Go South Young Man

Well, the "young" part is probably debatable at this stage of my life . . .

I type this from the cozy, dry environs of Cherry Log, Georgia, home of Lynda's parents. We successfully completed the 600 or so mile journey from the Midwest into the Deep South today.

The journey was very smooth considering it was conducted in a medium sized van filled with suitcases, a bag of road snacks, two preadolescent, one toddler, and one adult female. (And also me.) We didn't have to pull over the side of the road at any point and strangle each other. So, all well and good.

I toyed in my mind (while driving) that I should have taken some video from the drivers seat or tried to conduct interviews with my fellow travelers as we went. But that would have been hazardous to do while I was driving and probably would have resulted in video tedium the likes of which you might never recover from. Certainly the view outside the windows would not have impressed. It gray from sunup to sundown as we traveled southward. And once we hit southern Tennessee it rained and rained and rained and rained some more.

We had originally planned to leave after work last night, but the promise of perilous weather from our crack Storm Team 4 on Thursday night was "just" convincing enough to make us wait another half day. Naturally, Friday was rainy but otherwise nothing at all to get worked up about. And once again, I question the millions of dollars that our local news channels spend on Street-Level Doppler Radar and the Hi-Speed Weather Helicopters, not to mention . . . well, I've complained about all of that before.

Tomorrow will be church with the family, lunch, and then back on the road for the last leg of this part of the journey--Tifton, Georgia, home of the world-famous (??) Agrirama.

Until later, hope your final preparations for Christmas are going well.

This morning's dream

Another post about a dream . . .

In this dream I was in jail. But it wasn't a glamorous, rock pile Shawshank type of edifice. Rather, it was a much more low-rent "jail."

Really, I never experienced the cells and bars, key and lock, two floors with metal catwalks and a big open yard to recreate in kind of jail setting. Instead, it was simply the baseline knowledge that this place that I was in WAS a jail. It didn't look like a jail. It didn't operate like a jail. I was never physically locked into anything at all. I never saw guards, wore a striped uniform. I didn't break rocks or haul around a ball and chain.

I just KNEW, deep inside, for no reason, that this was incarceration. Such is the bizarre logic of dreams.

So . . . what was it like?

It was more like a prefabricated building. A modular building that is crane-lifted into place and held together with staples, caulk, and hidden clamps that pull the seams of the double-wide together into a big lobby that is carpeted over and called the latest branch of your local South Georgia regional bank. It really felt more like the kinds of trailer-type buildings that I took classes in in college when the campus was expanding rapidly and all the construction money was going to the nursing school or the business school and the humanities were left out in the cold.

So, the actual environment of the jail was more like a big 20 x 20 room in this modular construction. The other inmates were milling around in this room that seemed to be a game room of sorts. There were tables and other people, but it all was very vague. What was immediately around me was sharp and worthy of remembering, but everything else was just an impression of a space and people.

I know that the committee of people that ran the jail operated out of a conference room that was adjacent to the community game room. I could see inside it through two glass French doors that I never did open. But through the glass I could see big photo-realistic paintings and semi-abstract art hanging on the walls surrounding a ovalish conference table where the jailers sat and discussed whatever it was they did. The most interesting thing about this room/the paintings/and the entire situation really was that I KNEW that I was related to the people running the jail.

I knew this because some of the paintings on the walls featured my brother Muleskinner back when he was in the high school marching band. I could recognize his image through the French doors. I knew that people in the conference room knew me. I had a feeling that I belonged in there and NOT in jail with the other inmates. I also thought that I could use this personal connection to the jailing committee to curry favor--snitching on inmates, feeding the jailers choice bits of gossip, whatever, to improve my own lot while incarcerated. And maybe if I played my cards right, I could be sprung early on "good behavior."

But I was playing a dangerous game.

I couldn't let the other inmates know that I was squealing on them. I couldn't let the inmates know that I had some sort of familial (if that IS what it was?) connection to the people that ruled their lives. I had to play it cool.

I was sorting out all of these potentials and dangers when I woke up.

Too bad, really. It might have led to some very interesting insights.

You'd better watch out

. . . you'd better not cry.

You'd better not pout.

I'm telling you why . . .

etc.

A Christmas Blunder

Christmas is a bit of an issue here at the Ohio Martin's household.

You see, Christmas is coming extra early this year.

We've decided to begin our holiday travels on the 19th, and we want to give the kids time to enjoy their Christmas gifts before we leave them behind for almost ten days.

So, we've decided to ask Santa to come this Saturday. (!!!) He was gracious enough to look at his calendar, consult with his elf foreman, and rearrange one of his rare December days off to make my kids happy. (Truly Santa understands the spirit of the season!)

But . . . I really caused a problem earlier tonight.

You see, I unthinkingly ate Santa's cookies.

Lynda had made some of her signature Christmas cookies last weekend. (Check out this video to see the making of the batch two years ago.) We had a few left after giving some of them to the daycare teachers and . . . well . . . I ate them.

Cookies are my green kryptonite, you see. They are my severe food weakness. I guess brownies would be my red kryptonite--exposure to which weakens my inhibition about trying to eat too much.

So, I convinced everyone to put down the pitchforks and let me bake a batch of brownies so that we would have something sweet to thank Santa for coming to our house so early. To make it appropriately Christmasy, I placed a candy cane on top of the brownie batter. It'll be baked in crunchy goodness.

So, crisis averted.

But next time, just put the cookies in a lead-lined box.

What am I missing?

I listen daily to Planet Money.

According to Tuesday's podcast this recession is remarkable because consumer spending is disappearing rather than corporations restructuring their bad spending (which is apparently the typical recessionary cause).

But I don't feel that my family has radically changed our spending habits despite the daily dire news.

So, what am I missing?

Lynda and I are very lucky to have two good jobs that appear solid and not in danger--either because our industry is more secure (not likely?) or because we are "too valuable" (a foolhardy assumption EVER). But I'm foolishly putting it out there--really a reflection of my laziness to consider the possibility of job searching nightmares.

So really we aren't so much lucky as I am shortsighted and foolish . . .

ANYWAY . . .

I keep hearing that everyone has stopped spending, but we are still spending money daily on groceries, buying lunch at the work cafeteria rather than brown-bagging, we've bought Christmas presents (maybe a few less, but not SEVERELY so). In short, it doesn't FEEL that different for me.

So, again, what am I missing?

One person on the podcast mentioned that he was also buying big ticket items for Christmas, but rather than heading to Best Buy to get new, he was purchasing used big screen TVs and game consoles off of Craig's List.

So, is this what's really going on ? Are the economically profligate getting smacked in the head with their speculative ways while the more economically cautious troll along behind them, sucking up their cast offs over the Internet?

Is the recession a reboot of consumer irrational exuberance AND an Internet-based/consumer 2.0 attack on brick-and-mortar, person-to-person consumerism?

Or am I simply missing what's really going on?