The Case of the Disappearing Teaspoons

If you want a spoonful of sugar, you'll have to bring your own teaspoon.

Nicey at Nice Cup of Tea and A Sitdown does us tea-drinkers a great service by reporting the following story:

The British Medical Journal has just published a paper on its website on the troubling issue of teaspoon disappearance. The research was carried out in Melbourne at the Centre for Epidemiology and Population Health. The study involved the tracking of 70 specially tagged teaspoons over a five month period. The results showed that a staggering 80% of the teaspoons went missing during the research period with an observed teaspoon half-life of 81 days. In order to maintain a base level of 70 teaspoons it was calculated that an extra 250 teaspoons would need to be supplied over the course of the year.

The ground breaking study also found that the type and quality of the teaspoons had no bearing on how susceptible they were to loss, with cheap plastic ones just as vulnerable as posh stainless steel ones. The study also revealed that large communal tea drinking areas suffered much more than small group orientated tea areas.

Whilst the researchers conclude that teaspoons could be disappearing to a Spoonoid planet, little real attempt is made to explain where they are going to. Indeed the data presented does not refer to the accompanying incidence of yogurt eating or those little individual cheesecakes in pots.

Spoonoid and Sockoid must travel in the same orbit, eh? On this topic, I picked up a lovely set of teaspoons when I was in Sheffield last May. (Yes, they are real Sheffield-made spoons.) Fortunately, they're all accounted for.

And don't you love the word "whilst"? Wonder why we don't use it over here?

Oh, waiter!

One of my firm beliefs is that there are two jobs everyone should try once: waiter and retail sales clerk. That personal experience enables you to separate the good from the bad from the merely put upon by forces outside her/his control.
Thanks to Awful Souls for pointing me to one of the best blogs I've seen in a while, Waiter Rant. Many of us have walked a mile or two in comfortable waitron shoes at some time or other and can relate to the trials and pathos of serving other people food and booze. This blog should be required reading for anyone who dines out (and who doesn't occasionally?) because the guy gives great tips on things like ordering wine and cleaning dog poo off the sidewalk.

But mostly, it's funny (sometimes serious) observations about people being people (or assholes) while they're in a restaurant. His stories are great, like today's about a jerk customer and his timid wife. Go to the waiter blog to read the whole thing, but here's a little slice:

Twisting the neck of the bottle against the blade of my wine opener, I remove the foil in a single fluid motion. Opening up the corkscrew one handed, I insert it into the plastic cork and effortlessly open the bottle.

Normally I don’t let the customer examine a plastic cork. It’s rather pointless. But I want to see what this guy’ll do with it so I lay the plastic stopper on the table.

The man snaps it up and waves it under his nose.

“You’re an authority on Italian wines my ass,” I think to myself, biting my tongue to keep from grinning.

In lieu of saying “that’s fine,” the man impatiently gestures for me to fill his glass. But, there’s a lady at the table, and etiquette demands I pour her glass first.

“Just give her a little,” the man snaps, “She’s on a diet.”

I remember customers of this and other annoying ilks. It was all I could do to keep from smackin' 'em upside the head with my tray.

As a sweet young college thing, I did a couple of stints at restaurants, usually breakfast and lunch shifts during the summer. One morning this idiot felt the need to harrass me in every way possible, but I remained pleasant and business-like throughout the ordeal. He finally left to pay his bill, so I sauntered over to the table pick up my tip - and found a nickle and three pennies (such a tipper!) swimming in his leftover egg-goo. He watched, smirking, as I dumped the goo-covered penny-plate on the busboy's tray. Did he really think I would fish 8 cents out of that yuck! I'm sure he's living high on the hog in Smirk-Hell right now, thank you very much.

Any good waiter stories you want to share?

A fair fight, or finding the right words

Dilemma: speaking truth to power and living to tell about it. Or maintaining one's dignity.

Remember my dream about all the stained glass windows being replaced by plaster and bits of colored glass at my church? Well, that's what's happening. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

Some really lousy things are happening in my wonderful community of faith. The clergy, staff, and vestry are completely disconnected from us regular parishioners and are making horrendous decisions on our behalf. (And no, this doesn't have anything to do with gay bishops - we're a progressive parish and settled that issue long ago.) If I didn't know better, I'd say the Bush administration had taken over my church.

So, how to take a stand through a letter or email that spells out my repugnance (I'm beyond "concern")? I stewed about it all weekend because the time had come to speak up. Though it's hard for me to keep my emotions from rising to the top, I formulated a letter that I thought struck a balance between calm, rational thought and vehement indignation and sent it on its way electronically.

And of course I received a quick response (anytime you yank money away from them they sit up and take notice, doncha' know). Another thing I've noticed is that whenever someone dares to go up against the people at the top, the PTB have several predictable slap-down strategies:

• The We-Value-Your-Comments Tactic: "Thank you for sharing your ideas and feelings. We appreciate where you're coming from (but we're about to hit you in the head with a 2x4 for even questioning our decision-making capabilities.)"
• The You're-Blowing-This-Way-Out-of-Proportion Tactic: "Calm down. I know you said you've thought about this for weeks before contacting us, but obviously you're just not thinking straight." Did the words "calm down" ever make things better? Ever?
• The Aren't-You-A-Little-Dummy? Tactic: "You don't seem capable understanding our decisions, oh, ye of little brain and influence. Let me refer you to my article/letter/sermon on thus and so. I'm sure if you spend time studying it - dictionary and thesaurus in hand - you'll come around to our way of thinking."
• The You-Shoulda-Read-The-Fine-Print Tactic: "We did publicize this information in small print here, here, and here. The fact that the wording was so obscure or outrageous that you ignored it is not our problem." (See the progression of tactics here?)
• The You-Just-Don't-Like-Change Tactic: "I see you're afraid of change. We don't particularly care that the change is detrimental to the community or just a plain ol' bad idea. We're gonna do it anyway, so there!"
• The We-Have-Numbers-To-Back-This-Up Tactic: "We have all sorts of irrelevant facts - er, sort of facts, er, or something that maybe we can make you think are facts - to razzle dazzle ya' with. Maybe you won't notice that they don't really apply in this case. And they're our facts, dammit, so we'll stand by 'em!"
• The You're-Not-A-Patriot-If-You-Don't-See-It-Our-Way Tactic: "You're not a true-blue part of this church/community/organization if you don't go along with our self-serving agenda." This has worked very well for George Bush, of course.

Aaargh! I knew all of these tactics before I sent the letter, but it's still frustrating to see the same shallow stuff thrown my way. And this from a person I like. "Just following the company line, dear." I expect responses like these from insurance companies or the IRS or Georgia Power, but I would've hope that people of like faith would make some effort to listen, to honor the community's strengths and gifts. Nope. Unh-uh.

How do I fight these ridiculous power-play tactics without sinking to the them myself? I just want to be heard and considered.

An unanticipated health care crisis

Just another little thing to worry about as our 2006 health benefits kick in. Actually, slapping sounds more fun than an enema. (And thanks for passing this along, Brother Bill.)

Back in bid'ness

Sunrise, Amelia Island Florida

Very productive little trip to Amelia Island but glad to be home. Observations and highlights:

• I-16 from Macon to Savannah is the most boring road ever. (Though my daughter would argue it's the freeway the runs between St. Louis and Denver - she's probably right.)
• Cracker Barrel is the world's tackiest place to eat.
• Five people from diverse life experiences can tackle a monumental mess and create something of organized, sacred beauty. In a day and a half. Without even that many potty breaks.
• Lives connect in amazing ways. Listening to someone else's story makes it a part of your own.
• Can't believe some folks are still forced to use a dial-up modem. I'd forgotten how that stupid dialing-whistling-roaring stuff sounds while it's taking 45 minutes to bring up the homepage (or any page, for that matter).
  
• I can't sleep when someone is snoring like a hog in the Truffle-Snuffling Olympics. (Did I mention I was glad to be home?)
• The ocean is awesome in January.

Now it's off to my own bath, book, and bed. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!

Road trip!

Hittin' the road again today, this time not for work. I'm on the curriculum committee for the Global Episcopal Mission Network's certificate program, and we're gathering at a member's home on Amelia Island (Florida) to hash out details. Lest you think I'll be sunning and surfing all weekend, put your minds at ease. Amelia Island is the northeast corner of Florida and it looks like the temperatures will be almost the same as Atlanta (i.e., not warm enough for a pool party). Nose to the grindstone, but in a nice setting. (That's why Shorty PJs-Gidget looks so discouraged in the picture.)

So, off I go. I'll have my computer but don't know what my blogging opportunities will be, so this may be farewell for a few days. Try to make it through, my little Shorty-cakes, and please keep the world away from disaster while I'm gone!

Public dreams, private myths

“Myths are public dreams, dreams are private myths." - Joseph Campbell

Well, the West Virginia miner story turned out the way we feared it would. Twelve of the thirteen dead.

In yesterday's post I asked why mine disasters and children in wells seemed to have a mythological quality about them. Johnno at The Open Mind commented that it might be part of what Joseph Campbell called "the belly of the whale" monomyth (from The Hero with a Thousand Faces, 1949), where the hero finds himself in a dark place - possibly a place of self-discovery - before he has to battle for his life. Johnno also pointed out that seems our heroes rarely escape to fight the battle. It's certainly true in this case.

I'm no Campbell scholar, though I've seen most of his The Power of Myth interviews with Bill Moyers. It never hurts to delve into our myths occasionally to put some of life's puzzle pieces into place.

I had my own private myth (see above quote) right before waking up this morning. I dreamed that a person who did me a terrible wrong a few years ago admitted that wrong then truly, sincerely asked my forgiveness. I woke up stunned. Of course the person has never honestly admitted to the egregious acts, though a very defensive apology was offered (forced by other folks, I suspect). I forgave and moved on - you have to or you'll be eaten alive from the inside out. At any rate, the dream added another layer to my private myth, which of course included an earlier belly-of-the-whale experience. Guess I need to settle into a Campbell book sometime soon.

Keep the miners and their families in your thoughts today. And still no word on Tom Fox and the other three hostages in Iraq. Public dreams and private myths are manifesting themselves around us all the time.

Goin' down, down, down

What is it about a mining disaster that captures our collective attention? Mining is so 19th century. Except that it isn't, and whenever men are trapped underground as they are in West Virginia at the moment, we're reminded that people still go down deep in the earth for resources. It is work far-removed from most of our lives. Mine disaster stories play on my claustrophic fear of being buried alive. The idea of men trapped in labyrinthine mine tunnels, like a kid falling into an old well, has a sort of mythological, timelessness about it. A big story - no matter where, no matter when.

And the world waits to find out how it ends.

Back on track (and waiting for a train to hit me)

This morning I managed to shake the tinsel out of my hair and wipe the turkey and chocolate off my face, and settle back into my 5am writing regime. (The tinsel/turkey thing was metaphorical, I hope you know.) Only squeezed out a few hundred words, but I was able to pick up the ball dropped the first part of December and slowly, shakily start to run with it again. Tomorrow's writing will be better.

Hit the bookstore Saturday with your book suggestions in hand and came home with three books. Alas, current budget concerns had to be considered, so I had to avoid the lovely hardback books. (Tamar, I'll be back for Corrigan's book when I have more change in my pocket.) I'm starting with Iain Banks' The Wasp Factory, Carl Hiaasen's Basket Case, and Pablo Tusset's The Best Thing that Can Happen to a Croissant. Winston, Keillor's The Book of Guys proved hard to find - guess I'll have to go to Amazon for that - and Pete, no Robert Harris available, so that might be another Amazon purchase.

The new books will have to wait, however, because I've gotten too deep into Ursula Under, pressed upon me a couple of weeks ago by my good friend Lynne. Anybody else read this one?

It's been all movies, all weekend for me. After Capote, another round of Harry Potter, Good Night and Good Luck, and The Producers, I might need a break from film-festing for a while (though a friend wants to see Narnia tonight, so who knows?).

Last week a discussion ensued on Loose Poodle about theatre vs. home for watching films. Though I see hundreds of films on television (mainly via Turner Classic Movies), I like going to a theatre; I like the shared experience of seeing a film with a crowd of strangers and maybe one or two friends. The downside is, of course, the expense, the commercials, and annoying cell phones. However, for my recent spate of movies, I attended only the cheaper matinees and all of the audiences were well-mannered - so I doubly enjoyed the experience.

What do you think? Do you like seeing a movie in community or would you rather see it in the privacy of your own home?

Un-decoration Day, or Movin' On

One last look at Christmas before it comes down. Indulge me. New Year's is over and I have one grace day before heading back to work tomorrow (though I did work last week).

Today is one of my least favorite days of the year - Taking Down the Christmas Tree Day. I'll leave the creche in place until after Epiphany, but everything else starts coming down.

My little tree has served me well. I will sorely miss its lights, baubles, and smell. I'll take the tree for recycling, but before I leave it on the heap with the others, I'll hold on to a branch and thank the little evergreen for making the house so lovely. Kate laughs at my little Christmas tree separation speech, but I feel some sort of formal goodbye is in order in the face of such service to the holiday.

So off I go. Unfestooning is not as much fun as festooning, but there's a strange satisfaction in getting things back to their normal arrangement. Still. Sigh.

A New Year's Movie-fest

A movie a day starts the new year OK. Three movies (going to the movie-house movies) in three days, with a fourth planned for tomorrow - a perfect way to ring out da' old and ring in da' new. Now as soon as you read this, turn off your computer and get thee to your local cinema, because I have two outstanding recommendations.

First, Capote. The movie is a slice of Capote's life rather than a sweeping life-saga, focusing on his In Cold Blood-researching/writing years (1959-1966-ish). I guess the hardest thing about portraying Truman Capote would be to not overdo it to the point of being a caricature (though he was kinda a caricature in real life). Philip Seymour Hoffman is more than up for the challenge. Though he has some grand gestures, it's the tiny, almost imperceptible tics and habits that make you believe you're watching the real thing. And Catherine Keener as Nell Harper Lee is powerful and understated - just the way a good Southern woman, who happens to be a brilliant writer, should be.

Unlike most films today, this one takes its time - unfolding, revealing itself at a slower, more natural pace. But there ain't a dull frame in it. It's the story of a mass murder, law enforcement and the judicial system, the inner workings of a great writer, and how a book is birthed. It's about manipulation and ego and reality running smack into ambition. And, Lord, what was in the water in that little Alabama town that nurtured the literary talents of Truman Capote and Harper Lee at the same time? Where I can get me some (as we say in the South)?

The second, Good Night and Good Luck. Shot in glorious black and white (which I love, by the way), the film harks back to a time curiously (scarily) like our own. Ace CBS reporter Edward R. Murrow pushes television journalism to its heights, undaunted by the likes of sweaty old Joe McCarthy or network boss Bill Paley. Seems this McCarthy guy has the notion that there are Communists under every rock, especially every government and military rock, and he's going to expose them, the Constitution be damned. Hmm. And anyone who disagrees with him is labeled a Communist. Another hmmm. He's only trying to protect us. Er, hmmmmmm.

David Strathairn as Murrow just nails the performance. The solemn delivery, the ever-present cigarette, the no-nonsense mannerisms - within minutes, I forgot I wasn't watching the real guy. The rest of the cast is just as solid - George Clooney (director/co-writer) as Fred Friendly, Robert Downey, Jr. and Patricia Clarkson as the Wershbas, Frank Langella as William Paley, and Jerry Mathers as the Beaver. No, sorry. I mean Joe McCarthy as Joe McCarthy (even scarier than Jerry Mathers as the Beaver). And great jazz bridges by singer Diane Reeves - wowsa'.

Clooney grinds a darn good ax here - an ax that needs grinding continually in our history, it seems. Would that we had journalists today willing to face down the powers that be.

The New Yorker reviewed both films in an October article, if you're interested.

The other movie I saw was Harry Potter, the second time for me but my friend hadn't seen it and was really keen. Enjoyed it just as much as the first time I saw it. Tomorrow, The Producers - saw the original cast on Broadway, but I don't mind reliving it on film (though I'm not expecting it to be as thrilling as the live performance, natch). And I may push my movie-going stamina to the limits by going to Narnia on Tuesday evening. We'll see. I may be filmed out for a while after tomorrow. I'm already on popcorn-overload.

OK. Push yourself away from the computer, and run to the theatre!

Happy New Year to All, Ring-a-Ding-Ding

Hot on the heels my favorite holiday season come my least favorites - New Years and Valentine's Day. Even when I'm madly in love, neither holiday lives up to its expectations. And I can't even tell you what those expectations are.

A guy friend and I were talking about this yesterday at work - what would be our ideal New Year's celebration? I don't know. Travel back to the 1930s or 40s and celebrate with dining and dancing to one of the famous bands of the era, wearing a wonderful silvery gown, blowing noise makers and wearing silly hats? Well, OK, that's impossible (I haven't mastered the time-travel thing, dammit). Even then, I bet it wouldn't live up to the images from old movies and newsreels.

When I was little, we spent the evening lighting and swirling our sizzling sparklers around in the front yard. Santa always stuffed our stockings with sparklers just so we'd have something with which to welcome in the New Year. What a party guy! Anyway, we'd sizzle and make a lot of noise with those 1950s-type noisemakers, then flop into bed - completely out of it by the time the clock passed midnight.

I can name only three great New Year's celebrations since childhood - two in Vermont (where we once owned a house) and one during my salad days with Turner Broadcasting. All three were mid-sized affairs - 8-20 people - food, music, laughter. One even included silly hats - that was the requirement to get in: a home-made silly hat (the Turner party, obviously). But apart from the hats, the occasion was really no different from any other gathering of good friends for a meal and a chuckle or two.

Nothing like that planned this year, though. Movie and a meal with a friend, then home before the crazy folks hit the road. Maybe I'll stay up till midnight; maybe I won't. But tomorrow - and upholding a fine Southern tradition - I'll tuck in to my meal of black-eyed peas, turnip greens and wedge of buttery cornbread, hoping the coming year brings health, wealth (I'll settle for comfortable solvency), and a surfeit of loving laughter.

Happy New Year to all. Here's raising a glass and waving a sparkler in your general direction!

New Year's Pocket Fluff

In an effort to tie up a few loose ends before giving a big "Mwah!" to 2005, here are some fuzzies I found in my coat pocket:

A remake of Three Men in a Boat - and you know I love my Jerome K. Jerome! - on BBC2 (which helps me not at all, of course) is set for January 3. It'll take donkeys years to get over here, but I'm raising a glass in honor of an updated version of the story. An interesting article about how much fun the three stars had on their boat trip up the Thames can be found here. I love Dara O'Briain's description of how different England is from the river's point of view:

The Thames cuts through an England previously unknown to me. Over the past few years, I have performed in practically every town in this country - by road and rail I have seen each corner of the sceptred isle. By river, however, we might as well have been on a different continent. Oh sure, you knew that Reading, say, was just past that bank of trees on your left, but you never had to see it. In fact the closest parallel I can draw is that it was like walking to work, but only by jumping through people's back gardens.

Jumping through people's back gardens, indeed! What a yummy idea!

Playbill.com has its Picks of the Top Theatre Stories of 2005. I'd guess the biggest story was that Broadway really cha-chinged this year, raking in mo' money than it has in years. Fine, fine stuff there right now, both musicals and non-musical plays. The place is really cookin'. Couldn't happen to a finer keeper of live performance (plus off-Broadway, of course).

Looking for a few hilarious literary quotes of the year? The Times of London gives a nice selection from British-type writers (sorry, no Nicole Ritchie). Here are the winner and runner-up:

Sentence of the year -
“In an attempt to breathe life back into the traditional pillars of the economy, the coffin of classical liberalism was nailed shut.” Richard Holmes’s In the Footsteps of Churchill

Runner-up -
“Was it that day that I noticed Myles’s toes were webbed?” John Banville’s The Sea, winner of the Man Booker prize

And my personal favorite - Best obituary headline
“Wykehamist pimp, crack fiend and adulterer who created Henry Root.” William Donaldson remembered, The Daily Telegraph

Something to aim for, fellow writers - Wykehamist pimp, et. al.

A big thanks to all who have sent along book recommendations. I'm making a list and checking out the bookstores this weekend. I'll let you know what I lug home. By the way, anyone read Ursula Under by Ingrid Hill? It was thrust into my hands by a good friend a couple of weeks ago, and I've just uncovered it from underneath various wrappings and ribbons. I started it last night, and it seems pretty good.

Still no word on my former classmate Tom Fox and the other three hostages kidnapped in Iraq November 26. The most recent news story involved a vigil held in Trafalgar Square for Norman Kember, reported yesterday by BBC. Spare a thought for them all as we lurch toward the new year.

The Best of 2005 According to Me

And let's face it, that's all that really matters, eh? Me? Anyway, here are the highlights of 2005, with a little edification (but no introspection!):

Spamalot - Got to see it on Broadway while still in previews. The entire original cast. Sat on same row, 10 seats down from Liza Minnelli (she looked pretty good, too, amazingly). After curtain call the cast led the audience in singing "Always Look on the Bright Side of Life" as confetti rained down on us. I now put on my resume: Sang on Broadway with Liza Minnelli. Well, I did, didn't I?

The Reading Room/research staffs of the Imperial War Museum, National Army Museum, Sheffield Central Library - Each person went out of his/her way to help me find solid, interesting resources for my research on Walter. A special doff of the hat to the IWM late afternoon staff who took this picture of me, even though flash photography isn't allowed there and we had to wait until all the other Reading Room patrons had cleared out. You totally rock, people!

The hospitality of old friends - Jean and Aubrey, my English "parents," catered to my every whim while I was in England. Nay - they anticipated my every whim (because I'd never whim on 'em). From Aubrey's wonderful English breakfasts to drinkies in the back garden, Jeannie's fine slap-up suppers and evenings in front of the telly. So much laughter and stories and catching up. Even if I did have to hang out at the Walton Conservative Club. (You'd think a big buzzer would sound an alert when I walk through the door of the place, wouldn't you? But, nah.)

The hospitality of new friends - Kay and Malcolm, whom I'd only known through email correspondence over the past two years, journeyed to Sheffield so that we could compare Wildgoose notes (Kay runs the best Wildgoose genealogy website) and drive around to some of Walter's old 'hoods. We got on like a house afire, yammering non-stop. And Walter's son Ron welcomed me to his home, shared stories and photographs, and passed along incomparable information about his father. New friends are true blessings.

Walter Wildgoose - You left me an amazing story through your letters and the stories you told me all those years ago. The more I learn about you, the more I realize how lucky I am that our paths crossed that summer day in Whitehall in 1977. I don't know that I'm good enough, big enough to tell your story, but you left it to me for a reason so I will do my best, dear Wally.

Journey's End - Incredible production of the classic World War I play at the Lyceum Theatre, Sheffield. The final curtain came down and we in the audience were subjected to 2-3 minutes of sound effects - bombs, guns, bullets hitting dirt. Completely unnerving. Then the curtain call - actors stood in front of a huge backdrop listing WWI casualties. Not a dry seat in the house, folks. Outstanding!

Hurricane Katrina Direct Relief - Grace Davis and Victoria Powell pulled off a super volunteer effort through their grassroots Katrina relief blog. Frustrated with the complete breakdown of the government's and non-profits' ability to get real help to real people real fast, these two women did what any good Girl Scout or PTA mom would do - hook up the "doers" and "havers" with the "needees." Fast. I stand in awe.

Family - The longer I live, the more grateful I am that I have a big, loving family. Many people don't have this and I know I'm extremely lucky. So to daughter Kate, brother Bill, sister Cindy, a host of nieces, nephews, aunts, uncles, cousins (first, twice-removed, etc), the big Brennan bunch (I didn't give 'em up after the divorce!), and family members no longer around - heartfelt thanks for your love, support, stories, laughter and tears.

Those are the Best o' the Best for 2005, though the list could have continued beyond all reason. I don't do resolutions, so you will be spared that junk.

Celebrate, my friends, that we're all still here and heading hell-for-leather (whatever that means) into 2006!

New Year's reflections should only be in mirrors

Does a concentrated effort at year-end reflection help or hurt? According to University of Virginia professor of psychology Timothy D. Wilson in today's New York Times, it's better just to move on. Group studies show that intense debriefing - whether for people in troubled relationships or 9/11 emergency workers - doesn't help the mental and emotional state of the folks in the studies and may even make things worse.

This only shores up my problems with psychotherapy. The constant "why-why-why-so how do you feel about that?" just pisses me off and makes me feel like a dog chasing its tail. My ideal therapist would be the Tracy Ullman on Allie McBeal type - someone brave enough to say "Yeah, you are crazy! Now let's move on and find a theme song for your life." Heck, give me a couple of truth-telling girlfriends and a bottle of wine, and I'm perfectly centered. (Still crazy, but perfectly centered.)

Anyway, per the article, the secret of leaving past mistakes or traumas behind? Just be the person you want to be:

Social psychologist Daniel Batson and colleagues at the University of Kansas found that participants who were given an opportunity to do a favor for another person ended up viewing themselves as kind, considerate people - unless, that is, they were asked to reflect on why they had done the favor. People in that group tended in the end to not view themselves as being especially kind.

The trick is to go out of our way to be kind to others without thinking too much about why we're doing it. As a bonus, our kindnesses will make us happier.

So instead of making a list of what went wrong in 2005 and delving deep into your psyche for the whys and wherefores, a better idea might be to list all the good things that you did or happened to you - no introspection allowed! - then burn it in the fireplace as you drink a glass of hot cocoa. After that, and without thinking twice about it, go forth and do good stuff!

There once was a New Year '06 . . .

. . . because there's not a year called "Nantucket."

Got a good New Year's limerick in ya'? Give it a try. Here's my tame one:

In search of a New Year’s resolution,
The goal is my self-evolution,
As long as my vow
Leaves room to allow
Impatience and retribution.

If I knew you better, I'd share the not-so-tame one. But don't let that stop you.

Make it stop!

In an effort to purify my heart and mind, I plan to avoid some topics that have over-saturated the media. You can throw 'em at me - but I'm duckin', People. Ears plugged and screaming to the heavens, here's my current Dear God, Make It Stop List:

1. Bird flu - Look, Chicken Little, call me when you have more definite information.
2. Terror/terrorism/terrorist - See above.
3. Paris, Lindsey, Britney, Tom/Katie/Brad/Angelina - I could go on, but you know who the culprits are.
4. iPod - Sorry. You still look stupid with stuff hanging outta your ears, be it Walkman, cell phone, or iPod. I don't care what the thing does.
5. Gay marriage - Get over it. Live and let live. And here's hoping gays do a better job with it than heterosexuals.

OK, I'll stop there. C'mon - what's on your DGMIS List?

And keep those book suggestions coming - great stuff there! Thanks!

Hot on the trail of a good read

I know there's one out there. I just can't seem to find it. Now that I've re-shelved my holiday murder mysteries, my nose is to the ground in an effort to track down a good book to dive into. My TBR stack is almost ceiling-high, but none of it's floatin' my boat right now, if you get my drift. (Boat? Drift? Sorry.)

So, Watson - a little help, here. Sherlock's smokin' too much bishop to find a good book on his own.

Here's what I don't like: fantasy/science fiction, westerns, romance (the Barbara Cartland kind), self-help books (well, that should be obvious). I'm wide open for anything else - literary fiction, mysteries, biographies, readable non-fiction (not too academic - I'm still on carb-load, remember, and the brain is a bit soppy). Funny stuff, serious stuff, scary stuff, weird stuff.

Suggestions? Give Shorty Sherlock a little hint, huh?

Hi Ho Hi Ho - with a groan and a stretch - it's back to work we go

On the third day of Christmas, my kind boss gave to me - a job to return to. Since nothing really gets back to normal until after the first of the year, I use the week after Christmas to organize things both real and virtual. I still have a brainful of tinsel, so I'll spend the morning doing the manual labor of cleaning my desk. That should get me to lunchtime. After that, I'll be ready to start the organization of computer files which has needed to be done for at least six months. That should last till Friday. See, I need a clear strategy or I'll just put my head on my desk and doze.

But first, the annual post-Christmas Day inventory:

1. Best meal: Christmas lunch at my sister's (though my own Christmas Eve supper is a close second). We were able to crowd around one table, since three of our group were absent due to illness. Ham, turkey/dressing, Brunswick stew, green salad, ooh and lots more. Plus yum-worthy desserts. But it was the family sharing the meal that made it the best.
2. Best practical gift: I told you Santa promised me a digital camera if I was a good girl, and I hid my sins of commission so well that he brought it anyway. Poor you - you'll be subjected to many more personal photos on Shorty PJs from here on out!
3. Best sentimental gift: Sister Cindy put together family picture albums for Brother Bill, Aunt Nell, and me, with scanned images of some very old photos starting with Mother when she was little and carrying right through to Christmas 1960. Cindy's a graphic artist - not a scrapbooker - and she did a beautiful job selecting papers and backgrounds for the pictures. A treasure!
4. Biggest regret: I know I said I wouldn't worry about eating too much, but boy, did I eat too much! I feel like I huge city-eating slug, and all the pictures taken over the past few days reveal that, yes indeed, I AM a huge city-eating slug. NO MORE WHITE FOOD. I mean it!
5. Best new tradition: After church and supper on Christmas Eve, Kate, her feller Greg, and I each chose a story to read to the others around the fire. Greg read The Gift of the Magi, Kate read The Polar Express, and I read (you guessed it) A Child's Christmas in Wales. It was a soothing, peaceful way to greet Christmas.

What about you? Was it calm and bright for you, or more 'tis the season to be jolly?

Off to work - must organize, don'cha know.

Christmas should be softly spoken

Christmas Eve is settled and quiet - a time for reading by the fire and watching the last of the seasonal films on my list. Well, it's quiet until we head for the glorious church service, complete with brass, stings, a wonderful kettle drum, and of course the splendiferous Buzard pipe organ. Then we'll sing loud, loud, loud, hug old friends, marvel at the greenery and candles, and gather at the altar for the Eucharist.

Before the service, grown-up Kate will gather in the aisle with friends who used to toddle, clomp, and skip with her down the aisle in angel wings or shepherd's robes when they were small. They all look very adult now, and you have to bore deep in your memory to picture them fiddling with their halos or battling each other with the shepherds' staffs.

Then home for a fine supper, always some kind of seafood. This year, my famous dishwasher-baked salmon. (Don't laugh - I learned this at a cooking class. Put the salmon fillets, butter, dill in oven bags and close tightly and place in a shallow pan. Place pan on lower racks of dishwasher and let it run through the whole cycle, wash and dry. No soap, obviously. It will be perfectly, moistly steamed and very yummy.) Asparagus and scalloped potatoes and lots of odds and ends of pies, cheesecakes, and cookies complete the meal.

Ooh. And one other thing. I'm making "Smoking Bishop" (mentioned in A Christmas Carol) as our warm drink. Here's the recipe I'm using. The oranges, cloves, sugar, and red wine have been enjoying each other's company in an earthenware jug for almost two days now (and it smells potent but divine). All I'll have to do is add the port and heat when we get in from the Christmas Eve service tonight.

One and only one present will be opened by each of us after supper; the rest, tomorrow morning. And tomorrow, we make the rounds. Christmas lunch at my sister's - which will be sort of sad since it will be the last at her house for a while. (After 28 years in the Atlanta area, she and hubby are moving to California in 2006.) Then dinner with my step-daughter's family. It'll be a full day - full of food, family, laughs, and love. Tiring, but we'll all feel oh, so blessed.

Then quietly, quietly I'll settle back by the fire, read parts of A Christmas Carol, all of A Child's Christmas in Wales, and the second chapter of Luke one more time, vowing to hold the feeling of the season as long as I can throughout the coming year.

Children's dreams can not be broken
Life is but a lovely token
Christmas should be softly spoken,
All through the night.

Merry Christmas one and all.