A Gray Saturday

Jerry says it rained last night.  I slept through it and woke up to a gray, cloudy day.

I spent yesterday afternoon scrubbing the stovetop.  A sparkling clean stovetop is a wonderful thing.   The down side is that I'm reluctant to cook and mess it up.  But a clean stovetop does nothing to relieve hunger pains, so chicken is simmering in the red pot. 

The final dish will be chicken and dumplings - a new recipe I'm trying.  My grandmother's chicken and dumplings were wonderful.  I remember watching her roll out the dough to make strip dumplings in her cozy West Virginia kitchen.  I wish I had her recipe, but I don't.  The recipe I'm using calls for canned biscuits that are rolled thin and cut in strips.  I hope they will be at least almost as good as Mema's.  We'll see.

I have a new kitchen faucet, installed by my handy husband.  It's a beautiful thing, and I'm sort of glad the old one wore out - although the price tag on new faucets is staggering.  (It's been a while since we bought a kitchen faucet.)  The brushed stainless finish on the new faucet doesn't seem to show water spots.  And I was really pleased to find that I have much better control over the water flow than I did with the old faucet.

I just discovered the online magazine, The New Noblewoman at www.newnoblewoman.com.  The editor, Amanda Millay, offers lots of interesting articles that instruct and inspire on various subjects from how to get out of a car gracefully to how to brew the perfect cup of tea.  There's a recommended book section.  There are tips about beauty, fashion, and home decorating - all traditional and classic.  It's the Jane Austen lifestyle brought up to date.  I've frequented The Art of Manliness online magazine at www.artofmanliness.com  for quite a while and have often wished there was a female counterpart.  Thanks to Amanda Millay, there is!

My letter rack is full of letters and post cards that need to be answered, and a chilly gray day is the perfect time.  But right now I'm off to check on the chicken and try my hand at dumplings.

Amid the Tombs

There's something serene and peaceful about strolling through a cemetery.  That's what I did this morning along with several other members of the local camera club.  It didn't take me long to snap ninety pictures -  oh, the beauty of digital photography! 

As I took photos of interesting markers and monuments, I couldn't help contrasting old cemeteries like St. John (Plaquemine, Louisiana) with the new modern cemeteries.  

 In old cemeteries, you or your family could choose a unique marker that seemed appropriate for the very unique you.  Your financial condition would have determined whether your marker was modest or elaborate; but either way, you had the option of having a unique marker.

In modern cemeteries there is no option for uniqueness.  All markers are flat plaques at ground level.  They all look alike.  Instead of having your uniqueness honored, you become indistinguishable in a sea of departed humanity. 

There's something cozy about an old cemetery.   Even if none of the names on the markers are familiar to me, I feel like I'm visiting real individuals.  But the coziness is lost in the collectivism of a modern cemetery. 

Oh well, there's no point in lamenting modern cemeteries.  We'll all end up in one unless you're fortunate enough to have a family plot with empty space in an old cemetery.  But sometimes there's no denying that old ways are best.

Time Traveling

Some people live where their ancestral roots are deep, where they know everybody, and everybody knows them.  Others come from nomadic families, destined to live where they have no roots - destined to be outlanders.  Webster defines outlander as "someone from a different region or culture."  I have always been an outlander.  When I was an infant, my parents left southern West Virginia - where they had ancestral roots - and moved to the Florida panhandle.

We made yearly trips to West Virginia to visit relatives.  We always got a warm welcome from our relatives and enjoyed visiting with them.  But even there, where my parents were natives, I was an outlander.  I shared blood with these relatives, but I lived too far away from them to share the experience of daily life.  I was growing up in another world - a world of beaches and palm trees that contrasted sharply to the mountains of West Virginia.  To add to my sense of isolation, I was an only child so there were no brothers or sisters to share my outlander status.

I was an outlander in the Florida fishing village where I spent my childhood.  Most people who lived there fell into one of two categories.  They were either descendants of the original settlers of the county or they were in the Air Force, stationed at the nearby base.  I enjoyed neither the comraderie of the Air Force kids or the full acceptance of the settlers' children. 

 
I am an outlander here in southeastern Louisiana where my husband's roots run deep.  Cajuns are friendly people, but they hold blood and roots in high regard.  When you meet a Cajun for the first time, he's likely to ask who your parents are.  Sometimes you get the feeling that you're set on the sidelines when you say your parents are from another state.  If nothing else betrays my outlander status, my speech will.  I've lived here for 45 years, but often - as soon as I open my mouth - someone will say, "You're not from here, are you?"

I suppose life is easier for an outlander if he lives in a big city.  After all, cities are where outlanders collect.  There are so many outlanders from so many different places that outlander status is the norm.  But in small towns, the natives congregate and talk about their roots and their blood connections, and it's easy for an outlander to feel like a fifth wheel.

After a lifetime of being an outlander, it's no wonder that I was drawn to Diana Gabaldon's book, Outlander.  It's a time-traveling adventure.  I can relate to it because being a lifetime outlander is a little like time-traveling.  Not quite - but almost. 

Errands in the Rain



La Madeleine's in the Rain

I like rainy days if the rain is misty and light and it's not too cold.  I especially like rain in Baton Rouge - or any city, for that matter.  Traffic lights and all the other lights that are common to a city are reflected in infinite ways.

My first stop was Team Honda to have the oil changed in my van.  I didn't arrive until 10:30 and expected to find the waiting room full - instead, I had it all to myself for most of my wait.  Maybe a rainy day is the perfect time to have your car serviced.  Just before I left, a young mother came in with a cute little toddler.  The mother and I chatted, and I told her that we will have new twin grandbabies in July.  She said that she is a twin, and her husband is a twin!  Needless to say, they wouldn't have been surprised if their little girl had been twins.   These days I see or hear about twins more often than usual - or so it seems.  I guess I just zero in on anything having to do with twins now that I know little twin rascals are headed our way.

I ate lunch at La Madeleine's - a Chicken Caesar Salad and a mini Lemon Tart.  I don't like eating alone in a restaurant.  I used to avoid it by getting my lunch at some fast food drive-thru and eating in the car.  But it's hard to do that and stay within my daily allotment of Weight Watcher's points.  I guess being twenty pounds lighter than I was is worth feeling lonely in a restaurant.  It wasn't too bad.  Watching rain drops roll down the window panes is mesmerizing.

All the experts - spouting endless statistics - say that our economy is sluggish, retail profits are down, and unemplyment is up.  It seems logical that this would mean an increase in the quality of customer service at retail establishments.  Not necessarily.  At Babies R Us there were zero cash registers in operation.  I had to wait while a manager got on the PA system and begged someone to please come and open a register.  When I was ready to check out at Walgreen's, the cashier near the front door told me her computer was down, and I would have to check out in the photo department or the pharmacy.  I went to the photo department and found it deserted, so I walked to the back of the store and paid in the pharmacy.

When I got out to my van, I realized that I didn't have my keys.  I checked my purse and all my pockets.  No, no keys.  I looked in the car, expecting to see them in the ignition.  No, not there either.  What in the world had I done with my keys?  I hurried back inside and retraced my steps.  Fortunately, my keys were on the pharmacy counter, right where I left them.

I stopped at the Addis post office on the way home and found my box full of good stuff - the local Riverside Reader that Jerry likes so much, letters from Singapore and Hawaii, and two post cards from Pennsylvania.  Good mail brightens any day!

After Christmas Winter Blues

Winter - Bah!

I have the winter blues - in southern Louisiana.  It wouldn't do for me to live farther north.  I'm not alone in my blue mood.  The horses get the blues every January, too.  They spend their time lying down or standing still with a bored expession on their equine faces.

It's not the cold that depresses me.  We have very little really cold weather.  It's the gray, sunless days.  It's the brown, barren cane fields.  It's the lack of tomatoes that taste like tomatoes.

We took our little artificial Christmas tree down this morning.  That's always a depressing chore.  The little tree's white lights add some cheer to the long winter evenings.  I'm always reluctant to pack it away; but if your Christmas tree is still up in February, people begin to think you're a little too eccentric.  The garlands and red bows that are here and there around the house will be packed away today, too.  But the Wise Men are staying on the mantle until Mardi Gras.  I can't let go of everything at once.

My December experiment - praying the Liturgy of the Hours six times a day - was not a total success, but I wouldn't call it a failure either.  I managed pretty well for about three weeks, averaging three or four of the canonical hours a day.  It was a good exercise in discipline.  Maybe I'll give it a try every December.  Nowadays I'm back to my usual pattern of morning and evening prayer and informal chats with God while I go about my work.  This is a good pattern for my modern-day lifestyle.  But I'm still enchanted by life in a monastery where the world stops every three hours to pray.

Pens, Printers, and Postal Mail

It's a good mail day - a letter and two post cards from Downunder, a letter from England, and one from New Mexico.  I'm looking forward to answering them with my new Pilot Vanishing Point fountain pen - a Christmas gift from Jerry.

The Vanishing Point is a cool pen.  It has a retractable nib.  The nib is put into using position by clicking a spring-operated thingy.  Click again, and the nib disappears into the barrel - so there's no cap to screw on and off.  When the nib is inside the barrel, it is sealed so that the ink doesn't dry up and clog the nib.  It looks a little odd when you're writing with it because the clip is on the nib end where you hold the pen.  It's designed to be held with the clip between your thumb and forefinger.  I thought this might be awkward, but it's really comfortable.  As a bonus, it keeps me from twisting the pen around in my hand - something I'm prone to do.

I saw a neurologist last week and had nerve conduction studies done to try to find out why my right thumb shakes when it's bent, making it impossible for me to write with my right hand.  The good news is that I don't have Parkinson's or any progressive nerve disease.  The bad news is that I have an "essential tremor."  Essential tremors are often inherited, and I suspect that this is why my father's right hand was too shaky to write in his later years.  It's a task related tremor - the trembling only happens when the thumb is bent and poised to do something. Unfortunately, there's no surgery that will fix this kind of tremor.  The doctor said there are drugs that might "quieten it down," but I don't want to add to my collection of prescription drugs. 

I've decided the bad news is not so bad.  I've been writing with my left hand for five years.  I'll continue that practice and be grateful that my left hand doesn't have a tremor.  I'm also grateful that my right hand is useful for everything else besides writing - playing the piano and doing all the ordinary daily things.  And I'll remember to be grateful for all the modern technology that makes electronic note-taking so easy.

My Microsoft Publisher lessons on lynda.com are ongoing.  I took a break from these lessons in December and have had to do some of them over again to refresh my memory.  I was proud yesterday when I was able to design a business card all by myself - without refering to the tutorial.  But printing them out was an ordeal.  My printer tells me it's out of paper when it's not.  I don't know if it's lost its little mind or if it just lies.  Either way, it's a pain.  I think printers are the bane of modern technological life.  Of course, Jerry says my printer is about ten years old.  Is that possible?!  I guess it is, but I'll swear it seems like we just bought the thing!


Where Was I?

The new year beckons like a clean sheet of paper.  It inspires you to plan, set goals, and make resolutions.  There's something exciting about a new year - a new beginning. 

But the new year also inspires me to ask the question:  Where was I?  Before all the holiday planning, shopping, wrapping, and cooking started, where was I?  What was I doing?  What did I leave undone?  I feel compelled to evaluate the past year - gather up loose ends -  decide which of last year's endeavors should be continued and which ones should be abandoned.

I've decided to continue the following:

• Fifteen minutes a day of decluttering
• Learning to use Microsoft Publisher
• Continue membership in Weight Watchers online
• Spend 20 minutes a day on the exercise bike
• Make regular blog posts

Maybe later this week I'll get around to the new year's resolutions.