bulk gum, spices, and rye crackers, and product recognition with 18 month babies

It just feels right to me to buy things in bulk. I have a giddy little sensation of being a prudent consumer: economical, organized, and prepared for natural disasters or other end-of-world scenarios. Also, it's like I'm pretty much the long lost sister to Laura Ingalls Wilder. This is the exact opposite feeling as when I open a packet of three pretzels on an airplane. Before the flight attendant gets to the next row, we've all eaten ours. Who's gonna be the sheepish turd that holds up progress by touching her elbow and asking for more?

So. These are some bulk items I dig. Please share what you buy!!

GUM - Didya know you can get good, naturally sweetened gum in vitamin-style bottles at health food stores? I know of Peelu and Spry, and they come in bottles of 100 pieces for $8-10, in a variety of flavors. They come in bigger bottles than that too, as well as the normal sized push-em-out tinfoil packages, so you could test it first. I prefer Spry, which is much softer. Both are made with xylitol, a naturally occuring sweetner that has a lower glycemic index than sugar. I like for Zoralee to chew on it; it's a tricky, occasional bucky-brushing substitute.

SPICES  - Health food stores and some regular grocery stores have bulk spice bins, so you can buy just a wee bit of cardamom or orange peel or whatever you don't want to pay $5-10 to get a whole container of. Here's the thing: it is super inexpensive, even to get organic spices. You take your little baggy to the counter, and it rings through as thirty-four cents! Additionally, I write the item number on the baggie instead of using a weighty twist tie to write on. Look, let's get serious about this. 

RYE CHIPS - I just learned this through my good brother, Luke, when we were sharing a handful of the Gardetto's mix and there were only two delightsome rye chips left. We both like those the best. Well, they have started making bags of JUST THOSE. Every once in a while, you get the impression that somebody somewhere is listening to the public. Yes, they're listening with the goal of emptying our wallets, but still.

In closing, I would like to report a related, freaky, first-hand discovery: product recognition is working for babies at 18 months, maybe younger. The other day, Zoralee was saying, "video, video, video" while pointing to something in a magazine. I looked, and it was a tiny Youtube symbol. We show her youtube videos of all kinds of interesting things, but who knew she paid attention to the icon?! Tonight she was looking at a magazine again and said, "coffee, cofee, coffee." It was a Starbucks symbol on a gallon of icecream. No actual coffee was anywhere in the photograph. Um, hellllooooo. We go to Starbucks once in a blue - the rare Antwerp blue -moon. We have a Starbucks mug, but we have about thirty mugs, and we drink other things from them besides coffee. How does she know that symbol is related to coffee?!

z and the beat box keyboard

This is Zoralee discovering a little Yamaha keyboard I received my 10th or 11th year. I can't believe it has lain practically dormant for 20 plus years, the beautiful and artful machine that it is. I told the family if they'd only buy me this keyboard, it would be the Christmas present to end all Christmas presents. Within a couple of weeks, I realized the foolishness of my rash wish. But, it's a lifelong commitment - no Christmas presents ever again. Booooo.

Well, enjoy miss Zoralee as she dances and plays! This video is a little on the loud (annoying side) at points, but the ending is the best; she goes into horror film mode around 1:40 as she executes the oft neglected Full-Body Keyboard Playing.



Those of you who don't know Z personally might not realize how unusual it is for her to be giggly and huggy, which you'll see in the first footage from Day 1. She's just so excited about this thing and all its buttons.

sheet music beauties

Okay, this is an entirely worthless blog post. It's late, and I should be getting into bed, but I'll make it snappy. Maybe you'll get a chuckle, like I did, out of this selection of sheet music covers someone had passed along to me at some point.

Rrright. And that's why I requested the restraining order.

a bold proclamation of it being no secret,

and then - cautiously, in parentheses, secretly? - of what God can do

in case you are unclear on the pronunciation of ricochet...

Wait, maybe it's a play on words about an Irish guy. I should've read the lyrics.

I suspect there was a mirror around when these gals decided on their name.

They only later must've realized that for every album cover,

they'd have to turn sideways for their identity to be fully believed.

That has GOT to be Eddie Murphy's great grandfather on the left.

The expressions are perfectly nailed.

waaay outside, with that kind of look and cleavage

Nice try, Pat Boone. I ain't fallin' for the old "Look up there!" trick again.

Instead of that smart side-step, how's about you stop right there and empty your trousers.  

This does not remind me of a guy who cares about little white clouds that cry.

But then, let's be honest. Who of us does?

I do apologize to any American soccer fans, but...

...Zoralee received this gift at birth and just now, by strange coincidence, fits into it.

(She looks like a natural, doesn't she - attitude and all?)

old magazines, old (good) ways of arguing, & an old soap maker

As I'm making piles of our stuff - pile A bound for destination A in less than a month, pile B bound for destination B in less than a year, pile C for the thrift store/craigslist/give-away, and pile D for decisions to be made/sorting to be done - I found a box of magazines, back issues of National Geographic, Mother Earth News, and Utne that we saved for one reason or another.

I knew that it was time to get rid of them, the whole lot. Mourn the articles unread (or at least un-memorized or un-put to use), the photos un-ooh'd-and-aah'd over. Chalk them up to lost opportunities, plain and simple. It feels like trashing a collection of gems, but we've got to be serious about lightening the load, now more than ever. You get so much junk piled on to your psyche that you can't really focus on any one project or hobby. 

But I couldn't toss 'em without one final look-see. I picked a magazine from the box at random, Utne Nov-Dec '07. And it was so amazing! In a quick browse through, I read this article: "The Great Divide - How do we talk when we disagree?". It's an interview given by Julie Hanus of Stephen Miller, author of Conversation: A History of a Declining Art. You can click on the article name above, if you wish. Here are some snippets of Miller's answers from the interview:

• "The best conversations are playful. They go different places; people are throwing out ideas, and no one is pronouncing on things." [This is Lori now: and isn't that the truth?! I love rabbit trails. They lead to the best laughter and to the best learning of random tidbits about people, and sometimes, because every one's guards are down, to the best solutions to problems or better ways of seeing.]

• "Disagreement has to be good-humored...Quite often people don't discuss anything because they're afraid of offending - or if they do discuss something, they're screaming. I have a bunch of friends I've met...we talk about politics and religion. We have people all over the political spectrum, and we criticize each other mercilessly. But it's all in good spirit; we say things like, 'That's a load of crap, Joe!'"

• "In the United States, people fail to see the distinction between attacking an idea and attacking a person, and they tend to be more offended...It's so easy not to deal with an actual idea and instead just say, 'Oh, you're repressed, you're a Marxist, you're a whatever.' Don't make it personal. There has to be restraint for conversation to succeed."

__________

Then I saw a film review on page 24 by Peter Schilling. Dr. Bronner's Magic Soapbox is a documentary about Emanuel Bronner, the founder of Dr. Bronner's soaps. Directed by Sara Lamm. Very good timing to see this article, because I just bought a couple bottles of lotion on clearance at The EC Store online, where I was also buying tiny baby underwears. We dig Dr. Bronner's soaps and lotions, though we scratch our heads at the indecipherable moral and religious lingo on the soap bottles. So, now I'm writing down a reminder to somehow come by that film, and I won't have to save the article I tore out. One more thing to toss!

Goodbye, the Nov-Dec '07 issue of Utne. And gee whiz, with as easy as inspiration comes,  don't let me do any more quick browse-throughs. I'll never get packed.

a wee bit o' Zor, the last few days o'er

Rachel has advised me that my recent entries have been depressing, and that some Zoralee footage is in order. Okay then! I needed a break from packing anyway. Not really, but you know.

Fortunately for prego hormonal sister, Zoralee has a lot going on. Why, she is even now standing in the yard with a measuring tape, playing a harmonica. Hey, I'll run out and get a picture. Technology is absurd.

(I got a short video too, but I'll post it later. Blogger is driving me crazy at the moment, what with automatically saving every .6 seconds, arranging pictures randomly and not as I'm placing them, and generally taking forever to get anything done. I seriously feel like I might have an anxiety attack over it.)

Here are some other shots of her recently. I believe the fun parts of having a baby are now outweighing the not-so-fun or sheer work/effort/maintenance parts. Actually, I'm just throwing that out there. I haven't analyzed whether it's true for me or not. But there is some truth to it, at least. Do other moms feel this way, especially with young ones? I'm picking up that the first couple years' experiences of the primary care-giver are quite different from the experiences of the other family and friends associated with a baby (the former being primarily times of enjoyment and bemusement). I remember a friend saying a couple years ago that her kids were just starting to be fun for her to raise. And they were maybe 3 and 6 then. Of course, she was a single mom and didn't have stellar support.

Anyway! 

Okay, Zoralee just pulled her pants down and peed in the driveway, only barely wetting one pant leg. How awesome is that?! The first time she did it, about a month ago, I thought my heard would explode of pride. She has slowly been improving the splash and spill factors. That's a whole 'nother post, but I am happy to report that we're potty trained! And I do mean "we;" EC is totally a group effort! I am really excited to blog about my take on EC now that we're about done, but alas, no time more today. Enjoy the pics.

Zoralee of the Rocks 

Henry and Z

the amazing developmental leaps of Zoralee's dolls

Just over the last few weeks, Zoralee's dolls have been surprising us with their newfound skills. For the first 17 months of her life, they either laid around in a toy box or hung limply from her hand.

But suddenly, they've come to life. Their most striking advancement is the use of baby sign language. We have witnessed Z putting their hands together for the signs of "more," "all done," and "eat." They love to have tastes and sips of whatever she's eating or drinking. They are potty trained, though their little paws and hands can't maintain a steady grip on the big toilet edges - we've had one or two accidental drop-ins. And just this morning, Monkey, who was sitting with us at the breakfast table, wanted to hold hands with the family to say grace.

keeping company with edible animals

is initially an exercise in mental agility. You've got to be able to bounce around from compassion to chewing. Then you get used to it and realize you were probably a softie before, a wussy, a person generally out of touch with the realities of the circle of life.

Anyway, that's my nutshell assessment of eating Blindey, though truth be told, we haven't eaten her yet. She's in the freezer. That's another thing I've learned. Time in the freezer accomplishes two things: it deep chills both the meat and your memories. Pets are easier to eat a couple months later.

Ha. This is reminding me of two things.

One: In "Oh, Brother, Where Art Thou?," do you remember when the cousin is feeding mystery meat to the runaway convicts? He says in a real southern hick drawl, "I slaughtered this horse last Tuesday. I think it's startin' to turn."

Two: In some independent film I saw years ago, an old indiginous woman of a mountain village somewhere sat petting her precious goats. She loved them, revered them, survived by their milk each day. But when it was time for one to be culled for its meat, she'd calmly rub its ears and gently reach down with a knife and slit its neck.

These days, in these parts (western society or so), we're generally pretty compartmentalized about our food and animals and the cycles of biology, yes? Cuz otherwise, we'd join with the rest of the world in saying "Love it while it's living; eat it while it's dead."

one youtube video leads to another and soon you're here

Blindey died so we could eat chicken: two tales of one bird's demise

Tale 1: Simple And True 
Blindey is a chicken. She was born to produce eggs for us, and eventually, meat. Blindey died so we could eat chicken.  THE END

 Tale 2: Complicated And True

 Somewhere in India, roughly 45 years ago, a baby girl was born into a family belonging to one of the more privileged classes. Around the same time, a baby boy was born into a lower class family. The girl and the boy grew up and met each other, threw societal expectations to the wind, and married. Eventually they moved to Montana, where my family has had the honor of making their acquaintance.

Last Friday, we were invited to a dinner that our two Indian friends prepared at our cousin's home in Lakeside. We feasted on curried chicken, lemon chicken kabobs, coconut rice, Chai, cilantro-chili paste, and mango chutney. As happens when there is an open invitation to "invite friends and come eat Indian food," a crowd of 45 - 50 people wandered in as the night progressed. Dinner and visiting carried on late. Zoralee didn't get to sleep that night until 11:30 p.m.

Her napping schedule for the next two days was kiddywomped. On Sunday, I had just put her down, when I heard the neighbor dog barking outside near her bedroom window. Not wanting anything to even stir Zoralee, I threw open the window and gave a hushed holler, which startled the dog. He'd been on edge anyway, barking at a long, burnt orange coat that I'd received from my great Aunt. The coat is hanging ominously on the back porch to air out and hopefully stop having Old Clothing Smell. The dog ran home.

Which now, in hindsight, I regret, because the neighbor dog is a good dog. We like for him to be here whenever he gets the urge; he chases off a red fox that comes to our meadow eyeballing the chickens. He is a good protector. And maybe, if I hadn't chased him off on Saturday, he'd have been around on Monday, today, when another dog, rescued as a puppy from a terrible situation by a construction worker who is now working at a site near our home, came into our yard and tossed old Blindey around.

Blindey was in bad shape after the tossing. She laid there, back feathers all missing, her neck punctured beyond repair. I petted her and calmed her for awhile, before Dad came out with the chopping block to end it. And tomorrow we shall have chicken, because Blindey died. But Blindey also died so that we could eat another chicken or chickens - last Friday night, with our friends from India who are here in America together, in part because their love overcame the caste system.

THE END