Not a creature was swearing

In my house, xmas is not a big deal. It is more like another Thanksgiving but without turkey. We don't even exchange gifts, although I provide "stockings" in the form of little gift bags of goodies. I don't expect anything myself, as I already have everything (a benefit of being old).

But my two-year-old granddaughter changes everything. There still won't be a gift exchange per se, but there will be the gift bags plus toddler gifts big and small. And a tree.

I have not put up a tree in years. The only xmas decorating I would do was to exchange the nature wreath over the fireplace for a plastic xmas themed one, hang another plastic wreath on the front porch, replace the family photos on the mantel with any ornaments that can stand on their own and surround them with twinkle lights. If I was feeling particularly festive, a poinsettia might appear on the dining room table.

This year I wanted a tree. I contemplated buying a pre-lit fake tree - they looked so pretty in the sales flyers and I thought there would be no needles to vacuum and no swearing at the lights - but they looked so ugly in the store and a co-worker disabused me of the idea that there would be no needles and never any lights to hang. So instead, I pictured buying a "live" tree, creating handmade winter-solstice themed ornaments, wrapping the branches with strings of cranberries and popcorn, etc. You get the picture. I looked at real trees, but for some reason not one found its way into my car, let alone my home. On the spur of the moment, I bought a cheap pre-lit one at Home Depot instead.

I had my misgivings on assembly. It really was ugly. But something magical happened once the lights were lit - it become less ugly.

Add the ornaments and now it is actually pretty. It sits by the dining room window, providing a bit of cheer on not-yet-really-cold nights.

Yes, a few needles fell off, but as of right now, all the lights work. It does not need to be watered and the nearby hot air vent can't dry it out. The heavier ornaments do not bow the branches. The pets appear oblivious to its enticements. There is no piney aroma, so I bought a decorative spray of greenery at Lowes.

There is even a poinsettia on the dining room table.

All I need now are some holiday flamingos.

Phone rage

My general cell phone rule is, when the battery needs replacing, just replace the whole phone. In the past, a new cell phone could be had for not much more than a new battery, but this time I decided to upgrade to a smart phone, a Samsung Galaxy Blaze from T-Mobile. After all, my 93-year-old father has an iPhone; I figured I should at least appear to keep up with him.

I am the cheapest cell phone user I know. My phone shopping strategy is to find the plan with the least amount of pocketbook pain, and get whatever phone will work with it. This has translated to prepaid plans and outdated phones, but my cell phone bill never exceeded $100 a year. I'm almost always home or at work, so I really just needed the cell for emergencies and the rare times I travel.

Somewhere along the way I became jealous of those who surf and check email and type with their thumbs. I held out until T-Mobile came up with MY plan: unlimited text and web with 100 minutes talk, for $30 a month. The best phone that was available for that plan was the Blaze, a huge step up from my clam shell Nokia.

An aside on cell phone prices: Because I was buying the phone but not a two-year contract, I paid T-Mobile around $300 for an online purchase. At Target, the very same phone could be had for $10 IF I signed that two-year contract, OR I could buy the phone without a plan for $500. Wow.

Anyway, the phone arrived and with much excitement I began preparations for joining the rest of the thumb-typers. BUT there was no activation card with the phone. I repeatedly searched through the manuals and warranty and papers that came with the phone, but no activation card. Thus began a short trip through insanity (doing the same thing over and over while expecting different results). The instructions actually stated that if the activation card were missing, I should call such-and-such number; that number went to an automated system that took me here and took me there, but never provided a solution to my particular problem. I tried all those tricks to try to connect to a live person; none of them worked. After about 20 minutes of menu hell, the system promised to connect me to a live person - but there was no one there and after a minute or so, I was disconnected. I actually tried this multiple times before giving up for the night.

The next day I called the local T-Mobile store, even though I had read online that they would be of no use. The chirpy salesperson assured me they could help if I would just stop by. When I showed up later that day, Ms. Chirpy was no longer there, and the two non-chirpy salespersons that remained were useless because apparently store personnel cannot do anything for a customer with a prepaid account besides offer to sell her one of their expensive plans. I was having a hormonal day and was near tears, so one of them took pity and gave me a new number to call, a number guaranteed to connect me to a live person. Thank you, thank you!

I rushed home, I dialed the number, I connected with the same automated system. Grrr. I hung in there until it promised to connect me to a live person. I got connected to a live person (!!!) who did not know what to do. She said I needed to talk to sales, but when she tried to connect me, she disconnected me.

I was on the verge of sending the phone back but sorted through the packaging for the umpteenth plus one time. That is when I noticed a phone number on the invoice, a different number from either of the ones I had tried before. I dialed it. Sales answered. They knew exactly what to do and within minutes, my cell phone was saved from a return trip to T-Mobile. Huzzah!

Since then the Blaze has been my constant companion, even though the honeymoon is over. I have a selection of apps, all of them free, because I am cheap (see above) and because I assume setting up a Google wallet account would involve giving them my credit card number, something I am loathe to do. For a while, T-Mobile kept sending me texts, asking if I needed help using my phone, presumably because I used no talk minutes for the first month. I am learning to type with my thumbs, though.

Parsley, sage, rosemary, no thyme

Fall cleanup happens around here at a leisurely pace. A bed here, a bed there, whenever. Recently the weather has been very springlike (except for the lack of rain, which is neither spring nor fall like for these parts), so almost everything is already cleaned up. My neighbor kindly shared some of his fallen leaves, so the garden beds have been put to bed for the winter. I cleaned off the patio beds, including the asparagus. I even cleared out the bed on the south side of the house, one that gets neglected in an out-of-sight-out-of-mind sort of way.

Many plants just don't want to give up, though, especially the herbs. Besides the rosemary, which is still doing fine on the back porch, the following remain.

Sage

Parsley

Chives

French lavender

While our frost dates don't seem to be moving much, the average temperatures are. Every spring I think about gardening year round, but by fall I've lost my enthusiasm for the idea. If it is going to be this temperate, maybe all I need to do is protect the hardier vegetables against frost as I am with the rosemary.

Speaking of spring, the seed catalogs have already begun arriving. And already I am fighting the urge to get carried away. Same old story.

Kokiwanee fungi with my fun guy

Several weeks ago, instead of spending a day trying to get from here to there, I declared it a free day. My SO likes to ramble the countryside, looking for interesting subjects to photograph, and he suggested we visit Kokiwanee Nature Preserve.

(Note about "rambling": When my SO rambles, he really rambles, arbitrarily turning left and right. He does this in town and out. I am more destination oriented, however, and frequently responded to these random changes of direction with "Why are we turning here? This is the wrong way." And I kept saying this, even though that little voice in my head was telling me "SHUT UP! Just SHUT UP!")

Kokiwanee is near Lagro. Readers of The Sun may recall that frequent contributor Doug Crandell grew up near Lagro. In fact, on our ramble we passed the now-idle ceiling tile factory where his dad worked.

Kokiwanee is owned by Acres Land Trust, one of my favorite local organizations. Founded in 1960, they have purchased almost 5000 acres over the years, preserving them as islands of nature in our over-developed world. Volunteers maintain these properties, keeping them accessible for hikes and special events.

We assumed the name of this property was of Native American origin, but no. It is actually derived from Kokomo Kiwanis, who originally purchased the property for a Girl Scout camp. A bit of memoir about this history may be found here. While most of the buildings are in ruins, the platforms for the tents still exist, and it looks like the salvageable structures are being resurrected.

I did take more pictures than these, but they did not turn out very well. Better ones may be found here. I wish we had known about letter-boxing, which I assume is the precursor to geo caching, as we could have tried locating some of them on this property.

After our hike, we toodled into North Manchester and ate world famous pork tenderloin sandwiches at Mr. Dave's. I am an alumnus of Manchester College (now University) and lived in the area after graduation, so I have more to say about our visit there, once I digest it a bit. To be continued....

Happy birthday to me

No, it is not my birthday. That occurred over a month ago, and it was a milestone one in that it starts with a 6 and ends with a 0. For those who think adding one more year to 59 should make no difference, let me respond: HA! Not only do the aches and pains start becoming a way of life, but the focus of one's attention shifts drastically. For one thing, other people's opinions mean less and less. For another, time becomes elastic as the short term memory becomes more holey and those long ago memories rise to the surface with disturbing frequency and intensity.

Anyway, I decided to give myself a present this year, the gift of time. Toward that end, I reduced my work week, from five days to four. The original plan was to make this transition after the first of the year, but my recent health issues shook me up enough to accelerate the timeline. I'm fortunate to be financially secure enough to take a 20% cut in salary, and I'm extremely fortunate to have an employer who does not reduce benefits for part-timers.

So now every week ends with a three-day weekend, as I chose Monday as my day off. I make a loose list of things I hope to accomplish, but otherwise it is business as usual - sort of. For example, Saturdays may be spent babysitting or out and about, but now without the cloud of anxiety caused by worrying over what I was *not* accomplishing chorewise. Sunday is still the day for laundry and cleaning and cooking, plus this time of year, football (which I now actually sit and watch instead of glance at as I pass by the TV).

What I do on Mondays is still evolving, but I hope to turn them into project days, time for me to focus on all those things I want to do but that require more than an hour here or there, catch as catch can. I've done some extra knitting and cheese making and bread baking. I've done some extra cleaning inside and out. I've also done more reading and writing. And sometimes I do a whole lot of nothing.

I consider this time a way of easing into retirement. If I had gone from a full work week to no work at all, I would have found all those free (and empty) hours disconcerting. It takes a shift of perspective, from trying to cram everything into two days to gently uncovering how I wish to fill my time.

It would be easy to do only those things I want to do, letting the rest slide, but I tell myself "You'll be happier if you wash the dishes/do the laundry/vacuum and dust". It's true, and it is possible because now the days feel wider. Maybe it's from the expanded psychic space in my head or the lack of pressure or simply the extra hours. Whatever. Time just feels different.

I have to say, this is the best birthday present ever!

My apologies, Parkview Field

When our fair city first came up with the idea of revitalizing downtown by building a new ball park for our minor league team, I was agin it. Parkview Field was part of a larger plan, but I still did not see the value, primarily because baseball season is so short. Even before this weekend, I had to eat my words because the new ball park is a HUGE improvement over the old one, the park is open daily to the public so people can make use of the 1/3 mile walking path, and the facility is available for both outdoor events (e.g. Bob Dylan concert) and indoor events. Saturday we took advantage of one of those indoor events and made our maiden visit to the year-round farmers market.

The market occurs on the first Saturday of each month. The vendors include locals offering fresh produce, jewelry, roasted coffee, baked goods, soaps and lotions, hand knit items, YARN, etc. Getting there early was not such a good strategy unless you like crowds.

I limited my purchases to some spinach and parsley, and we breakfasted on maple cinnamon rolls. I also connected with a local woman who sells spinning wheels and teaches spinning and also dyes her own yarn using natural materials. She doesn't know it yet, but she just became my new mentor.

Domestic nerdvana

Since we have a wonderful library system here and my house is small, I rarely buy books, and the ones I do buy tend to be reference books, like cookbooks, books on gardening, etc. But since I was placing an xmas order on Amazon anyway, I decided to treat myself to a few "hobby" books. (I am an Amazon "associate" but since I have earned a total of $0.17 for my efforts AND they complicated the linking process, I won't bother with that part.)

Hobby: Gardening
Book: Grow Fruit Naturally, by Lee Reich
I probably read about this book on a blog. After borrowing it from the library, I decided I wanted a copy of my own, as I hope to plant a few fruit trees in the back yard. My son expressed an interest in creating an orchard, has one tree so far, so he is getting a copy, too.

Hobby: Cooking
Book: Food in Jars, Melissa McClellan
There is actually a blog called Food in Jars which I read about on another blog. I also borrowed this book from the library before succumbing to its siren call.

Hobby: Baking
Book: The Bread Baker's Apprentice, by Peter Reinhart (Ron Manville photographer)
I forget how I found out about this book, but I downloaded a sample to my Nook, back when I was thinking the Nook would be one way to buy books without filling up my little house (and that would be a good idea if my eyesight were better). The recipes make me swoon.

Hobby: Making cheese
Book: Artisan Cheese Making at Home, by Mary Karlin and Ed Anderson
My interest in making cheese stems from the abundance of raw milk that finds its way into my house - the herd is producing so well, they distributed extra milk at the last delivery. This is the first cheese making book I have found that specifically addresses the differences in using raw vs. pasteurized milk.

(Unfortunately, the Indiana BOAH may bring my raw milk days to an end. After inviting input from the public, they released a report recommending either raw milk not be distributed to off-farm consumers at all or that dairies that do so fall under their jurisdiction for inspections, etc. I think the report is balanced, but I am wary of too much government interference in what is basically a direct transaction between the farmer and the consumer. Where I differ from most raw milk advocates is that I am against selling raw milk in stores, as the introduction of "middlemen" will leave the product vulnerable to mishandling and contamination, plus it would separate the consumer from the producer.)