We're Betsey and Jane, and We Approve This Message

jane: Betsey, Rich and I did something we've never done before: voted with absentee ballots. We thought we might be out of town on November 2 (we won't, as it turns out), so we decided to give this option a go. I have to admit, it felt weird to mail ballots. How do we really know our votes count? What if they're lost or misplaced or whatever?

Worries aside, since I've already voted, the political hoopla -- bold campaign signs planted in front yards, inflammatory political spots blasted on the air waves -- is anticlimactic. And I'm terribly annoyed by those robo-calls that intrude every evening as we sit down to eat. Enough already!

Actually, I know I'll miss the ritual of voting at our polling place: signing my name, entering the booth, using the stylus, even getting that “I Voted” sticker afterward. Every single time I've cast my vote, I've felt a flush of pride in our political process and deep gratitude for our freedoms.

But all this election talk reminds me of how I first learned you and Fritz had moved into our little village. Rich and I were going in to vote, and you and Fritz were on your way out. Remember?

betsey: Yes, I do! Coming out of the church near both of our neighborhoods, proudly wearing our “I Voted” stickers. I love voting at the polling place, seeing the dedicated election judges, filling out our ballots. It feels live and timeless and civic in an electronic age, you know? We used to take Amanda with us when we voted in our former precinct. We told her as long as she stayed quiet she could come, and that voting was Very Important. I really think she absorbed that message and today is pretty well-informed.

jane: When I was growing up, my extended family conducted lively political discussions during the passing of the mashed potatoes and gravy. My immigrant grandparents, who had lost all but their home in the Great Depression, were loyal Democrats -- they loved Hubert Humphrey. My parents, on the other hand, were Republicans (my mom a fairly new convert, having been an avid Kennedy supporter). They tried their hardest to convince my grandfather, in particular, of the errors of his loyal union ways . . . but the debate never did end in their favor. With his strong Norwegian accent, my grandfather obstinately articulated his views; there was no talking him out of them, thank you very much.

Those spirited dinnertime discussions were rich and instructive, even energizing for me as a child. But I also learned heated debate usually doesn't change someone's mind; it only causes a person to become more entrenched. What was it like in your house?

betsey: I have vivid memories of my dad yelling at the TV whenever the President came on -- no matter the man or the party! My parents leaned Republican, but it was more the GOP of their class and era -- more moderate and well-mannered. (Think “I Like Ike.”) Mom was a political science major -- and Dad was opinionated -- so I grew up in a home very conversant with current affairs. I have a very early memory of Mom watching the McCarthy hearings on TV in the ‘50s -- and twenty years after we were all caught up in the Watergate drama. But we didn’t really argue among ourselves.

jane: I still remember the1960 John F. Kennedy/Richard M. Nixon election, even though I was only seven. My mother had me wear a pro-Kennedy campaign hat into what I soon discovered was a very pro-Nixon classroom! My parents were on opposing sides that year, and my mom was playful (and sometimes over-the-top) in the methods she used to change my dad's mind.

Thankfully, I don't have to pull any "October surprises" or "dirty tricks" on Rich; we're in the same camp. I don't know how I'd handle it if we were like Mary Matalin and James Carville. Which makes me wonder how those two political operatives have managed to pull off a successful marriage despite being such rabid, vocal polar opposites. What about you and Fritz? Have you ever strongly disagreed on a candidate or issue?

betsey: Fritz and I tend to agree, although he shades more consistently to one side than I do and thinks I bounce capriciously around from one camp to another! There was one presidential election when I voted for a third-party candidate and he for one of the major-party guys. (Both lost!) But overall, I’m a solid independent. And I think Carville and Matalin manage because . . . it’s given them a pretty good living, I’m guessing!

Fritz and I have never really had a serious disagreement about an issue. I’ve known homes where couples did, and it’s no fun, particularly in a presidential election when one spouse is exulting because their guy won and the other is dejected because their guy didn’t.

Jane, I’ll ask you: Do you ever discuss politics with any of your friends? I know you and I don’t -- I think we’d find we agree on some things and not others -- but sometimes it’s nice to be in a “politics free” zone.

jane: Especially this time of year! In my circles, at least, politics seems to be one of those topics you avoid -- such as talking about how much money you earn. It's the “don't ask, don't tell” policy.

Frankly, sometimes I wish certain individuals in my Facebook network would adhere to this "don't tell" policy too, because I'm clearly NOT ASKING. I can't stand it when someone consistently uses Facebook as a platform for political name-calling and snarkiness toward a differing opinion.

But just think, by the time our next blog comes out, this campaign craziness will be over -- for a while. Before long, we'll be having our fill of presidential campaigning. Well, rock the vote next Tuesday, Betsey. And don't forget to grab an extra “I Voted” sticker for me!

betsey: If I see another campaign ad with that ominous music and an unflattering image of whoever the “bad guy” is . . . the barrage seems worse than ever this election cycle. And I completely agree about the abuse of Facebook as a political platform. But yes, I will vote and slap that sticker on my coat. Then I’ll go home, turn on the TV and, in Dad’s grand tradition, yell at the politicians! After all . . . they’re working for us.

Coming Clean About Cleaning

betsey: Jane, I know both you and I hosted guests this past weekend, although you went the full-dinner route and I opted for dessert-after-the-restaurant. However, Fritz and I both cleaned feverishly anyway. I think it’s a gift to your guests to welcome them to a glowing, well-ordered home. Certainly one can debate about cleaning upstairs when company comes (I say yes, because sooner or later you’ll have to do it anyway) or the right way to “speed clean” (shoving unsightly piles under beds). But I admit

I’m a little uncomfortable with the mantra: "People don’t care how your house looks, they just want to see you."

I mean, I do care how someone’s home looks – not that it has to be luxurious, but that the host has taken some time and care to clear clutter, put away kids’ shoes, empty the bathroom trash – that kind of thing. What do you think?

jane: After you mentioned emptying the bathroom trash basket, I had this sinking feeling I forgot to empty mine the last time you and Fritz came over for dinner. Oops! I'm really good about cleaning the “powder room,” as we call it, but I can't say I always remember to empty that trash basket, which is tucked inside the vanity cabinet (now you know where to look!).

Speaking of powder rooms, I need to vent. I've noticed a strange, unexplained pattern emerge in my marriage of almost 34 years:

Every time I clean the guest bathroom, He Who Shall Remain Nameless is drawn to its toilet like a moth to a very bright, sparkling flame.

This happened yet again last Friday, a few hours after I'd spent a fair amount of time Lysol-ing in there. Maybe I should save the bathroom cleaning until the very last moment. But then I'm afraid I'll have to do that “speed cleaning” thing, and that would really stress me out . . .

I suspect my beloved's simply obeying one of those mysterious, immutable laws of male behavior – like using the restroom to catch up on his reading. Anyway, the half-bath once again required a good once-over. All “evidences” of activity had to be, ahem, eliminated.

The truth is, cleaning a bathroom is NOT my favorite task. No, I'd rather go grocery shopping during peak hours any day of the week.

betsey: I freely admit that I like to clean. Fritz and I have cleaned house as our Saturday ritual for, well, just about all of our marriage. I find it meditative; I like the feeling of getting reacquainted with my house as I dust the colored glass on the windowsill or arrange apples in a nice bowl or sweep leaves off our front porch. (Really yucky stuff gets offloaded to my beloved.) I also like the tangible, physical quality of doing housework – maybe because I deal so much in words, abstractions, things floating around in electronic space. And he and I use the time to discuss and plan and catch up in a way that we can’t during the week. When do you clean? I’m always curious about people’s routines.

jane: Well, finally, here's something we differ on, Betsey! I DON'T find cleaning meditative – unless I'm dusting books or polishing a furniture piece my dad crafted for us. Basically, housework is exactly that: work. And its results are ephemeral. It's as though you live in Brigadoon or Camelot.

One moment you're happy-ever-aftering in the glow of your spotless house; the next, poof! That Shining Moment evaporates.

Don't get me wrong; I love my house clean. I love it decluttered. But I'm constantly battling the proliferation of dog fur and dirt. 

 

Here's another way we differ: Cleaning has never been a Saturday ritual in our marriage. Since I always worked part-time, I cleaned and grocery shopped during the week. I still do it that way so Rich and I are fairly errand-free on weekends. However, sometimes my motivation to clean wanes a bit . . . okay, a lot. I've been known to joke that we need to invite someone over so I'll feel pressured to clean. Either that, or put the house up for sale!

 

betsey: The worst, though, is when you think you’re clean and then go to someone else’s house that is so shiny-clean it almost hurts. You wonder if anyone even lives in the place. Then you come back home and go, Eewww.

 

jane: Or, then you have the shiny clean-house people over to yours, as we did last weekend. We entertained dear friends, the sweetest, most gracious folks ever. Whenever they invite us over, their lovely home is immaculate. So when it's our turn to host, I worry about mine lacking the same sparkle factor. 

I sweep and "Bona" our floors, yet ten minutes later the hardwood's sporting water spots and dog drool.

I vacuum dog fur only to discover even more fur has exercised squatters' rights and taken residence under our recliners and kitchen table. It's hopeless. Of course, as Rich reminds me, our friends don't own two huge, mess-producing beasts like we do.

 

betsey: “Sparkle factor” – that was the idea I was searching for. Our house doesn’t have that either and I’ve wondered about the secret of achieving it. For example, I realize with The Floor, there are little paw marks all over (particularly around the tables where we eat . . . ). It isn’t dirt per se; it’s just “dog traffic.” And I can’t tell Lucy to take off her shoes like I do Fritz. We Bona too but I’ve heard you’re not supposed to do that too often.

Years ago I had a hilarious conversation with a colleague about if we were "secretly dirty" in our housekeeping practices.

Of course, one’s mother or, more often, mother-in-law can make one feel that way. Once in our old house my MIL got down on her hands and knees and scrubbed the grille at the bottom of our fridge. 

jane: Oh, Betsey, if my MIL had ever done that, I would have been crushed by the implication behind that act! Not to mention really, really irked.

In my younger days I was intimidated by my MIL's housekeeping and cooking prowess. Of course I darn well made sure our living quarters were spit-clean before my in-laws landed on our doorstep. Except one time they surprised us by arriving a day early, and a HUGE, unmistakable patch of dog fur (which I planned to vacuum right before their arrival) blanketed our living-room carpet --  in plain view. Busted! 

 

My mother has always been a fastidious housekeeper. She still keeps to a rigid fall- and spring-cleaning regimen, with help from my dad: wiping down walls and baseboards, washing wallpaper, laundering and ironing all bedding and curtains twice a year. Do you and Fritz do this, Betsey? (Please tell me you don't!)

betsey: Not twice a year. I used to do spring cleaning more intentionally, taking books off the bookshelves and dusting them, airing bedding and pillows. I also used to wash walls but it would leave streaks so I decided to let the grime have its way. I’ll still do the “occasional” stuff, but now it’s more when I’m seized with a fit of the “shoulds.” I do not now, nor have I ever, ironed bedding!

But I do cherish that One Shining Moment, as you so aptly call it, when we can stand and bask in the perfection of our homes. Until the dogs and husbands come along, that is. Take cover!

Ah, Autumn!

jane: Well, I KNEW this would happen – as soon as I spent three hours last week switching my wardrobe from tees and capris to sweaters and corduroys, temperatures spiked. So now we've turned off the heat, rolled down the comforter, and watered the lawn. And because I'm sweltering, I've had to dig out some tops I'd already packed away in our old cedar chest.

It's Murphy's Law. When you wash your windows or your car, it rains. When you check the weather forecast, see it's predicting precipitation, and dash out to fertilize the grass (well, at least Rich does), of course then the heavens dry up and the fertilizer doesn't get watered in. Go figure!

But even with the warmer temperatures, I'm loving this weather, Betsey. We just returned from a splendid weekend hiking around Devil's Lake State Park in Baraboo, Wisconsin. Our trek to Wisconsin is an annual Struck Family outing that had its genesis in our post-college days, when Rich and I frequently camped there with rock-climber friends who rappelled off the sturdy bluffs that guard this gem of a glacial lake. Once our daughters were old enough to “hike” (bribed by a steady supply of juice boxes and fun fruits), we started allocating a weekend every October to return there with the dog in tow. On every one of our Devil's Lake escapes, our family has hiked the same trails, eaten at the same restaurants (the Old Schoolhouse for pizza!), and always – I mean always – made a pilgrimage to Ski-Hi Fruit Farm, home of the best apple pie I've found this side of my Nana's. This year we brought back two pies, and I'm in heaven! Our grown daughters still remember and savor this tradition, and next October, we hope our entire family – including our new grandbaby – will join us in carrying it on yet another year.

What about you, Betsey? Do you have any autumn traditions you've been enjoying this fall?

betsey: Well, my birthday, for one – I’ve always been really proud to be an October baby, because truly, October is the most gorgeous month. This year in particular it’s been living up to advance billing. All of a sudden (or so it seems) the leaves around us have burst into unusually intense – and, I think, early – color. Fritz and I love to go for color drives, and really, we don’t have to go far to find it. I look out our bedroom window and our big maples are turning red-gold – it starts at the top and works its way down. I have a theory that leaves turn at night, and I like to think of a Disney-like Jack Frost doing his work as we sleep.

Of all the seasons, autumn lends itself to nostalgia. I think of "Injun Summer,"

John T. McCutcheon, Chicago Tribune, Sept. 30, 1907

the wonderful old painting that always used to run on the cover of the Tribune magazine, and usually your teacher would put it up . . . my dad, carving pumpkins so expertly and me, little, hating the smell . . . bonfires and wood smoke everywhere . . . going with my then-boyfriend to a high-school football game (because you do anything for your beloved when you’re dating) and freezing my face off. That timeless, suspended quality of melancholy November, between the color and the coming of Christ.

jane: Autumn fills me with nostalgia, too. As a child, I loved October and especially Halloween. Being a creative kid, I happily drew haunted houses and spooky trees on manila paper with my crayons, and read ghost stories by flashlight in my bed. But those were simpler, more innocent times, when Halloween just wasn't as big (and creepy) a deal. Now October means apple-picking and raking and scented candles and cozy throws and my well-worn barn coat and my favorite “comfort foods”: green chicken chili, veggie cobbler, meat loaf, homemade manicotti, and, of course, pumpkin bread, Gerty's brownies, and cranberry coffee cake!

My father's birthday is in October, so each year I try to make the six-hour drive to Michigan to celebrate it with my folks. During these visits, Mom and I always shop at Hunter Country Store in Birmingham and poke around their local Orvis . . . our shopping together, well, that's tradition my dad understands. And three years ago, our eldest daughter Sarah was married on a beautiful October Saturday. That event adds to the cluster of happy memories I hold of Octobers present and past.

betsey: That’s right! Three years! Happy anniversary, Sarah and Mike and “little one to come.” November is our big family month, with our wedding anniversary and Amanda’s birthday, both falling around Thanksgiving time.

And your recipes sound mouth-watering. We always go to the farmers’ market and get probably too many apples – Winesap, sometimes Cortland, Paula Reds, Northern Spy when you can find them. I love the way they look, smell, everything. Sometimes I just like to slice the firmer ones and saute them in, yes, a little butter and broth, sprinkle with mace and a little honey, and serve with pork. The Winesaps make outstanding pie in my experience.

jane: This is the first year we've tried Honey Crisps. Everyone's been telling us about them. I usually load up on Cortlands, but I have to admit, Honey Crisps are delicious! Betsey, you've got to give them a try.

betsey: Fall makes me feel close to my dad, who’s been gone for years but loved seeing geese in flight and spent hours and hours raking leaves the old-fashioned way - and we had a big yard. I love the poignancy of autumn: you know the beauty is fleeting, so it’s very precious.

jane: Autumn will always be my favorite time of year. I can't imagine not smelling sweet woodsmoke on an evening breeze, watching cold stars glitter in a clear, hard sky, enjoying late-blooming asters - their blast of brilliant purple exploding in the sun - and reveling in the kaleidoscope of vivid red, rust, and yellow leaves. All too quickly the dark descends – leading to, as you so aptly said, the melancholy that exists between the colors and the coming of Christ.

This is a poignant, precious season indeed . . . aching in its beauty, bittersweet in its brevity. Just like life, isn't it? So let's savor it to the fullest and fight back the deepening gloom with the joys of hearth and home, knowing springtime will once again be just around the corner.

E-Reader, She-Reader

betsey: Jane, I just finished rereading That Hideous Strength, the third (and best) installment of C.S. Lewis’s space trilogy -- and it reminded me, once again, of that delicious feeling of being swept away by a book. We can think of Lewis as either the kindly, avuncular, pipe-smoking author of the Narnia Chronicles, or the brilliant Oxford-and-Cambridge don who so vigorously defended the faith in the mid-twentieth century, when faith was in short supply, especially in the West. Yet Strength also reveals Lewis as a remarkably astute satirist. It makes one wonder what else he could have done had he written more contemporary fiction!

As you know, I have my reading place, generally the recliner in our family room. Lewis-like, it’s fine leather yet tatty in all the right places in a clubby sort of way. It’s next to our fireplace, which has brick ledges where I stack books, there and on the end table. The lamp is from Cape Cod, a beloved place for us. It has birds on it. 

I wrap up in my red throw like a little old lady, Lucy curls up next to me, and I read. 

On windy nights there’s a whooshing through the chimney that makes me think of Wuthering Heights. Everything is kind of textured and sensory.

Jane, I know you’re a reader and lover of coziness and atmosphere. At the same time, you have a Kindle! How does that work for you?

jane: Well, first of all, my reading spot is our bed, and usually Daisy and Boomer are parked there right with me! I'm tucked under the covers, my head propped up by two pillows, especially my pliable, cushy memory-foam one. I'm warm and cozy, lost in my own little world. Rich usually isn't bothered by my lamplight, so I read on, often way too late, to the soothing sounds of snoring husband and dogs. At some point I finally nod off as the book falls from my hands (fortunately, I haven't dropped my Kindle -- yet!).

But as far as the Kindle goes, it's great. Rich gave it to me for Christmas, because he knows how much I love to read and how 

I NEVER go anywhere without bringing along a good book . . . or two or three.

What I appreciate most about my Kindle is its portability. Instead of stuffing several different paperbacks into my carry-on while traveling this summer, I simply toted my Kindle. In the last few months, it's cruised Alaska and flown to Southern California. It's even ridden our motorcycle all the way to Colorado and back. My Kindle is very well traveled!

betsey: I have to admit, I’m not sure what to think about Kindles and other e-readers. I know they’re convenient, and I see people reading them on the train (although really, not all that many), but there’s something so cold and techy about them. Books should be warm.

But I’m also curious about the act of reading itself, scanning the text on a page. It’s one thing to send an email or text on a wireless device. But reading has more depth. Talk to me about this.

jane: Well, I doubt anyone who opts for a Kindle or a Nook or even an iPad thinks in terms of eliminating books and depending solely on an e-reader. It's simply an additional and extremely convenient way to read content. 

No, I'll always relish the smell and the feel of books. For me, downloaded files will never replace paper and ink. One look around my house, and you'll spot books spilling from my nightstand or sitting on a big bookcase in an extra bedroom. Many of my favorites reside in our living room, stacked on the beautiful bookcase my grandfather crafted for me when I was a child. I cherish these old and new friends -- the books I've read, and the books I intend to read -- as well as my childhood treasures: my Nancy Drews, my Wizard of Oz collection, my copies of classics such as Anne of Green Gables or Charlotte's Web.

But I have to admit, I had to get used to the e-reader. At first my eyes hurt a bit. It's a different reading experience, but I wouldn't say it's “cold.” If you don't mind the pun, that's reading a little too much into it!

Speaking of reading, I've just finished The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo and currently am working on Under the Dome by Stephen King and Beth Moore's So Long, Insecurity, all on my Kindle. What's nice about this is that I know some of these books I'll never read again (such as The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo or Under the Dome), so they're not taking up precious shelf space or waiting to be bundled up to be sold at Half-Price Books or donated to Goodwill.

betsey: Hmm. Very interesting. I think you make a good point about how no one relies solely on her e-reader. What I tell people about this whole e-book trend is, it reminds me of when TV came into widespread popularity and the Hollywood studios were afraid it meant the end of movies. But of course they existed, and continue to exist, side by side, just like radio and TV and other media.

jane: And it reminds me of when I began as an editor. I actually edited on physical, printed text -- literally cutting and pasting changes and corrections. The thing is, learning to use editing software and working on a screen rather than on hard copy didn't negate the underlying principles and experience of editing; technology simply changed the method. 

 

betsey: Oh, I’ve been wanting to read Under the Dome. What do you think?

jane: I'm just starting. It's typical Stephen King -- a little blood, a little gore, all set in Maine. Oh, and a psycho who just murdered someone. No surprises yet. I'll keep you posted, Betsey. But I'm glad I'm snug as a bug in my bed while reading it!