Home delivery

There are a few things that most of us like to keep available to us at all times. Some people want to make sure the fridge is continuously stocked with soda or beer. If you start running low, you make sure to stock up before you get to the end of your supply.  That way you have uninterrupted access to whatever consumable you'd like to have available to you whenever you have a whim.

For me, it's gum. I might be addicted, I admit. I like to have Ice Cubes spearmint gum in my purse at all times, and I have a piece several times a day. Driving to work, after my morning tea, after lunch, before class, after exercising.  There are ten pieces in a box.  You can probably imagine that I go through several boxes a week.

So I'm constantly reminding Noel to buy gum for me whenever he's at the store. It's not an easy item for the shopping list, I admit. At the grocery store, they only have the gum in individual boxes at checkout. Noel has to basically clean out the display. At Target you can get larger packages, little tubs that are the equivalent of four or five boxes. So we stock up on those when we're at Target, which might be once a month.

Noel wrote me a satirical poem after the last time I reminded him to get me gum:

Me

Buying you

Four packs of gum

Is my way of saying

Shut up already

About not having enough gum.

Today I decided to take another tack in feeding my gum habit. I set up an Amazon subscription, which is a wonderful thing if you have an item you hate to be without. Free shipping, a discount, have your favorite food or drink shipped to you in a quantity you specify, on a schedule you set (every month, two months, etc.), and get notified before each shipment so you can cancel that once if you are fully stocked.  It's like the Columbia Record and Tape Club without the commitment.

So now my gum will be arriving on the doorstep, and Noel will be freed from the frustration of not being able to find enough for me. Frankly, I'll be freed of that frustration too.  So I've written my own poem.

Me

Signing up

To have my gum 

Delivered monthly

Is my way of saying

Please add the box they come in

To your recycling pile.

Color wheel

Today marks my semiannual shopping binge at Rhea Lana's consignment sale.  I spent almost exactly $200 and outfitted my kids for the next six months -- if I bought the right things in the right sizes.

The first weekend of this seven-day sale is always a madhouse.  People line up and trade passes to get in for the preview nights.  But by Monday, it's a different story.  That's the day that the racks are restocked with new merchandise, everybody goes back to work, and the giant retail floor is wide open for business.

My kids are at awkward ages.  Cady Gray seems to have been put in the stretching machine; she's all the sudden taller and skinnier, and shirts that should fit expose are suddenly too short to cover her belly button. Archer keeps getting taller but isn't getting any wider, and it's a challenge to find pants that are long enough to be decent but don't fall off his hips.

I split the difference for Archer by making sure the jeans I buy him have the elastic bands in the waist that you can shorten with buttons.  Never really noticed them before I had to buy clothes for my kids, but they're lifesavers.  For Cady Gray, I've got no strategy; she's not tall enough for pants that are the same size as the shirts she needs.  So I just hope that I bought enough pants last year that didn't fit then but do fit now.  And the pants I bought today might have to wait until third grade.

Some people -- normal people -- do this more than twice a year.  How they keep track of the vagaries of their kids' sizes, I have no idea.  It's hard enough for me to increment them up a size every time I go.  Ask me what their shoe sizes are, and I don't have the vaguest idea.  Sometimes I think to myself that an organized mother would have a card in her wallet or a note on her smart phone with that information, just in case she happened to stop into a store and saw something she liked.  I don't, but maybe it's not because I'm a bad mother.  It's because I never happen to stop into a store and see something I like -- because I only buy clothes for my kids every six months, in bulk, at a consignment sale.

Bullet points

I've got bullet points on the brain, since it's the name of tonight's episode of Breaking Bad (my recap post will go up at 10 pm Central).  But I've also had a bunch of random stuff on my mind today.  Here's some of it.

• My unsweet tea regimen on weekdays and diet soda indulgence on weekends have left me little room to try other summer drinks.  But in need of refreshment on the road last week, I tried a frozen strawberry lemonade at McDonald's.  Mmmmmm ... surprisingly tart, cool and utterly delicious.  I had another one today.  Nothing cuts through the heat of this brutal summer better.
• Over the years living with a man who keeps shaving cream on the vanity, I've noticed that the cans always get rusty around the exposed metal rings at top and bottom.  Which makes me wonder -- why are they typically made out of metal?  Is there something about the foam or gel contents, or about the aerosol propellant, that precludes a plastic container?
• It was the first-ever back-to-school sales tax holiday in Arkansas this weekend.  We took advantage both yesterday and today, getting just about everything on the kids' supply lists and some work clothes for me.  The crowds were certainly out, but we shopped early on Saturday and late on Sunday, and seem to have avoided the worst of the crush.
• I thought this piece by the great Robert Lipsyte about the punishing ascendency of jock culture in this country got to the heart of the matter a bit more than the usual handwringing.  Short and thought-provoking.

Half a pocket

I've suffered through a couple of unfortunate trouser failures in the last week.  Oh, nothing spectacular -- no splits in embarrassing places, no underwear hanging out in public.  But rips and holes where repairs are of no avail.  Evidence that the garment has outlived its usefulness, evidence that should be heeded.

My distaste for clothes shopping has been a frequent topic in this space -- or as frequent as my infrequent clothes shopping trips, which I undertake only when I can no longer avoid the need.  I don't think I'm being entirely honest with myself, though.  The trouble may be that I like clothes shopping way too much.  I could try on infinite versions of myself, infinite stylistic variations on my look.  Maybe I tell myself that I hate clothes shopping in order to avoid falling into its sucking black hole of possibilities, time, energy, money.

What I do, then, is go looking for the bare minimum.  I want a pair of brown corduroys.  I want black cotton khakis.  I want, if it can be found, a pair of black knit pants.

And if I find the bare minimum that will fill my closet and get me through a work week, if they fit with reasonable accommodation -- a belt here, a cuff there -- I head for the register and count myself lucky.  Yet when I get home, I'm as excited to wear these clothes for the first time as if they were fancy party wear.  I'm as nervous about ruining them, as anxious that they not wear out prematurely.

I wrote a while back about the change that has come over me as a dresser since I became a knitter -- my embrace of accessories and flair into my utilitarian wardrobe.  And yet I haven't let that creep into my clothes purchases, for which the prevailing question is always "can I wear this every day?" rather than "would I wear this at all?" I have, however, grown skeptical of my own long-standing just-the-basics dressing philosophy.  Maybe it's never too late to change, although inevitably, as time goes on, it gets harder to turn on a dime.  So stay tuned, but give me time.

Three Christmases

It must take a while for parents to establish a Christmas equilibrium. When you go from grandparents' house to grandparents' house during or after the holidays, the kids end up having more than one gift-receiving smorgasbord. So how do you calibrate your own provision for their Christmas morning in light of the fact that they're going to have more later?

A couple of weeks ago, we realized that since we were seeing all sides of the family during the holidays, only our own gifts were going to be under the tree here in Conway. It's the first time this has happened, strangely enough; at every other Christmas, one set of grandparents or the other -- sometimes both! -- have shipped their gifts here and been a part of our own December 25.

What that means is that suddenly the pile of presents under the tree has shrunk by a factor of about 50%. And how have we responded? Predictably, by buying more than we had planned so that our Christmas morning will be as bountiful as ... we thought it should be. Because our kids certainly have no expectations. It's all about our perception of generosity and bountifulness, as parents.

In the end, the kids will have a nice sized Christmas on the day in question, then a couple more on a slightly smaller scale during the following week. Maybe 125% of a usual year's haul. And it's nobody's fault but ours. Luckily, our kids are not the type to worry and whine about what they don't have, nor to hoard and whine about what they do have. Even if we're doing our best to make unsatisfied little consumers out of them with our own insecurities about Christmas, I have confidence that their personalities will remain sunny and their outlook will remain optimistic.

In between

We all have certain holes in our wardrobes. Ninety percent of the time, they don't bother us. But then come those days or occasions when it would really be helpful to have a particular item -- and we don't have it. We think to ourselves: "Selves, next time we get a chance, we're buying that thing. We're not going to have to go without it next time."

But then the moment passes. When we get that chance to buy it, we think to ourselves: "Selves, do we really need this? After all, ninety percent of the time we have no use for it. Surely we can do without it." And so the cycle continues.

Earlier this year, I conquered one of those pesky holes when I bought my boots. Now I'm thinking about another one. It wasn't always a hole. For the last several years, my preferred outer layer when the temperature ranges from about 50 to 70 degrees has been a Talbots slightly cropped corduroy jacket (actually a petite size) that my mother got for me once upon a time. But sometime in the spring, I lost it. And ever since, I've been frustrated on those days when it's not cold enough for my fleece jacket, but too chilly to go without all together.

I think the answer is a jean jacket; the late lamented corduroy jacket was jean-styled, and perfectly casual yet structured. But my shopping demons always strike when I'm in a position to browse for such a thing. Do I really need it? Don't I have other items already that would do? Then I get back home and remember -- nope, I don't.

So here's a gift idea: Classic jean jacket or facsimile thereof in leather or cords. Women's size 8 or medium oughta do me. You'll be saving me not only from spring and fall in-between temps, but also from my own inability to provide for myself.

Power buy

It was a good shopping day. Longtime readers will know that I have a shopping problem. My intense buyer's remorse leads me to avoid making a decision, or even contemplating making a decision, until absolutely necessary. But sometimes, against all my expectations, shopping goes well.

The first part of the goodness I didn't even have to do myself. Noel and the kids came home from an extended trip to the grocery store with all the components of our Thankgiving feast. Bags of turkey, vegetables, garnishes, herbs, and pie. Unpacking the car, I began to anticipate the brining and the cooking and all the preparations. Thanksgiving joy arrived with those bags of food.

Tonight Noel and I had a babysitter, but no movies in town that we wanted to see. So Noel had the bright idea of going to the local huge furniture gallery after our dinner out to look for new family room seating and some storage. Our leather sectional is in bad shape and needs replacing, and we've been thinking about replacing it with two recliners and a loveseat. Our foyer also needs a console of some kind where we can store games.

I thought it was a fine way to spend time, but I didn't have high hopes of seeing what we needed. But it turned out there were a lot of pieces that would work for us. The salespeople were helpful but not pushy. The prices were right.

I started to envision sitting in the recliners watching basketball with friends on the loveseat. I saw the sideboard against that blank wall in our entryway, Sorry and Trivial Pursuit and cribbage stacked up behind its glass doors.

The money's not spent, the delivery's not arranged, the dinner's not made. But it feels like life is on the upswing. One more notch upward on the livability scale for our home. Eventually.

Montreal yarn crawl

I attended an (ungodly) 7:30 am breakfast meeting this morning, and after that was done, it hit me: Today was the day. Many stores are closed Monday, some are also closed on Sunday. If I were going to canvas the yarn stores of Montreal, it had to be today.

So at 9:30 am, after returning to the hotel to grab my scribbled directions and gird up my loins generally, I was off. My goal: Five yarn stores and back by 4 pm for the first plenary panel of the conference.

My first stop was Effiloché, a lovely and welcoming store that just happened to open earlier than any of the others. I inaugurated my souvenir purchases with a locally-dyed yarn: Tanis Fiber Arts Blue Label fingering weight in an appropriate overcast Moss colorway. (No pictures because at this point I hadn't remembered my determination to take them.)

Next on my list was A La Tricoteuse Laine, a well-ordered store tailored more for buying than browsing or socializing. There I bought Les Laines Oberlyn, a Quebecois DK weight in a rich red.

On the way back to the Metro I entered a monastery chapel where mass was underway; several nuns and monks made their way back to where I was standing and offered me the peace.

Stop #3: Tricot Quartier. I walked about a kilometer down beautiful wide streets in an upscale neighborhood before finding this storefront in a walkup. Not enough luxury sock yarn to pique my interest, really, but I left with some Regia Hand-Dyed Effekt.







I thoroughly enjoyed my visit to Ariadne Knits, a friendly place where a carding class was in full swing when I entered. My selection was a couple of skeins of O-Wool Classic 2-Ply in a cheerful green. (The staff was equally as friendly when I had to return 30 minutes later because I'd left my camera in the store.)






And my last stop, perhaps the most impressive yarn store I visited in Montreal, Mouliné. The staff chatted knowledgeably about Ravelry, the stock was mind-boggling, and I came away with a Crazy Zauerball in addition to the Malabrigo Sock I had already settled on.

Now that the yarn crawl is out of the way, it's all business from here on out. But what a way to begin -- a cold day, a Metro ride all over town and back, knitters and knitwear everywhere you turn, and beautiful yarn both local and imported from far-flung lands. Merci, Montreal!

Ah, shoe

I was in the library this afternoon checking out a few books and chatting with the librarians. "You gonna take these with you?" one of them joked. "Thought I might," I answered. "I once bought a pair of shoes," he mused in reply, "and the salesmen asked, 'You wanna spote 'em or tote 'em?"

That got me started thinking about a weird aspect of buying shoes -- namely, putting your old shoes into the new shoes' box and carrying them out of the store. Does anybody else fill a slight twinge of wrongness about tossing your used, scuffed shoes -- the ones you came in to replace, maybe -- in that shoebox? It's a moment where things are not only out of place or reversed, but where the superseded item somehow insists on remaining with you. By all rights, those shoes should be carried quietly to a disposal unit behind the store -- some of us would be willing to pay a fee for the service, like when you get your oil changed -- but no. Instead, there you are carrying them out of the store as if they were the item you just bought, masquerading as a purchase you're proud of, while the new shoes on your feet do their utilitarian job.

Actually, it's never easy to know what to do with shoes that have outlasted their welcome. I have shoes that don't fit anymore, shoes that have lost their luster, piled in a corner of my closet. I've dropped them off at Goodwill with other clothes, but I've never felt good about it. Shoes are personal. Shoes take on the shape of your feet. Used shoes seem like an abomination. But I can't bring myself to throw them away, either. Why should items that have served you so well, crafted leather and stitched rubber, end up in a landfill?

How do you deal with old shoes?

Today I am a ham

Yesterday in a fit of whimsey -- or a fit of having an unscheduled hour toward the end of the day -- I decided the moment was right for the buying of boots.

Longtime readers will know that I have a Boot Problem. I know that I need to to ask boots to come into my life. I know that boots will be just what I need. But boots are alien to my lifestyle. I don't know how to shop for them. The boxes are so big, and the prices are so daunting. Every time I looked at boots, I ended up confused and bootless.

But it was clear to me for the first time this weekend that fall was really coming. Monday was cool -- so much so that I was hesitant sending the kids off to walk to school without jackets. I had told myself during the two weeks of rain that just ended that I wasn't going to get complacent about sunshine again. No more wishing I had bought boots before I needed them, then suffering without them because I didn't prepare.

So I left work with a new determination. It felt like Boot Time. And at the big shoe mall (slogan: "It's an anomaly!"), there were boots everywhere when I walked in. I fondled the suede Uggs, but I knew that suede wouldn't give me the weather resistance I needed. These weren't fashion boots. These were work boots.

Two or three aisles later, I was back at a familiar spot for me -- the Born section. Seems like most shoes I buy are Borns. They have a chunky aesthetic. They're made for walking, not standing around looking pretty. The leather is durable and rustic.

A few minutes later, these boots were on my feet. The heel is low -- walkability. The material is soft and matte finish -- functional, not fashionable. Comfort was the clear watchword, but with my calves encased in leather for the first time in decades, I felt unaccountably daring.

Thanks to my frequent-customer card, almost one-third was knocked off the price. Glowing with boot success, I took my savings and cleaned out Tuesday Morning's bin of Patons SWS ($1.99 a ball) and Elizabeth Austen Antuco ($3.99 a skein).

When I woke up this morning, the weather station said that it was 54 degrees outside. A real cool fall morning. If I were to walk to class, my options would be pants and my Born clogs, or a skirt and ... my Born boots. Yes, I broke them in today -- walking to work and back and all over campus. I felt like a superheroine -- a very comfortable, ready-for-anything superheroine. I have converted. I am a boot person.

Back to school sale

I depend on the semiannual Rhea Lana consignment sale to outfit my kids. And thankfully, the sale was moved up closer to the beginning of school this year. So this afternoon I completed my work and headed out to the dying shopping center on the edge of town, where the sale has commandeered five storefronts for the week.

If you're going to try to get ninety percent of your kids' fall-winter clothing in one swell foop, strategy is essential. Shopping carts are scarce, if present at all, and you can only carry around six or ten outfits before your carryin' arm gets tired and you lose your will to flip through the racks. So smart shoppers bring a laundry basket to fill. I've even seen some being dragged around with jumpropes or clothesline, the better to move quickly without having to lean over and lift from the knees.

Naturally it helps if you know what size your children are, generally speaking. However, if you rarely shop at actual stores, you don't get that regular checkup on the key numbers. So there's some guesswork and projection involved.

Cady Gray was comfortable in size 5 tops last winter, but she was still wearing some size four pants and leggings with plenty of length to spare. So I shopped exclusively on the size 6 racks for her today; the shirts and sweaters will fit this year, and the pants next year -- no problem since she still has plenty of size 5 pants that I bought at last year's sale. Archer is rail-thin, making the ratio of length to waist circumference a problem. He made it through last year with size 6 pants, which were pretty short by the time it got to be shorts weather. Eyeballing the size 7 and 8 pants, I was of the opinion that size 8 pants were ridiculously long. I was a little worried that size 7's would be vulnerable to a height spurt, but if I got them with enough elastic in the waist, they should be presentable for long enough.

As for styles, I have definite opinions. I stay away from pink and purple in the girls' section as much as possible, and I like to keep it simple -- long-sleeve tees that can be layered, not a lot of frou-frou. For Archer, it's all about stripes. I love a boy in a striped tee shirt; it's just ... boyish in a way that makes me happy.

If I can get out the door with seven to ten shirts, four or five pants, a jacket and sweater, and a pair of pajamas for each child, I consider it a Rhea Lane sale well shopped. PJs get harder to find the older they get, but for everything else, I scored -- and I only broke my "nothing over five dollars" rule for a couple of special items. Now to put bricks on the kids heads and try to keep them the same size until March or so!

Pilgrimage

I was lucky enough to have a free day in Atlanta (as previously mentioned here). So I took a spiritual journey.



I went to the Episcopal church.




I went to the Methodist church.




I went to the yarn church.




At the last one I stayed for some private devotions.




The altar of Noro inspired particular worship.




Such a beautiful place truly makes you feel close to yarn.




When I left, as that old song says, without a doubt I knew that I had been revived.

The hardest part

There's nothing that brightens my day more than the anticipation of a big package in the mail -- or more than one. And there's nothing that makes me question my own self-worth more than those packages not arriving.

I've got a bunch of packages in the mail to me from end-of-the-year yarn sales and the like. The orders were placed in the days in and around Christmas. Every day I remember at some point that they are coming, and a smile crosses my face. My steps get a little bouncier. There could be a little present to myself in the mail today!

Then the mail truck comes and goes without leaving anything at the door. The UPS guy delivers his usual armload of DVDs to Noel, but nothing for me. And I wonder: Do I merit the packages? Have I angered the shipping gods? What do I need to get right in my soul to open up the doors and allow the boxes to bless me?

I ordered a set of 100 Moo mini-cards with images from my Flickr set back on December 19. A dispatch notice arrived in my e-mail box on December 22. Now, I know that these cards have to come from the UK by airmail. And there have been a couple of postal holidays in between now and then, which is some consolation. But with every day that exceeds the 5-7 business day estimate, I become more concerned. Not about Moo or the international mails. About whether I deserve to be happy.

If any of these packages could hurry up and arrive, I'd be spared a whole lot of pointless examination. Do you hear me, Hubert of Liege, patron saint of mail?

By the chimney with care

Our church held its first-ever Christmas Market today -- a fundraiser for the preschool. More than 20 vendors set up booths with handmade items. I was really just going to lend moral support to the project and to get the kids out of the house, but I ended up lugging home a lot of loot.



I can't resist cheap beaded earrings. These were $2.




Handmade notecards and a bookmark by one of our fellow parishioners.




A small book of handmade paper, perfect for stuffing into a special stocking.




Gift bags sewn up from upholstery fabric scraps. I'm keeping at least the green one for a sock project bag.




Autumnal sachets, four for $3.




And locally-produced dip mixes. Who will be lucky enough to get the habernero, I wonder?

For miles and miles

Ever since my travels to Denmark and Chicago last month, I've realized that knee-high boots are not a luxury item, but an essential. The streets were full of women who know cold weather and style, and a lot of them were sporting boots.

I've never owned a pair of boots that weren't cowboy in nature. And although I've coveted the panache of the boot-wearing woman -- the way she strides through life, the way she's not shy about wearing skirts and showing her knees -- I never thought I could be her. I'm not a dashing person. I have no flair. I am functional at best. Boots, I figured, were for other people.

But Denmark and Chicago changed my mind. I started to see boots as a way to extend my skirt wardrobe into the colder weather, not to mention a way to deal with inclement conditions. I walk to work and back, sometimes several times a day, and my footwear needs a certain ruggedness, a can-do spirit.

On Sunday afternoon I took Cady Gray with me on some errands, and we hit the shoe store last of all. I had in mind to look over the selection of boots, and I even tried some on. Surprisingly, I felt like a boot woman all of a sudden. I didn't buy -- my weakness is endless comparison shopping -- but I acquired more confidence in my plan to become a boot wearer.

My trip to the shoe store wasn't just about boots, though. I needed a pair of dressy mules that I could wear to work, since my old reliable microfiber ones had long suffered from a bad case of sole separation. I pulled down a few, but my eye was caught by this number:



Becoming reconciled to boot-dom was having side effects. Heels were becoming acceptable, or even desirable -- despite decades of flatness. (Seriously, I haven't worn a heel above 2" since my twenties.) I didn't want another drably functional slip-on. I wanted ... style.

And I got it. I wore those shoes today, walking back and forth to the office twice, plus a turn around the east campus while Archer was in therapy. Although the shearling-lined interior is cozy and the square toe relatively unrestricting, my unused-to-heels feet suffered a bit. But I'm at the age where no one can criticize me for my choice of style over comfort. I've earned the right to decide what's more important on any given day. It's not what anyone is telling me to do -- it's what I want, and how I want to see myself.

Boots, here I come!

Decorate yourself

I went to the semi-annual Rhea Lana children's consignment sale this morning to put an initial dent in the kids' cold weather wardrobes. Normally the sale lasts a week, but this time it's only a few days, so I couldn't pursue my normal strategy of waiting until after the first weekend rush is over.

Although I arrived fifteen minutes after the opening bell, hoping that the midweek opening would limit the number of moms who could spare the time to shop, the parking lot was full. Inside, though, there were so many racks jam-packed with clothes that they all but swallowed up the shoppers and the kids they were toting or pulling. As a savvy long-time customer, I knew to bring a Tub-Trug to fill -- the arms tend to get tired holding stacks of pants, shirts, and sweaters for as long as it takes to get through every rack of the appropriate size.

When I got home with my purchases after school, I told Archer that I had gotten 29 items for $128.50. "How much did each item cost?" I asked. "That's going to have a remainder," he announced, before disappearing to tap it out on his calculator. "Each item cost four dollars and forty-three cents," he said when he came back. I confided in Noel that if you took out the red and gold princess dress I got Cady Gray for Halloween, which cost $10, that average would be even less.

It's strange to pick out clothes for your children, particularly when you've quietly discouraged the development of any particular style or color preferences on their parts. You're left with what you would like to see them in. Stripes? (Yes.) Pink? (Acceptable if small doses.) Ponchos? (If Cady Gray wants a poncho, I'll knit her one. Until then, no.) Corduroy? (With some trepidation.)

Essentially, you're decorating your children. This is fairly easy to live with when they're babies. The older they get, the weirder you feel about imposing your taste on them.

A few days ago I bought the justly-celebrated second Mason-Dixon Knitting book, Mason-Dixon Knitting: Outside The Lines. These ladies feel about clothes the way I do: "nothing too out there." Anything that will be wearable fifteen years from now has a place in my closest. A skirt with an interesting silhouette? An asymmetrical top? Too now! Too timely! Better boring and safe than exciting but possibly momentary.

But they, and I, are trying. One chapter is titled "Decorate Yourself." Now there's a concept. Not just cover yourself, not just fade into the background. Open the closet door and think not "what will function?" but "which of my many fabulous looks will adorn me today?"

Luckily, for now I can get Cady Gray excited about the new clothes I got for her just by telling her how much I love them. I wonder when the day will come when she will open her closet and think about how she wants to decorate herself?

Give a hoot, read a book

Today's post -- about zigzag socks and conference knitting -- is at Toxophily.

Two notes for you here: First, my friends at Ex Libris Anonymous are moving their studio, and they need to get rid of a few of their amazing journals made from old library books. The more you buy, the fewer they have to tote. As my former teaching assistants can attest, they make great gifts.

Second, I've got to fill out my tourney brackets tonight, and between my travel over the weekend and desperate pre-Spring Break teachenating and administramationing, I've done zero preparation. So I'll be going with pure instinct. Last year I came up with a name for my brackets that I do not expect ever to surpass: Boom Goes The Donnamite. And with avid research and careful bracketology, I did pretty well. I didn't win my brackets, but I finished quite high.

I can't help but use Boom Goes The Donnamite for my bracket name again. It's just too perfect. In a few weeks, however, the name will be stuck near the bottom of the standings in both my pools, looking all soiled and shopworm, its cultural reference cheapening by the minute.

In short, my goals for the tournament are modest but achievable. I will ruin the perfect bracket name.

Only 33 shopping days left

The Christmas shopping season officially began today, complete with wall-to-wall coverage on the news networks and a bunch of sale announcement e-mails landing in my inbox. Time for my annual confrontation with my shopping demons.

I have shopping problems. My desire to buy, give, and own the perfect stylish gifts collides with my crippling buyer's remorse. This leads to a lot more window shopping, second-guessing, making and forgetting brilliant plans, and basically trying to cram a lifetime of meaning into one purchase.

This year I'm making two gifts for the basic family units, which means that I only have 18/21 of the anxiety of a normal year. What I'd like to do is commit to an overall strategy -- like buying handmade, or buying fair trade -- and stick to it for every gift I buy. But every time I try that, there's somebody that I just can't fit in, and then the whole thing is blown and I'm back to flitting here and rushing there with no boundaries to give my shopping some shape and direction.

Maybe I need to tap the wisdom of those who have a better relationship with the consumer society and the Christmas imperative. What method do you use to get your shopping done without losing your mind or feeling completely inadequate to the task?

I live to shop

Not really. But I blog to live, and on a night with two other writing assignments due, it's time to reach for the ol' meme standby. I've been tagged by a couple of people, but Nancy (in my comments) was first.

1. What are you proud of?
I took a step toward cleaning out my bookcases -- a very distant step, one that requires a lot of other steps -- by getting a couple of packages of padded envelopes for sending mooched books.

2. What are you embarrassed by?
The $1 USA coloring book I picked up on a whim for Cady Gray. Not real embarrassing objectively, but I'm bourgeois enough to be faintly ashamed when I buy something really cheap.

3. What do you think you couldn't live without?
The spiral bow that I got to put on a gift bag for a three-year old, who couldn't have cared less whether the gift was nicely packaged or wrapped in the comics pages.

4. What did you most enjoy purchasing?
The envelopes gave me the most satisfaction. I always feel good when I purchase something in pursuit of some plan that I think will make me a better person. Frequently those items end up languishing unused because I never develop the determination to carry out the plan. But right now I'm sending and receiving books regularly, so the envelopes are working out.

5. What were you most tempted by? (This last one may or may not be an actual purchase!)
It was Wal-Mart ... a place that doesn't feel much like temptation. I did want a chocolate bar at checkout, and I think I would have actually bought one if I had been in a lane where they were at impulse eye level. My sweet tooth was acting up this week; I was craving dessert and I didn't want to wait for my No-S-Diet-Approved weekend allowance. Luckily the Wal-Mart design team didn't put my will power to too much of a test.

Hey, if you need a blog post or you'd like to examine your relationship to consumerism, feel free to grab this one.

Stocking up

If I have to go shopping, by golly, I'm going to do it in one fell swoop. No piecemeal visits to a dozen stores for me. My goal is to spend $150 for 75% of what the kids are going to need until March.

Mission accomplished. I think I ended up with 30+ garments (many of them sets) and a grab bag of toys. Now I'll be trying to make the mercury drop with my mind so the kids can wear long pants and sleeves again. Nothing better than new old clothes, twice a year. Thanks, semi-annual consignment sale!

I'll have to let my How I Met Your Mother TV Club entry speak for me tonight. 137-minute film at school, 22-minute episode at home, 60 minutes writing a blog destined to go up about an hour late -- that pretty much eats up my night. See you tomorrow for our normally scheduled kid homework review.