Passing the Plate

This past fall, I bought hundreds of reusable plates, forks, knives, spoons, and napkins. The reason why is the subject for another post; in this post, I just want to make a plug for a new (to me) kind of store. This is a store I actually do not mind being in!!!

But first, here's what I tried that didn't work. Local department or box stores just don't have quantities of plates (except for disposable plates, which is exactly what I was trying to avoid). I went to several different local stores, including two national chains whose names end in "mart", with nothing to show except a case of the heebie-jeebies for having walked through the building.

[By the way, I think it's funny that my gut reaction to being in or near a Walmart is, "What if someone sees me?", and that my next reaction is "Well, that means that THEY are in this den of iniquity, too!" You'd think I was going into a porn shop, or something.]

My next stop was the internet, but of course. I found vast quantities of washable plates there, and did in fact buy 200 plates from them (pictured below).

The first round of plates.  They crack too easily.

These plates were *almost* what I wanted, but not quite.  On the plus side, they're lightweight, good-looking, and theoretically washable.  On the negative side, they aren't sturdy.  We've only used them twice, and already had about a dozen plates crack or break.  They're not going to hold up for much longer.

So, while I was helping serve breakfast at our local shelter, I realized that the kinds of plates they used were exactly what I wanted!   Yay!  Even though I take home leftover bagels from the shelter so they don't wind up in the trash, I didn't take their plates -- but I did ask where they got all these plates, and they said:  a Restaurant Supply Store.

I hadn't heard of these things, and I'm glad now that I know of these places.  It turns out, there's one not too far from my home, with the fancy and surprising name of "The Restaurant Supply Store".

Actually, what I loved about this place when I wandered around its aisles was that it was neither fancy nor gimmicky: it was full of really practical stuff, logically and pragmatically displayed.  None of this "30% off, this week only!" shenanigans; no bizarre items like Frank-Sinatra-singing-doorbells  or scented-curtain-rods.

There were plates (I got sets of melamine plates) and metal forks and knives.  (There were vast quantities of disposable plates and flatware, too, of course, but I didn't bother with those).  They had bulk quantities of spices and condiments.  There was also an intriguing set of aisles with cooking stuff, both electronic and otherwise.  I'm tempted to go back again just to browse.

At any rate, given how very much I hate going shopping at regular stores,  especially in the crowds and commercial mania of December, this is where I'd go spend my time and money if I were still looking for holiday gifts for people.

Willpower

I've been seeing this idea come up over and over recently:  the topic of self-control, and often of lack-thereof.

• Cheyanne described how she didn't go for a morning walk every day in November (but she did walk a lot more than most people!)
• Rozy spent a month chronicling her commitment to lose weight.
• One of the Grumpies describes how they "solve problems structurally" to compensate for a lack of willpower (although many people would argue that implementing structural strategies is the hallmark of a person who has a lot of self-control).
• I fasted for 36 hours, and then I imploded.

In addition, this past week I had three friends who separately ran into serious problems with other people -- in all three cases, the other person is someone who is (a) related to them, (b) did something pretty awful that was dangerous/illegal/hurtful and that (c) betrayed my friends, and (d) left my friends in a quandary about what the relationship is going to look like in the future.   There's a serious lack of willpower involved in the person who did the hurting, but because of that, they've created willpower problems for my friends.  That is, there's not a lot of composure and control to tap into, for my friends who are reeling from the revelation of recent injuries.  It's not "decision fatigue" they're going through:  it's "decision collapse".

On Wednesday and Thursday, when I was recovering from my fast, I decided to recuperate both physically and intellectually by reading Willpower, a book by psychologists Bauermeister and Tierney.  (The book has the encouraging subtitle, "Recovering the Greatest Human Strength"; now, who wouldn't want that?)

It's a really good read: the writing is engaging, the stories they choose are fun and compelling, and there's good science woven throughout.  Since I've read a lot of other pop-psychology books, there was a lot in this book that wasn't new to me (but I don't mind that -- I still enjoyed reading it a lot).  But some of this stuff was good to add to my repertoire of self- and other-knowledge.

Self-knowledge.  There aren't really obvious signs that your store of willpower is being depleted.  You don't start sweating, or shivering, or seeing double, or have trouble breathing.  So it's really, really hard for people to tell when they're getting to the point of making stupid choices, or giving up too early, or being unable to navigate a complex decision.  There are subtle signs, however:  everything seems more intense.  That chocolate bar that ordinarily seems merely alluring; now it's singing to you.  That sad song that comes on the radio makes you tear up.  The car that cuts in front of you enrages you.  (Or, I'd add, your husband says he'll do the dishes and then doesn't, and you think that's a sign that the marriage is over.  Maybe THAT's a sign that you're not thinking entirely with your full brain power).

Food.  I've heard a bunch of people talk about "decision fatigue" -- that as you get tired from the day's activities, you have less and less of a brain for making good decisions.  The blurbs I've seen about this say, "keep a candy bar in your glove compartment, and eat it before you go shopping!"  -- the idea being, that with food in your system, you'll be less likely to make unhealthy purchases that you'll regret later.

But while the authors do talk about how glucose (sugar) helped people in their lab experiments make good decisions or persist through uncomfortable situations, the authors criticized that sugar brings you up and then lets you crash worse.  They emphasized a healthy diet, with protein and complex carbohydrates.  Take care of yourself, in other words, and you'll better conserve your wells of self-control.

Unrelated activities use the same reservoir.  Fighting temptation depletes your willpower (even if you give in).  Experiencing emotion -- or fighting a display of emotion -- depletes your willpower (so being polite to a jerk or staying alert during a boring meeting or comforting a grieving friend is going to wear you down a bit).  Making choices depletes your willpower, whether it's choosing a lunch option from a long menu, or choosing which item on your to-do list to do next, or choosing whether you ought to forgive someone or move out.

Wait.  For my friends who'd been sideswiped by loved ones, the whole question of "what do I do?" was tangled in the briars of hurt and betrayal they'd just been confronted with.  And, at least for two of them, I pointed out that they didn't have to decide now:  that they weren't in a good state to make decisions right now.  They could give themselves permission to find a safe space, to take a bit of time (a day, a week) and make a decision later.  And that seemed to be one of the most comforting things I said, to remind my friends that they didn't have to suffer the problem and solve the problem in the same instant.

Holding Fast

This is a story of how my son's Bible class wrecked my marriage (except that it didn't really . . . read on).

At my son's Quaker Local School, one of the required classes is on religion and the Bible.  I've been impressed my how much these classes have delved into non-Quaker religions.   (Okay, the school isn't actually technically "Quaker" -- that's a pseudonym I gave the place.  But it is a school that is run by a religious denomination that promotes pacifism, service to those who have less, and a commitment to respecting the diversity of the world's people.  So, sort of like a Quaker, but not actually).  At any rate, the boys have come home with study sheets on lots of different world religions, including but not only "quakerism".

This semester, the students in J-son's class were each encouraged to take on a large, experiential project.  From the list of many choices, J-son chose to undertake a two-day fast.  He and his dad talked about it all semester long.  His dad (my husband) has done fasts in the past with his men's group, and my guy offered to join in, to support J-son.

And so it was that last Saturday night, about a week ago, the men-folk in my home chowed down in a serious way, preparing themselves for a Sunday and Monday with no food.

I've done two, maybe three, 24-hour fasts in my life, long ago.  I don't remember much about those, except that I learned to carry over the idea of dealing with being hungry to non-fasting days.  About a month after one of my earlier fasts, I happened to be at a math conference where the organizers had just sort of . . . forgotten . . . that all the dining halls would be closed during the first morning.  Almost all of the mathematicians there were as irritable and angry as could be:  "how could they not feed us!!!"  And while I could totally understand how miserable they felt, I was surprised that I could feel hunger but not be miserable about it.  It was a rather happy and encouraging revelation.

So, Sunday morning, I decided, "What the heck?  I'll join the fast."

Not surprisingly, J-son was a wreck.  This kid -- who almost never eats breakfast, even when I beg him to -- woke up declaring he was ravenous.  We went to church, and came home, and he let us all know just how much all he wanted to do was eat.  Instead, we read books and then he called a friend, and went to that friend's home for distraction.  It turns out J-son's 48-hour fast ended up lasting 15 hours, the first 8 of which he was asleep. So.  So there was a lesson learned; perhaps not the same one the teacher intended, but nonetheless new knowledge about hunger and food and limits of endurance.

For my husband, the agony lasted longer; and "agony" was, to his surprise, the right word for the fast this time around.  My guy learned late about the early end to J-son's fast, and the moment he heard, he headed for the kitchen himself.   Twenty hours without food is not easy.

I say that, and I think about people --- some of whom I know --- who go hungry regularly for reasons that have nothing to do with choice.  There are school children in my city who dread the holidays because it means that school lunches stop for a week or more.  There are students at my college who feel guilty about having three meals a day, knowing their families back home can't do the same.  A child we had tried to adopt, X-son down in Haiti, survived the 2010 earthquake in a bizarre twist of fate when his school principal declared there was only enough food in the building for small children.  The principal shooed away the older kids to scavenge, and X-son was sad and dismayed, because he was so hungry and wished he'd been allowed to stay and eat.  That day at lunch, the earthquake killed everyone left in his school.  X-son fled into the hills and has since survived typhoid, beatings, and much more hunger.  Fasting seems like a personal torture, and yet I also worry that it is somehow demeaning, like I'm playing at a game that is all too real for far too many people.

But anyway -- or maybe, "so, therefore" -- I continued.  I decided not to go for a full 48 hours, mostly because I had a mind-numbing, soul-sucking committee call scheduled for noon on Monday, and I figured having a brain would be more important than proving I was a 48-hour brand of toughness.  I went to sleep Sunday night with weird dreams of nestled spoons and nesting children running through my brain.  I woke Monday morning and did my usual morning run with my friend June.  I decided I didn't have enough brain left for a blog post, but I did email and even do a little math.  And then at 9 a.m., I ate breakfast.

The rest of the day Monday, not surprisingly, I ate more and caught up on work and I also slept a lot.

And then Tuesday I divorced my husband because he left me with the dishes.

Okay, actually, I didn't really divorce him, but I wanted to.  In fact, here's the email that I wrote him that afternoon:

[Something about taking N-son to speech therapy] 

Also, I washed the rice pot, and J-son's brownie pan, and filled up the dishwasher, and cleaned the mess off the stove. 

My head is really not in a good space today, so I'm not going to say any more.

Which, if you read between the lines (and my husband did read between the lines) said, "She's furious!".   Now that I look back at this, I think it's pretty amazing that he can understand me so well, which is part of saying that we truly do have an awesome marriage.  And of course, while waking up to a pile of dirty dishes is no fun, I was totally out of my skull to react so severely that I was thinking that the kitchen was a reason that I ought to leave home.  At least I had the brains to shut up and not go publicly berserk, and give myself time to get my head all better again.

And by Wednesday and Thursday, I was back to normal, but also watching my head carefully just to see if other crazy stuff had lodged there during my 36-hour vacation from food.  I think I'm okay again now.

So I learned something about hunger and food and limits of endurance, too.   Good.

Sticky Note Advent Calendars

A couple of years ago, I started making a December advent calendar that mixed fun stuff with chore stuff, interspersing the scheduled events ("Winter concert") with the pre-Christmas tasks ("put up Christmas lights").  I listed one event per day.  I covered each day with a little sticky note; my kids get to take turns peeling the stickies off each day.  This has turned out to be a great way to pace myself, and also to include the entire family in Christmas preparations . . . that, and to have a bunch of fun together.  (After all, who wouldn't want to enjoy an evening of rousing family banjo/percussion music like "She'll be coming round the Christmas Tree when she comes"?  You know you want to join in, too!)

These sticky-note calendars have now become a tradition of sorts.  This year, I've made extra copies for my  daughters, who live nearby but not in my home;  now even though we're spread apart, my kids all know what their mom is up to during this month.  And already, the gals have started peeking under the sticky notes to see:  which day are we making Springerli?  [December 16.]  Are we scheduled to go see K-daughter sing in Amahl and the Night Visitors?  [yes, December 19]

This year, thanks to a cute idea I got off Pinterest, I added a new twist to these calendars:  printing on top of the sticky notes themselves.

Here's how I  did this.  First, I printed the calendar, and I cut the sticky notes to size and placed them over individual days.  In this picture, you can see almost all the days covered.

Then I make sure the sticky notes are smoothed down, and send this sheet (sticky notes and all) through the printer again.  This time, I print the calendar with the days (1, 2, 3, . . . ) but without the activities; I also added a picture of trees (because I love trees, naturally).

Oh, yeah.  Better Homes and Gardens is going to come knocking at my door any day now, for sure.  But even though it's simple and cheap:  don't you think it's cute?

Thanks-running day

Last Friday, I wrote to my running group:

As a warm up for all those turkey and butter-filled gatherings that are soon coming our way, I hereby declare that this Saturday to be our own special

Thanks-Running Day!

Because I'm grateful for my health, and for my friends (that's YOU), and for my awesome pink running shoes, and for crisp-but-sunny autumn days . . . and for so much more!

The celebration begins at 7:00 a.m. at the [usual place].  See you there?

This amazing group of Running Friends just constantly fills me with gratitude, for so many reasons.  It's not just about getting exercise; there's so much more.  So much more, in fact that I've just given in to the urge to say to my BRFs (best running friends):

How do I love thee?  Let me count the ways.

1. Running keeps us humble.  We've all had the days when we're the worst runner in the group, and we make other people walk with us.
2. Running makes us proud.  Dang, we've done some truly astounding long runs together through blizzards and ice.  We're so tough.
3. We inspire each other.  We've all done those mid-week "I'd better get back in shape" runs, just so we can keep up on Saturday morning.
4. We accept each other as we are.  Because if we don't actually keep up, the rest of us slow down and don't resent it at all.
5. When someone shoots out an email asking "who's up for an easy 3-mile run?", there are always takers.
6. When someone shoots out an email asking, "who wants to help me do part of my 12-mile training run?" there are still takers.
7. A 12.5-mile, Tell-the-Story-of-Your-Life run makes an awesome birthday present.  Thanks, B, for sharing a story per year for every half-mile of that run!  
8. We share the sunrise.  Which, this time of year, let me tell you, is gorgeous.
9. We share the early-morning full moon.  Which this time of the month, let me tell you, is breathtaking.
10. Running introduces us to our city.  We know people and places we never would have known, and we know them up-close.
11. Running makes distances shorter.  There are all sorts of places we now walk to, because we're more comfortable doing things on foot.
12. Running gets us out of bed and starts our day off on the right "foot", so to speak.
13. Horrible hills are their own reward.  Duke Street and County Park, I'm talking to you!
14. Downhill runs are an even better reward!  Zzzzzzoooom!
15. We've got our own language. (Everyone in our little group knows where "The Goat Run" goes, even though the goats are long gone).
16. We've consecrated the cement with our own blood.  That little sidewalk just at the top of Chesapeake Street is a tribute to TL's toughness.
17. Running gives us appetites.  It's so much fun to come home and just . . . eat.  Yummy food
18. Running keeps us healthy.  And strong.  And good-looking.  Hurrah for being in shape.
19. Hot showers after cold runs . . . total pleasure.
20. We keep track of each other's lives.  It's good to know what's going on behind the scenes.
21. We are sounding boards for each other. How to raise kids.  How to can applesauce.  How to deal with that annoying person at work.  Y'know.
22. Cheaper than therapy when we're angry or frustrated or just plain down.  There's nothing like a run that has all the "passion put to use in my old griefs", as E Browning wrote.
23. Mood enhancer because we always feel amazing at the end of a tough run. 
24. We know each other's quirks.  For example, L. and her husband can't run at the same time, because they have one pair of running shoes, which they share.  How cool is that!?!
25. TL cuts my hair.  
26. Leah hosts amazing canning parties.
27. Kim gives blood with me.
28. Kathryn trades adoption stories with me.
29. June loans me . . . well, everything.
30. Margaret fills everyone around her with encouragement.
31. Becca talks math with me.
32. Because when someone tells your running friend, "well, I'm glad you got that marathon out of your system and that's all behind you now," you just know that means your group is going to have to start training together for a marathon right away.  Because it's not out of our system.

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight

For the ends of being and ideal grace.

I love thee to the level of every day’s

Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.

I love thee freely, as men strive for right.

I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.

I love thee with the passion put to use

In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose

With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,

Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,

I shall but love thee better after death.

[Elizabeth Barrett Browning, 1806 - 1861]

It's that time again: Pickle Juice for Dinner!

I love my giant Thanksgiving list. I pull it out about this time every year, and I spend four or five days living by its wise guidelines. The first page is the massive shopping list; the next four pages are a day-by-day (at points, even minute-by-minute) guide to getting ready for Thanksgiving. I update it slightly year-by-year, but the bulk of it has been the same since I put it together six years ago.

The guide begins with a Monday cleansing:

Make space in fridge by emptying out gross moldy things.

Tuesday, the real preparation begins:

Grocery shop.
Make cranberry relish:
grind together in the blender 4 cups cranberries, 1 orange, and then 2 cups sugar. place in refrigerator.
Make dressing:
mix 1/4 c walnut oil, 1/2 c vegetable oil, 3 tbs cider vinegar, 1 tsp mustard, 1 Tbsp honey, salt, pepper, and 2 tbs chives.

The list ends Friday with directions for making shepherd's pie and canning turkey stock from the leftovers (20 minutes for pints, 25 minutes for quarts).

Right now, we're at the clean out the fridge stage.  My fridge has accumulated a lot of jars. 

And this year, a heck of a lot of those jars come from pickles.  We like pickles so much, we save the brine to make more pickles.

We have the brine from store-bought pickled cucumbers (actually, not bought by us: we scavenged them from a school picnic); we also have jars with whatever is left of pickled okra, pickled carrots, pickled radishes, pickled kale stems . . . you name it.

But since it's November, we're low on veggies and rich in brine right now.  (I think I counted six jars of brine, with a few briny but lonely vegetables floating here and there).  So last night, we  had pickles for dinner.  Pickles, and Cream-of-Leftover Soup.  Yum.  And a few other leftovers as side dishes.








But, in the "mission accomplished" realm, the fridge stands ready for the next infusion of food.

And, to my intense delight, the fridge clean-out resulted in zero trash:  the waste involved was one recycled pickle jar, a few hand-washed plastic bags (not yet trash, as I can use them again a few times), and a heck of a lot of canning jars getting ready for the dishwasher.  (Miser Dog, by the way, was very happy to help dispose of the food of questionable longevity, so there wasn't even anything to compost).

We are so fortunate to have this much food just sitting here waiting for us to eat it.  It's strange to make this fridge clean-out almost into a game.  I can't help but think that.

And I also think:  canning jars, yay!  Because later today, they'll hold homemade salad dressing and cranberry relish, and it's about time, because Thanksgiving is coming soon.  

Time In, instead of Time Out

One of my sons has been really grumpy lately.  

Actually, that son has had grumpiness issues all his life, probably related to a stroke in utero and ADHD and a couple of other things.  He usually balances the grumpiness out with cuddliness (think about a grumpy teddy bear?), but the older he gets, the less the cuddliness side of the equation works.

There's been a bit of inadvertent destruction that has accompanied the grumpiness lately.  It's not violent; it's things like picking at electronics, until the electronics are in a pile of unattached wires.  Or trying to do chin-ups on his brother's clothes closet rod, after which the rod bends and breaks.

What I really want to do is send the kid to his room.  I want to quarantine him for just long enough that this mood passes -- say, for 3 or 4 years, when he's about to turn 20.  That, and I want to nag him into submission:  "STOP being so GRUMPY, you!!!!!  You're driving everyone CRAZY!!"

Somehow, nagging and criticizing him doesn't help with the mood thing, though.  And banishment leads to angry boredom, which leads to more inadvertent destruction.

So instead of doing "time outs", we do "time ins".   This is so much harder:  these Time Ins are just terrible, terrible punishments . . . for the parent.  Mustering my self control and cheerfulness around someone acting like a hedgehog is just incredibly energy consuming.  I have to muffle all those "Stop it right now!" impulses, and instead model that calm, focused presence.  "Please come back in this room and then practice leaving it without stomping."  

Last weekend the Time In included practice at the many stages of restitution.  The closet rod had been broken, and my son is old enough now to take responsibility for choosing a new rod, paying for a new rod, and installing a new rod. 

And like going for a long run, the hardest part was getting started.  Once we were out the door, the whole experience turned into an adventure, a bout of camaraderie.  We biked to the hardware store, and I realized I'd never shown my son the secret back-way route that avoids all the automobile traffic.  He was delighted.  We got to the hardware store, and I realized I'd never shown my son that I walk my bike through the store with me.  ("If people can bring in shopping carts," I told him, "then we can bring in bicycles.")  He was delighted again.  I had my son ask a clerk for help finding the right kind of rod and attachments, and the clerk was very friendly and helpful, which surprised my son.  Clearly, I've missed out on many teachable moments.

We got home, and my son got to have yet another lesson in proper use of a drill and a screwdriver.  He's getting better and better as he gets older. 

And then we got the financial lessons:  how to read a receipt, how to calculate sales tax, how to be grateful that you saved money up for a rainy day (or a destructive day), so that this round of expenses doesn't plunge you into debt.

And since then, he's seemed much calmer. Maybe that's just what he needed:  a bit of attention.  Supervised practice at doing things well.  A sense of accomplishment; something he created (instead of destructed).   A glimpse into the adult world of commuting and commerce. The satisfaction of knowing he's made restitution.

As for me, I'm happy, if just a little worn down.

I think I've earned myself a Time Out.