We managed to get up to church in time to see the cross lit for the first time. The pictures Chuck took when it was darker were blurry, so you can't really get the effect of seeing it lit. But it is finally in place on top of the cupola. There were only a few of us there. The official dedication will be after the copper sheathing on the cupola is replaced and the scaffolding is removed. The old cross had individual lightbulbs. This one has "rope lighting". It's a bright beacon for the neigborhood at night. It is on a timer set to be on from 8:00 p.m. until midnight.

I knew the little buggers were smart!

When I made the appointment with Leo to come over at dinnertime so I could sign a contract and give him some money for the new skylights, there was nothing on our calendar for the evening. Now they're going to light the cross at church, and I don't want to miss it. If Leo is more than 30 minutes late, we'll have to reschedule.

Good grief! Now I'm a 6.3. If I go much lower I'm going to erase that thing! It was supposed to give me a boost. I actually think I'm doing pretty well considering that I'm not a geek. I think a digital camera has moved up from a want to a need, though.

I really wish people (which is half my department, at this point) who are walking cesspools of infection would stay home from work. I think that's why our company gives us 5 days per year called PTO (Personal Time Off). Please don't come to work and infect everyone else. Opening night of the play is only two weeks away, and I have to stay healthy.

Speaking of cesspools, the kitchen drain is backing up into the laundry tubs in the basement. Chuck says we have to have the catch-basin pumped out, which hasn't been done in ten years. The last time it was done was before we built the addition, and now the catch-basin is located in a crawl-space under the screened porch. He never gets too excited about getting this sort of thing done NOW, like I want it. He won't regard it as an emergency until he runs out of clean underwear and we don't have any clean cookware. He did, however, ask our plumber for the name of a reliable sewer man.

We're supposed to be getting new sidewalks and driveway sometime this week. This is a good week for it, because the weather is perfect. Which is good, because there's something else wrong with Chuck's truck and I've had to walk to work the last two days because he's starting earlier than he did during the summer, so it's too early to drop me off at work on his way. The truck has something wrong with the front axel, I think. We won't know until it's been taken apart how much it will cost.

And then there's the skylight issue. We got a new roof last fall, and I was hoping that would solve the problem of the leaking skylights. Well, all the other leaks have been fixed, but the skylights still leak. So we had the roofing company come out yesterday to take a look. It turns out that the guy who remodeled the room in 1991 put in the WRONG TYPE of skylights for the pitch of the roof in that area. So we're waiting to hear how much it will cost to replace them with the right kind.

Oh, well. According to Anne Lamott, any problem that can be solved by throwing money at it isn't a very interesting problem. Maybe that's why my weblog is only rated at 6.6.

Clogged drains, leaking skylights and crumbling sidewalks. Ah, the joys of home ownership.

Wine Anxiety? I didn't realize it was that serious. I don't worry about it. I just drink it.

Diana and Rick returned yesterday from a week in the City of Brotherly Love (Philadelphia, Pennsylvania), where Rick went to represent the Postal Workers Union. Because it was a business trip, Diana had to do a lot on her own, but they did manage to get some time to do sightseeing together. They did the usual historic places: Independence Hall, the Liberty Bell, and the historic village, where the people dress up and act the part of colonial Americans. They also went on the Ghost Tour.

A few years ago I went on Richard T. Crowe’s Chicago Ghost Tour. We have our share of spirits in this fair city. The most notable, I believe, is the ghost of John Dillinger, which haunts the alley behind the Biograph Theatre.

Illusion vs. Reality. Jamie Lee Curtis is not perfect.

I went to see Camelot with my friend Jim last night. I always enjoy Light Opera Works productions, and this was no exception. I especially enjoyed Robert Swan’s portrayal of Pellinore. I’ve seen this actor twice before. The first time he had the title role in The Mikado, produced by Light Opera Works in 1999. The second time was just a few weeks ago in the role of Sparafucile in L’Opera Piccola’s production of Rigoletto.

I wish Trinity Players would adapt some of the creative ideas for the sets that Light Opera Works uses. There was a very large tree in the opening scene that was made out of gathered sheer material around a lightweight frame. It gave the illusion of a very old tree with rough textured bark. Yet it was very light and easy to move for a scene change. The tree they're making for Finian's Rainbow is the traditional paper machè with yellow and green construction paper leaves. The background is regular flats with painted on trees.

Chuck had warm cherry pie waiting for us when we got home.

Boy, do I feel stupid. I always take pride in myself for not forwarding most of the junk that gets forwarded to me, but I couldn't help but send the photo of the shark and the helicopter to my son. And now I find out (via Rebecca) that it's a fake! Anyone got a bridge they wanna sell?

"80% of the time you can beat your competition just by showing up. More importantly, show up on time and with a plan. You have to know your prospect's strengths and weaknesses and be able to anticipate his or her concerns. Do this and you're a winner 90% of the time. What about the other 10%? Commitment to carry it out and execution. Nothing is more deadly to a sales relationship, or any relationship, than a broken promise. Whatever you say you're going to do, you'd better do it, and if you find you can't do it, then the price/service/delivery concessions better be so generous that the buyer is glad you didn't. Once you've put the other elements together, if you perform, or better yet, if you deliver more than what you promised, you beat the competition 100% of the time."

I've been listening to tapes of Harvey MacKay's book Beware the Naked Man Who Offers You His Shirt, and the above concept struck me. The book is about succeeding in business, but I think the same ideas can be applied to other areas.

I think my husband did a really good job of selling himself to me. He wasn't the first who had vaguely hinted around at the subject of marriage. But he is always on time, and he showed up when I was ready to get married. Not only that, he was the only one who showed up with a plan. He told me what to expect for at least the first four years, if I said yes. Realistically, no sugar-coating. And he had a general idea of where we would be heading together after that, if I said yes. And he was ready to make the commitment, right down to having chosen a date. I already knew that he always delivered on his promises, so how could I resist? And I've never been sorry. He's always delivered more than he's promised.

Fall Fashion Flash

"Plan for 1890s decadence this fall. Corsets in velvet and damask worn with chokers, crystal crosses and sweeping skirts make an office girl feel like a Russian empress."

Like I'm really going to wear underwear as outerwear. What are they thinking? "Russian empress"? Sounds more like something an s-m queen would wear.

Tomorrow I begin learning my new duties in the Journal Billing Group. I'll be doing that two days a week while still doing my current job until a replacement for me is appointed.

I dearly hope I haven't been promoted to my level of incompetence.

Elvis and Apple Butter

I heard during the week twenty-five years ago that Elvis had passed away. I remember thinking, "Oh, that's sad. I really liked his voice." But when I saw Jencey Lorraine on Saturday when we arrived to help make apple-butter, I saw that she was really distraught about the whole thing. She was totally and completely in love with him in a way I've never quite managed to be with a celebrity. Had every piece of vinyl he had ever recorded, including the "blue" album. Jencey was a displaced resident of Evangeline Parrish in Louisianna living in southern Illinois with her husband. She called her in-laws "Mizz Gloria" and "Mister Andy", which, although it was strange to my ears, seemed charming coming from her.

Back then, we were living in Mascoutah, Illinois near Scott AFB. Diana was four years old and I was pregnant with Will. We belonged to a group at St. John's UCC called the "Saturday Nighters". It was a young adults group, most of whom were married and had small children, although there were a few who were still single. The group made apple butter every year and sold it as a fundraiser for the church.

I was a city girl, so this was a new experience for me. The event was held at someone's farm, and everyone brought their kids. There was plenty of room for the children to run around without getting into too much trouble. The work really started on Friday evening when we went out to Eckard's Orchard to pick the apples and then brought them back to church to peel, core, cut and wash. I don't remember how many bags of apples, but I think we ended up with about 30 gallons of apple-butter when we were finished.

Then came Saturday. To make apple-butter properly, you have to cook the apples and the several gallons of cider that is added to them all day long in a copper kettle over an open fire, stirring constantly. This copper kettle was about three feet across and 3-1/2 or 4 feet tall. One of the men rigged up an old washing-machine motor to run a slotted paddle to keep the contents constantly moving. Of course, it still required that all the men stand around all day watching it and drinking Pabst Blue Ribbon beer. The women prepared the meals, looked after the children, and sterilized the jars, keeping them ready for the final operation.

About 6:00 in the evening, when the mixture was deemed thick enough, a huge bowl of cinnamon and other spices was stirred into it. The hot apple-butter was then poured into the waiting jars, any drips carefully wiped away, and the lids placed on the jars. All this was done very quickly, hence the need for many hands. As they cooled, you could hear each jar seal with a "pop" as the center of the lid was sucked inwards by the vacuum created by the cooling.

I've actually been assigned a line! As Buzz flashes his card I'm supposed to look at it and say, "You left off your title: Stooge for Senator Rawkins". I'm getting really irritated with the actors that don't know how to project. Every time they say a line Floyd stops and tells them to say it louder. He never has to say that to me. Of course, I'm a veteran of the pre-technology days. When I played Mammy Yokum in 1970 there were no body mics. The line I'm saying was actually assigned to someone else originally, but I think Floyd wanted to make sure this one came out.

And it's been officially announced to the cast that the party will be at our house.

The cast was tasked to address pre-printed postcards advertising the play for the publicity person (Annie) to mail. I limited my list to two sheets of address labels, which I thought was conservative. When I asked Annie for 60 postcards, she seemed surprised, and I saw her run over to Jerry and ask him if I could have them. She's so funny sometimes.

The whole rehearsal was spent blocking "That Great Come and Get It Day". Things are really progressing very slowly, and opening night is only a month away!

Chuck told Floyd that our house would be available for the cast party if nobody else offered. I wonder if I can clean the basement by the beginning of October?

We blew off going to church today and went the the Renaissance Faire instead. We hadn't been there in more than 20 years. The last time we went, my enjoyment was hindered by the fact that I had two children to keep track of. Also, it had rained heavily the night beofore and there was mud everywhere.

It's a different sort of theme park, in a nice natural setting. You have to be a little careful not to trip over tree roots. Everyone is costumed and speaking with British accents. Many of the visitors also dress up, some quite elaborately. Jugglers, dancers, madrigal singers and other minstrels abound. I bought a pair of earrings and a necklace in the "celtic four" design. It is supposed to be a symbol of good fortune. The double lines stand for friendship or love between two people who are separate yet together.

It pays to know the right people. L'Opera Piccola's production of Rigoletto was just wonderful. I went Friday evening with Bob, an old family friend who loves opera, and Mary, who will be stage director this year for Finian's Rainbow. This is the first time I've gone to one of these performances without purchasing tickets in advance, but Bob had called ahead and was assured that there would be no problem buying tickets at the door on Friday night. That is, of course, assuming that the Ticketmaster computer didn't go down. Which it did. When I got up to the window, they couldn't sell any tickets. While I was standing there wondering what to do, Sasha came up behind me with a handful of comp tickets. "Just make a donation," she said, as she handed tickets for three great seats in the center section. Of course, the opera company will actually come out ahead this way. I'll write them a check for more than I would have paid for the ticket, and Bob said he'd make a donation as well.

The weather was perfect yesterday for the J P Morgan Chase Corporate Challenge.

Yes, it was perfect, which made up for last year, which was one of the three times in the history of the race when the event was cancelled. I remember how hot it was last year, and how I had been careful to drink extra water during the day, even though I was going to be a walker rather than a runner. I was really looking forward to my first year of participation in the race. I was disappointed when I heard that the race had been cancelled, but when the electricity at my house went out during the storm at the time when the race would have been due to start, I was glad that I wasn’t downtown. The food that my company had purchased to serve to our participants was donated to a shelter for battered women last year.

So, as noted earlier, the weather was perfect this year, and I had no reason not to participate. Except procrastination. I was a last minute participant, who would substitute for someone else who had signed up and withdrawn. No problem. I was told I would get my number at the tent downtown. I had a little problem, after taking the "L" downtown, finding our tent. I guess I actually walked right by it. When I finally found it, they didn't have a number for me to wear. And the race was about to begin. They said, "Well, you can still participate, you just won't be competing." I thought maybe I would just walk the 3-1/2 miles anyway. The race started at 7:00 p.m., but I could still make it, since I was a walker and would be at the end anyway. I started walking towards the starting line. It was south of Balbo on Columbus Drive. I walked. Then I got to Balbo and had to just try to flatten myself against a lamppost while 14,000 sweaty runners streamed around me. These were the serious atheletes who had started out at the dot of 7:00 p.m. They had already gone south on Columbus to Roosevelt, west to Michigan, along Michigan back to Balbo and were coming over the bridge right at me!

There was a representative of Chicago's Finest at the corner of Columbus and Balbo, but he had more sense than to try to stem the tide of runners for me and a few other latecomers who only wanted to walk. So I waited until the "serious" runners were done and I managed to cross Balbo when the weekend warriors who were huffing and puffing came by.

At first I thought I would do the whole walk, even though I wasn't "officially" competing. I set the timer on my watch, just to see how long I walked from the starting line. When I got to Michigan Avenue, I was really enjoying the walk, even though I was alone. Chicago is such a pretty city. The plantings down the middle of Michigan Avenue are spectacular. I turned east on Balbo and made my way over the bridge, turning left (north) on Columbus. When I got to Congress, where my company's tent was, and I saw how far it really was to complete the race I decided to just go back to the company tent. After all, I wouldn't even be able to get a t-shirt at the end, since I didn't have an official nunber. By my watch, I think I only walked about a mile. Next year, though, I'll be a contender.

Several of us went out after rehearsal last night. It’s the first time this play that I’ve been able to go. Chuck, being a much more sensible person than I am, always opts to go home, and since we were operating with only one vehicle while the truck was being overhauled, I had to go home too. But now I’ve got my wheels back and I can be a party animal again. There were seven of us: Floyd and Annie, Jer and Ev, plus Tom, Mary and me. We went to The Melrose, which I like because it’s close to home, always open, and they serve fresh squeezed orange juice. Jerry’s banana split arrived without a cherry; Evelyn complained; the waitress brought TWO cherries.

About the play: Work has begun on certain elements of the set, notably a huge tree big enough to hide a ladder. Anyone not on stage was employed tracing and cutting hundreds of green and yellow leaves out of construction paper.

There are still two characters that haven’t been cast, and there are lots of absences at rehearsals. This concerns me a bit, but I know that Floyd’s plays always come together somehow, and I haven’t been in one yet that didn’t have its problems.

The words in “Something Sort of Grandish” have been changed from “Eisenhows-ish” to “Colin Powell-ish”. Cute.

Good news! My car is fixed and I’ll get to drive to work tomorrow. They replaced the power steering hose, which was not very expensive. While it was in the shop I had them trace the source of the annoying “clunk” that it had been making. The plan was to wait until we got Chuck’s vehicle back before getting that fixed. Almost made it. Anyway, the clunk was due to anti-sway bar stabilizer links that had rusted out. That was a bit more expensive, but still not major. Now I can run errands at lunchtime or go home if I want. What luxury!

Our recent car trouble and a story that Leslie posted got me thinking. I believe you can tell a lot about a man by the way he reacts to things like flat tires. The fact that such things happen is, for the most part, out of one’s control. Even the most meticulously cared for vehicle will still break down occasionally, and when it does, it’s really an opportunity for a man to demonstrate his true character.

I recall the first flat tire we had as a married couple. Our 1967 Ford Galaxy 500 was parked in front of our first apartment with a U-Haul trailer hitched to the back of it. The day before, we had driven the 300 miles, mostly on the old Route 66 (before I-55 was completed), from Chicago to Belleville, Illinois. The trailer had been unloaded of all our worldly possessions and Chuck was about to drop the trailer off at the local rental place when he discovered the flat. He still rates changing a tire on a car with a trailer hitched to it as the most difficult tire change he’s ever done. But he was calm and simply did what needed to be done.

That reminds me of another incident about that first trip to Belleville. I had gotten my driver’s license when I was 18, but since my family didn’t own a car I hadn’t driven any vehicle since the test three years earlier. Chuck had me take over the driving for part of the way, trailer and all, and he closed his eyes and went to sleep. He can sleep anywhere. This was easy driving. A fairly straight, flat stretch with corn or soybean fields on either side.

I was doing ok until I got a little too close to the edge of the road and my right tires went off onto the shoulder. I panicked and over-corrected to the left. Then to the right. Then to the left again. As Chuck tells it, I was doing submarine-evasion tactics down a two-lane highway, with a trailer fishtailing behind. Fortunately, there was no on-coming traffic at the time. All this thrashing around and my screaming, “What do I do? What do I do?” woke him up. He just waited until the car was more or less pointed in the right direction and grabbed the steering wheel tight so I couldn’t move it.

“All right?” he said. I nodded. I was still shaken, but he could see I had settled down. He said I should keep driving for a while longer. Then he took his glasses off, leaned back and resumed his nap.

And that’s the way it’s been for 31 years. He doesn’t do things for me that I should be doing for myself. He just calms me down when I panic and keeps me going straight and steady.

Thanks, Gordon. I'm honored.

Saturday was our grandniece Ariana’s first birthday, and my sister-in-law and niece had the party (you guessed it) at our house on Sunday. There were 40 or more people, more than half of which I didn’t even know. Unfortunately, my daughter was not among them. My niece hadn’t sent her an invitation in the mail, thinking that, of course, she would know she was invited, but she hadn’t called her, either. When Diana called me Saturday morning to ask if she could stop by, I said I’d be out, but I’d see her Sunday and she didn’t know anything about the party. My niece called and left a lengthy message on Diana’s answering machine, but either she didn’t get it or ignored it. In any case, she didn’t show up. I hope Aubrey can get in touch with Diana and smooth things over.

Saturday morning we had a memorial service to attend, and Chuck had to leave early to set up the church, since the deceased was the mother of the person who usually sets up for such things. He decided to take the bus to church rather than make me interrupt my cleaning frenzy to drive him up there just so I could get back home in time to get dressed and go back to church. (The Suburban was still in the shop for its ring-and-valve job).

Friday evening I had gone out to get a few last minute things for Sunday and noticed the car making a strange whirring sound. Chuck suggested maybe we were low on transmission fluid, something that was supposedly checked not two weeks ago when I got an oil change. The sound got worse and worse as I drove the three miles to church, and the car felt strangely unresponsive. I told Chuck I didn’t think I should be driving the car, and when he went out and listened to it, he agreed. So, after the memorial service he called Triple-A and had it towed to the same shop that’s had the truck for the last month. The tow-truck driver determined that the trouble is in the power steering, since the fluid was low and after adding some it was spurting out. It wasn’t until Sunday that I heard the story from a teacher of driver-ed about a student car with the same problem that caught fire.

After all this and taking the bus home we were somewhat late for the block party Saturday afternoon. But there was still plenty of food.

I walked to work today. It was sort of like a steam bath. Chuck called to say he has his truck back, so I won’t have to walk home.