Our Fake Fireplace

No, it doesn’t roar, and neither does it hiss and crack and pop. In fact, it sounds something like an electric fan, and that’s because it’s fake! But we really like it.

We got on this bandwagon last winter, and I think it’s a bandwagon worth getting on. We have a drafty old house, and a space heater for the living room is much better than cranking the thermostat for the whole house.

And the timing for our purchase last winter was just right: Sue had the flu, and I could feel myself starting to come down with it. So, knowing I was running out of time (“it’s now or wait until after we’re both well!”), I went to a nasty big-box store and got our little imported fake fireplace.



Drove it home in the backseat of my little Honda, wrassled it up all the steps to our second floor (where the living room is)—Surprise, Sue! Look what I got for us!

We pulled it out of the box, and . . . Oh, no. It had been damaged. The hole in the box should have been a clue that it might be damaged inside. But I’d been in a hurry. So back in the box it went; I worked it back down our steps, back into my car, and back to the big box store, where the employees helpfully assisted me in opening the box of another one (because all the boxes had tears in them) to check it before I dragged it home.

Got the new one into my Honda, carried it through the front yard to our door, and wrassled it up the steps again—and voilà!



Our fake fireplace is small enough there was no assembly involved—just had to plug it in!

With all that work, all in cold weather, my flu symptoms then came on with a vengeance, and it was compounded with strained back and shoulder muscles from all that wrasslin’ and liftin’!

But somehow, it didn’t seem so bad at that point to have the flu, since I could sit by our fake fireplace and warm my aching bones. It’s amazing how the image of a flickering flame makes a regular ol’ space heater seem not only warmer, but cheerier.

We haven’t had a TV in our living room for some years, now, and our fake fireplace offers a nice alternative—movement, a mild focal point but without the crying or yelling for your attention of a TV.

Anyway . . . it’s been really nice this winter, too, with all the snow and cold weather we’re having.

Now, I need a few more, for a couple of other rooms in the house!

Gift Idea: TV B Gone

Okay: Let’s say you’ve decided to go out for dinner someplace. Maybe you’ve been driving all day and you want to relax and get a bite to eat. Or maybe you’ve got someone you want to visit with. Like, an out-of-town friend you rarely get to see, but hooray, she’s visiting, and you get to have dinner together. Or maybe you’re lunching alone and are relishing the chance to collect your thoughts for the afternoon’s work. Or maybe you’re having an important conversation with someone, like a client.

And there’s this ignorant television hanging up in the corner of this otherwise quite nice restaurant, flickering and flashing, showing some godawful sad, sensationalistic trash, or some talking-head politics guy whose every word gives you a sour feeling in your stomach.

You know, television programs and the advertising they exist to serve are designed to grab your attention—the change of camera angle every five seconds or less; the rate of flashing; the emphasis on “big” (never subtle) emotions; the pacing of dialogue, the tone of voice. It plays with your monkey mind in ways you’re scarcely aware of—all you know is, it’s hard to get your eyes off the screen.

I’m not joking—and I do encourage us all to educate ourselves about television and how it manipulates our attention, feeds our thoughts, and (I believe) pollutes our culture and damages our democracy. To everyone, I recommend this book: Four Arguments for the Elimination of Television, by Jerry Mander. It’s not a new book at all, but what is says is just as relevant today as when it was written. If you don’t believe me, read the Amazon reviews.

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THAT was my prologue. The gift idea mentioned in the title of this post, now, should need no explanation, beyond this: It is a handy, keychain-sized universal remote control that only does one thing: It works as a power button on all different types of televisions. It is an “off” switch! Of your very own.

They’re about twenty bucks, batteries are included, and you can get them online here: Cornfield Electronics.

Look, how many times do I tell you to “buy” stuff? Never. But here I am, telling you: You will love having the power to turn off those offensive TVs wherever they may be: The doctor’s office. An otherwise decent restaurant. The waiting room at the service department at your car dealer’s. At the laundromat. Maybe even in the gate area at the airport!

Oh, joy!




I got mine and tried it out at Ruby Thursday’s! I was kind of worried a riot might break out, with people deprived of their TV teats, but no one even noticed the TV had gone black.

And yes, these would make great stocking stuffers!

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Special thanks and an Op Op Hurray! to Jane Phillips, who told me about this lovely product and reports great success with it in places ranging from restaurants to the DMV!

The Mystery Couple--Identified!

Hey, folks, the Internet has been very, very nifty this week! You know my recent post about those two old pictures from my parents’ slide collection? (Here’s the link.)

A review of the story: My dad was walking around in Westphalia with a group of graduate students, surveying the German elements of the town, and by chance they saw a newlywed couple riding out of the church’s lot, not in a limousine, but on the back of a manure wagon, pulled by a farm tractor. (If you saw such a thing, you’d take a picture, too!)

I’d never heard of this strange custom, so I posted it on my blog, figuring someone could help explain it.

I also figured that it wouldn’t be long before someone would identify the couple for me, since we knew the place and the year (Westphalia, 1964), and, judging by the trees, that it was around the middle of October.

And sure enough! You all delivered, and the couple was identified! Elmer and Rita Bax—and they’re still in Westphalia!

So naturally, it made my day when I received the following message from Rita herself:

My sister sent me an e-mail from Albuquerque, New Mexico, showing me the [blog] “Spreading Joy in Westphalia, Missouri.” Yes it is Elmer and Rita Bax.

We were married October 17, 1964. It was 90 degrees that day. I was raised on a farm. So the manure wagon and tractor was our ride from the church to the K of C hall down the street. The hall is now Hilke Millard Funeral Home.

We live in Westphalia [and] . . . I will be cutting pies at the fall supper like you said.

I laughed when I saw the pictures. I had forgotten about the ride. I passed the information to our five boys so they could enjoy it too.

Our neighbor Paul Crede was driving the tractor. I called him so he could see it. I was 18 years old when I got married. Elmer was 22.

I will be reading your Opulent Opossum in the future. We enjoyed the pictures and article. . . .

Thank you for the memories.

Elmer and Rita

Well, there’s nothing much I can add to that, except that I’m definitely going to the Westphalia fall supper so I can meet the Baxes!

(And enjoy some of that pie Rita will be slicing!)

Comments Deleted, Expletives Not

Dammit! I just accidentally deleted a bunch of comments--recent ones, really nice ones, too--from my blog. And there's no way I can get them back.

I thought I was just deleting them from an extraneous list of comments, but it turned out I was deleting the comments themselves.

If I deleted any of your comments, I'm really sorry--it was unintentional.

(Expletive, expletive, expletive, expletive . . .)

Union Pacific 844 Visits Jeff City

Well, now, you can’t not be impressed by this!




A vintage steam railroad engine, Union Pacific 844, is passing through Missouri on its way from Kansas City to Little Rock, Arkansas, reenacting the Little Rock Express—it’s one of Union Pacific’s “goodwill tours” of its historic steam locomotive.

Young folks, naturally, haven’t experienced the spectacle of a huge engine like this, with its hissing steam, enormous wheels, and the hot flame underneath. Even the rivets are huge.

This visitor was showing the train to some young fellows, who were clearly impressed! I show you the picture of this gentleman to give you an idea of the wheels’ size.





This machine is clearly something extraordinary. Yet, of course, during World War II such trains were the norm. As I reflect on that, I start to realize not just the importance trains had on the nation’s transportation industry—but also the incredible impact they made on people’s emotions; their symbolic value.

Most of us probably have at least one relative or ancestor who was connected somehow with trains. Maybe a great-uncle was a Pullman porter (at one point, that was one of the best jobs available to African American men); maybe someone in your family worked at a ticket counter, or sold concessions; if you’re Chinese American, there’s a good chance an immigrant forefather might have helped build the railroads out west.




The railroad industry was so big and so important, Americans of all categories were involved with it. Maybe your grandparents rode trains a lot, or had a farm through which the trains passed. My own great-grandpa was a Missouri Pacific line foreman west of town.

Before air transportation became the norm, trains were certainly the primary vehicle associated with joyful reunions and tearful goodbyes; or the line to opportunity—fortune, fame, education, the exotic, the unknown. To small-town folks, the cities where those unending rails led must have seemed as foreign and exciting as Nepal and Peru seem to us now.




And the blowing, hissing, chugging, million-pound locomotives must have intensified all those impressions, as they did for me this morning as we watched the train depart Jefferson City for whistle-stops at Chamois, Hermann, Washington, Pacific, Kirkwood, and then to St. Louis . . .

When something like this comes through your town, I hope you take a few moments to see it!


Special thanks to Op Op friend Jenice Taggart for cluing me in on this train’s arrival and the coolness thereof!

Op Op Selected Photos

Hi, folks, another quick note about the Op Op's Facebook page--I've recently been posting albums of some of my favorite photos from my blog. They're in categories like "holidays," "places and events," "food and cooking," "restaurants," and so on.

I'm adding links to the individual blog posts, so if a photo sparks interest, you can zap directly to the blog page about that subject.

Those of you who are kind of new to my blog might get a kick out of seeing where we've been; my longtime readers will enjoy the review.

To see the page, click on the link above.

Soon, an update on how I am right now.

--Julie

Springtime Migration

For those of you on Facebook, you’ve probably been seeing my little posts regarding Facebook’s recent decision to force many “group” pages to become just “pages.” Apparently FB has determined that lots of their “groups” don’t have enough “interactivity” to be considered “groups.” So I’ve created a new Facebook page for the Op Op.




So my current task is to encourage everyone to “friend” the new Op Op Facebook page—that is, to migrate from the old to the new. (Kinda fitting, to migrate in spring, no?)

You can reach the new Op Op page on Facebook by clicking on the little FB "badge" on the right side of this blog.




The old Facebook page was called “The Opulent Opossum for Facebook,” and the new one is called just “The Opulent Opossum.” The former, supposedly, will be “archived” at some point in the next few months, and all members of it will apparently be dropped. That’s why I’ve started the new Op Op page for Facebook—so all you friends can “friend” it (or “like” it, or whatever), and we can continue our merry Op Op Facebooking.




For those of you who don’t do FB, or who do but just haven’t “friended” the Op Op’s FB page, here’s what’s in it for you: Each time I do a new post, I create a link to it on the Op Op’s Facebook page. Then, if you’re a “friend” (or “liker,” or whatever), you’ll receive the notice in your “news feed.” It saves you from the grueling, off-putting task of actually navigating to the Opulent Opossum blog to see if there’s a new post.

Now that I’ve written that, it doesn’t sound like much, does it.




It's also another way to comment on posts and communicate with me, should you so desire. (Some people have complained about the "comments" feature on this actual blog page; using the Op Op's Facebook page circumvents that.)

Anyway, I do get a huge charge out of seeing my Facebook “friends” and Blogger “followers” lists grow, and I love it when I get lots of hits. I suppose, at its roots, this is a self-esteem thing; but whatever.




I do try to provide good information here, honest reflection, authenticity. I really do love cheering for the things I like—whether it’s restaurants, old recipe books, stuff from the attic, or undersung critters that trundle, flutter, or slither through our backyard.








I also work hard to “break up” my wordy text with decent pictures. Indeed: I’d never taken pictures much before I started blogging, and if I’ve improved since March 2009, it’s because of you.




Don’t get me wrong: I’m an inveterate journaler (I’ve kept journals/diaries since 1981), and I’ll keep on writing and reflecting, whether anyone else reads it or not.

But I have to admit—it is incredibly cool to know that y’all are reading.




And so I’m saying something, just this once, that I haven’t said before: Help me out. Spread the word. “Share” a post or two—ones that you thought were pretty good. And “friend” the Op Op’s new Facebook page, and encourage your pals to do so, too. Let’s add some new folks to the lists.

I do genuinely appreciate it.

And now, back to the blogging . . .

Our Intercom System

Ah, the unique pleasures of owning an old house in the digital age. We are so well equipped! We have two wireless telephones whose base stations and handsets can function as intercoms—but we usually keep the handsets charging on the base stations.

So the phones don’t make great intercoms, since we would have to walk a handset to the person we want to talk to before using it. I mean, what would be the purpose after that? It would turn into a Carol Burnett/Tim Conway Mr. Tudball/Mrs. Ah-Hwiggens” routine.

Then, in addition to our home “land line,” we both have cell phones, which even when we’re home we tend to carry around on our persons (in case those clients need to contact us with some editorial or design emergency, uh-huh).

And we have wireless Internet. (You didn’t think I do all this blogging while tethered to an ethernet cable, to you?)

Well, this morning, the Internet was acting up. No, I have no idea why—no one ever does—but it was just slow. Very, very slow.

Sue was on the first floor doing freelance; I was on the third floor trying to check some e’s. But the Internet was so slow, I decided to perform our routine fix-it for all things Internet: disconnect it, unplug it, wait; then plug it all in again. This usually works, somehow.

I wanted to tell Sue that I was going to do this—you know—just to make sure she wasn’t in the middle of some Internet thing that would get messed up if it was suddenly disconnected. But I’m in a moon boot, and steps are kind of a chore. I tried calling her cell phone, but she didn’t pick up. I heard it ringing from her bag in the living room. She didn’t have it with her. Doggone it.

I tried calling our home number with my cell phone, but Sue must have decided to let the answering machine get the call. So that didn’t work.

. . . Running out of options.

But wait a minute . . .


“Hey, Sue! The Internet’s down!”

Hallelujah for old technology! Once again, simplicity reigns: I hollered down to her from the living room’s cold-air return duct, and lo and behold, we were able to speak to each other perfectly well.

Dad has told me about how his mom used to communicate through the ductwork—calling her boys to supper, for instance—our home’s very own low-tech intercom system!

It works even when the Internet’s down, no electricity required.

Hooray for Old Technology!

We had a sudden tragedy the other night--late, post-dishwashing. Our coffeemaker's carafe slipped from its drying perch and just tapped the divider between the kitchen sinks. No one pushed it; it committed suicide all on its own.




. . . Fortunately, we keep on hand our trusy old-school Revere Ware percolator. Hooray!




And we remember how to use it!




It saved the day, by saving the next morning!




Mmmmmm . . . coffee!

End of the Tube

It happened suddenly last week, just out of the blue (. . . and the pink and the green). It was just fine, but one day we turned on the television and discovered that it’s become a lava lamp. Time to play taps. Time to play sad violin music for it.




Okay . . . this ol’ JVC has served me well; I got it in Phoenix in 1989, so twenty years of absolutely-no-problems-whatsoever isn’t bad.

What’s bad is the cost of the new TVs. I feel like I’m supposed to get an HDTV, or a flat-screen something-or-other, or move to something slightly bigger than a twenty-inch screen, now that twenty years have passed since graduate school and theoretically I’ve got more of an income. But Ouch! Those flatscreen things are frickin’ expensive!

I’ve got half a mind to just ditch it altogether: Ditch the TV. Ditch the cable. It’s all far too expensive anyway, for what you get out of it, which is basically time-wasting nonsense. Or, as the comedian Gallagher put it, “Doncha wish televisions came with an intelligence knob, so you could turn it up? —Yeah, there’s a ‘brightness’ knob, but that don’t work!”

As I said before, the squirrels in our backyard are more brilliant than most of the stuff on TV, and letting them have some of our birdseed is much less expensive than the monthly TV bills.

I would entirely miss Sharon Ray, Jeff Huffman, and the other members of the local Stormtrack 24/7 weather team. But at this point, their radar maps are next to useless, since the color coding is a rainbow swirl of distortion. (It surely is pretty . . . but not very helpful.) Yeah, I can catch the weather online, but it’s not the same at 3 a.m. when the weather is wild; much easier to click on the TV than to boot up the computer, navigate to the Web page, wait for it to load . . .

Hmmm. Meanwhile, we’re kinda just living with our groovy hallucinogenic kaleido-television, where a man can have a green face, blue arms, and pink hands.