Yeah, yeah, we're all complaining about the cold, but wasn't this last snow storm pretty? This is the view from my kitchen window:
The family weatherman (so cool to have a meteorologist in the fold) says winter is over. If that's true, then what a way for old, man winter to go out - a beautiful white blanket for a couple of days followed by melting and milder temperatures that transition to spring. You shouldn't count your daffodils before they sprout, but this once I'll be a believer. I'm putting the snow shovel away.
I thought it would be fun to gather some winter statistics. Many people (me included) think the winter of 2013-2014 was one of the most miserable seasons ever. It was colder than the usual winter with more snaps of extreme cold. Also, there was more snow than usual. However, the winter of 1978-1979 was the coldest in United States history. Highway crews couldn't manage to clear Route 38, and it was covered by a layer of ice until spring thaw. I worked at Burlington County College back then, and I remember sliding to and from work for a couple of months.
The biggest snow fall in Philadelphia area history occurred from January 6-8, 1996. We got 31 inches during the three day blizzard. I got three days off work.
So, what was the lowest temperature recorded in this area - just the temperature without wind chill factored into things? According to the National Weather Service, the coldest recorded official temperature was -7° Fahrenheit at Philadelphia International Airport in 1984.
Our creative juices must have been frozen in 1979, 1984, and 1996. It wasn't until 2009 that someone coined the word snowpocalyse. Then came snowmageddon in 2011.
So, here's to spring, a nice, average spring, with no record breaking and no new vocabulary.
H in H is just a modest success. It doesn't generate income and it hasn't brought me fame or notoriety. Every now and then a post strikes a chord, and 1,000 people read an article. However, most of the time the same fifteen loyal readers come back day after day. My success lies mainly in the fact most blogs last about one month and H in H is entering its fourth year. That doesn't make me a great writer, but sure as shootin' I'm tenacious.
Back in 2012, I tried a few things to generate interest in the blog. I sent a postcard to every household in Hainesport announcing the establishment of H in H. I also placed a sign in the back window of my car proclaiming that everyone should be reading the blog by the gal from Hainesport. Imagine my satisfaction the day I looked into the rear view mirror and discovered the motorist behind me was reading my sign out loud to her passenger. Yes, I have lip reading skills. I always carry a pile of homemade business cards that I tack up on every public bulletin board I pass - grocery stores, diners, and the local post office beg the public to google me. I asked everyone in my email contacts to ask everyone in their email contacts (and so on and so on) to read the blog, hoping to get a Happy in Hainesport chain letter going. I think somebody broke that chain. I shamelessly promoted myself on Facebook and Pinterest.
The other day I was driving down the Marne Highway, crossing the line between Mount Laurel and Hainesport townships. There was a brand new advertisement on a previously empty billboard. What a great place for a Happy in Hainesport advertisement I mused. What would that cost?
My mother used to say if you can read, you can do anything. I say if you want to know something, look it up on the internet. I found a very informative article from New Jersey Outdoor Media that says billboards cost anywhere from a lot to a real whole lot. Prices vary based on the location of the billboard (major highway or secondary road), the size of the billboard (12 X 24 or 12 X 40 or larger), the number of cars that travel past the sign (a figure that is complied by the Department of Transportation), and installation and the cost of the vinyl used to print the advertisement. Other factors are the number of available billboards in the area where you want to advertise (supply and demand), the length of your contract, and whether or not you are renting one or multiple billboards. A billboard could cost from $450 per month to $10,000 per month. http://jerseyoutdoor.blogspot.com/2010/11/how-much-do-billboards-cost.html
And I thought the price of advertising a yard sale in the Burlington County Times had gotten out of hand.
I'll keep thumb tacking cards to bulletin boards. Maybe on a nice day, I'll sink to the annoying practice of slipping flyers under wiper blades. Those whom I do not piss off might take a look. Maybe I could build my own billboard and plant it on the front lawn, provided that doesn't violate any local ordinances.
Or I could just write when I feel inspired and put it out there for the fifteen friends and relatives who check in with me via blogger.com. Thanks guys for the past three years.
Have you seen the Sprint commercial, the one featuring narwhals?
I thought this narwhal thing was from a Sponge Bob cartoon. Boy, was I wrong. Narwhals exist. They live in northern waters near Greenland and Russia. They are classified as a "Near Threatened" species, but Inuits are allowed to hunt them for meat and ivory. The most interesting thing about narwhals might be that their skin is loaded with vitamin C. I think I would rather eat an orange.
You can read more about narwhals here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Narwhal
Here's the full cartoon music video that was part of the Sprint commercial.
You've seen the commercials. The husband is in a dark room, in the middle of the night, speaking to someone on the phone. The wife storms downstairs and grabs the phone because she thinks hubby is talking dirty to someone at a 900 area code. This woman won't be convinced that her husband is really on the line with a State Farm claims representative named Jake.
The other day I had a problem figuring out how to play an audio book on my Kindle. I tapped the "Mayday" button and began a conversation with a nice, young man who did his best to solve my problem. As I waited on hold for the solution, Mike walked in and asked, "Who's that you're talking to?"
"It's the Mayday-Help-Guy," I answered.
"Well, he sounds hideous," Mike huffed, and he turned on his heel and left.
It was difficult to keep it together when the fellow got back to me.
I finally have to hang of borrowing audio books from the library. It's nice to listen to books as I fix meals, or sew, or climb mountains on the tread mill at the gym. Here are the mini reviews of my latest "reads" (I should say "my latest listenings").
What a Difference a Dog Makes by Dana Jennings - It's a collection of all the charming things the Jennings family dog does and a testimonial to how much this dog helped when the author was treated for cancer.
Mennonite in a Little Black Dress by Rhoda Jennings - Ms. Jennings writes with humor about her Mennonite upbringing, her marriage to a bi-sexual man who left her for his gay lover, and her understanding family to which she turned for support after her divorce.
The Boy Who Harnessed the Wind by William Kamkwamba and Bryan Mealer - William Kamkwamba, a boy growing up in Malawi, was so inspired by a book he read about windmills that he built a windmill out of scrap metal and tractor and bicycle parts. His windmill brought electricity to his home, irrigation to his father's crops, and enough attention that William was able to get an education. He didn't change the world, but he changed his world.
Why My Third Husband Will Be a Dog by Lisa Scottoline - This book is a collection of articles that Ms Scottoline wrote for her Philadelphia Inquirer column, "Chick Wit."
The Accountant's Story: Inside the Violent World of the Medellín Cartelby Roberto Escobar and David Fisher- Roberto Escobar was the accountant for his brother, the infamous drug lord Pablo Escobar. He paints his brother as a nice guy who did a lot of good with his drug money. He says Pablo was beloved by his family and the people of Medellín. It wasn't a problem for Roberto that 26-year-old Pablo married a 15-year-old, or that a 40-year-old Pablo had a thing for an underage cousin. Roberto makes all night parties with whores sound like college mixers. Roberto doesn't see anything odd in the fact that Pablo wore a brand new shirt every time he changed his clothes, donating the worn-only-once-shirt to charity. Pablo also brushed his teeth for at least 30 minutes. I'm thinking there's a little psychological something going on there. Pablo also wanted to be president of Columbia. When that didn't work out, he dreamed of establishing his own nation in the Columbia jungle. Megalomania, anyone? Of course, the murdering was the fault of the Cali Cartel and the president of Columbia. I'm going to reject the white washing and call a sociopath a sociopath.
If you haven't seen the State Farm commercial, here it is:
My mother was a thrifty woman. That's means she had no loyalty to name brands. Store brands are just as good was her motto. Mom was critical of the way her mother-in-law, my grandmother, catered to my young uncle, the last bird in the in-law nest. Among other things, Uncle Bob wanted nothing but Wonder Bread used in the making of his sandwiches. We had our peanut butter and jelly on a no name shingle.
When I had to buy my own food, I appreciated the Mom's wise counsel. Store brands offered significant savings. Until I married Mike, I only had one mouth to feed, so I didn't have to be as frugal as my mother. Still, I bought my food on sale, purchasing extra to hold in the freezer until the next sale cycle rolled around. I treated myself to some name brands because they really tasted better to me, but not before I gave the store brands a try. Most of the time the generics won with my taste buds. I was also happy with anybody's laundry detergent and anybody's facial tissue.
As I said, enter Mike, who, I swear, was born with a silver spoon (loaded with real Kellog's Corn Flakes) in his mouth. Suddenly, name brands abounded in our refrigerator and pantry and linen closet. Jif is the only peanut butter worth eating and Pop Secret is the only microwave popcorn worth popping according to Mike. Cotton swabs must be Q-tips and not some CVS version of Q-tips. Yet vodka is all the same. Now, if I was any kind of a snob, I was a booze snob. No more Absolut for me. I can take the $1.39 I save there and apply it to the corn flakes.
During the thirty years of singlehood between husbands, I swore I would never remarry unless doing so enhanced my existence. Life with Mike is an upgrade from previously living with just a small pooch. Mike is a most excellent dinner partner, he doesn't mind doing most of the driving, and he really likes to mow the lawn. I Can't Believe It's Not Butter aside, Mike's most charming attachment is to the Beverly brand. Each time he comes home with Canada Dry Diet Ginger Ale and Cheetos instead of cheese curls, I know my existence has been enhanced.
I was stripping sheets off beds when silence broke. You can't afford that house, you jackass! Mike was watching HGTV.
Home & Garden Television has become like spectator sport for us. We both equally love watching it. We holler at the players; we holler at the hosts; we make predictions about the outcome. It's Number 1. It has the lowest price. It's Number 2. It has a pool. It's Number 3. There was no furniture in that one. That's a dead give away.
We boo one of the hosts, Hilary Farr from "Love It or List It," as any sports fan would boo a bad referee. She never has enough money in the budget to do the job the homeowners have set out for her. She delivers her dictum in every episode that "there simply isn't enough money." It's her version of calling holding on every play. We boo a certain type of home buyer - the ones who say, "It's a bit small." Or, "I was really hoping for stainless steel." Or, "I hate laminate. I was hoping for real hardwood floors."
We have zero patience for the people who have been looking for a house for a couple of years. Stop agonizing over which fixer upper to choose. Drew and Jonathan will turn whatever you pick into a thing of beauty. So just swing batter, swing.
We even have a cheer:
U-G-L-Y, That house ain't got no alibi. It's ugly. It's ugly.
Maybe we get a little carried away, but it's harmless fun. So far, we haven't held up any signs (or held up the latest copy of HGTV Magazine that graces our coffee table). A spontaneous wave will never break out in our living room. Also, we don't annoy anyone when we leave our seats to go to the bathroom.
I'm a big fan of the Dollar Tree. The one in Mt. Holly and the one in Mt. Laurel are probably equidistant from the house. I've read enough articles to know which dollar store products are bargains and which should be ignored. Yes to party supplies, books, storage containers, and paint brushes. No to spices, toothpaste, anything electrical, and dog chews.
I recently came across soap in pretty boxes. The manufacturer, Shugar Soapworks, is located in California. The soap is a big 7 ounce bar, it contains no animal fat, colorings, or parabens (a preservative), and it smells nice. But was it a bargain? By weight, it seemed a better value to buy a three pack of Dial, each bar weighing three ounces. But it smelled nice and the box was pretty. I bit the bullet and grabbed ten boxes.
When I got home, I went online to research Shugar Soapworks. They make quality soap out of natural ingredients. My dollar store soap is obviously a discontinued line, but their currently available soap costs $4.50 per eight ounce bar. I'd say I got my dollar's worth.
I'll tie a ribbon around this and make it a party favor the next time I have a tea party.
While researching, I found this video:
There's a whole world of people out there who post reviews of dollar store products. I found a nine minute video in which a woman compared Swiffer products to the dollar store version. Her conclusion was that the dollar store items perform as well as the name brand. Another woman posted a video about reselling dollar store items for a profit on eBay. Low and behold, I found this soap on eBay selling for $2.25 to $9.99 per bar.
So, I like this soap. I like that other people also like this soap. I am especially fascinated by the possibility that someone out there might be so in love with Shugar Soapworks' Oatmeal and Verbena that they pay $9.99 for one bar!
