A little celebration

This morning I'm celebrating the fact that my desktop computer is out of surgery and doing well. Hooray.

It had been grinding along slowly for at least six months, and I kept postponing the chore of taking it to the Apple repair store and getting it fixed. I'd also been trying not to think about the surgery's expense.

But last Thursday I'd had enough of the computer's antics, so I decided I'd take the bull by the horns, as my mother used to say, and deliver it to the repair shop.

Initial diagnosis didn't sound good: The shop owner said he suspected, from my description, the hard drive needed replacing. Many, many dollar signs danced in my head. I figured I'd better brace myself for a bill of $500, minimum. I like to plan for the worst, then it if doesn't happen, I can celebrate.

He said he'd have the tech guy look at it on Monday and give me a call with the official diagnosis.

The tech guy did call, as promised, but he surprised me by saying the problem was simply that the computer needed more gigabytes (I think that's what they're called) of memory.

I gave the go-ahead, he installed the additional memory yesterday morning, and I brought my precious baby, still a bit drowsy from the anesthesia, back home at noontime. I was out a little over $100, but that seemed fair enough.

She's working like a charm: much, much faster and, if I'm not imagining it, rather happily.

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Meanwhile, my older sister surprised me on Friday by sending me these two snapshops of my middle sister and me. It's fun to receive photos from my childhood, especially photos I didn't know existed.

In the top photo I'm the one on the receiving end of the trumpet's blast. I must have had tremendous faith that Roberta wouldn't render me deaf.

My older sister, Shirley, included a note asking who'd given us little sisters permission to play with her trumpet! We probably took it upon ourselves to give it a road test while Shirley was at school. (Roberta and I used to enjoy prowling through Shirley's belongings while she was at school. The funny thing is, recently my niece Cheryl, who is Shirley's daughter, confessed to me that she and her sister used to enjoy prowling through Roberta's and my things while we were at college! What goes around truly does come around.)

In the second photo, we're standing in front of our playhouse. We were lucky girls: friends of the family gave us this playhouse on loan after their daughter had outgrown it. We had a lot of fun, and many fights, in this playhouse. We also committed our share of small crimes, if memory serves..

What caught my attention in this photo, though, is our attire. I'd completely forgotten about these drop-dead gorgeous creations: red/white/green plaid with matching shoulder bags. We were runway-ready once fully decked out. I was thinking as I looked at the top photo that I'm sure my mother made our sweaters and dresses. How she had time to knit and sew for us, in addition to her many household and farm chores (and four other, older kids to raise) I'll never understand. The dresses in this second photo, are "store bought," which I'm sure Roberta and I considered a special luxury.

We also seem to be sporting fresh Toni home permanents. How my mother loved Toni home permanents. How Roberta and I hated them! How we dreaded hearing Mum announce, "I'm sending you girls down to Mrs. Norton" (I think that was her name), "for new permanents." Mrs. Norton was a nice-enough lady, but she took her home permanent-giving a little too seriously. She would chop our hair short, twist the curlers so many times that our eyebrows would be yanked up to giddy heights and we'd swear our hair was being pulled out by the roots, causing us to stifle cries, and send us home with curls so tight we couldn't get a comb through them for days.

There. I managed to get from a computer's repair to Toni home permanents in one fell swoop. I started this post feeling happy about my computer's new health, but now I'm feeling depressed about those darned Toni home permanents. I guess I'd better take Molly-the-dog, who's waiting patiently here beside my chair, for a walk. A fresh snowfall last night and sunshine today make for a beautiful world, and today I'm the one in charge of my hair. (I'm not saying it looks any better; I'm just saying I get to choose the style!)

Throwing a party

Happy Valentine's Day, everyone.

On Saturday we members of the Maine Beta chapter of Alpha Delta Kappa threw a Valentine's Party for the residents of a local assisted-living center.

We've been doing this for several years, and it's always one of our favorite activities.

We members bring to the party two or three small, wrapped gifts: luxury soaps, nail polish, candy, notepads, postage stamps, fancy socks, etc.

We also bring refreshments: punch, ice cream with strawberry topping, cookies.

Two of our members always volunteer to have their students make Valentine's cards and placemats, which our guests get to keep. The Valentines this year were gaily decorated with lots of glitter. I heard one member ask the teacher who brought them in, "How did your first graders manage to use the glitter so well?"

"I added the glitter myself after the kids went home," I heard the teacher reply.

We play rousing games of Bingo with the residents. Each resident is "allowed" to win twice, thus receiving two gifts. If a third or fourth win should happen, that resident gets a warm hug. Many hugs are given.

We have so much fun bringing laughter and small gifts to these lovely people. This year we had so many gifts that each resident received a third gift at the end of the party.

 The residents always thank us warmly for coming to their residence and throwing a party for them.

It's a simple gesture, but it means a lot to our guests...and to us.

"Praise the deed, not the do-er"

Several years ago, in the early-to-mid-90's, I'd guess, when the self-esteem movement was alive and flourishing in the school system where I taught and, I think, in the rest of the nation's schools as well, I signed up to take a course in self-esteem.

My motive for taking the course was purely selfish: the course, offered by my school system, gave 3 recertification credits to its teachers, and I needed those 3 credits before certificate renewal came up.

The school psychologist taught the course. I don't remember much about course content now, but one lesson really had an impact on me and how I did business from then on.

The lesson was on giving praise to our students. The instructor started the lesson by saying one should not praise the person but, rather, praise the person's action.

This baffled me. Why on earth should we not praise the "do-er"?

It took awhile for the point to sink in, but gradually I got it.

When we're told we're "amazing" or (heaven forbid) "awesome" or "fantastic," or "sweet" or "adorable," we're left with an uncomfortable feeling that doesn't feel much like pride. It feels like insincerity, perhaps, or a huge overstatement, or a comment which we have not earned.

But when we're told we've baked a delicious cake, or our drawing is excellent in detail, or we take wonderful care of our pets, those are praises of substance. We feel good knowing our efforts have been noticed and that we are doing a good job.

My school system, however, was so hell-bent on developing positive self-esteem in all of its students, whether each student had earned it or not, that elementary-level kids were taught to sing songs about themselves: "I am wonderful, I am lovable, I am...."

I developed and instituted a K-through-12 writing contest just before the self-esteem movement hit our town. Children of all grade levels submitted entries to the contest, community citizens met one morning in the spring to select the best three entries from each grade, and the winners and their parents were treated to a "tea" at which each first-place winner read aloud his or her winning piece. The icing on the cake was a booklet given to each contest winner, containing all of the winning writings with, of course, the writer's name included. These students, ages 5 to 18, were now published authors!

I thought this was a great little contest. In fact, I usually sat in the audience with tears about to spill over as I watched little first- and second-graders churn their way up to the podium, climb onto the footstool,  and share their work. To this day I remember one little boy, Adam, who read aloud a poem he had written about a pickle.

Then the self-esteem movement hit, and one of the town's two K-4 schools dropped out of the contest. The reason? The principal felt it was not fair for only three students in each grade to be declared contest winners if the rest of the students couldn't be called winners, too.

I was floored and disappointed. It was the end of our K-12 writing contest.

I remember reading an article in either Time or Newsweek a few years ago about the negative impact of the self-esteem movement. Our country was graduating many students who had egos the size of Alaska but had nothing concrete to show for it. Worse than that, many students actually had poor self-images because they knew, in their hearts, that the repeated praise they'd been given had no or little foundation in fact. The self-esteem movement had backfired, it seems.

This is perhaps, too, why extraordinarily good-looking people often have poor self-images. If all they've ever heard is praise for their "exteriors," rather than praise for their accomplishments, they feel empty.

Praise the deed, and not the do-er.

Nothing much

In my last post I shared a photo of the Tea Leaves cardigan I was knitting. The color of the yarn in the photo was very misleading, so I thought I'd post a photo today closer to the actual color. It's called "Tidepool Heather," which isn't much of a help in identifying a color, but it's more of the pale slate green than a rich turquoise. My camera sometimes plays tricks with me when I try to capture yarn colors accurately.

The cardigan is done, as of this morning, and I'm ecstatic. I'm ecstatic that it's done, I mean, because the knitting got to be a bit of a drag once I got down to the underarm-to-bottom-of-hem area. Then when I started the sleeves, I had one almost done when I faced the fact that I had to go up one needle size if I wanted the gauge of the sleeve to be the same as the gauge of the body. Frustrating.

It's quietly blocking now, so we'll see how much I like it once I try it on. I do wish I'd knit it one size smaller, but maybe I can get some wear out of it anyway.

 My grandniece requested "a dress and some shorts and maybe a tunic" for the little lamb I knit her for Christmas, so I have her "order" completed. I added an extra pair of shorts and a little hat, too. I think Violet will be pleased to see these new fashions for her lamb.

I was alerted this past Tuesday that Trader Joe's in Portland had a shipment of new orchids in, tall and generously blooming orchids at that. I thought about them the rest of the week and knew I wouldn't be able to rest until I had one of my very own. Ken and I drove to Trader Joe's on Friday, and I walked out of the store with this in my arms.

Now to keep it alive and blooming....

I do have two phalanopsis orchids sending up flower spikes at the moment, so they'll be in bloom, too, before long. I always look forward to sending my orchids (I have about 15 plants in all) to "summer camp," which is a rack on our front porch, in late spring. They love spending time out there from late May to mid-September and reward me with occasional blossoms as a result.

I took the photo in my header one cold morning last week. It was 4° when I left our house, wobbled between 4° and 6° during my drive to North Conway, and held a steady 6° while I shopped there. The summit of Mt. Washington was clearly visible on this cold, crisp day, and I had my camera with me....

Snow, sweaters, sadness

We received a nice, fluffy snowfall in the night, about 5" or so. It's finally beginning to look like a Maine winter. I hope we get more snow before long so Ken and I can get out on our snowshoes and cross-country skis. This winter has been disappointing up 'til now, with balmy temperatures here and there, interspersed with frigid temperatures, plus rain but little snow. If we're going to have winter, I want a real winter. Many folks in Maine depend upon winter snow to make their livelihood.

I took this photo early this morning, just as the sun was starting to rise. Molly and I were out for her "first wizz of the day," as we call it.

 I finished the Mondo Cable Pulli, which I'd been working on since some time in November. I don't know why I found this project so long and tedious. I'd knit this same pattern a couple of years ago and enjoyed it.

Well, the pulloever's done now, and I'm enjoying wearing it. It's knit of 100% wool from Briggs & Little yarns in Harvery Station, NB. There's nothing like a warm wool sweater on a cold winter day, I swear. For me, there's nothing like knowing the yarn came from New Brunswick, my parents' birthplace. Now I'm knitting a Tea Leaves cardigan, which I've put in my header photo.

Nest Maine is an organization that collects and distributes handknit hats, mittens, sweaters, etc., to the homeless in the Portland area. I'm sending these two contributions off to them as soon as I get to the post office. There's another organization that distributes handknit woolens to the needy in Central Maine. It's called Hearts for Warmth. My next contribution will go to them, since central Maine is where I'm from.

The other day I scanned the photo of our Italy/Greece tour group at the Roman Colosseum, so I thought I'd toss that in here for the fun of it. I swear there are 2-3 folks standing who weren't actually in our group but joined in with us just as the photo was being taken!

And finally, the sadness. I was shocked to read yesterday's obituaries in our local paper and see the name of a student from my second year of teaching. He wasn't just any student, he was an unusually energetic, inquisitive, outgoing, bright, friendly  young man who was truly an asset to my classroom. If you had asked me to name students I still remembered from that class way back in 1969-70, his name would undoubtedly have been the first one to come to mind. It's sad to think he's gone, but what is even sadder is my fear that he committed suicide. I hope I'm wrong about this, but the fact that his obituary states that he "died suddenly," and the condolences left on his guest book, which mention that he is "hopefully at peace now," etc., make me fear I could be right. As I said, I hope I'm wrong.

for the birds

It's snowing, finally, here in Maine today, so I whipped up a fresh batch of suet cakes for my feathered friends. They do love these cakes, and they especially love them once there is snow on the ground covering their usual dining selections

Here's the recipe:

1 cup peanut butter
1 cup vegetable shortening, melted beef suet or bacon drippings
4 cups yellow cornmeal
1 cup white flour

I never measure the ingredients; I just toss in some of this and some of that. I always use beef suet, a big glob of it from the butcher shop. I also toss in a little sugar or honey and some rolled oats.

Phew!

I enjoy reading the blog of Stephanie Pearl McPhee, a Canadian knitter and author of several books on knitting.  Stephanie isn't afraid to admit she makes knitting mistakes, even though she's been a knitter since age four and is now in her 40's.

Recently, while kntting a cardigan for herself, for instance, Stephanie accidentally burned the edges of the finished project by placing it in a warm oven to dry after blocking. In the process of re-knitting the burned edges, she discovered she'd accidentally knit the two front panels two inches shorter than the back. And finally, to add yet more insult to injury, after lengthening the two front panels, Stephanie  realized she'd accidentally crossed incorrectly two of the cables of her design. You've got to admire a world-famous knitter who will admit to three careless errors on one project!

But Stephanie's blog posts about her ill-fated cardigan aren't my favorite of her recent blog entries. My favorite is this one:    http://www.yarnharlot.ca/blog/archives/2011/12/24/merry_christmas.html: "The Proper Way to Receive a Knitted Gift." I especially enjoyed this post because I've given my share of knitted gifts, and I've not always been convinced the gift was well received or, in fact, ever worn or used. In addition, I was giving my great niece, Violet (age 6), an Aran cardigan this Christmas, and as December 25 drew nearer and nearer, I grew more and more convinced that I should have spent the hours eaten up in the knitting of this sweater on something else, like several pairs of socks for myself, for instance. (I like my handknitted socks and wear them throughout the winter. There's nothing like handknitted, wool socks on chilly feet.) Would a six-year-old care about a handknitted Aran cardigan? It seemed less and less likely as the calendar closed in on December 25.

Then I hit upon the idea of using the leftover yarn of Violet's sweater for a sweater for the little lamb I'd also made for her. And then I remembered I'd bought Violet a pair of deep purple leggings, and I had some deep purple yarn scraps, so why not knit the lamb a pair of bib overalls, too? That way, if by some miracle Violet did like her sweater, she could wear it on days when she and her little lamb felt like dressing as twins. 

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Today Violet's mom sent me the photo above of Violet and her lamb. The post title said, simply, "Today Violet chose her own outfit."

Mission accomplished.