Shopping on the Sabbath!
I really, really, really hate to do the grocery shopping on Sunday. It just doesn't strike me as proper... Not just improper but also so odious a chore as to sully the sabbath benefits that should be mine. Unfortunately, pragmatic reality does not shake out that way and I often must do the marketing on a Sunday.

That's another good reason why I never attend the 6:00pm Sunday Mass. On top of my usual spiritual reasons for not wanting to put Holy Mass at the backend of the day, it's difficult to imagine why I'd want to show up at church sweating, dishelved, shaky, cross-eyed and cussing under my breath about the latest trip to the Super WalMart.

This week was a WalMart adventure that called upon any and all graces of the day for mere survival. I've more or less made my peace with that thing near Health and Beauty that emits a high-pitched chirp every thirty seconds and the even higher-pitched screeching baby who appears to be one the payroll since he's always there, always screeching one aisle over from us.

We weren't expecting a Nordstrom-like experience. But this bordered on suburban torture. After the expected arduous shopping* there was the ultimate in checkout horror. Lots of tired shoppers. Few lanes open. And the screeching shill baby had worked the rest of the under three crowd into a frenzy.

The girls and I had worked our two carts into an open lane with some hope of movement. About ten minutes later the clerk turned off her 'light' and told the man ahead of us that the line was closed. In principal I don't like the idea of a store that asks the customers to police crowd control in the checkout...and this was a prime example of how it breaks down in a multi-lingual environment. The man ahead of us was speaking in a mixture of Hindi/English and didn't understand our protests that we were all there when the light was on. The Spanish speaking customers who tried to get in line after us didn't quite understand our warnings to avoid queueing up after us. Em went to the so-called Customer Service desk to complain (This was a strategic ploy - a pregnant librarian bringing a certain finesse to the situation. More 'needy' than the blunt though polite Frances and more nuanced than the perky though potentially obscene Irish Princess Bridget.)

The checker told us we had to get out of line because her computer was just going to lock us out. All the other lines were about ten customers long. We were running late for dinner. Blood sugar was dropping. Temperatures were rising. And with two carts full we stood our ground. Actually they stood our ground. I had a headache which was not aging well and went to find a chair outside of the WalMart bank(?). It would have been satisfying to just walk out. Except for the load of Fran's sewing supplies at 90% off which we didn't want to leave behind. And the fact that if we bailed on Sunday nite, I'd be back on Monday afternoon.

Some forty-five minutes in line later, we finally we checked out. The assistant manager who took over that lane couldn't have been nicer. And so was the assistant manager who handled my cordial call of complaint on Monday morning. The thrust of the complaint being that there is only so much suffering we should have to endure to be able to hand over $350 to the WalMart corporation.

And the girl who just had to close her lane - bless her heart - wandered about the front of the store sipping a Coke and yakking with her friends. I know WalMart doesn't pay enough to buy her loyalty. But still? And still, those graces from the morning may well have helped keep me from sticking out a leg and tripping her.


*Does anyone else out there think those shoes with wheels are one of the most idiotic inventions - EVER?

Our apologies — instant watching is currently not supported for Macintosh.
Well, it was a thought.
The NetFlix instant viewing option sounds perfect for sick day amusement. The problem is, if I feel too crummy for work, I am in no mood to haul myself out to the garage to watch DVD's of 30 Rock on a PC. I think it is time for my PowerBook and me to take a nap.

Today's Fashion Envy
Maybe if I'm lucky Bridget will let me borrow it.

a post-apocalyptic surrealist black comedy…just didn’t click with me. Maybe a movie about typography will be better. Really. I have more interest in this than the average viewer.

For Anyone Looking for A Quiet, Happy Place!
I present these delightful alternatives:









As for me, these fairies look friendly...and quiet.

Now comes the fun part…
This year’s book sale haul was not the biggest, but it will still take a little bit of work to incorporate everything into our ‘library.’ The nice things about having our holdings spread throughout the house is not having to face the reality of “too many books’; although a real library might be nice. Trudging through the rain and mud left me too overwrought to place the books on the shelves, though I’ve started putting them in my LibraryThing – that virtual accounting of my obsession which serves as both an organized database and the bibliophiles equivalent of a shame-filled drawer of empty gin bottles. Oops. I didn’t realize there were so many.

What I learned this year…

“Pop” psychology and spirituality just aren’t workin’ for people. Judging from the amount of Chopra and Tolle being sold for pennies on the dollar. Chicken Soup for Whatever Soul isn’t the basis of a solid library, either.

Do-It-Yourself divination kits are slow movers, too.

At the rate things are going, next year the library will have to pay shoppers to take away abandoned copies of The daVinci Code.

The sale is a lot like going to that national park in Arkansas where you can dig around for diamonds. There are gems for those who search. But you may get dirty in the process. Literally as well as figuratively.

There are limits to the service one can expect. Especially in a tent on very muddy, oozing ground. I overheard a shopper ask one of the volunteers – bless his heart! – where he could find some Chesterton. She – bless her heart! – stopped moving cases of books out of the ooze to say, “I don’t know. Is he new?’

But you set your priorities. And that's the way life is. I wonder if your friend Alex knew that. One thing's for sure, he couldn't live with it. I know I shouldn't talk; you guys knew him. But the thing is... no one ever said it would be fun. At least... no one ever said it to me.
My sister calls me with the startling news that the Big Chill cast member that she most identifies with is JoBeth Williams' boring husband, Richard.

Apropos of very little...

Looking forward...
to this article. Provided mail is still delivered to our house. We don't call the post office with every case of chagrin, but I thought mail left on the windshield deserved a little chat with the postmaster. (BTW, Em, he says, "hey.") Sorry, dude, we're trying to meet you half-way with the blogged mailbox business - remember we even had the mailbox moved when the snowplow would block it in - and you could show just a tad of interest in delivering our mail, dry and on time.

Looking forward to reading about Babar.
We love Babar.
I think I love him even more since my sister's old college friend said Babar should be banned because he is some sort of tool of colonialism. And I thought he was an upwardly mobile green-suited elephant who works in a department store.

"They" Can't Get Me Here
Whoever "they" may be.
This is where I plan on spending the week-end.
Internet access. Protein bars. NetFlix. Minimal canine intervention.

Dear Reader from Bloomington, Illinois
I know who you are. I think.
So don't expect me to slip and mention anything I bought at the book sale that might show up under the Christmas tree. (But trust me, there are some good things...)

The Book Sale
Greatly tempered by the weather, but fun nonetheless.
All I can say at this moment, before I go back to bed, is, "How many book sales wind up with me standing in the bathtub scrubbing off the mud?"

Time for rest and recovery so that I can bring the best me to jury duty tomorrow.
Or just any old me.

Fr. Barron's Latest (and maybe greatest!) Thing
I'm workin'. Really. But you should go check this out.

World Does Not End. Today.
Looks like the world's largest particle collider is working so far. The collider trial had nothing to do with my having gone to confession last Saturday. But it did tip my decision on whether or not to shave my legs last night. So, after checking the news and seeing that we're still in business, well, off to the shower....

Five Days!
I wait for this the way brides wait for the running of the brides at Filene's Basement.

I Like Her Hair
I wish my hair looked that good.
Plus ca change... as usual.

*It's the piddling criticism in the political coverage that wears out my interest. Fast. And the petty suspicions. Like the suspicion that the Palin family passed the baby around for "the cameras." It looked quite regular to us. Eddie, our 'baby emeritus,' was held constantly for months - years? - by many arms.

*There's a big difference between representing and pandering. Sarah Palin "didn't mention the middle class?" Did she have too?

*My sister is still annoyed by the Republicans. Though, I must say, not as viciously as usual. And this week she had more reason than usual to be annoyed, since she works close to the Convention venue and getting to work has been a can of worms. I asked her if that was where we saw Clapton. She thinks it was where we saw Springsteen in '99, but I think I'm right.

*Television is still 99% vast wasteland. The last time I was this afflicted in the middle of the night was a day after my hip surgery. AMC had "Hush, Hush Sweet Charlotte" in the middle of the night to distract me. Tonight, after bad dreams involving Christmas, going to the circus/ice show at the Milwaukee Arena, bad planning for Christmas and cloth diapered babies with no plastic pants ruining my Christmas plans, I need a distraction from the bruxism induced headache. What's on TV, besides vulgar infomercials? "Hush, Hush Sweet Charlotte." Plus ca change...

*Watching TV at 3:00am does give credence to the saying that that is Satan's hour.
He'd doing a hell of a job with the advertising. A good example, via The Curt Jester. I've been spared this attrocity, tho Rick saw it. And hoped it was a bad dream. You know, like the morning he woke up to VH1 playing "I Kissed a Girl."

*Napping before dinner is a bad idea. Especially if dinner is at 5:30.
Prayer has lapsed into kvetching. Examining my conscience has segued into blaming others for my shortcomings. My prayer now is, "Lord, make me drowsy."

*I am often asked questions and to perform tasks "beyond my pay grade." And I deliver. But my "pay grade?" Plus ca change...

*I should be counting my blessings. Everyone is well. All the appliances are working. If I can get to the bank in the morning I should be able to dodge any more overdrafts.
The dogs are quiet. The phone's not ringing.
And we're getting to that time of year when a I use my Christmas ornaments as a sleep-soothing device. Mentally envisioning them, one at a time...

*Oh, wait, I just heard a drug ad. I'd better just turn everything off and go back to bed. I feel a rant coming on. All I need now is a politician pandering to my health care concerns. I know I could be worse off...but then I think about my specialist, who spends about thirty seconds with me, writes some prescriptions and tells me to come back in a few weeks. At least he will see me, unlike the Dr. I was referred to but doesn't accept my health care plan. So I'll hold back on my suspicions about the amount of time his office staff spends booking lunch and breakfast dates with drug reps.

Now there's a guy with a bad dream. He's worried about his life insurance. Sex, drugs, death, money. Satan, indeed.

I was a Teenage Darwinist
Interesting. It's not every day that I stumble upon the word mountebank. Not that the world doesn't present enough examples...

As far as the film of which he speaks...well, I wouldn't know. EWTN has disappeared off of our TV. At first I thought it was the TV in my bedroom, which has spasmodic difficulties with channels above 45. But I checked the mind-numbingly slow TV Guide crawl on channel 99 - it's not only slow but they torture the viewer with inane fashion and celeb gossip news - and it's gone. Maybe they're just moving it around. Not a premium channel...nooo!

Crazy, Sexy, Unnecessary
If I needed another pair of lightweight garden clogs.
I don't garden enough to justify the pair I have. And I don't know if I can ever wear them in public; not after the trip to the Jewel in which each step produced a squishy, flatulent sound. Though...if these promised no noise, I might wear them all the time. When dignity and minimal work dress requirements no longer permit the wearing of the Maine Isle Flip-Flops (ie flat-out winter!)

How to Solve Rubik's Cube
The thing is... if you can decipher these instructions, you probably solved the Cube a long time ago.

(No)Class Wars
What a drag it is getting old, indeed. There are fewer days when I just hop out of bed and hit the ground running. Today was like a typical Monday, with an extra dollop of inertia from the long week-end. But when caffeine, protein, NordicTrack and invigorating body wash fail, there is one home remedy of last resort: Pick a topic and emote.

It all comes so easily. To me. Thirty years into our marriage and Rick is still not used to the Smith tradition of badinage, persiflage plus a bit of jugular ripping debate. Sorry...in my family that’s a sport, just like tennis or marksmanship. And with all the sensual satisfaction of both pursuits.

So anyway...what started out as a polite discussion of current events took a predictably ugly turn. Today was the first day of school for Chicago public schools. The bulk of the news coverage - after Mayor Daley rang a ceremonial bell at the Miles Davis Magnet School* - focused on protest of inequity of school funding in Illinois. A movement was started to encourage children to stay home from their schoosl and try to enroll in money laden New Trier instead.

That’s futile. But aren’t most protests? A bed-in for peace. A lone young man facing down a tank in Tieneman Square. Symbolic, yes. Productive, no. Stupid, sometimes. I was feeling better already. And what a boost of adrenalin and endorphins when Rick has the temerity to say (was this for real or for sport?) that that’s why people move to good suburbs. People move to nice places for nice schools. And they have a long term interest in keeping the schools nice because nice schools mean nice property values. Schools, money, kids, money, houses, money, schools etc. - in one big venomous tail-biting benzene ring of self-interest.

This was energizing. I wouldn’t make an effort to get my children into New Trier. In fact, we live in a similarly well funded and enviable school district and have, for the most part, kept our children out of the schools. But I’m with the irate inner city activists on this one. Is public education in Illinois one big, inconsistent joke? And - and here is where the hackles really went up - why do you think that if the state gives our schools almost no money we are the ones being shafted?

I did accuse my husband of having no understanding at all, on account of the fact that he is a native spoiled Lake Forester. But I think it was more a matter of his having picked a side of the net and grabbed a virtual racquet. He spends his days recycling technology to underserved schools, so he’s gotta have some kind of grip on reality.

This was no time to appeal to reason. Or plead the case that missing a day of school can’t mean missing a lot. One last shot. Right from the sweet spot.

“It’s a protest. It’s calling attention to a problem. It might be effective. Can’t be any worse than a bunch of overfed frat boys turning over a car to end the war in Viet Nam.”

Time for work. Game over.


* How much do the kids learn about Davis? Does the cafeteria serve Bitches Brew?