Tasty Legal Stimulant

Several weeks ago I informed you that I bought some Douwe Egberts coffee online because, well, apparently America cannot sell good coffee. My Douwe Egberts order arrived several short days after the sale - much to my delight.

At first I thought we might have a little problem. Sadly, the expiration date on the first bag of grounds I inspected stated it would only be good through March 2008. I only took the time to notice the date because there happened to be a “collectie” sticker on the front of the bag advertising that one could gather a collection of these game pieces from bags of Douwe Egberts to obtain one’s very own party china (for use at Christmas).

(And, yes, a Dutch person really could collect enough stickers from 5 kilo bags of coffee in a matter of months to possess an entire place setting of “party ware” due to the excessive amount of coffee consumed in the culture.)

(Oh. And, yes, I can still decipher the Dutch language, more or less, much to my surprise.)

I digress.

Since the advertisement was for products relating to Christmas, I decided I needed to check to see how old this coffee really was.

So, this particular bag expires this month. (Maybe this is why I got such a great deal on it.) After my initial bit of anger at paying good money for something that will only be good for another four weeks, I decided to lighten up. Heck, I have been yearning for this coffee for a year, so is it all that unimaginable that I might just polish off the entire bag in a month?

Now that a few weeks have gone by, we’ve hosted family in our home, I’ve had our Bible study group over a couple times, and I have rediscovered the enjoyment of a fabulous cup of coffee in the morning, I can report that it is, indeed, not unimaginable. The coffee now dwindles dangerously low.

Good thing I have that second bag, which, thankfully, does not expire until sometime later in the year.

All in all, I am most satisfied with my Douwe Egberts purchase.

The Neurotic Writer

I am currently reading a book, The Forest for the Trees, all about writing and writers and editors and book publishing. I know, I know: thrilling. For those of us fascinated by writing and reading, perhaps hoping to write a book and see it published one day, the book is highly entertaining.

Or disturbing. Especially when you read a chapter entitled “The Neurotic” and realize that not only are most writers suffering from psychological hang-ups and emotional instability, but the chapter is describing you.

I confess. I am a little neurotic when it comes to writing. Now that it’s out in the open, I might as well continue writing this blog.

Does anyone read this blog? I hesitate to ask because part of me really does not want to know who is reading this blog. Part of me couldn’t stand for someone to say I’m a horrible writer…or boring…or pointless. Well, pointless I could handle. Part of me doesn’t even want to put any of this stuff out on the web. And that part of me has always kept this blog under a “private” subscription. No random googlers will find this blog!

But then, another part of me wants people to read what I write. Maybe I should change the blog to “public”. Sometimes I feel great about what I’ve written. Sometimes I think everybody should have this plethora of witty verbiage available to them. Are you reading? Do you like it? Are you entertained?

Wait. Don’t answer that! I’m better off ignorant of my audience.

See?

Neurotic.

Open the Box

Admittedly, I have been using Pandora for many months now, but I have finally decided it is "important" enough to blog about. Since, you know, this blog is all about the profound, substantive, and paramount.

Pandora is an invention of almost as much import to me as things like egg salad, chocolate, vacations, and cars that get tremendous gas mileage. I can create my own commercial-free radio stations to listen to from my computer...without paying a single cent! I also use this site to take cursory evaluation of musical artists before actually paying money for their CD or MP3.

It's free! It's fabulous! Did I mention it's free?

For those of us with eclectic musical taste, Pandora allows the creation of multiple stations existing of one genre or a varied collection - whatever floats your boat. So, I can listen to pop, rock, country, jazz, classical, contemporary Christian, blues, Broadway, 80s, or swing at the click of a mouse when the mood strikes.

Check out the awesomeness! (Unless you already have, in which case, isn't it great?)

Update on the Dryer

I must let everyone know that while I am here indulging my need to write a blog, my mother, who is visiting me this week, is in my kitchen chopping up food for our dinner.

But, after all, she is my mom. And she might be a little bit bored. And I did really cook for everyone over the weekend. And it's been raining like we're about to have a second Noah's flood all day, so...really...what else is there to do?

OK. I'm not making myself feel any less guilty, so this blog will be short.

It's the least I can do. To be a good hostess, you know.

The dryer technician man came on Friday night to fix our dryer that would run forever with no heat.

It turns out it was a good thing a fuse broke and terminated the heating of the dryer. Apparently the accordion hose running from the machine to the outside of the house was clogged to capacity with lint. Also, our dryer was heating up to approximately the same temperature as the surface of the sun. If this had continued unchecked, the dryer technician man assures us the entire unit would have burst into flames, igniting our entire home.

And that, my friends, would have just MADE my horrible, terrible, awful Thursday last week.

I cringe to think I actually did call John last Thursday, after numerous interruptions I had made in his day to update him on the crises, and jokingly stated the house was aflame. Just because it seemed that might be the next terrible event that might occur.

Turns out that might really have come true if the fuse on the dryer hadn't given out and saved us from further disaster.

The dryer technician fixed everything, and my handy husband and father installed a new-fangled, non-accordion vent hose that supposedly won't get stopped up with lint.

I think it's safe to do laundry now.

But, right this minute I must go help my mom cook dinner.

Pull up a chair.

This is being posted a little late. Really, this is a story about one of my days last week. Hopefully the entertainment value remains regardless of the timing of the post.

I’m just going to pretend you’re sitting in my living room with me, interest piqued to hear all about my day. Because of course you would be, were you here. Or at least you would be sympathetic. Let me tell you why.

I have had A DAY.

You know, one of those days where everything happens in a span of ten hours. I’m convinced it’s a test, so after returning home from this all-day chaos, I decide I need to think of things to be thankful for. I did OK. First, you must understand why it is a task to think of the thankfuls.

I purposely go to the doctor this morning to get three shots. I suppose in reality I was only going to get two shots, but the third ended up being a necessary part of the plan. The plan being: we go to Ghana at the end of September to visit some friends we made in Amsterdam who are actually Ghanian and are now back in their home country. We are on the waiting list for the Yellow Fever vaccine, so I decide to go ahead and get some other shots while I’m waiting. So, I get my first rounds of Hepatitus A and B as well as a tetanus shot because I’m pretty sure I haven’t had one in quite some time…or ever. Oh, I jest. But it’s really been at least 15 years.

When I come home from the doctor, the clothes dryer in the garage is running. STILL. I realize I had set it at least 45 minutes before I left for the doctor’s office, and after being gone for an hour it is still going. I open the door and find a lot of wet towels. Actually damp towels, since apparently spinning around in a dryer, even with no heat, for hours and hours does do something to advance the drying process.

I decide to use my deductive reasoning skills and put the dryer on a different setting to see if that would improve the situation. Sure enough, 20 minutes later I have warm, dry towels. So, I put the sheets in the dryer. Unfortunately for me, I leave shortly thereafter and am gone for the rest of the day.

An unexpected twist occurs in my afternoon when I suddenly experience severe cramping like I’ve never experienced. I sincerely hope this is due to feminine issues rather than some bad reaction to the shots I received this morning.

While driving home from the pregnancy center where I do counseling, my car begins making an annoying thumping noise. Now, in my defense, the car seems to be running OK and traffic is heavy, so I really don’t want to go to the trouble of pulling off the road and then trying to get back into traffic again. I continue on my merry way. Once on the highway, the noise subsides considerably. I feet better about my selfish decision to keep driving home.

Until, that is, I park the car in the garage and get out. The rear driver’s side tire is completely flat. And I drove all the way home with the tire in this sad state! After calling John (who is out of town this week to boot) to tell him the bad news, I hang up the phone and finally realize the clothes dryer is running. Again – STILL. By this time, it has probably been on for five hours. I open the door yet again and feel no heat coming from the dryer. This time, however, the dryer has been spinning the sheets for so long that they are sufficiently dry.

My husband did a very caring thing by calling our road assistance number and getting someone out to our house within 10 minutes to put the spare tire on my car. (Well, he’s either extremely caring or feeling guilty for not being here on the worst of bad days.) The spare is on the car and I now have an hour to get to the Tire Center for a new tire. By the way, it turns out the tire is flat because someone slashed it with a razor that is now stuck in the tire. Great.

An hour later I am home with all four tires in driving condition and considerably less money in my bank account.

So, the thankfuls. Here we go.

I am thankful that the sheets, which were dried due to constant tumbling for five hours in an unheated dryer, were my last load of laundry for this week. That gives me several days to find a dryer technician (is there such a thing?).

I am thankful that the Advil is finally kicking in and I do not have to go anywhere else tonight. I can just lounge on the sofa and watch The Office. Oh no! The Office isn’t on tonight for some reason. No! OK, I’ll just pop in a movie.

I am thankful that the brilliant person who figured it would be a hoot to slash my tire didn’t have more time or energy to slash all four of my tires.

I am thankful for roadside assistance. And a husband who thinks of little things like calling the 800 number so I don’t have to change my own tire.

Living with the land

A few important updates on the natural world.

There is a redbud tree growing between the shed in our backyard and the shed in our neighbor's backyard (separated by a fence). Our neighbor bemoans the fact that he has made several attempts to plant a redbud tree in his yard, but all attempts have failed thus far. However, this random redbud just sprang up of its own accord in what anyone would suppose is not the most comfortable place for a growing tree.

Apparently this particular redbud is pretty happy with its carefree, although possibly shortened, life between the sheds. My more exciting news is that the redbud is starting to get...well...red buds! Spring is just around the corner.

Also, on my way out of the driveway this morning I gazed out upon our beautifully manicured and fertilized front yard (thanks to John) and was met with a veritable forest. Right there in my front yard! (Sans the multitude of trees, which, come to think of it, are really rather necessary for there to be a forest.)

OK. Maybe I should describe it as a woodland animal scene.

Right there in my field of vision two squirrels were scurrying around the lawn, a blue jay flew from a bush to our rooftop, a red-headed woodpecker hopped along a tree branch, and a bright red cardinal sat serenely on our planter box.

And, yes, I am quite proud of the fact that I do indeed know the names of all the woodland creatures congregated in my front yard!

Happy beginnings of Spring!

P.S.

While on the subject of little things I miss from Amsterdam and food options, I must admit I finally ordered Douwe Egberts coffee online. I have tried in vain to find coffee in the U.S. that I like after having experienced and grown accustomed to European coffee. I suppose what I really got used to was Dutch coffee specifically since that's where I lived. So after a year back, I have given up. I ordered Dutch coffee, the same kinds I bought at Albert Heijn and Dirk. My order is en route, so I will provide an update on the quality of my online Douwe Egberts coffee once I receive it.

Ode to Yoghurt

Sometimes I miss the silliest things about living in the Netherlands.

Oh, I miss the big things, too: all the great travel, riding my bike everywhere (except when it's pouring down rain...not so fun), the work I did while living in Amsterdam. These experiences I remember quite often.

But this morning I was thinking about yogurt. Actually, I was thinking about "yoghurt" because I was specifically missing the taste and packaging of the Dutch product. I know, how different can yogurt be from yoghurt? I even bought magere (low-fat) yogurt in the Netherlands just like I do here.

As I pulled the plastic tub of vanilla yogurt out of the fridge this morning to add to my oatmeal, I was wishing for some magere yoghurt (low-fat yogurt) of the bosvruchten (mixed berry) variety. I used to buy 1 liter containers in Amsterdam.

I have a prop: Hmmm. That didn't end up being as large as I thought it would. In reality, this is indeed 1 liter of yoghurt. Large quantities of yoghurt came in milk cartons. There was considerably more yoghurt to be had in one container than the largest option I can find in the U.S. Plus, the cartons of yoghurt presented numerous flavor possibilities. Here, if I want a lot of yogurt, I'm stuck with vanilla. Or strawberry-banana, which is unfortunately the one flavor I do not care for. Vanilla is OK. I'm just saying that sometimes I wish I had bosvruchten, or aardbeien (that's strawberry).

But even if I could buy fruit flavors of yogurt in the plastic tubs, it would not taste the same. There's something about Dutch yoghurt that tastes more natural. It's a little bit thinner, but with a richer flavor at the same time. Maybe the cardboard carton has something to do with it.

One thing is similar about yogurt and yoghurt: both are located in the far back corner of the stores I frequent/frequented. Although, it takes me about eight minutes to walk to the remote dairy location of my current mega-grocery-store, whereas it took me about 45 seconds to walk to the remote yoghurt area of my grocery store in Amsterdam.

When traveling elsewhere in Europe I would buy small containers of Yoplait. And let me tell you, Americans are getting the bottom of the barrell when it comes to Yoplait yogurt. OK, maybe it's because in Europe you get full-fat Yoplait yogurt. Whatever it is, next time you're in France or Switzerland do yourself a favor and pick up some Yoplait. It is yummy! It will take some getting used to if you go back to American Yoplait.

It wasn't Yoplait, but in Nice I bought some snacks at the local grocery store and one of the items I purchased was yogurt (not sure which brand) in a violet flavor. Mmmmm. So good! You can't find that in the U.S.

Who knew I would have this much to say about yoghurt? It is one of the food products I partake of almost every single day of my life. So, no offense to American yogurt since I am generally OK with it and continue buying and consuming it on a regular basis, but I miss yoghurt.

Sidewalk Sale?

There is a car wash I pass on a fairly regular basis while running errands. Yes, I do run errands…quite often, actually. Especially in an attempt to take care of my dear husband, who is working like a madman these days, and our home in his absence.

And since John has called a complete suspension of Home Improvement Store visits for the entire year of 2008, it is up to me to visit said store for certain pertinent fix-it-yourself items.

So, the car wash.

This particular car wash is set back a little off the road, surrounded by several other businesses (a burger joint and a cell phone store or some such), which are all much closer to the road for some reason. I can see where it would be easy to miss the car wash altogether as you’re driving by.

Perhaps this might help to explain the unusual, dare I say frightening, behavior of the man who, I can only suppose, owns this car wash.

Several week ago I drove by this particular spot in the road, and directly in front of the car wash, on the sidewalk, was a man holding a poster advertising the car wash, with an arrow pointing into the driveway.

Not so heinous. No.

But the man was yelling.

Or it looked like he was yelling. I wouldn’t really know, and neither would any other drivers on the road, as we all had our windows up and were presumably listening to our radios, or MP3s, or cell phones, or what have you.

Without the assistance of audio, the visual was rather shocking. The little man was jabbing his hand in the air toward the driveway of the car wash while yelling and jumping around. His facial expression conveyed either anger or disgust, I can’t decide which.

When I first glanced over at the angry, jumpy man I thought surely I was doing something wrong or somehow offending him.

Or maybe the car wash was aflame and he was trying to get my attention to call 911.

As I pulled up to the stop light, I took a gander in my rearview mirror and discovered that the man with the poster was still in the same state: yelling, jabbing, jumping.

Wow.

He must be doing this on purpose.

Surely he understands that no one can hear anything he is yelling. That he just looks angry. That he is surely losing his voice everyday for no reason. That he’s scaring the general public.

But apparently he does not. I have driven by the area several times since that day. He continues to stand on the sidewalk, poster in hand, scaring drivers.

I normally do not use car washes myself. We prefer the old-fashioned “hose and bucket of soapy water” method around here. But I must say, if I had to use a car wash, the angry man makes me extremely disinclined to use that particular car wash. I mean, I’m just saying…

An alternative marketing technique seems to be in order here.

Laugh Out Loud Funny

Some days you really need a good laugh. Normally John provides the hilarity in my life, but he's out of town this week. And I am apparently not that funny...at least to myself as I sit here with my own thoughts. However, I read some "laugh til you cry" blogs this evening, and even though I feel like I'm cheating writing an entire post just to let you know about these hilarious posts on other people's blogs, I thought I would just share the wealth of laughter anyway.

Be warned: if you have small children sleeping in your house you may need to wait to read these until such time as your hysterical laughter will not awake anyone.

One post involves the horror of buying new jeans, and who can not relate to that? The other relays instruction on how to stop a monkey attack, something we could all learn from, don't ya think?

Enjoy!

"Second-Chance" Prom

I don’t know about you, but my high school prom was not my greatest memory of high school.

Ask anyone ten or 20, or even 30 years out of high school what their memories of prom are. Go ahead. Chances are either the event was extremely horrible or relatively unmemorable. Definitely not the greatest thing about high school.

In an unexpected turn of events, the junior class of a local high school hosted a “second-chance" prom to raise money for their high school prom.

You read that right: hosting a prom to make money for prom.

Hmmm. Think about that one a minute.

Basically, to make a profit on this “second-chance” prom, these high school students have to put on a really cheap dance in the school cafeteria…more like a “second-class” prom, if you will. Maybe throw up some crepe paper streamers, blow up a few balloons, get someone to load up an Ipod with music from the days of yore.

All so they can have an over-the-top, first-class, (more or less) affordable senior prom. That they will either regret going to or not even remember in 15 years.

And who are these high school students targeting for their super-cool “second-chance” prom in the cafeteria? Well, of course all the unfortunate souls who couldn't get a date back in the day. Plus, all of us who are now married to someone other than our high school sweetheart and secretly wish we could relive that “greatest of high school moments” with our true and lasting love. Oh, and let’s not forget all those people who had such a great time at their own senior prom that they truly want to relive the experience one more time.

Let’s hope this really does become a tradition so these juniors at our local high school will have a “second-chance” prom to go to one day. You know, for that day when they look back on their senior prom, which they funded by throwing a prom, with either horrible memories that need to be replaced or such visions of grandeur that they need to relive the memorable event. In either case, it seems disappointment is eminent. I mean, how is a “second-class/second-chance” prom going to hold up to the magnificence that will apparently be their senior prom? That is, if the whole “second-chance” prom fundraising idea really did rake in the bucks.

In closing, I would like to add that my life is complete without ever attending another prom, and perhaps it would have been wiser for me not to have ever gone to a prom in the first place. Ah well…c’est la vie.