Rosie

I bought Arianna a new bike today. Sharon said that my spending an hour or so on the phone calling every Electra dealer within 50 miles of Sleepy Hollow was over indulgent. I suppose she’s right. I mean, the owner of the local bike shop in C’ville would have gladly ordered the bike for us. Of course, then Arianna would not have had a new bike to ride while she was on Spring Break.

Well, since circumstances presented themselves the way they did I thought I had no choice but to follow through. Since the owner / manager of the shop in Lake Geneva (WI) thought his store in Kenilworth had the bike in stock, I called. And sure enough. Of the dozen or so shops that I telephoned today, RRB was the only one that actually stocked the bike Arianna wanted.

So, at 3 o’clock we got in the car and headed to the North Shore. In point of fact, the shop’s address was on Green Bay Rd between Willow and Lake – in other words, no farther north than [ ], where I work. 

Arianna acted just like a kid going on vacation. Every few minutes, she asked me if we “were almost there yet.” And when I miscalculated on the number of cross street until we reached Green Bay Rd . . . . 

“Here’re a lot of stores; maybe it’s here.”

“No; it’s not here.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I wrote down the address, before I left the house.”

We walked into the shop and the bike was standing right out front. Arianna recognized it immediately. The owner / manager, Walt, – a grey haired gentleman in his fifties – grabbed a wrench and adjusted the saddle for her. Arianna was shy, in part, because I revealed that this would be her first real bike – without training wheels.

“In that case, I better drop the saddle another quarter inch.”

The drive home seemed to go much quicker. Every now and again, Arianna turned in her seat and touched the bike laying on its side in the cargo hold of our station wagon. When we got home, I unloaded the bike while Arianna ran into the house to tell Mommy. I helped her around the drive way a few times before supper and then again later before sunset.

Arianna’s awkward, timid, scared of my letting go of the seat, but in time – I assured here – she’ll be riding her bike all over the backyard and down to Lake Sharon.

Yellow Ribbon

Arianna won a yellow ribbon at the Academic Fair for her story, Mystery Castle. She had found out that she placed third while still at school and was hard pressed not to share the news with the rest of the family. So, after supper, we headed on over to St. Catherine’s almost as soon as the Fair began. And sure enough. Fastened to Arianna’s story, was the yellow ribbon.

It’s a high achievement, placing third among 30 other students. What makes it even more impressive to Sharon and me is the fact that Arianna is in Mrs. Schmidt’s “special” reading class.

I don’t know how Arianna feels about all this fuss. I mean, all I’m certain of is the fact that she had said she didn’t want to just receive a Participation ribbon. And, she didn’t.

*

Our walking the halls of St. Catherine’s fills me with gratitude. We are fortunate – no, blest – to have been afforded the opportunity to enroll Arianna in St. Catherine’s.

Of course, as I walk the halls of St. Catherine’s I recollect Guardian Angels and can’t help wondering if she’ll be prepared for high school. And I don’t mean academically. St. Catherine’s is so small. –30 classmates; Arianna’ll graduate with 29 other kids. And then . . . . Well, why concern myself other the future.

*

Bruno had a difficult time of it tonight. I felt bad for him. The stairs up and then down to the lunch room left him more than winded. To how many more Academic Fairs will he accompany us?

Bicycle Shopping

The absurdity of American culture diminishes even the most seemingly benign of activities.

When I was a kid, growing up on the East side of Detroit, the name plate at the front of your bicycle defined the prestige – or lack thereof – of “your ride.” In many respects, the choice – or the ability of choose – was no different than the prestige afforded to the make and model of your Father’s automobile. Just as a Chevy could not be reasonably compared to a Cadillac, bikes purchased from Sears or Montgomery Ward were considered second rate when compared to a Schwinn.

Today, perhaps because all bicycles are manufactured similarly (and overseas), children must decide upon the affiliate branding that they will pedal around their neighborhoods. I pity the children who do not outgrow bikes emblazoned with the logos and color schemes of Spiderman or Bratz dolls, before these statements of cultural iconography become passé.

Like any shopping trip these days, my desire to keep my daughter from becoming a billboard for what is, in my opinion, trash (Bratz dolls? Not in my house!), extends to the selection of a simple, traditional, 20” girls bicycle. Target, Toys R Us, Amazon, all participate in this unseemly charade of the not-so-subtle manipulation of a child’s imagination (and values). 

Luckily, Electra, is providing like-minded parents (are there any parents who share my convictions?), with a bicycle – plain and simple. Of course, one pays for the luxury of traditionalist simplicity. But, it is well worth it.

Good dog, Jack.

Old Charles Ingalls and his family are on the move again. This time to the Dakota Territory.

We finished reading On the Banks of Plum Creek and have begun By the Shores of Silver Lake.

Sentimental old fool that I am, I could not read the episode of the passing of the Ingalls’ dog, Jack. As I handed the book back to Sharon, I freely admitted that I couldn’t help but think of Miss Kitty’s last days.

As we begin the last book of the set Arianna received as a Christmas gift from her God father Greg and his wife, Ronda, both Sharon and I are astonished at the restlessness of Mr. Ingalls. As well, I can’t help thinking how optimistic he is. Regardless of how dire his circumstances, he remains confident that prosperity lay just around the bend.

I am thankful for having had the opportunity to read these books to Arianna.

*

Unseasonably warm weather – 70+ degrees in Chicagoland today. Driving home from work today, it was an odd site to see the ponds and lakes still covered with soft ice.

Crocuses

With Mahler’s 4^th Symphony playing on the Victrola.

The family has gone to Huntley to deliver Girl Scour cookies to Aunt Myra and Uncle Lester. I was left behind to bury Miss Kitty, who has been tucked safely away in a corner of the garage for a month. Grisly as this may sound, the bitter cold has worked to our advantage in preserving her boxed remains. However, despite the receding snow, the swale full of running water, and the appearance of yellow, white, and purple crocuses on the front lawn, the ground is still frozen solid. So, after conceding the point to Mother Nature, I shambled across the yard and retrieved the fallen wind chimes and collected sticks for the burn pit.

We are so easily seduced by sunshine and warm breezes. It is a glorious day. But, it is still Winter. And as I explained to Arianna, who jumped for joy at the sight of the crocuses, in Chicagoland, frost is still a possibility until May 15.

Tomorrow, HMS Pinafore. 

Promotion

After years of watching colleagues “fall up the ladder,” I have received a promotion. Frankly, I don’t know what to think. If I had received such a nod from Leadership two years ago, I would have thought that I had honestly earned their recognition. But, since I am only in my new role six months, and haven’t really accomplished anything significant, the news of my promotion was incomprehensible.

Der Alte Hund

Arianna ensured yesterday’s birthday celebration was joyous. She so enjoys preparing for birthdays and holidays. When I got home from work, crepe hung from the door and balloons dangled from the ceiling fan in the dining room. Even as I grow older, Arianna’s presence in my life fills my heart with warmth and gladness.

Quiet

Sharon and Arianna are in Chicago this afternoon. They are attending a Chinese New Year performance at the Auditorium Theatre. I was invited, but I do not mark time by the calendar of the Chinese.

Due to yet another snow fall, I’ve had to shovel the drive again (and again, and again). Last night’s commute was insufferable. I left the office in what I thought was more than sufficient time to attend the last hour of Eucharistic Adoration and Benediction and then the Stations of the Cross. To my chagrin, I approached St. Catherine’s at 7:20 p.m. – about midway through Stations.

Wind and snow that was reminiscent of January circa 1977 snarled traffic for miles. At one point in the commute – on Algonquin Road, east of Barrington Road – I watched a Ford Mustang slip and slide as it tried to climb the grade.

Although I won’t be surprised to see more snow, I’m hopeful this is the last. I can’t remember the last time there’s been snow on the ground at my birthday.

*

With a Pepper cat on my lap.

Since Miss Kitty’s death Pepper has sought all our attentions more frequently.

*

A day of writing. Letters to Germany and to an old friend, one of the few who has remained in touch “over the years and across the miles.”

*

Steeleye Span on the Victrolla – a birthday gift to myself. Maddy Prior and Gay Woods voices blended so well on that first album. I love it.

Sledding

A brilliant Saturday morning. Cold. But, with birdsong in the air. With Ash Wednesday just around the corner, can Spring be far behind?

*

After Mass, I spent an hour or so outside, working in the garden. I pruned the dogwoods behind the sun garden. It was cumbersome work due to my having to wear gloves and a winter coat, but once I got into the swing of things, I really enjoyed the work.

Since there were no leaves to contend with, I made significant strides in trimming down these unruly shrubs. I will be interested to see whether they become more dense over the next few years.

*

The day’s highlight was going to the park and watching Arianna use her new saucer. We were outside for almost 90 minutes. Arianna enjoyed every minute of it. And, although she was initially anxious, after sliding down the hill a couple of times, she expressed a desire to sled even higher hills.

*

While Arianna and I were at the park, Sharon drove her Dad to Weaver’s Music, where Bruno wanted to inquire about trading in the old Wurlizer for a new piano. In fact, Bruno bought a new piano, a digital piano – a GEM, which is made in Italy.

R.I.P.

Miss Kitty died this morning.

I carried her into the basement and laid her on my old sweater that lined the basket in which she slept prior to my departure for the office around 6 o’clock. After I made her comfortable, she raised her head and looked at me. I stroked her head for a few minutes, said good-bye, and drove to work.

Sharon called to confirm her death around 10:30. Since she had seen her alive an hour or so earlier, she believes Kitty passed while she was driving Arianna to school.

Miss Kitty was my companion since January 1993. She listened to me while Sharon was at MU, and later – after we relocated to Kansas City – whenever Sharon chose to spend time away from the house to socialize with her Falun Gong friends. I will miss her.

*

On the way home from the office, I stopped at Ace to buy Arianna a snow saucer. With the additional 5” of snow that dropped on Chicagoland yesterday, she’ll have an opportunity to give it a try this weekend.

Witness

Miss Kitty is dying. Her demise is not altogether unexpected, but throughout the week her intake of food and water has diminished to such an extent that she can barely hold up her head. She weighs next to nothing and is skeletal in her appearance. Still, she derives a semblance of pleasure from having her head and cheeks brushed and laying on top of my stomach.

*

Sometimes the flush of parental pride takes hold at the most unexpected of times. After playing a hand of Uno, Arianna was able to tally the total of number of points reflected in the cards she was left with.

Blue Monday

Blue because of the frigid arctic air that has a strangle hold over Chicagoland.

Blue because of the Bears’ failure to execute in yesterday’s Super Bowl.

--Which is not to say that the latter impacts me personally. The only emotion the Bears’ loss elicited from me was regret: “This was what I spent my evening doing?” That notwithstanding, I think Grandpa enjoyed the company (if not the game).

*

Arianna is sick again. {sigh} Fortunately, St. Catherine’s remained closed today. So she didn’t have to miss another day’s learning.

Arctic Blast

Were Arianna not sick, I would have hesitated to let her accompany me to Mass this morning. When walked to the street to fetch the Sunday Tribune, the mercury read five degrees below zero.

Weather like this makes it difficult to make a case for global warming.

First Friday

The full moon hung bright and heavy over St. Catherine’s as I pulled into the nearly empty parking lot this evening. Upon entering the Chapel, only five people were seated before the monstrance. By the time the Benediction prayers were begun, only three of us remained.

When I arrived home from Eucharistic Adoration, Arianna was anxious. She was afraid that it was too late to watch Groundhog Day. For a number of years now, we’ve gotten into the habit of watching Groundhog Day on Groundhog Day. It’s corny, I suppose, but the movie does have some funny bits in it. So – despite my later arrival – we watched Bill Murray relive February 2^nd over and over and over again.

Little House

We finished Farmer Boy and have begun Little House on the Prairie.

Laura Ingalls Wilder may have been writing for young girls, but she illuminates themes I find compelling. At the end of Farmer Boy, when Almanzo is asked to decide whether he wants to apprentice as a wheelwright, Mr. Wilder characterizes the occupation as having financial advantages – but only inasmuch as one can accept the fact that, in town, one makes a living that by and large is the result of providing a service to others. A farmer, on the other hand, is wholly dependent on himself (and the weather).

Obvious as this is, especially for a person shackled to a corporate job, what’s curious to me is when and why we as a nation decided that self-sufficiency was no longer in our best interest. –Of course, one needn’t think too long or hard before one realizes that we seem to have forfeited the whole idea of what’s in our (national and cultural) best interest.

What doesn’t fail to strike me as we begin to read Little House on the Prairie is the characteristic American restlessness. It’s hard to imagine Pepin, Wisconsin being over crowded. Particularly in the 1870’s. Yet, ol’ Charles Ingalls sites “overcrowding” as a fundamental reason for his desire to head west and quit the little house in the big woods.

And we’re still trying to get away . . . from others, our neighbors . . . .

In Memoriam

Reviewing Indeed.com I am tempted to step outside my comfort zone and determine whether I might not have something to contribute elsewhere. However, my curiosity about the goings on at the office, combined with my conviction that I’m really not yet done learning what I’m supposed to learn there, persuades me to remain patient.

Pastor Begg’s elucidation of the Book of Ruth this week continues to instruct and inspire. His insistence that the Lord makes himself and his will known in the “hum-drum” of everyday life is something I cannot deny.

I've reflected on this idea from a variety of different perspectives, including that of my day-to-day occupation. And, while I don't think it is necessarily realistic of me to hold fast to remaining at my current employer indefinitely, I am simply not prepared to embark on an exhaustive job search without first finishing the things I've started, and fulfilling the expectations of a number of people, who are relying on me.

A year from now? Well, that’s a different story, isn’t it?

*

The Folio Society invited me to subscribe to a new series of books: The Letterpress Shakespeare. At $395 a volume, I am disinclined to accept. Nevertheless, the brochure accompanying the invitation described a volume well worth the expense.

Who can afford such a luxury?

The same folks who can shell out $9k for a Super Bowl ticket, I suppose.

*

Arianna had a play date with her “bosom friend” P. J. today. Although P. J. does not know that Arianna refers to her using the same words Shirley Ann used to refer to her friend Diana, from what I know of Peyton, she would not mind.

What’s a source of genuine relief to me is the end of Arianna’s sorrow over the loss of her friend M.S. And when I say “loss” I mean it in the most superficial way. For, as I explained to Arianna, in a school as small as St. Catherine’s, over the next seven years, relationships will change and evolve. So, just because M.S. is not as interested in playing with Arianna as she was, say, last year, that does not mean that they will not become reacquainted next year, or sometime in the future.

I think Arianna understands this but doesn’t give it much thought. And why would she. After all, she has a “bosom friend” with whom she can eat lunch, play at recess, and giggle when on a play date.

*

Today is the third anniversary of my Father’s death. After three years, I am still emotionally jarred by thoughts of him.

Ouch!

Fourth graders knocked Arianna down on the playground at school today. It was unintentional, of course, but her face is bruised. Like the discoloration on her chin that resulted from her having dental work, her bruises sadden me. For, while I know that Arianna’s beauty emanates from her innocence and purity of heart, looking at her, I cannot help but believing that she is the prettiest Rudorf that I’ve ever known.

(D.I.M.N.) Das interessiert mich nicht

Americans’ obsession with celebrity begins to mount this time of year. Media – radio and TV, newspapers, blogs, what have you – vie to report on who’s an award ceremony contender. And I ask myself, “Why should I have any interest in the professional standing of an actor?”

Considering this in the pre-dawn hours, when radio newscasters alert me of the potential Oscar candidates, I am hard pressed to feel collegial with my fellow Americans. Especially on a day such as today – when the President of the United States makes his State of the Union speech (which will be heard and / or viewed by a minority of media consumers relative to the number of people who tune in to watch the Academy Awards ceremony).

*

Am I cranky this evening, or what?

Uno

Arianna is 77 months old today! What changes we’ve seen. No more is this evident than when I spend time sorting through the photos I’ve taken of her since her birth. Physical stature notwithstanding, the increase in her level of maturity – even since the beginning of the school year – is dramatic. I am proud of her.

For her 6^th birthday, I gave Arianna the game called Uno. In August, she was not to interested in playing. It was too complicated. Yesterday, and this evening too, Arianna really enjoyed playing.

We all had a lot of fun. And, Grandpa’s antics reminded me of those holidays, when Sharon and I, her Dad and Mom would sit at the kitchen table playing Spades or Hearts. Were we only able to enjoy each other’s company with as little stress all the time.

*

Listening to Truth for Life this morning, Rev. Begg made a point – an aside, really – about parents or in-laws being generous in accepting the help offered to them by their children. He noted that the consequence of their not being generous was often a feeling of bitterness on the part of the children. Without question, I’ve often felt ill-used over these past six years. And have felt so precisely because Bruno hasn’t expressed appreciation for the sacrifices Sharon and I have made since returning to Chicagoland to live with and care for him. I no longer feel that way. I no longer have any expectations. When Sharon’s Mom died, the privilege to help her Dad presented itself and I recommended that we should undertake it. If I imagined that our life together would be a rollicking good time akin to our Christmas visits, I have long since divested myself of that scenario.

*

Icicles hang from the gutters. This morning I rose at 4:45 a.m. and shoveled the driveway. After the initial sense of having violated the silence of the pre-dawn hours, I enjoy the peace of working outside beneath the stars.

*

I tire of having to pick up the slack for colleagues, the result of which is invariably a reheated dinner.

Typisch

A tranquil day. Cold, bright, with a lovely deep blue sky.

This morning, as I drove to Mass, the sheer beauty of the surrounding “countryside” compelled me to count my blessings. Difficult as it often is for me to put up with this broken down old house, I recognize how fortunate I am to be living in such a picturesque neighborhood.

After Mass, Confession; then, a series of errands that kept me from getting home until 11:30.

Sharon is out this evening – out, somewhere in Chicago, making like an old woman hanging on the wash line with the neighbor. She, of course, would say that her Falun Gong meetings were important. –Irreconcilable differences.

In anticipation of the Sharon’s absence, one of this morning’s errands was to pick up a copy of ET. When she saw what I’d brought home from Blockbuster’s, Arianna thought she’d already seen the film. I couldn’t imagine where she’d seen it, since neither Sharon not I watched it with her. As it happens, she hadn’t seen it. And, yes, my intuition was spot on: both she and Grandpa enjoyed watching the movies together.

*

Farmer Boy and Molly Learns a Lesson. That’s right; we’re juggling two books right now. It’s a wonder Arianna can keep them both straight. She does, though. And, in fact, is very decided on which of the stories coincides with her mental or emotional state. Since we’ve been double dipping into Farmer Boy – Mommy read her two chapters yesterday – tonight Arianna requested Molly Learned a Lesson. As a rule, the high-gloss entertainment industry titans, leave me cold. But, in this case, even I have to concede that the American Girl stories aren’t half bad. Now, whether I drop the $100 plus for one of the dolls is another story altogether….

*

Tonight it was ET, tomorrow it’ll be Bears-mania. Or maybe not. We were talking about the “big game” at supper and, true to form, Bruno is not rooting for the home town team. Why is anybody’s guess.

Dodged Bullet

Chicagoland was fortunate. The weather system that has plagued the Great Plains bypassed it completely. Oh, the temperature has dropped; and there’s even snow on the ground, too. No ice, though. Thank goodness.

When I think of what it must be like in Kansas City, I’m at loss to imagine how my family would endure a prolonged period of time without electricity. Today I read that KCMO had a downtown temperature reading of 2 degrees. Were we still living there, I think we’d have had no choice but to fire up the hearth. Or, vacate our residence on Moats until the power was restored.

Today Sharon started teaching at Elgin Community College. Despite the family-friendly hours, I anticipate that this will have a ripple effect on our daily routine – such as it is. But, she is excited to be back in a classroom and interacting with young people again.

Our Christmas tree/s and decorations are stowed away for another year. It took us a long time to box everything up. Arianna was sad to see the tree come down. In fact, for a short while she refused to help us. After Mommy coaxed her out of her mood, she pitched right in. –Even Grandpa helped out.

How empty the living room looks without the tree.

Of course, in its absence Arianna’s toys have quickly found a new home. {sigh}

Since 1996 I have started four online journals. The journal written between 2000 and 2001 was the most productive. It’s doubtful whether this current exercise will be as long lived. I’ve already begun to wonder why I do it. The reasons for abandoning this are obvious to me:

(1)              I note this and that in my Moleskin on an almost daily basis

(2)              Our family life is inescapably dull

(3)              Nobody could possibly be interested in what I write – irrespective of the topic.

On the other hand, in and of itself – regardless of the infrequency to date – the activity fosters a measure of discipline of which I believe I am in need.

Treadmill

For the past several years now, January incites restlessness, a sense of being disconnected, and dissatisfaction. Perhaps it’s the planning of work that appears to be gratuitous. Perhaps it’s having to plan the work with people for whom I have little affection.

I alluded to this state of mind to a manager, with whom I have a good rapport, and he conceded that just the other day he confided to his wife that he felt he ought to be looking for another job. In short, he similarly experiences angst as the year begins.

This is of little consolation and provides me nothing in the way of resolving the conflict within me.

My current reading of St. Paul’s Epistle to the Romans makes me genuinely ashamed. For I oughtn’t be anything other than a living sacrifice to the Lord, unconfirmed to the world, and therefore dispassionate as to whether my role at the office is of significance. Rather I ought to be thankful for having the ability and opportunity to be of service. And, I ought to do so cheerfully.

Humility is not without its daily challenges.

*

Sharon will begin teaching a course in Literary History next week at Elgin Community College. She will teach twice a week, at mid-day – a schedule that does not impact Arianna or her father in the least bit. Of course, class preparations will have to occur in the evening, but some amount of time away from the family is to be expected.

Financially, this contributes little to the Rudorf treasury. Sharon freely acknowledges this and is, I believe, more interested in the activity than the remuneration.

Nevertheless, as the year commences I can hardly ignore the fact that we are running in place. A less charitable point of view would argue we are falling behind. And, it would be difficult to refute the point, given that health care, waste disposal, and electric costs have all increased, as has the obligatory [sic] cable bill.

Has my salary increased?

When the Federal government claims that earnings have risen, I really am at a loss to understand the basis from which analysts make their claim. Typically, workers’ earnings are adjusted only once a year, however, costs escalate periodically.

*

Still walking around with a cold. [Ed.: No doubt the reason for the downcast mood. CFR, 2/2012]

*

Winter-like temperatures.

Frost

A heavy frost covered the ground this morning. When I went outside to fetch the Chicago Tribune from the curb, the air was cold and heavy with mist. As Arianna and I past Lake Sharon on the way to Mass, I noted to her that ice had started to form at its surface.

Meteorologists threaten Chicagoland with normal January temperatures this week. It will be welcome.

In the meantime, I have begun looking through the seed catalogs that I've gotten in the mail. I believe they are early. But, since I’m the most keen on gardening here, I cannot verify my claim.

I note with interest that 2007 marks the 100^th anniversary of the J.W. Jung Seed Company. Their catalog is enlarged with interesting photos of past and present Randolph, Wisconsin digs, long-time employees, and a short company history.

As I said to Arianna the other day, the arrival of these catalogs when snow and ice are piled high on the roof inspires one to dream. Their arrival in March-like weather only incites a measure of disgust.

Read a snatch of Little House in the Big Woods before Mass to Arianna. Later, she implored me to read more of Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens, a book I bought for her last year but only presented to her now due to a resurgent interest in the so-called “magical boy.” My having never read or had much interest in J.M. Barrie’s creation, I have been surprised at how different the characterization of Peter Pan is in the book than in the Disney film. For instance, today we learned that Peter Pan escaped his humanity when he flew out of the nursery at 7 days old to return to Kensington Gardens.

Ò

Ham for supper.

Ò

The Christmas trees are still illuminated, though we have managed to remove the packages beneath. This week will begin the tedious process of putting the house to rights. Were it not for the (over) abundance of “heirloom” decorations – some of Bruno’s glass ornaments date to the 40’s – the job would not be as slow a process as it is. And this year . . . with a second tree in the basement . . . .

Slow it must be though; with our having to wrap each ornament in tissue paper and then locate its box, I will not be surprised if I haven’t an opportunity to begin the process of storing the goods until next Monday evening at the earliest.

One so delights in uncovering all the old familiar Christmas decorations in December, and dawdles so in January, when it is time to resume the routines of daily life.

Little House

This evening Sharon and I read two more chapters of Little House in the Big Woods to Arianna. Uncle Greg, Arianna’s Godfather, and his wife, Aunt Ronda, sent her the book at Christmas. We are all enjoying it very much.

When I finished reading, I asked Arianna whether she thought that she would want to read the book herself someday, my question was met with silence. Is this typical for a six year old?

The story of the Ingall family impresses me with how dramatically changed the United States is today. Of course, you say. The 19^th century was still a nascent industrial civilization. Yes, yes. But this is not what I mean at all.

As I thumbed the pages of the book I noted with displeasure that it had been manufactured in China. I recently noted that A Miracle on 34^th Street, a book Arianna’d received from the Stuart Brent Children’s Book Club was also manufactured in China – The People’s Republic of China.

Juxtaposed against the child-like telling of a story of frontier courage, forbearance, and industry, this fact – that our politicians have mortgaged our economic independence in the name of so-called ‘share-holder value’ – diminishes the sacrifice of so many men and women, from Jamestown and Plymouth colony through the last homesteaders of Alaska (and then some), who, I imagine, would just as soon return to the squalor of the cities where they labored than be indebted to the likes of communists.

And this last point in particular – that our civil leaders, the men and women who we’ve entrusted to work on our behalf – have colluded with captains of industry, and opted to outsource our manufacturing prowess to countries, who, in years past were publicly decried as our sworn enemy, is unfathomable. And, seditious.

If globalization is good for the American worker it has not yet been demonstrated to me. Today, for example, I went shopping for clothes at J.C. Penny – slacks and dress shirts to wear at the office. None of the clothes I bought were Made in USA. The countries of origin of my purchases were China, Malaysia, the Philippines, and Nicaragua. Since we’re told that the workers in these countries make pennies on the dollar, I would be curious to see the cost breakdown that justifies a charge of, say, $60 for a pair of slacks.

Ò

Box elder bugs cling to life.

Notwithstanding El Nino, January temperatures that are 20 degrees above the norm are unsettling. And appreciated. At least us oldsters.

Today was a quiet day. Sharon drove downtown to participate in a Falun Gong rally. Arianna and I spent the day together, playing. Grandpa worked the puzzle, dozed, and while I was preparing supper ran the electric trains. –Their days are numbered, as they are for the Christmas tree and decorations.

Surprisingly, Christmas greetings still arrive. A few days ago we received a greeting from the Falloon’s of Munster, Indiana, who celebrate the Serbian Orthodox Rite. Today, we received a greeting from the Coykendall’s of Wentworth, New Hampshire. I had no expectation if hearing from Tabitha and Scott, but enjoyed reading that they have made a home for themselves and their daughters in New England. As different as New Hampshire must surely be from Illinois and Missouri, they seem to be thriving.

Tomorrow is Epiphany. Monday Arianna returns to school.