Sheddy Teddy and the Fur Broom

In loving memory of Tobey.  We’ll all miss you, especially Sheddy Teddy.

Mercury was in retrograde at the end of July, so I’m going to blame that stupid red planet for all the problems I’ve been having with modern technology lately.  First, our laptop slipped out of my fingers and landed clumsily right on its power adapter, royally screwing up its charging system.  Then, two Fridays ago, Ian and I played a quick game of “Should we go the emergency room” after my screaming, leaking blender really hit me below the belt. WebMD and aloe saved the day, but I’ll sum up the dramatics with the following equation / warning:

Soup recipe that calls for blending - Immersion blender = First-degree burn

My blender is such a diva.  But that bee-yotch makes good smoothies, so whadyagonnado?

However, my blender ain’t got nothin’ on my vacuum cleaner.  Excuse me, EX-vacuum cleaner, I should say. After repeated attempts to distress my respiratory system following manual filter-unclogging and once almost catching on fire, my relationship with this particular household appliance is dunzo, kaput, nada.  And who’s to blame for this one?  Not Mercury.  Not even the manufacturer.  Mr. Vacuum Cleaner Breaker is sitting two feet away from me.  Behold the face of guilt:

For shame, Ted!

Don’t let the cuteness fool you, folks.  That adorable pooch is a DESTROYER of vacuum cleaners; the Loki of filtration systems.  I don’t even think that the best-designed, most-efficient vacuum cleaners could survive the wrath of Teddy.  In fact, shortly after I eulogized our old vacuum with anger and profanity, someone told me that we should “just get a Dyson.”  Meh, no.  First of all, I’m much too risk averse to spend a gzillion dollars $400 on a vacuum cleaner even if there’s only a 5% chance that Teddy would make it catch fire.  More to the point, I refuse to support that smart man on those Dyson commercials because I think he is wasting his precious mental energies designing easily maneuverable vacuum cleaners and highly-efficient airport bathroom hand-dryers instead of devoting his brilliance to, I don’t know, fusion power or something.

I may blame Teddy for breaking our vacuum cleaner, but I know it’s not his fault.  He never chewed or scratched at it, and he certainly didn’t do it on purpose.  No, my heffalump is just so. friggin. hairy.  Sheddy Teddy leaves little cottonball puffs of black fur to gather dust in the corners of our apartment.  And when we sit down for our brushing sessions, I regularly collect basketball-sized piles of fur from his body.  So, after a year of dealing with pipes clogged with puppy fluff and filters choked from hair, it’s no surprise that our pet-hair vacuum cleaner waived the burning white flag of surrender.  

I haven’t bought another vacuum since.  I have a compact apartment one for our little weekly needs, but I use something else to pick up after Teddy.  Pet owners take heed!  I think I’ve found the ultimate in pet-hair solutions.  It’s not a Dyson, it’s not even a vacuum cleaner.  It’s better, and it only cost me $10: The Fur Broom.

Fur Broom and a small pile of Teddy fluff

Oh sweet, sweet Fur Broom.  You gather Teddy’s fluff balls off of the floor and furniture so efficiently, and you take up such little space next to the washing machine.  You even sweep up leftover food and dust off of the hardwood floor.  And you can’t catch on fire!  I’d kiss you if I didn’t know where your rubber head has been.  

Technology usually feels like a blessing; but more acutely - when the computer breaks or when the blender explodes all over the kitchen - it can feel like a curse.  So sometimes it’s nice when the low-technology option turns out to be the better choice.  Maybe that’s what Mercury was trying to tell me all along.

Amazon Wish Lists & The Joys of Gifting

When I was little I liked to read the Reader's Digests that my parents always had lying around the house.  I usually flipped through to find the joke sections like “Humor in Uniform” and the vocabulary builders.  But one time I stumbled across a parable from spiritualist Max Lucado.  I liked it so much that I wrote it out and taped it to my bedroom wall:

I’ve seen you searching for a gift.  I’ve seen you stalking the malls and walking the aisles.  I’m not talking about the obligatory gifts.  I’m not describing the last-minute purchase of drugstore perfume on the way to a birthday party.  Forget the blue-light specials and discount purchases; I’m talking about that extraspecial person and that extraspecial gift.  I’m talking about … staring at a thousand rings to find her the best diamond; staying up all night Christmas Eve, assembling the new bicycle.  Why do you do it?  You do it so the eyes will pop.  You do it so the heart will stop.  You do it so the jaw will drop.  You do it to hear those words of disbelief, “You did this for me?”

That’s why you do it.  And that’s why God did it.  Next time a sunrise steals your breath or a meadow of flowers leaves you speechless, remain that way.  Say nothing and listen as heaven whispers:  “Do you like it?  I did it just for you.”

I’m not very religious, but I love that quote.  And now when I see a beautiful sunset over the cornfields in Indiana or am marveling at the pinkness of the cherry blossoms, those words remind me to take a moment to entertain the possibility that this was all designed by something/someone, for us.

But enough with the ethereality. I want to talk about the first part of that quote: the “blue-light specials” and the not-so-great gifts.  You see, I’m starting to think that, with the dilution of time to assuage disappointment, a gift can be like pizza: even when it’s bad it’s good.  So with deepest love and affection for the gift-givers, let me reluctantly share the two worst gifts I ever received:  

1.  Christmas, 19 years old: A metallic pink quilted vest that looked like the lovechild of Hello Kitty and StarTrek.

2.  Easter, 15 years old:  I have never seen this movie.  I never wanted to see this movie nor listen to its music. Yet, the Easter Bunny left this soundtrack of the oft-forgotten animated Disney movie The Road to El Dorado next to the Reese’s eggs in my basket.

Even when they’re bad they’re good; reminiscing about those gifts is bringing a big smile to my face today, and I’m grateful for those memories and for the loving faces behind those gifts.  Nowadays, I think I’m pretty easy to shop for.  Like I told Ian as Christmastime: “If I all I get for presents this year are Chipotle giftcards, I won’t even be disappointed.”

I was not disappointed come December 25th, but not because a plethora of Mexican grill-ness rained down upon me.  Nope.  Because Ian and I set up an Amazon Wish List.  You can add items from Amazon as well as any other website!  So instead of obscure Disney movie soundtracks, I got a travel crate and water bowl for Teddy.  Instead of a pink vest, I got a gorgeous spring dress from Shabby Apple.

I realize that there is a special beauty in the pure, unprompted, well-planned gift. In the past two years alone, I've been gifted two little herb gardens from family members/blog readers for Christmas; Ian took me to a vegetarian cooking class for Valentine's Day; my parents bought us a pet-hair vacuum for our Christmastime Newfie puppy; and my in-laws have positively spoiled me with gorgeous handbags and wallets. I'm a lucky duck.

But unless you're the kind of person that jots down every little "Oh that'd be nice!" and "This is so cute!" that you hear throughout the year, gifting can be hard. Maybe even stressful. So perhaps, every once in awhile, we should give each other a leg up and digitize our suggestions. Besides, why should weddings and baby showers get to monopolize gift registries?  Let’s Carrie Bradshaw this thing and spread the joy of gifting all around.

The Chalkboard Resurrection

My Chalkboard Shopping List.

I don't remember exactly when it happened.  Sometime in between playing Oregon Trail on boxy Apple computers in elementary school and typing "asdfasdfasdf;lkj;lkj;lkj" in typing classes in junior high, The Whiteboard Invasion occurred.  Riding the tail winds of the democratization of computers in the 1990s, whiteboards infiltrated my classrooms with their colorful dry-erase marker companions.  Together, computers and whiteboards advanced into the new millennium, leaving powder-ladened chalkboards behind in the 20th century.

But once upon a time, chalkboards were the new technology.  The Headmaster of a high school in Scotland invented the chalkboard probably around the turn of the 19th century.  However, until they become commonplace in America, classrooms and public education in this country were very different than today, as explained by Steven D. Krause in his scholarly article, "'Among the Greatest Benefactors of Mankind': What the Success of Chalkboards Tells Us about the Future of Computers in the Classroom" :   

The description of schools and schooling around 1800 by Paul Saettler in his text The Evolution of American Educational Technology is indeed grim.  Before and around 1800, instruction at the elementary and secondary level was more or less individual study;  “Developing understanding through inductive group discussions was unknown” (32).  Writing instruction seemed to have more to do with making copies of existing texts and "whittling goose-quill pens" (33) than what we might consider "writing instruction" from even a current-traditionalist paradigm.  Page 9

 By the mid-19^th century, chalkboards had become ubiquitous in most American schools:

 …It seems to have been an innovation that became synonymous with “schooling.”  Even the small schools in rural and westward lands such as Indiana, Illinois, and Iowa had to have a blackboard… So from almost the beginning, the chalkboard seems to have been a technology that was universally accepted, immediately adopted, and widely praised.  As quoted in Tyack and Cuban’s book [Tinkering Toward Utopia], Josiah F. Bumstead wrote of blackboards in his 1841 book The Blackboard in the Primary Schools that “the inventor or introducer of the system deserves to be ranked among the best contributors to learning and science, if not among the greatest benefactors of mankind” (121).  Page 11

Yet, how quickly chalkboards disappeared from my classrooms in the 1990s, replaced by the identically-functional whiteboards and, most significantly, school computers.  Indeed, by high school, I was taking French lessons on computers in our language lab, copying notes from PowerPoint presentations in my U.S. history class, and writing all my essays and research papers with the help of spell and grammar check in Microsoft Word.  

The ubiquity of computers in 21st century education forces an important, retrospective question:  Is typing better or worse for our brains than handwriting?

Many researches think it's worse, which you can read about here, here, and in this article from the Wall Street Journal:

Using advanced tools such as magnetic resonance imaging, researchers are finding that writing by hand is more than just a way to communicate. The practice helps with learning letters and shapes, can improve idea composition and expression, and may aid fine motor-skill development.

It's not just children who benefit. Adults studying new symbols, such as Chinese characters, might enhance recognition by writing the characters by hand, researchers say. Some physicians say handwriting could be a good cognitive exercise for baby boomers working to keep their minds sharp as they age.

So perhaps we should revive handwriting and the tools that facilitate it, like the chalkboard.  Happily, the popular website Pinterest is leading the Chalkboard Resurrection.  Just type "chalkboard" in the search box, and the results will blow you away with their simple creativity and an old-fashioned beauty that even the shiniest whiteboard couldn't match.

Imagine my delight when I found an old, dusty chalkboard sitting by its lonesome in my parents' garage.  My mom let me take it and even gave me some unused sidewalk chalk she had stored away.  With my new toy at home, I cleaned it off and propped it up against our kitchen counter - and hello new shopping list!   Forget the pen and paper; my new-old chalkboard is really a digital tool in disguise.  Now we just snap a picture of our Chalkboard Shopping List with our smartphone to produce a digital list to use at the grocery store.  So, on behalf of all of us who grew up with you, Chalkboard, welcome to the 21st century.  

Famous Fashions

Growing up I loved the TV show Full House.  I tuned in to TGIF on ABC religiously every week, just waiting to hear those magical intro lyrics, "Everywhere you look, everywhere is a heart (a heart), a hand to hold on to..." My mom taped every episode for me so I could re-live the Tanner Family's G-rated dramatics throughout the week.  I even had the Michelle doll that wore '90s-fabulous black denim jeans and a pink fringe shirt and repeated her famous lines when you squeezed her stomach: "You got it, dude" and "No way, Jose!"


So imagine my sheer childish exuberance when, during one Friday-night viewing session, I saw Miss Fabulous Michelle Tanner pushing her doll in the same pink baby buggy I had in my play room!  We like the same things, so we could be friends in real life!  I thought.  So went the reasoning of my 5-year old self.


You might think I've outgrown this cheap sense of popular self-validation by now.  That I'd react with less enthusiasm to seeing something I own being used by someone on TV.

Nope.  I've transitioned from toys to clothing - and it's only happened a few times - but whenever I've seen a piece of my clothing worn by someone on TV, I react like a stage mom seeing her fabric-daughter on the small screen for the first time.


My enthusiasm is a second cousin of the bigger sociological phenomenon of "Celebrity,"  which helps us understand why we're so fascinated with the Kardashian divorce drama and why no one can find a non-Kindle version of the Steve Jobs biography.  The evolutionary perspective on celebrity is an interesting one, as explained in this BBC article from 2003:

Evolutionary biologists say it is natural for humans to look up to individuals who receive attention because they have succeeded in a society. In prehistoric times, this would have meant respecting good hunters and elders. But as hunting is not now an essential skill and longevity is more widely achievable, these qualities are no longer revered.  Instead, we look to celebrities, whose fame and fortune we want to emulate.

So color me tickled when someone famous is emulating my fashion preferences.  Somewhere in the deep evolutionary parts of my brain, my fierce cavewoman self is patting herself on her oh-so-stylish back.


Most recently (and least impressively), I saw a favorite dress of mine in a - prepare yourself -  Christmastime Nissan commercial.  Even before I could question the influx of holiday car commercials by shouting to Ian, "Who buys someone a car for Christmas?!" I spied this happy girl in my Jessica Simpson-brand houndstooth dress.

See it?  There's my black-and-white dress paired with a trim candy apple cardigan and a cute side pony.  Why thank you, Nissan and your commercial wardrobe consultants, for the fashion tip!

But the Most Wonderful Sale of the Year Dress is such a D-List wardrobe celebrity.  Permit me to stretch my bragging muscles a little bit to present the Brangelina of my closet: my finger-less gloves.  

My mother-in-law brought me back a candy-striped woolen scarf and matching pair gloves, both made in Scotland, from her trip to England in 2009.  Soft, warm, and a quick way to brighten up my black winter coat, I loved my souvenir gift

But someone famous made me love them even more.  Now my fluffy sweaters, sequined tops, and 4-inch heels look wide-eyed in amazement at my fingerless gloves because a movie-stah wore them in a blockbuster last July:

Hermione & Harry in HP & the Deathly Hallows, Pt. 1

Scene after winter scene in Harry Potter & The Deathly Hallows, Part 1, Emma Watson as Hermione Granger was wearing my made-in-the-UK fingerless gloves.  And I couldn't help but think, We like the same things, so we could be friends in real life!

(Saving) Green Is The New Black

I recently discovered the fashion blog What I Wore after seeing the author on the local news a few weeks ago.  Jessica Quirk is a down-to-earth fashionista that posts pictures of her daily outfits for us all to enjoy.  Fair warning before you click that link: the cuteness and creativity of her ensembles are completely addictive.  I now check her blog every day.

A week after I discovered What I Wore I found myself in a hormone-induced cranky mood, so I immediately wrote myself a prescription for some retail therapy.  And I don’t just mean I wanted a little shopping trip to pick up a new blouse.  No, no.  I wanted one of those trips where you take so many clothes to the dressing room that you’re sure the attendant will think you’ve lost all your possessions in a house-fire, and you eventually come home with a panoply of colored bags in your hands, those little twisty paper handles digging into the pads of your fingers, and you’re just hoping you didn’t leave anything in that last store’s dressing room.  I wanted to do some proper shopping.

I came back two hours later with five dresses, four tank tops, a blazer, and two nightgowns.  Mission freaking accomplished.

Here are a few of my purchases:
  

 

When I walked in with my haul and newly jubilant attitude, I told Ian what I bought. A look of laughter and horror crossed his face: “Wait, you bought how much?!”  But I dropped a fact bomb on him that left him smiling:  I got all TWELVE pieces of clothing for $52.  

That’s right, I shopped at Goodwill.  

Admittedly, I was a little skeptical driving over there.  My steering wheel resisted the turn away from the direction of the mall, its stubbornness reminding me that I’ve only ever shopped at Goodwill for Halloween costumes and school projects.  I know, steering wheel, but you haven't seen the outfits on What I Wore.  So many of her staple pieces come from vintage boutiques and secondhand stores.  My closet might be full of Banana Republic and Ann Taylor right now, but let’s just give this a shot, okay?  So I grabbed the wheel and yanked a hard left into the parking lot of Goodwill.  I walked in expecting to see stains and missing hems and all the good clothes picked over by the more fashion-savvy in the same way antiques appraisers always take the good stuff from garage and estate sales.  

I saw a few stains (a rust-colored one on the most beautiful A-line, red-hemmed skirt - sigh), but mostly I saw stylish clothes for less than I would spend on a Chipotle burrito. That denim shirt dress I saw at Macy’s for $90?  There’s one for $5 sandwiched between a muumuu and a Mennonite skirt.  The khaki linen blazer perfect for summer? $6 - I just need to take the shoulder pads out.  Candy-striped Holllister tanktop? $2.   Color me shocked.  Going into the dressing room I had more clothes hanging over my arm than a Victorian laundress.  Even the high school girl who checked me out regretted not having snatched some of the items I found.  

I’m totally in love with my new/old clothes; they’re all I packed on our anniversary trip last weekend.  And I’m even more in love with all the dollar bills leftover in my wallet, not to mention the environmental and economic impacts of my thrift store purchases.  Buying recycled clothes prevents them from being thrown into landfills or being exported abroad.  Plus many thrift stores are charities, too, and Goodwill supports job training and placement programs.  

So many thanks to What I Wore and to Goodwill for styling me up for the rest of the summer.  Cute clothes that support a good cause; what more could a girl ask for?  Just a new purse to hold all the money I’m saving.