Soap Dispensers--Because We're Those People Now

                 Last night, Kiddo had a mishap after brushing her teeth that ended in our faithful old soap dispenser breaking beyond repair.  After doing our best to convince her that we don't mind, we set forth to find a new one online.

                The old one was a stroke of good luck.  The one we received as a wedding gift didn't come out of the move to California in great shape, so I had been subconsciously looking for something that would work when I happened upon the perfect one at TJ Maxx or Tuesday Morning (same idea, same general housewares, different ends of the parking lot.).  I slapped down my five dollars and ran away before they realized I liked it so much, then set it up at home.  It's been a trooper for the last ten years, and I had acquired a toothbrush holder and bowl for bar soap that coordinated, but did not match, at the thrift stores.  They are all the traditional blue and white china look that is dotted throughout my house, mostly represented in lucky finds at garage sales and thrift stores, as well as goodies presented by friends who were clearing out.

                If this were an ordinary time, I would just hit the thrift store on the way home from Renaissance Fabrics.  I would find something that was okay until something amazing came.  Or something amazing would be sitting there.  It would set me back about ten bucks, and I'd probably find some spectacularly unnecessary silver items and a fabulous skirt or something on my way to the checkout.  Could have been fantastic.  Stupid worldwide pandemic, stepping on my thrift store karma.

                Instead, I hit up the websites.  It's a bit of a shock when one transitions from hand-me-downs and thrift stores to normal commerce.  "They want $75 for something that holds soap?" I snorted, scrolling through my options on Williams Sonoma (home of the $75 option), Etsy, Target, Walmart, JC Penney, Amazon, EBay, and finally, a general Google search.  I finally landed on one that was not too expensive, coming from what looks like a medium-sized company that caters to would-be interior designers.  We almost settled on an automatic one, but Tiny will be potty training in the next two years, and I don't want a bizarre soap mound created by a toddler who discovers she can make something happen by waving her hands.

                I had kind of forgotten that normal people have that much matching stuff in their bathrooms.  We don't use cotton swabs or cotton balls in the bathroom, so we had skipped needing their holders.  We had also missed the memo that our toilet brush holder was supposed to be a style statement.  We currently have a toilet brush holder that proudly states:  "We clean our toilet regularly.  We shop at Ikea.  We are cheap, but not super cheap."  I hope that Kiddo can still get into a good school, and that if that good school is on the East Coast, that she shan't be shunned from good society for her parents' bizarre ways.  After all, we're already behind the curve for not having lit candles in our bathroom, as Fuzzy is sensitive to scented stuff and I'm convinced I would set my hair on fire mid-necessity.  Well raised children are probably terrified by us.

                I finished Kevin Kwan's Sex and Vanity today.  He likes to parody the tendency of the wealthy to get wrapped up in brand names and trendy buzzwords.  I caught myself wondering what kind of soap dispensers his characters use.  The mind reels.

Random Thoughts for a Sunday Evening

                 Isn't it maddening how some words look like they're spelled wrong, no matter what you do?  I still honestly believe that those things that hang off curtains and keychains are tassles.  I see it spelled correctly--tassel--on supply bins everywhere, but my brain refuses to believe it.  I'm still not sure which spelling to use when referring to the shelf above a fireplace, as opposed to a garment.  Mantle?  Mantel?  I spend a lot of time telling Kiddo that spell check isn't foolproof and won't catch her using the wrong word, and it makes me very aware that I do not always know how to proceed.  Good thing I can look it up, and I make sure Kiddo knows that I do.  I'm doing the best I can to show her that we all have to use references, and that it doesn't all have to be stored in our heads.

                Thanksgiving was quiet, and now we just wait to be sure that nothing got passed on to anyone else.  Tiny wore her mask around the family for the first time, and she was a trooper about it.  It helped immensely that absolutely everything she did during the visit made her uncle melt like butter on a hot plate.  Even though he has his own curly hair, I caught him gently pulling and releasing hers.  It established for me that no one is immune to those tiny springy curls.

                I spent a good amount of time this week working on the Advent calendar.  I hand quilted and bound the tree wall hanging, and it's now down to the bias tape channel on the back to run the dowel through for hanging.  I finished satin stitching the ornaments and only whacked myself on the forehead with the machine takeup lever a few times.  When you're really trying to concentrate and do an accurate job, you sometimes get a little too close to the moving parts.  I'll start attaching pinbacks tonight.  Hopefully, I can stay ahead of the demand.  If I have time, I'll also make a bag to stitch onto the back of the wall hanging to hold all the pieces.  For this year, though, I'll just hide them in the sewing room.  Tiny is still too excited about her ability to open zippers and scatter the contents of zippered items.  I hope she'll have more self control next year.

                I'm sure I'll have a focused post next time, but that's all the thoughts that are worthwhile for today.

It's the Celebration, Not the Day

                 My mother finally decided that there is no way she can come to California this year for Christmas.  It's sad, but it's also the right decision.  We decided together that we will celebrate whenever we can get together, as it's the celebration, not the day, that we desire.

                When I was a kid, our Christmas celebrations followed a regular schedule.  We would attend Christmas Eve services at church (usually without Mom, as she was playing the organ at another church), then have Christmas at home in the morning.  We would then leave for Grandma's house the next morning, where we would do the extended family Christmas and visit until New Year's.  It was a system that seemed to work for everyone, and it helped us to have our own traditions as our little family in addition to the traditions of the extended family.  

                When my oldest sister started working at Walt Disney World in the '90s, she called us and explained that there was absolutely no way she would be coming home for Christmas.  Around the same era, my brother was in a high-level college marching band and had to go to bowl games with the football team.  We started celebrating holidays when we could get together, rather than on precisely Christmas Day.  Some years, Santa showed up on December 23 or December 27.  Ultimately, we learned, it was about when we could get most of us together.  I continued this idea later, when we would celebrate our Christmas morning on December 24 to allow for Fuzzy's family's celebrations that evening and the following morning.

                I've been thinking about this a lot lately.  We are doing a very abbreviated Thanksgiving today at Fuzzy's mother's house--we will be heading out two hours after arriving, which is not likely to be popular.  I'm hoping and praying that it's warm enough to be outside or at least to open the windows and doors.  It helps that the house is big and airy, with high ceilings, so there at least is some air in there.  It will only be us, Fuzzy's mother and brothers, and one close family friend, but I'm still wildly nervous--this isn't a decision I got to make.  Studies are showing that there is a fifteen percent chance that, in our area, one person at a ten-person gathering is contagious.  Our chances are better, as we represent half of this gathering.  The chances in Detroit right now are around 50%.   

                This is all reminding me of the time Fuzzy and I had Thanksgiving on our own back when I was in grad school.  We ordered precisely what we liked from Boston Market and watched movies and fielded calls from family who were convinced that we were desperately lonely.  We weren't.  Ultimately, we had each other, and we weren't committed to "the perfect holiday."  We had released ourselves from what this was supposed to look like, and it was refreshing.  There were no politics to play, no hissed reminders of what we are not discussing this year, no worry of people tracking what we chose to eat, and no pressure to look or act a certain way.  It was truly relaxing, rather than the play-acting relaxing that so many family holidays turn out to be.

                We will find a way to be together again in the leisurely way we have been before, and I pray for safety this year.

Subscription Culture and the "Right People" Phenomenon in the Arts

                 Tiny has upped her bedtime game, and we are now frequently greeted by a frustrated naked baby who can't figure out how to put her diaper back on.  She refused to take a nap today, as taking off her clothes was more exciting, but she still fought bedtime mightily.  Frankly, I'll be surprised if I see her eyes open before eight tomorrow morning.  Poor little thing.  Fuzzy is now brainstorming outfits that are difficult to remove.  The union suit that we put on to zip up the back is the closest we've come to success so far.

                The camera that Kiddo spent some of her chore money on has arrived, and she is now happily planning her shots.  She's not always great at impulse control, so I'm curious to see how many of the instant pictures will be unexposed in the morning.

                I chatted with a friend today, and together, we came up with a name for what I think I've been seeing lately.  Subscription culture--hopefully the next step of cancel culture (I just found out that subscription culture is actually the phenomenon of every media and entertainment outlet now having its own subscription service, but go with me for a moment here).  We are punishing the wrongdoers, so now it's time to lift up the forgotten gooddoers.   I love the memes that are floating around, celebrating the heroes and heroines of the non-dominant colors and backgrounds.  It's time to tell more stories and let more people into the room.  There are groups that are working to add more historic figures and characters to the fairs, and many of the local theatres are actively seeking more variety in scripts and team members.  Bless them.

                I can only hope that the larger professional theatre world might do the same.  There is a lot of tokenism, black casts of typically white shows, and single "multicultural" titles in otherwise white-majority seasons.  A document that in some places read like a burn book made its way around the Bay Area theatre scene a few months ago, and while the contributors occasionally declined into gossip and personal attacks, it was pretty clear that a lot of companies have a lot of work to do, with racial relations and also with some of their hiring chioces.

                Theatre is an insular community, and while many companies congratulate themselves on being a "family," the feeling is more of "the right people."  I'm sure it happens in every industry, but it's more obvious in theatre, as most people work for multiple companies, and directors and choreographers often have a circle of favored performers and designers, who are invited to work with the director/choreographer at whichever theatre is presenting the director/choreographer's work.  It creates a system in which it becomes criminally easy for someone with charisma to become difficult to remove from the rotation.  "I don't know," the artistic director frets, "He's just so talented."  Translation:  he makes the director we want happy.  Several of those folks were called out in the document from a few months ago, but I have no doubt they will have full schedules when we go back to work.  After all, they've spent the past few months reminding the people with hiring power how much they just adore them and going out for socially distanced outdoor cocktails with (of course!) coordinating Instagram photos.  It's exhausting to watch.

                I just ran across a study that theorizes that talent and hard work are less connected to success in the arts than having the right friends.  It was depressing to read it and realize that I've seen it so many times in my life.  The kids in summer theatre who are still drunk from the party the night before are now in management positions, reminding those of us who just worked hard that we need to pay our dues.  The folks who spend their time laughing in the manager's office while the rest of us restocked and cleaned are now reminding us that they're just better at the job.  It's sad to see the myth of the rewards of hard work dying in the face of having the right friends, and it's one of the big reasons I am burned out at this point.  I've taken a big step back from the theatre, and my new boundary is that I'm no longer staying in any room in which I am clearly needed, but not wanted.  I wonder sometimes what some of these shows would look like if the less-cool kids took a vacation instead of the social butterflies.  What if the "right people" couldn't take advantage of their connections and instead had to actually pay for their rentals and extra help?  Would they be "just so talented" without all the invisible assistance and their friends endlessly adoring every move they made?

                That would be intriguing to watch.  Perhaps with socially distanced cocktails with the less-"right people."

Let the Festivities Begin! Sorta!

                 Tonight, once Kiddo finishes her chores, we will watch the first act of The MeshugaNutcracker!, which is a retelling of some of the stories of Chelm with a klezmer version of The Nutcracker Suite as accompaniment.  It's available on BroadwayHD, and it features a couple of really wonderful local actors, who apparently usually tour with the show each winter.  I mean, not  this winter, naturally, but usually.  I've really enjoyed working with them in the past, so it's a blessing to see their smiles.

                Fuzzy is pleased that there is such a fun little show available to celebrate the girls' Jewish heritage, and he is hoping that they will like it.  We're a blended family, and it's easy to find Christmas entertainment, but it's a lot harder to find fun Hanukkah shows.  We were reminiscing today about when I had more free time and would obsessively watch Ovation's Battle of the Nutcrackers:  Grudge Match.  I just realized that I think our new cable package includes Ovation, so I might be able to catch it again.  The Battle of the Nutcrackers is a whole bunch of different interpretations of The Nutcracker by various ballet choreographers and companies.  It's fantastic.  Fuzzy tolerated it, though he did point out that it was a lot of the same music over and over again.  If Ovation doesn't do it this year, I'm combining streaming services and creating my own.  I just hope I can find the Matthew Bourne version.

                Fair was supposed to open a couple days ago.  On an ordinary year, I would have more work than time for the next four days.  Instead, I'm making an advent calendar for the girls from  a panel I saw in the fabric catalog a couple months ago.  It's really cute--a tree with 25 ornaments.  The directions told me to use stick-on velcro to attach the ornaments to the tree, but it just seemed a bit tacky, especially since I plan to use it for multiple years.  Instead, I'm sewing jewelry pinbacks to all of them, so the girls can choose where each piece goes.  It's going to be a bit of work this week, but I'm hopeful. 

                Perhaps this will help to keep Tiny off the regular tree when it goes up.  It's worth a try.  Seriously considering putting up a little fence around it.  It's been just long enough since Kiddo was a toddler that we honestly do not remember what we did.  To be fair, Kiddo was six months younger than Tiny at one Christmas and six months older than Tiny at the next one, so we might have dodged the Destructo-Toddler stage that Tiny is in right now.  We also had Kiddo at day care for most of the day almost every day at that point, because we were working so much, so we really only had to keep her away from the tree and presents for a couple hours a day.  I think we're going to put it on a table this year and hope for the best.  Perhaps all the presents need to just show up at the last minute.  Meanwhile, we'll have the little fabric tree on the wall by the hall closet.  I wonder if I can get away with making a pocket for the back to hold the rest of the ornaments.  To be fair, Tiny figured out how zippers work a few weeks ago, which is why we keep finding her mostly naked when we get her from her nap.  Apparently, her tummy is amazing and must be inspected regularly.  Her socks also regularly lose their position, as toes are much too interesting to be contained at bedtime.  Then she cries, because she's cold. 

                I'm concerned that Kiddo will be sad to lose the chance to poke and prod and guess at the present pile.  We are both youngest children, so we are very aware that we don't know what it's like to have a younger sibling, nor how it feels to have been the only little one around most of your life.  When she was really tiny, we would do our celebration on the morning of December 24, then spent the night at Fuzzy's parents' house to have Christmas morning there.  It was a lot of celebration for a little girl, and we eventually edited it down to Christmas Eve at the grandparents', then Christmas morning at our house.  Who knows what this year will look like?

                Luckily, Hanukkah is in early December this year, so we can celebrate being together and being safe soon.  Maybe I should make a cloth menorah with pinnable flames for Tiny and Kiddo as well.  We need all the festivity we can get.

Thoughts on Endurance

                 We had parent teacher conferences today, and (thank goodness!) Kiddo is improving well.  I think we may have found the right combination for right now, and we'll just keep adjusting as needed.  I honestly thought that it would be harder to handle both girls at the same time, but it's not completely terrible.  It's not forever, and I can handle just about anything if I know that it will transition into something else later.

                When you work in theatre, especially on multiple shows, your life is a series of deadlines and changes.  You bust your tail for weeks, then sit in a dark space for hours on end between frantically changing things for a week or so, then you (possibly) have a break, and then it all starts again.  Or it doesn't, and you look for your next job.  Year in.  Year out.  Deadlines, fittings, building, changes, finishing, opening, starting over.  And taking each show out, cleaning it, and putting it away.  It startled me when I had a "normal" job to not have a week off after we would finish a huge project.  I worked my eyeballs out, and nobody applauded or invited me to a party with the producers?  Lame.  Though the regular paychecks and benefits were pretty nice, all things considered.  My career has conditioned me to believe that I can endure anything if I know there is an end to it.

                There is a great deal of power in being allowed to recognize that something is not good.  I have been in a few situations in which I was pressured to be positive at all times.  Even stating that "some days are like that," á la Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day, was viewed as being negative.  It was exhausting, because it felt like lying to myself.  Kiddo is 100% allowed to state that she is unhappy, or that something is making her sad.  She also needs to recognize that it won't be terrible forever.

                One of the unfortunate things that women do to each other is tell horror stories about giving birth--the pain, the indignity, the terrible things that can go wrong.  My own birth experiences were both considerably less than ideal, but what I tell women who are facing that part of life is simply this:  "It's one day.  Labor can last for a few days in certain situations, but most of the time, it's one day out of your life.  It's a day that is hard.  It's a day that is long.  It's a day that is painful and difficult and awful, but when it's over, it is a day that changes the rest of your life.  You can make it for a day if you know that this day will end and the next will be different."

                My mental health is often rough, but I have learned through the years to recognize that it's rough, then look for the ways to make it all work.  We are not having the fall we hoped for.  It's highly unlikely we will have the winter we hoped for.  We will miss out on most of the celebrations and gatherings we traditionally have, and my industry will remain dark for months and months to go.  We have each other, though, and we will take the best care we can, and we will recognize that this is not what we want, but it is what we have.  It will not be perfect, but it also will not be forever. 

                For now, I give you my mantras:  "You can.  You will.  And when you do, it will be glorious."  and "Not forever.  Not forever.  Not forever."

A little reminder from our friends on Avenue Q.

Am I Lazy, or Just Too Fabulous for Grocery Shopping?

                 While cutting out some fabric today, I watched Tintypes on BroadwayHD.  Can we talk about Lynne Thigpen's unbelievable talent?  She's amazing.  If you only know her as The Chief from Where in the World is Carmen Santiago?, look her up on YouTube.  Stunning voice.  Comic timing for days.  Great dancing.  We lost a really good one early when she died at age 54.

                Things have been pretty scattered here.  Almost all of California has been dropped back to the most restrictive tier of closures and precautions, mostly in the hopes of cutting down on transmissions over Thanksgiving.  Judging by the reactions on the community board, it might backfire.  I guess I have no choice but to hope for the best.  Fuzzy is certain we will do a very short dinner with the windows open at his mother's house, but I feel less confident.  We plan to do a special dinner for the girls on Friday, perhaps even with the good china.

                With more people doing their own Thanksgivings and the shutdowns looming, our stores are going to start getting skinny.  It might count as panic buying, but I did a Costco order for delivery and a Wal Mart drive up order for groceries today.  I figure that we now have a good stock for the next week or so, and I should be able to stay out of Costco for another month.

                Wal Mart started offering drive up grocery pickup when I was about six months pregnant with Tiny.  I avoided it as much as I could, but I kept getting dizzy spells while grocery shopping.  We decided to try it out a couple times, as it was easier than sending Fuzzy in with a list. It filled the need, but we didn't use it a whole lot, as going grocery shopping was one of my few opportunities for an outing with Tiny being brand new.  We mostly used it for the weeks we would be too busy for shopping, and I would schedule it to have Fuzzy swing by on his way home from work.

                When things started shutting down, I actually had a pickup order scheduled, as I was neck deep in preparation for two shows.  They cancelled the whole thing, as the shelves were bare, and the employees were too busy keeping the peace to do much else.  We tried out pickup orders from other stores that were farther away, and I'm thinking of starting those again, to support the little guy more.  I also discovered the wonder that is Target drive up, with no minimum and a four hour turnaround.  They don't offer much in the way of groceries, but they have a nicely stocked baby food section and I love their diapers.

                Right now, it's really easy to get into the drive up options, as most of my area seems to think that it's their patriotic duty to be in the stores for even the smallest whim.  Fuzzy's brother has made a few snarky remarks about how Americans will do basically anything to avoid getting out of their cars.  Fuzzy's brother also lives in a major city and shops at stores within four blocks of his home. 

                Frankly, I love drive up stuff, because I have crappy impulse control.  Ordering ahead means I have already bought everything to the list and have stayed within the budget I set.  It also means that I have edited out most of the "poor life choice" snack options before checking out, and that I have allowed my family to offer their last minute needs.  I'm less likely to need to run back to the store immediately, and I'm less likely to have a snack for the drive back.  Pick up orders also mean that I don't have to deal with crowds or waiting in line, something that was rough on my nerves before all of this, especially on the first weekend of the month (many local employers pay on the first or on the first and fifteenth).  I am just fine with listening to my audiobook while waiting for the drive up crew to come out and load it all in my car.  I'm totally cool with knowing in advance that shredded cheddar cheese isn't available.  We usually schedule it to coincide with our takeout dinner night, so I go pick up the groceries, then run over to the restaurants to pick up our orders.  Fuzzy puts all the groceries away while I distribute dinner, and our evening is rolling, without the stress of dealing with the crowds.

                I'm likely to continue doing drive up pick ups.  It's just convenient for us, and it's saving me from some wacky choices. I don't necessarily recommend it for all your produce options, but when you're doing pantry staples and standard items, it's fantastic.  Plus, see previous statement about audiobooks.

"Cook Until Done" and Other Vagaries of Family Recipes

                I had a bag of apples that were about to turn this morning, so I made them into an apple crisp using the family cookbook my sister put together about fifteen years ago.  She had gone through Mom's cookbooks next to a photocopier one day to create her own binder of recipes years before, but some of them were a bit hard to read, having stuck themselves to the bottom of a pan destined for a hot oven.

                When she created the book for all of us, she did us a huge favor.  She forced Mom to quantify some of the recipes that were clearly just reminders to someone who already knows how to make the item.  Every family has a few of these recipes, I hope.  "Combine in the style of..., bake in warm oven until done."  I've ended up with a few of these anyway.  This is the conversation I have when I confront my source:

                "Okay, so I'm making this thing from your recipe.  It says 'warm oven.'  What temperature is a warm oven?  Is that like 275, or closer to 400?"

                "Oooooh, whatever you have the meat in on.  It's a side dish, so it'll bake at a variety of temperatures."

                "I'm making it as the main dish, so it's alone in the oven.  Do you have a temperature recommendation?"

                "Eh.  350 sounds about right."

                "So, now it says to cook until done.  What does that mean?"

                "You cook it until it smells nice and is crispy around the edges.  You know, done."

                "Is there a general idea of time?  Can I switch the laundry, or do I need to stay in the kitchen?"

                "Oh, nothing burns that quickly at 350.  You should be fine."

                Mothers, this is why your children cheat on the family recipes with Julia Child, Betty Crocker, and America's Test Kitchen.  When we start out, we are not confident in our ability to judge "a glop," "a bit," or "enough to fill the bottom of the pan, but not fill-fill the pan."  Throw us a bone, Moms, and rewrite the recipes with some measurements, just as your ancestors did when they switched from "the green glass cup" to a set of standard measuring cups.  Even just a bit of a hint on the things that are learned by touch, like "This is something that makes more sense after the third time you've made it.  Call me."  All the same, thank you for reconstructing the oatmeal cookie recipe that was nicely browned.  That would have died with you, and that would have been a tragedy.

                Back to the apple crisp.  It took a couple makings to realize that I put more apple slices into the dish than my mother did, so if I leave it in the oven until the smell is so good that the neighbors are looking over the fence, all the apples will be sweet and soft.  Nobody else at my house eats my apple crisp much, so I'll be eating it for breakfast all this week.  It's no more sugar than oatmeal or cereal, and at least it's produce.

                I might make the family sugar cookies as long as I have the book out.  Somehow, my grandmother and my mother use the same recipe, but end up with two completely different cookies.  Grandma's are three inches across and are pillowy and thick.  Mom's are crispy and thin and whatever cookie cutter shape struck her fancy.  I guess it's just how they roll them out, but do they bake them at the same temperature and time, or is there a secret alteration I don't know about?  Will anyone tell me if I confront them?  Is it because Grandma uses Crisco?  I use butter.  Does that make a difference?  This is the moment when I consult America's Test Kitchen about the chemistry of baking. 

                I think I lost some of my baking credibility with my mother last month, when I revealed that my baking powder had expired in 2011 (baking powder expires?) and mused that perhaps that had been why things had been a bit rubbery lately.  I'm not certain if she wanted to get off the phone because she had things to do, or because this was comedy gold that needed to be shared.

                Long story short?  If I say I make it all the time, get your seconds early, because I have a good scald on it.  If I say I just made it from scratch for the first time, be prepared to make yourself a sandwich and tell a bunch of lies about eating earlier.

All the Secrets of Operation Make Not Suck Laid Bare, that You May Make Your Costumes Not Suck as Well

 

                This week, I'm a quilting fiend.  All the quilt tops got finished a  few weeks ago, and I did the pinning of the layers today for Tiny and Kiddo's.  Tiny is getting a brightly colored quilt I made from a jelly roll with flowers and bugs on the prints.  Kiddo will (finally) be receiving the quilt I intended to make last year--a Harry Potter panel from the era of the very first movie with coordinating prints I bought last year on a whim.

                 Getting to finally make this one is a side reward for cleaning up the fabric hoard, as I couldn't make it last year when I couldn't locate my bin of fabric panels.  It turned out that I had transferred them to another box when the first bin for panels had gotten overwhelmed, and I hadn't labelled it, which, in hindsight, was deeply stupid on my part.  We have stopped buying anything new related to Harry Potter, as we have no interest in enriching the author any further, but using stuff we bought in the past is fair game. 

                Now that those two are pinned, I'm machine stitching in the ditch to marry the layers together, then binding them on the edges, just as I was taught in 4-H last century (shout out to my unbelievably patient quilting and sewing teachers, Sheryl, Sue, and Diana!).  Confession--I have to look up how to miter a corner when binding a quilt every single time.  I just can't seem to keep that in my head. 

                I'm waiting for the fabric I ordered for my sister's requilt, so I anticipate doing her project sometime next week.  I finally sat down and did all the repairs on it this weekend, and it got me to thinking about doing the "there's too much wrong to write it all down" notes in theatre.  Each place I worked used different notations--"Check for Repairs,"  "Needs Restoration," "Remove the Suck."  I call it "Make Not Suck."

                Something that is not always apparent from the stage is the condition of some of the costumes, especially rentals and vintage clothing.  Sometimes, the right costume is in really rough shape, with shredding fabric, evidence of multiple alterations, drooping hems, non-functional closures, and barely-attached trims. 

                When attempting to make a piece not suck, you first spread it out on a table to look it over, inch by inch, for holes, thin spots, fraying, and split seams.  I usually mark all the issues with safety pins.  Check the entire hem and neckline for handstitching that has disappeared, and take a look at the closure.  Sometimes a zipper just needs to be waxed, or a hook needs reinforcement, but quite often, I see a full replacement there.  Be good to yourself, and insist on YKK zippers, as they control their entire supply line, guaranteeing a higher quality zipper.  If it involves an invisible zipper, consider a bridal weight one, as they have a better chance of survival.  Zips are a pain in the tail to replace, so you might as well replace them in a proactive way.  It's also worth talking with the powers that be about if this is even feasible.  I have had garments with fabric shattering so badly that there was no hope for a day of good wearing, much less a three week run.

                Now, start the repairs.  Stitch the seam splits closed, by hand or machine, depending on the demands of the garment.  Rplace the zipper or closures.  Restitch split buttonholes by hand.  Find fabric that reasonably matches or festively contrasts, depending on the design and intended use, for patching.  Whenever you can, back the hole with the patch fabric, then turn the rough edges of the hole in and handstitch them to the patch.  With good pattern matching, it can be pretty invisible, especially from stage.  Use threads raveled from a similar fabric to darn thin spots, especially on drapey or sheer fabrics.  Depending on where this costume came from, you can also do the time-honored machine darn, in which you back the hole with a piece of fusible interfacing and then stitch short lines, back and forth, over the hole to cover the interfacing.  If there are major wear issues on the edges, consider new binding, or release enough stitching to lay the edge flat, darn it back together, then restore the stitching.  I've also used trim to cover tragic issues as well, though it must be done thoughtfully to add to the design.  Now, flip the garment inside out and do the entire process over again.

                There's nothing too miraculous about any of this.  It's all patience and resourcefulness.  I've had a few of these projects take several hours.  In those cases, it was a sentimental piece that needed to troupe just a couple more shows, or a part of a rental package that we simply could not replace for one reason or another.  This was usually a fine opportunity to point out to the rental company that our shop had put in quite a bit of time on their piece, so a discount on the rental package would be appreciated. 

                I have some people in my life who think that "Operation Make Not Suck," as it's known in the Dickens Fair shop, is wondrous and stunning.  For me, it's soothing, like a little Zen meditation--find the hole, fix the hole.  I have to imagine that vintage garment sellers and museums do lighter-handed versions of this same process.  It's tedious, but rewarding. 

                For my sister's quilt, I restitched seams and darned spots where the fabric had frayed away from the seams.  I'm hopeful that the more intense quilting will support the seams a little better, preventing some of the current issues.  Just in case, though, I'm handstitching a rod pocket on the back.  It might be time for this one to be admired on the wall instead.

In Which I Discover that the Tooth Fairy Apparently has Become Much More Generous than I Thought

                 Kiddo lost another tooth tonight, and has decided that she will write a note to the Tooth Fairy to negotiate a better fee.  Apparently, other kids at school get twenty-five dollars a tooth.  Kiddo gets a dollar.  Apparently inflation has hit the Tooth Fairy hard, as my siblings and I got nickels, unless Mom and Dad didn't have any change.  I managed to swallow my curse-laden exclamation of disbelief just in time, but  holy crabcakes.  This just reminds me of all those memes floating around that beg us to credit Santa for only the stockings so the children of less-well-off people don't wonder if they're being punished.  I implied that our Tooth Fairy works on a different scale. 

                Kiddo spent eight years as the only grandchild on both sides of the family.  Fuzzy and I are the youngest children of our families, so our kids have older grandparents who have more leisure time to spend thinking about how much they love their grandbabies, as well as doting aunts and uncles.  For us, it means that we carefully balance things to avoid spoiling the kids.  Kiddo has her own room at Fuzzy's mother's house, and until Fuzzy's father got very sick, she would spend a couple weekends a month over there.  The time and attention was worth more to her than the stuff, and I'm looking forward to the pandemic improving, so she can be over there again.  Their house was built in the 1920s as a family complex, with a few apartments attached to it.  They rented those out to some wonderful people, as well as some of the guest rooms, so when we are over there, it's like visiting a village of friends.  Kiddo is especially loved over there, and her room there is filled with toys and art supplies.  Conveniently, the pandemic hit just about the time that her little sister would be expecting to partake in the goodies, so it remains Kiddo's special place.

                As a family, we are working to prevent spoiling, though, with varying degrees of success.  When she asks why she can't have some of the largess her classmates have, we point out that we are attempting to teach her to be content with what she has.  In my  opinion, it is one of the best lessons we can teach our children--contentment.  If I can manage to make her understand that she can make what she has into what she wants, and that her happiness does not depend on having the next thing, I will have set her up for life.

                Thinking of that, Fuzzy has requested my Christmas list for this year.  I have only a couple ideas, because I have so much already.  I can sew for the next decade before I run out of anything.  My backlog of books could keep me reading for years.  I wouldn't wish clothes shopping for me on my worst enemy.  Poor Fuzzy.  He has some really good ideas for me, and most of them don't even require much hunting or effort.  Last year, we got each other tickets for a show that was coming through Sacramento in May.  We still haven't seen it.  I'm hopeful for their rescheduled date this coming June.

                A long time ago, Fuzzy asked me what I wanted from my life.  I told him I wanted to be content and peaceful, to see new things and to learn.  I think we're on track for now.

 

A Modest Proposal for Better Local Theatre

             Does anyone else feel like this week was a year long?  I'm just exhausted, and I don't think I can point at any big thing I managed to do.  Just a whole series of little things over and over.  It's highly unlikely that I will come out of this particularly extraordinary, with piles of new skills.  I just have to take it on faith that keeping everybody together is enough.

                I was talking with a friend today about how we can make theatre economically feasible when we are finally able to have shows again.  No local theatre is coming through this unscathed, and in many cases, designers and technicians were already criminally underpaid before everything shut down.  Quite often, companies would select shows and then look into the technical demands, leading to nasty shocks when their "not that big" shows required hundreds of costumes or a magically moving set.  This usually ends with the managing director waving his arms vaguely and proclaiming that he just knows we'll come up with something, because we're brilliant.

                This has happened often enough to my friend that she no longer enjoys watching some big shows, because she starts dreading the day she'll be asked to do it for $20 a costume, if that.  It's rough.  The real solution is to start exploring new concepts for these shows.  It was refreshing to watch the National Theatre's weekly offerings on YouTube this spring, which focused on streamlined technical elements instead of flashy production values.  For example, in Jane Eyre, the entire cast was in basic costumes with pieces added and removed for various passing characters.  The full changes were reserved for maximum impact, like Jane's wedding dress, and everything happened onstage.  It was wildly effective, and I certainly didn't miss the "miracle" changes, where someone has a full costume/shoe/wig change in 25 seconds.

                Don't get me wrong.  I love big shows.  I adore seeing something like Wicked or Phantom of the Opera, but very few local theatres have thirteen million dollars to put the show on the way it was conceived.  It's time for us to stop trying to emulate what we saw in the movie or on the Tony Awards.  The budget cuts that are coming when the theatres reopen after all of this are going to force us to get creative.  I have a few proposals for changes.

1.  No more assuming that designers will provide free rentals or shop space from their day jobs.  It creates a false sense of superior utilization of budgets, and it endangers the designer's livelihood.  Often, the bosses at the day job are unaware they are bankrolling another theatre's enterprises, and in some cases, your designers can be dismissed for it.  That doesn't even consider the nightmare of liability if your designer is fitting your actors in someone else's space.  What happens if your actor falls down the stairs and chooses to sue the other company?  What happens if there's a burglary, or a fire?  Figure out what a show actually costs to put on without theft. 

2.  Put someone on your script selection committee who can analyze the prospective shows for technical demands.  The analysis needs to include all the design demands--sets, costumes, lights, sound, wigs, make-up, projections, and so forth.  Listen to your someone when they tell you that this is too big a show for your space, or that the only good costume rental package runs about the same price as a new mid-level SUV.  You need to go into the budgeting/fundraising process already aware of the demands of the show.  How can you guess what a show will cost if you have no concept how many wigs will go into it, or that the set is completely different every time the curtain rises, or that the first act ends with the entire cast flying over an onstage fire?  So many of us are guilty of not remembering some of these details from that one time we saw it on tour after a dinner with really good wine.  The most damning words in theatre are "How hard can it be?"  I assure you, the world is eager to show you how hard it can be, if that's the best question you can come up with.

3.  Get creative with concepts.  Do concert versions.  Set them as radio plays (This worked for my undergrad for a production of She Loves Me.  We built one item for the whole show--everything else, from the set to the costumes to the props, all came from stock.).  Do a black turtlenecks and stools version of something unexpected.  There's a brilliant version of  My Fair Lady out there with base costumes and pieces.  Challenge your audience to use their imaginations.

4.  Utilize your resources.  If you already have the set and the costumes, a remount of a popular previous production could be a great fundraiser (Give them a small budget anyway for incidentals, repairs, and rebuilds, and be damn sure you actually still have everything.)  Think about what you already have--those little cafe tables from the annual gala can definitely be used in Cabaret, for example.  One community theatre from my past used the same platform-heavy set for the entire season, and they just redressed it for each show.

5.  Be honest with your subscribers and supporters.   Offer goodies of some sort in return for the stuff you need, like the loan of a treadle sewing machine for Fiddler on the Roof.  Arts supporters have all kinds of things in their homes and businesses, and it's an extra little thrill to know they're personally involved in the show.  My father attended several shows directed by my mother to see his living room furniture, after all.  Mention the other stuff you need, too.  It's amazing what comes out of the woodwork when you just mention the need to the universe.

6.  Don't kill the cow for some milk.  I've seen a few companies die on the idea of doing one big splashy show.  Every staff member was worked to their limit.  Every dollar in the company was wrapped up in the show.  The shows would sell well, but not extraordinarily enough to justify it all.  Find another way to get talked about.

                I don't know everything, but I do know that we cannot continue to expect more and more for less and less.  Materials cost more.  Fuel costs more.  Rent costs more.  Even dry cleaning costs more.  I challenge the local theatres to find a way to make good theatre that doesn't look like the movie, but rather looks like wonderful creativity on what we have.

Crock-Pottery, Or One of Those Long Recipe Posts, but With a Link to the Actual Recipe Post

                 We finally finished Missy Piggle Wiggle and the Whatever Cure tonight.  One of the very last chapters sounded a lot like Kiddo, and I think she might be considering a few changes right now.  Not necessarily long lasting ones, but I might get a week or two of more focus out of her, and that's worth something.

                Being that it's finally cold here, I've been in the mood for soup.  I bought a few pounds of onions a couple weeks ago, so I chopped them up this morning and threw them into the crock pot, per a friend's recommendation.  I let them sit there with some melted butter for a few hours, and it was magical--the onions browned and caramelized by themselves!  I stirred them once an hour, then left the lid partially off after Fuzzy got home to boil down the liquid.  This is magical--I didn't have to stand over it or stir every five minutes or anything.  I'm not bold enough to leave the crock pot on overnight, but I'm definitely doing this again.  It's now simmering with the broth I heated up on the stove before pouring in, and my house smells lovely.  I had a lightish dinner, so I'll have a small bowl in about an hour before cooling the rest to go into the fridge.

                I wonder sometimes if Fuzzy regrets letting me register for this thing over a decade ago.  I have made a lot of stuff in it.  Most of it was too vegetable-heavy to intrigue him, but he dutifully scrubs it out regularly.  He doesn't even point out that it's a little nutty that I own three in different sizes (standard, two-quart, and lil dipper), or that it's a little more nutty that I kind of want a second two-quart pot.  The two-quart pot doesn't fit any recipe, but it's ideal for our little family.  I cut the recipe in half or even in quarters, then barrel forward.  When there isn't as much in the pot, you do have to watch for faster cooking times, but it still works out.  I particularly enjoy combining the smallest sliced honey or brown sugar ham I could find at the grocery store with a half can of crushed pineapple on low for three or four hours.  Lovely.  If I had a second, I could combine it with a good potato soup or something.

                In the name of keeping ourselves fed and sane, the costume shop at Dickens has a rotation of lunch bringers.  We sign up for one or two days out of the eleven of run, and bring in something that can be heated in the shop crock pot (we have two, so you can do a second dish or a hot punch).  It's given me some fantastic ideas through the years--pulled pork for wraps and sandwiches, baked potato buffet, chili, all kinds of vegetable soups.  Good stuff. 

                The first year I contributed, I found a vegetarian, gluten-free potato and cheese soup recipe.  It took some doing, but I was able to cook it between when I came home from work and the time I went to bed, and it seemed okay.  It turned out that when it was reheated, it drunkenly danced the line between potato soup and mashed potatoes.  Everyone seemed full after one bowl each, and I felt a bit foolish for making so much.  That feeling lasted until the next day, when the folks who stayed to the close that night explained that their second bowls at dinner kept them warm for the rest of the evening, and that simmering all day had turned the soup downright lifegiving.  Frankly, I think it helped that they also found the bag of bacon crumbles I had left in the cooler.  It was deemed magical, and it has been decreed that I will be bringing it to every fair as long as I can.  I try to sign up for the coldest weekend every year, and I don't have the heart to tell them how much fat is in this soup (there's whole milk.  And cheese.  And cream cheese.  And more cheese.). 

                Even though I'll have to eat the soup all alone this year, I'm considering making a quarter batch in the little crock pot.  It's supposed to top out in the fifties early next week, with a smattering of rain (finally!), so that might be an ideal moment.  Maybe I'll eat a bowl while I peruse the websites of the fair vendors, shopping for gifts.  They need the business from us, after all, and hopefully the web shopping will allow me the close looks at the goods that I so often have to forgo when the crowds are big.

Links:  Magical Potato Soup  https://www.katrina-runs.com/gluten-free-crock-pot-potato-soup

Dickens Fair Vendors Shopping  https://dickensfair.com/merchants/shop-online-dickens-fair

You'll Laugh, You'll Cry, You'll Rethread: Secrets of Serging

                 Tonight, after I'm done writing, I'm going over a quilt top for repairs.  My sister, who loves to decorate with quilts, sent me the quilt she has now had for about twenty years.  It was a tied quilt, rather than a stitched one, so the batting had shifted and lumped through the years.  She had the idea that she would just cut all the batting out and replace it, but once the batting was out, she was overwhelmed.  So she sent it to me, and I'm going to machine quilt it with fresh batting. I took a few evenings to seam rip the quilt top from the backing, and ordered some new backing fabric, since the old backing was looking thin.  When a quilt is tied, the quilter takes widely spaced stitches in yarn, then ties them down, like tacking.  It's faster, but the effect can get lumpy after a lot of use.  I almost exclusively machine quilt, sandwiching the layers together with safety pins, then running them through the machine.  I'm going to need to clear off the sewing table completely for this one, since it's bigger than my usual projects.  Then I sew bias around the edges and bind it.  It's a process, and I tend to only do one quilt a year, if I get that ambitious. 

                Usually, the last quarter of the year is my busiest time, and a project like this would fall by the wayside.  I was looking at my ledger from last year, and estimate that I was in the middle of four different custom commissions at this time.  Over the next six weeks, I would do another few, plus aprons, petticoats, and a small mountain of skirts and belts for a vendor.  I'm downright boring by comparison this year, and I'm thinking that perhaps I need this slowdown, as maddening as it is.  I'm certainly doing more projects for my family.

                Last weekend, I met up with a friend for a dropoff at the costume studio.  Liz, who runs Pink Depford, was at the end of her patience with threading her industrial serger, and so I offered to take a look at it with fresh eyes.  Just about every recreational sewist I know loves the idea of a serger for finishing edges, but dreads threading them.  There are a lot of moving parts, so it's a bear, especially if you don't do it all the time.  Industrials are especially difficult, as they are built to do the same thing as a domestic serger, but much faster.  Therefore, all the thread paths are much more secure and therefore, more difficult to access. 

                It turned out that Liz had done it all correctly, but had gotten confused near the end because two pieces of machinery looked very similar.  It didn't help that you basically had to sit on the floor to get a good look at the one that you needed to work with, and then you needed to work with two pairs of tweezers in tandem to get the thread into the proper path.  The nice thing is, though, she won't have to rethread anything for a long time, as long as she keeps track of her threads.

                Some quick tips for serger happiness:

                -Line up your cones from smallest amount to thread to largest, left to right.  That's the order in which you should put them on your machine.  If you're using the same color for a long time, take a moment and rotate the cones for even use after they start to look uneven in the other direction.

                -There is a threading map on the inside of the door on the front of the machine.  The four threading paths are usually marked with different colors.  Thread the first path to the right, then work your way left.  Pay careful attention to whether the thread should be in front of or behind various pieces of machinery.

                -Check for debris between the blade and the edge of the machine bed.  It can cause a variety of issues.

                -When running the machine after rethreading it, put a piece of fabric in, as the newly placed threads somehow behave better that way.  There's a chance you are going to have to rethread a few things.  It's a rookie thing.  And a veteran thing.  And a pretty much everyone thing.  Sergers are typically picky, but once you have them running happily, you're good to go for a long time.

                -If you are just changing colors, cut the old threads off at the cone, then use square knots to tie the new color on.  Lift the presser foot to release all the tension disks, then gently pull each thread through individually.  If you're lucky, you won't have to rethread anything.

                -If you only have two or three cones of the color you're working with, use a similar color on the two paths on the left.  They are the straight stitches that hold the serge together, so a different color will be less obvious.  They also use up the least amount of thread, so if you have to resort to using small spools of thread, you'll have better luck with supplies being adequate.

                -Don't serge when you're exhausted.  My rule is no serging, clipping, or trimming past midnight.  Tired people do dumb things, and the blade on the serger means that permanent damage can be done.  If you're doing something that would work better without the blade, it can be flipped up or dropped, based on your serger model, but be careful not to put your fabric through the machine in a way that bunches or overwhelms the machine.  It's a swift way to end up rethreading or sending it to the repair shop.

                -Your serger blade is for trimming, not cutting.  Cut your fabric, then serge it.  Some fabrics can be very hard on sergers if the blade is cutting a lot of fabric off.

                -If you are serging an inside corner or curve, loosely fold the fabric to make it close to a straight line and proceed slowly.  It might take practice, but it's really nice when it works out well.

                -The next time Wawak has a sale on serger cones (Typically, the cones run about $2.50 each on sale), stock up on white, black, a medium gray, and, if you're feeling flush, a couple of your most-sewn colors.  Four of each should get you started, and they carry the same standard colors year in and year out, so you'll be able to add replacement cones as you go.  Wawak took over Atlanta Thread a few years back, so they have a very nice variety of good brands. 

                -Do not, under any circumstance, use a blade to open the cones.  Hook a pin under the plastic to get the perforated strip started, then open it from there.  If you use a blade, you stand the chance of nicking the thread, creating the maddening cycle of the thread having breaks every few feet, causing you to rethread the serger approximately eleventy billion times.  Do not use a blade to open serger cones, no matter how clever you think you are.

                There you go.  The secrets of serging.  Be prepared for your friends to think you are deeply impressive, because serging looks fancy and professional.  It also helps your projects last longer, because it cuts down on fraying.  And also looks fancy.  So fancy.

Get Your Broadway Fix at Home

                Well, winter has arrived here in California, only two weeks after it finally stopped being above ninety degrees every day.  I'm thrilled for the return of sweater weather, naturally, but I do wish it had been slightly more gradual.  Last month, I was fighting to keep the house below eighty degrees.  Now it's sixty inside when we get up, which will feel closer to normal after a few weeks, but it's rough right now.  Every year, I challenge myself to make it to Thanksgiving before turning on the furnace.  I don't think I'm going to make it this year.  Tiny is still too young to understand that she needs to keep the blankets on her body if she wants to stay warm, and fleece footie jammies can only do so much.  We're turning the heat on tonight, but we've been utilizing the "I Just Really Like Baking and Hot Beverages and Ironing!" method of coping for the past few days.

                This weekend, if it were a normal year, we would be doing the final setups and rehearsals at the Cow Palace for Dickens Fair.  It's a dull ache to think of all the friends I won't be seeing this year, all the work that is set aside for next year, all the shows that have to wait for next time.  I'm doing my best to take advantage of the break, though, and absorb some theatre through streaming services.  Naturally, there's some good stuff to be had through the big guys, like Amazon, Netflix, and Disney+.  It's worth considering some other spots, too.

                BroadwayHD runs about $100 a year, and offers recorded Broadway and West End shows, as well as Shakespeare from the Stratford Festival and a selection of movies based on Broadway plays and musicals.  It's a pretty decent selection, although some of the recordings were previously seen on PBS, so they will feel familiar.

                Broadway On Demand is a subscription service with a free section.  A lot of the free section is what I have been calling "Broadway Lifestyle" shows, like book clubs and cocktail hours, as well as interviews about the creative process.  They also offer old and new performances from various theatres around the country.  I haven't explored this service as much, and am still deciding whether or not to subscribe, as we have way too many entertainment options right now.

                The PBS app was recommended to me by my sister a few months ago, and it is fantastic.  It offers not only performances via Great Performances, Live from Lincoln Center, and Great Performances at the Met, but also all the other fabulous stuff we all watch on PBS, like Masterpiece and American Masters and such.  You can also search the archives for local shows from all over the United States, so I watched my home teams compete on High School Bowl from Upper Michigan, as well as picking up a few episodes of Check, Please! from our local.  There's mountains of free programming, but you'll hit the point eventually that you'll want the Passport option, which is a benefit of donating to your local PBS station.  For my local, it was $60, which gives me the Passport for the year, plus the nice feeling of supporting the good work of public broadcasting.

                Check out your favorite local theatres, too.  Many are doing special virtual shows and cabarets to keep the artists going and to keep the lights on, as well as special presentations of previous productions from before the shutdowns.  The rentals of the shows are often between 24 and 36 hours, giving you a chance to watch at your leisure or watch it again for your favorite bits.  I highly recommend watching them on surround sound, so you can pretend that you're part of an audience again.  I miss laughing in a group.

                See some theatre today.  I hope we can gather safely soon.

One Time, I Saw a Horse and a 7-11 at the Same Time While I Was at a Stop Light, and Other True Tales of Suburban Living

                I tried to call my mother today to ask a question, but she must have been busy.  I guess I can ask my friends out here at some point.  What is the etiquette on turning right on a city street when horses are in the bike lane?  So far, I've lucked out, and they've been at least half a block behind me when it was time to turn.  The other drivers behind me are usually impatient enough that I know if it comes down to it, I will just drive up another block or two and just turn right there, then wind my way back to where I'm going, entirely to avoid the question, much like how I use someone's name over and over again if I'm uncertain of their pronoun preference.  I'm sure that the rules for horse riders are similar to those involving bike riders, but I feel like I should be more cautious, since bikes don't get startled and shy or rear.

                Those of my readers who don't live in this area are most likely confused at this point.  Yes, I do live in a city of about 30,000 that borders on a city of 117,000. Yes, we are situated between San Francisco and Sacramento.   Just days ago, I was posting about my many fast food choices, after all.  The truth is, I live in a farming area that was developed into a suburb, with varying degrees of success.  The horse riders live on a farm on the border between the two towns, a development and a half from the outer reaches of my town.  It's a working farm in the middle of town--not very big, but boasting some nice animals and a well-loved fruit stand.  It's a few blocks from Kiddo's first elementary school.

                There is a lot of quick transitions from city to country within our area.  There are vineyards and farms within a mile of Target.  The road that goes past the community college continues into a windy tour of the Suisun Valley winemakers before ending up back in town.  The hills on the freeways out of town are regularly dotted with cattle having their grassy lunches, and our neighbors in Yolo, Sonoma, and Napa Counties are heavily invested in agriculture as well.  Some of my friends' kids are in 4-H, and county fairs are held throughout the area.

                This fall's fires were terrifying and devastating to our area.  While other parts of the Bay Area were dealing with forest fires, we were dealing with grass fires, which tend to go faster, and some of those fires were hitting crops.  One of the major logistical issues was transporting all the livestock out of the path of the fire while locating safe places for them.  The County Fairgrounds, which are across from the Six Flags Discovery Kingdom park (the city and the rural, crashing together again), housed as many animals as they could in their animal buildings, but some of the farmers in the town about ten miles from us couldn't get their animals out before the fire got too close.  Community boards had a lot of heartbreaking videos of animals being released from their pens and enclosures in the hope that they would at least stand a chance.  Later, there were several tearful reunions with animals who had survived and had been found in various places.  Other stories were less heartwarming.  The pictures of farmers and ranchers who had lost everything surveying the damage are truly heartbreaking, and many are still requesting that other people not travel the most heavily-affected roads, as the cleanup is still ongoing.

                It's easy to dismiss the agricultural portion of California.  A few years ago, I brought Kiddo to a county fair in Michigan while we were visiting my mother.  Several members of my extended family smiled indulgently and opined that they bet she had never seen anything like that back in California.  I didn't have the heart to tell them that actually, their fair looked almost precisely like the Yolo County Fair, at which Kiddo had spent a day a couple years before.  I also omitted the school field trip to the teaching farm the previous year. 

                The fact of the matter is that my part of California is much more rural than the movies lead you to believe.  Most of California is more rural than the movies lead you to believe.  Twenty-five percent of California's land is used for agricultural purposes.  The majority is used for pasture and range, while the rest is cropland.  Considering how much of California is forest (about 33%, split 60-40 between federal and privately-owned) and how much is desert or mountainous, it's a pretty impressive amount of land, and it's not all vineyards (which--let's face it--are basically specialty farms with tasting rooms).  When you leave the Bay Area headed south to Los Angeles and its many attractions, you spend a lot of hours looking at fields of crops and livestock.  When you leave our area headed to Lake Tahoe and its many attractions, you spend a lot of time looking at fields of crops and livestock (and then you look at trees).

                Give us a chance.  Our heartland looks an awful lot like everyone else's heartland.