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This site is a member of WebRing. To browse visit here. Saturday, April 03, 2004 Whew! The end of a long day at the end of a very long week in which I've been from one end of Virginia to the other, with brief forays into North Carolina to pick up parts from my distributor in Greensboro. Next week is going to be a repeat of this one, I'm afraid. On the nights when I've been home at all, I dragged in around midnight and fell into bed without ever turning the computer on. Tomorrow, I have to finish up the paperwork for all the jobs that are due next week, and at some point, do some laundry. So much for political blogging.I did have one odd experience this week, the most hostile store owner I've ever encountered. I didn't feel personally threatened by him—no subliminal sense that he might suddenly go ballistic and bash me or anything like that, just irritated that I had to listen to his ranting for the better part of half an hour.He'd been in business for 25 years, he informed me, and no one had ever felt it necessary to inspect his store before. I smiled and said that probably meant he hadn't caused any problems. Nor, he said (paying no attention to my attempt to be diplomatic), had he been notified that he had to re-apply to participate in the Food Stamp program. I explained for about the sixth time that he wasn't being required to re-apply, that the law required every store to be inspected at intervals, that it was entirely routine, yada yada. Far as I could tell, it went in one ear and out the other without much pause along the way.He and the poor cashier, who looked as though she would just as soon have been somewhere else, both had to pore over my badge, squinting at the picture and then at me to make sure we looked like each other. Why had I come all the way from Georgia, he demanded, when he read the company address on the badge—implying, I suppose, that such a trip would be a waste of his taxes. I explained that the prime contractor was in Georgia—I lived in Virginia just like he did. That shut him up for a minute or two, until he realized that I was observing non-food items as well as food, and off he went again wanting to know why I was "looking at things you can't even buy with food stamps!" I patiently explained that some of the information I collected was for demographic purposes, and added "Statistics," when it wasn't obvious that he knew what "demographic" meant. He wasn't impressed.We finally parted company, with great relief on my part and continued muttering on his. He followed me out of the store and stood there watching as I drove away, taking note, I imagine, of my license plate number. The strange thing is that his store was well-stocked, brightly-lit, clean and entirely unremarkable. The few times I've run into this kind of attitude before was in a store where the owner had reason to be defensive or hostile, but nothing that I saw here would have generated any kind of negative comment from me. The weather cooperated, at least. It was one of the few days this week when we had neither rain nor snow, though there was plenty of wind to make up for the lack of precipitation. I drove wearily back through the Mennonite farm country west of Harrisonburg, soaking up the rural peace gratefully (along with a definite odeur de cow-pattie). In spite of encroaching new construction, most of this area still consists of large farms, with their century-old boxy white farmhouses, enormous barns and silos, and hillsides full of cows. Signs warn drivers to watch out for buggies, and on the street signs and mailboxes are the old familiar family names: Miller, Berkholder, Hershberger, Kurtz, Beiler. A Beachy Amish woman in dark dress and cap rode her bicycle along the highway, with a merry smile for me when she saw me smiling at her. If I hadn't needed to get on home, it would have been very tempting to just drive around for a while, but the pile of paperwork beckoned and I dutifully made my way back to the interstate. But I did reward myself for my good works by stopping at my very favorite of all time yarn stores, Orchardside Yarn Shop in Raphine, to buy more of the luscious Plymouth bamboo needles and some variegated cotton yarn that can be used as is for DK weight patterns, and separated into strands for fingering yarn. I have baby overalls and coordinating socks in mind . . . Tomorrow Nick and I will make another stab at cleaning up the back yard. The contractor who will be doing the driveway improvements is also going to grade the front and back yards, and I must have the clothesline, the lawn mower and various pots of things out of his way. My level of enthusiasm for anything but sleep is next thing to non-existent and I can't imagine when I'm going to knit. posted by Liz @ 11:43 PM | The template is set to display 10 posts. To see all the posts for this month, click on the month name in the Archive section RSS Feed PERSONAL Send email toliz at life-as-a-spectator-sport.com Home I'm a mother, grandmother, a computer professional, Democrat, Christian. I welcome politely worded comments and email, my spam filter throws the rest away, so don't bother to flame me WHY 'LIFE AS A SPECTATOR SPORT' "If you're lucky not to live in the gutters of a slum, but still can't afford to take vacations in the Alps, you're part of that enormous middle class who lives life through the medium of the television, further separated from "real" life by air conditioner, by automobile, by dishwasher, microwave and ice-in-the-door refrigerator, by automatic washer and dryer, and all the other appliances and conveniences that make it possible for America to live life at second hand. I'm not sure why Americans decided that televised drama was better than the real thing, that cardboard microwave food containers were an adequate substitute for real dishes, and their contents for real food, or that cooking, dishwashing and face-to-face conversation wasn't worth the effort and time it required. Someone fed this nation a plastic crate of out-of-season tomatoes and told us it was life and we took them at their word, and we're so much the poorer for it that it's hard to know where to start to list the shortcomings." I wrote this a couple of years ago, but I have to admit it's much less amusing than I thought it would be to see the artifical construct falling apart. THE NON-ELECTRIC HOME Cleaning, 1 Cleaning, 2 Cleaning, 3 KNITTING BLOGS Extravayarnza Knitting Heretic Mind of Winter Pie Knits Persistent Illusion See Eunny Knit The Keyboard Biologist Taleweaver's Ramblings TECHnitting Wendy Knits FINISHED PROJECTS -------FINISHED IN 2006------- Peruvian Cap Tutti-Frutti Socks Shelley's Socks Carol's Socks -------FINISHED IN 2007------- Chain Link Socks Baby Surprise Jacket Valerie & Friend Baby Bonnet Rainbow Baby Socks Girls Pixie Hood Mitred Square Heart Red & White Socks Coffee Cup Pot Holder Nubbins Dishcloth Garterlac Dishcloth Suede Booties Kate's Socks Norwegian Sweet Baby Cap Half Thumbless Mittens Red Mittens for Akkol -------FINISHED IN 2008------- SELF-RELIANCE AND THE FUTURE -- Blogs and websites -- Causubon's Book Club Orlov Food Storage Made Easy From the Wilderness In the Wake Listening to Katrina Survival Topics The Modern Homestead The Oil Drum Notes from a Hillside Farm -- Mailing Lists -- 12vdc Power Living on the Land Rainwater Refrigeration Alternatives Old Ways of Living POLITICAL BLOGS and SITES The political sites have moved BOOKS I'M READING How to Grow More Vegetables, etc. Small Scale Grain Raising ARCHIVES February 2009 January 2009 December 2008 November 2008 October 2008 August 2008 July 2008 May 2008 April 2008 March 2008 February 2008 January 2008 December 2007 November 2007 October 2007 September 2007 August 2007 July 2007 June 2007 May 2007 April 2007 March 2007 February 2007 January 2007 December 2006 November 2006 October 2006 September 2006 August 2006 July 2006 June 2006 May 2006 April 2006 March 2006 February 2006 January 2006 December 2005 November 2005 October 2005 September 2005 August 2005 July 2005 June 2005 May 2005 April 2005 March 2005 February 2005 January 2005 December 2004 November 2004 October 2004 September 2004 August 2004 July 2004 June 2004 May 2004 April 2004 March 2004 February 2004 January 2004 December 2003 November 2003 October 2003 September 2003 August 2003 July 2003 June 2003 May 2003 April 2003 March 2003 February 2003 January 2003 December 2002 November 2002 October 2002 September 2002 August 2002 July 2002 June 2002 May 2002 April 2002 March 2002 February 2002 Feedjit Live Blog Stats
Whew! The end of a long day at the end of a very long week in which I've been from one end of Virginia to the other, with brief forays into North Carolina to pick up parts from my distributor in Greensboro. Next week is going to be a repeat of this one, I'm afraid. On the nights when I've been home at all, I dragged in around midnight and fell into bed without ever turning the computer on. Tomorrow, I have to finish up the paperwork for all the jobs that are due next week, and at some point, do some laundry. So much for political blogging.I did have one odd experience this week, the most hostile store owner I've ever encountered. I didn't feel personally threatened by him—no subliminal sense that he might suddenly go ballistic and bash me or anything like that, just irritated that I had to listen to his ranting for the better part of half an hour.He'd been in business for 25 years, he informed me, and no one had ever felt it necessary to inspect his store before. I smiled and said that probably meant he hadn't caused any problems. Nor, he said (paying no attention to my attempt to be diplomatic), had he been notified that he had to re-apply to participate in the Food Stamp program. I explained for about the sixth time that he wasn't being required to re-apply, that the law required every store to be inspected at intervals, that it was entirely routine, yada yada. Far as I could tell, it went in one ear and out the other without much pause along the way.He and the poor cashier, who looked as though she would just as soon have been somewhere else, both had to pore over my badge, squinting at the picture and then at me to make sure we looked like each other. Why had I come all the way from Georgia, he demanded, when he read the company address on the badge—implying, I suppose, that such a trip would be a waste of his taxes. I explained that the prime contractor was in Georgia—I lived in Virginia just like he did. That shut him up for a minute or two, until he realized that I was observing non-food items as well as food, and off he went again wanting to know why I was "looking at things you can't even buy with food stamps!" I patiently explained that some of the information I collected was for demographic purposes, and added "Statistics," when it wasn't obvious that he knew what "demographic" meant. He wasn't impressed.We finally parted company, with great relief on my part and continued muttering on his. He followed me out of the store and stood there watching as I drove away, taking note, I imagine, of my license plate number. The strange thing is that his store was well-stocked, brightly-lit, clean and entirely unremarkable. The few times I've run into this kind of attitude before was in a store where the owner had reason to be defensive or hostile, but nothing that I saw here would have generated any kind of negative comment from me. The weather cooperated, at least. It was one of the few days this week when we had neither rain nor snow, though there was plenty of wind to make up for the lack of precipitation. I drove wearily back through the Mennonite farm country west of Harrisonburg, soaking up the rural peace gratefully (along with a definite odeur de cow-pattie). In spite of encroaching new construction, most of this area still consists of large farms, with their century-old boxy white farmhouses, enormous barns and silos, and hillsides full of cows. Signs warn drivers to watch out for buggies, and on the street signs and mailboxes are the old familiar family names: Miller, Berkholder, Hershberger, Kurtz, Beiler. A Beachy Amish woman in dark dress and cap rode her bicycle along the highway, with a merry smile for me when she saw me smiling at her. If I hadn't needed to get on home, it would have been very tempting to just drive around for a while, but the pile of paperwork beckoned and I dutifully made my way back to the interstate. But I did reward myself for my good works by stopping at my very favorite of all time yarn stores, Orchardside Yarn Shop in Raphine, to buy more of the luscious Plymouth bamboo needles and some variegated cotton yarn that can be used as is for DK weight patterns, and separated into strands for fingering yarn. I have baby overalls and coordinating socks in mind . . . Tomorrow Nick and I will make another stab at cleaning up the back yard. The contractor who will be doing the driveway improvements is also going to grade the front and back yards, and I must have the clothesline, the lawn mower and various pots of things out of his way. My level of enthusiasm for anything but sleep is next thing to non-existent and I can't imagine when I'm going to knit.
The template is set to display 10 posts. To see all the posts for this month, click on the month name in the Archive section
RSS Feed
PERSONAL
WHY 'LIFE AS A SPECTATOR SPORT'
"If you're lucky not to live in the gutters of a slum, but still can't afford to take vacations in the Alps, you're part of that enormous middle class who lives life through the medium of the television, further separated from "real" life by air conditioner, by automobile, by dishwasher, microwave and ice-in-the-door refrigerator, by automatic washer and dryer, and all the other appliances and conveniences that make it possible for America to live life at second hand. I'm not sure why Americans decided that televised drama was better than the real thing, that cardboard microwave food containers were an adequate substitute for real dishes, and their contents for real food, or that cooking, dishwashing and face-to-face conversation wasn't worth the effort and time it required. Someone fed this nation a plastic crate of out-of-season tomatoes and told us it was life and we took them at their word, and we're so much the poorer for it that it's hard to know where to start to list the shortcomings." I wrote this a couple of years ago, but I have to admit it's much less amusing than I thought it would be to see the artifical construct falling apart.
THE NON-ELECTRIC HOME
Cleaning, 1 Cleaning, 2 Cleaning, 3
KNITTING BLOGS
Extravayarnza Knitting Heretic Mind of Winter Pie Knits Persistent Illusion See Eunny Knit The Keyboard Biologist Taleweaver's Ramblings TECHnitting Wendy Knits
FINISHED PROJECTS
SELF-RELIANCE AND THE FUTURE
POLITICAL BLOGS and SITES
BOOKS I'M READING
How to Grow More Vegetables, etc. Small Scale Grain Raising
ARCHIVES
February 2009 January 2009 December 2008 November 2008 October 2008 August 2008 July 2008 May 2008 April 2008 March 2008 February 2008 January 2008 December 2007 November 2007 October 2007 September 2007 August 2007 July 2007 June 2007 May 2007 April 2007 March 2007 February 2007 January 2007 December 2006 November 2006 October 2006 September 2006 August 2006 July 2006 June 2006 May 2006 April 2006 March 2006 February 2006 January 2006 December 2005 November 2005 October 2005 September 2005 August 2005 July 2005 June 2005 May 2005 April 2005 March 2005 February 2005 January 2005 December 2004 November 2004 October 2004 September 2004 August 2004 July 2004 June 2004 May 2004 April 2004 March 2004 February 2004 January 2004 December 2003 November 2003 October 2003 September 2003 August 2003 July 2003 June 2003 May 2003 April 2003 March 2003 February 2003 January 2003 December 2002 November 2002 October 2002 September 2002 August 2002 July 2002 June 2002 May 2002 April 2002 March 2002 February 2002
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