Maybe I'm missing the point

Tuesday, May 22, 2007

Fox News

“A small dose of the impotence drug Viagra helped hamsters recover more quickly from ‘jet lag,’ according to a study published this week in the Early Edition of PNAS.”

Okay, in a blog that is supposedly about growing older, Viagra is a perfectly good topic.

But what I really want to know is how did the researchers induce jet lag in the hamsters? Did they build them little hamster-sized airplanes and fly them around for 18 hours and then take them on a “death march” after they landed?

Did they make them sit for hours in tiny airport lounges in chairs that were more suited for – say white mice and not hamsters? How about making them stand in line at little immigration and customs counters while they chatted at length with them about where they had been, insisting that they must have Polish sausage in their little suitcases?

And is there any more leg room in hamster-sized airplanes? After all, they have four legs, not just two. Did they have to fight with the hamster in front of them about putting the seat back? And did hamster children kick their seatbacks from Greenland to Ireland? I’ll bet they forgot about the dog under the seat.

And what about food? What would be the airline equivalent of Hamster pellets?

IMWTK

The family that cooks together, part 2

No, we haven’t prepared the frittata yet, but I have done something which is probably a lot more fun! Begun baking no fuss, no muss, no kneading bread. The food editor for the New York Times published the recipe a few months ago and it has created quite a stir in the blogosphere. The Statesman published an article about it recently, so I gave it a try.

Now I’ve tried my hand at bread before. I turned out a couple of world-class Challa loaves several years back. A LOT of work. Then we inherited Mom and Pop’s bread machine and I have used it to produce a number of loaves. I suppose it is the epitome of no fuss, no muss; just dump a box of bread mix in, add yeast and water and turn that puppy on. But it’s not as much fun as knead-less bread and it certainly doesn’t have the character. We’re talking crunchy crust, soft-centered artisan bread here. It looks like a European-style boule, not something that came out of a coffee can.

The secret is to mix the ingredients, let it sit for 18 or more hours, and then bake it in a covered dish. Here’s The original NY Times article. The “related” reference on the left of the page is also interesting. Here’s a website that has step-by-step photos that explain it pretty well. My experience differs a little from the web site. I first used 1 5/8 cup of water (the amount called for in the original recipe) but it was pretty sloppy to work with and I saw others were using only 1 ½ cups of water. I tried that, but thought the mix too dry. I’m at slightly less than 1 5/8 cups of water now. Secondly, my mix has never bubbled like that in the photo! That’s scary! And I have used a towel – no problem if you flour it sufficiently. I bake my bread at 450 degrees in a covered enamel pan that we bought for this purpose. Some use the insert for a crock pot with a cookie sheet lid.

Perhaps my biggest problem with this bread is knowing when to start it. I finally figured out that I need to decide when I want the bread available for eating and back up one or two hours and start the process 24 hours prior to that time. Eighteen hours to rise, three and a quarter hours to fold and rest, another 45 minutes or so to bake and an hour to cool. So, if I want the bread cool for supper at six o’clock, I should start my preparations at five o’clock the previous day and plan that the last four or so hours before eating are when most of the activity takes place. However, I have read that the rising time is very flexible and some have gone 24 hours with no problems.

And then there is the problem of getting the dough plopped into the pan. Since the pan is already hot, if the bread lands unevenly – say halfway up the side of the pan – that’s where it stays to cook. The articles say don’t sweat it – it is artisan bread. It’s supposed to look hand-made. Hand-tossed may be a better description of some of my efforts.

Another minor issue has been keeping the bread fresh; it's a pound and a half loaf and we simply don't eat that much bread. A Zip-Loc bag is definately a no-no; if you stand it on the cut edge like the web site article says then it really needs to be covered well. I'm trying the paper bag solution now; maybe I'll try freezing part of it. The best solution may be to eat it fast, while it's fresh. Bon Apetite!

How many weddings?

I wish I had kept a record of how many weddings I have done the sound and music for over the years. At a guess of 5 a year for the last two-plus decades the count would be over 100 – but I suspect it is far more than that. I know I did weddings when I was still in college, and the company I was with back then even flew me to the Rio Grand valley in a chartered plane to do sound for the wedding for a very important client’s daughter.

Most were at Brentwood, where I racked up 19 years of being the “sound guy.” When we moved to Westover, I let it be known that I was wedding’d out, and I have done relatively few in the last few years, but one thing led to another and I found myself behind the console again a couple of weeks ago taking care of the sound for Paul’s wedding. Paul is one of our missionaries to Brazil, and to no one’s surprise he became enamored with a lovely Brazilian girl and after a long struggle to get the proper visas for her to come to the states they were married this weekend.

Actually, they were married again this weekend. For reasons more bureaucratic than romantic, they were married in Brazil in a civil ceremony a few weeks ago. This stateside wedding, among friends and family, was “the real thing” according to Paul. That the couple was already married was a first for me, but it was not the only unique aspect to this ceremony. Ana, the bride, does not speak English, and there were long pauses throughout the service while Paul quietly interpreted what was being said for Ana’s benefit. Rick, our Family and Youth Minister, gamely read Ana her repeat-after-me vows in Portuguese. She smiled at a few of his gaffes, but they got it done. And she did say “I do” in English.

JoEllis, Rick’s wife, was the wedding coordinator, and she was standing by me at one point in the rehearsal when I started the processional. She said that the music always gave her Goose bumps; I said the music always made me cry. After many more than 100 weddings, I still get emotional. It affected me the most as the time drew nearer for the weddings of my own children, but even now – years later – I have to hold back the tears. Actually I did okay this time up to a certain point.

Aaron and Jessica, a young couple at Westover were both in the wedding party, and were appropriately paired with each other. They have a cute little blond-headed girl who was not in the wedding, so while Mom and Dad were busy rehearsing she sat up in the riser section and played church. She would turn to a page in the song book and then sing (loudly) a made-up song, with a sprinkling of more familiar lyrics that she might have learned in the nursery class, or at home.

This worked well for a while, but when she noticed Mom and Dad walking down the aisle arm-in-arm, and that struck her as a good idea. She hopped down and caught up with Dad and reached up for his arm. Aaron took her hand, but that wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted him to take her arm in his, like he had her Moms and escort her down the aisle. So he did. And I thought, “Oh Aaron, Aaron. You have no idea how soon you will do that again. And for real.” And that was the point that I really cried.

Is this the first crack in the wall?

"You know, if we had walkie-talkies or something like that I wouldn't
have to walk so far to tell you something."

The official retirement party

I have worked at three companies in Austin. I was at the first, Sweet Publishing Company, for exactly ten years to the day. I was careful about that because I needed to reach that anniversary to vest whatever we called 401Ks back then. Ralph had sold the business and it was obvious that the company was on its way to Fort Worth, so I went to work for NP/C and was there for about 10 years. That company crashed and burned in the great real estate and savings & loan debacle of the ‘80’s. I ran the last payroll that company met, turned off the computers and the lights and went to work for Steve and Betty at RSI on December 1, 1987. I was so excited when I received their job offer I forgot to call them and accept. They had to call me back to see if I was coming.

Just shy of 20 years with RSI, I ended my employment on Friday March 30^th and returned to the same desk and the same job on Tuesday, April 3^rd as a contractor, working 3 days a week. Now if I could just convince them that that doesn’t mean I work the same number of hours compressed into only 3 days. When I told John I was retiring, he asked if they could have a party. I said, “A small one. Maybe like a happy hour, or something informal like that.” A couple of weeks passed and I pretty much forgot about a party until Barbara let it slip that there was going to be one – but she wouldn’t say when. Barb had a class on Thursday nights and she often left for class before I got home, but one week she said, “I’ll meet you at the office on my way to class and we can get something to eat down there.” I was faintly suspicious, but dismissed the thought.

I was in a meeting late that afternoon, teleconferencing with our guy in New York, when the office manager stuck her head in and said, “Sorry to interrupt, but Barbara’s here.” I said that that was fine; I knew she would have a book and would wait for the meeting to wrap up. “But she said she had a class.” “Yes, I know about the class,” I said, and returned to the business at hand. In a few minutes, the guy running the meeting said, “I have to stop now. We’ll resume this later.” And got up and left. I thought it odd, but I needed clarification on a couple of points, so I remained in the conference room talking to a co-worker. In a minute, she said, “I have to go,” and left.

Okay the meeting is adjourned. I got the message, so I decided to go find Barbara and tell her what was going on – except she wasn’t in my area, and there wasn’t anyone in the larger office. I could see people in the front foyer, looking out the door, so I decided something happened outside and wandered up front to see what it was – and wandered into my surprise retirement party.

Now a little background here. For several years, in staff meetings, when we would talk about problem areas, I always offered “Welcome to Wal-Mart” as one resolution. It became a running joke that I was going to go be a greeter at Wal-Mart, any day now. I even went to Goodwill and looked for one of the “How may I Help You” vests to wear as a gag at the meetings. I found them on EBay, but it wasn’t a $30 plus shipping kind of gag, as far as I was concerned. So I walk into the party and the first gift handed me was – a Wal-Mart vest. While I was in New York for a week, Barbara made me a vest. She said she had to go to Wal-Mart 3 times to get the details straight.

And here’s the back view.

John invited Steve and Betty and some other friends who were customers in the past and it was a really nice little party. I was surprised, and I was pleased.

A day or so before the party, I sat down and made a list of companies I had worked for while at RSI, and remembered 60 plus different companies. Big ones like IBM and Allstate Insurance in Chicago, and Nestle Foods in New York. And little ones like Moya Trucking and a one-man Farmer’s Insurance office. I mentioned the list at the party and before it was over, the count was well over 70 companies remembered. And you know what? There’s not a one of those companies that I ever wanted to go to work for during all that time.

Overheard during the Spurs/Phoenix game six

"That's the third commercial I've seen tonight that's aimed directly at the elderly. They must think old folks sit around and watch these playoffs."

The family that cooks together

It is no secret that we eat the majority of our meals at restaurants and fast-food emporiums. When I say majority, I’m talking in the 95% range. Maybe higher. When we both worked full-time that course was set early on following the discussion that went something like this: “I’ve worked all day and I don’t feel like cooking. Do you feel like cooking? Then where shall we go eat?” In fact, I think there is just a tinge of pride when Barbara tells people, “I don’t cook. No, I really don’t cook.” If you want proof, consider that we couldn’t get the oven door open for about two years. Well, it would open when the oven was off and cool, but once it warmed up it would not open, trapping whatever was in the oven in a bad place. We learned this on a very eventful Thanksgiving when the kids were here. Rob wound up carrying a hot oven door around until we figured out how to get it back on the unit.

Now I confess that there are some problems with this course of action; two areas come to mind immediately – cost and health. We rationalize the cost by thinking of all the money we save not buying groceries. I mean, have you seen what they charge for that stuff these days? And it’s raw! No sir, just allocate that money toward a good meal at Chuy’s. Now I agree that health issues are a little harder to rationalize. You can look at us and reasonably assume that we are what we eat. And that we are a lot of it. And you cannot pick up a newspaper or magazine without some health nut nagging you about what you should be eating instead of the triple by-pass burger. It begins to wear. I’m even to the point where I now only eat half my queso-slathered fajita chicken burrito, refried beans, Spanish rice and creamy jalapeno sauce. And save the rest for later.

So, now that we are semi-retired and have more time for this nonsense and in the spirit of eating better for less, last week Barbara took a shopping list for two week’s worth of meals with us to the grocery. This came from an article in Family Circle entitled “No-stress Weeknight Suppers.” I’m into the no-stress part. The article emphasizes “…two weeks of 450-calorie (or less) family pleasing soups, burgers and steaks, along with a rundown of all the groceries you’ll need.” Wait, there’s more! “Plus, there isn’t any waste. A bunch of scallions is used in both chicken slaw and sloppy Joes while a bag of spinach does double duty in a frittata and a shrimp dish.” How could we go wrong? Of course, the grocery section at Wal-Mart isn’t really a scallion, cooked turkey meatballs and arugala type of place, but who can tell the difference in little green onions and scallions?

Now I confess that I don’t know what a frittata is. I don’t think they are on the menu at Chuy’s. Not that I ever use the menu at Chuy’s. When the hostess takes us to “our table” and the waitress comes by and asks “The usual tonight?” you really don’t need to look at the menu. But I’m willing not only to cook a frittata but eat it as well, so let’s bring it on. I mostly slice and dice, because I never learned much else, but it definitely is a family affair. When the pots start rattling, I’m there! Okay, there is some truth to the fact that I better not be sitting reading the paper while Barbara actually cooks, but the important thing is togetherness. Bonding over the scallions and frittata – that’s the ticket.

Week 1: Tex-Mex Chowder, Stuffed Potato Skins (save potato for Thursday’s mashed potatoes, Skinny Cheeseburgers (on English muffins), Grilled Pork Chops and mashed potatoes (see Tuesday) and Ravioli “Lasagna.” Ummm, umm! Okay, the Skinny cheeseburgers weren’t bad. Grilled Pork chops and mashed potatoes are hard to ruin. I’ve sworn off all Chowders for the rest of my life. We don’t get to the frittata until next Wednesday. I’ll let you know. But, I’m out of time. We’re on our way to Poke Jo’s for some BBQ.

On being semi-retired

Last August, Neill, the guy who takes care of our 401K and 403B and WD40 and I don’t know what all else, said, “You can retire in March, 2007.” Excuse me while I kiss this guy! Barbara was already receiving more income in retirement than she was when teaching school, and my Social Security benefits would begin in March, and suddenly all those years of payroll deductions had accumulated to the magic number and we left Neill’s office pretty giddy.

In January, I told my boss that I was retiring. He asked if I was interested in doing contract work, and I said that I was, but on a significantly reduced schedule – like half time. I had already decided that I wasn’t ready to come home and wonder what I was going to do for the rest of my life, and since I didn’t have a lake cabin to occupy my time, nor do I golf or fish, I thought I could ease into this venture by working part time. The need for what I do professionally is entering the twilight years as well; we’ll go out of style together. I figure that there’s a need for my skills about another nine to twelve months, at least from the standpoint of my present semi-employer. Of course, I said I was going to be out of the computer business before the year 2000. I’ve been wrong before.

Of course, the real reason for wanting to work part-time is that I’m not sure Barbara and I can stand that much togetherness. You know, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. I know of early un-retirements under those circumstances. Homicide is not unheard of. She has her office in one end of the house and I have mine in the other, and she has long suggested that a sound proof room where she could go off and shut the door would be a good idea. Remember, this is the woman who used to call my boss and say, “Can’t you send Bob somewhere? I really need some time alone.” Well, her schedule at Austin Grad had her away from the house all day on Mondays, and she volunteered at her old school Friday mornings, so I arranged to work Tuesday through Thursday and it was almost like the before retirement schedule. We meet up Friday noon, go do our shopping, have Saturday to do whatever, Church all Day Sunday and signing on the ground, and then… then gloriously, for me Monday is a free day. Better than free, it’s a sit on the patio, drink coffee and watch the tomatoes grow day. You can do that in Austin for another week or two this time of year.

People ask what I do with all my time now that I’m retired. My standard answer is “First, there’s coffee on the patio and then there’s Oprah, and Ellen and Dr. Phil and those three women – and oh, there’s Jerry Springer!” The truth is I have never seen any one of those programs. What I really do (so far) is fodder for later blogs. Then there’s work. When my boss agreed to the 3-day work week, he didn’t mention that he still expected me to work 40 hours a week. The company is trying to meet a significant deadline, so I’m logging extra hours – and getting paid a righteous sum to do so.

A friend kept telling me that I should become a contractor. Now that I are one and am making twice as much money as I was as an employee and working half as many hours (in theory, at least), I wonder why I didn’t do this twenty years ago! Of course, there are the little things like taxes to be paid, and both portions of my Social Security deductions (I sometimes wonder if my deductions and benefits wave to each other as they pass in the night) and insurance payments (now there’s a blog subject for sure). But I’m having fun being semi-retired in Austin.