El Capitan

Photo credit: Wikipedia

Recently, two young adventurers made rock climbing history when they scaled a difficult section (Dawn Wall) of a vertical rock formation called El Capitan in Yosemite National Park. Their story is remarkable and captured world wide attention. I do not claim to even vaguely understand why some folks set their sights on such goals but I do know that there are people who survive by living life on the edge, literally. For many of us, I suspect that living on the edge is far less dramatic and newsworthy. Climbing for us happens when we put our head into the wind and accomplish the demanding moments of life.

The profession of teaching comes with many El Capitan moments. Here are a few.

1) Parent Teacher conferences--Nothing says love like sitting in a cold gymnasium for four hours, entertaining parents and students after a long day of teaching. And then doing it again the next day. And the next day. Finally a compensatory day is given....two months later. Makes dangling from a tent in mid-air look more and more appealing.

2) In-service training--Don't get me wrong. I believe in teacher training sessions. I have led many of them myself so I have experienced both sides of such events. That being said, sitting through a presentation on the latest cure-all for students is sometimes challenging at best. My favorite part is when a session leader decides to remind us that "this is what our kids feel like when they have to sit all day."  Well, thank you for letting me know that I am a cruel and evil person who tortures kids all day long. Takes the sting right out of an already long day, for sure. I find it is best to embrace the moment for what it is. A hike through informationville. Hopefully, a little trail mix is provided.

3) Schedule changes--Schools operate on very tight time frames. If a class is supposed to end at 10:03 it must end at 10:03. Not 10:02 or 10:04 or 10:05. Woe be to the teacher who upsets the apple cart of punctuality and regularity. I wish the same could be said for executive decisions. At the beginning of our current school year, we were given six different operating schedules including the back to school day, one-hour late start, two-hour late start, anti-bully program, alternate day schedule and in-service late start day. Makes the OCD in all of us want to get counseling or climb a tall object without a rope.

4) Technology--It's a wonderful thing. It really is. But, it is a butt biter when it doesn't work. From the beginning of time, good teachers have known that every lesson needs a plan A, B and C for sure. Add to the mix the fickleness of techie tools and we need to extend the alphabet of options. I never want to go back to a classroom without a Smartboard and student computers but I know that even a good pair of hiking boots can pinch on occasion.

I know that I will never climb a K2 mountain or wrestle alligators but I get up everyday, lace up my shoes and put one foot in front of the other. I think that is what the El Capitan climbers did, too. So I guess we have more in common than I thought.

Pass the trail mix.

Replacement

Resolutions, goals, target behaviors. All words commonly used at the beginning of a new year. There is something refreshing about hitting the reset button and beginning anew. My word of the year is going to be replacement. I have a household of candidates begging for an update. The budget, as usual, will keep the wind of exchange from blowing too hard so I will need to be judicious in my decision making. Here are a few old friends who are destined for the Goodwill bin or the big truck that stops by every Monday morning.

1) School tote bag--My current bag is circa free from a bus trip taken with my mother a "few" years ago. (I wasn't blogging back then so you were spared two weeks of epicness.) The bag has served me well with its waterproof lining, sturdy handles and handy side pocket. It is also the correct width for stacks of papers or projects that need to be toted to and from school. Alas, the bag is developing holes and is looking a wee bit tired. My daughter gave me a new tote for Christmas so replacement number one is in the finish column.

2) Plastic cup--Don't judge. I like to cook so I often need more than one measuring cup during my exploits. I currently have a sturdy glass Pyrex measuring cup and a sad little plastic cup with illegible markings. I have no recollection of the genesis of the sad little cup but it has been a workhorse for many years. It has now developed a rather significant crack which moves it into a sanitary crisis. Goodbye, little cup. Hello, shiny new Pyrex.

3) Seed bin--I like to feed birds and I keep the seeds in a cast off construction bucket from my husband. It is the right size for a bag or two of seeds, but it has one fatal flaw. The lid does not snap into place with an airtight seal. Enter the dreaded Plodia interpunctella, a.ka. bird seed moth. One evening, in the dead, very dead of winter I spotted a fluttering specter. It didn't take long to discover the source of the home invader. Bird seed. Perfect harbor for the life cycle of moths. Ick. Time for an airtight container and a few moth traps laced with eau de lepidoptera.

4) Purse--I do not have seasonal purses or yearly upgrades. Rather, I drag around my arm extension until a strap falls off or the lining becomes a black hole for keys and stray aspirin. I am dangerously close to both disasters with my current purse. My criteria is quality construction and a low, low price. I also do not like trendy for obvious reasons so I will be in for quite a challenge. Maybe a little duct tape can buy me another year.

5) Potato chips--I am an addict of these crunchy, salty slices of delightfulness and despite my attempts to enjoy one or two chips in moderation, a circus sized portion is enjoyed well before my brain hits the stop button. I've tried a few replacements in the past including a one year moratorium (broken on the exact anniversary date with a full bag of kettle chips), kale chips (pleasant but missing something like, umm, taste) and crispy Wasa toasts (lots of crunch if you like cardboard). On second thought, I might keep my little food demon around and pretend that I can master the slow down switch.

I hope all of you are enjoying a peaceful start to your New Year. Replace a few joy drainers and celebrate the steadfast.

Toast

Nothing says good morning like a stout cup of coffee and a perfectly toasted slice of hearty bread. Apparently, my husband agrees. A few evenings ago, he came in from his man cave garage, clutching a dog-eared magazine, and stated, "We have to get this toaster." I paused my on-line scrabble game and glanced at the bright shiny object of his desire. It was a Calphalon, 2 slot, stainless steel toaster, complete with an "Opti-Heat system that ensures accurate temperature control and even heat delivery." According to the reviewer, the toaster is a wizard at browning to perfection anything you can stuff into its extra-wide jaws.

Before I was pulled into the vortex of complete enthrallment, I asked the question I always ask when I am presented with a possible purchase, "How much does it cost?" Pause. Rustling of the magazine page. "I think you can get it for around $60.00."

Pause. "Seriously?"

"Well, don't you want something that really works? You can't put a price on that."

I sighed and said, "Where's the surprise in life without playing toaster roulette with your bread each morning? Sometimes it comes out a little splotchy. Sometimes it is a bit charcoaly. Sometimes it is still cold in the middle. And every once in awhile you hit the lottery and get the perfect slice of toast."

Not impressed, my husband replied, "Good grief. Why not get it right every time? Here is a chance to up the morning odds for a decent piece of toast. I don't think you can put a price on consistency."

"My, my, haven't we come a long way from our first toaster."

I reminded him of how we procured our first toaster during the early years of married life. It came about rather serendipitously. My husband purchased a dollar box at an auction. Dollar boxes are filled with the miscellany of life. Sometimes you find treasures in them and sometimes you are stuck with a clinker. This time we scored. His box contained a no-nonsense, 2-slice toaster, crumbs included. We cleaned it up and grandly placed in on our countertop. The little toaster pumped out many slices of morning treats, perhaps not to perfection, but with complete economic flair.

Throughout the years, we have had a few more toasters. All were able to toast. All were inconsistent. All were less than $19.99.

Still not convinced that cheap preempts perfection, my husband closed his magazine and said, "I'm going to find this toaster," and back to his man cave he retreated.

I must confess that our conversation has made me more critical of our current Procter-Silex, dull white toaster. The plastic around the slots is a little melty. The knob that sets the toasting level doesn't seem to correlate with the finished product. The slots are too narrow for thicker slices of bread. Every crevice is sprinkled with petrified crumbs.

Maybe it is time for a stainless steel, extra-wide slotted beauty to enter my world. It is hard to resist a kitchen helper that has my safety in mind with her extra-lift lever and cool to the touch exterior. She would add an air of regal luxury to the kitchen and grant us our morning wishes.

I think I know what my husband is going to get for his next birthday.

Christmas

Christmas is not my favorite holiday. There, I said it. Haul out the Grinch paint and color me Scrooge. Yes, I want to rant about commercialism, Betty Crockerism and Holly Jollyism, but I will spare you such redundancy. Instead, I propose that we all choose a Christmas antidote and drink deeply from the calm it may provide. Here are a few of my suggestions.

1) Start a Not-To-Do list--If your crack-the-whip list is bigger than the Bible by the middle of December, consider an eraser and a serious talk with yourself. How much of your list is filled with what you think should be done as compared to what makes sense? A Not-To-Do list is a prioritizing experience. Get rid of nonsensical tasks such as putting up holiday towels that no one dares to use or making pink divinity candy that no self-respecting person should eat. Use the everyday towels and eat graham crackers.

2) Use gift bags--If you insist on buying gifts, spare yourself the task of gift wrapping. And whatever you do, stay away from ribbons that need tying and bows that need making. Packages are containers, not products. Temper the need to tie your self esteem to perfectly wrapped presents. A grocery bag works for me, but I understand that there are those who need pretty.

3) Feed the birds--There is something soothing about watching cardinals, juncos and chickadees peck away at suet and seeds. They don't need holiday bowls, special silverware or expensive napkins. They just need a meal to keep them going for another day. I imagine most of don't need perfect tablescapes (sorry, Martha). What we do enjoy is a meal with friends and family, be it a turkey sandwich on a paper plate or apple juice in a sippy cup.

4) Silence--Pour yourself a cup of coffee, shut off all devices and let yourself ponder. If you have little peeps in your house, tell your family that you are going to the grocery store and stop at a coffee shop first. Shut your phone off and take deep breaths. Let your mind go to a happy place. No passport or luggage needed.

5) Celebrate plain--Adorning every available square inch of space is borderline cluttering. A well placed creche has more impact than a room filled with glitter, baubles and Santa dolls. Look away from Pinterest, people, and let your inner zen speak.

6) Watch a funny movie--Sure, It's a Wonderful Life is a classic seasonal movie, but watching an angst-ridden George Bailey stumble around trying to find himself for two plus hours is depressing. On the other hand, watching a cat chew on a Christmas-light cord or Ralphie spilling a hub cap full of lug nuts in the snow may not be very thought provoking but you will feel better for having been a part of such revelry. Save the heavyweight stuff for January.

All this chatter has inspired me to print this year's picture of a Christmas tree. Easy to put up and easy to take down. My kind of holiday.

Wishing you a merry and mania-free Christmas!

Pie

Pie. A three letter word that speaks volumes. There are books, TV shows and diners devoted to this world of crust encased goodness. The recipes range from cream-filled to meringue-topped to fruit-streuseled to cream-cheesed to everything in between. Pie seems to be the Holy Grail of the dessert kingdom. Bakers go to their graves clutching stain-blotched recipe cards that hold the secrets to a perfect pie.

In reality, it is not about the pie filling, important as that is, it is about the crust. A silky smooth pie covered with mounds of sweet fluffy meringue can be toppled from perfection by a tough, tasteless crust. There is nothing more sad than a plate of disemboweled pie crust left behind like a piece of picked over carrion. Better to just eat a dish of lemon custard and call it a day. Ironically, there are also those who will leave a delicious crust behind to "save on calories." Good Granny. Order a dish of sherbet and stop insulting the cook.

My grandmother made delicious pies and I don't remember more than a crumb being left on any plate she served us.  Her meringues were always perfectly coiffed. The fruit pies were sweetened just right. And the streusel toppings had the perfect amount of crunch. But the best part of all was the crust. Flaky, tender and flavorful. Her secret? I believe it was lard. Yes, lard. Fat. A word that is poison to many but golden to a true baker. Lard was readily available for my grandmother so it made good sense to use it in her cooking. We were also part of a generation that recognized the value of fat in our diets. Putting in a full day on the farm could not be sustained by a plate of lentils and brussel sprouts (delicious as both are). Real labor needed all the food groups and a treat or two to make life interesting. Enter the pie.

Fast forward to today. Most of us probably don't need pie to sustain a physically demanding day but life without pie just seems wrong. We are no less obsessed with sweet treats than our ancestors, we just have to temper ourselves a bit more. I inherited my grandmother's love of a good pie but I don't think I will ever achieve her skill level. My pies tend to be hit and miss. I have experimented with everything from old cookbook recipes to store bought crusts. All I know so far is that a store prepared crust is okay in a pinch but a made-from-scratch, loved-by-a-rolling pin, ingredients-just-right crust can be a work of art. I think I have created just a couple in my lifetime. Most of my attempts are acceptable at best and a few never make it to a pie plate (case in point last week, disaster!).

So, if you are fortunate enough to enjoy a really good pie this holiday season, don't forget to thank the cook. And eat your crust!

Intruder

The crashing noise was unexpected and startling. It came from the direction of my deck. My brain quickly analyzed the possibilities. The fierce wind. A rogue squirrel. A broken bird feeder. A cat burglar. All seemed possible.

All were incorrect. One was almost accurate. No burglar, just a cat. A beautiful apricot and cream colored feline had knocked over my tray of bird seed. I imagine that she had miscalculated a leap for a little cheeper snacking on an overhead bird feeder. By the time I reached the patio door, she was doing what all cats do when they are caught in an act of malfeasance, sauntering nonchalantly away as if everything that happened was planned and perfectly normal. End of story.

I should be angry at the marauding tabby, but I am not. Of course, I am not happy about the upset tray of bird seed. And I would rather not have my bird feeding station become the Royal Buffet for cats and other perpetrators. But, cats are cats, birds are birds and people are stupid when they try to take sides. Tempting birds to visit my deck will inevitably tantalize other lovers of birds and seed, some with four paws.

Every day I watch a few portly squirrels munch their way through freshly stocked seeds. It is not my intent to feed them but investing time and money on dubious methods of resistance makes little sense. Their stubby little paws share space with the blunt beaks of their feathered neighbors. Selective feeding may work for zoos but not so much for unfenced spaces.

Growing up on a farm hammered the laws of nature home for me. We loved our cats, but we respected their place in the food chain. Mice and other vermin were fair game on most days and so was a favorite pet bird one disastrous afternoon. (Sorry about that, little sis.) We also knew that on any given day, our favorite cat might not return, a possible victim of a larger carnivore or a blundered attempt at jumping over a barbed wire fence. Not pretty. Just real.

As I watch my bird feeding station, I am reminded that it is not always wise to rewrite the scripts of nature. The unadorned, ubiquitous house sparrow is just as hungry for bird seed as is the brilliantly beautiful cardinal. The nose crinkling bunny rabbit is as interested in the tender shoots of garden beans as I am. The neighborhood cat is programmed to stalk and hunt. The chatty squirrels stuff their chubby cheeks in fear of lean days ahead. The sharp sighted hawk circles our backyards in search of bird, mammal or reptile.

And I know that a spilled pan of bird seed is just a sign of nature's bounty. Enjoy the goodness.

Bewitched

A popular TV series in the late 60's and early 70's was a show called Bewitched. The premise, like many hit shows, was a story line that most individuals might find silly and a bit weird. A good witch named Samantha marries a mortal named Darrin Stephens and together they build a life in suburbia. Hard to believe such a frothy fantasy was a top pick for millions of viewers and continues in syndication today.

When I was young, TV watching was a limited event due to the black and white behemoth that sat on the edge of the sitting room. Its reception was spotty and only a couple of channels were relatively reliable. Selected shows were based on a large family's compromises and prescribed bedtimes. Bewitched was certainly not a first pick due to its shady connection with possible witchcraft but somehow we managed to sneak in enough episodes to know that Samantha had a secret power that seemed oh so appealing. Imagine being able to twitch your nose and instantly have dishes go from dirty to sparkling. One more twitch and your messy room was clean and orderly. To this day, I secretly long for a way to go from grimy to glittery in minutes.

Clearly, I never became the power wielding Samantha Stephens but I'm afraid I did become a different character, Gladys Kravitz. Gladys was the curious, snoopy neighbor who was always on the edge of discovering the reason behind the aura of strangeness in the Stephens household. She would pop up at inopportune times in the Stephens house, seeing and hearing things that caused her face to scrunch up in pondering moments. She was only too willing to share her observations with her long suffering husband and anyone else who would entertain the possibility of miscreants in their midst.

My Gladys moments are a little less dramatic. For years, I have had a full on view of the neighborhood through my large living room window. Any time that I am perched on my couch reading or playing another game of Scrabble with my computer, I am also watching folks walk by my house. I can set my clock to the determined walking pursuits of many dog-walkers, stroller-pushers and I'm-going-to-get-fitters. I've developed stories in my head about the lives of my window actors. The cigarette puffing young lady, hand in hand with her older gentleman friend, is always being pulled along by an itty bitty dog. I've made her the second wife of a love triangle gone bad. The doggedly determined speed walker who goes by in the early evening hours has become someone who is scared witless to gain a pound, perhaps due to past taunts by thoughtless others. The portly gentleman, who walks by in calculated, measured steps, wearing a pith helmet during the heat of the day, has become someone who just received bad news from the doctor and is determined to turn things around. The lady with the swimmingly giant white coat is afraid to buy a size smaller because it might jinx good works that have already been accomplished. And the little dogs who no longer trot by with their owners have probably gone on to doggie heaven, leaving behind saddened loved ones.

All my Gladys Kravitz musings have come to a a screeching halt this month, however. We installed a new living room window with internal pleated shades that can be lowered, not raised.  It makes far more sense to lower the shades so we can let light in without compromising our privacy throughout the day and evening hours. While I love our new, sleek window, I must confess that I miss my sidewalk friends. No more story speculations and daydreaming inspirations and no more Gladys moments. Certainly, I can lower my shades completely and continue the novellas I have created in my head but perhaps it is time to let go, at least for awhile. Or, I can join the pavement pounders and become part of their stories.

On second thought, I'll just lower the shades a bit farther. Enough exercise for one day.