Overthrow the monarchy!

Down with the Disney princesses!

Okay, okay, I don't really have anything against them personally. I was quite the Disney movie watcher as a kid, especially "The Little Mermaid" and "Aladdin." But honestly, if I never have to see/reinact anything with Ariel or Cinderella again, I'll die happy.

Abigail, at not-quite-four, has practically memorized "Cinderella" and the part of "The Little Mermaid" we'll let her watch (through "Under the Sea" -- that movie is a lot scarier and more violent that I remember at 10!). Yesterday, I think we had to play out evil stepsisters ripping up Cinderella's dress, "Bippity Boppity Boo," the ball, the loss of the slipper, and the fitting of said slipper about 10 times consecutively. And you can't deviate from the script. One false word, you get "Noooo! Do it right!" And trips to the pool and baths and playing in her kiddie pool all result in recreating Ariel singing "Part of Your World" -- including the destruction of Eric's ship and his rescue. I've got some truly hilarious home movies of this if anyone knows how to blog those.

I confess, it's fun singing "Bippity Boppity Boo." I've also bought an Ariel bath toy, if only to stop making my child play out the scenes with her washcloth. I shouldn't be that stingy! Plus I adored my Sea Wees when I was little, so I won't begrudge her mermaid bath fun. But really, it's just too much! I learned those movies verbatim as a child, I don't need to prove the fact to myself again!

And my mother-in-law wants to indoctrinate her in ALL the movies in order to take her to Disney World! Lord help me! I'd actually have to WATCH most of them repeatedly to have my lines correct for the later playtime ...

Of course, in my search for a general princess link, I came across this quiz: I'm Pocahontas. Not a bad princess to be, really. Independent, intelligent, in touch with nature, not wearing a big ball gown. I could've handled being Mulan, too, she can kick some butt.

And ladies, follow that Sea Wees link. This woman collects all the main '80s toys, and it was amazing to see some I'd totally forgotten about and feel that strange wave of recognition come over me. Remember Poochie? And I think a Fluppy Pup was my first independent toy purchase. Look at the pictures and enjoy the bizarre trip through associations with childhood memory.

My state is insane

I've always joked about the politics of my adopted state, but recent moves by my Legislature now make me want to cry. They have gotten rid of property taxes for homeowners. Woo-hoo! Great! But wait, 60 percent of that went to public schools. That's okay, they say, we'll make it up with a one-cent increase in state sales tax. All right! That's smart! But wait, I live in a border county. People already flock here from Charlotte for lower property taxes, but they still work and do all their shopping in Charlotte. Think that will change? Whoops, there goes all the revenue for schools! And they were already so stellar! And what if people actually STOP spending on credit and the economy adjusts downward? Do we really need to entrust our education system to consumer apetites?

Now, I'm not great at finding links, and for some reason this issue is being more fickle than it should be, but here's one related story from my local paper. And there was a pretty decent editorial Sunday, but of course the link doesn't work. Oh well, I'm sure the tech savvy can find out more!

At least it wasn't a flag cake

Disclaimer: No actual food was harmed in the making of these desserts.

I've never been an overtly patriotic person. Sure, America's great, but so are lots of other countries -- a few of which we could learn from. This past weekend we didn't do anything special, really, though we pulled out Abigail's kiddie pool for the first time this season, and I made fajitas in a nod to the start of summer. But something in me must have been longing for the cookouts of my childhood, for the hamburgers and potato chips and much-disdained baked beans and especially the desserts. Desserts of the Jell-O and Cool Whip variety. Desserts in all their fruity, cold, gelatinous glory.

Now, yes, I've ranted about the perils of gelatin as cuisine, but even then I included an out for dessert. And something in me really, really wanted a pie. A lime pie, complete with zest, so it wasn't a total cooking cop-out. It was an alarming shade of green and had a tinge-too-artificial flavor, but still good. While I was on a roll, I made Strawberry Delight Squares. I don't know what I grew up calling these, but there's Jell-O and cream cheese and a crushed pretzel crust, which was the ingredient that sounded so appealing. There's just something about sweet and salty together. Sadly, since I was veering from the official recipe, my crust didn't really set right and the squares have to be eaten with a spoon, but again, quite yummy. And I did add orange zest to this one, again to pretend I wasn't completely selling out.

So, even though I wasn't being particularly mindfull of our war dead, at least I was being full-on American this weekend. But fear not, the Fourth of July won't lead to this:

Unappetizing seconds

Sadly, "Pickles to Pittsburgh" is a dissapointing sequel to "Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs". It's not a in itself a bad book, just not up to the level of its predecessor. The drawings aren't nearly as meticulous or intricately humorous, and the writting not quite as witty. And it doesn't really mention the 'Burgh at all! Oh well, it's still cute and just on loan from the library. After a couple weeks, we'll just stick to the original.

Pre-emptive strike

I had a gloriously girly experience yesterday while at the local mall. The mall has a fabulous kiddie play area, which was where Abigail and I were headed when a faux-ethnic purse caught my eye. It was in a surfer/skater teenage clothing store, which isn't exactly my normal couture, but I decided to give it a shot. While I didn't get the original purse, I found a cute one with some decorative buttons sewn on the outside. Then the sales-slacker (is associate really fitting when the guy had greasy dyed-black hair, black finernails and numerous tatoos?) informed me that the clearance accessories were buy one, get one free. And the heavens opened and an angel choir broke into song. How exciting! I've been lugging around a rather unattractive canvas tote, whose lining promptly ripped the day after I bought it, and I normally can't find a thing I like since I don't carry around half my home in my purse. But this place had cute stuff! So I am the proud owner of two cute purses, plus the little one my sister gave me a while back that's good for the occasional date.

Of course, one purse just happened to be made by Billabong, and the name happens to be on the outside, though I don't think too obviously. Brad, however, found this hysterical and said the word "bong" so many times over dinner that Abigail eventually piped up and repeated him quite delightedly -- unnerving what she picks up on sometimes! So, to head off the teasing post he threatened, I give you the billabong.

It's f'ntastic

And no, I wasn't trying to swear. I was attempting to imitate the British accent and overuse of large adjectives -- which is hard to do on an American blog -- because I have finished watching 1900 House. What a wonderful show after Texas Ranch House! Now, dear reader, do not despair. I will one day write about things other than PBS programming, but please indulge me one last time.

As the original in this genre of reality show, I had high expectations that this series would be less over-dramatized than the others, and I was pleased to find that true. The first episode was particularly fascinating, all about how they actually refurbished an old London house and the difficulties of that and of finding period clothes, tools, knicknacks, etc. Really much more revealing than just starting with the people being plopped down in the setting. While the rest of the show was quite interesting, and I certainly wouldn't want to be a Victorian woman, this first episode was definitely my favorite, largely because the house was a dead ringer for my sister's pre-David abode (Can't remember the address. Not Kimberly Gardens, the other one off Green Lanes). Amanda's house had exactly the same facade (I remember sleeping on a futon near the bay window, trying to ignore the noise of the lorries outside). Inside, the initial layout seemed the same, just flipped, though of course Amanda and her roommate just lived in the bottom floor as the house had been converted into flats. The "front parlor" still had the fireplace and big rosette at the light fixture, and the double door to the "back parlor" was still there. The rest of the flat was a kind of confusing layout, with I guess the second half of the back parlor being turned into a bedroom and then a mish-mash of bathroom and kitchen where the old kitchen was. Amusingly, I think Amanda's room was the scullery. It was certainly shoved to the back, as befitting my sister the lowly scullery maid :)

Speaking of meine schwester, she and Mr. Dunce will officially become British subjects tomorrow morning. God save the Queen! Didn't my sister do a wonderful job improving my family's gene pool? :) Anyway, congratulations to the new Brits!

I'm feeling much better now

Vindication! The completely ineffective ranch owners were found to be to blame! The cowboys maintain their dignity and walk away with the true loyalty to the project! Hooray, Mrs. Cooke got called out by the assessors! Now, not to say the cowboys weren't jerks to the Cooke daughters, but I can't blame them too much based on the way Mr. Cooke treated them.

And someone seems to insinuate that this brief obsession is no better than watching American Idol. I beg to differ! This is a historical experiment! This is mind-expanding! This is PBS! This isn't Fox and really, really bad, OLD pop music! I am a completely sane, intelligent woman! I am in full control of my mental faculties! I have always been seriously interested in history, espeically this time period as a child! I am not responding emotionally! -- even though, given the option, I would have voted Mrs. Cooke off the island and laughed at her retreating back!

:)

And on the 8th day, Ayzair finished reading

I have read the Pentateuch! That's Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers and Deuteronomy. And let me tell you, it was a slog. I'm taking an old testament "class" with some friends, and I vowed to myself to actually read the Bible and not just the textbook. I'm sure some day I'll go back through bits of Genesis and Exodus, but really, the other three aren't of much use unless you're an ancient Israelite priest, and that's not me. But at least I've read it and know what's in there for myself. Now, Leviticus did have the priestly blessing, which is lovely, and Numbers had the Shema, but that's about all I took away. My "favorite" passage? Hmm, here's an example: Leviticus 4:5-7 "Then the anointed priest shall take some of the bull's blood and carry it into the Tent of Meeting. He is to dip his finger into the blood and sprinkle some of it seven times before the LORD, in front of the curtain of the sanctuary. The priest shall then put some of the blood on the horns of the altar of fragrant incense that is before the LORD in the Tent of Meeting. The rest of the bull's blood he shall pour out at the base of the altar of burnt offering at the entrance to the Tent of Meeting." Mmmm, blood. That's pleasant. And instructions like this were written out for the various types of sacrifices, as well as who was to make each of such sacrifices, when they were to make them, and then for good measure, it was all repeated at least two more times. Thankfully, Pastor Ray doesn't generally bring sacrificial animals to service anymore, though he did have the kids baaaing during the children's sermon Sunday ...

Somebody get a rope

Would someone puh-leeeze get Mr. Cooke a backbone?! And someone needs to MUZZLE Mrs. Cooke! I wish Brad were here to share my indignation at the idiotic ranch owners on Texas Ranch House, but at least I know Jenny will be online at some point with an "Amen!"

(By the way, this rant as of the end of part 3 of 4, after the mess with the Comanche and Maura.)

Yee-haw!

Hooray for the wonders of PBS! Brad has been on his first big business trip this week (poor baby, golf in Myrtle Beach), and I had been afraid I would be at a loss as to how to fill my evenings -- ie., I would wind up flipping between various forms of drivel on TV and never reading or engaging my mind. Well, I'm still not reading, but at least I've got Texas Ranch House! I realize I'm actually a week behind on this since it debuted last week, but the Charlotte station is either replaying it or didn't show it last week, and I'm grateful.

I love these kind of shows. My favorite has been Frontier House, being the most interesting from a straight survival point of view. Colonial House was certainly a revealing look at the 17th century, but the show itself devolved into lots of people whining. Why were the women surprised they were second-class citizens in the 1600s? Somehow the people always forget they're supposed to accept the rules of the time period. My sister-in-law-in-law (what do you call your sister's husband's sister?) has expounded on this failing, even if I can't read all of her postings since they're spoilers -- though it should surprise no one that none of the casts ever makes the grade for suriving in real life.

From the BBC, the originators of this historical re-enactment concept, came Manor House, which was fascinating in that the "masters" thoroughly bought into the upstairs/downstairs division. Totally normal 21st century people feeling they are above other middle class people simply because they're acting the part of servants. A very interesting social experiment. I haven't seen Regency House Party or 1900 House, though I just bumped the latter up to the top of my Netflix queue and should be enjoying it by Wednesday. That was the first one and will hopefully be the purest and least theatrical.

Ahh, public television. How lovely.

Salaam alaykum

I just finished yet another book, this time "The Kite Runner" by Khaled Hosseini. I had long seen this book on the best-seller list back in my days as book editor, and I have a strange fascination with Central Asia, in particular Iran (especially after "Reading Lolita in Tehran"). I didn't know enough about Afghanistan to even know what to think of it, which of course intrigued me. This novel is a fascinating look at an extremely different culture, from Afghanistan in 1973 to Afghan ex-pats 2002. All I'd ever really known of Afghanistan was burqas, the destruction of the Buddha statues, and the pictures of an unimaginably desolate, bombed-to-hell Kabul. This story tells of a vibrant Kabul covered in trees, full of music and fruit and intricate relationships. The later descriptions of the droughts, the Russians, the Taliban are absolutely heartbreaking. Kabul might not have been cutting edges, but it sounds like it wasn't quite as medieval as we were led to believe. What happens to the characters themselves is equally heartbreaking, though I have the (mis)fortune of being able to predict story lines, and I guessed the book's major twist about 200 pages before it was revealed. I would highly recommend this book to people as engrossed by different cultures as I am.

A Tree Grows in Dorset

Abbey is either napping or quiety on her way to doing so, so I've settled in to blog with a cup of coffee. Raspberry coffee. I'm not quite sure how I feel about this. It smells good, but it's coffee. The combination may not be a winner.

I have lately found myself watching "Masterpiece Theatre" on Sunday nights, inevitably while I iron. Some may say I'm much too young for this, but hey, it's good, and the film is usually a period piece, which is one of those fool-proof genres for me. Well, except "The Count of Monte Cristo", which was a nightmarish disaster.

Anyway, last night was "Under the Greenwood Tree", a Thomas Hardy novel I had never heard of. (Looking at that Hardy site, damn, the man was prolific!) The movie had all the Hardy trappings: set in Wessex; honest, salt-of-the earth villagers; questionably motivated "modern" men; the charming local tradition, here a church choir; the sinister symbol of industrialization, here a harmonium, which of course replaced the choir; and a love affair doomed by class. And when I saw the lovely Dick Dewey (coincidentally, exactly what I would have thought Jude in "Jude the Obscure" looked like), I SO wanted the love affair to work, even if the heroine wasn't the greatest. But it's Hardy, right? Surely, following the model of poor Tess and Jude, there would be death and tragedy? Wait, the evil modern men are going away! The class issue is being forgotten! They're getting MARRIED! Hooray! I guess Hardy was a bit of a sentamentalist in his early years. Of course, I haven't read the actual novel, so maybe it was sanitized for TV. Don't want to upset all those little old ladies watching their evening PBS.

Marginalia

You may have noticed (though probably not since I never pay attention to it) that my "What I'm Reading" has been changing at a break-neck pace this week. Amazing, I know! Big margins and less than 120 pages can do that.

The first one I tackled was "Les Combustibles" by Amelie Nothomb, a prominent modern French writer. This play fit well with what I know of French drama, at least from the past century. Just three characters in one room with very few props and no action beyond talking. The main thrust of the plot: In a city under siege, a professor, his assistant and a student are essentially trapped living together. It's winter and they have no more fuel. But they do have a huge, well-stocked bookcase. They turn the question "What book would you take on a desert island?" into "What one book would you save from the flames?" I was very hopeful that this might be another "Huis Clos" by Sartre ("No Exit" in English), but it didn't quite muster the same impact. It would still be interesting to see performed, though.

From that cheerful topic, I moved on to "Night" by Elie Wiesel. Frankly, a blog is not the proper place to discuss this book. It would seem too flippant. Suffice it to say, a very powerful book. I certainly wish I'd been chosen for this group in ninth grade rather than getting stuck with "The Old Man and the Sea" by Hemingway. The book was not surprising in its content, though, after my trip to Dachau. Each voice gives new pain and power to this tragedy, but nothing will compare to staring into the open maw of a crematory oven. This can't be forgotten. If you ever go to Germany, you really should visit a camp. And you should read this book.

On a different tangent ...

The public library in Bethune, France, was named La Mediatheque Elie Wiesel (no thumping dance music). I was always a mite confused by that, but apparently he wrote "Night" in French, feeling that the Yiddish words were corrupted by the Holocaust. That is something I love about the French, though; public institutions are named after important figures in art and literature. The high school I lived at was named after Andre Malraux, a poet. A school down the street was named for Salvador Allende -- okay, not arts, but how interesting to name something for a Chilean. And of course, there was everyone's favorite currency, the 50 franc note with St.-Exupery and the Little Prince on it.

The Spirit moves me to sit and be quiet, thanks

We were in North Myrtle Beach this past weekend and picked a church at random for Easter service. We needed to leave after lunch, so a 9:30 service made the most sense. Of course, the church my in-laws had chosen held a contemporary service at that time, but I really didn't think much of it. Well, as my father-in-law noted, "The only thing Presbyterian about that was the final blessing."

I'm not trying to be critical of people who attend contemporary services. The worshippers at this service were obviously very moved and energized by the Christian pop music and PowerPoint presentation. I'm sure I would have gotten a bit more out of it if I had at least been familiar with the music. But I was out of my comfort zone, which only serves to make me feel awkward, not inspired. I'm just not used to watching a performance at church. I felt like it was a concert by the main singer, who was excellent and obviously full of Spirit, but I got distracted watching her rather than thinking about God.

And what can I say, I missed my favorite "Jesus Christ is Risen Today". One of the most awe-inspiring moments of my life was Easter 2000, when my high school best friend and I emerged from Via della Conciliazione onto a packed St. Peter's Square just as an English choir filled the air with that hymn.

But this contemporary service got me thinking about the kind of Christian I am. While I could never be comfortable waving my hands in the air and inserting "Thank you, Father God" at every breath, I do somewhat envy these people. I have seldom, if ever, been ecstatic like that. I'm actually probably a pretty lousy "worshipper." I don't think that's how I approach church. When I go to a service, I am searching for insight and comfort, ideally an overflowing sense of peace. I am contemplative, not energetic. I'm looking for inspiration, but inspiration to apply to life, not just for it's own sake. I want to be challenged mentally and emotionally by a sermon, but I guess the kind that reach me don't lend themselves to shouts of "Amen!" I don't really think in terms of praise but of a feeling of oneness with God. Maybe I'm not looking at worship the right way, but I do know I've felt a few moments of truly holy peace.

There's a small, ancient church in the Roman neighborhood of Trastevere, Santa Maria in Trastevere, one of the few vestiges of medieval Rome that wasn't sugar-coated in baroque by a pope. The interior was far quieter than most other Roman church, and the altar was backdropped by a gorgeous 12th century mosaic. I sat toward the back of the sanctuary to take it all in, and the clouds outside parted to let light shine through a window and bathe me in pure gold.

At my wedding, when the priest wrapped his stole around Brad's and my hands and pronounced us husband and wife, a wave of absolute calm and contentment washed over me from the top of my head to my feet. I knew we were blessed.

I may not experience ecstasy, but I'm as solid as I can be in my faith thanks to these moments and a few others. Simple joy and peace may not be all that God encompasses, but they're enough for me.

Where does he get those wonderful toys?

You know, I've never seen any incarnation of "Batman." Doesn't feel like a big loss in my life.

Anyway, a friend has introduced me to a fabulous little addiction. Bibliophil has to be the most intoxicating fun for English majors and other obsessive readers. It's a site where you can catalog and rate books you read, keep track of books you want to read and/or buy, get suggestions on books you might like, be happily voyeristic of other people's reading habits and just in general revel in the vast quantity of books out there. I've just started my library, but it's already be highly entertaining. Thinking of my most recently read books led to thinking of all-time favorites led to beloved childhood stories led to what I read in high school led to what I read in Modern Fiction led to ... And I haven't even scratched the surface of my main bookshelf! Granted, Carrots (the fiancee of a friend of Brad's) is a PhD student at Rice and no doubt could put my puny little BA list to shame, but still, how fun!

Thanks for the opinions

Guess I'll keep 'em! Thanks -- I'm very decisive in most other areas of life, but I guess there's just something stressful about an accessory you'll wear 18 hours a day.


I'll be heading out of town for the Easter weekend, down to Myrtle Beach (and some of you know what fun that will be). When I return, I have resolved to write something a wee bit deep and meaningful rather than just post funny pictures of my kid. Of course, whether that will happen remains to be seen!

Happy Easter!

Well?

glasses
Originally uploaded by HFBW.

I've got 30 days if I want to change these new glasses. What do you think? Cool and stylish? Too dark? What? And yes, this was taken at the end of the day, so no comments about the hair.

Dust off that hyperlink

Years Reading has lived to blog again! Not that I have much room to comment on his current question, but perhaps some of you do and might not think to check his long-dormant space for a while.

Here comes Abbey Cottontail

Egghunt
Originally uploaded by HFBW.

Oh, those preschool teachers and their wonderful crafts! Today was Abigail's Easter egg hunt at school, and she was very excited and very cute -- when she could see, that is.

Neither Accurate Nor Original

I just finished reading Bill Bryson's "Neither Here Nor There: Travels in Europe." I am a big fan of Bryson, especially "A Walk in the Woods" and "The Mother Tongue," but quite sadly I have to say I'm not a huge fan of this one. Sure, he gives some interesting descriptions of places in Europe I'll surely never go, but he's so blatantly stereotypical in his perceptions of people. He writes the French off completely as arrogant and self-centered, all based on Paris, which ticks me off immeasureably. I hate when people base their idea of the French on waiters in the Latin Quarter. Try going to a restaurant off Times Square and see if they're just fawning over obnoxious tourists there, too. Anyway, he does this with other nationalities, too, like calling the Austrians rednecks and assuming that all Swedes are blond, and that just gets old. As does his obsession with how expensive everything is. Okay, this is Europe in 1990, I believe, which was more expensive than the U.S. or probably England, where he was living when he wrote this, but he's constantly harping on how he's being ripped off for bad food. Hyperbole doesn't make for convincing travel writing. I also got very sick of his constant comments about how fat he'd gotten. Great. So stop smoking and drinking too much. I don't need to hear about it.

All that said, I still highly recommend "A Walk in the Woods" and "I'm a Stranger Here Myself" for extremely interesting observations about the U.S. And of course "The Mother Tongue" is a fascinating, hysterical look at English.