T-16 and Counting

I’m much more of a New Year’s person than a Christmas person, so I count the days until then. Not wishing them away by any means, just counting them.

Today started wet and dreary. Oakley followed me upstairs and went back to bed while I took my shower. He has play group this afternoon, so I’m not concerned over the lack of walking. I filled his treat ball with teeny tiny turkey treats. We both are happy. He gets some noms; I find it amusing to watch him bat the ball with his nose and paws to release the freeze-dried chunks of turkey. We ride for Ms. Lanette’s at 11:45.

While he weaves around the coffee table in pursuit of the ball, I’m countering the chill with a pot of rustic pear and apple sauce. “Rustic” is code for chunky and unpeeled. I had a bag of pears on the brink, so I salvaged most of them and put them into the pot with a couple of apples. Dash of salt. Sprinkle of cinnamon. We wait for them to break down. Shouldn’t be too long.

Christmas will be nice. On the day itself I’ll be joining friends for chili and trimmings. Two days later will be the gathering of the clan.

And then we have New Year’s. We had so many releases this year, including Hubby’s leap into retirement. It will be good to get there, to see who and what await. One of my friends and I will be meeting on January 1 to create vision boards for 2016–the kind that you look to for goal setting and clarification, not the ones you stare at in vain hopes of having your desires drop from the sky.

The pear-apple sauce smells lovely, a bit like the scent of childhood holiday memories and the way that advertisers want you to think Christmas smells. Oakley is saving his energy for an afternoon of play with his friends, snoring away next to me.

The New Year is coming, and will arrive when it gets here. In the meantime, this is a pretty nice place to be.

 

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Sunday Notes of the Musical Kind

Been listening to classical, jazz, and folk lately on the radio. The classic rock station that I loved (note past tense) was bought out by some entity that started running feed from Fox Sports on Sunday afternoons. As if changing the morning show format to the same zoo crew that can be found on any other station between five and ten a.m. wasn’t bad enough, that made it worse. As FM stations had in the ’70’s, they played music, more music, a little news, even more music, perhaps a promo for a concert. But then came the new owners, and there went the broadcasting neighborhood.

There was also the problem of only playing one or two songs from a band’s body of work. The Beatles did so much more than “Hey, Jude,” and The Police have many other songs than “Roxanne” and  “Every Breath…” but someone didn’t get the memo about that.  On the contemporary stations, everything sounded alike, except for Lady Gaga’s work and “Uptown Funk.” The rest sound as if written by lyricists who had eaten cheesy self help books for breakfast or to appeal to people between the ages of eight and thirteen.

I started making more use of my car’s CD player and listening to more NPR and the progressive talk station. That and programming the classical and jazz stations into the radio helped lift my mood. It also stopped the pervasive feeling of being in a time warp brought about by oldies stations.

Inside the house, we have an internet streaming system. It bridges signals from the wireless router to our stereo system. Despite my initial impression of it being another of Hubby’s high tech toys, it has proved useful in so many ways. We get a ridiculous number of stations from around the world, ranging from the various flavors of the BBC to Bollywood (helps me to get moving when I need to clean) and everything in between.

Internet streaming also brings me Folk Alley courtesy of WKSU from Kent State University and “Old Front Porch Radio” on Tuesdays from 4-6:30 central on WXOU hosted by the lovely and charming Maggie Ferguson, one of the musicians in the Detroit folk scene. It scratches the itch for good music created by real people who use their talents and passions to bring their stories to the world rather than technology to compensate for flaws in their performances and their lack of authenticity.

A few stations have servers with terminal hiccups, but the majority play for hours with no interruptions. Our local favorites are still available but now we get a stable stream via the net rather than via the antenna that gets slapped around in adverse weather, making the signal hiss and sizzle with static, or pulling in two signals on the same frequency. In the broadcasting no-one’s land between Chicago, Peoria, and Rockford-DeKalb, this happens pretty regularly whether solar flares abound or not. (You will not know fear until you have heard “Bad Romance” interspersed with an Evangelical sermon, believe me.)

The stream of WFMT‘s program of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra playing music by French composers is proceeding without hiccups or hellfire this afternoon. Internet radio is a far cry from when I would hide under the covers with my AM radio, seeing how many distant stations I could pull in late at night.  There’s still the thrill, the intrigue, the connection of knowing that there are other people in the world listening to the same program.

However, it’s a pleasant advancement to do so sitting up and in broad daylight rather than with a blanket over my head, adjusting the volume so I wouldn’t get caught and reprimanded for being awake after midnight.

 

 

 

 

 

Let’s Go Shopping with the Inner Child

The end of the Thanksgiving leftovers brought in the beginning of a new shopping cycle. So be it.

I stopped at Aldi after acupuncture on Tuesday. Fruit (limited but lovely organic selections), some veggies, a pizza, some pumpkin for Oakley. OK.

At this time of year, Aldi brings in holiday goodies from Germany. Fancy chocolates; cookies; specialty cheeses; cakes and breads; crackers hum a chorus of temptation.

My adult self can tune out all but the the deep vibrato of the most celebratory chocolate. My inner child, however, needs noise canceling headphones.

I stood there with a bag of dark chocolate almonds in my hand. My early elementary self whispered,  Can we get these, please? 

Not a good idea.

Why? Almonds are good for you. So is dark chocolate.

True in theory, but what happened last time we bought a bag?

Shrug.

How long did the bag last?

Uhh… But they’re good for you. Look, they have dark chocolate and sea salt and they’re almonds!

If we eat it all in one shot, they’re not so good for you. I think we’d better put the bag down.

But–but..

PUT. THE. BAG. DOWN.

Sigh. 

The bag went back on the shelf.

Similar inner dialogs occurred in the seasonal isle with the sea salt caramels, truffles, and some crackers as well as the cheese section. We were able to compromise on some regular dark chocolate, a little extra fruit. That placated her.

We were able to get out unscathed, on budget, and with a minimum of bruised feelings. I made pasta for dinner (which makes her smile) and we went on to have a bit of chocolate for dessert, leaving us both at peace.