Category Archives: Mrs. Charm

Ready for the drought-buster?

I was joking to Mrs. Charm the other day about the front page story in the daily on the severity of our drought (thanks to an increased population demanding more water) that whenever they highlight a weather problem, the solution is almost at hand.

Well, maybe not the whole solution, but a good wetting, according to WeatherBell’s Joe D’Aleo:

“This time of year is when rain com[e]s to the high plains as moisture gets drawn northwest upslope. They have a second peak in the fall with the early fall storms fed by the seasonal moisture that come[s] into the desert southwest.”

So, while it may not be a repeat of the Memorial Day floods of 1981, the forecast rain of two inches or more over the next ten days, following by a cooler-than-usual (less evaporation) summer and, thanks to El Nino, a wetter-than-normal fall, our long-awaited drought-buster may be almost at hand.

After all, we got three and half inches of rain in an hour at the rancho about this time last year. So it’s only wise to get ready for a real frog-strangler.

UPDATE:  Alas, no frogs were killed in the making of this Memorial Day weekend. We got only 2.5 inches at the rancho—much of it coming on Tuesday— but it was better than none.

You need a Vietnamese pedicure

I never thought I’d get a pedicure, until old age and overweight made it difficult to cut my own toenails without risking injury. Not to mention my really rough heels that were destroying scores of pairs of socks.

So, at the urging of Mrs. Charm, I visited the Passion Nail Spa on Far West Boulevard, near the Rancho. I was one of the few males, but no matter. It was very relaxing, warm water, hot towels, foot and ankle massage and all.

I was surprised to discover the management and pedicurists were all recent Vietnamese immigrants. Apparently recent as none of them spoke much English. Turns out they are part of a trend these days in Vietnamese-owned nail salons. For instance, in South Florida:

“The nail industry will help stabilize the lives of so many Vietnamese from Vietnam to America,” Truong said. “But with the second generation — for example, my children and my staff’s children — they are not going to choose a career in a nail salon, because they will have a diploma and will be good in English, so they can find another good job.”

The Austin pedicurists smiled politely at my use of what Vietnamese language I could remember after 45 years—mostly hello and thank you—but they would, wouldn’t they, even if I was unintelligible. I got the $26 classic but next time (oh, yes, there will be a next time) I might get the $40 deluxe.

Now with toenails all nice and short and rough heels smooth, I’m more than satisfied. You will be, too, if you try it. And you should. Really.

UPDATE:  Or, perhaps, predate would be more accurate. Miriam was way ahead of me, way up there in Delaware back in 2011.

The Downton Abbey soaper

I haven’t watched it more than a few minutes at a time on rare occasions. Mrs. Charm watches it religiously and seems not the least perturbed by any of it. She was sad when its season ended Sunday night, but I’m sure she’ll hunt for reruns.

I figure it is basically Upstairs Downstairs in retread, which, indeed, some critics contend. I was surprised to learn that some conservatives consider it offensive, probably for its portrayal of a society without much, if any, middle class—which is where the Democrats seem intent on taking all of us.

Terry at Sullivan’s Travelers thinks the Abbey is nothing to be concerned about:

“The political message is bien-pensant, when it can be detected at all. The way that social norms straightened the lives of women is given far greater emphasis than the way…social norms straightened the lives of men. Lord Grantham is a genuinely good-hearted person. Carson, the chief domestic, is tough, but fair. I was surprised to see the sole gay character, footman Thomas Barrow, presented as a villain (though they made him more likable by the end of season three).”

Like I say I don’t watch it, so I don’t know. I don’t generally watch the rube, anymore, except for Big 12 college football games in the fall and winter.

I remember watching Upstairs Downstairs at my ex-wife’s parents home way back when. They never missed it. They were well enough off to identify with the lords and ladies instead of the help.

Abbey apparently is just a similar soap opera in period clothes.

Our winter almost over

After four months of chilly-to-downright-cold, we finally have a week’s forecast ahead of daytime temps in the mid- to upper-70s. But LCRA meteor Bob Rose says below-normal temperatures will return for the last week of the month into the first week of March.

No precip in the offing, unlike the experience of a fellow 13th Mississippi descendant who recently bought a copy of our new book. She lives in Maine (of all places) and says they just finished shoveling eight inches of ice-crusted snow off walks and deck and had another three inches of snow over the weekend. Better them than me.

Now if the damn juniper pollen would just get the shuck out of the air. Going on eight weeks now of sneezing and nose-blowing from “cedar fever” is just too much.

If it happens again next year, I have told Mrs. Charm, I’m moving to West Texas—at least for the duration. Hole up in some boarding house (if I can find one; if they have them anymore) with WiFi until the all-clear.

Gender studies

Reading a post by J.D. over at Mouth of the Brazos about his hunt for a new stove reminded me of a curious encounter with gender politics last month.

The ice-maker in our 13-year-old fridge started producing not cubes of ice but giant icebergs by apparently leaking water onto cubes already made. After removing several of the bergs with much chopping and cursing, I figured Mrs. C. would insist on a new fridge though we’ve had no other problems with the thing.

She surprised me when she didn’t say any such thing, but went and found the replacement ice-maker online and then, wonder of wonders, installed it by herself. Only the cover was upside down. I knew it wasn’t wise but I couldn’t resist pointing it out. I tried to back-fill by insisting that it was a minor matter and I would never mention it again.

She fixed it. Looks like I’m going to be in complete retirement soon.

Goodbye instant-on 100 watt blubs

“Lasts 11 years!” saving “$202 in energy costs” because its 23 watts deliver the same brightness as a 100 watt incandescent bulb. (The kind to be outlawed Jan. 1 for manufacture by our political overseers, the very best ones that money can buy, you can be sure.)

So says the box of two Sylvania Super Saver, CFL (Compact Fluorescent Lamp), micro-mini, Soft White, Mrs. Charm bought the other day. The promise is classic sleight-of-hand. Quick, look over here!

Ah, but the fine print on the side of the box says the 11 years is based on just three hours use a day for seven days a week. I can triple that usage even in the daytime in a room with only one (north-facing) window and no skylight.

Howsomeever. The brightness is, indeed, comparable to a 100 watt incandescent. And the light is no harsher than an incandescent. (Soft was in the eye of the copy writer, apparently.)

But it does take a while to get that bright. “Instant On” the box says in big green letters. Most of the box is green. Of course. But “instant on”? That’s no truer than “If you like your health insurance, you can keep it.”

The light comes on surprisingly dim. Takes about 30 seconds to get bright. Not a big problem unless you need the bright light for something important in a hurry. Then you’d be SOL. Maybe you could carry a flashlight, eh?

Don’t bother calling the politicians. They’re busy cashing their checks from Sylvania.

UPDATE: Shoot. I was wrong. It’s not just manufacture of 100-watt bulbs that ends on Wednesday (Jan. 1, 2014) but 60- and 40-watt bulbs, too. There are still some around, of course. And if manufacturers in Mexico are smart (and I’m sure they are) they’ll keep making them for sale here.

To tree or not to tree, that is the question

There is so much intermarriage in Judaism these days that ornament makers are churning out Star of David tree toppers and similar ornaments, my favorite being the Hanukkah menorah.

I have a favorite, yes, because we have all three kinds on the Xmas tree my Baptist-turned-atheist wife would be bereft without and might even divorce me over—unlike this chap who persists in refusing his converted wife’s very secular plea for one.

I understand him and other Jews who refuse to countenance such a thing, but having already capitulated in what some see as a holy war, I like to fall back on history.

Xmas trees were pagan (bad enough for some Jews, of course) to begin with, such that even the former Soviet Union felt comfortable with them under a slightly different name.

So it’s more than ironic that today they are so intensively identified with Christianity. Indeed, back in mid-19th century America when what was then a secular European tradition began to become popular, many Christians flatly refused to consider them.

“I don’t worship the tree,” was a common explanation of those who resisted. They lost, obviously, as I suspect many intermarried Jews are going to lose in the end, and then we’ll see whether and how things change.