Getting the Dander Up

I generally don't mind cleaning house, and it was my idea to cut our housekeeper's visits to once a month when I retired. Even so, in the early weeks of my new responsibility, I found vacuuming particularly onerous. Just the thought of hauling the expensive upright we purchased a decade ago up and down the stairs made it difficult to get motivated for any chore. 

Our house might have quickly declined into slovenliness if it had not occurred to me to do a little research on those new, lightweight stick vacuums. And lucky me! I found one with excellent reviews on sale for only 75 bucks. 

I was still a little skeptical when it arrived, and it languished in its box for a few days while I let other things take priority over our floors. But with two long-haired cats and a dog who tracks in all manner of soil, not to mention that I am less than conscientious about crumbs when cooking, the place needed to be vacuumed. How delighted was I when the new gadget was super-efficient, lightweight, and easy to use? Not only did I no longer dread vacuuming, but I looked for vacuuming opportunities almost every day.

The only drawback was that the battery life was just this side of 45 minutes, and it took several hours to recharge. The other day, though, when that amazing machine cleaned up all the needles our tree had dropped as I put the lights on, it occurred to me that we could get a second battery. 

And so I did. (Fair warning to you, dust and dirt: my cleaning capacity has doubled!)

Dear Prospective Juror

I recognized the envelope right away.

But today, when I received my summons to jury duty, gone was that knee-jerk anxiety, the worry that I would be seated or not, and either way, I would have to make sub plans on the fly for days or even weeks,  modifying and amending my lessons so that they might work whether I was there or not, because I wouldn't know until 5 PM the night before if I would be available to teach.

My only concern, today? We don't have a 2025 calendar hanging in the kitchen yet, so I can circle January 28, and write Jury Duty.

Let There Be Lights!

The year 2020 had a lot of things going against it, but pandemic aside? It was a big year for Christmas lights. In this area, at least, tons of people stuck at home but with the privilege to spend their time and money on such things went all out on their holiday decorations. It was one of the joys of the year to walk outside with friends and ooh and aah over the lights.

The ensuing years cannot compare, and I confess that, although I understand, I am disappointed, even in myself. 

When we were down in Myrtle Beach for Thanksgiving, I felt like that vibe could be changing: so many houses had so many lights. I wondered if it was a function of the percentage of retirees residing in that neighborhood (God knows we have time on our hands and the willingness to use it), but back at home, I noticed a similar trend.

"It's like everyone said, 'Let's get those Christmas lights out of the attic!" this year," I said to Heidi the other evening as we walked Lucy in the gathering dusk. Then I shrugged. "But it does seem like a good idea."

And I am in! I did our lower deck tonight, and I've got plans for the upstairs and front porch, too. As the longest night of the year approaches, any light in the darkness makes my heart sing a little.

Out in the Storm

The weather was predicted to worsen as the day wore on, so at noon, I laced up my boots, put on my raincoat, and took Lucy out for a walk. The wind was manageable, and the temperatures had not yet fallen to their predicted chill, so we ambled a relatively pleasant two miles before turning back toward home. 

No one else was out, so it seemed as if we had the world to ourselves, winding in and out and behind the bike paths, buildings, and courtyards of our neighborhood. Lucy was all in; a little rain never dampened her sense of smell or exploration. As we neared home, I collected a few evergreen branches and holly sprigs for a Christmas arrangement just before the wind picked up. 

It was a lovely walk. 

A few hours later, when I went to fetch Heidi from school in a now torrential downpour, the radio was tuned to a holiday station. Michael Buble sang, "Oh, the weather outside is frightful!" 

And I had to agree, but when he continued the song, I made a little lyrical substitution for myself, "but since it's no use to complain, let it rain, let it rain, let it rain!"

Check that Out

This afternoon, I had to reach higher than usual to put my groceries on the cashier's belt. For a moment, I wondered if I was shrinking, but when I got to the register and met the tall young man working there, I understood. Even so, I couldn't help myself. "This belt is so high!" I told him. 

He laughed and showed me the switch that could raise and lower it.

"That's crazy!" I said. "I've never noticed that they are adjustable!"

"It's good for me," he laughed again, and we continued to chat amiably as he scanned my groceries. 

As we talked, I noticed he was wearing a button that read, I'm new around here, so I asked him how long he'd been on the job.

He told me a complicated story about his first two weeks and then his second two weeks, and then he shook his head and laughed again. "Let's say about a month," he answered, then held up my rutabaga. "What's this?" 

"Rutabaga or yellow turnip," I told him and watched as he quickly typed in some letters on his screen. Rutabaga flashed by momentarily, but then he swiped to a different screen. "Oh! I saw it back there!" I told him. "The code was 4747."

"You saw it?" he asked with surprise but typed in the numbers. Rutabaga flashed across the display, and he tapped enter.

"Maybe you should work here, too!" he said.

"Maybe," I agreed, "but we'd definitely have to lower the belt!"

Have Yourself a Sloppy Little Christmas

I'd gotten a bit behind on my Hallmark Christmas movie viewing this year until we spent a weekend at a mountain resort with its own Christmas Village. Then, tuning into a Christmas movie before bed seemed just right. 

Over the weekend, we saw most or part of several of this year's new offerings, and I noticed a trend. Almost every story we watched featured a middle-aged woman who wanted Christmas to be perfect. Whether she was the main character, the main character's mom, or the boyfriend's mom, by the end of the movie, she always learned that imperfection makes each Christmas special. As long as the family has each other, whether in person or in spirit, the holiday is a success.

An ad for Hallmark that ran several times during every movie reinforced this common theme. The message of the commercial was that Hallmark may inspire us at the holidays, but the rest is up to us, so relax and enjoy your holiday.

I have to wonder-- has there been a backlash? Has Hallmark been getting some shade about presenting Christmas scenarios that are too perfect and somehow deflating their core viewership? Such a scenario seems kind of likely, and count on that network to know it, too. 

Even so? It's a lesson worth remembering.

Dry Spell

I saw Dirty Dancing when it came out in 1987. It was at the end of the summer after my dad died. My brother had moved to D.C., my girlfriend had moved to Milwaukee, my sister was in college, and I was working as a cook at a local cafe and catering company. My day off was the middle of the week, and rather than spend my time alone in the blinding sun on the crowded beach, I sought refuge in a dark theater at the mall. 

It must have been what was playing at the time I got there, and I remember being pleasantly charmed by the movie. So much so that I saw it again with a group of friends a week or so later. Of course, the film has gained and maintained iconic status in the nearly 40 years since, but I don't think I ever saw it again.

Until today. 

Since we are staying at one of the main filming locations, watching Dirty Dancing seemed like a perfect afternoon activity, especially after walking the property and hiking around the lake basin. And seeing it was nuts! That movie was unquestionably filmed right here, within sight of where we were sitting. Baby's cabin, the stone lodge, the gazebo by the lake, are all exactly the same. But the lake?

Well... Marvelous and Mysterious Mountain Lake has had some ups and downs (literally) since 1986 when the movie was shot. The lake is a legend for its fluctuating levels, and during the production, the water covered 55 acres, and the hotel property was waterfront. In the decades since, though, despite engineering and attempted restoration, the lake has receded to only a few acres at the far end of the basin, nearly out of view of the resort. 

Throughout the movie, that was almost all I could focus on. Anytime they showed the water, I gasped. I didn't realize what was missing until I saw it.

It just so happened that as we were watching the movie, a dear friend texted us that her elder dog was having a health crisis. We paused the film a few times to read the updates and send messages as supportive as we could.

Research has assured me that this dry spell for the lake is not evidence that anything is wrong with, but rather that it is working just as it always has. Mountain Lake's geology and topology are unique not just to this area but to the world. The last time it was at full capacity was 2005, and although nothing is for sure, that could, and probably will, change in the future.

I confess that I am finding it a little difficult to appreciate how cool these fluctuations are, especially when I see the lake at its lowest. Could it be allegorical? If so, I wonder what the lesson is and whether I can pass the test at the end.