Monthly Archives: March 2011

Sniffing Out a Good Book

Posted on March 25, 2011 by Kathleen Fox

Kindles. Nooks. As the marketing experts who came up with them would be very pleased to know, the names alone tend to make you want to curl up in a cozy corner by the fireplace with a good book.

I don't have an ereader yet, not because I don't want one, but because I haven't quite managed to decide which one to get. In the meantime, I've been reading some of the discussions for, against, and about ereaders and ebooks in general.

Some readers are passionate advocates for ebooks, some are lukewarm about the new technology, and some vow they will give up their paper books only when their last well-worn copy of "Twilight" is pried from their cold, dead fingers.

One aspect of those discussions baffles me. There are plenty of people who say one of the reasons they enjoy paper books is the way they smell (the books, not the readers). My daughter, who admits to being one of these people, says it's the glue. I suppose I should be grateful that book-binding glue is the only kind she sniffs.

I don't get it. It isn't that I'm olfactorily challenged. I savor all sorts of favorite smells—not to mention being sensitive to all sorts of smells that make me sneeze. But I don't sniff books. I don't think of them in terms of odor. I'll walk into a flower shop, a bakery, or a leather shop, inhale, and say to myself, "Ummm, it smells so good in here." I only do that with bookstores if they have coffee shops in them.

Of course, I don't get the thrill of that famous new car smell, either. Once, when my late husband's construction company had just bought a brand-new crew cab pickup, we drove it up into the hills for a family picnic. By the time we got there, I had a headache and the three kids in the back seat (including my daughter the book-sniffer) were all getting sick from the smell. Maybe the new car smell is more appealing in a luxury SUV with leather seats. Or maybe I've just never learned to appreciate it because I've never bought a new car.

Maybe that's my problem with books, as well. I don't appreciate the aroma because I don't buy a lot of new ones. Sometimes I browse in second-hand bookstores, which do have a distinctive smell, just like second-hand clothing and furniture stores do. It's easy to identify but hard to describe—a combination of musty basements, dusty attics, and closed-off rooms that haven't been aired out in a long time. Add accents of stale cigarette smoke and old perfume, and you have a definite aura that says, "other people's old stuff."

Mostly I get books from the library, and I have to admit a few of them have odors of their own. Cigarette smoke, sometimes, or coffee, or perfume. Once in a while it's strong enough to bother me, but usually I don’t pay much attention.

Apparently I don't care if a book smells like new paper, someone else's attic, or even new electronics. What I do care about is the smells, sounds, tastes, and emotions that skilled authors create. Smell the paper? Never mind. I'm too busy sniffing out the story.

Categories: Just For Fun, Living Consciously | Tags: ebooks, ereader, Kindle, new car smell, Nook, Twilight books | 1 Comment

The Luck of the Pot

Posted on March 18, 2011 by Kathleen Fox

It was a near-crisis. The situation was unprecedented as well as acutely embarrassing. The president had to open a public event by making a humiliating announcement.

She had the courage to be blunt. "I hate to say this, but we just barely have enough food to go around, so please don't help yourselves too liberally."

The public event was last month's regular potluck dinner of an organization we belong to. For the first time in institutional memory, the members had failed to bring an abundance of food. The president showed her leadership skills, though, both in her public announcement and in her resource management. As she explained after the meal, "The only dessert was one pie, so I just moved a couple of Jell-O salads to that end of the table."

Fortunately, such an occurrence is rare. Whether it's a church supper, a club's regular meeting, or a get-together with friends, potlucks are an easy way to feed a group. Everybody shares the work, everybody shares the cost, those on special diets can bring something they know they can eat, and most of the leftovers—and the dirty dishes they came in—go home with the ones who brought them.

Of course, inviting people to a potluck without giving them any suggestions about what to bring does have certain risks. Sometimes meals are heavy on breads. Sometimes casseroles rule the table. I remember one occasion when everyone brought desserts and we had to order pizza just to have a little protein. And, of course, a discerning shopper can often tell what foods are currently on special at Safeway.

Sometimes a meal can inadvertently develop a theme. There was the corn-fed dinner where we had corn chowder, cornbread, corn salad, and homegrown sweet corn. We could have either filmed an episode of "Hee Haw" or opened our own ethanol plant.

Potlucks may not be elegant dinner parties a la Emily Post or Martha Stewart, but they do have their own etiquette. It's considered good manners to take a little of most things but not too much of anything. Eating your own food is optional. You are, however, expected to take home your own leftovers. Exceptions do sometimes occur, as when the person who brought that oh-so-rich dessert ruthlessly sneaks out the door and leaves it in the refrigerator of the dieting hostess.

Good manners and etiquette do have their common-sense limits, of course. To illustrate, here is a potluck logic problem. Suppose a hypothetical person whose resemblance to the writer of this column is strictly coincidental hosts a potluck dinner at her house. Guests have brought three desserts: cupcakes, chocolate chip cookies, and carrot cake (which of course doesn't count because everyone knows carrots are vegetables.)

The hostess eats one of each. She tells herself she is just going out of her way not to hurt the feelings of any of the cooks. Is she really being:
A. Polite and gracious?
B. Co-dependent?
C. Self-sacrificing?
D. Self-indulgent?
E. Just plain greedy?

All answers will be kept strictly confidential—especially by the hostess.

Categories: Food and Drink, Just For Fun | Tags: Emily Post, ethanol, Hee Haw, Martha Stewart, potluck, Safeway | 1 Comment

In The Bag

Posted on March 11, 2011 by Kathleen Fox

What on earth do people carry around in those things? Laptops? Library books? Walking shoes? Gym clothes? Small children? Litters of newborn puppies?

I know, I know—since I have to ask, I obviously don't get it. I don't understand the current style trend for huge purses. Maybe it's my lack of fashion sense. Or maybe it's my naïve belief that if you have something called a "handbag" you should be able to actually carry it, rather than needing to haul it behind you in a little red wagon.

These purses remind me of the magic carpet bag from which Mary Poppins extracted a series of improbable belongings, including a coat rack and a tall plant. (By the way, an Internet search for "Mary Poppins carpet bag," comes up with several places where you can buy a replica of her bag to use as—you guessed it—a purse. Sigh.)

I might have used a more contemporary reference and said these bags remind me of the magic bag carried by Hermione Granger in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part I. It contains, among other things, a tent the size of a three-bedroom house, complete with furnishings. But Hermione, being a sensible young woman as well as a skilled magician, was wise enough to condense all her camping necessities into a tiny evening purse.

I just don't get why these bulky bags are so popular. I suppose one might come in handy for defending yourself against a potential mugger. Provided, that is, you could manage to swing it high enough to knock him out with it.

My only other theory is a diabolical marketing scheme by a powerful cartel of chiropractors. There has to be a lot of money to be made from treating back and shoulder ailments of all the women who are hauling around half their worldly possessions in gigantic bags.

Most of these purses, besides being huge, are hugely over-decorated. They're covered with the initials of famous designers, or loaded with shiny buckles, chains, studs, and plastic ruffles or flower-like thingies. One day I noticed an elderly woman lugging one of these bags that had a big round design on the side. I couldn't quite figure out what it was until I got closer to her.

It was a clock. A working clock, with a traditional round face about four inches in diameter. It was covered with clear plastic to protect it, of course, which was a good thing since its slender owner was dragging it across the parking lot through the slush.

Okay, I suppose it might be convenient to be able to tell the time by glancing at your purse. You'd think it would be easier just to check her cell phone like everyone else. But of course she couldn't. She probably hadn't been able to find her phone in weeks. It was lost somewhere in the bottom of that enormous purse.

Categories: Just For Fun | Tags: chiropractor, fashion purse, Harry Potter deathly hallows, Hermione Granger, little red wagon, Mary Poppins | 4 Comments

Crying Fowl

Posted on March 3, 2011 by Kathleen Fox

This was too much.

At the bird feeder, we've welcomed blue jays, tolerated an oversized yellow-shafted flicker, and succumbed to the overstuffed charm of a persistent squirrel who is even now probably eating for three or four. But today was beyond what even the most generous sunflower-seed provider should have to put up with.

In the middle of the afternoon, I heard thumping outside the window of my office. It sounded as if a heavy body had plunked itself down in one of the metal chairs out there on the deck.

Someone had landed in one of the chairs, all right, but only to use it as a launching pad onto the railing of the deck. There the uninvited visitor was, perched in front of the bird feeder, helping itself. Okay, okay, I do realize that having birds come and eat at the bird feeder is sort of the general idea.

Except that this was a turkey. A relic of the Jurassic Age that had no business inviting its large, awkward, and ugly self onto our deck. It was busy gobbling food intended for birds that were much smaller, much needier, and, let's face it, much better looking.

I charged outside, broom in hand just in case my yelling needed any emphasis. It didn't. The invader scrambled off the deck, landed in the snow, and made turkey tracks. It hasn't been back—so far.

But this was the last straw. Or the last turkey in the straw. If it shows up again, I may have to replace my broom with a slingshot or a pellet gun and teach it an important lesson about manners and the English language.

There is more than one way to interpret the phrase, "stopping by our house for dinner."

Categories: Wild Things | Tags: bird feeder, blue jay, slingshot, squirrel, sunflower seed, turkey in the straw, yellow-shafted flicker | 1 Comment