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.

Fairy tale

Not quite three weeks ago, the following exchange happened on my Facebook page:

[bzzzzgrrrl] loves it when she comes home to find the sweater fairy has been to call!

• [Friend1] I want a sweater fairy!
• [Friend2] sweater fairy?
• [Friend3] Is THAT what they call those moths!?!
• [bzzzzgrrrl] Ha!
  No, [Friend3] and [Friend2], the sweater fairy is a magical creature that leaves nice sweaters between the storm door and the regular door of all the good little boys and girls who are lucky enough to live next door to people who are losing weight and whose old size is similar to said boys' and girls' current size.
  I believe her to be related to the beet fairy, which is a magical creature that leaves beets (and sometimes other produce) for all the good little boys and girls who are lucky enough to live next door to people who have a CSA share but also a houseful of mildly picky eaters.
• [Friend3] Ah, I seeeeeee. I wonder if I can find a $100 bill fairy??
• [Cousin Mouse] oh, at first I read that as "the swearer fairy"

Well the sweater fairy has struck again, and this time, she's left not only sweaters but also shirts and pants and shorts and a vest, and she had to leave them in the garage because there were way too many to leave between the regular door and the storm door. I will not need to shop again for a year.

Day 28 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for the generosity of the people around me, particularly of my kind and loving neighbor. I aspire to that level of thoughtfulness.

Chocolatey goodness

I'm running the Hot Chocolate Run next weekend — a 5K for Safe Passage, an organization that provides services for women and children who've experienced domestic violence. It's a good organization that does good work and if I'm going to run in New England in December, I'm glad to be running for them.

Plus, hot chocolate.

Day 27 of my month of gratitude: I'm thankful for whichever of you has already anonymously sponsored me. If you'd like to do just like that donor did, go to PledgeReg and look up my name. If you don't know my name, consider donating to Safe Passage directly.

Mmm mm good

You know how there are foods you love, that other people don't get, or dislike, or assume they'd dislike without trying it? I had a friend in college whose favorite was "special spaghetti," which was spaghetti with ketchup and Velveeta.

Day 26 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for anchovy pizza with tomatoes. And orange sherbet with hot fudge.

Yankee Doodle

There's an old thing people say up here (what do you call it if it's too long to be a saying and not funny enough to be a joke?):

• Non-Americans know any American is a Yankee.
• But Southerners know the real Yankees are from the Northeast.
• But other North Easterners know the real Yankees are from New England.
• But other New Englanders know the real Yankees are from New Hampshire.
• And other folks from New Hampshire know the real Yankees are the ones who eat apple pie for breakfast.

Day 25 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for pie for breakfast. The amazing feast I had today is not yet digested, but I am already looking forward to having pie for breakfast tomorrow. It might be my favorite Thanksgiving-related food tradition.

Listen up

A lot of the drive from Lake Placid back home is through Vermont. And in a lot of Vermont, the only radio option is NPR.

You know what NPR loooooves? Storycorps's National Day of Listening. And that love proves to be contagious. You spend all day listening to good stories told by good storytellers on the radio, and you start thinking of the storytellers in your own life. And you think about the amazing stories that are so far unrecorded. And you wind up at Walmart on the second Thanksgiving Day in a row, this time buying a digital recorder and batteries (OK, and pajamas, because you forgot those, but whatever).

And you bring the voice recorder to Thanksgiving, and you're delighted by the fact that your family stories include the Vichy government and arguments about Inuit women chewing shoe leather and what it feels like to remove a brain from a cadaver and the fact that a five-year-old can spell her friend's name (which is more impressive because that friend is named "Ellerbe"). And you suddenly stop being able to think about talking with your family without a recorder running, though you will probably be able to do it some time.

Day 24 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for stories and storytelling traditions that I get to be part of, including but not limited to my family's dinner table and spending some part of every Thanksgiving scanning the radio for Arlo Guthrie — found him this year. If you can find a link to the excellent interview I heard on NPR, you should send it to me. But meanwhile, here's what I thought I was looking for until I found the excellent interview and all the talk about the National Day of Listening.

Whimsical

Sometimes, I am reading a blog, and the blogger has written a long list of things she's thankful for. I mean, a long list. So I might be maybe a little hoping she'll give me ideas I can steal for my month of gratitude series, and then all of a sudden I'm in her blog as a thing she is thankful for.

Whoa.

That's, like:

• so meta
• so sweet
• so cool
• so weird

I should say a little about Whimsy (the aforementioned blogger). I don't know her. Never met her. The things I know about her are what she writes on her blog, so, mostly about her daughter and her husband and her deep friendships and some travel stuff. Her blog landed in my reader initially because she was funny and smart, and though that is still true, I read a lot of funny smart stuff, and a lot of funny smart stuff has been streamlined out of my reader. She stays there because her blog exudes this amazing, consuming love — in addition to the smart and funny. I like having that kind of love in my day.

It's Thanksgiving Day, and I'm also one post behind, so you'll likely be getting another post from me. But I also have to drive several hundred miles, and maybe go for a run, and enjoy a big meal with some of the people who've known me longest and best and who love me much (as I do them), so, you know, maybe there won't be a lot of time for posting. Whatever you do with your day today, I hope that you are happy and safe and well-loved, and that someone lets you know you are cared for.

Day 23 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for people who make the internet not only funnier and smarter, but also warmer. I am thankful for people who let me into their lives and then make me glad of it.

Amazing

Those of you who know me in person know I can be kind of a jackass. So can most of us, I assume/hope; it'd be awful to be the only jackass around here.

And being an occasional jackass, it has happened more than once this month that I've thought about posting "gratitudes" that do not come from a place of grace, but from a place of, um, meanness. There have been days I've wanted to post to highlight my superiority over someone else, days I've wanted to post about how I, unlike some people, am capable of whatever it is.

Now there's a weird observation to get to make about yourself, right?

That even the most basically good small thing I can think to do should be examined for perversion?

But examine it I do, and I won't lie, there have been days on which I can think of nothing new and non-mean to post. Not today, mind you, but some days.

Day 22 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for those small better impulses I do have, which don't always let me get away with being a jackass. I am thankful for grace.

Plame game

Today at lunch, an 11-year-old engaged me in a detailed conversation about whether 9/11 was an inside job (we think not) and whether it was a flimsy excuse for a war (we think so). He then listened with rapt attention as I explained the Valerie Plame/Joe Wilson situation, to the point where, when we were interrupted by something more important, he demanded that I continue to tell him the story later.

I liked it.

You know what I also like? The glee on my 17-month-old niece's face when she sees I'm wearing a necklace suitable for tugging, or when she manages to grab the glasses off my face (and then attempts to mash them back on).

Day 21 of my month of gratitude: I am grateful to have children in my life, in meaningful and less meaningful ways. And I am grateful for the one who's coming soon — a new niece or nephew at the end of June. Awesome, and many congratulations to my sister and her husband.

Morning glory

I woke up this morning in a round room with windows along about one side. There's new snow on the ground and the Adirondacks are my view.

I got up and added to a room-sized compost pile, which involves chopping compost and shoveling wood chips and quick walks on snow-covered ice.

Day 20 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for the newness of mornings, and the new things each one brings.

Remote control

One of the best vacations I ever had was with my parents and sister on the island of Iona.

If you haven't been, you should totally go. Here's how:

• Fly to London
• Connect to Glasgow
• Take a train to Oban
• Take a ferry to Mull
• Take a bus across Mull
• Take another ferry to Iona

As my mother says, you really feel like you've gotten away.

And I know my city friends think I have moved to nowhere, but I am in a city of 23,000 people, on a campus of 5,000 people, with neighbors I can see from my windows in all directions.

I've been spending some time hanging out in a much smaller town lately, and I'm headed to North Country School in Lake Placid next week. I love, love, love, the quietness of not having cell phone reception all the time.

Day 19 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for remoteness, for places without a lot of people, for opportunities to feel like I have really gotten away.

Fashion, forward

My friend Genny posted this style q-and-a to her blog nearly a month ago.

Thanks to the magic of procrastination, you get mine now. Fun, right?

(Note: If you actually go back and read Genny's responses, you'll see she included some questions I skipped. I only answered the fashion and style ones; if you want to be sure to answer all the questions, you should copy from her, not me. And either way, you should post to your own blog and link here, or do your answers in the comments.)

My biggest influence when dressing: Mood. And what's clean. Not necessarily in that order.

My signature scent: Most days, I just wear deodorant. So, daily, Tom's of Maine Long-Lasting Lemongrass. For special occasions (which can mean, "occasions on which I happened to notice the bottle"), I wear Ma Griffe by Carven.

My Go-To Flower: Peonies. I am not sure I understand what go-to means in this context, but I love peonies.

Style Icons: I have so many, most of them people I know (including Genny herself). Among the famous people I emulate when I'm thinking about it: Katharine Hepburn, Mary Tyler Moore, and, if I ever have the arms for it, Michelle Obama. OK, yes, and probably still the cast of Friends. Shut up.

What should every woman have in her wardrobe? Something that feels like her. Nothing is simultaneously sexier and easier to be around than a woman who is totally at home with herself, in her skin, in her gender, in her outfit.

What do you splurge on? Almost nothing. I buy things as inexpensively as I can. I have taken to wearing more expensive, designery jeans lately, but I buy them on the cheap (usually second-hand).

Every woman should own: Didn't we cover this already? Anyway, more specifically, underwear she feels good in, whatever that means for her.

I can't live without: Well, that's dramatic. But a good pair of black heels.

What's not worth the investment? Practically everything, fashion-wise. But especially: fancy layering Ts or tank tops. You can get them at Target (or your inexpensive store of choice), and as long as you try on to get a good fit, they'll look as good and last as (not very) long as more expensive ones.

Favorite Eyewear: I rarely wear sunglasses. But I am in love with my day-to-day glasses right now, and almost every frame made by Kliik.

Worst Current Trend: Understand that my idea of "current" is slightly warped by living where I live, but when can Uggs be over?

Best Current Trend: Same caveat as above, but layering saves my life and ability to get dressed every day.

Things I Buy in Bulk: Any staples I find cheap. Great bras on clearance at TJ Maxx? I buy every one in my size. A tank top that fits just right? I buy one in each color (and probably more than one in white).

What's the secret to looking polished? If I knew, would I look like this? I feel like the devil's in the details. For me, I gesture differently and fidget less if my nails are done. That's gotta help somewhat, right?

Movies that have inspired my fashion: You don't want to hear any more about my good fashion choices. You want to hear about the bad ones, that are (one hopes) behind me now. Breakfast Club. Thelma and Louise. Cinderella (luckily, that only inspired one nightgown decision, and I was six). The Bad News Bears. Singles.

What's the secret to making yourself stand out? In my experience, weirdness. Sometimes that works out well, sometimes less well, but it always stands out. Think Lady Gaga's meat dress. Or Madonna's cone bras. Or me in high school wearing a tie a few times a week.

Must-have clothing: Jeans.

My Go-To Accessory: Hoop earrings.

What are your favorite jeans? Right now, a thrift-store pair of Luckys. Do people say "Luckys"?

Day 18 of my month of gratitude: I'm grateful for fashion, for the funness of playing and reinvention and chances to look better — or just different.