We all change, and we all remain ourselves

The background music was pleasant in the Chinese restaurant I visited recently. As I mused the decades old question of whether Jello has survived in large part because of the dessert tray at Chinese restaurants, I suddenly tuned in on the lyrics of the music so sweetly playing. The two singers were warbling in gentle harmony about how deeply they hated one another, and some four-letter words were used. I was one of only a few eating alone, and I doubt anyone else noticed. I just happened to tune in, because I hadn't been really listening, either. The song segued into another really pretty song. I returned to my Jello squares.

I'm not horrified, I'm commenting: not so many years ago, the lyrics would not have been sung in a family restaurant. Technology is part of the change, because music is accepted as something that is always there today. We notice silence, but not the musical background. In my lifetime, live music led to records, then to tapes, then to intercoms in stores and everywhere. Few of us perform. All of us are surrounded by some kind of music continuously.

What is accepted has changed dramatically, partly due to the old television. The time when adult entertainment and family entertainment were separate arenas has blurred despite the attempts at movie ratings. We continue to try to have some basic laws and rules to make the general community more pleasant and healthy for our children. A lot of rules, customs and laws have changed, and the music in the restaurant was just one incident. The computer, then Wi-Fi and cell phones, have made some huge differences. I think we are on the threshold of some more that will make this year, these times, look archaic in a very few years. Human society will be adapting and fitting these new discoveries into our everyday lives. How will it go?

The enforced communality in a growing, enormous population has been a factor in professionals debating whether being an introvert, or having symptoms of the same, ought to be included in the psychologist's diagnostic manual as a disorder needing treatment. Extroverts thrive on people around them. Is that the healthiest life? More people in the United States live alone today than ever before. They may communicate on social media or play computer games, but they may not spend much face time interacting with other people. So the experts debate. It is indeed a world that could not have existed before.

Boundaries are becoming a skill less taught, it seems to me. Many of these boundaries deal with families, where boundaries have always been iffy. But I have read a lot of articles and books on parenting becoming more about pleasing the child, teaching fewer consequences, and drawing out dependence on parents longer and longer. I know, working with kids as I do every week, that children in my state are being "taught to the test"--being taught the answers they are expected to regurgitate. When I ask for conclusions on how one piece of information links logically to something else, I am stunned that many can't make the connection. They haven't been taught to think or surmise. So the parents, I, and other adults, try to do some of this in extracurricular activities. It largely works. Over time.

An older woman I know has convinced her grown children and their children to have a weekly family meal with her. She insists that everyone leave their cell phones at the door. Her family, she says, has had difficulty doing that. That rather surprises me since my own family simply ignores phones during a meal unless someone is on-call. If not business, however, the person disengages quickly and firmly. It CAN be done. The fault, as I say, is not technology but ourselves.

Funny. When a pedophile downloads child porn on his computer, we don't blame technology. We blame him. Or her. But when someone calls us during a meal, and we disrupt the meal to talk,it's technology's fault. Huh.

It is true I don't have a jillion people to talk to, but I wonder frequently who all these people are talking to as they walk along, one arm bent as they hold a phone to their ear. And when they shop doing that, are they as efficient? Or is the task of shopping so low-key that it can be accomplished without difficulty as they talk? Are they ever alone? Do they even notice the larger world they live in? or do they live only within the perimeter of their city neighborhood? Do they ever see the stars? Humans need to see stars. Stars are a heavy lesson, if we will learn, that we are not so big and important, and our planet, big to us, is only a speck in the overall picture.

Gives me perspective.

People argue about climate change. The oil and gas people go on as if their product will never end. Society changes almost everywhere. We live here, and society is changing a lot. I change too.

But however I change, and whatever I do, it is not the fault, probably not even the product, of technology.

It is on me.

Let's cheer for happy chickens

I am grateful to the state of California for a new law: egg-laying chickens must be allowed more room than simply living a life in a box too small to turn around in. The chicken must have enough room to stretch its legs, even to move about a bit. Not much, but some. My understanding is that the beaks are still blunted, but the chicken has a little more quality of life, as it were. One assumes this could possibly mean healthier chickens for healthier eggs. Not sure about that.

I just know that if we used to promote milk from contented cows--we possibly still do--I also want my eggs from happy chickens. Happier, at least.

McDonald's got publicity a few years back for buying their eggs from farms that allow more humane living conditions for the hens. It cost the company more, and I have no idea if the policy still is in place. At least for awhile, though, my guilt over an egg-sausage biscuit was over the grease and calories, not the misery of the chickens providing said eggs. And oh, yeah, pigs don't have much of a life, either.

But back to the eggs. From time to time I can buy days old fresh eggs from a neighbor, and I do so. As someone who grew up with free range chickens in the pen not far from our kitchen, I can taste the difference, and for baking? they whip about a third to twice as high. Usually, though, I can buy only a dozen at a time, and they are apt to be different sizes. For a lot of baking, I go ahead and buy eggs at the store, even though they are weeks older. I pay to get the ones stamped "cage free", and hope that is true.

Information about commercial standards for chickens has been available for awhile, but not really in the news for a number of years. The California law was touted on the news, however, as somehow amusing and unnecessary-coupled, in fact, with the law banning selfies with tigers. I suspect that law also was aimed at humane treatment of animals. I don't know.

I do know a lot of people care about puppies and kittens, which they see, and are largely indifferent to animals they don't see. The United States overall has pretty good laws on cleanliness, clean quarters, decent diet for agricultural animals. We still struggle with humane practices.

Maybe you just have to know a chicken or two. I knew a six-year-old girl with a pet chicken with soft, soft feathers who followed her around like a dog, and roosted in a rather ornamental pen the hen had in the house. She was as fun to pick up as a big teddy bear, and she would nestle in your arms. Most chickens I know simply sing that contented cluuuck-cluck cluck tune as they walk around in sunshine and eat weeds and old cabbage leaves we throw in the pen. Do factory chickens ever cluck in contentment? Do they crow when they lay an egg? I don't know. Maybe they do.

I have a lot of I don't knows here. I do know I want the most kindness possible shared by my fellow humans with the rest of the life around us. I believe the most kindness possible is good for us and the earth itself.

Is this new law a kindness? Sincerely, I hope so.

Guiltless eggs taste so much better.

Peace on a Winter's Night--and Day

Have the oven on and haven't made the fruitbread going in it yet. Wasteful. What a big footprint I have at time, even allowing for big feet.

I wanted to blog again before Christmas Day, however.

It has been a better than usual season, and I think making the breads is a part. I had bought a dozen red sacks to give my breads in, and am startled I have only two left. I don't know how good others think they are, but they satisfied my tastebuds, and I didn't do it for reaction. I realize I did it as a positive action for me. I have 2-3 more to make and I'm done. AND I kept a loaf of the banana bread for breakfasts and snacks last week, a loaf of the cranberry nut the week before. Have a third earmarked for Christmas morning. That, some ham and a fresh mandarin orange will make a fine breakfast. Leaves room for the Feast yet to come.

Poor Brody still has his cone and two new staples in the top of his incision because I let him run around the house too much. He is feeling SO fine, and he has to stay in the bathroom except for potty breaks and food. He is whining a bit, which pains me, too. Next vet visit Dec. 39. I am not optimistic. This morning, the 30-pound dog pulled the leash completely out of my hand to chase some birds on the lawn.

But all the gifts are wrapped and dispersed. My home is back in order--except for all the baking stuff staying out in the kitchen. One dish to make ahead tomorrow, then a chocolate pie on Christmas Eve Teenage granddaughter is making her most excellent cherry pie NOT using pie filling, but real cherries. It is so very good--a little tart, and the whipping cream or ice cream is just an added note, not overwhelming sweetness. If we even bother adding it.

I've been observing and participating more fully this year. I do believe we have a huge effort made by stores to get us away from family, even on Thanksgiving Day, and go shopping. Well, except I know families that enjoy shopping together. I don't think starting "the shopping season" after Halloween pays off. I think shopping more around the whole year makes more sense, but I apparently don't have a lot of herd mentality.

Actually, I like persons well. It's people in large quantities I am not fond of. I don't think it used to be better; it wasn't. The one thing I miss that was better was less pressure--or I perceived less--to stop and breathe every now and then. Oh, we can still do it, but it is harder. More pulls away from relaxed family times, though many have them. More manufactured food to eat to save you time to do more manufactured fun someone wants you to pay to do. Honey, that stuff without the preservatives just purely tastes better, even if you do have to eat it up fast because unlike Twinkies, it gets stale.
And if you live anywhere you can go out ant actually see a starry night, it is peaceful, smells good, and beats any house decorations around. Many don't have that option any more. Our perpetual lighting and huge cities hide the actual world and its peace from us.

Christmas is a cultural holiday celebrated and enjoyed by persons of all faiths and none at all. It is a religious occasion as part of the holiday for some. Despite the songs, it is seldom magical, and though happy, often not joyous. It brings out generosity in people, and that's a good thing for everyone. Humans are hardwired to get a bigger kick out of giving than in the getting--or most of us are.

This year, it has been a journey to peace, one of the greatest gifts the holiday can bring. It has been my journey. I have spewed and snarled and kicked less and less at this season than in so many, many years. I have made my peace, at least for now. I may have to do it all over again next year, but at least this year, I know how.

Maybe I'll write a book.

I write, of course to be read, but that is for my own pleasure, too. Whether you celebrate Winter Solstice, and I have some friends who do, or any other holiday, I hope you have happiness and peace. Above all, peace.

Just an ol' dog and a trip to the vet

Brody, my half-Corgi male 4-year-old dog, had a fairly serious surgery Monday, and it has been a learning week.

He was born with a fairly small opening in the abdomen which became large enough for a little gut to pooch through about a month ago, so he had the hernia surgery he needed on Monday. Fortunately, I've had him on a slight diet in expectation of this and he was down from 29 to 27 pounds, which helps when you're stretching flesh to cover formerly open territory.

He was supposed to be crated. If they make crates with doors for handicapped persons, the vet didn't know about it, and I turned out to be unable to secure the door, letting him stagger out. So he's spent the week in a 5x5 foot bathroom. First night he cried in the middle of the night and got more meds. He was hurting. For the next two days he endured with these sad eyes that asked me repeatedly why I was doing this to him. He has a neck cone too, of course. Thursday he finally barked once and Friday he wagged his tail and charged to the end of the leash. His eyes sparkle again. He's feeling much better that he really is, and now he's getting pushy about confinement. Fortunately, he's not a whiner or barker indoors.

Actually, the bathroom has worked well for his personality, because he has a deep need for touch, ear rubs and back rubs. The crate would have allowed much less of that. I have learned more about his sweetness, and despite his Corgi abilities, his generally poor thinking skills. I have been glad for solitude as I have relieved my impatience at times with language I hope my granddaughters never hear me say. At least, not in such quantity.

Pills have meant a lot of peanut butter-covered tramadol, antibiotic, and such. Gracie has been somewhat upset with all his largess, never mind that he has to stay in the bathroom. She has cuddled more with me for whatever reason, opportunity being one. Brody doesn't always share his owner well.

I notice I've been more tired--yes, a little more work, but I think it's knowing the dog was actually hurting for a few days. I have friends who have recently lost family members, are in severe pain awaiting surgery themselves, or dealing with their own difficult survival. Don't think I've mentioned dog's surgery to most people I know. In the scheme of things, it's rather minor. It matters to me, and that's enough.

I was thinking about that this week. It's part of the fabric of my current reality, and as such, worth my attention. I've gotten quite a bit done anyway the last few days--he's found out how to sleep on that cone, and the medicine means he sleeps deeply. I type, or cook, or do a number of things, and he is content for now to sleep nearby. Gracie sprawls nearby as well, and at time the floor is littered with Dead Dogs Sleeping, usually just where I need to go next.

Stitches come out next Thursday--don't know how long he retains the cone, or the leash to keep him from dashing around the yard. I do love to watch these two play chase at top speed when both are in good shape. And that time will be here soon.

Funny old routines that make up our daily lives and fill the shape of them with action and feelings. After decades of living, sometimes we are doing something that seems quite solitary to anyone watching, but has years of familiarity and memories attached to what we do. I think this is the real stuff of our days, often the meaning we find as we drift away to sleep.

It has been a good day. I hope that new loaf of fruit bread turns out as good as it smells. Nuts, cranberry sauce and orange marmalade with cinnamon and nutmeg.

Not necessarily to the dog's taste, but they would try it, given the chance. Their day has been good as well. They're both softly snoring. Day is done.

When a new freezer just cries out for sustenance

Mother started me baking by standing me on a kitchen chair, wearing one of her aprons, and sifting flour for a cake. Back then, flour was sifted three times before mixing and baking. Mother covered the table with newspaper to catch the plops and clouds of flour I made with my vigorous turning of the handle of the sifter. I still have a sifter, and an egg beater. I still use them to cook.

I used to love to cook, and especially to bake. I have done little of either in recent years. So it is with trepidation I have decided to make a number of the old fruit breads I used to make and give for gifts. I like gifts like that--the receiver feels no obligation back, and usually is pleased. Surely habits from many years will kick in.

There's a story to the decision. Like so many things it starts with something Bad and segues into something Good.

A few weeks ago, the old freezer I had loaded to the gills died--still trying, so its' little light was on. But it was dead, and completely warm inside as I discovered when I finally smelled Something and lifted the lid. Dead, deader, deadest. Putrifying. My daughter-in-law, recovering from surgery, helped me more than she should have, and so did my 12-year-old granddaughter, who gagged but never threw up through all. We sacked and taped the bags closed and filled one tall square garbage can and one fairly large,but shorter, round can. Older son, when he got off work, re-bagged the lot in contractor's bags in an attempt to curb the smell. The cans stayed by my garage until the night before pickup. This was pretty warm weather, and the packing happened on Saturday. I took the cans to the road on Tuesday night. Ugh! horrific smell. Slight breeze from the north. I cleaned up and left for a meeting.

When I came back, a honking big truck with several lights was in the street, a couple other pickup trucks, and several people were standing around in small groups. I parked the car and headed for the door. My neighbor came running over to tell me she had called Atmos Power Company for a bad gas leak--it must be really bad because the smell was so strong. But the professionals couldn't find it. Everyone agreed it was an urgent situation.

I told her I didn't think it was a gas leak but my putrifying meat in the cans. Rotting meat and the rotten egg smell they add to natural gas smell pretty similar.

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"Pretty sure," I answered. "Go tell them about my garbage cans."

The discarded freezer was still stashed on the side with its' door propped open.

Ten minutes later they had all left, and I don't think anyone even checked to make sure it was the sundry beef (I will mourn those beautiful roasts I got at a price I may never see again), two turkeys, a ham, and various chicken parts.

So the poor garbage men came--I need to do something nice for them at Christmas--and the empty freezer was hauled away. And I started shopping the internet for a replacement. I found it last weekend--an upright Fridgidaire frost-free. It was delivered and put into place on Tuesday. It is very large and very empty. And I used to make those breads, freeze the same day they came out of the oven, and give at Christmas. Plenty of time. Wish I still had my old recipe for banana bread. It was so old, the oil it called for was bacon grease. It made light, moist bread that could be sliced in quarter-inch slices. I made a test loaf of a recipe on the internet and it wasn't too bad. Very moist, flavorful, but I'd like a little more flavor.

So--I'm baking. I forgot the sour cream for the chocolate bread recipe I found. I hope that's a winner. I'm thinking of sneaking some instant coffee granules into the cocoa when I mix it. Forgot the orange juice for the cranberry nut bread, and after two stores, finally found some mincemeat for a couple loaves of mincemeat bread with orange zest. I'll add nuts and cranberries and hope it turns out similar to an old favorite. Have everything for the pear bread with lemon zest. That's a good one, too. Pumpkin bread? Eh. Most people will make their own, I think.

A couple of mincemeat loaves? Well, each loaf takes two cups of mincemeat, which is really fruits cooked with cinnamon, nutmeg and allspice. It used to be used for pies. Each $6 jar probably has about two cups. (The 20-something clerk at one grocery said carefully, "I've never heard of minced meat." Ah, well.)

I may not ever be able to get it, or afford to get it again unless I make the stuff. Which I could.

But that's another year.

Coping with more and more Christmas hucksterism

Last Saturday, Nov. 1, an area car dealership advertised an Event with refeshments, fun, fun, fun, and a visit from Santa.

Even the kids I know were surprised.

The Christmas trees have been in the stores, all decorated, since September.

But even before the last polling place closed on Nov. 4, the Christmas ads were starting. I wish I didn't let this continuous annoyance depress me, but it kinda does.

Poor Thanksgiving. Only in the grocery stores is it even mentioned, and I LIKE Thanksgiving. Good food with people I like. Good talk and laughter. Then everyone goes home and you can take a nap. Or (shudder) go shopping. It is such a freedom holiday, overall. Well, for me, anyway.

And I think the stretching of the season all started with artificial Christmas trees. Flameproof, fairly realistic, artificial Christmas trees with cooler, perpetual little lights all over them. Not one string, or two, or even three. Little lights ALL over, jostling the ornaments for a place on the branches.

The trees had to be invented and brought into the marketplace. No way could every home have a fresh Christmas tree, although a fair number still do. And the prices are, well, pricy. They may have been cut a month before, and the shelf-life expires with a tinkling of browning needles on the floor. But they smell so good. AND a formerly live tree won't make it to Christmas Day if you put it up too early.

The Christmases of my childhood sported freshcut trees from the nearby mountains. Our tree went up Dec. 15 or later, and the shopping didn't start much before then. No television either, grasshopper. (That always convinces children I am really, really old.) How naïve we were, not to market the holiday for all it is worth but instead, take leisure time during the holidays for those remembered cookies, candies, and even grandma's fruit cake. Funny about that. Hear tell times were more prosperous then, and college graduates could always find a job. Better than dreaming of sugar plums. (I don't think I have ever seen one, much less tasted it.)

Artificial Christmas trees in most of the homes I know where children live go up after the meal on Thanksgiving Day. We have a local radio station that plays nothing but Christmas songs for the month of December, and I believe they now include November. So many find them cheery and fun. After the 20th playing of "Holly Jolly Christmas"(and no one in the Southwest has holly), I go postal. It doesn't have to be in one day. Over a week would be plenty.

I don't mind the lights on houses because they are pretty. Also,with any luck for the neighbors, silent. I am a big fan of the silent enjoyment of Christmas. Seldom heard today.

And it all started with artificial Christmas trees.

I can't get away from the ads entirely--I have to listen to the news, although public television has quite a good news program. I have 3-4 programs I watch now, with their approximately 20 minutes of the hour in ads. I have shopping to do, and as usual, nothing advertised is what I am getting. This year I have to go online, because it's not on sale in the stores, either. As usual, gifts for my adult sons confound and puzzle me.

I don't begrudge shopping for my family, and I actually enjoy it close to Christmas--like the week before. But the constant hype and jolliness is wearing.

In my neck of the plains, I am known as "The Grinch."

Still, even I have one of those pesky trees.

This is my annual rant. It comes earlier each year.

When I see lighted artificial trees for sale on my birthday in August, I may start a movement.

For now, Christmas, once a lovely holiday, is my least favorite of the year. But enough for now.

I have to go shopping for myself.

I always buy a book I really, really want to read about now, put it in the closet, and start it sometime on Christmas Day. When I had children at home, it was a way of unwinding after the busy day. After the divorce, with the children gone for the day, it was my celebration for myself. It still is. I think it takes more self-control not to open it early now than it used to.

It just sits there, calling my name.

And it isn't even fattening.