FeeFiFoto Blog

More Power To Me: Choosing Green Power

I received a flier in the mail today from our electricity provider, titled "Choose Green Power."  Here's the gist:

"When you enroll in Pure Power, AmerenUE buys 100% renewable energy credits on your behalf.  Most households can reduce the same amount of CO2 emissions in a year as they could by not driving one car for 19 months (emphasis in the original.  Gee, sometimes it's just a little too obvious that I'm a former lawyer, isn't it?).  And they do this for about 50 cents a day."

What are Renewable Energy Credits?  According to wiseGEEK:

"While a consumer would ideally... purchase renewable energy for his or her home, this is not always possible. Renewable Energy Credits allow companies and individuals to support alternative power in areas which do not offer it directly...

Along with carbon offsets and other incentive programs, Renewable Energy Credits are part of a growing movement which acknowledges that even small changes make a big difference. By supporting green energy, consumers show that there is a demand for it, and companies can build more plants or accelerate production with the funds raised through the sale of Renewable Energy Credits. Organizations which promote programs like this hope to eventually see everyone's ecological footprint, meaning the amount of resources and space needed to support a particular lifestyle, greatly reduced."

This is exactly the sort of thing I've been looking for.  We compost.  We (try) to employ compact fluorescent light bulbs, although not without a certain level of drama.  We reduce, reuse and recycle, sometimes to the point of rediculousness (why didn't my SpellCheck catch that word?)  We I constantly prowl around the house switching off lights and appliances.  I make soup or chili out of turkey and chicken carcasses. 

But short of planting a wind farm or bringing in my own team of hamsters, so far I've been unable to reduce the impact of our actual energy usage, and it's been bothering me.  I can reduce my use of energy by turning down (or is it up?) the air conditioning and boosting its output with fans; driving less; turning off lights and taking the stairs, but I'm still using carbon that I wish I weren't. 

The estimated cost of this program for me will probably be about $15 a month; that's about four visits to Starbucks that I'm not making right now anyway.  I figure that people like me, who have $15 a month to spare (as long as I can keep it away from my son) must make the first move and set an example for our peers as well as our kids.

Next week we're planting bamboo.

Environment: Do you care?  What are you doing about it?

It's Time For Some Change: Kids And Money

Today both of my kids coincidentally had concerts.  Cupcake performed with our city's children's choir on a recruiting and community service tour of schools and a children's hospital.  Robespierre performed with his school band at our local Overpriced Amusement Park, after which the kids got to wander around the park for a few hours before the bus came to take them home.  All the kids in both ensembles wore black pants, white shirts and black shoes; they looked like little waiters.

Cupcake packed a lunch and a water bottle, but Robespierre was on his own for lunch at the Overpriced Amusement Park.  Admission was charged to his school bookstore account, but lunch, drinks, snacks and entertainments were on him me.  I gave him $50 just in case; I expected about $20 back.

Here's what he brought home:

When we were kids our mother used to drop us off at a movie theater on most Saturdays.  We saw whatever junk was playing: stop action Hercules movies; With Six You Get Eggroll; Boatniks; Plaza Suite; Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid; Star Spangled Girl; Cabaret; and the annual reissue of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.  If you've never heard of some of these films, it's with good reason; best not to ask. 

Tickets were two dollars; there were three of us.  Schpilkes usually gave us a $20 bill, and we usually spent the entire thing on popcorn, sodas, red Twizzlers, sour Charms lollipops, enormous chocolate bars (essential for a viewing of Willy Wonka) and SweeTarts the size of a child's fist.  Every week she'd ask us for the change; every week we'd hand her some coins; and every week she'd groan and swear that one day she was going to give us a $100 bill and see how sick we could make ourselves.

My mother always bestowed the worst possible curse on us she could muster: "I hope you have kids just like you, so you'll know what it was like for me."

Is this my payback?

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PS: While you're here, why not drop me a couple of your favorite blog titles for my reader?  Thanks loads.

Don't Hate Me Because... In Which I Get To Cuddle Babies

...I'm beautiful I got to cuddle nine-week-old babies all morning.  Really, you should feel sorry for me because, do you know what a burden it is to cuddle multiples?  My morning consisted of:

• Picking up one baby for cuddling and rocking,
• Picking up another baby and having to cuddle and rock two,
• Putting one down and rocking it in the car seat while still holding the other,
• All this while listening to nonstop lullaby music.

Meanwhile, I had to change a wet diaper, caress tiny heads, and smell that milky baby smell that compares only to the aromas of fresh coffee, mowed grass, new car and puppy breath.  I could barely stand it when one of them found a tiny hand and went to sleep with knuckles in its mouth.

Sheesh.

Pity me.  I have to do it again tomorrow.

Wordless Wednesday: Department Of Redundancy And Repetition

Who's In Your Reader? Tell Me What To Read

Image: TV Acres

I have to confess: I've been abusing Entrecard.  I signed up a year ago, early enough that my ID number is in the low 6000's.  Entrecard seemed to be an excellent tool for developing readership and finding hidden jewels among the mountains of fool's gold clamoring for my attention in BlogWorld.  I liked Entrecard; still do.  I dropped and dropped and dropped; it was one of the few situations when dropping something was actually a good thing.  I left comments and discovered blogs that give me immense enjoyment, like I Do Things and The Junk Drawer.

But I strayed.  Oh Lordy, how I strayed.

Eventually Entrecard dropping became all about dropping Entrecards and not about discovering new blogs to plagiarize admire.

But that's all changed now.  I've reformed.  I've seen the error of my ways.  I've completed a stint in rehab and I'm clean, I swear.

I'm ready to stop dropping on Let Me Show You How to Make Loads of Money Blogging 24/7, As I Rant About My So Called Insane Journey Through Life With My Hubby blog, just because they drop on me.  From now on, Entrecard dropping for me will occur only if I happen to be reading an Entrecard blog.  I've turned over a new leaf.  I'll be visiting blogs primarily from my reader.

Here's where I need your help.  I need more blogs to read.  Good blogs.  Intelligent blogs.  Funny blogs.  Blogs that I can install on my blogroll and in my reader and be proud to say: "I subscribe to these!  And maybe even read them!  Maybe!"

So lay it on me.  I'm ready for the onslaught.  Send me links to two or three of your favorite blogs.  There's nothing to win.  There's nothing to gain other than the satisfaction of helping a fellow blogger who's too lame indecisive lazy overwhelmed by all the possibilities to make these choices for herself.

What are you reading?

Anyone Want A Cute Dog, Cheap? Fine, But You'll Have To Catch Her First

My parents came over for dinner tonight.  As they entered through the garage, Miss Puppy exited.

I read, while researching Tibetan Terriers, of their cleverness, their stubbornness, their tendency to regard any instance off leash as a state-sanctioned game of Oh No You Can't Catch Me.  Our dog trainer (yes, the dog can afford a trainer, but I'm reduced to riding the stationary bike while watching The Weakest Link over and over and over) insisted that any dog could be taught to walk peacefully and obediently off leash, implying that what the dog hasn't learned is the fault of the owner, since there are no bad dogs but only bad, neglectful, lazy and incompetent owners.  I've learned to smile and nod agreeably in conversations with obsessives, and then ignore their preaching.  I'm not going to take the chance that the dog will bolt just as I'm trying to teach her not to bolt, so she's never allowed off the leash in an unfenced area.

 

Keystone Cops image from lawyersconveyancing.com.au

This is not to say that Miss Puppy has never bolted before, because she's small, quick, clever, motivated and elusive as a cockroach.  Occasionally she does get out, despite our strictest precautions, and we've developed a sort of klutzy tag team chase sequence.  One of the kids shoots me a piece of turkey or cheese while I lumber up the street tracking Miss Puppy on her usual rounds:

• Through the woods to the next door neighbors' on the prowl for their cockapoo
• Then to the next house in search of a treat
• Finally to the house at the top of the street to visit the miniature dachshund she loves to torment

Usually she stops there to bark at the door and insist Sophia come out and let herself be bowled over, and I have a chance to sneak up behind her and grab some puppy body part. But today it was drizzling so nobody was outside to distract her; meanwhile, Robey had given chase, and see above: Oh No You Can't Catch Me.

Miss Puppy made it all the way to and across the street, trailed by a near-hysterical boy visualizing his dog flat as a pancake in traffic; fortunately Sunday afternoon in our neighborhood = no traffic, so she made it across the street unpancaked, and he followed.

As I reached the top of the street he hollered that she was behind a house harassing a big dog that lived there.  I ran around to the back, cookie in hand, and saw a polite and baffled husky hovering confusedly over the small, furry, presumptuous thing helping herself to his food without so much as a Thank You.

When I was a kid our neighbors on each side had dogs.  To our left was Alfie, an Airedale Terrier, and to our right was Archie, a Standard Poodle.  Alfie was friendly and calm, while Archie was possessed by the devil.  Archie chewed shoes, jumped on visitors and ran away at every opportunity, usually making a beeline for Alfie to torment him by staying just out of reach of his chain.  But one day Archie miscalculated and made a pass that was just a little too close to Alfie, and the frustrated terrier reached out and bit that nasty poodle's tail clean off.

Envisioning a race to the emergency clinic with a bleeding, howling dog and the remains of her tail (why wasn't I concerned for my own safety?), I leaped onto the deck, flourished my Milk Bone, cornered Miss Puppy between a wall, a chair and her (unwilling) host's food bowl, and grabbed her by the collar.  Then, right in front of her incredulous snout, I offered the treat to the Husky and hustled her away while he munched.  Removing my belt, I attached it to her collar and marched her back home, where she was confined to solitary for the rest of the evening.  Every once in a while she'd press her black, rubbery nose against the bars of her cage and give me the puppy eyes, and I'd scowl back and will myself not to release her and give her dozens of ear and tummy scritches.

Love Notes: Telling The Kids I Love Them

A precious girl and a precious boy passed away last week.

I emailed both of my kids simple love notes; nothing more than "I love you.  Love, Mom."

Robespierre insisted I not do that; his excuse was that my emails slow down his computer, but I know the real reason is that he's afraid his friends will laugh at him if they see emails from his mother.

I don't care.  I'm doing it anyway.

I love you Robey.  I love you Cupcake

Photo Hunters: Purple

In memory of Madeline Spohr.

 

See more Photo Hunters here.

Photoshop Phriday: Week Three

Okay, you guys are killing me.  I didn't want to make Photoshop Phriday too difficult but you all have your thinking caps on so I think I'm going to have to pick up the pace.  Here's the next puzzle:

Here's a photo of a thing. The thing is recognizable, but the photo has been seriously doctored, since I've been learning how to use Photoshop.  Your job is to see through the modifications to identify whatever the thing is. The winner will receive a $10 gift certificate to FeeFiFoto.  I'll publish the answer and the name of the winner on Monday. Good luck!

Into A Nearby Telephone Booth: I'm A Hero Because I Heard Rick Riordan Is Coming To Town

They screamed.  They squealed.  Their eyes practically popped out of their heads.  They held each other's hands and jumped up and down.  Were there tears of joy and ecstasy?  Swooning?  Rending of garments?  Quite possibly.

What brought on this frenzied display of emotion?  Was school canceled for the rest of the semester?  Had the entire class won the lottery?  Was Paul McCartney dropping in for a private concert?

It was my announcement to the Cupcake's third grade class that Rick Riordan, author of The Lightning Thief and the rest of the Percy Jackson series, is coming to our public library on tour for his newest book (the last in the series).

For that brief moment I was a superhero.  Who knew it would take so little to impress them?

Too Soon To Tell: The Effects Of Limiting Television

Since the Grounding of the Television happened only last week, it's too early to know whether there's been any lasting benefit from the move.  Strangely, the kids seem to have accepted the sequestering of the telly without much resistance; on the advice of my sister I've allowed an exemption for the occasional baseball game, which made Robey happy but seemed not to impress The Cupcake, although she has willingly and surprisingly participated in our Let's Learn Baseball background lectures.

In the past couple of years, since homework and after-school schedules have become more demanding, we haven't had much opportunity for quiet dinners at home, and the temptation of television has made obtaining family time that much more more challenging.  Since the exile of the television, though, we have had a few more real dinners, along with some enlightening conversation.  One theme last week was "When I grow up... "  We must have been discussing the parameters of the television embargo and I asked them what rules they'd impose when they have their own kids.

Some of their answers were just as I'd expected they'd be:

• Bedtime: None
• Travel: They'd never, ever take a trip without their kids.  Ever.
• Trick or Treat: As long as they wanted, as much as they wanted
• Pets: hamsters, fish, dogs, cats, lizards, snakes, but no horses because they're so expensive to care for

And some answers surprised me:

• Food: Healthy, balanced meals
• Toys and Gifts: Not every toy in the universe and not every electronic doodad on the market (this from kids who nag broadly hint for iPhones at least once a week)
• Discipline: Sequestering in a plain, white, boring room
• TV and computers: Restricted

Were they sucking up to impress me?  Or do they really feel this way?  Have I actually made a tangible impact on their psyches?  And if so, how?  Because I need to know how to bottle and sell that influence, because I need the money.

Have you asked your kids what their parenting rules might be?  Spill it.

Wordless Wednesday: Sometimes It's Okay To Play With Your Food

The Space Shuttle, built from donated cans by Robespierre's 6th grade class.  Sixth Grade won first place in the middle school, and all the sculptures will be dismantled and donated to a food bank.

Wonder How Long He Wore The Lei Before Trying To Eat It? Bobama Comes To The White House

The Obamas got a Portuguese Water Dog puppy.  This means that within about six months we're going to see a lot of abandoned PWDs, that same way we see lots of abandoned Dalmations every time 101 Dalmations is reissued.  According to Wikipedia:

"[Subsequent to each reissue of the Disney films, m]any well-meaning enthusiasts purchased Dalmatians—often for their children—without educating themselves on the breed and the responsibilities that come with owning such a high-energy dog breed. Since Dalmatians were originally bred to run with horses, they require frequent exercise to keep them out of mischief. Many owners find themselves unable to cope with the breed's or the specimen's characteristics and cannot provide their dogs with adequate care. Dalmatians were abandoned in large numbers by their original owners and left with animal shelters."

Before buying yourself or your kids a Portuguese Water Dog, better check the breed standard.  According to the Portuguese Water Dog Club of America, PWDs are an "active, energetic, extremely bright and creative breed.  They are not a dog to just lay by the fireplace and doze."  And, according to a further, more tongue-in-cheek, description, the Portuguese Water dog is:

"An animal with a mind of its own, brash, and ADHD.  A dog of exceptional ability to manipulate people and its environment, and a strong desire to lead that makes it incessantly desire to be around humans that it can bend to its wishes.  If trained by a person with patience, superior intelligence, and unilateral focus, it will obey its master with facility and apparent pleasure until it decides to test or until it devises an alternative to try."

In addition to the risk that many PWDs will be adopted and abandoned by families unprepared to cope with their high energy, there is also the risk that puppy mills will soon be trafficking in Portuguese Water Dogs, resulting in indiscriminate breeding that perpetuates health issues and physical flaws in the rush to sell dogs.

If you're considering picking up a Portuguese Water Dog because Malia and Sasha got one, keep in mind that they have a large yard and an enormous staff to help them exercise and keep track of the adorable Bobama.  If you don't have the energy to chase after a PWD, maybe you'd be better off with a Clumber Spaniel, or a Basset Hound, or an Old English Sheepdog.

Photoshop Phriday Winner

Did you guess what the photo was?  Let me refresh your memory.

Here's the puzzle photo:

And here's the actual object:

It's a Russian Nesting Doll, or "Matryoshka."  In provincial Russia, "Matryona" and "Matriyosha" were popular female names, derived from the Latin root "mater" (mother) and evoking the image of the healthy and zaftig mother of a big family. Eventually Matryoshka came to refer to the nesting dolls modeled after such women and their families. The first Russian nesting doll contained 8 pieces: a girl with a black rooster, then a boy, then another, finishing with a baby in the center.  Some nesting dolls are devoted to historical or storybook characters. 

For much more detailed information on the history of Russian nesting dolls, click on Russian Legacy.

And our first correct commenter Mrs. Marine.

Now wasn't that just gangs of fun?  Come back soon and play again.

Photo Hunters: Triangle

It may be hard to tell from this slightly fuzzy picture, but this is a large triangle made by Robespierre, in a blacksmithing class he took at summer camp.

Blacksmithing.  That is just wicked cool, in my opinion, first that a camp could offer such an activity (what do I know?  Maybe they all do.  I hated camp), and second that Robey would be interested in something that requires strict discipline.  I mean he could burn himself up or permanently brand himself, but he takes it very seriously, follows the rules, and comes home with treasures like this one.  Which he gave to my father.  Along with the handmade barbecue spatula.  While I get bupkes...

Anyway, all I care about is that he enjoy himself.  Really.  I don't require any recognition...

See more Photo Hunters here.

Photoshop Phriday Week 2

Ready for a challenge? Here's a photo. Of a thing. The thing is recognizable, that is if you have eyes like a fly that can see infrared or whatever it is that flies see. In any case, I've altered the photo of the thing, and your job is to see through the modifications to identify whatever the thing is. The winner will receive a $10 gift certificate to FeeFiFoto. This one looks pretty easy to me, but maybe it's because I already know the answer.  I'll publish the answer and the name of the winner on Monday. Good luck!

Passover Starts Tonight

Image courtesy of Diana's Desserts

Happy Passover to all my Jewish friends, and to all the Gentiles out there who think matzah is yummy and delicious -- just be grateful you don't have to eat it for a solid week.

For anyone who doesn't know, Passover is a Jewish holiday that comes in the spring, commemorating our escape from slavery in Egypt.  Jewish families gather to retell the story of the Exodus so that we and our descendants will always remember.  Different aspects of the story are represented by different foods we display on the table and eat.  The youngest child present takes part in the service by asking four questions about the meaning of the holiday, and the rest of the pre- and post-meal service comprises the retelling of the story and an explanation of the various foods and traditions.

During Passover we refrain from eating anything leavened, including pasta, crackers, cookies, pancakes, cereals, and bread, of course.  Instead, we eat matzah, which is a flat, unleavened cracker representing the dough that the Jews didn't have time to let rise as they prepared to flee.  There are strict rules for manufacturing matzah, such as the requirement that the manufacturing process, from start to finish, take less than 18 minutes.

Even though we're prohibited from eating anything leavened, however, we've developed creative ways of working within the restrictions.  There are recipes and mixes for KFP (Kosher for Passover) cookies, cakes, rolls, pancakes, brownies -- almost anything you can imagine.  How do we do it?  With eggs -- eggs, eggs,eggs, and lots of 'em!  Mix matzah meal (matzah flour) with lots of beaten eggs, scoop onto a pan and bake, and voila -- Passover popovers.  Every Jewish family treasures at least one recipe for Passover brownies.  Passover angel food cake -- no problem.  Matzahs dipped in dark chocolate are mouth watering (although I'd eat just about anything dipped in chocolate anyway); and you haven't lived until you've experienced matzah brei, which is crushed matzahs soaked in eggs and then scrambled for breakfast.

So, Happy Passover to everyone, and remember -- eat lots of fruit and salads for the next week.

Wordless Wednesday: I Haz A Cheezburger

U no touch it, k?

Cold Turkey: Cutting Off Television

I took away the television.  Completely.  Open-endedly.

It wasn't anything having to the do with the television per se.  At the moment I took it away the TV wasn't even on, although it had seen some action earlier in the day.

Robespierre and I have been butting heads lately on issues of manners and empathy, completely typical for a mother and a 12-year-old boy, yet still distressing for me.  I understand that he wants to assert himself by the way he dresses or the language he uses.  I know it's totally uncool to kiss your mom goodbye in the morning (although, could he spare a wink or a thumbs up?  Sheesh).  These are not the things that keep me awake at night.

What does keep me awake is my concern that he might drift away from the persona I've tried to help him establish as a kind, thoughtful human being, a mensch.  It's okay if he wants to dress gangsta-ish or goth-ish; to him dressing goth is little more than wearing black and he looks good in black, so what do I care?  It's okay if he feels like cursing after stubbing his toe; I feel the same way.

What's not okay is failing to acknowledge that there are other people at home, at school, in public, who deserve the same respect and consideration that he expects and deserves.  It's not okay to eat the last of the ice cream without asking if anyone else wanted some, or to crank up the car radio without asking the driver and other passengers if they mind.  It's not okay to tirade at your sister for waking you when she opens the door to her own room because she forgot you were sleeping there.

Did he pick up thoughtless manners from television?  Maybe.  But that's not the main reason I benched the TV.

I turned off the television because it was sucking so much out of him that he had nothing left when it came to interacting appropriately with other people.  I don't mean interacting in a school / work sense, since he's not watching television at school.  I mean making eye contact, holding a conversation, thinking through a conflict in an attempt to come up with a solution that didn't incorporate the tween version of road rage.  He'd been spending so much time with the television that most of his interactions with me and his sister had become compressed, quickie versions of normal human interactions, featuring amplified emotions that bowled us over like a tsunami.  If he was angry, he was REALLY angry.  If he was impatient, he was ABSOLUTELY impatient.  I felt like I was navigating a minefield and the best I could do was keep my head down.

Not only that, but have you noticed how LOUD everything is on television?  Everyone is saving the world, or battling evil, and nothing ever happens quietly.  Don't believe me?  Refresh your memory with a clip from A Charlie Brown Christmas, and notice how serenely and quietly the message is conveyed.

It finally became clear that if I hoped to keep developing the great guy he's always been, I had to eliminate his main distraction, or at least temporarily disable it.  I simply can't hold his attention if it's being dominated by Nickelodeon or MTV or Disney.  Now, I might have a fighting chance.

The computer's next to go.

Will my experiment work?  What do you think?

Photoshop Phriday: We Have A Winner

Did you guess what the photo was?  Let me refresh your memory.

Here's the puzzle photo:

And here's the actual object:

It's a peacock feather!  Don't you just love peacock feathers?  And our first correct commenter was Thorne.  Yay! 

Now wasn't that just gangs of fun?  Come back soon and play again.