Lydia Likes It

Introducing the Earworm Awards

Some songs stick in my head for weeks at a time, and I've decided it's time to reward those songs with an award, in thanks for the hours of joy they've given me. David Clayton-Thomas wins this week's Earworm Award for And When I Die, a favorite from the 1960s recorded by Blood, Sweat & Tears and written by Laura Nyro. This link will take you to the original version; today's video is from the '80s, proving that the great songs really hold up over time. For reasons I can't explain, this one always makes me smile.

Refillable cleaning products

Why not make a new year's resolution (it's not too late) to take better care of our planet? Good Filling helps you do your part, by providing an easy way to refill your own containers with dish soap, hand soap, laundry detergent and all-purpose cleaner from on-site sanitization stations (there's one in my building). Products are supplied from eco-friendly companies like Seventh Generation, Puracy and The Unscented Company. You save approximately 20 percent over the retail cost, and you won't be purchasing any single-use plastics. If you can't find a filling station near you, you can order their products from the web site. We've refilled our grocery store dish soap container three times, and we'll keep using it until it wears out.

Birthday spoon

[I first posted this on The Perfect Pantry on May 1, 2011, but as today is my birthday, I thought you might enjoy this story about a gift I gave to myself. If you go to the original post, there are more photos.]

Early on a January morning, two weeks before my birthday quite some years ago, I found myself in the village of Woodstock, Connecticut, in a snow-bound woodworking shack with very little heat, scary power tools, a scarier outhouse, and no coffee.

It was the perfect place to celebrate the end of my 50th birthday year, a year in which I'd promised to make my own gift, and with just a few weeks to go until 51, I did it.

I made a wooden spoon. From scratch. From a tree that fell in Woodstock.

I'd been thinking for months about how to mark the occasion of my 50th. I didn't want a party, though my husband Ted and friends surprised me with a grand party that made me very happy. I didn't want bling, I didn't want books, I didn't want dinner, I didn't want stuff.

What I wanted was to try to make something I'd never tried before.

I needed help, of course, and after meeting woodworker Meb Boden at a craft fair, I asked if she would teach me to make a spoon. She and her husband Tom, a cabinet maker, work together in the shack, which has electricity but no running water, and they live nearby on more than a thousand off-the-grid acres of wooded land that provides an endless supply of raw material for their art.

Meb gently guided me through the whole process, from selecting the block of wood (from a maple tree that had lived on her road), through design, carving, shaping, polishing, and sealing. It took seven hours, several trips to that very cold outhouse, and a restorative bowl of soup at midday to create my single spoon.

Of all, the best part of the day came right at the end. I'd chosen my wood based on size and pedigree -- I didn't want fruit wood, and I needed a large enough piece so that the spoon could have a long handle -- and as we carved and sanded the spoon, we took its maple-ness for granted. But when I rubbed oil into it at the end, the final step in the process, both Meb and I gasped. The grain of the wood, the whorls and patterns, were so much more intricate than we'd realized! The majesty of the spoon revealed... it was the gift in the Cracker Jack box.

Making this wooden spoon was an experience I'll never forget, and to this day I've not seen another spoon quite like mine. It's my absolute favorite of the more than 200 wooden utensils in my kitchen. I use it to stir soups and sauces, toss salads, and taste meatballs. The spoon fits my hand, the length suits my height, and the slightly lopsided shape makes me giggle.

I'll probably never make another spoon, so I hope this one lasts a lifetime.

P.S. I've had the spoon for 20 years. Both the spoon and I are aging gracefully.

[I first posted this on The Perfect Pantry on May 1, 2011, but as today is my birthday, I thought you might enjoy this story about a gift I gave to myself. If you go to the original post, there are more photos.]

Early on a January morning, two weeks before my birthday quite some years ago, I found myself in the village of Woodstock, Connecticut, in a snow-bound woodworking shack with very little heat, scary power tools, a scarier outhouse, and no coffee.

It was the perfect place to celebrate the end of my 50th birthday year, a year in which I'd promised to make my own gift, and with just a few weeks to go until 51, I did it.

I made a wooden spoon. From scratch. From a tree that fell in Woodstock.

What I wanted was to try to make something I'd never tried before.

I needed help, of course, and after meeting woodworker Meb Boden at a craft fair, I asked if she would teach me to make a spoon. She and her husband Tom, a cabinet maker, work together in the shack, which has electricity but no running water, and they live nearby on more than a thousand off-the-grid acres of wooded land that provides an endless supply of raw material for their art.

Meb gently guided me through the whole process, from selecting the block of wood (from a maple tree that had lived on her road), through design, carving, shaping, polishing, and sealing. It took seven hours, several trips to that very cold outhouse, and a restorative bowl of soup at midday to create my single spoon.

Of all, the best part of the day came right at the end. I'd chosen my wood based on size and pedigree -- I didn't want fruit wood, and I needed a large enough piece so that the spoon could have a long handle -- and as we carved and sanded the spoon, we took its maple-ness for granted. But when I rubbed oil into it at the end, the final step in the process, both Meb and I gasped. The grain of the wood, the whorls and patterns, were so much more intricate than we'd realized! The majesty of the spoon revealed... it was the gift in the Cracker Jack box.

Making this wooden spoon was an experience I'll never forget, and to this day I've not seen another spoon quite like mine. It's my absolute favorite of the more than 200 wooden utensils in my kitchen. I use it to stir soups and sauces, toss salads, and taste meatballs. The spoon fits my hand, the length suits my height, and the slightly lopsided shape makes me giggle.

I'll probably never make another spoon, so I hope this one lasts a lifetime.

P.S. I've had the spoon for 20 years. Both the spoon and I are aging gracefully.

What I wanted was to try to make something I'd never tried before.

I needed help, of course, and after meeting woodworker Meb Boden at a craft fair, I asked if she would teach me to make a spoon. She and her husband Tom, a cabinet maker, work together in the shack, which has electricity but no running water, and they live nearby on more than a thousand off-the-grid acres of wooded land that provides an endless supply of raw material for their art.

Meb gently guided me through the whole process, from selecting the block of wood (from a maple tree that had lived on her road), through design, carving, shaping, polishing, and sealing. It took seven hours, several trips to that very cold outhouse, and a restorative bowl of soup at midday to create my single spoon.

Of all, the best part of the day came right at the end. I'd chosen my wood based on size and pedigree -- I didn't want fruit wood, and I needed a large enough piece so that the spoon could have a long handle -- and as we carved and sanded the spoon, we took its maple-ness for granted. But when I rubbed oil into it at the end, the final step in the process, both Meb and I gasped. The grain of the wood, the whorls and patterns, were so much more intricate than we'd realized! The majesty of the spoon revealed... it was the gift in the Cracker Jack box.

Making this wooden spoon was an experience I'll never forget, and to this day I've not seen another spoon quite like mine. It's my absolute favorite of the more than 200 wooden utensils in my kitchen. I use it to stir soups and sauces, toss salads, and taste meatballs. The spoon fits my hand, the length suits my height, and the slightly lopsided shape makes me giggle.

I'll probably never make another spoon, so I hope this one lasts a lifetime.

P.S. I've had the spoon for 20 years. Both the spoon and I are aging gracefully.

The volunteering life {something old and new}

For the first few years after retirement, my husband Ted spent most of his time volunteering in the bicycling community with a nonprofit organization called Bikes Not Bombs. BnB concentrated on two areas: bike programs for Boston youth; and international donation of used bikes and bike parts to countries in Central America and Africa.

With a change in leadership, BnB began to prioritize local activities over international projects, and Ted's interest waned. A serious bicycle accident forced him to take time off, and to think about what might come next for him.

For many years, Ted had been a member of The Boston Athenaeum, one of the oldest libraries in the United States, founded in 1807. Currently located on Beacon Hill, a short walk from our apartment, the Athenaeum houses a collection of more than half a million books (from the 1800s to contemporary publications), plus art, photography, rare books and special collections (Audubon prints, artist books and more). There's a children's library, reading rooms, and a full program of gallery talks by artists and authors.

And there are tours, open to the public. Art and architecture tours, and special-interest tours, attract visitors from all around the world. The tours are led by docents, well-trained guides who introduce visitors to the history and resources of this 200-year-old library. Last year Ted, a frequent library user and long-time member, was invited to become a docent.

After more than 30 hours of classes and training, Ted had to pass two tests in order to earn his docent name tag. One was a general art and architecture tour for some of the library staff, and the other was a short, in-depth talk about any one piece of art or sculpture of his choosing. Now he gives a couple of tours each month. The Athenaeum recently expanded into an adjacent building, so there has been additional training and exploration to adapt the art and architecture tour to the new space. 

Now that he's a docent, Ted has become interested in visiting other libraries and museums, and taking docent tours whenever available. Some docents are great storytellers. Some are terrible at sticking to a narrative. Some read notes from a tablet. Every docent is different, and Ted learns something from each of them.

Old library, new opportunity. It all happened at just the right time, and Ted -- a history major and trivia buff -- has settled into a great new volunteering life.

Custom jigsaw puzzles

My family loves jigsaw puzzles. For my husband Ted, the minimum size is 800 or 1,000 pieces, or more. I've bought him every style, every color, every pattern, but this year for the holidays, I had a custom jigsaw puzzle made by PuzzleYOU. He chose a favorite photo, one he thought would make a challenging puzzle. We uploaded it to their site, selected the number of puzzle pieces (from 48 to 2,000) he wanted, and a week later, a beautiful puzzle arrived. A great one-of-a-kind gift, and perfect for long, dark winter nights or summer vacation evenings.