My Laundry Philosophy

I only have one pair of jeans that fits.  That means if I don't do laundry for two weeks, I wear that same pair of jeans anytime I leave the house for not work or not climbing.  In addition, I only have two pairs of dress pants that mostly fit (one's slightly to small, the other too large).  The dress pants have to be washed in cold, and when I pay $1.50 for each washer load, you can bet that I only wash them.... sometimes.

I Win!

Ladies and Gentleman, after last month's budget disaster, I am thrilled to report that this month I under spent my income.  Add in that some of my purchases were for school and were reimbursed, and a reward from my internet company, and then my tax return, and I'll actually be putting $150 in savings this month.  And, I'm headed to the mall to go blow $50 as my reward.

I still overspent in a few areas, though in different categories in this month.  I kept my stuff buying under control, though I overspent in groceries and restaurants this month because I had less time to cook.  I still overspent the strict budget I've been trying to follow, but by little enough that the extra space I leave between my budget and my income could absorb it with room to breathe. 

So, if you'll excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, I'm off to the mall. 

In Which I Support an American Institution and Really Miss Japan

"Do they even have 7-11s anymore?" asked a parent at parent-teacher conferences.  I don't remember how it came up, but I assured her that they were more common than payday loan shops in Salt Lake.  There are at least two 7-11s within walking distance of my apartment alone.  The parent seemed relieved, as if a part of her childhood was still intact somewhere.

I grew to appreciate 7-11 in Japan, actually.  Previously I had no idea there were gas stations without gas pumps.  I'd never really been a plain "convenience store."  But I went there all the time in Japan.  As a cash-strapped college student/assistant teacher in Tokyo, convenience stores were incredibly, um, convenient. When a friend and I took our trips to Kyoto, we ate almost entirely out of the dollar store food we had packed with us.  For dinner or special occasions we would go to the nearest convenience store and grab food there.  Before you all mourn my health, sanity, and stomach lining, in Japan you could duck into a 7-11 and walk out with enough rice and seaweed to feed two people for under 500 yen.

But when I stopped by the 7-11 this morning hunting for something edible for breakfast on my way to work, I was sadly reminded that America and Japan have many differences.  There were no rice balls or sushi to be had, of course.  So I grabbed an overpriced sandwich and a bottle of orange juice and a stale donut, and when the nice lady asked me if I'd like to add any toquitos (Toquitos at before 7 a.m.?  Ugh, shudder, shudder), I replied, "No thanks, I think I've already managed to mess up breakfast, " and we both laughed.

Sigh.  I miss Japan today.

Overheard in My Classroom, or Maybe Said by the Teacher

"Somebody died today?  Let's go shopping!"

"Don't come to my funeral; go shopping!"

"Terrible things happen on everyone's birthday, honey."

"Being buried in fire doesn't leave you nearly as well-preserved."

One of Those Weeks

It's going to be one of those weeks when one has to decide which two or three good things one will drop from one's life to survive.  This week I have chosen:

Cooking--I will be stopping by the store tonight or tomorrow morning to pick up food I can just keep in my desk for breakfast and lunch.  Dinner will be pasta college-style with perhaps the addition of frozen or canned vegetables.

Climbing--I'm mourning, believe me, I'm mourning.

Cleaning--There are already dishes in my sink the and forecast is for them to stay there and make new friends.

Hopefully, giving up these things will enable me to sleep, get my grading done, be ready for parent teacher conferences on Thursday, and attend 1-2 social events before leaving town on Friday for home/cold weather/snow/skiing/swans.

Deep breath, square shoulders, and press onward.

I Can Yet Live

Back in November, I set out to decorate my Christmas tree.  I had spent all my money on the tree itself, so I intended to make all the decorations by hand, both to save money and to prove that I could.  I bought popcorn, and popped it on the stove for the first time in my life.  Luckily for me and the fresh air in my apartment, it wasn't hard.  I also bought about ten lbs. of fresh cranberries.  I wanted to string garlands of popcorn and garlands of cranberries around my tree.  When I got home, however, I noticed that the artificial branches weren't necessarily strong enough to support strings of fresh cranberries, heavy and full with juice.  Not to mention I was worried that as the cranberries aged, they would ooze and drip, leaving dangerous consequences on the carpet of my rented apartment.  So I compromised.  I strung garlands that were primarily popcorn with cranberries interspersed like beads.  This  made them lighter, limited the number of cranberries suspended over my carpet, and made the garlands very pretty, if I do say so myself.

This left me, however, with about 8 lbs. of fresh cranberries.  What the devil was I going to do with 8 lbs. of cranberries?  I put them in my freezer, since they freeze well, and figured I'd find a way somehow.  I gradually started adding them to things.  It began with adding them to my muesli one morning on a whim.  I gingerly tipped in a handful and to a hesitant bite.  It.  Was.  Fantastic.  The next morning I put more in, and even more the day after that.  Soon I was get a full serving or more of cranberries every morning.  So I started adding them to more things.  I began to eat an alternate breakfast some mornings: yogurt, a lot of granola, almost a full cup of cranberries, and a liberal helping of chocolate chips. (Judge all you want; it's still probably better for me than most breakfast cereals parents have their kids eat.)  I love my improvised yogurt parfait.  I can pack it when I'm running late and eat it at my desk.

So I added them to more things.  At Christmas time when I was making spiced cider, I put in fresh cranberries.  It made the cider look beautiful, and I had multiple people ask me for "the recipe."  I started making my favorite chocolate chip cookie recipe, and I decided on a whim to throw in several cups of oatmeal and another cup of frozen cranberries.  I shared them with friends, who loved them.  I took them to work, and got asked for my recipe.

Ladies and gentlemen, the secret ingredient to life is fresh cranberries.

Which is why it was such a problem when I used the last of them two days ago.  Yogurt without them was bland and disappointing.  My muesli was a chore to eat.  But, although you can find mountains of bags of inexpensive fresh cranberries all through Thanksgiving and Christmas, they suddenly disappear after the holidays.  So this week, I frantically started searching for fresh cranberries.  I've seen friends give up cigarettes or alcohol with more equanimity than I was contemplating being deprived of fresh and frozen cranberries.

I searched the super Target...no cranberries, fresh or frozen.
I searched Sunflower Market, enlisting an employee in my search.  We found a $4 half-pound bag of frozen, organic cranberries in a biodegradable bag.
I searched the Good Earth.  I found the same brand of overpriced, overly fancy, tiny amount of cranberries.
I looked at Harmons, and I finally found a few bags of Ocean Spray cranberries, a little old and frozen, as if they were the cranberries that had been out for fresh sale, and then were thrown into the freezer as leftovers when the season ended.  They were $3 a pound, still more expensive than during the holiday season, but a much better price than the tiny organic bags.  I bought all they had, cradling them in my arms as I walked to the check-out line because I hadn't been hopeful enough when I walked into the store to grab a basket.  I got home and tenderly tucked them into the freezer.

At the rate I'm going through cranberries, the 5 lbs. I have will last me only a month or two.  I'm going to check Smith's and a few other grocery stores this week, and see if I can clean out the leftover supplies enough to last me until cranberries come back into regular sale.  But at the moment, I am content to have found the additional 5 lbs.

Fresh or frozen cranberries are the secret ingredient to life, ladies and gentlemen.  I have procured 5 lbs. of them.



I can yet live.

Home Sick

I started getting a cold last Sunday, but I ignored its visit all week.  It was an exceptionally busy week, with class or social visits every night after work, and I didn't even have time to exercise, let alone pay attention to the cold. Unfortunately, I guess it feels neglected, and yesterday it started acting out and announcing its intention to stay another week.  So, like the good host I should have been when it first dropped by, I canceled everything last night and today (dancing with friends, climbing, a superbowl party), and promised my cold we'd spend some quality time together.  "No work," I said. "I promise.  We'll hang out in pajamas and drink copious amounts of juice and watch movies.  I won't even leave the house, except maybe to buy toilet paper.  Surely you won't begrudge me toilet paper after all I'm giving up for you this weekend, right?"  It's not a bad cold, really, just whiny.  I don't really want it following me around for another week demanding attention.  

So far today my cold and I have slept in, watched Netflix, done the dishes, watched Netflix, cleaned my room (including vacuuming and dusting and changing the sheets), watched Netflix, filed my taxes, watched Netflix, gone to the store for toilet paper, shined my work shoes, and watched Netflix.  The food theme for our day together has been "Things that are served in bowls."  We've eaten oatmeal, yogurt, ice cream, green beans, tomato soup, and we'll probably hit the ice cream again before we retire early.  

In case you wanted a sneak peak into my cold's and my fun-filled day of bonding, here are some pictures:

The clean room:

I even washed a few baseboards.  This one used to be nearly black.

I didn't take a picture of the dishes or my taxes, but I did take a lot of pictures of my shoes.  I hardly ever shine my shoes, maybe twice a year, but I love having freshly shined shoes even more than I love having a full drawer of clean underwear (good thing, too, because I didn't do laundry today).  Polishing your shoes takes years of wear off their appearances.  Besides, since I mostly wear the same three pairs of shoes to work everyday, I've been growing steadily more embarrassed by their shoddy appearance.  

Here is the cast of characters.  My boring, but extremely comfortable, work shoes:

This is the oldest pair.  I've had them for nearly five years now.  They taught with me in Japan, and everywhere I've taught or worked since.  Even though they're not the cutest pair of work shoes I own, they are my favorite.  

This is a pair my sister handed down to me just a month or so ago.  She took great care of them, but I've already managed to put some wear on the toes.

I bought this pair just a year ago, but I've already trashed them pretty good.  The scratches show up glaringly against the black leather. 

But don't worry, I have polish.  And my daddy taught me how to shine shoes when I joined the debate squad.    Don't make fun of my weird facial expression; I've spent all day bonding with my cold.  

After some polishing and buffing, my rejuvenated shoes posed for an "after" shot on the rug I overspent my budget on last month:

I even convinced them to sit for a panorama shot, and the camera magically made an extra 3/4 of a shoe appear.

Well, that's the end of the tale of my superbowl Sunday.  Also, I promise I'm done anthropormorphizing colds and footwear.  I'll leave you with a pictures of why I love my apartment.  This is the view out one of my bedroom windows:

Secrets and Lies

I was watching a Bones episode the other day, and on the episode they discussed the concept of "radical honesty," where you say exactly what you are thinking when you think it.  The episode showed both some of the positive effects and negative consequences of this practice.

And it got me thinking: Are secrets and lies necessary?  I have a friend who is nearly paranoid about his privacy. He deleted his Facebook (understandable), and is thinking about changing email accounts because he's been with the current one too long and too many people know his email address.  He hates it if people discuss details of his relationship, friendships, etc.  He broke his leg and tried not tell anyone, including his parents.  Then there are people who seem to have the opposite philosophy.  I took a self-defense class back in college, and a few years later my teacher "friended" me on Facebook.  He "friended" all of his hundreds of former students, ostensibly to spam them with advertisements about his dojo.  Yesterday he Facebooked his wife's delivery of their baby in hour by hour detail.

Of course, the question goes beyond a balance between privacy and too much information.  Allie, Rachel, and I saw a fantastic film last weekend, and in it, one of the main characters learned a secret about his father.  It was a tragic secret, about a tragic accident that hurt a lot of people.  Everyone would have wanted to know, but everyone would also have been hurt, and the father in question was already dead.  The main character chose not to reveal the secret to anyone, even the people who were most directly affected by his father's action all those years ago.  Are there times when you lie to preserve peace because you know information would upset someone?  Are there stories you should never tell to anyone?  Are secrets an unnecessary burden to harbor, or are they a mercy well preserved?

Picture Sourcehttp://www.telsecret.com/images/secret2.jpg

Over the years we accumulate secrets, our own the ones other people have shared with us.  Some of them we share ourselves as time and use makes us comfortable with our pasts, and some cease to matter.  Some truths we reveal to our best friends, letting them keep the burden for us.  Shared secrets bring us closer together, just ask Postsecret. I'm usually for honesty and openness, and that more of these things is a good thing at least 99% of the time.  But is there a 1% where openness is hurtful, where honesty is damaging?

I don't know.

Expediency is the Father of Inaccuracy

Teachers are expected to know everything.  Students ask one million questions, on or off subject, and at any moment you need to be prepared to either speak with authority or own up to your ignorance.  In my debate class I have a student with a disability.  But not one of those, I sit there and quietly fail disabilities, one of those I'm-incredibly-smart-and-vocal-and-have-poor-social-skills disabilities.  He has to express his opinion about once every thirty seconds.  Things need to be just so, or I don't want to consider the consequences.  Well, I gave them three topics to choose from to write semi-impromptu speeches.  I would give them five minutes to prepare.  I gave them history, America, and debate.

Well, the room was dead silent except for the sound of pencil and pen on paper and the oldies music I play while my students are working.  Suddenly, a hand is thrust urgently into the air.  I walk over and before I'm even there, my student with a disability is exclaiming, "Wait!  I can't do this!  I don't know who the father of history is."  Uh-oh.  Crisis.  I was about to launch into a whispered explanation that history had began without a specific "father," when, to my surprise and delight, an easy explanation rose from the depths of my subconscious.  There was an ancient historian widely regarded as "the father of history," however technically incorrect such a title might be.  But the kid wanted an easy answer, so I smiled and smoothly replied, "Cicero."  "Oh good," he said, "How do you spell that?"