Improbable Things

Cheap Plastic Crèche

This post was inspired by a friend's post on shavings and dust.

On Sunday, some friends and I went to the Pope John Paul II Cultural Center (because, have I mentioned, I live in the most Catholic place in the US?) just up the way. The idea was twofold: (1) see a large collection of crèches, given that it is Christmas and (2) run the kids hard in the playroom (stocked with religious themed crayon rubbings and bells to chime). Maybe even catch up a bit, since we were all friends before kids and maintaining that is a dance we are still learning.

While walking along the line of crèches, we were of course oohing and aahing the diversity of styles. An assortment of interpretations: carved wooden figures of tall lean Africans in the Zimbabwean crèche. Pudgy round ceramic Peruvian Mary. Paper bark and coiled jute Joseph from Brazil. Each case held a personal collection of Holy families, labeled in the top left with the name of the collector. Each family had a discrete tag noting its land of origin.

The third case in, I looked at the first family on the shelf. Plastic, faded colors, the Crèchiest Crèche that ever did Crèche. Caucasian Virgin Mary in a blue gown, Joseph with a full beard, looking old enough to be Mary's father. The three wise men - one painted a black-brown paint to represent darkest Africa. One with Asian features out of furthest Mongolia. One maybe Persian, with his pointy goatee. This was the distillation of Middle America's dream of the Holy Night. Brought to us here in cheap plastic molded figures, right down to the poorly finished mold lines and sharp plastic tabs.

Origin card read: CHINA

China? As in "Made in China?" This was in no way a Chinese crèche. I paused, sensing a ripple in the force. Something was changing here. Sure, it was made in China, but this was an American Crèche, maybe THE American Crèche. I showed my friend, who also noted that it was odd and disconcerting to think that this was Chinese, when, it obviously wasn't. Cultural Dissonance.

The next case it became apparent what a dilemma the curators of this exhibit had faced. On the upper left was the name of the collector. On the upper right a single card to ID the origin of all the crèches: "American-style crèches all manufactured in China."

I went back through the exhibit looking with new eyes. Only two or so of the several dozen Holy families were both American in "style" and American in origin. Those few were labeled "United States." They were folk art style - hand crafted fabric or carved wood.

So the obvious first thought is to bemoan how the US does not manufacture anything any more. Let's skip that; it's a red herring. This isn't about the origin of the manufacture, but the dilemma of something being manufactured instead of made. The problematic crèches were all mass produced in glass, ceramic, wood or plastic. They were machine-made, designed by a someone, maybe in New York, maybe in Toronto, working for a US held company, made in a factory in China, shipped back to the US and sold to US consumers. They are global collaborations and may indeed be the last of their respective kinds still in existence. I'm proud of the curators for not glossing over this dilemma by labeling the Made in China crèches as "US", which is what I'm sure was the customary habit. To the collectors (who I imagine to be venerable old priests or Catholic university scholars), these crèches are dear and valuable. They are collector items and they are on display in a museum. And who is to say they should not be... but... but... somehow there was something amiss when they were juxtaposed with hand-crafted objects.

Were those two dozen crèches at heart Chinese? American? When the maker and the object are become distanced by an industrial process, do we lose the language to describe an objects origin? Based on our brief experience on Sunday, there is discomfort in this disconnect. Perhaps the desire to see a "Made in America" stamp on the bottom of our everyday objects is not simple national pride, but also a more subtle desire to think we are closer to the makers of our objects.

Random Wednesday

... where I don't at all chronicle the start of school, my birthday or the new tattoo. I'm capricious like that.

Reading on American secularism is making me want to shout from the rooftops, "No, it's MY America I want back."

I'm trying to pack lunches and plan meals better. Bill is my guinea pig and I just don't know if I have it in me to become a bento box mom. But I could start packing more creative tupperwares of food that might help keep us all healthy and wealthy a bit longer. 

I'm researching house painters and fighting a losing battle with ROUSes in the kitchen. One jumped from the top of a cabinet last night, igniting a murderous rage in me. So I set mousetraps before bed... and ended up catching a 3 year old this morning. I feel completely undone by the mouse infestation.

No one in the house has managed an uninterrupted 6 hours of sleep in memory. Weeks. Maybe months. This has become the new normal, such that when folks ask if we are sleeping better, I say a grateful yes and I mean it. If they assume that means we get full nights of sleep and are well-rested and clearheaded...I can only laugh. I've ceased having that expectation. Increasingly, I'm convinced that a full night of sleep is a luxury only a teeny tiny sliver of the population of the planet is rewarded with. The rest of us deal with night terrors, snoring, midnight feedings, random insomnia, sirens, alarms going off, smoke alarm batteries failing, bedwetting, night shifts, insurgent attacks, natural disasters, ... really, who on the planet gets to sleep soundly, safely, quietly all night long? It's a tiny minority of the 8+ billion on the planet. So I'm not sure why I expect to be among them.

Listening to an interview with the directer of OPM sent me exploring on USAJOBS which somehow ended me up on an aupair website. Daydreams ensued. An office. A desk. A task and a sense of accomplishment. Friendly co-workers. Coffee run at 10 am. Thoughtful conversations. A paycheck. The memories I have of working full-time have become as inaccurate as memories we have of idyllic childhoods. I've edited out everything that would make a good episode of The Office and just kept the sparkly unicorns and magic rainbows. 

Stay-at-home life has been.... ooky.

Unitarian-Universalists in the news - unfortunately

Unitarians
Originally uploaded by riddle.

I know we confuse and confound, what with the lack of dogma and the openness. But please please don't feel compelled to shoot us. If not for good reasons like it's wrong to kill, then at least because we are such a small minority as to be completely harmless.

NYT on High Fructose Corn Syrup

NYT blog posted a little blurb on a new study showing that HFCS turns things foods to fat faster than other tested sweeteners. I find all the nutrition data bewildering but I find myself trying to catch up.

This study may have a small test sample, but the fact that it had such a high confidence score actually supports it's validity (if I recall my research methods accurately). As we try and navigate the ever changing waters of nutrition, and as I take on the responsibility for my kids' nutrition, which I take more seriously than my own, this is fascinating.

I wish tho that they were a decade further along and testing the metabolizing of aspartame and, especially, sucralose, since these are now replacing the fructose which replaced the sucrose... it makes my head spin.

I like the comment at the end of the comments, given as advice to diabetics: Don’t read labels. If it has a label, don’t eat it.

That's not likely to happen anytime soon, but it's food for thought. And it encourages me in some of the small steps we have taken to get access to meat and eggs directly from farmers, piles of veggies from the farmers' market, homemade cheeses, and other 'whole' foods. We are not great 'joiners' in any sense and never buy any philosophy 100% (meaning, yes, we made pizza with an instant Pillsbury pizza crust last night and store-bought pasta sauce), but we are enjoying the challenges and rewards of deliberately choosing which processed foods we continue to enjoy.

Middle school(er) rage

I should start this by admitting that I am in a bad mood. I had angry dreams last night - dreams where I got mad and stood up and said so. The mood lingered into the waking hours.

So I had to run my husband's keys across town when he forgot them this morning. It was a blessing in disguise, because otherwise I would probably have remained a hermit at home, even with the wonderful weather. But once I was up and out, I took the Kiddo to the playground.

Our favorite playground is a few miles towards the middle of the city, but it's halfway between here and where my husband works, so it's convenient. I popped off there today thinking to take advantage of the great weather and the crowds of kids out on a good summer day.

I did not factor in the older kids. I get the impression there was a school group/camp group there, because there was a mob (deliberate usage, I'll elaborate) of 8-12 year old boys racing around the playground. This is a pretty large place, with at least 6 different play spaces and equipment designed for the under 2 crowd up to the older kids. I've never had issues with mixed ages or large crowd here. Until today...

The boys were out of control. They raced in all direction at top speed, climbing the slide, throwing toddlers out of their way, generally intimidating the mothers who mostly opted to escape their path. But my daughter LOVES that playset and when it was too crazy, she just stood there waiting for a chance. She's a calm easy going kid, one who pleases, so she just let them push her away when she finally made it to the top of the slide. My existing mood met my momma-bear protectiveness, took a liberal dash from my general sense of justice in the world, and I intervened.

I tried first to just note that they should not climb the slide when other kids were there. The didn't even turn their heads to find the source of my voice. I broke a huge taboo and touched a few of them - or rather they touched me when they careened HARD into my outstretched hand blocking them from running up the slide. Still, I was nonexistant, a ghost, as they dodged under my arm and continued on. There were 4, maybe 6, boys but it did not matter. They were responding with a mob mentality - if they all just keep on, no one could stop them ALL, right?

I doubted myself, Am I just a grumpy old lady with a young kid and no sympathy for the needs of older kids? I dropped this doubt when another small kid was drop kicked in the head by one of the boys... AND NO ONE CARED! Well, her mother did, but NO ONE ELSE did anything! The boy ran off blythly. (Angry images of Novak hitting that pedestrian swam through my head.) I was done.

The next charge I yelled. I channeled the few things I learned about high school discipline during my shortlived tenure in the classroom and I demanded they get off the equipment.

I'd love to say this had an effect, but it did not. Until their teacher (a bright young thing) came over and went on something like, "hey, guys, this lady has asked you 4 times not to climb the slide (so she noticed?!). If you can't listen, then we will have to leave, now try and do better. I think a little kid got scared (how about kicked in the head, lady!)"  and then some more that even to me sounded like the teacher in Peanuts. And they were off again.

So we left. And in the car, I fumed on what I wish I had done. I wish I had had the power to demand they get off the play equipment, then all of them apologize to the mother of the child they kicked, then leave. No warnings, no soft admonishions. These kids are older than that and if they have not learned some manners yet, then it's already getting late. "Kids will be kids," some say. Which is a way of shrugging and admitting that kids will be violent little beasts at times. It was a teachable moment... or it was just mob mentality reinforced as the best tool to defeat authority.

Middle schoolers 1: Grumpy mom 0

From Annie Hall:

Alvy Singer: I'm so tired of spending evenings making fake insights with people who work for "Dysentery."
Robin: "Commentary."
Alvy Singer: Oh really? I had heard that "Commentary" and "Dissent" had merged and formed "Dysentery."

We went to the Screen on the Green last night and I saw Annie Hall for the first time. I think the biggest joke is that Woody Allen claims it is NOT biographical. We saw (but did not do) the HBO Dance. It was the first time I sat and seriously thought, "Damn these kids today are just too weird." The baby slept in her stroller and we came home to air-conditioning... kinda...

Kinda. Because it's running but not quite cooling. So they will be back, like cheesy Sci-fi villains. I'll rewrite the story so they can be heros in the end if we get this sorted out quickly. I liked Johnny the HVAC Guy. He doted on the dogs and even danced some for WeeE. I really don't want this to end in villainy.

I also like the Annie Hall quote tonight because I caught up on some news today and it brought me around to a YouTube clip of Tucker Carlson frothing on MSNBC. It doesn't matter what it was about because, well, Woody Allen put it best. "Dysentery." 

Instead, check this out. Andrea Dezso's art is staggering and lovely and it makes me want to CREATE.

Outdoor Rooms::Ozymandias

On the same theme, but found a few minutes after my last post. This entry on Garden Rant is excellent. The crux of the entry is amazement that so many people think spending money on their lawn furniture (and water features, and sound systems, and more) will transform said yard into a pristine wonderland, as advertised in the Pottery Barn catalogue. Even though none of us have ever been in someone's perfect outdoor paradise, we can still conjure how clean, bug-free, and comfy it will be to lounge on our chaise with our mojito.

Or not. People are then disappointed that the outdoors is still, well, outdoors.

Man, it is easy to want to blame TV and magazines for selling us a form of lifestyle porn, but I'm almost sad it's not that simple. Oh yeah, and we can blame A/C, because we all know I love that rant. And car culture that keeps us from walking and compartmentalizes the day into trips. I like that rant too.

But this isn't a new sentiment. There is always this current. The Romantics (Goethe, Blake, Whitman) were in some way responding sceptically to the Industrial Revolution and the Enlightenment. Where has our imagination gone in this Age of Reason, they cried? It's time to go read some Shelley (the outcast because he was the atheist of the movement). Such is the hubris of man to think that our works, giant stone statues in the desert or waterproof sound systems, will somehow outwit, outlast or even distract the elements. I almost like the absurdity of the image of the NJ businessman investing $200K on his own thwack back at nature (hot tub, firepit, expensive furniture, all on the slate patio) juxtaposed to that of an ancient Pharoah (pyramid, stone sculpture, fountain, firepit, all on a stone terrace).

The sky isn't falling today any more than it was before. It's just a long slow process.

What Shrek Wasn't

This can't really be called a spoiler, because it doesn't tell the plot. This is the rewrite my husband and I whipped up in the car on the way home. The real movie was a huge bummer. The jokes were flat; the music choice was off... and the plot was such a  tragic waste. It was King Arthur, you fools! You had an archetype and you can't even follow the formula! But they recycled Charming as the bad guy and any good Grail Lit student knows that Charming is NOT the right bad guy for King Arthur. ::exasperated sigh::

My brief rewrite below.

TypePad help?

Any one reading this use TypePad? I could use a rec for a good tutorial. There are still very basic things that I can't make this do well, like default text to start BELOW a photo. I don't think I should have to code the html with two lines of <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />. And getting two photos side by side (the way Knitting Iris does so well) is an abominable task for me. And I link to Flickr all the time because linking to a TypePad photo album is totally non-intuitive and I haven't sorted out how to just link to an url of an image instead of having to upload it.

Really, images in this have been a hassle and without Flickr there wold be none on this site. It is because I am using a Mac? Is this just easy as pie (how easy is pie, really?) for everyone else.

Thanks!

Hating DC is so Done

When you walk into someone's home, it's impolite to go one about how much you hate the town they live in. If you want my business, and you've just driven from Centreville in the rain and it took you longer then you liked, please don't blame the District. Centreville is 45 minutes away on a good day, at 2 am, with no one around. On a rainy Friday, it's over an hour away. Accept that. It is not my fault nor was it the fault of some intersection on Rhode Island Ave. Stop being childish.

This was the opening conversation with a would-be A/C contractor last week. He was over an hour late (though his colleague managed to be on time) and instead of taking personal responsibility, he blamed DC, DC traffic, and DC cops. Would he have said the same thing to someone upon arriving in Bethesda or Potomac?  Would he have groaned, "Jeez, I hate driving in Old Town." or "Manassas is just so difficult. I never come here." or "How can you stand to live in Falls Church?" Do ya'll get the complaints too?

Because I think it's part of a regional DC scapegoat-ism where all things are worse in the District. I'm expected to be on time to all my appointments in VA, but a suburbanite coming into town can't resist the urge to snark at the District. I hold professionals, who by the nature of their job should know the whole region and not just the suburbs/exurbs, to an especially high expectation. That expectation: Don't bitch!

'Cause, ya see, we all gots problems. Alexandria has a polluting Mirant Plant. Loudoun schools are about to hemorrhage under falling tax revenues. Tysons is a traffic nightmare. We are all the same around here, folks. The District is the great big fish in the barrel. Easy pickin's. So cut me a break. I don't walk into other people's homes or businesses and complain about how difficult it was to get there or cast doubts on their sanity for living there. So don't bring it to my doorstep either. I think from this day on, I will politely call this habit to attention when people "indulge" in their gripe-fest. Even if DC does suck more (which I chose not to believe), it's still plain rude.