Beverages of the Apocalpyse

This excellent basket included some
beautiful hand-knitted items, including
that red Norwegian-style resistance hat.

I am now stocked up on Beverages of the Apocalypse.  We won a basket at a recent event, which included a whole bunch of hot chocolate packets.  When I make hot chocolate, I usually make it by heating milk in the microwave and adding dark cocoa and sugar.  But the microwave just broke, so the packets are welcome.  And I just re-ordered a bunch of tea and chocolate from Equal Exchange.  

A recent phone conversation with Younger Daughter:

Me:  Did you hear about the meteor that was over Ohio?  K saw it!

Younger Daughter:  You know, we’ve had a lot of signs of The Apocalypse lately.  In the past few years we’ve had an eclipse, a plague, and now a meteor.  Am I wrong?

Me: We’ve also had a giant wind storm (last year and this year), power outages that lasted a long time, and yet another windstorm, followed by snow.

YD:Yes, we had a lot of snow and cold this winter. 

Me: AND the microwave broke.

YD: Are you ready to be raptured yet?

Me: “Take me away, Calgon!”

YD: I don’t know who Calgon is.

- - - - - - - 

The correct phrase from the commercials of my childhood is “Calgon, take me away!”  

The fact that I still remember this phrase proves the efficacy of advertising slogans.  The reminiscence led me down a rabbit hole, courtesy of Youtube, which revealed the changing portrayal of stresses in US (white) women’s lives. 

In the 1960s, the ad slogan was “Calgon Bouquet: nicest thing that’s happened to you since him.”  The woman is defined by her service to others - the husband and the children.  The ad is narrated entirely by a male voice.

In 1977 the commercial for Calgon has “the dog, the telephone, the children, the doorbell” as the stresses in the woman’s life.  The woman is still anchored to a life solely at home.  The ad starts with a male voice narrating, but the woman has one line, the famous “Calgon, take me away!”  The scene shifts to a ludicrously giant bathtub in a room with huge windows (no curtains!) for the enjoyment of the bubble bath.

By 1979 the woman now obviously has a job outside the home.  The stresses are: traffic, the male boss yelling, and then at home – the baby and the dog.  A microcosm of the economy which had (white) women joining the work force but also still responsible for most of home life.  Calgon takes her away to the same kind of bathing area with a ridiculous number of 3-story-high pillars.

In the 1980s the commercial is much shorter. By now all of American knows the schtick and all the woman has to say is the one famous line.  The bathroom scene is not shown in a wide angle.  

The internet shows no evidence that Calgon commercials ever featured a person of color. 

The fact that the next generation knows nothing of Calgon taking us away surely means that the Apocalypse is on its way. How about you, dear reader, what would be your favorite Beverage of the Apocalypse?

If there is going to be an Apocalypse,
I will need Peach schapps.

LH Feb 2026 - How It Is Ending

I am now dressed and ready to go…. nowhere.  I am relishing this day of not going door knocking, of not going to a political rally, of not calling my elected.

Feb 17th Election Season Beginneth

Last Half February consisted of a sudden dive into feverish political activity.  

Danger, Will Robinson!  Boring description of political process!

Every four years we run for our seats on the county political committee.  This is that year!  We need to get a minimum of 10 signatures and voter info (more is better) of registered voters on our petition, which is a piece of actual paper.   So twentieth century, eh?!  

This is a labor-intensive, plodding activity.  It cannot be done online. The candidate cannot fill it out for the voter.  It must be done correctly, or the signature will be invalid.  It requires either begging voters to come to your place, or going door to door asking voters to sign.  It can only be done Feb 17th - March 10th (in Pennsylvania).  

Let’s start with the fact that most people do not even answer their door any more.  Then add that most voters are unfamiliar with this part of the process, and are suspicious.  I tried one year inviting people to my place, which resulted in one signature.  The voters I already know – IF I catch them at home – are willing to sign my petition and – bonus !! – the petitions for the other people running for office.  Voters I don’t know are barely willing to take the time to sign my petition. 

Me preparing to go (gasp) outside
for door knocking. 
Pro tip - it is impossible to do this
without clipboards.

On Tuesday I girded my loins for door knocking. I knocked on 13 doors and a whopping 7 opened - that’s a very good rate.   After two hours, I had 8 signatures, a sense of gratitude that the neighbors remember me, and an earful of the main issue bothering them: those two cars parked at the crest of the hill. 

If you know someone who is in the lower echelons of your political party, you could pleasantly shock them by seeking them out and volunteering to sign their petition, without forcing them to come to your door.  If it is the year for party elections in your state, that is.

Feb 18th Ash Wednesday

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.  

You are butt dust and to dust you shall return. (Our favorite Lenten joke, ha ha!)

Following my personal rule of singing whenever possible, I joined the hastily assembled choir to sing J.S. Bach’s “Jesu, Priceless Treasure” but I couldn’t sing the high notes.  I faked it, which somehow seems appropriate for 2026.

I was comforted to receive the imposition of ashes from my own pastor.  My father would be rolling in his Presbyterian grave, but I hope that instead he is enjoying heaven by eating murgh methi, basmati rice, and freshly cooked chapattis, and playing bridge with my mother sans arguing.

The pastor who gave the sermon said to listen.  I’m trying.

Feb 19th  Dental news

My dentist of 25 years retired last September.  It didn’t seem right because she is younger than me.  In reaction, I did nothing about it.  In July, I had already made my appointment for this February with the (now retired) dentist.  I kept my appointment on the 19th with the new dentist, who seems older than my previous dentist and is a man.  On my very first visit he informed me that I need major dental work.  Boo hiss.  I do not know if I want a man touching my teeth.  I called another dentist and the first appointment was late April, for mucho $$$, and that was just for the initial exam.  I am afraid to wait that long for this procedure.

HOWEVER.  The dental work is a CROWN.  I want to be able to go to No Kings Day on March 28th and say I HAVE A CROWN.  Bow before me, all ye maggaty ones.

The procedure will happen in early March with the old white man dentist whom I do not trust.  But for some reason I had no problem trusting the young white male dental hygienist who cleaned my teeth.  I can’t figure myself out.  

Feb 20th Door knocking for signatures 

In my precinct, but not my neighborhood.  Knocked on 20 doors, 5 opened.  Oof.  Five signatures, after one hour of walking, on my petition only.  I was told by several people that their spouse was napping.  First rule of politics:  Never wake a napping voter!  Not even for a precious signature. 

Seen while canvassing.
Love me a Little Free Library!

Feb 21 rally.  Above freezing!

I still need this sign.

So sick of all the entitled privileged creeps.

Feb 23 a mother’s worries

Massive snowstorm in Massachusetts, where several of our loved ones live.  And two of my (adult) children not feeling well.  Here in SWPA we also had snow.

My brother, at the end of his street

Ice and snow on a window in
Boston, Mass.

That evening was the vote in Town Council for the resolution banning any agreement with federal frozen water agencies.  I went to the meeting, prepared to speak again, but left after 40 minutes of listening to bigotry openly expressed by residents of my own town.  Late that evening, the resolution passed, 5 to 2.  

Feb 24  

I knocked on 4 doors, zero opened.  It was cold and windy.   My thoughts were infected by the town council meeting. A lot of the neighbors are probably bigots.  We are in full-blown fascism.  I realized I had forgotten my phone - this is a safety issue when one is door knocking alone.  I aborted my attempt.  I went home. 

Feb 25 More door knocking. 

Three more signatures, which is enough for my petition, but it felt like pulling teeth to get them.  It was clear these voters had no interest in signing other candidates’ petitions.  I feel demoralized that voters in my own party are not more enthusiastic to engage in the process.  I give up.

Seen while canvassing:
squirrel statue outside a door
that did not open.

Dachsund and frog statues
outside another voter's door.

Feb 26th Our local Democratic Committee fundraiser

At last, a joyous event!  Good food, good company.  It was my dream to sing one of the resistance choir songs, and we did, although not in the gorgeous harmony the Minneapolis choirs have done.  I won a raffle basket, which included a truckload of hot chocolate packets, chocolate truffles, library swag, a beautiful blanket, and a resistance hat (the Norwegian-style red hat with tassel) for the Common Household Husband.  The same knitter had already honored me by giving me one. 

The CHM and CHH,
in our matching Norwegian red resistance hats!

Feb 27th Rally - Fridays Without Fetterman

We are not amused.
This is the first time in a long time
that I have been willing to put on
a costume at a rally.

Lady Liberty is so f#&*king disappointed in our senior Senator.  He caves to the Miller-Vought regime most of the time.  There were just 20 of us at the rally, and not much traffic driving by at noon downtown, but it was uplifting to be among friends.

January to mid-Feb are supposed to be resting-up times
for the foot soldiers in the political world. 
But not when there is a town resolution to pay attention to.

This month I did 80 hours of political activity:  32 communications to electeds/university officials, 30+ communications to fellow residents on the town resolution, 8 public events, 7 meetings, 10 data activities, 4 door knockings (51 doors knocked).

We cannot fully rest, but we must take breaks.  Now that I have showered, it’s time tonight for … a Purim Party!  Bring on the hamentaschen!  Let’s drink until we can’t tell the difference between the names of Mordechai and Haman!*  Onward to next month!

Please tell me how your February went. I hope there was some relaxation in it! And some chocolate.

*Let’s not.  This is a stupid tradition.  Please don’t do it.  I certainly can’t drink alcohol like that...any more.

If you are not sick of reading, here’s the recap of FH Feb.

Snow Day

A family tradition

In our parts winter usually waits until January to truly arrive but the White Witch seems to be on the move.  We had about 4 inches Saturday afternoon into early Sunday morning.

The Common Household Son came over before the storm hit to wrap a present and help me put up the Advent-Hanukkah paper chain. Our interfaith family was in need of our own tradition for this time of year. This one has withstood the test of time, although some of the paper has disintegrated.   You can get a detailed description here.

The weather outside turning frightful, I set to work on a most enjoyable task – writing Christmas and Hanukkah cards.  The irony here is that Hanukkah cards are not really a widespread thing, but I like to send them, and since Hanukkah is often before Christmas, sometimes the Hanukkah cards are the only ones that get sent.  This time I managed to finish more than 40 cards.  It’s a whole production which I may or may not describe in a separate post.  

Then, another homebound activity - checking out the music for tomorrow’s worship service.  I have always sung soprano, but my range has been contracting as I age, so I sometimes try to sing the tenor line.  Singing harmony is a real challenge for me, as I’ve always played or sung the melody.  I spent some time at the piano enjoying playing through some Advent hymns.  It turns out this cozy music session was fortuitous.

It is my tradition to always
measure the snow with this ruler.

The next morning I measured the snow on the deck.  I usually like to measure in front of the house too, because we often have a mullet fall of snow - short in the front, longer in the back.  But I wasn’t going to put on my boots just for the sake of measuring.

I got the notice that the church music director was not able to make it to church at all.  But wait!  I played through the hymns just the previous day.  Knowing that very few people would actually be in church to hear it, I volunteered to play the music.

The perfect drip takes several tries.

I put some oatmeal on the stove.  Porridge (as my dear uncle of blessed memory called it) – the non-instant kind –  is just the ticket for a cold winter morning.  Then I achieved the perfect drip to keep the water pipes flowing, and went outside.  

The deer visited in the night.

The world is a special kind of quiet on a Sunday morning after a snowstorm.  

The Common Household Husband and I set to work shoveling the driveway.  In past years, the Snow Fairy has done this, sometimes at 3 AM, but the Snow Fairy is getting old and wanted help.  Together we got the job done.  We have never used a snow blower and I will keep using the traditional method as long as I can.  As we shoveled, the township snowplow/salt truck did its magic.

The Common Household Husband
starts at the other end of the
driveway, which is harder, because
of the snowplow snow.

There were a few slippery spots on the roadways to church but I made it just fine with ten minutes to spare.  There were a handful of people gathered – probably fewer than twenty.

Folks, it turns out there is a LOT of music in a worship service besides the hymns.  It turns out that ten minutes is barely enough time to get organized to play all of the worship music.  All that in between music, such as after the lighting of the Advent wreath, after the assurance of pardon, during the offering, etc etc, was waiting to be played and sung, too.  I was very nervous and muddled through, playing some interesting melodies and harmonies.  It is my strong belief that all musical mistakes are corrected on their way to God’s ears.  Maybe not on the way to the congregation’s ears, but God is the actual audience.

About halfway through the service I remembered that the Best Practice is to determine the key signature, time signature, and tempo before starting to play.  I was sight reading some of the music, and I’m sure it showed, but I was glad to be able to contribute to worship.  I did get to play a few of my favorite Advent hymns for some of the in between music.

While we were shoveling snow,
a huge flock of geese flew over head.
By the time I got my phone out for
a photo, they were gone, leaving
just the winter sky.

And that was our snow day.  Did you get snow this past weekend?  Was it enjoyable, or a chore?

We made it through a vortex

Thank you, Valiant But Tiny Hair Dryer.

It’s been quite a week, even besides all the national fuckery.

Friday a week ago, I was upset about the weather forecast. 

Me:  Is it going to snow tonight?  And when is the polar vortex coming?!

Common Household Husband:  [burps loudly].  That was it.  That was the polar vortex.

If only it were that simple. 

Sunday the CHH pulled something out of his sweatshirt pocket, and said, “I wonder why I have this in my pocket?”  It was a tiny glass duck.  Reminds me of the time I cleaned out my purse and found a small plastic dinosaur, left over from mom-of-small-children times.  The CHH put the duck back into his pocket.

Wednesday morning I discovered that our hot water pipe at the kitchen sink was frozen.  It's been years since this happened.  We used to have to drip the faucet if the weather got cold, but then we fixed it, by encasing that pipe in lots of insulation and closing up the area behind a drywall panel in the garage ceiling.  Since then we haven't dripped the faucet in cold weather, and the pipe has not frozen.

But this week’s polar vortex hell-freezing-over cold was too much for it.  And the cold water pipe froze too, at the kitchen sink faucet.    

It was COLD.  “How cold was it?”  It was around -12 F overnight (without the wind chill) and wasn’t much warmer during the day.  Hell has, in fact, frozen over, and all its inhabitants resurfaced this week in the nation’s capital.

The Common Household Husband cut his work day short to come home. We set to work in the 10-degree-F cold garage.  He unscrewed all six screws and removed the panel.  This took a while because we are not Michelangelo and we’re not used to working at the ceiling level.  

He pulled out the thick insulation, and pushed our Valiant But Tiny Hair Dryer up in there.   It died after about a minute.  I felt the universe telling me, “You’re gonna need a bigger hair dryer.”

Not a great place for a hair dryer

I was on hair dryer resurrection duty.  First I went upstairs to vainly look for another hair dryer.

Back to the basement.  I coaxed VBT Hair Dryer to life.  It ran for a few more minutes, enough to get one of the water pipes flowing!  Yes! 

Success!

Then to get the other water pipe freed, we had to go to the other side of the wall, in the basement.  At least there is no panel there.  VBT Hair Dryer quit twice more, but I resurrected it each time.  

Sticking the hair dryer WAY into the wall.

Although he was victorious against the polar vortex, the CHH was covered in drywall dust, and got some in his lungs (not good!), which periodically set him coughing.  He put his sweatshirt in the washing machine.  Later, in the dryer, I found the tiny glass duck that he had had in his pocket.

The duck survived.  I am trying to decide if that is a portent.

Resilient duck.

End of Season

Folks, I present to you one of the few things that I made with my hot glue gun – our felt menorah (or more accurately, our hanukkiah made out of felt).  I think it was the one good idea I got from a parenting magazine.  

All lit up (in a felt craft sort of way)
 for the last night of Hanukkah.

I am guessing it is about 20 years old.   Making things with the hot glue gun usually made me say, #$&#$*!, so it’s a good thing it has lasted. I'm not making another one.

One of the best features of this hanukkiah is the self-storage aspect.  The candles and flames are stored right in the item itself.   

Now you see 'em (just below the dowel rod)

and now you don't.

This week I finally got around to taking this down and storing it in the bin with all the sweaters I don’t wear any more.  I’d like to say it’s the last decoration to be put away, but ’round about April I usually find one last Christmas or Hanukkah thing.

All rolled up and ready to store.
Einstein shown for scale.

That is all.  Gearing up for a difficult week ahead, both climatologically and eschatologically. It feels kind of like it will be the end of the world as we know it, for several reasons. It won't be, but it will feel like it.

And now this painting by my aunt is
back in its place, for whatever awaits us next.