large percentage of that, I hope the himan experience will also come through. (As soon as I can download things from my digital camera, I'll point you to those banks of captioned photos.)

After Cesarea, we continued the drive to Haifa, where we were supposed to see the Ba'Hai Gardens. But due to the rains that happened off and on during our drives, the series of steps that led down to the gardens were viewed as too slippery for touring and the gate had been closed before we arrived. So we took pictures from above, looking down at the crescent of the city built up along the shore of the Mediterranean and coming up the hills towards where we stood. It was a pretty remarkable view, even so.

[Side note amongst all of the memories and thoughts--our guide told us of a saying about the cities I experienced during the week there: "In Haifa, they work; in Jerusalem, they pray; in Tel Aviv, they party."]

From Haifa, we drove to Acco, where we saw a former prison building from some time in the past--I don't remember what Menachem said about that. But what was especially interesting about that was while the prison was being used, one prisoner tried to tunnel out of this cell and in so doing, uncovered an entire underground structure beneath the prison that dated back to the Crusades. So we toured through the cavernous halls beneath the prison. I couldn't help but think of the halls of Rohan or the mines of Moria as I walked between the big columns, the vaulted domes in the ceiling above and the like. (And the fact that they were doing reconstruction and restoration work on some of the columns and areas around us emphasized the "unnaturalness" of the experience.)

Acco wasn't the overwhelming experience of Jerusalem or the scenic experience of Cesarea. But it was a nice place to walk, experience history, and be around the people of Israel. Tourism is an isolating experience, and at times, you can feel very foreign and very "managed." The anthropologist in me doesn't like to feel so separated from everyone around me, emphasizing my difference. But it was a bit unavoidable in this circumstance. And since this was my first immersion into a foreign country and I wasn't prepared to try driving a rental car on my own and didn't have the language skills to so it alone, I think this was a good first attempt. Maybe if I ever go back to Israel, Lynda and I (and the kids?) can do more exploration on our own. But for the first experience, being managed worked well for us.

After the Crusades experience, we went for lunch at a cafe in Acco. Here was one of the more enjoyable moments of this day, as we talked one on one with some of the other tourists on this trip. While eating falafal, I found out that I was sharing a table with a couple from Melbourne, Australia who stayed in our Tel Aviv hotel when it was first opened decades ago. We also got to know a young German man staying in a Tel Aviv hostel and traveling alone while he took a break from his medical studies. Finally, we met a young Chinese woman who was in Tel Aviv for business and had extra time to explore the country. There were all nice people and good lunch companions. It was pleasant to spend some time talking about our own experiences and breaking down the barriers of our diversity. Later that evening, when we all departed the bus, we could say goodbye to each other with a bit more meaning.

The last stop for this day of touring was probably the most interesting and impressive--the Grottoes at Rosh-Hanikra.

Supposedly, when he was young Menachem swam here with his friends, and based on the pounding of the Mediterranean Sea into the cliff-side, he must have been something of a daredevil during his youth. We rode the cable cars down to the grotto entrance and our guide informed us that when he told us to go, we had to walk quickly along the pathways carved into the cliff side going down and around at sea level.

I was glad that there was a handrail, because the tunnel floor was slick with rain and sea mist. In a few spots, I might have lost my balance if not for holding on. But I had decided to take my iPad down here with me, to capture video of the tide pounding in and out, so I was also worried about dropping it. (I didn't.)

Menachem was intent on hurrying us through, but at one point, he was paused right in front of Lynda. I think he was waiting on people in front of us to move. But as we stood there, the seawater surged up from a tunnel behind us and flowed down the tunnel towards us. With our backs turned, we didn't know it was happening until we felt the water hit our feet and soak up to our ankles. There was a lot of unexpected shrieks and laughter.

Lynda wasn't entirely happy about getting her socks and shoes wet, but I thought it was a fun surprise. When we got back to the hotel that night, we used the bathroom hairdryer to prevent the sneakers from mildewing and after all, everything worked out fine.

It was a long day of travel and sightseeing, and when we got back to Tel Aviv, the sun was going down and Sabbath was underway. This was driven home when we got to the hotel elevators and found this sign waiting for us.


Dear guests. The left elevator is in a Shabbat position. For your convenience, please use the right elevator. Enjoy your stay. The Management.

As Brian explained to us, an elevator in the Shabbat position moves automatically from floor-to-floor, one level at a time. This allows the Orthodox to ride the elevator without doing "the work" of pushing a floor button. I loved this small window into the culture all around me. Just another example of how fun a trip like this can be.

Jerusalem--the Old City

noreply@blogger.com (David) — Mon, 13 Feb 2012 13:04:00 +0000

After Lynda was done with her work on Wednesday, the company paid for them (as well as Matt and I) to take a tour of Jerusalem. We left after a brief time at the Tel Aviv office and took a tour bus w/ guide into the city. Along the way we learned some brief history about Israel.

Once in the city, we stopped at an overlook of the many hills that make up The Holy City. Our guide--who's name I never heard--showed us the area of the Old City within the walls, as well as the hills making up the Mount of Olives and another Mount that I can't now recall. After this orientation, we drove down into the city and entered the Old City at the Jaffa Gate.

Then we walked through the inclined, narrow alleys that are lined with a dizzying number of merchants selling everything from scarves to jewelry to trinkets to olive wood carvings to souvenir plates, to food, to whatever. (You know, some people had warned me about security issues in Israel, but I was more worried about the merchants and the prospect of haggling than I ever was with muggers or terrorists or whatever. But, unless you saw something you wanted, you just keep on walking, right?)

And speaking of walking, there was a lot of it to do in Jerusalem. As I said, the streets of the old city were more like ramps going up and down. There were steps cut into the inclines, with narrow inclines set between steps. I thought that the ramps were placed there for strollers, but when I passed a mother lifting, lifting, lifting her own stroller I found that wasn't the case. Whether it was intentional or not, the moped riders were taking the most advantage of them, quickly maneuvering through the crowds and going up and down.

I wonder if the ramps were a new addition to the streets in a renovation some decade past. It is always a valid question when visiting a tourist city, even one as ancient as Jerusalem--and maybe even MORE valid in such a place . . . how real is what you see? Certainly the buildings are real, and that is a spectacular experience to see the inside of the Church of the Holy Sepelchure, when before you've only seen photos. The building has stood since the Middle Ages and millions have passed through it. The mosaic art on the walls and the architectural detailing are worth every moment. To count myself among those to have seen it is so meaningful. But, was Jesus nailed to the cross in that corner of the building, hung to die only five feet to the left of that, then laid in a tomb that is--unexpectedly--another twenty-five feet to the left of that and down some stairs? Really?

To say that the Bible never gives the impression of such proximity is, obviously, a useless argument for or against. I've always believed the Bible to be a good approximation of the life of Jesus and a guideline of how to live a Godly life. It can't be taken as a verifiably accurate description of how it really happened. And especially not for the most critical moments that must mean the most. As with other aspects of religion, the believer must act on faith and live in hope. So, is the Church of the Holy Sepulchre a shrine or an amazing museum and recreation? My historical objectivity must claim the latter, and that does not weaken my spiritual experience.

Maybe that is why it felt more meaningful to visit the Temple Mount later that day. Here was a historical place filled with actuality AND spiritual depth. Here I could take a short prayer, place a tourist yarmulke on my head, approach the Wall, place my prayer, touch the stones, and think about where I was, how I got there, say a prayer of thanks and hope, and look into the twilight with people all around me.

Thinking back, this moment, alone in my own personal silence, was the biggest blessing and the greatest gift. (I am choking up and tearing as I try to explain it.) I am so lucky to have the beauty of my life and to have the chance to have that moment is built upon the love, work, and friendship of so many people in my life, past and present. I hope they can be assured that I am grateful to them for the role they play in my life.

Old Jaffa on Wednesday

noreply@blogger.com (David) — Thu, 09 Feb 2012 07:57:00 +0000

Karen's husband Matt accompanied me to the city of Old Jaffa on Wednesday morning. We walked along the paved walkway, south to Old Jaffa, which sits on a small promontory bluff above the sea.

I didn't read all of the historical signs available, but I think that among the many peoples that have lived and controlled Jaffa in the past, the French are among them. This assumption is partly based on the fact that the historical markers used to point out important sites is a statue of a Napoleonic looking soldier. The soldier stands with his arm out, holding a sign that says Historic Site and something in Hebrew.

Matt and I walked up and down the twisting alleys and steps throughout the morning, taking lots of pictures of the old stone walls, trees, doors, and things.

It is a funny thing that tourists do--what might I think if someone walked into my yard, stopped, and took a picture of my front door for some reason? But I've never lived in a historic, picturesque, town on a bluff above the Mediterranean Sea . . .

At one point, Matt wanted to takes picture of an interesting tree that was down some steps within a courtyard. We met a woman at an art studio that immediately began talking to us and ushered us into her studio, closing the door. We learned that she was the daughter of the artist who began the studio--lots of silhouette imagery of Jews in traditional black clothing in front of white backgrounds. Some had a layered, 3D effect. The art was nice, I guess, but felt a bit too . . . immigrant? Not native or based on history? Something that was aimed at tourists possibly?

The woman we spoke to was from New Jersey, actually. She seemed to enjoy speaking English to someone--but was also hoping to make a sale, I'm sure. Her elderly parents lived above and were getting to old to manage all the stairs up and down to the studio space. She was helping them sell the studio so they could find a more suitable place to live at that point. (She was not a recent arrival in Israel, though. She went to university at some nearby city and did seem to enjoy living in Israel. Things were just in transition for her and her parents.)

Matt and I left after a few more minutes and continued our wandering. It was a beautiful, bright morning with cool breezes coming through the alleys at some spots to keep us cool.

Just before noon, we walked to the Roman Catholic church that dominates the plaza at the top of the bluff. We walked in St. Peter's Franciscan church for a few moments and I took some photos of the painted ceiling (the Keys to the Kingdom among other symbols) and the altar decorations. After only a few mental, however, the Franciscan priest appeared and ushered us out. He said that the church was closing (for lunch, maybe?)

Matt and I then took a break, ate some fruit and nuts and drank water. We watched a family get some pictures taken by a fountain across the plaza where we sat. The fountain featured lots of kid-friendly, cartoonish characters, some with water coming out of mouths.

The leader of the group we were watching was very loud and boisterous, which I understand is very Mediterranean . . . but he was really telling everyone what to do in such tones! Quite dominating! It made me wonder if the family had been traveling and taking pictures for days and he was saying something like "Just ONE more by this fountain! Hurry UP grandma, over HERE! Yes, right HERE! Hurry!" (You know, like you do when you've been sightseeing a bit too long.)

On our way out of Jaffa, Matt was asked to take a group picture of some Israeli teens wandering through. (There was no school that day, or it was a holiday celebrating trees--sort of like our Arbor Day. At the Time To Know office where Lynda was working that day, they planted a new tree.)

Two of the teens were girls in the military, providing their mandatory service to the State. They were in uniform and one carried a rifle. I had been told it was not allowed to take photographs of the military, but Matt and I guessed that if they ask you--and seem to be off-duty?--maybe it's no big deal?

On the way back to the hotel in Tel Aviv, we wandered through the shopping district, a bazaar-like maze of shops selling everything from second-hand furniture of all sorts, to shoes, tee-shirts, restaurants, restaurant-grade kitchen equipment . . . everything with no rhyme or reason. Everything is so non-corporate and individualized, it appears strange and haphazard to me. But it had a fun energy as well.

Eventually, we made it back to the hotel, footsore and with aching legs. I went up to my room, got out of my sweaty clothes and lay down in the hotel bathrobe to nap and watch some TV. I dozed a bit and also ate fruit provided by the hotel in honor of the holiday being celebrated.

It was a great first day. Today, as I write this, I am in the offices where Lynda has been working this week. After they have a few meetings, our group is being taken to Jerusalem for the afternoon. So much more excitement is yet to come and be described. Stay tuned!

Breakfast

noreply@blogger.com (David) — Wed, 08 Feb 2012 07:26:00 +0000

There were many varieties of food in the hotel restaurant today--eggs, pancakes, fruit, cereal in concession to westerners. But there were also quinoa salad, broccoli tops (spicy, surprisingly), creese spreads, sliced vegetables, salmon, and much more.

This is a fancy place, so I don't imagine this is "normal" breakfast. But it more closely resembled a swank church pot luck or a spread of hors de oeuvres at a party. An interesting beginning.

NOTE: I thought it gauche to take a photo of the food, so no picture. Maybe I'll get over some of that tourist hesitation or I'll have no memories.

Today, while everyone else is working, Matt (Karen E.'s husband) and I will walk to Old Jaffe and look around. More pictures will result from that.

The Doorknob Incident

noreply@blogger.com (David) — Mon, 06 Feb 2012 00:59:00 +0000

About a week and a half ago, I tweeted that I was the world's worst handyman. If you have been following me on Twitter, you might have had a few reactions--

reaction a.) What? No! Say it ain't so David?!

reaction b.) Well, of course you are. Have you not MET you, because I have . . . and, trust me that this is not news to anyone else. More proof that Twitter is worthless!

reaction c.) An interesting statement; can you provide more details to back up your assertion?

I am going to satisfy those who had reaction c. Reactioners A--thank you for you blind faith. Oh, and Reactioners B? A bit strong, don't you think? Do you have a show on the DIY Network that I am unaware of?

The Details:
A few weeks back, Sarah told me after work that her key had not been working and she couldn't get into the house after school. So, I took her key and tried it. Sure enough, the key wouldn't slide completely into the lock and resisted turning. I couldn't figure out what the problem was until Sarah admitted that she had--for some reason--stuck a twig into the deadbolt when the initial attempt had gone wrong. So, there was a bit of wood deep down in the mechanism jamming up the works. I knew that I wasn't going to be able to fix that, so I resigned myself to getting a new deadbolt and doorknob set.

Once I had bought the new hardware for the door, I set about doing the simple replacement work one evening after work. The kids got in and I set to work.

Taking the old stuff out wasn't hard. Just some screws to remove and the the knobs came off and the latch mechanism was freed. Similarly, a few screws turned and the deadbolt was out.

Simple.

Then, I set to work putting in the mew hardware for the knob and door latch. I saw from the instructions that my old door had not utilized the faceplate on the side of the door, so I couldn't install it on this one without making everything too thick to allow the door to close. But the instructions showed me how to pop off the packaged plate and use an optional one in the packaging.

Done. Still easy.

So, I slipped the latch mechanism into the hole drilled into the narrow side of the door.And then I positioned the outside and inside parts of the doorknob in place and tightened down the screws. One half done, right? Well . . . no . . . because when I tried to latch the door, I found that I had positioned the latch facing the wrong direction. The little triangular bit that juts out from the door and slips into the hole on the door jam wouldn't slip because the sloped part was facing inward toward the house and not outward to the street. Dismayed, I loosened the screws, removed the knobs, and pulled out the latching piece. I checked the instructions to make sure that I was correctly identifying the problem, flipped the latch, reattached the knobs, tightened the screws . . . and then realized that I had unconsciously installed the knob pieces in the top hole where the deadbolt goes!

Pause . . .

. . . what?!

Seriously . . . what?!

It was at this soul-shredding moment that I sent out this tweet lamenting my ineptitude.But I managed to get over it and moved on. I (once again) removed the misplaced doorknob setup, moved it down to the proper hole, and did it all over again.

And then I got around to fixing on the deadbolt. It was a lot simpler, considering that I had already made just about every mistake that you might possibly figure out how to make. And eventually, it was all in place and things were set. But it was a cavalcade of errors to get there.

And if I can't manage such a simple task as this . . . then, well what else might I screw up next? Stay tuned to find out.

Birthday pictures

noreply@blogger.com (David) — Sat, 21 Jan 2012 22:19:00 +0000

Three years and 363 days ago, Hannah entered out lives. And so today we celebrated her with a superhero and princess birthday party at our house. A few of her boy and girl friends came over dressed as princesses or superheroes and played some games, ate some food, and generally had a good time.

Our littlest princess

As usual, Lynda was hyper-prepared for the event. Each attendee would get a custom-made cape (for superhero boys) or cloak (for princessy girls). The kids could make their own emblem to go on the back that was then hot-glued to their cape for play while they were at the party or once they got home.

Hannah's cape.

Lynda has also prepared some other games, such as "Pin the Mask on the Superhero" and "Pin the Crown on the Princess." But not many of the kids were warmed up enough and comfortable enough to play those games. I tried to get the ball rolling, and played a bit. And Sarah gave it a try as well. But it didn't really catch on.

Not to worry though, there were lots of other choices ready to go. We also played a bit of Freeze Dance. We started with some old traditional songs such as "B.I.N.G.O." and "The Farmer in the Dell." But the kids didn't really start dancing until Sarah dialed up "Pokerface" on her iPhone.

(Kids today . . . )

The cupcakes on our cupcake tree were a nice decorative hit. And they tasted really good.
This was in lieu of a cake and it was a good idea.

There were other games and activities for the kids as well, such as a superhero or princess coloring page. A few of the kids enjoyed this as well, but mostly only for a few minutes. We had to keep throwing new things at them constantly to keep them interested.

Grace worked throughout to keep the kids directed from one activity to the next. She loved it and was quite good at it. (One of the parents thought that Grace had a future as either a life coach or a television talk show host.)

Sarah, predictably, was the most interested in the coloring station.

In the front room, Grace had set up a maze/obstacle course for the kids to crawl through. It was an initial hit with the boys while the girls were coloring.

Despite all of the careful planning, however, when given freedom to do their own thing, the kids went up to Hannah's room and dragged out all of her toys, destroying the room in about two minutes flat. And when they were done with that . . .

. . . they headed down to the basement and played with things down there. It took a few more minutes to locate and spread all the toys across the floor down there, but soon it was all done. It was a mess, but they were all having a fun time playing with each other like they do at daycare. (And it gave the parents a chance to sit down upstairs and chat.)

Parents Wordle

noreply@blogger.com (David) — Fri, 06 Jan 2012 00:00:00 +0000

Most of the time, the papers that the kids bring home from school are just the daily detritus of their time away from us . . . worksheets, old tests, homework papers we first saw when they were blank and mysterious. And after a perfunctory scan to see that there are no important notes from the teacher, a report from the school nurse, or warnings of academic insufficiency . . . they are recycled or tossed into the trash can.

So, when Sarah pulled out a stack of papers this afternoon, I was prepared for more of the same. I flipped through and examined the old tests, to see what she had been getting wrong. I looked for old stories that I didn't know she had written. I check teacher comments to see encouraging things like "Good job!" "Well described!" and the like.

But then I saw a Wordle in the mix and a few of the words caught my eye--words I recognized such as "boo yah." "awesome," and "Mom." I asked her what it was and found that in her technology class last month they were asked to create a Wordle describing her parents. And I am happy to see the nice things that Sarah conjured to describe us.

Enjoy!
(I know that I did.)

So, do I go to the Gray Havens now?

noreply@blogger.com (David) — Mon, 02 Jan 2012 17:22:00 +0000


Credit: wikipedia.org

(In case you don't know what I'm talking about, review this post for some context.)

I made one major mistake when we loaded up the car and headed to Georgia two weeks ago.

I forgot Mr. Mustachio and in doing so, fundamentally failed in my role as Forkmaster. I had previously boxed Mustachio up and he was waiting, patiently waiting beside my keys and wallet every day. But as things that sit for so long often do, it became scenery and I quit noticing it. So, in the rush of getting ready to leave, it was abandoned like Kevin in "Home Alone."

Somewhere around Northern Kentucky, it dawned on me what I had done. But it was too late to turn around. So I began mulling over what I would say to my family when we gathered. How would I tell them that the transfer of the Forkmaster responsibilities would be delayed? Sure, like the Ring, the power of Mustachio had twisted our minds during the past year, and we all know that the Bearer of a Fork of Power is loathe to give it up. But would I be exposed as a feeble-willed Boromir, or would I stand up strong like Sam, temporary Ring Bearer though he might be. Could I give it up properly?

Once we got home, I began my preparations. I found suitable reference materials in LotR to explain my mistake. I wrote a warning note to those who next bear the responsibility. And I reluctantly let Mustachio move on.

You can see what I provided by visiting my Tumblr page, which is linked here.

Toys from the Past

noreply@blogger.com (David) — Sun, 25 Dec 2011 02:12:00 +0000

I found this in the downstairs toy storage of Nana's and Poppa's cabin. This should be a cautionary tale to all children who don't know how boring and disinteresting previous childhoods used to be.

Welcome humans!

noreply@blogger.com (David) — Sat, 24 Dec 2011 15:39:00 +0000

Credit: David Martin, et. al. I found this by searching "Why Won't You Grow" and most of them came up me. So, I've got that going for me . . . which is nice.

If you are happening upon my blog for the first time, due to the recommendation of my friend Dean, then welcome to Why Won't You Grow?!

If you are wondering how I know Dean, we work together. I've visited his house, drank his wine, and eaten his wife's pizza. We've played Dungeons & Dragons together. He's also been to my house several times and even brought his children. I someday plan to sneak up on Arya and whisper "Winter is coming." to see what she might do.

So, what else might you want to know about me? Well, if you follow the links along the top of the blog, you can learn more about me and WWYG?! as well as visit my other digital sites on Facebook, Twitter, and Tumblr. If you are interested, you can ask me questions here or on the Tumblr site.

What else should you know? Well, most of my best ideas come to me in the shower . . . but they never seem to make it on screen as well as I'd like. For instance, I had lots of witty things to say in this post as I cleaned up this morning, but nothing new seems to be making in on this screen as I type.

Most of my recent posts show up on Twitter and Tumblr these days, so I welcome any new followers there. But if you aren't subscribed to those spaces, you can visit here. Anyway, welcome to the one or two of you that might show up here. And even hello to the inevitable spambots that might sneak this way.

Cookie time

noreply@blogger.com (David) — Sat, 17 Dec 2011 20:51:00 +0000

Credit: David T. Martin

Today was the day that we made our first--but perhaps not the only?--batch of Christmas cookies.

And that means making the dough, chilling the dough, making the icing, mixing the colors, cutting the shapes, baking the cookies, cooling the cookies, spreading the icing, shaking on the sprinkles, letting them all set . . .

. . . and then giving them away?

We'll see.

Sewing childhood memories

noreply@blogger.com (David) — Tue, 13 Dec 2011 01:06:00 +0000

Credit: David Martin

Yesterday the family ventured into JoAnn's Fabrics. Lynda was getting material to line the inside of her Girl Scout vest. As Lynda was choosing an appropriate bolt of fabric, I watched Hannah wander through the aisles of ribbons, buttons, sewing patterns, and all the Christmas ornaments and decorations.

As Hannah tried to convince me that we needed some kind of Disney-themed ribbon, I was reminded of the many days of my childhood where I was in Hannah's position. I was the one spending time in the fabric store while Mom searched the sewing patterns and the catalogs. This most often occurred when I was frequently visiting my orthopedic doctor in Albany, GA--and when Mom was sewing and knitting lots of clothes, sweaters, and blankets for us kids.

There is just something so Seventies about the entire experience. The books, the buttons, the no-nonsense warehouse-y feel of the stores, devoid of flashy screens, music, or mod decorations. Just white walls, plain floors, and aisles upon aisles of do-it-yourself materials.

I actually enjoyed the rows upon rows of ribbons, buttons, spools of thread, and all the rest. Perhaps that is what I like about the Things Organized Neatly Web site . (Or maybe that is just a manifestation of my own neatness issues.

No word yet on whether Hannah is similarly affected.

She's certainly committed to her persona, I'll give her that!

noreply@blogger.com (David) — Tue, 06 Dec 2011 23:09:00 +0000

Yesterday morning, driving to work, listening to Morning Edition on NPR, I heard an interview with entertainer and cultural gadabout Martha Stewart. And, I listened, because I like the types of things that she talks about and I enjoy her final products--even if I think she is waaaaay too determined to be the absolute best at entertaining to a microscopically insane degree.

The part of the interview that really caught my ear, however, was near the end when she made mention of the clay Nativity set that she made by hand while incarcerated a few years ago. (You can see a NPR-provided picture of the set below.)

Credit: npr.org

As she explained, while in the minimum-security institution, she unearthed the molds to this Nativity and then scrimped, traded, and saved her rationed goods to purchase clay to make each figurine. I imagined her joining up with a Red-like figure and negotiating a-la Shawshank Redemption to get whatever she needed to make this happen.

It just surprised me, and perhaps proves once and for all that the person Stewart presents to the camera is in-face who she really is. Because only the TV-personal Martha would make creating such a Nativity while in prison a priority above other things. So, if that makes her authentic . . . I guess I should applaud her.

NaBloWriMo #22: What's Next? Is that it?

noreply@blogger.com (David) — Fri, 25 Nov 2011 16:03:00 +0000

Credit: thestar.com

All holidays have a post-holiday letdown. Christmas certainly does, as it is the most over-hyped holiday and, in the end, it only lasts one day--just like all other days. And when it is over the mystery of the boxes are solved and you are left with empty boxes and ripped wrapping paper and it is just trash that is an obstacle when you sit down to drink coffee and think about writing (or in my case, too often ) not writing your Thank You notes.

And so, what of the Thanksgiving holiday letdown? People may extend the fun with Black Friday combat . . . if that is your sort of thing. And the turkey sandwiches are always nice and flavorful and the turkey tastes different when its cold and paired with mayonnaise or some of the leftover cranberry relish.

But the football is over . . . if that is your sort of thing. And the pies are mostly eaten and the pie crust is getting sort of flabby from the refrigerator. And gravy doesn't heat up well because it sort of separates. And really, what you want right now is a nice pizza.

When you were a kid, you could go outside and throw a football in the neighbor's yard. And you could watch your breath fog as you tried to get a spiral, just this once . . . ! But it ended up being a floppy, wobbly mess, sort of like what is left of the chocolate pie if you combined it with some gravy. Yuk. But it feels good to run and get a little sweat under your corduroy shirt. And maybe you dived a bit to try and make a catch on the Frisbee, because you abandoned the football and went to something that you are better at throwing. You fell on your knees and got them muddy in the soggy ground of your neighbor's yard. But that is okay because you are running and the turkey is in the refrigerator and maybe later you'll play a card game with your family and have some hot chocolate to warm you up from being outside.

So, embrace the time off. Breathe some fresh air that doesn't have a turkey smell. Take a walk. Carry a book with you on that walk and find a dry spot to sit in the autumnal sun and read.

Don't forget that being thankful is not a once-a-year proposition. The hoopla and the hype comes and goes. It is what YOU choose to do with your time that is always the most important factor in how you feel.

NaBloWriMo #21: Character study

noreply@blogger.com (David) — Wed, 23 Nov 2011 15:07:00 +0000

Credit: wiggersfurniture.blogspot.com

Credit: hp-lexicon.org

While I wait for my turkey brining liquid to cool, I offer you this thought question.

I identify more with Barney Rubble and Ron Weasley.

What does that say about me?

NaBloWriMo #20: The Morality of Larry Gelbart?

noreply@blogger.com (David) — Wed, 23 Nov 2011 01:48:00 +0000

I’ve been watching the PBS series America in Primetime the last several weeks. (You can read about the series here. If you like television, I recommend the series.) During this past week’s episode, “The Crusader,” there is a brief moment where Judd Apatow is ruminating on the notion that he incorporated some of his sense of right and wrong by watching M*A*S*H twice a day, five days a week in reruns.

Since this perfectly describes how I also experienced M*A*S*H (which is one of my all-time favorite television shows), it got me wondering if I might also have learned something of morality from the likes of “Hawkeye” Pierce and Larry Gelbart.

While I’m sure the lions share of the credit goes to my mom and dad and my hometown church, there is probably some truth to the idea.

It makes we weep for the generation who was weened on the likes of Fear Factor and the Kardashians.

NaBloWriMo #19: Goodbye to a family friend

noreply@blogger.com (David) — Sun, 20 Nov 2011 23:20:00 +0000

I didn't post anything yesterday, so I blew my post-a-day pledge that is the basis for the NaBloWriMo project.

But I'm back at it today and in preparation for the task, I decided to review my unpublished drafts of posts never finished to see if there was a kernel of an idea that I could elaborate on tonight. And to my surprise and chagrin, I found that I have the start of a post for one of my families oldest friends, written when I heard that she had died back in November of 2009. It embarrasses me to see that I started something for her, but (for reasons I can't recall) didn't follow through to the end and give her something of a remembrance.She was a dear friend to me growing up, a continuous presence in my childhood and at my church. She was almost like a second mother, or at least another aunt, someone who watched over me when I needed it and always wanted to know how I was doing. So, to finish what I started, here are some thoughts about Sally that I started almost two years ago and am going to finish tonight.

Sally Beaumont with baby Sarah

I heard earlier this week that a long-time friend of my family died in her sleep.

Sally Beaumont was, I think, 80 years old. She had lived a long, happy life with her husband and her three children. She lived in the house across the street where I grew up and I spent a great deal of my childhood playing in their house and in their yard. So much of what I know of her comes from the perspective of a kid that didn't really know much about what made people happy or when they might be sad. My memories of her are good ones, but they are the hazy, uninformed memories of a child. Sally's presence was always around me during my youth and I am sorry to know that she is gone--though I know she is feeling better where she is now.

I have a great deal of impressionistic memories of being with the Beaumonts on Woodruff Street. I played basketball in their driveway all the time, not to mention playing baseball in their yard, watching others play football in the same yard, or throwing a Frisbee. I also fished in their pond, played in their house, and generally spent many of my waking outside hours in or around their home.

In fact, it wasn't just when I was a kid. As these pictures of high school me playing basketball against college-aged Mike prove, much of the outdoor activities on Woodruff Street ended up across the street at the Beaumonts. All of use played lots of sports in their yard. In fact, the only window I've ever broken was located directly behind the person that took this photograph, in the outside wall of their house.

Driving to the hoop against Mike

Trying, in vain, to block Mike's shot

It happened like this--one day I took a tennis ball and decided to spend my time bouncing it against the brick exterior of their house, in the rectangle of space between their driveway home entrance and the big window that brought light into their game room (more on that room below). I threw the ball against the wall and caught it in my baseball glove as it rebounded off of the driveway pavement and kicked up into the air. I imagined that I was playing infield for the Atlanta Braves, snagging hard hit ground balls to my left and to my right.

After many minutes of this play, I got off balance and threw the ball while leaning too far to the left. The ball sailed right and smacked right into the window, cracking the glass. I don't know if the ball went clean through the glass or just cracked it and bounced back towards me, because by then I had already spun around and was running as fast as I could down the driveway, across the street, and to my house. (I guess I was trying to get away from the scene of the crime as fast as I could.) I got to my house (seen directly in the background of the right basketball photo above) in what seemed to be 5 seconds. I doubt I've ever run as fast as I did at that moment. I was a sweaty mess, shaky with fear at what I'd done.

After I calmed down, I confessed my deed and went back over to their house to explain what had happened. I know I helped pay for the replacement, but I don't remember how much it cost or how long it took me. But I know that Sally and Joe weren't angry or dismissive of me.

Sally was also the organist at our church. As a fellow musician, she was a big supporter of my brother Andy during his musical training in high school and during college. She helped him arrange musical performances for various auditions he had over the years and always played an important role in his life as well.

Sally had an organ in her house that I played on many times as a kid, mostly just messing around with pretend chords and trying out the different tones, styles, and pre-programmed electronic beats by flipping all of the multicolored switches that electric organs have. In that same room where the organ was--a converted garage I believe, the Beaumonts also had a storage closet where they kept their fishing gear, assorted household stuff, and lots more. I remember standing in the closet sometimes looking up at shelves that seemed to be ten or twelve feet over my head, stretching up on my tiptoes to find something. I loved to go in there and look at all of their stuff. I didn't even know what half of it was.

The Beaumonts were a fixture throughout my childhood and, as a child, people that I took for granted. Sally was so kind to me throughout my life, showing pride in all of my small accomplishments. I hope that she knows how important to me she was, even if I wasn't mature enough to really tell her in the way that she deserved.

NaBloWriMo #18: Salty

noreply@blogger.com (David) — Sat, 19 Nov 2011 02:02:00 +0000

Thanksgiving is less than a week away, so I thought I'd help you out by suggesting a simple way to make your turkey better.

Credit: flickr.com/cookthinker

Brine it!

You may not be surprised by this, as it has become increasing popular in recent years, but I can tell you from experience that it is the right way to prepare your turkey to ensure moistness and flavor. We brined our Thanksgiving turkey last year for the first time and it was a unqualified success. (And this was with a run-on-the-mill, grocery store box brine.)

And if we can do it, you absolutely can do it too.

The next question is . . . how?

Well, if you're reading this, you are familiar with the Internet, so searching for a turkey brine recipe won't present much of a challenge for you. If you do go that route, I suggest selecting anything created by Alton Brown. He's a good chef, an awesome guy, he lives in Atlanta, he puts up with TONS of unwanted Twitter hatred, and he created one of the best cooking shows every broadcast.

But, if we can get personal for just a minute, let me suggest you do what I am going to be doing on Wednesday. I'm going to be using my sister-in-law's brine recipe. You may recall that earlier this month, I told you that Amy and her sister were appearing on the Paula Deen "Best Dishes" Food Network program. So, you now know that Amy is good enough at what she does to be on TV. (And I happen to know that she just filming ANOTHER visit to Paula's kitchen just this week, so she's definitely good enough do it TWICE.)

Amy's turkey brine recipe & complete set of instructions:

2 gallons of water or vegetable stock
2 cups of kosher salt
2 cups of sugar
1 tablespoon black peppercorns
1 ½ teaspoons allspice berries
2 bay leaves
14-16 lb. turkey

Directions
Combine stock, salt, sugar, peppercorns, allspice berries and bay leaves in a large stock pot
Heat over medium high heat, stirring to dissolve sugar and salt
Allow the broth to cool, add ice
Combine the brine and turkey in a 5 gallon bucket or a stainless steel pot
Place the turkey in the brine breast side down; making sure that the turkey is completely submerged
Cover and refrigerate for 8 – 16 hours

Remove bird and rinse inside and out, discard the brine
Pat turkey dry with paper towels
Make the compound butter (recipe follows)
Using a long, thin flexible rubber spatula or your hand, slowly slide the tool between the skin and the flesh of the breasts on both side of the breastbone
The skin is pretty tough and won’t tear if you do it carefully
Do this on both sides of the breast bone but leave the skin attached along the center of breastbone itself
Stuff the compound butter under the skin on both sides
Rub the butter on the skin of the turkey, legs and wings

Place the bird in a roasting pan, breast side up
Roast the turkey on lowest level of the oven at 500 degrees F for 30 minutes
Reduce heat to 350 degree
A 14 to 16 pound bird should require a total of 2 to 2 1/2 hours of roasting
Let the turkey rest, loosely covered with foil or a large mixing bowl for 15 minutes before carving

Compound Butter
3/4 cup unsalted butter, room temperature
1/3 cup finely chopped green onion tops
2 tablespoons chopped fresh thyme
2 tablespoons of fresh rosemary
2 tablespoons of basil
1 1/2 teaspoons salt
1 1/4 teaspoons coarsely ground black pepper

Directions
Whisk all ingredients in medium bowl.
Cover and chill.
Bring to room temperature before using
Spread lavishly under the skin of the bird

You WON'T regret this. But just remember to give yourself plenty of time to thaw the bird AND allow for the necessary amount of brine time.

(If you follow my suggestion, please leave comments on how things turned out.)

NaBloWriMo #17: T-Shirts Strike Back!

noreply@blogger.com (David) — Fri, 18 Nov 2011 01:43:00 +0000

In yesterday's post, I got all mopey about the fact that my clothes were boring and ordinary.

There was, however, a significant portion of my closet that didn't get represented in that sad assessment.

My t-shirts reminded me that they are quite colorful, very diverse, and anything but ordinary.

The only problem with that is, I don't get to wear them to work everyday.

Curse my corporate, office-based job!

(Actually, no . . . DON'T curse my job. I need my job.)

NaBloWriMo #16: Ordinary

noreply@blogger.com (David) — Thu, 17 Nov 2011 01:18:00 +0000

Credit: jamieford.com

Lacking any other idea for tonight's post, I thought I'd take advantage of an old standby and add another entry to The Clothing Project. But when I stepped into the closet and took a look at the options, I was confronted by the fact that I think I've covered all of the interesting clothes already. All that is left are nondescript khaki pants, suits, plain button up shirts with no story.

A purely adult, functional wardrobe of no discernible interest.

Is this what middle age is about? No flash, no nothing. Just . . . existing?

Ugh.

NaBloWriMo #15: Homework

noreply@blogger.com (David) — Wed, 16 Nov 2011 00:23:00 +0000

As I type this, I'm listening to Sarah practice "Jingle Bells" in the kitchen behind me. Grace is listening to a math personal tutor video that is speaking to her over my right shoulder. And Hannah is playing on the iPad on the floor by my feet. It's educational bliss, right?

How did we get here?

It wasn't that long before this that Grace was upset with me for a criticism I made of something she was doing with Hannah. She was angry in the other room. In the meantime, we asked Sarah to practice her clarinet, and that led to the making of this video.

Halfway through the filming of that video, Grace--having calmed down--came into the room with her math notebook. I knew that she wanted to show the new things she learned today, so I made sure to take a video of her performing her new (and definitely impressive) math abilities.

Part of parenting is trying to provide equal time, trying to give each child the feeling that they are an important part of the family group and, at the same time, uniquely themselves. These videos are brief examples of me trying to accomplish this. When these video started, Grace was angry and I was frustrated. By the time this was all over, the calm had been restored and the anger had been forgotten.

NaBloWriMo #14: Birthdays

noreply@blogger.com (David) — Tue, 15 Nov 2011 01:21:00 +0000

One of the things that I've taken on at the office over the decade-plus that I've worked there is organizing monthly birthday celebrations for the people in the department. Looking back on it now, I don't really recall what motivated me to start it, though I do remember the origins of a few elements.

Credit: superpimper.com

As I think I mentioned on this site before, the department's birthday ambassador is Senor Picante, a 18-in tall stuffed chili pepper with a bristly mustache that is itself five inches long. El Senor wears a wide-brimmed sombrero and generally presents a spicy, sassy attitude. How he came to be in my charge, my brain cells can no longer recall. When he is not acting as birthday ambassador, spending the day hanging out at a celebrant's cubicle, he sleeps off tequila binges (which are frequent) in an old, empty Hershey's chocolate bar tin underneath my desk. (He likes the darkness and the constant humming of the computers helps him fall asleep easier.

For a while, he was a solo act . . . until I was presented with the Birthday Helmet one year on my own birthday. It is a cast-iron, flat-brimmed, World War I style helmet that has a prominent dent in the rounded top (from when its previous owner went after the Kaiser?). But the most striking aspect of the Birthday Helmet, aside from its weight, is the many layers of paint that have been graffiti-ed on top of it, giving it a celebratory style that is quite different from its original intent. (Let's just say that I wouldn't try to sneak through no-man's land wearing it.)

For the past many years, El Senor and the helmet have traveled to and from my cubicle. In addition to that duty, I've helped coordinate the gathering of eats and treats during the middle of the month. And I write a brief email celebrating the people who want to publicly acknowledge their birthdays for that month. (I try NOT to make any birthday presentations coercive. It should be fun, not a challenge.)

And so, things have been thus . . . but things have seemed more challenging in the last year or so. A large part of this has been the never-ending project that has made things harder to focus on. And my monthly reminders are less reliable than they have been in the past. (But I haven't taken the time to go back and reprogram my calendar to get things on a more accurate footing. See problem number 1 for the reason why this is so.) And so . . . I've missed a few days and Picante has slept when he should have been on the job.

And people are busy and trying to eat more healthy and styles and personnel have changed . . . and so I sometimes wonder if I should just drop it all and forget about it. But I really don't want to do that. I just want to do a better job of it. And I guess I want to recapture the imagination of it that has been lost over time. Sometimes it feels pretty routine and I don't feel that my heart is in it. So, much as I'm trying with the NaBloWriMo to revitalize my blogging interest, I need to find a way to make this work role more powerful to me.

NaBloWriMo #13: It Gets Better . . .

noreply@blogger.com (David) — Sun, 13 Nov 2011 23:30:00 +0000

Credit: ragingrev.com

I'm not posting my own contribution to the It Gets Better project. I was simply musing on the idea that, as you age, things can get better in life. The aim of the It Gets Better work is to give hope to Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transexuals that the (likely) discrimination and (probable) bullying they receive is NOT the be-all and end-all of their existence. It is a result of youth, naivete, and ignorance. And by giving them public words of encouragement, the IGB posters are saying, "Hang in there! Time will make things better."

This sort of sentiment is not only needed by members of the LGBT community, however. I know that when I was in the midst of raising up my young children (as if I'm NOT doing that anymore?), but especially at their youngest and most needy ages, I could have used a succession of videos from parents telling me that it would get better . . . that the kids would continue to grow, mature, and use recognizable English. They would, in fact, respond to your jokes with laughter and smiles. They would grow ever more independent over time and begin to make their own choices. They would demonstrate an ability to NOT need you all the time.

It would get better.

Similarly, people adjusting to a new city or moving away from their family can also be encouraged that their isolation will change over time. They will gain new friends, new knowledge of their community, new opportunities to grow comfortable. They will make strangers their friends and make a residence their home.

It gets better.

People taking on a new creative task could also use such encouragement. In the beginning, there is probably excitement and there are so many ideas. But after several days of steady work, the thrill of the creative process becomes the tedium of the every day. Finding that inspiration to carry you to the summit of your task and hold you steady on the decent . . . that might be in short supply as tasks become routine. But if only someone could come along and provide those powerful words that things are going well, that your work is appreciated and might yield valuable fruit for yourself and possibly for others.

It gets better.

We can all use these words of encouragement from time to time. We all face challenges in our lives, some large and life-threatening and others small and inconvenient. But receiving that acknowledgement from others that you are NOT alone . . . that you're efforts will be useful in the end. There are few things in the world that cost so little but could mean so much.

It DOES get better, if you want to believe that it can.

NaBloWriMo #12: Video stalling

noreply@blogger.com (David) — Sat, 12 Nov 2011 21:55:00 +0000

We live in a world where we can do so many things with very little effort and not much planning.

For instance, yesterday at work, I was struck by the satisfying feel and sound of a new, crisp one dollar bill. And because I live in a time where I am able to pull out my portable video camera that is part of my phone, I can--for no reason other than I am able to do so--make a poor quality video that in no way properly captures the sensation of hearing and feeling that one dollar bill.

I can only hope that:

1.) you have experienced this moment for yourself at some time in the past and can therefore summon that tactile and auditory memory while you watch this and that,

2.) you forgive me for expecting you to take this as my NaBloWriMo submission for today.

NaBloWriMo #11: Alternative Nielsens? TWEETING IT!

noreply@blogger.com (David) — Fri, 11 Nov 2011 23:54:00 +0000

Credit: communitythings.tumblr.com

It occurred to me (and everyone else probably) that Dan Harmon may have hit upon a way to get better information on his show's actual ratings in real time by embedding Twitter #hashtag content directly into the show.

In this way, he can gauge how many distinct individuals are involved in his Twitter-based content as it is happening (on both coast's distinct broadcast times).

Take THAT Nielsen ratings!