Scout Moves

The average person uses a toilet 2,500 times a year and spends three years of his or her life on the toilet. That's pretty startling when you consider that 2.6 billion people on the planet have little or no access to sanitary toilets. If there is one thing I can't stand, it's a filthy public restroom--you've heard the phrase, you can tell the state of a restaurant by judging the state of its restrooms. A place with empty soap dispensers or toilet paper scattered all over the floor or overflowing trash cans is not likely to provide an edible meal. But that's not the kind of dirty restroom I'm talking about. I'm talking about toilets so unsanitary you wouldn't let your cows use them. I'm talking about toilets so dysfunctional, the waste empties untreated directly into the environment. I'm talking about such unsanitary conditions that 2 million people die every year from diarrheal diseases, diseases that could be prevented with the accessibility of

Sir John Harington (1561–1612) was the son of a gentlewoman who served in Queen Elizabeth 1's privy chamber. The Queen favored John and named him as one of her 102 god children. John grew up to become a poet in the royal court and fell in and out of favor with the queen—his poetry was occasionally risqué, as were his translations, so she would banish him from time to time for being indelicate. In 1594, John invented a kind of flush toilet called the Ajax, a playful form of the word "jakes," the British term for toilet or privy. He made one for himself and one for the Queen during a period in which she found him acceptable. He wrote a book about it entitled A New Discourse upon a Stale Subject: The Metamorphosis of Ajax . The book, beyond describing the mechanics of the new toilet, included court scenes, family and friends, veiled references to his enemies, and biblical characters. For the sin of once again crossing the line of decency, he lost favor with the Queen. Some s

While I'm thinking about the history of toilet paper, it only follows that we talk about the history of toilets. I have four in my house, actually—one in the master bath, one in the bathroom down the hall, one in the half-bath by the kitchen, and one in the basement. By simply flushing the things, all kinds of icky stuff gets washed away down a set of pipes, into a larger set of community pipes that runs through the sewer system, and on to a water treatment plant. From there, I couldn't tell you what happens to it all. I just know I'm not emptying a chamber pot out the window in the morning. "Gardez L’eau!" (watch out for the water), the 19th-century British used to shout when they threw their waste out the window, warning the passersby below. All that human crud landed in the gutter, left to fester and stink. Eventually it was washed into the rivers, which were then left to fester and stink. That kind of carelessness might have been acceptable in sparsely popula

While I'm thinking about the passing of Dick Wilson and the end of Mr. Whipple, let's talk about the history of toilet paper. I'm serious. Toilet paper is the kind of thing you take for granted. It's just there in the store when you need it, and it comes in multi-packs, so you can stock up. I remember when the Soviet Union was in such crisis, and American news programs showed us all pictures of the poor Russians standing in long lines in the bitter cold waiting for their ration of toilet paper. That would never happen in the US because we have it by the ton. You can buy it scented or unscented. With lotion or without. Suitable for septic tanks. Suitable for motor homes. Printed with crossword puzzles. Printed with the phrase "Asses of Evil" with pictures of leaders of the bad countries. But it hasn't always been this way. The first documented use of paper for toilet purposes dates from 6th-century China. Use of paper for hygiene spread around the world, f

In all the hullabaloo of the Thanksgiving holiday, I neglected to acknowledge the passing of Dick Wilson, the actor who played Mr. Whipple for more than twenty years. Mr. Whipple was the star of an ad campaign for Charmin toilet paper, and in a 1978 survey, he was the most-recognized American after Richard Nixon and Billy Graham. Actors who specialize in commercial work are often dismissed as less than serious about their craft, but Wilson once said, "The kind of pictures they're making today, I'll stick with toilet paper." By "sticking with toilet paper," the man was able to work twelve days a year for an annual salary of $300,000. Beat that. In honor of Dick Wilson's place in pop culture, here are a couple of his earlier commercials.

Carrie Nation was born on this day in 1846, so happy birthday to the old woman. Carrie Moore's first husband, Dr. Gloyd, was a severe alcoholic, so she left him and turned her attentions to the temperance movement. She believed God told her to smash up saloons, so she gathered up rocks and destroyed what she could. After her second husband suggested she switch to hatchets because they would be more effective, she began a campaign of what she called "hatchetations," going from saloon to saloon, hacking up the places and shouting, "Men, I have come to save you from a drunkard's fate." Carrie was 6 feet tall and weighed 175 pounds, and she liked to say she was "a bulldog running along at the feet of Jesus, barking at what He doesn't like." She was arrested more than 30 times for vandalism--smashing up bars--and she paid her fines with lecture fees and by selling souvenir hatchets. It's interesting to note there was a history of mental illness

A sorrowful tune I liked to hum to myself when I was a melancholy teenager, moping around my meager album collection that I stacked up on the hi-fi, was Sally Garden. I haven't thought of this Irish tune in years, but when I was looking for the lyrics of The Ash Grove for last week's sound track, I stumbled on this treasure. I remember feeling a bit cloddish because little feet seemed to be something a lovely woman should have, and my gun boats were contradictory. I wouldn't cross the Sally Garden—I would plod across it, and I would leave tracks in my muddy wake. And just in case you'd like to be sorrowful for a few minutes, here are the lyrics: It was down by the Sally Gardens, my love and I did meet. She crossed the Sally Gardens with little snow-white feet. She bid me take love easy, as the leaves grow on the tree, But I was young and foolish, and with her did not agree. In a field down by the river, my love and I did stand And on my leaning shoulder, she laid her sn

Nothing is really free, is it? Somebody has to pay for everything that changes hands whether it's lunch or health care or rice given to the needy. Poverty.com has a sister site— freerice.com . Because nothing is free, the sponsors have come up with a gimmick—a vocabulary quiz. As you play, with each correct answer, the sponsors whose ads run along the bottom of the screen donate ten grains of rice to the United Nations World Food Program. Ten grains doesn't sound like much by itself, but the site generates nearly 200,000,000 grains a day. The power of words. At first I, wasn't sure what to make of the thing. I was almost immediately addicted to the quiz, but I had questions about the program. The FAQ page answered two of them right off the bat. If FreeRice has the rice to give, why not give it all away right now? FreeRice is not sitting on a pile of rice―you are earning it 10 grains at a time. Here is how it works. When you play the game, advertisements appear on the botto

Last year at Thanksgiving, I posted small watercolor paintings I created in my remedial attempt to learn the art. I'll have to do that again this year because we travel at Thanksgiving, and it would be rude to excuse myself from the greater family table in order to write a proper post. I'll stay put and enjoy the turkey and stuffing and veggies and wine. I understand that after dinner, we will all be taking our wine glasses for a walk around the pond--buzzed walking, someone has called it. While I'm doing that, you can enjoy this big blue chair.

I stole this from Professor J's Place who stole it from...well, you can go see for yourself. This has been around a bit. It seems I need to read more. Copy this list and • Bold those books you’ve read. • Italicize books you have started but couldn’t finish. • Add an asterisk* to those you have read more than once. • Underline those on your To Be Read list. • I'll add this one--color the title red if you've seen the movie. • And this one--color the title green if you've seen the movie more than once. Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell Crime and Punishment Catch-22 One Hundred Years of Solitude Wuthering Heights The Silmarillion Life of Pi: A Novel The Name of the Rose Don Quixote Moby Dick Ulysses Madame Bovary The Odyssey Pride and Prejudice Jane Eyre* A Tale of Two Cities* The Brothers Karamazov Guns, Germs, and Steel: the Fates of Human Societies War and Peace Vanity Fair The Time Traveler’s Wife The Iliad Emma The Blind Assassin The Kite Runner Mrs. Dalloway Great E

My Camry has a media screen that, when not being used for navigation, lists the names of songs I am listening to on Sirius radio. It names the song title and the composer or performer on two different lines, but for some reason it only gives the first ten characters and/or spaces. So, if I'm listening to Broadway Hits, I might hear "Seventy Si" from The Music_. Or I might sing along with "I Feel Pre" from West Side_. Lately I have been listening to Classical Pops, which is a hodge podge of movements from famous symphonies or familiar stand-alone tunes. If the piece is really familiar, I can sometimes sing the horn parts, but because the composers' names are truncated, I have to fill in the missing characters—not always an easy task. I figure if I'm going to play in an orchestra, I should at least know the names of the composers, even if I can't always count out their music. So, I have taken to using this defect in my car's communication system to

Well, here's another event to add to my "last time" series of events this year. Daughter No. 2 performed in her last marching band concert, an encore performance during which the band plays music from their half-time shows. It's a big, raucous show with full-volume percussion and dancing tubas and everyone playing as if they were on the football field. When I was a kid, I used to cry at parades because the drums in the marching bands would pound inside my heart and scare the life out of me. I loved the horses and clowns and candy, but the bands gave me agita. It wasn't until I joined the band at age ten and spent an entire marching season playing cymbals in the percussion section that I came to love that heart-pounding sensation. Now, I like the feeling, which is good because when a 150-piece marching band plays indoors, you get plenty of it. During this concert, band members volunteer to perform band choreography up front--here is Daughter No. 2 going out with a

Happy birthday to Imogene Coca--actress, dancer, comedian, all around entertainer. She was born Imogene Fernandez de Coca in 1908. Her father was a conductor, and her mother was a dancer and magician's assistant, so it's no surprise that she went into the entertainment business. By her late teens, Imogene was a chorus girl on Broadway, but she went up from there to become a comedic giant in the company of Lucille Ball and Carol Burnett. In the 50s, she starred with Sid Caesar in Your Show of Shows, but that was before my time. I didn't discover her until she appeared as the tooth fairy on Bewitched and later as Aunt Jenny on The Brady Bunch. Aunt Jenny was a name-dropping, wealthy world-traveler who shipped outrageous gifts. Jan found a photo of Aunt Jenny as a girl, and the two looked so much alike. When the adult Aunt Jenny appeared, Jan was in crisis because she was afraid she would grow up to be ugly and look like Imogene Coca. Aunt Jenny's response--"There

The Ash Grove is a traditional Welsh tune written in the 1800s, although I didn't learn it until I was in high school. I bought an album of traditional tunes sung by a duet team known for singing sacred songs, and it was full of such wonders that I would sit in front of the hi-fi for hours at a time until the lyrics seeped into my head. The Ash Grove was one of those haunting songs. I play it here on a tenor recorder: (if the media player isn't displaying, you can hear it here .) Here are the lyrics, in case you'd like to let them sink into your head, too. Down yonder green valley where streamlets meander, When twilight is fading, I pensively rove, Or at the bright noontide in solitude wander Amid the dark shades of the lonely Ash grove. 'Twas there while the blackbird was joyfully singing, I first met my dear one, the joy of my heart; Around us for gladness the bluebells were ringing, Ah! then little thought I how soon we should part. Still grows the bright sunshine o&

In 1961, the Leo Burnett Agency in Chicago developed the Charlie the Tuna campaign that made tuna the food of the masses and helped to bring tuna noodle casserole to every home in America. I once took a typing test for a a job at Leo Burnett, hoping to get a lackey job that would pay for a year's worth of college. I failed the test because I couldn't figure out how to type up a table on the stupid typewriter (pre-computer days), and I ended up working for a title agency in the basement of city hall. Anyway, the campaign for canned tuna took off, and Charlie the Tuna became as much a part of my childhood psyche as Andy Griffith, Get Smart, and The Dick Van Dyke Show. The poor tuna was forever coming up with ways to attract Star-Kist so he could become the next big fish, as if he didn't realize he'd be gutted and filleted if he were caught. He wanted to prove how much taste he had as an artist or a connoisseur of something or other. It was always some other sea creature

When Daughter No. 1 was a baby, we were new to Small Town and didn't know many people. Quite often, it was just me and my little girl in the house all day while husband was at work. We developed a daily routine, and life was good although a little lonely. Eventually I met other people my age with little kids. We were starved for adult social interaction, and we started meeting once a week at my church. I think between us all, we had something like twenty-five kids under five—we were a big group. Some of us would get together on different days for lunch and play, and since there were toddlers involved, the lunch was always something simple. It was usually Kraft Macaroni and Cheese and frozen peas. What a combination. It seems that when you have a toddler, you tend to eat like one. One day when it was my turn to host a mom or two and their little kids, I made a batch of something I often threw together when it was just No. 1 and me. I mixed pasta of some kind with canned tuna, frozen

If you haven't been inspired to make a good batch of tune noodle casserole so far this week, maybe this will help:

When I was in college, my sister and her husband left for a two-week vacation in Paris, and they asked if I would apartment sit for them. Would I? I couldn't get there fast enough. They lived down the street from my campus in Chicago in the first floor of an old brownstone. I was allowed a few friends to stay with me. I moved in with three friends, Gina, Regina, and Ginger. We pooled our money to buy groceries for the two weeks, but since we were all broke, we couldn't afford much. What we could afford was cheap tuna fish and noodles and a loaf of bread. We made whatever we could think of with that stuff--sandwiches, salad, and tuna noodle casserole--night after night. One evening when everyone had gone out but Gina and I, we decided to dress in my sister's funkiest clothes and go out on the town. My sister, being an artist, had a closet full of interesting clothes we could only dream of owning, and we got all dolled up. We thought we looked snappy, but I'm sure we look

I am declaring this week Tuna Noodle Casserole Week (TNCW). I've been thinking about it lately—not like I think about the war in Iraq or immigration or the shrinking middle class or looking for a college for Daughter No. 2, but I have allowed tuna casserole to occupy a small portion of my brain. The phrase came up when Garrison Keillor sang about it on A Prairie Home Companion a couple of weeks ago, and I realized it's been years since I've had tuna noodle casserole. It was a staple in the American diet in the 1900s. Anybody who could boil water and open a can of tuna could make it, and it was cheap. You can find the classic recipe here from Starkist. But to start the week off, here's a stepped-up recipe from Rachael Ray that doesn't use a can of Campbell's soup for the sauce, and there isn't an ounce of mayonnaise in the list: Tuna Casserole 1/2 loaf day-old crusty bread or 2 crusty day-old rolls 1 to 1 1/4 pounds tuna steaks, 1-inch thick -- 2 big steaks

While today is the birthday of Kurt Vonnegut, I am more familiar with someone else who celebrates a birthday today, my mother. My mother was born on November 11, 1925 on a humble farm in Alabama. They raised their own crops, had a few mean goats, some cows for milking, and chickens. My mother's job was to feed the chickens, so they got to know her as their food source. She was mortified to discovered that merely by walking out the door and stepping off the porch, the chickens would come running, cackling behind her, scratching in the dirt, and expecting grain. When she would take my sisters and me shopping, we liked to walk in single file behind her as a reminder of those chicken-feeding days, but she didn't seem to see the humor in our demonstration. During the 1930s, when life was difficult to sustain, men out of work would stop by the farm and offer to do chores for food. The family didn't have much to spare, but my grandmother would give them wood to chop or a fence to

I learned to play this old Carter family song years ago when I found it in a book in my mother's piano bench. The lyrics are mournful, as you might expect from folk songs of that day, the predecessors to the more current you-shot-my-dog country lyrics. The original lyrics were more refined, but the Carters customized and made it work for them. Listen here. And sing along here: WILDWOOD FLOWER As recorded by The Carter Family Written by Maud Irving, 1860 CAPO: 2nd Fret/KEY: E/PLAY: D [D] Oh, I'll twine with my mingles and [A7] waving black [D] hair With the roses so red and the [A7] lilies so [D] fair And the myrtle so [D7] bright with the [G] emerald [D] hue The pale and the leader and [A7] eyes look like [D] blue. Oh I'll dance, I will sing and my laugh shall be gay I will charm every heart, in his crown I will sway When I woke from my dreaming, my idol was clay All portion of love had all flown away. Oh he taught me to love him and promised to love And to cherish me over

Even though Veteran's Day is this coming weekend, Small Town acknowledged the occasion with an event last Sunday--a simple ceremony of speeches, a small parade with color guard on horseback and the high school band--Daughter #2 played Taps for the event--and the visiting Ohio Flags of Honor Foundation. The Ohio Flags of Honor Foundation travels around the state, filling town squares with American flags to honor the 550 Ohioans who are stationed in Afghanistan or Iraq. 170 of those soldiers have died in these wars, and their flags are set apart, creating quite a solemn display. Each flag is marked with the soldier's name, rank, and branch of service. In 2004, Gino and Lisa Zimmer lost their son Nicholaus, a soldier in the US Army who was fighting in Iraq. As a way to cope with their grief, they formed a foundation that would fund a traveling custom motorcycle intended as a tribute to all the soldiers who lost their lives in Iraq. The motorcycle began traveling the country, but

I am reading A Whole New Mind: Why Right-Brainers Will Rule the Future , by Daniel H. Pink. I wouldn't have chosen this book had I been book hunting because I lean toward fiction—it was a gift from someone who, like me, is right-brain dominate. I haven't gotten very far, just far enough to learn that in Hippocrates' day, the left side of the brain was considered the true source of thought, the thing that separated us from the animals and made us human. It was the source of reason and logic. The right side was considered a useless left over, a parasite. Now we know that both sides of our brains are equally important and equally involved in our daily thoughts and functions. But some of us do seem to be governed by one side more strongly than the other. Me, sometimes I think the left side of my brain has completely atrophied, that the right side governs everything. But I am learning that I don't give that other side enough credit, that logical mathy side. As I read on ab

I have been tagged by Miz Minka . This meme is every bit as narcissistic as the rest of them, and maybe even more so. The game--list five phrases that, if typed into google.com, your site appears as the first option. You can type your search phrase in quotes, if that helps. The end result will provide quite a telling description of your personally defined blog world. I tried and tried, searching every phrase I could think of, and I swear this is all I could come up with: Small Town Next Door My Favorite Place for Joe That should surprise no one, I suppose, considering the subtitle of this blog is "blah, blah, blah." Is there nothing else unique here? Is there no other dominant phrase that demonstrates the homeyness and hospitality one feels when visiting? I feel at home anyway. There are times when I end up back here after making the blogpal rounds, that I sigh with satisfaction the way I do when I pull into my driveway after a busy day away. When I come home, I kick off my

I like to cook, although the day-to-day chore of planning an evening meal and preparing it can be a drudgery, day after day after day after day. Still, even though I feel used up sometimes and wish I never had to cook another dinner, I like the general idea of cooking. I get excited at the prospect of cracking open a new cookbook, and proper markets with interesting ingredients from outside the county circle make me want to break out the wooden spoons and strap on my monogrammed apron. I take certain things for granted--simple ingredients that I buy in jars like cinnamon and capers--and I don't stop to think about what the heck they are. What is a caper, anyway? So, I did a little digging, and here is what I found about certain spices that don't come from the ground in glass containers. Capers: these are the buds of a perennial shrub that is native to the Mediterranean. They are picked ripe and then pickled in a brine or salted and sold by size--the smaller the better. Sometim

A few months ago, I wrote about how much I like getting the mail from my mailbox , and I showed a picture of my mailbox against a row of huge white pines. Here it is again: The trees were so pretty when we had them planted, but they grew in every way. They grew up and out and into each other and out into the street. They were supposed to provide privacy so you could float around in the pool without having other people see you from the street, but they had so many holes, they didn't provide much of a screen anymore. They did make it difficult to back out of the driveway, though. For that, they made a perfect privacy shield--you couldn't see a car coming until you were already half-way into the street. Heuchera Caramel Well, we have finally had them ripped out and replaced with something more refined, something that won't take over and demand more space on the planet than they are entitled to. Along with the green things, we got a weeping birch and some cool little orange thi

Happy birthday to Will Rogers, born in 1879. He was named in the Guinness Book of World Records for lariat tricks--he was a vaudeville performer--he wrote more than 4,000 newspaper columns--he made 71 movies--he hosted one of the most popular radio programs of his day--he traveled around the world three times--and he ran for president in 1928. Not a bad list of accomplishments. Here are just a few of his more memorable and timeless quotes: I am not a member of any organized political party. I am a Democrat. I bet after seeing us, George Washington would sue us for calling him "father." It isn't what we don't know that gives us trouble, it's what we know that ain't so. Now if there is one thing that we do worse than any other nation, it is try and manage somebody else's affairs. People's minds are changed through observation and not through argument. The 1928 Republican Convention opened with a prayer. If the Lord can see His way clear to bless the Repu

I was sitting at my piano, happily plunking away at Maple Leaf Rag, trying to find the notes and doing my best to keep a steady tempo, when I thought...how selfish of me to rob the blogworld of the joy I experience while playing this thing. So, I have recorded my to-date feeble attempts to learn this piece--the first two of three pages with no repeats, because honestly, it's just too painful to have to listen to twice. Not only do I get to share the wonder of Joplin, but this very unpleasant recording will serve as incentive to continue working and improving--not just playing. I warn you--this is not pretty. My left arm got tired soon after the page turn, and I found myself playing faster near the end just to get it over with. I promise to record this again if I get any better at it. Listen Here

I have written a short story. I have several seeds for small stories in my head at any given time, but I read about a short story contest and decided to actually flesh out one of those seeds. The 2000-word limit was restrictive at first, but it became a fine-tuning tool instead of a burden. The prize for the winner is, and I quote, "honour and glory." The host included the U in honour because this is an international contest. The deadline for entering is December 31st, so I'll have no idea if my story has won me some honour and glory until after the new year. It was a good exercise even if I only win the personal satisfaction of having written. You can read the story here.

I have been to so many parades in my life time and have watched the Shriners in their fez hats riding around in those funky little cars, but I never thought about who or why they are. I looked them up on Wikipedia, and this is what I found: "In 1870, there were several thousand Masons in Manhattan. Many of these Masons made it a point to lunch at the Knickerbocker Cottage, and at a special table on the second floor, a particularly jovial group of Masons used to meet regularly, and often discussed the idea of a new fraternity for Masons, in which fun and fellowship would be stressed more than ritual. Two of the table regulars, Walter M. Fleming and William J. Conlin, an actor with the stage name William J. Florence took the idea seriously enough to act upon it. Florence, a world-renowned actor, while on tour in Marseilles, was invited to a party given by an Arabian diplomat. The entertainment was something in the nature of an elaborately staged musical comedy. At its conclusion, th