Take a cup o' kindness yet

I am a medium-superstitious person, and that kicks into high gear this time of year. Luckily, I tend to use my superstitions for good, not ill; I'm fine with black cats and such, but I'll wear the occasional lucky garment when it seems warranted.
So, this new year I am:

• eating long noodles
• eating black-eyed peas
• eating greens
• washing my hands in the new soap I got for Christmas, made to bring abundance to my life
• making sure my cupboards are stocked
• greeting a tall, dark-haired man as the first person to enter the household

What am I missing? What do you do for good luck in the new year?

Let it slow

There's a lull between two snowstorms up here right now. It is a perfect day to snuggle under blankets, to sit beside a fire, to drink from the oversized mugs bzh gave me when I moved here three years ago, to put both giant Crock Pots to work and freeze the leftovers.

Round One of Crock Pottery will be recipes from friends who responded to the call on Facebook.

Round Two will be from you. So, share. What are your favorite slow-cooker recipes?

A Prayer

A Prayer for Owen Meany is one of my favorite books, ever. John Irving is not one of my favorite authors overall; I find him pretty hit-or-miss. But even his worst books (158-Pound Marriage, I'm looking at you) often strike a chord with me; they often take place in New Hampshire, in and around worlds I know well.

I bought Cider House Rules when I was home here for my grandfather's funeral, late one year in the early 1990s, and read it as my main escape that weekend. And when I got back to school, I missed it, and bought Owen Meany, which was even better. It's a sentimental thing for me, but it's also just a beautifully crafted book, which I very much recommend.

I loaned my copy out to a good friend who was having a hard time a few years ago, and was pleased that she liked it enough to read it — that it resonated with her, too. I don't see her a lot any more, but the last time I saw her, this fall, she asked if I wanted it back, and I was surprised to find that I didn't. That is, I love the book, and want to have a copy, but I wanted her to have that copy. I loved that it was doing someone else some good.

Flash forward to a few weeks ago, when an on-campus group was having a book sale for a good cause, and the first book my eye lit on was a copy of Owen Meany, tattered in almost exactly the way mine was. I handed over my fifty cents and was happy to have it, but didn't look inside.

Until this week, that is. I was in a nostalgic mood, and there are a couple of eerie, sweet, Christmasy chapters that bring me back to late one year in the early 1990s, so I skimmed them.

And then I flipped to the end — no reason not to, because I know how it ends.

And this is what I found there:


I don't know what "better" means in this context, so I can't agree with it, quite. But it made me smile.

How that party went

First things first: I went with black pants, a shiny green shirt, and heels I could take off when I got there with bare feet (since I got a pedicure on Saturday)

I left my town at about 5:45 and arrived around 6:15, planning to only stay an hour, and carpooled with a friend who wanted to get home in time to tuck her kids in. Perfect, right?

My hostess's husband was there, rearranging and moving cars, and offered to move mine.

Since I hadn't taken my coat off yet, I offered to do it myself.

He said he'd do it, that I should go in and enjoy the party. And you know, my car's really old. It's not like it'd be a huge big deal if he scratched it or something.

So I gave him my keys and headed in to talk to the five people I knew (because really, I seem outgoing, but my M.O. at parties is pretty much to corner people I know or people who look like they know even fewer people than I do and talk with them, one-on-one, until they wander off).

By about 6:45, I had talked with everyone I know, but it was obviously still too soon to leave. My hostess came over to say hello, and we talked for a bit about how beautiful her house is and what she'll do with the room we're standing in. And then she says, "[bzzzzgrrrl], I have a huge dilemma."

People who understand my neuroses better than I can figure out why my first thought was that I was about to be fired from a direct-sales job at a holiday party, but anyway, I just said, "O.K."

And then she was full of apologies, and handed me the pieces of my keys. Bear in mind, my car is old, and my hostess's husband is approximately the same age as said car. He has probably never had to open a car door with a key in his short life. He certainly has probably never seen a car where the ignition key and the door lock key are different. And so he put the ignition key into the door lock and gave it a good twist in the bitter, metal-freezing cold, and snapped it.

Also bear in mind, this party was about half an hour away from my house, and I didn't (and don't) know where my spare key is anyway. Shuttling around to get it is not an option.

Luckily, I have AAA. AAA Plus, in fact, which is totally worth it (and would be a fine last-minute Christmas gift for practically anyone, except someone who already has it). So I called AAA and tried to enjoy the rest of the party, which was lovely (though I was a little worried about my carpool buddy who now can't leave and won't get home to tuck the kids in).

What time would you guess AAA got there?

I mean, you know I'm in the middle of nowhere, so would you guess 45 minutes after I called?

An hour?

Maybe you'd guess, correctly, that they'd call back after an hour and a half to see how everything was going, and then would be surprised to learn the tow truck hadn't gotten there yet, and then would call back to say it'd be another twenty minutes. Yup.

This party, mind you, was supposed to end at 8:30. Luckily, I am not the only one who doesn't know how to leave a party, and so I was not quite the last guest in the house when the truck finally got there at 9, two hours after I initially called for it, in pretty, swirly, only-slightly-scary snow. My carpool buddy had managed to hitch a ride with someone else about five minutes before that, well after her kids' 8:00 bedtime.

You will be glad to know the couple who drove the tow truck were very nice and really interesting, and I now know a lot about their kids and also what it's like to tow drunk drivers.

I think I might send them a note.

They towed me home, and gave me a ride.

And then the fun began.

Because it took several hours the next morning to figure out how to get a replacement key for a 20-year-old car, without the use of said car.

I called the GM dealership (because there are no Oldsmobile dealerships anymore, because they don't make Oldsmobiles anymore) and asked if they could make me a replacement key.

The guy on the phone explained that GM says it doesn't do keys older than 14 years old, but sometimes he gets lucky, but before he can even search on it, he'd need my license and registration.

When I suggested that I might not want to walk three miles round-trip in the incredibly freezing cold on the off chance he could make a copy of my key, he said I could fax that info to him.

I told him I didn't have a fax machine at home. I did not say, "A fax? Are you kidding? What is this, 1992?" I asked if I could scan and e-mail that info to him instead.

He thought that would be a fine idea, and gave me his e-mail address, which was in the format [creative spelling of diminutive of masculine first name][two-digit number]@yahoo.com. I did not say, "Yahoo? What is this, 1995? You don't have a work account?"

I did (probably unwisely) e-mail those scans and wait a bit, and then called back. I got a different guy on the phone, and had this conversation.

Me: Hi, I called earlier to see if you could make a key for my 20-year-old car, and I just wanted to make sure you all had gotten my e-mail with my license and registration.
Him: We can't make a key that old.
Me: I know, I already talked to someone, he said that sometimes you can make keys older than 14 years. I just wanted to see if he'd gotten my e-mail.
Him: We can't make keys that old.
Me: I already talked to someone who said he'd see if he could.
Him: We can only go back to 1990.
Me: Excellent. My car is a 1990. [But note to self: Get one million copies of this key.]
Him: Oh, yeah, then, we can do that. We'll need your license and registration.
Me: I know. I e-mailed them to the guy I talked to before.
Him: Oh! Yeah, I'll ask [diminutive of masculine first name] if he got that. What's your phone number?

A few minutes later, the phone rang, and it was the second guy I'd talked to.

Him: I don't see that fax.
Me: I didn't send a fax. I e-mailed it.
Him: Oh! OK, I'll see if [diminutive of masculine first name] got that.

A few minutes later, the phone rang again, and it was the first guy I'd talked to.

Him: Yeah, we'll be able to make that key, no problem. But you should know, with a car that old, there's only a 50-50 chance it'll work.
Me: What?
Him: Yeah, if it's ever been broken into, or if they've ever had to replace the ignition tumbler, the key we're making won't work in it.
Me: Oh, good. I'm only the second owner, and the first owner was my grandmother, and I'm almost certain the ignition has never been replaced.

My kindhearted neighbor gave me a lift to pick it up. And it worked.

So, how's your week going?

Worn out

I have an amusing post for you soon, maybe even later today, but for now, I need fashion advice.

I'm going to a party tonight.

What should I wear?

Possibly mitigating factors:

• The party is 6-8:30 p.m.
• My hostess is 21 years old, married, and has a new house, with new hardwood floors.
• We've been told to feel free to bring our fave slippers or socks, because her house is a "slipper/sock only zone."
• The dress code has been expressed as "wear anything you like... BUT I would love for it to be a fun cocktail party attire (and even cooler to wear cocktail attire with slippers!!!"
• She is expecting 50 people in a house that is big enough to hold us, but it'll be cozy (and therefore warm).
• The weather forecast this evening is for temps in the low to mid twenties, with possible flurries.
• I do not own (or wear) slippers or cute socks, but I am willing to buy some if you think it's necessary.
• I am willing to be barefoot, and have recently had a pedicure.

I am out of my depth on this one. If you are suggesting a dress, please address how you would deal with the hosiery/footwear issue.

Fun new game: Cute or Creepy?

We'll see if this catches on before I commit to it as a regular thing, but I'm interested in your feedback. I'll tell you about a thing, and you'll tell me whether it's cute or creepy. (Or other, obviously.) Once I get a few responses, I'll chime in in the comments.

I have a Facebook friend who is pregnant and understandably very excited.

She's found a FB app that will keep us all updated on how the fetus is doing.

Like:

[Friend] is 28 weeks along in her pregnancy
[Friend]'s baby is about 14 inches long and weighs 2 pounds.

and

[Friend] is 28 weeks along in her pregnancy
[Friend]'s baby's skeleton is hardening and requires about 200 milligrams of calcium every day.

and

[Friend] is 28 weeks along in her pregnancy
[Friend]'s baby's skull bones are growing rapidly to accommodate its growing brain.

and

[Friend] is 27 weeks along in her pregnancy
[Friend]'s baby will suck on anything that can reach his or her mouth: hands, umbilical cord, toes or knees. Sucking provides vital neural connections in baby's brain.

So...
What do you think?

Spirit Guide

I know this guy, and he's considering becoming a priest.

Part of the process, in the Episcopal Church, is the assembly of a "discernment committee," which meets regularly to support and talk to him, to figure out why (and if) this is really what he wants to do.

I am on that committee.

And as part of that process, we've agreed to spend part of our second meeting (on Wednesday) sharing our "spiritual autobiographies."

Which brings to mind a few questions:

• Would it be, like, really bad if I paid someone else to come up with my spiritual autobiography?
• Is it just me, or is it kind of cool that I have reason to write a spiritual autobiography — and share it with near-strangers — every eight years or so?
• Is it bad that I still have the last two spiritual autobiographies I had to do, and that one of them is in board-game form?
• Is it bad or a sign of growth that they are pretty much useless to me developing a current relevant spiritual autobiography?
• Would it be at all funny or instructive if I did it in haiku or six-word form?

and, of course:

• Would you please post your own six-word or haiku-form spiritual autobiography in the comments?

Better belated than never

A while ago, I said I'd get back to friends.

Today's the big day.

(Belated) Day 30 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful to have the greatest friends in the world, in so many ways and for so many reasons. I am grateful for the folks who are there with just the right answer (or just the right question) when I need it most. For the people who've known me forever, for whom history becomes a language. For the people who come into my life new and immediately become important. For the people who brighten my day, for the people who ask me if I want to grab a drink or go for a walk, for the people who know that they are important to me as I am to them, for the people who give better than they get, for the people who give advice and the ones who ask for it. Seriously. Greatest friends in the world.

Not my father's

I drive a 1990 Oldsmobile.

Here's why: It was my grandmother's.

She died in 2004, nearly 101 years old. I loved her very, very much. I do not think my love for her is why I got the car.

I think I got that enormous, heavy, super-reliable, nearly-antique car because my aunt and mother were worried about me. I was living in D.C. without one, you see, having sold my old car when I left the country.

And I was doing fine, but then I suddenly had a car. An awesome car, of which I am weirdly proud, since I have nothing whatever to do with its awesomeness. I had cousins who perhaps needed it more, but suddenly, it was my car, and I was in love.

I never get into that car without thinking of Granny. A couple of times, that has made me cry. Mostly, though, it just makes me grin.

(Belated) Day 29 of my month of gratitude: I am grateful for my 1990 Oldsmobile and all it represents: Reliable transportation, connection to my grandmother, and the sweet thoughtfulness of my mother and aunt.