The simple life

This weekend, I shall be experiencing the simple life. Yes, I shall be going with D&C out to Amish country. No cell phones. No TV. No internet. It will be like stepping 1000 years into the past.

Some interesting things to know about the Amish:

1/. Only outsiders call them "Amish". They refer to themselves as "plain folk"
2/.Two key concepts for understanding Amish practices are their rejection of Hochmut (pride, arrogance, haughtiness) and the high value they place on Demut (humility)
3/. Weddings are typically held on Tuesdays and Thursdays in November to early December, after the harvest is in
4/. In the case of a death, instead of referring to the deceased with stories of his life, and eulogizing him, services tend to focus on the creation story and biblical accounts of resurrection
5/.The Amish stress strict obedience to their children, and this is taught and enforced by parents and preachers (personal note: we could take a lesson from this)

6/. The age for courting begins at sixteen (in some communities, the girl could be as young as fourteen) (personal note: is this because they get bored??)
7/. They can use thermal solar panels
8/. Disabled people are allowed to use motorized wheelchairs; electricity is allowed in the home for medical equipment
9/. Women wear calf-length plain-cut dresses in a solid color, such as dark blue or black
10/. Men typically wear dark-colored trousers and a dark vest or coat, suspenders, broad-rimmed straw hats in the warmer months, and black felt hats in the colder months

Should definitely make for an interesting weekend. I love learning about new things and new customs. WRM, would you like anything from Amish country? A nice frock, perhaps?

Yes, it's been snowing, BUT ...

(Pic taken from D&C's porch this past weekend)


I love the snow. Maybe it's because I'm originally from a beachside city that gets more humid in February than the sweaty crevice between a camel's split cloven hoof. So if I ever wanted to see what resembled snow, I had to trek out to the frikkin' Drakensburg mountains about two hours inland from my little beachside sleepy hollow of a city. And once I would get there, it would look like someone had just sprinkled the tops with sugar. Or that fun white powder that seems to be so popular in L.A. night clubs.

What I guess I'm trying to say is that while people around me bitch and moan about the snow and how it makes stuff difficult to do, we need to remember that snow allows us to do really cool, crazy fun stuff too. Like skiing.

As the winter falls upon us here in North America, much like a dog drops a turd in the park, the various ski resorts start gearing for all the little city slickers who want to escape the maddening crowds and head to the other maddening crowds on the slopes. And soon I too shall be doing this. For the first time. On skis. Going downhill. On snow. Not knowing how to stop.

But we do not have that much snow yet. Which is sad for I would like to:

- build a snowman
- have a snowball fight - and win
- go skiing
- watch people slip and fall (it's funny, I'm not sadistic)
- take photos and listen to my family back in the sleepy beachside city "ooh" and "aah"

Yes, I like winter. Winter gives me every excuse to be pale. And to stay in bed and take naps. And read. And drink eggnog. And more coffee than is humanly possible.

Bring it on. Let it snow, let it snow!

Just a little off the end, please

The story goes that Pinocchio began life as a simple pine log, and was given to a man called Maestro Ciliegia who planned to carve him into a leg for his table. When he began, however, a little voice cried out, "No, don’t hurt me!" Disturbed by the talking log, Maestro Ciliegia continued to carve the piece of wood, when again the little voice wailed its pain. Becoming frustrated and confused, Maestro Ciliegia eventually gave up trying to carve the wood, and gave it to his friend, the carpenter Geppetto, who carved wooden dolls.

As Geppetto carved the puppet, the nose began to grow. As soon as Pinocchio's nose had been carved, it grew with his congenital impudence.

Today, a friend of mine shall be Pinocchio, and a plastic surgeon shall be Gepetto.

Yes, my friend is having her nose tipped, carved, and sculpted. But because the procedure involves a hammer and a chisel to remove cartilage, it is more like carving a wooden nose than I first thought.

And like Pinocchio, my friend is a little worried about feeling pain. Luckily for her, this is not 1883 and the procedure will not be sculpted by a carpenter. These days, they use sharper things and afterwards, they give you happy pills that take away any semblance of pain and instead induce a state of euphoria. The constant tapping around the eyes, however, will induce a bruised look – much like a panda.

But in a few months, I’m guessing her nose will be just the way she wants it. Short. And not wooden. Like Pinocchio’s.

Friday night was Light Up night

For those of you not familiar with this concept - as I was until this past Friday night - Light Up night is the night where the city comes alive. It happens every year at this time.

It's been cold, it's been snowing, and it's been a little dreary. Slowly but surely, Christmas decorations have been going up around the city.

A large Christmas tree here, strings of tinsel along the street poles, and bright lights strung around buildings. And on Friday night, they all came alive.

People braved the cold and came out to watch the tress light up, to be the first to scratch the ice in the newly-opened outdoor skating rink, to bring their kids to see real reindeer.

Coming from South Africa, this is all still such a novelty to me. And this is why Christmas, in my opinion at least, is the most amazing, most alive part of the year.

Why do old things smell funny?

It’s amazing what you can find in antique shops. All you need is time, and patience because you can find yourself wondering around and looking at other people’s old stuff for hours, and STILL not find what you’re looking for. That's if you know what you're looking for in the first place.

That’s why you should not have any pre-set ideas of what you want.

This past weekend, I headed out to Canonsburg with D&C. They are avid antique shoppers and since I have never done the whole, “let me buy some old person’s things” thing before, off we went.

Canonsburg itself is a quaint little place, so it’s easy to see how they would have a row of antique shops there.

We meandered through the little aisles and the cubes of things they had in cabinets and on shelves.

D found an old glass thing that looked like a shot glass – until he explained to me that it’s what people used to use to swish water around in their eyes. How odd. Didn’t they just have eye drops back then? Apparently not.

The only thing I don’t like about antique shops is they smell old. Much like death. I’m in my early 30s so death must keep his distance. But standing in that antique shop, I could see him standing by the door. Scythe in one hand. Cig in the other. He throws back his head in a nod and coolly says, “Howzit, bru.”

*shiver*

I flipped him the middle finger and kept rummaging through dead people’s things.

It was then that I found a smelly 1916 edition of a Rudyard Kipling book. I know it was old because the title sounded like a Shakespearean poem. And it smelled funny. Age and odor for just $8. What a bargain!

Hanging from the ceiling they had beautiful old stained-glass window frames, at beautiful prices. $400 for a small colored window? Seriously? I can stop at the local stationery shop, pick up a few acrylic paints and make my own colored window. Thank you very much. $400 indeed!

How can you say "No" to this face?

Well, I didn't, and neither did two of my new friends.

This past weekend, we opened our hearts - and our wallets - and filled a shopping cart (a 'trolley' for those of you in far off lands) with dry cat food, wet cat food, dog treats, and cat litter. Big bags. Massive. Like if you had to empty them out, you could sleep in them if you so desired. But you wouldn't smell so nice if you did that.

Either way, we then trotted off to the local Humane Society where we did the Christian thing and dropped off all this food for the poor homeless animals at the shelter. The folks behind the counter were most grateful for the donation. And the heavens opened and the skies filled with the angelic sounds of harps!

We couldn't leave without taking a look inside the aptly-named "Cat Room". Inside the "Cat Room" were, well, cats. But surprisingly, not many of them. And mostly kittens. After about five minutes I demanded that we leave for fear that I would take away as many of these cute beasts as I could fit under my sweater (jersey for those of you in far off lands).

Should I have followed through and taken home a furry feline, I wonder what his/her welcome party would consist of, for I already have two of these fine beasts at home. The one would welcome the new addition, perhaps play. The other, well, the other is the demonic spawn of underground evil cleverly disguised in a silver spotted Bengal coat. Would she have welcomed the new addition? Hmmm, not so much. Not unless you consider hissing/spitting/clawing/scratching/biting/back-arching (or a wild combination of these) as much of a welcome. In fact, I think the new addition might not last beyond the night.

And this is why I did not bring home another feline beast. But my heart feels good for at least helping those others. Thanks D & C for jumping in and feeding hungry cats & dogs.