The Blondes and the Browns Rave Again

                 I'm a lucky girl.  Fuzzy got me a Bluray player for Christmas this year, and he installed it a few days ago.  This gave me the chance to enjoy a few of the programs I love that no one else in the family cares for, including the two holiday episodes of Popular.

                If you've never heard of Popular, that's okay.  You're not lonely.  It was the very first show produced by Ryan Murphy (of Glee, Nip/Tuck, Pose, and a bunch of other stuff fame) for the WB in 1999.  At that point in history, the network was hugely famous for its teenage programming, featuring Buffy, Dawson's Creek, Seventh Heaven, Felicity, and Angel.  Popular premiered in the fall of 1999, complete with a pilot episode that featured a nameless indie rock singer perched on a Victorian settee in the bed of a yellow truck, crooning variations of the first version of the theme song to her own guitar accompaniment.  I'm not joking.  What followed was a series of episodes that veered from heartfelt character plots that followed the popular clique and the alternative clique that were forced together by the budding relationship between the two leaders' parents and brilliant satire on the teen tropes of pop culture, years before Mean Girls.

                Not everyone got the jokes, and not everyone had the tolerance for the camp.  I was the only person I knew watching this show, and if the internet message boards were to be believed, the majority of the audience appeared to be middle-aged (35-45-years-old, when you're 19 and in college) flamboyantly gay men.  And Howard Stern, oddly, who would talk about the show every week on his morning radio broadcast.  The show got moved around several times as the WB tried to make it work with teenagers before they killed it after the second season finale, which was rife with cliffhangers, as the producers had been told that a third season was greenlit.  In another five or ten years, it might have gotten a different reception, but alas.

                In the course of two seasons, we spend time in the Novak (the posh bathroom named after a famous alum) with the Blondes and the Browns, enjoy Niecy Nash in a lobster costume, face one of the oddest teachers in the profession, and view a theatrical production about STDs (It's like Cabaret, but with venereal disease!).  There are characters named Mary Cherry (and her mother Cherry Cherry), Poppy Fresh, and Exquisite Woo.  There are a few tropes that would surface again in Glee, like the Glamazons (the overly elite cheerleading squad), the football player trying out for the musical, the complete suspension of reality when convenient, and events aligning to fit the theme of the week.

                This show is worth a second look.  It's ridiculously fun, with cameos from the not-quite-famous, and there are so many indications of the much more popular projects that would come in later years.  This is exactly what you get when Ryan Murphy doesn't have anyone to talk him out of a harebrained scheme, and it's fantastic when it's good.

                Is it dated in the same way that old Will and Grace episodes are?  Totally.  Are there some awesomely awkward moments of the Millennium?  Completely.  Is this thing amazing anyway?  Absolutely.

                It's not available on any streaming services, and the DVDs are out of print, but you can find it on YouTube.  It's glorious and flawed and worth the time and patience.

It's Another Guide to Getting Out of Credit Card Debt, Only This One is Somewhat Honest!

                I realized something today that I am really proud of.  At this point, I can safely say that I will end the year without accruing any credit card interest at all.  Not a cent.  I've racked up several hundred dollars in rewards, especially since I use the card on all those curbside pickup orders I've done since March.  It's a big change from most of the last decade or so, when I couldn't seem to get ahead for a significant amount of time, veering between minimum payments and dumping all I could into nearly getting free.

                I wish I could say that it's because I'm clever and that you should follow me for more financial tips, but I guess I can share my system.  It might be useful as far as it goes.

Liesl's Mostly Fool-Proof Method for Defeating Credit Card Debt!

1.  Stop using the card until you can get free.  I have, from time to time, hidden my credit card from myself for months at a time.  My favorite trick in college was to leave it neatly placed in my top dresser drawer at home, five hundred miles away from my dorm room.  If I got into a situation where I felt I needed the card, I would have to call my parents, which would lead to a conversation with my debt-averse mother.  The very thought of having to have this conversation with my parents usually revealed how unnecessary the perceived need was, or inspired me to swallow my pride and simply request some assistance from them, especially if I called before late fees or rush shipping would make the problem desperately expensive.

2.  Utilize any windfall that comes along.  Tax refunds.  Gifts.  Extra projects or hours at work.  Raises.  If you have stopped digging as much as you can manage, the hole fills in a lot faster.  Consider it part of securing your future as you decide against wants to open up cash for freedom from debt.  Have a cash rewards card?  Dump the cash reward back onto the balance and start beating them at their own game.

3.  Consider a balance transfer or a home equity loan.  This is only if you truly and honestly believe that you will not rack up the cards as soon as they are clear again.  Really explore your attitude towards credit--is your credit limit something you avoid reaching at all costs, or free money as long as you can pay the minimum?

4.  Budget your buns off.  Look at any fat that can be trimmed.  Consider doing cheaper meals and shopping at the thrift store.  Embrace hand-me-downs.  When we would go to dinner parties at my in-law's house, they would offer mountains of leftovers to us and to Fuzzy's brothers.  We used to take a bowl of Fuzzy's favorite, but when things were really tight, I would also take a bowl of one of the meats, which I would then convert into a casserole that would last for the whole week.  Fuzzy's father was thrilled to get the meat eaten, as it often went bad before being used up with all the other leftovers, and our grocery bills were smaller for it.  Hit the library for books and movies, and borrow (and return!) tools from friends.  Repair stuff to make it last longer.  State your needs to your community, because they sometimes can hook you up.  I know I've fished goodies out of the thrift store bag or the kitchen and handed them off, simply because I found out where they could be useful.  Get creative.

5.  Pay something every time you get paid.  At this point, I make a payment every Friday, right after I confirm that Fuzzy's paycheck has landed in the checking account (alternating between the big pay for his main job and a smaller pay for his side job.).  If possible, I then leave a small amount in the checking account for incidentals and put the rest of it into the other checking account to be distributed to the mortgage and savings.  All of the other bills are put onto the credit card, which is now paid off weekly, in order to maximize reward points.  Paying once a month feels like big, insurmountable amounts, while a bit here and a bit there is a lot easier to muster.

6.  Be unbelievably lucky.  Eye wateringly, confusingly, bizarrely lucky.  We have been lucky in so many ways, from scoring a fabulous deal on our house to almost always being able to find some kind of work to having parents willing to help us on the big emergencies (We were too proud to ask for help unless we were pretty desperate.) to scholarships in college to an assistantship in grad school.  We have somehow landed on our feet enough to keep the debt to a level that could be solved with taking extra work and tightening our belts and taking advantage of gifts.

                To be honest, the rest of the steps aren't very effective if you don't have number six.  There are a lot of people being told that they are in debt today because they are lazy or bad with money or foolish, when the fact of the matter is that they are being set back at every turn, though predatory lending practices, high housing costs, low paying jobs and plain bad luck, and these are things that cannot be changed by articles on the internet or specials on public television.  That being said, do what you can to stop digging yourself deeper, and start figuring out ways to be clever, and I'm hopeful for things to turn around, at least a bit.  Every little bit helps.

                If you're in really deep, but you have a family member willing to make a loan or have a chance at a home equity loan or such, consider offering the credit card company a lump settlement.  You might be able to get out for less than you owe, and start paying it back at a lower amount of interest.  Otherwise, call to ask for a lowered interest rate or some kind of payment plan.  Most companies are willing to work with you, especially right now, so that they can get something out of your account, rather than the paltry amount they would receive in a bankruptcy.

                If you can get out of credit card debt and find ways to stay out of it, it's a pretty good feeling on the other side.  It takes work and humility and a lot of grace, but it's possible.  I believe in you. 

The Endless Debate of the Good Box

                 Happy Boxing Day!  Everyone seemed pleased with my handmade gifts, and I have a couple requests for additional goodies, which I should start pretty soon, before I forget them.  I'll start looking for patterns after I finish the thank you notes this weekend.

                I have a conundrum, though.  My mother sent a bunch of presents via the mail this year, since she couldn't travel to us, which makes perfect sense.  The conundrum is that she used a good box.  She didn't just use a decent box.  She used a really good box.  It's so good that it has contents listings in three different people's handwriting.  It appears to be from at least twenty years ago, back when cardboard boxes were more than mere flimsy covers for products' modesty, but legitimate security for your stuff.

                This is a really nice box.  It's that magical size that one would be hard pressed to overfill to the point of not being able to lift it, and the cardboard is really solid.  You could set something heavy on it, and it wouldn't collapse and break Grandma's good dishes (one of the labels declares it was used for this).  It's about as solid as the legal books shipping box Mom sent the last bunch of stuff in, which is also sitting in our garage for discussion.

                Fuzzy's entire reaction to this has been, "It's a box!  We don't need more boxes!  We are recycling the box!" like he was raised by wolves or something.  I know he wasn't.  His father kept good boxes, too, because sometimes, you need a good box, and it's not worth going to the store to buy a box when perfectly good boxes keep showing up at your door via the Postal Service.

                We don't really use cardboard boxes much, as we prefer the translucent boxes that will survive the active storage of our garage (Fabric goes out, fabric comes in.  Lego goes out, lego goes in, and so forth.), but I still get stuck on the idea of holding on to the good boxes.  We're unlikely to move any time soon, and if we do, we're likely to buy the boxes that will provide consistent stacking in a moving truck.  I rarely ship anything in a box that isn't flat rate.  We typically donate things to the thrift store in bags, as they are currently overwhelmed enough that it seems cruel to add to the bulk.

                I think Fuzzy slipped it into the recycling bin while I was cleaning the sewing room yesterday.  I'm conflicted on whether I'm disappointed or relieved.

                It is a really nice box, though.

Gingerbread Incident 2020: The Results

                A quick post mortem on Gingerbread Incident 2020:  I attempted to make the frosting, and I had to guesstimate what a third of a pound of powdered sugar was in cups, based on serving size.  Then I broke the yolk while separating out the egg white and had to use apple cider vinegar when it turned out that the only white vinegar in the house was about a decade old and had spent most of its time in the laundry room for stripping out soap residue.

                It didn't fully stiffen when I used the electric mixer, but I figured I had just forgotten the way the frosting was supposed to look.  I hadn't looked at it for over twenty years, after all.  On to the frosting decorating!  It turned out that someone had stepped on the decorating set, so the tips were squashed and the thing to attach them to the tube was no longer usable.  I managed to rig together a solution using a zippy bag and one of the tips from the cookie press that I use for filling devilled eggs, and we were back in business, albeit rather messily. 

                Now, I ran a line of frosting on the top of the roof to fill in the gap and start dealing with the issues.  The frosting fell through the cracks.  The snowbanks I created to hide the place where I had melted-sugar glued the boys to the foil turned into puddles.  I frantically added a half-cup more powdered sugar to the frosting and ran the electric mixer some more.  It wasn't making any difference.  This is when I burst into frustrated tears and went back to bed in hysterics.  The last thing I heard before drifting off was Fuzzy telling Kiddo that they had to make it look nice so I didn't feel so much like a failure.

                When I woke up, they proudly showed me their results.  It turns out that the frosting stiffens a bit when you wait a few minutes (ahem.  Not mentioned in the recipe.), and they were able to work with it then.  To be fair, a world in which my mother was able to simply make the frosting and immediately load it into the baggie (I learned that trick young, folks) didn't exist until the late 1990s.  I have to assume she always had to stop to answer the phone or convince one of us that using up the last roll of scotch tape to make a wad of sticky plastic was not, in fact, art, and would not be appreciated by the lady who would then have to glue wrapping paper around boxes that night.  By the time she actually got back to the frosting, it would be ready to work with her.  I was doomed by my family's willingness to let me focus.

                It turned out pretty cute.  I'm pretty sure more candy went into Kiddo and Fuzzy than onto the house, but they had a good time, which is the point.  I'm sure I'll do better next year, partially because my mother will be here to exhibit her mastery of the gingerbread medium, which is pretty epic.

                Fuzzy is showing Kiddo the video to "Last Christmas" on YouTube right now.  There is so much fluffy hair in this thing.  Merry Christmas to all.

In Which I Discover I Cannot Fudge Baked Goods

                 The gingerbread house is happening.  I'm currently waiting for the construction to cool before attempting to make the icing for snowbanks and hiding egregious building errors.  Thank goodness my kid is a big fan of Nailed It!, because this is not going onto the pages of any magazine.

                My mother used to make over a hundred of these things a year, selling them at craft markets around the area.  She had a system down, and because we weren't allowed in the kitchen during construction for safety reasons, it looked effortless.  There would be a little house for each of us to decorate when it was our turn, and we would overload the poor little house with sprinkles and candies and those little metallic decorating balls that you're not supposed to eat.  I totally ate those, and I'm pretty sure that explains pretty much everything about me.

                Mom's houses were solid and well-built, owing to an unbelievable amount of flour and using melted sugar for the construction glue.  When we watched the holiday season of Nailed It, I was stunned to discover that other people honestly believe that they should use icing to construct.  Nobody has time for that.  Melt the sugar and use it as glue.

                I think I went awry when I decided that I didn't need to locate shortening and would use butter instead.  Then I didn't quite get started until after the kids went to bed, so when the recipe said to cool the dough for an hour, I cooled it for exactly an hour.  I'm pretty sure Mom meant a holiday-busy hour, when you get distracted and forget about the dough entirely, equal to about two or three hours.  I also halved the recipe, as I knew I didn't have it in me to make more than one or two houses, while the recipe produces six.  When I cut everything, the dough kept shifting just a bit.  It's put together, but would not pass inspection from even the most corrupt city official.  Alas.

                I ended up cutting one house and a legion of tiny gingerbread boys.  Fuzzy swears we don't have a gingerbread girl cutter, and I'm finally inclined to believe him.  I could have sworn that the set had both, but I think that might have been wishful thinking.  Therefore, our gingerbread house is owned by two gingerbread boys, who are definitely going to fix up the mess the house currently is.  Hopefully, they don't have any bigoted neighbors.

                Everything's probably solidified now, so it's time for me to cut my mother's icing recipe in thirds and get to decorating.  We are doing an outside present exchange at Fuzzy's mother's house, and we're hoping to present it to her there, so I best get it going.  Happy Christmas Eve, everyone.

Christmas Magic is People! It is People!

                 Quick update on the Advent calendar.  It has been a hit thus far.  It hasn't kept Tiny off the big tree completely, but she and Kiddo have been having fun.  Kiddo picks out the ornament of the day, and Tiny points to where it should go on the tree.  Then Tiny points out the different ornaments several times a day to me.

                While I was working on my puzzle today, I streamed a playlist of Christmas pop music.  It's a little bonkers how much those songs raise the expectations of this one day.  I do my best to make the holidays bright and somewhat special, but I don't think I have the skills to make it the most magical day that ever happened.  How on earth am I supposed to do that?  What if the presents aren't festive enough?  What if we make batches of the wrong cookies?  What if it turns out that we are the same people, just in front of a lighted tree covered in a bunch of moderately tacky ornaments with a ham in the slow cooker?

                I have the same issue with amusement parks.  They are fun, with lots of rides and characters and such.  I really do find joy in them, but I can't fully understand the folks who only feel truly at home there.  I guess it's partially because I don't handle crowds well, and that I have worked in the industry long enough to see the awkward cash grabs and cut corners and corporate shenanigans.  Kiddo loves them, though, so we go anyway. 

                Maybe I do the parks wrong, or maybe I'm too cynical, but I'm fully aware of how the lower levels of staff are treated.  I know about the blame-based discipline systems in these companies, and it bothers me immensely, simply because I have been caught in those webs before.  Everyone is so busy making sure they don't get blamed for the issue that no one solves it, and the person who successfully pins it on someone else gets a promotion.  Sigh.  It takes a lot of suspension of disbelief for me, but for Kiddo, I do my best. 

                It means that I also do everything in my power to be polite and patient with every employee I meet.  I assure you that the person at the register at the food stand did not make the staffing decisions that led to only two cashiers in the area, nor did they make the supply decisions that led to a chicken nugget shortage.  They will hear about it from irate guests (yes, we are trained to call them "guests"), and they will not have the backing of their management, who did make the decisions and will find a way to discipline them anyway. 

                So many of us love to play the tourist, but we also have the responsibility to treat the people facilitating our good time as just that--people.  They are there to serve our food and clean our hotel rooms and make sure the bathrooms are sanitary and functional when nature calls, but they are not our servants, and they deserve polite treatment, too.  As we go through another shutdown, this time for overflowing ICUs, this goes double for the people who take care of us, like the person running the drive-through, the employee loading your curbside pickup orders, the postal driver who is on their twelfth hour of delivering packages, and the cashiers who have been trained to not ask customers to wear their masks properly out of fear that the customer will turn violent.  We can give our patience and kindness to them, not only in deference to the season, but also in deference to their personhood.  Express your disappointment, not your anger.  They might be able to help to alleviate your disappointment, but your anger will get you nothing.

                All of this is to say that the magic of theme parks and tourist experiences and holidays are really created by people.  Be good to those people.

                Tomorrow, I'm making gingerbread for the first time from my mother's recipe and patterns.  I should look at the recipe tonight to make sure it is something I am actually capable of.  Magic takes a lot of prep work, and I have someone who wants to decorate cookie houses, which is why I have my weight in various candies piled up on the counter.

                Perhaps we can be satisfied with a homegrown, simple kind of magic this year.

The Fine Art of Making What You Have into What You Want

                 We're at less than a week to go for Christmas.  Hanukkah went beautifully, and I'm now realizing that the candles do give me a bit of a headache.  That's okay--it's only a few days, and it's worth it for my family's enjoyment. 

                I listened to a book yesterday that offered the theory that, in order to thrive in what the next thirty or so years will bring, we must teach our children resiliency, flexibility, and creativity.  As much as everyone is screaming bloody murder about distance learning, I know that it is at least teaching our kids that there is more than one way to learn and more than one way to connect and collaborate.

                Kiddo decided a couple months ago that she is too grown up for the sheets we bought when she transitioned to her "big girl" bed a few years ago.  Fair.  Last year, she wanted Harry Potter sheets, and I didn't love the options available.  The printed theme sheets were all polyester, which just sounded painful in an area that gets hot in May and stays that way through most of October.  No, thank you.  The issue remained, though.  She wanted character sheets, and I wanted her room to not smell like a gym bag.  I finally found all-cotton sheets on the Pottery Barn website, but they were too subtly themed for Kiddo, and more than I could justify, pricewise, for twin-sized sheets.

                Now what?  I ran through the JoAnn Fabrics for something else that week, but noticed a nice display of HP fabrics.  On sale.  Whoo!  I picked out a few good prints, and bought enough for a quilt to utilize the panel I found at the thrift store a while ago, along with a few yards of a small print.  Since I couldn't buy a sheet set, I was going to customize one.

                A couple weeks later, I found a sheet set that would coordinate with the print.  I then made new pillowcases and covered the hem of the top sheet with more of the small print.  Thus, we had what both of us wanted:  theme sheets made of breathable material.  I shared this tip with a friend who was trying to find king-sized sheets that celebrated the San Francisco Giants.  I'm not sure if she managed to find an orange king-sized sheet set in the appropriate thread count, but if she did, I bet it was spectacular.

                This year, Kiddo wants Descendants sheets.  They don't even make Descendants fabric.  I managed to score some ribbon from Etsy, so she's getting Descendants-trimmed sheets, and I do not feel guilty about it.  Someday, she'll decide she doesn't like the boy wizard or the singing villains' kids, and I'll seam rip all the character stuff off to make the old sheets into guest sheets.  It'll be the end of an era.  For now, though, we have grown-up theme sheets instead of baby stuff.

                I wonder what next year's characters will be.

                In some job interviews, I have been asked what I consider to be my greatest strengths.  The truth of the matter is that my actual strengths are that I keep showing up, even if what I'm doing isn't the coolest or the highest profile, and that I can make what I have into what I want.  I'm pretty sure my former supervisors from corporate jobs still have nightmares in which I confidently declare that I will just get creative, but that is ultimately the biggest skill one needs when one is dealing with low- and mid-level shows. 

                A designer friend tasked with creating a Suessical on fifteen hundred dollars (which is a lot, until you actually figure out how many looks need to happen...), collected all the tired Grease dresses and combined them with the very simple Music Man dresses, then had me put zippers up the back.  Behold--fantastical Teens-era frocks, ready for quick change!  For not free, but already-paid-for!  I've made stage-worthy costumes from curtains and bedsheets.  I've organized workplaces with stuff I've pulled from the metal recycling bin.  My siblings would give me stacks of hand-me-downs, and I would find new uses for them.  It's not the most glamorous skill, but it has been one that has brought us through some very skinny times.  I hope that I'm passing it on to my kids.

               

Getting Stuff Done--Whoo!

                 There is nothing more efficient than a mother who is trying to get as much done as possible before the baby wakes up.  I have been running since 6:30 this morning.  It's now about noon as I start to write, and I'm halfway through my second pound of butter, the fifth batch of Chex Mix is in the oven, and I have onions carmelizing in the slow cooker for soup.  I also have all the Christmas cards ready to mail once Fuzzy gets home to take over the kids. 

                If I do everything I plan today, I should get between eight and ten batches of Chex Mix done and the rum balls started, and I'll be done with the big skirt I started yesterday.  After that, I need to locate the good pajama pants pattern and cut out a pair for Fuzzy and a pair for his brother.  Tomorrow, there will be more mix baking and stitching the pants, then some quick wrapping and rum ball production.  I'm hopeful that the heavy lifting will be done by Saturday, when we'll be doing our driving tour of the Bay Area to deliver treats to friends, and that we can just relax after that.

                It isn't actually as much work as it sounds.  The nice thing about Chex Mix is that the vast majority of time spent is the baking time.  You just have to keep stirring it every fifteen minutes, so it's a great task to combine with busy work that can be done at the kitchen table, like assembling Christmas cards and putting together rum balls.  I sometimes have trouble remember which stirring I've just done, so I keep track by moving one magnet from the side of the fridge to the front each time I stir.  When I move the third magnet, I'm going to take the mix out to cool when the timer dings.  Then it spends an hour in the cooling bowl before going into a container for gifting.  It's a simple process, but few people do the baked version nowadays, preferring to microwave it instead.  The baking method is now way down at the bottom of the recipe on the back of the box as an alternate method.  I don't mind.  The house is a little warmer for it, and it's an easy way to feel accomplished.

                It's becoming much more real to me that my mother isn't coming this year.  On an ordinary year, I'd be dropping Kiddo off at school, then proceeding into the city to collect Mom from the airport with her unbelievably carefully packed suitcases (Seriously.  She mystifies airport security on a regular basis.).  We usually do the mix baking over the next few days while chatting, playing solitaire and sodoku, and wrapping presents.  Next year.

                If I get all my work done over the next couple days, I'm going to do my puzzle.  Springbok just came out with a fun Broadway-themed puzzle, and I managed, after a great deal of chasing around the internet, to get one from a local Hallmark store.  It's so soothing to do puzzles, simply because the solution is already in front of me.  I just need to locate it.  I also do a lot of word searches for the same reason.

                If you are wondering, Tiny slept in until 9:30.  I'm currently wondering if she's willing to consider an hour-long nap.  I'm willing to consider a nap, but I'm not being offered one, alas.

I Know Where You Live, But Not Your Address

                When I was a kid, only the fanciest wrapping papers had the cutting grid on the inside of the paper.  I remember ending up with one roll of Hallmark paper and being so impressed by the grid on the inside.  My mother is really good at just eyeballing straight lines, having wrapped a few thousand presents in her lifetime, while I just try to buy wrapping paper with linear patterns, so I can follow snowflake to snowflake or something.

                Imagine my surprise when my big roll of cheapy paper from the after-Christmas sale from last year turned out to have a grid.  I felt like I should be raising my pinky while cutting it out or something.  Apparently, this is now something that is common.  Nifty.  I might look competent yet.

                It's a bit ironic that someone who wraps people for a living has trouble wrapping presents.  The simple answer is that paper does not have bias, nor drape, and it does not forgive anything.  Also, gifts don't have fittings.  I'm moderately decent at it, and everyone is surprised by most of their gifts, so I'm clearly occasionally getting this right.

                In an attempt to do all the stuff I never have time for in an ordinary year, I have been collecting all of the addresses I need to send out holiday cards.  I recognize that I will lose track of an address book, so they're all going into a document that is formatted for labels.  Is it slightly less personal to send out cards with the addresses pasted on?  Totally!  Is it way less personal to not have sent out a single Christmas card in the last decade?  Absolutely!  I guess there will always be ways I could be better, but I'm doing my best to show up, and that's worth something.

                I have been chasing addresses for a while, and I have learned a few universal truths:

1.  Some people are unlisted for really good reasons, like wanting to have a life outside their clients.  Search their spouse's name if it gets desperate, or swallow the embarrassment and call them.  They have most likely misplaced your address, too.

2.  Every person I know has a name twin that practices law or psychiatry in New Jersey or Maryland.  My mother-in-law.  My shop manager from grad school.  Kiddo's school friend's father.  It's uncanny.  Either there are a lot of lawyers and psychiatrists on the Eastern Seaboard, or there's something universal about all of the people in my life.

3.  The one listing you actually need is going to be behind a paywall at some point.

4.  If you inherit a property, many of these address websites will decide you moved.  My friend who lives in the next big town over has lived in that town for fifteen years now.  Her mother, who lived in SoCal, died last year.  Guess who is now listed as living in SoCal?

5.  Most people don't move nearly as much as you think they do once you hit your thirties and forties.  When we were in college, my grandmother would add a date to her notes of your address and phone number, so that she could always be able to figure out which was the most recent.  She also had no problem calling us to confirm our current whereabouts, as she was not interested in following our birthday checks in the ledger for three months while they passed from former roommate to former roommate.

6.  If it gets really desperate, and they have a common last name in a small town, just put their name and the town on the envelope.  It'll find its way.  Or it'll land at Grandma's, and then your mother will call and tell you to just call her next time, because now the whole family knows that you don't know Second Cousin Enid's address and couldn't figure it out through PI-level research.  This will not save your mother the time you were attempting to save her by not asking in the first place.

                My father-in-law had the right idea.  He amassed a database of every address he had ever been given, with spots for birthdays and anniversaries and notes about connections.  It was wonderful to email him an address query and hear back half an hour later with addresses and phone numbers and (sometimes) favorite restaurants.  I fantasize about having something similar, but then I imagine somebody finding it when I become incapacitated with something dumb like choking on hot cocoa, and it all turning into a Harriet the Spy situation.  People can take "Have been calling spouse Not-Bob for six years.  Find polite way to figure out spouse's name!" the wrong way so easily.  True story?  Fuzzy and I have been calling our neighbors Roberta and Not-Bob for years, and were considering launching some kind of sting operation involving "accidentally" opening their mailbox instead of ours, but then, I drove by one day, and their open garage had a sign in it that said, "Roberta and Ronald, in love since 19xx," and we had our answer.  It turned out that they had been planning a similar operation, because they had been calling us "Kiddo's Mom and Dad" for an equal amount of time.  They have a new dog.  We do not know the dog's name.  We have been told the dog's name three times.  We may have to get a dog whistle and utilize it until they yell at the dog.

                Or we could just ask.

The Merry Elves of Chelm

                 It's the first night of Hanukkah, and I'm hopeful for light in the world this December.  Fuzzy is reading stories of the fools of Chelm to Kiddo, while the candles burn.  We celebrate both Hanukkah and Christmas here, and the girls seem to enjoy both.  My mother is quite pleased when Hanukkah coincides with her visit, and often watches for books and toys for Hanukkah on her endless hunt for interesting Christmas goodies. 

                My mother and a good portion of her family are big Christmas fans.  They love the decorations and the songs and all of it.  I tend to do accents within the house decor for the season, as I am overwhelmed enough to not notice a marooned Virgin Mary or elf until August.  In fact, when Fuzzy put up the tree the other day, there were still a couple disco balls attached to it.  I'm most likely a bit of a family failure on this front.  I'm related to people who have full dish sets decorated with holly, tea kettles shaped like Santa, festive hand towels and soap, and holiday-themed clothing to last from Thanksgiving to New Year's with few repeats.  A whole corner of their basements are dedicated to all the many organized tubs of ornaments, stuffed animals, housewares, outdoor decor, shelf sitters, and assorted tchotchkes.  I have one tub and a fake tree. 

                By the time we get to Christmas most years, I've had eleven Christmas Eves at Dickens Fair, and have been doing holiday preparations of some sort since October.  When I worked for the amusement park, we started preparations for the holiday festivities while doing zombie laundry for the Halloween event, and after November 1, we were greeted by the same twenty non-secular songs every time we ventured out of the shop.  We outfitted animal trainers as elves, and worked on carolers, two looks for Santa (traditional and "on vacation," for the week after Christmas), snowmen, and a variety of other special folks.  Long story short, we do a streamlined Christmas, with a festive red tablecloth and a table runner I found at the thrift store about a decade ago.  Sometimes, I remember I own festive kitchen towels early enough to fish them out around December 20, and all two of my seasonal trays make their annual appearance covered with snacks of some sort.  This year, I might even get out the patterns and make a gingerbread house or two.  Mom will be so proud.  As long as I'm making gingerbread, we might make some ninjabread men for Fuzzy's family.

                Did you know that there is an organization dedicated to celebrating Christmas all year long, culminating in a national conference in July, complete with theme dinners and visits from Santa?  I know.  Don't bother asking me how I know, because I think you can guess.  It's magical and wonderful and touching.  I marvel at their dedication.  They equally marvel at the events I attend several times a year that teach me how to properly fit corsets in the style of 1875, the secrets of bound buttonholes, and how to prep ostrich feathers for effective hat decor for Germans in the Renaissance.  Everybody's got their thing. 

                My mother and aunt have been cleaning out my other aunt's possessions for the past few years following her passing.  She was an extraordinarily committed collector of many things, including Christmas and Halloween stuff.  Every time we go for a visit, we are invited to go through some more bins of a cavalcade of interesting things.  It's fascinating, and a bit like a museum of American culture.  

                It makes me wonder what people will think of what I leave behind.  Every historical sewing enthusiast I know has a couple friends who are sworn to help the family after they go.  Fuzzy cannot be expected to recognize which books should be offered to the local costume community instead of the thrift store, and he would definitely be lost facing the fabric and trim stashes.  My sworn friends are there to know the difference between the nylon stuff for the Halloween costumes and the antique stuff that is meant for only the very best reproductions.  They will also recognize what belongs to clients.  Conveniently, my aunt was very fond of research, so most of the pieces are carefully identified and labelled, and a vast majority of the bins were also exhaustively labelled.  For a long time, I encouraged my mother to let me know when they finally located the bin labelled "Mid-Century Teamster, Used Condition," or the one labelled "Roman-Era Chalice, Near-Mint Condition."  She's still holding out on me.

                Perhaps we all are the fools of Chelm, running around after silly things that bring us joy.  I hope we can recognize ourselves and make magic for each other.

A Little Dollop Will Do Ya

                 Kiddo has announced that she needs (yet another) bottle of shower gel/shampoo.  It feels like she's going through it really quickly, but we can't guide her too much, as she takes her baths alone, now that she's old enough to not drown.  I totally agree that she is fine to take a bath alone, but if she's through that giant bottle already, she's using way too much product.  She insisted that she needed extra some times, because she got totally sweaty.  I'm going to just stand up and say it now.  If you're itchy a lot of the time, and your hair seems weighed down, and your skin feels scaly, there is a good chance you are using too much soap and shampoo.

                Most soap is pretty concentrated.  If you use a washcloth or bath pouf, apply a quarter-sized dollop, and that should cover you nicely while still being rinsable.  At least start with that.  Same thing with your hair.  I use a bit more, as my hair is now past my waist.  It'll make your shower safer, too, as there won't be slippery excess soap everywhere.

                A long time ago, I was working wardrobe for a summer theatre.  One of the actresses was a European who had come to the States for college.  She took me aside in the first week and requested that we not wash her costume pieces with the rest of the cast's laundry.  I explained that I couldn't always make that happen, but I would do what I could.  What was her reasoning?  She explained that she was very sensitive to the detergent that hadn't rinsed out, but that she didn't want her cast mates to feel that they weren't wearing clean clothes.  Having spent several years with really soft water, I knew that the clothes would get clean anyway.  I told her I would make it work.  I used half to a quarter of the recommended serving of detergent for the whole summer.  No one noticed or cared.  Everything came out clean anyway.

                If you cloth diaper, one of the first things you will be advised is to use only half the recommended amount of detergent.  Too much soap that isn't rinsed out will affect the absorbency of the diapers and possibly irritate tiny bottoms.  I got back into the half-detergent habit after Kiddo was born, and I never really got out of it.  If you look at the cup that comes with your bottle of detergent, you might be surprised to see how low the suggestion line really is.  As the stuff has become more concentrated, the amount needed has gotten lower and lower.  They keep the big cup because that's what fits over the spout and also, people who use too much stuff buy more of it faster.  Read the back of the bottle of your shower gel, hand soap, dish soap, laundry detergent, etc.  You'd be amazed how little of the stuff actually does the job.  That's why your mother could always add a little water to stretch it out to shopping day without anyone dying.

                Also?  Liquid fabric softener does not love you or your clothes.  It coats the fibers of your fabrics, eventually making them stiff or weird.  The scent is hugely irritating to a lot of people in your life, and it's a throwback to when detergents were harsher.  If you buy cotton towels for their absorbency and then use fabric softener, you are working against yourself.  Soak them in some vinegar to strip all that out and then separate yourself from that creepy bear.  There's a reason you never see liquid fabric softener in professional wardrobe rooms.  Stop ruining your clothes with unnecessary stuff.  Your clothes do not need lotion.  I admit to using a dryer sheet when static cling will be a massive problem, but I fell out of the habit when cloth diapering ten years ago.  My thrifty mother used the same sheet for multiple loads, as it didn't all get used up in the first one, and many cheapskate manuals suggest cutting them in half.  If you don't have any, run a wire hanger up and down the piece--that kills off most of the static.  Also, hang the worst static offenders to dry, and you don't have to have any of this fight.  We use dryer sheets so rarely that we are still using the box I bought on sale right before we started cloth diapering Kiddo a decade ago. 

                In conclusion?  Use less soap, and check if you're still getting the job done.  I bet you are.

Christmas Lights All Around

                One of the odd things about living in our area of California is the total lack of snow--we sometimes see a flake or two, but nothing ever stays around.  During our first year in our current house, it snowed in one of the local cities and stuck.  The morning news looked like backstage at The Muppet Show, and they preempted The Today Show to continue local coverage, which appeared to be mostly driving tips and pictures of white-carpeted backyards submitted by viewers.  As we were fresh from Ohio at that point, it was deeply amusing to us, and we were grateful we weren't expected anywhere.  I don't miss being cold, but I do miss the snow.  The evenings and early mornings are so much less bleak with a glittery blanket reflecting all the street lamps and porch lights.  The crunchy noise and feeling under your feet is hard to forget, too.

                Having grown up with snow, seeing Christmas lights on bare lawns is confusing, too, though I've gotten over that.  The warm, mild weather means that there are a lot of decorations out, and it's fun to drive around our area after dark right now.  We have a house down the street that goes all out, complete with painted wood cutouts of toys and Santa with the nice list (Conveniently, all the children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren are all represented on said list.).  Kiddo went down the block and helped him a bit this week, and he confessed to her that he's now too old to string messages in lights on his roof.  It's a pretty wonderful display, and many houses on our block have added at least a little something to give the visitors something to admire while they double back to take one more look at the house down the street, like icicle lights at the roof line, or setting the tree up in the front picture window.

                We are notoriously overwhelmed at this time of year, so I invested in one of those laser light displays that you just poke into the ground and focus at the side of your garage.  It's really nifty, and we intend to set it up in our house at some point, just to see what the cat would do about so many laser light dots all at the same time.  Fuzzy thinks her brain would short out.  I would pay cash money to see that, so it's on.

                There's a lot of creative and wonderful displays throughout our town, and I'm planning to drive the girls around next week to look at them.  It's going to include the former prop artists who have taken a ton of corrugated plastic board and made it into a fantastic gingerbread house, and the people who attempt to recreate part of a Disneyland show with their front yard.  It will also include the house a few blocks away from us that has no rhyme or reason to its display.  Clearly, they go out each year and buy a couple characters they enjoy and add them to the group.  It appears they edited a dozen or so out this year, unless I drove by during their artistic process and have not seen the full effect.  Last year, the full effect was akin to a folk music festival attended by your favorite characters from Disney, the Bible, and traditional folklore.  It was actually oddly fun, and I envy their storage space. 

                It looks like we're voluntarily shutting a bunch of stuff down before our hospitals get overwhelmed.  It's not a popular decision in our county, and a local clinic got hit with a ton of graffiti last night.  I have the feeling that no matter what happens in the next few weeks, both sides will blame each other and congratulate themselves.  For me and my house, we are doing our best to stay out of everyone else's way, ordering curbside pickup when possible and enjoying the fun and entertainment our home offers.  We will do our best to not add to the crowds, so those who have no choice have fewer potential spreaders to face.  It's what I can come up with to do for right now. 

                Kiddo is being a trooper about all of this, and we're trying to make it a warm, relaxing season, since an action-packed, exciting season is not available.  We'll watch the movies, play the games, work the puzzles, decorate the house a little too much, look at lights, and bake.  With a little bit of luck, we'll be back to the shows and fairs and malls next year, and this year will be a story she tells to her disbelieving children and grandchildren.  We are living history, we remind her, and we will have so many stories to tell once we're done creating them.  Until then, let's take care of each other.

We are Virtual Real Estate Magnates in Our Minds

                 Last week, I read an article about how Americans are fantasy house shopping with websites like realtor.com and zillow.com.  My sister and I wondered what took everyone else so long to catch up.  We've been doing it for years, swapping links of listings of both the really interesting and the deeply terrible.  We are both fully aware of what it would cost to live near various relatives and tourist attractions, as well as what we would totally gut and redesign.  It makes us feel like real estate barons, picking and choosing properties on a whim.  Is that bathroom luxurious or tacky?  Who actually needs that weird room off the living room?  What is going on with that back yard?  Did this guy have stock in gray marble?  Holy crabcakes.  Pfft.  We have so much better taste than that.

                We could open a store a mile from our grandmother's house for only a bit more than I paid for the California house.  What could our store be?  What merchandise would be interesting, but not so interesting that we are stiffly reminded by our mother that our grandmother is planning to visit (a-hem.)?  We could run a six-apartment building in our hometown for about twenty thousand less than that.  It has a sauna and three storefronts.  It comes with a five stall garage!  It's walking distance to all the antique shops downtown, and the fabulous library.  Wonder if the Subway at that end of town still delivers? 

                We have no concept what we would do with these properties if we had them, but we look and discuss anyway.  Would it be weird to buy houses right next to our brother?  Would it be less weird if we told him before we did it, or do we just show up to the court date after we create gates in the mutual fences?  Would our older sister forgive us if we just showed up and called her from Bucc-Ee's, or would we cement our status as those relatives?  Or!  We could get a house with an in-law cottage, and my sister could be the cool place for the girls to go!  There's a summer camp for sale!  It could be like Dirty Dancing, only Penny wouldn't have to have an illegal abortion, because we would we would be way more understanding than Mr. Kellerman.

                I hope we're not the only ones who do this, because it's actually a lot of fun.  It's a moment of living a different life without all the risk and heartbreak of starting over in a new town.  We can tell ourselves that we would only move if the house had (a) a wraparound porch, (b) a large backyard, (c) a separate library, and (d) at least one secret passage.  I'm still looking for that house, by the way.  If it's a price we can afford, Fuzzy will understand the necessity of him finding a new job in some random small town in Minnesota.  He says he will consider it if there will also be a painting that you can look through the eyes to spy on the people in your drawing room.

                I am always abreast of what properties are available in my area.  I can't afford to buy anything that I don't already have, real estate-wise, but I fantasize about winning the lottery and buying up a good portion of a block or two of a decent neighborhood.  Then, I could invite my family and friends to live in my neighborhood.  None of us would be affected by the rising rents of our area.  There would always be someone nearby to have a cup of tea with, or to water your plants.  Maybe we could have a book club, and I'd just text people when I make a batch of something my family won't eat, so others can pick up a bowl.  I would set it up so everyone had the option to have their rent payments leading to home ownership.  It would be fantastic.  I guess I should start buying a ticket at some point.

               

               

 

There are Fifteen Boxes of Chex in My House, and I'm Not Even Sorry

                 I finished the pinbacks on the advent calendar ornaments yesterday, and we have the tree quilt in the hallway.  This morning, the girls hung the very first ornament, and they'll do another tonight before bedtime.  Like it or not, it's December.  Today, I'll sit down and create the master list for everything I still need to get done before various deadlines.  I'm hopeful I can get the packages for my family out long before the deadline, and that they will get there on time.  All the same, they understand when things show up late, and so I don't have to worry too much.  There will be just as much joy in a gift on December 28 as on December 25, after all.

                I needed to justify a pickup order last week, so we now have fifteen boxes of Chex in the house.  It's not hoarding if you're going to use it within the month, right?  I figure I can start batches around a week and a half before Christmas, and do a run around the Bay Area, leaving containers on front porches when Fuzzy starts his time off.  It would be a good opportunity to get through a good portion of an audiobook, and to at least wave from the car at so many people I miss so much.

                This might be the last year I do special plastic containers for the Chex Mix.  Most of the people who receive batches from me reuse the containers year round, so I'm considering just doing plain containers with red tops for next year, so they have a piece they can use year-round without being wished a festive December every single time.  I figure I can get some wired ribbon and produce fabulous bows to go on top to add to the look.

                No matter what you hear from some of my friends, no actual magic goes into the making of my Chex Mix.  I follow the recipe and replace the nuts and garlic chips with Cheese Nips.  I also use a full stick of real butter, and I bake it, rather than microwaving it.  That is all that goes into it.  When it comes time to make the mix for my own family, I do a special blend of fewer Wheat Chex and more cheese crackers, because that's what I like. We have a roasting pan that has only known the touch of meat three times.  It's perfect for making the mix, because it's huge with high sides. 

                 I made a couple batches earlier this fall to use up some odds and ends, and we've discovered that Tiny is a Chex Mix fiend.  At one point, she managed to get the container down from the counter and started hitting me with it when she couldn't figure out how to open it on her own.  It was endearing and painful at the same time.

                We'll be making cookies and such at some point, too.  With everything that's not happening this year, we have a lot of flexible time available for making stuff.  The next question is how to distribute enough of it outside of the house to insure we still fit in our clothes in January.  I'll have Fuzzy check in with his family and see if they want me to make rum balls this year, too.  The rum balls are something that his late grandmother made for festive occasions, and while everyone likes them, they don't get around to making them.  They're one of those items that make the same amount of mess whether you make five or five hundred, and they're a bit labor intensive, so I only make them once a year.  It also helps if the house is a bit cold, so the chocolate doesn't get too soft too quickly.

                'Tis the season for some festive food making, I guess.