I LOVE A MYSTERY

For about fifty years, I have been a mystery addict. It began with spending long evenings in the public library in Evanston, Illinois, which had a vast collection of Agatha Christies and John Dickson Carrs. I read through them in short order. Though a few mystery writers are more than lightweight—Dorothy Sayers especially comes to mind—in most cases I read the books more as puzzles than as literature. I relish watching for important clues, making hypotheses about whodunit, and piecing together the answer before Ellery Queen or Lord Peter Wimsey announces it.

As many scientists have pointed out, their work is often detective-like. They make many observations, watch for facts that don’t fit expected patterns, make and test hypotheses. Over time and many experiments, a broad theory may emerge. Much of my own science writing (mainly for middle- and high school students) emphasizes the mystery-solving aspects of science. One of my favorite—and unfortunately unpublished—books was called Who Killed the Neanderthals?

There is an important difference between detective fiction and science, though: In a well-written whodunit, all the clues are wrapped up neatly by the last page. There is no mystery left to solve. In science, the “detectives” can reach a tentative conclusion as the result of experimentation, but their conclusion is subject to further testing by other scientists, and it may be disproved. In fact, that is the exciting thing about science. New observations and experimental results can lead to new hypotheses. The Neanderthals are a good example: Seen at one time as brutish creatures having no relation to modern humans, they have gone through several reassessments as new fossil evidence and DNA studies have emerged. They may still not be completely understood. And so, I will go on reading about the Neanderthals—sharing the excitement about new clues, wondering whether that particular mystery has finally been solved.

IMPORTANT CHOICES

A couple of years ago we traveled nearly across the country. It took us three months, because we stopped many times and traveled at a leisurely pace. (For the details, you can order our A Hundred Nights in a Cab-Over Bed from stonecottage2@juno.com.) There were some very sad interludes—I had to go home for a while when my mother died—but overall the trip was a peak experience for both of us. We saw waterfalls, mountains, and cities, visited wonderful museums, met interesting people. Though we had hoped to reach Maine in time to see fall color, we didn’t make it. In the eastern part of New York state, we decided it was time to turn south and to begin the long journey home to California.

Could we possibly travel that far again? We still yearn to see the leaves turn red in Maine; seeing sunset colors together there is for some reason very important to us. Of course, Maine would be just the main goal. We could visit my friends in the Midwest, revisit some of the places we loved last time, see new sights that we missed then. On the other hand, there are things we need to do at home. My companion’s solar home is still unfinished 22 years after he began building it; I want to landscape both homes with native plants that can survive future neglect; I could really use an iPad and a new computer! Neither of us has much money, and traveling always uses up funds that may be needed elsewhere.

Since our last RV journey, there have been some changes in our lives. Many old friends have become ill. One has Alzheimer’s, others have died or been sickened by circulatory diseases or cancer. My mother lived a long, full life, but her last few years were spent in dementia and physical illness. We have our own health problems that may worsen at any time.

Maybe finishing the native-plant gardens and carpeting the living room should wait a while. They can be tackled when we can’t travel any more. And if we die or become bedridden before finishing those jobs, someone else can worry about them.

So, we probably will take another cross-country trip. We will spend whatever we have to, trusting to fate that we can manage financially afterward. This time we will reach Maine and see fall color!

ENTERTAINMENT THEN AND NOW

Some time back in the seventies, Placido Domingo sang the title role in Tales of Hoffmann at the Lyric Opera in Chicago. As if that glorious tenor voice weren’t enough, that was a blockbuster performance. When a nearly full-size train engine rolled onstage, the audience rose to their feet and cheered. Of the many operatic and theatrical performances I saw during 50 years of urban life, that one stands out above all the rest.

Living in New York in 1970, I had taken full advantage of entertainment there: There were the Metropolitan Opera, Lincoln Center, and the many theaters. I heard a lot of jazz and even met Dizzy Gillespie.

In Chicago, we attended performances at Lyric Opera, the Goodman Theater, and the Chicago Symphony. My husband and I lived for a time in Old Town on the near north side of the city, where we spent many evenings at the Old Town School of Folk Music and the Earl of Old Town saloon, listening to Steve Goodman, Bonnie Koloc, and other talented local musicians. In the sixties we had seen the original Second City troupe, featuring the matchless Severn Darden .  Like New York, Chicago was a feast of entertainment.

When we went to London, during an overwhelming week of theater we saw Angela Lansbury, Ralph Richardson, and John Gielgud at laughably low prices. At the D’Oyly Carte, John Reed sang the patter songs in Gilbert & Sullivan’s Pirates of Penzance.

After all that, San Francisco was a letdown, but we made do. The excellent Savoyards at Stanford provided some great performances. There were occasional evenings at the War Memorial Opera House and the Louise Davies Symphony Hall. Just a few weeks before his death, I pushed my husband’s wheelchair to the opera house so he could hear Frederica von Stade sing in Die Fledermaus; sadly, she had the flu and could not appear that night.

That fiasco may have been the last straw for me. Yes, I loved the urban life we led, but I was already in my sixties, and it was becoming hard to find entertainment that was affordable and satisfying. My husband was very ill and no longer able to leave home easily. So, after his death I cut back greatly on trips to The City (do they still call San Francisco that?).

Now, living in rural El Dorado County, I scarcely ever go to theaters or concerts—and don’t miss them. My companion and I contentedly rent movies from Netflix, watch television, listen to CDs, and read books. Especially when traveling we do go to many museum exhibits, some of which have actually improved over the years; others seem too flashy and child-oriented. When I do attend something that seems like a necessary cultural event, it is usually disappointing. Whether entertainment has changed or I have simply grown old, modern plays and music never seem comparable to those of years ago. I still hope to hear Domingo again, though!

NO MORE COMMUTING

It’s fun now to listen to the morning traffic reports on KQED. Sitting with a cup of coffee and looking out over a forested canyon, I hear reports of backups from the Oakland–San Francisco Bay Bridge stretching miles to the Maze (the mass of intertwined highways in the middle of Oakland). Commuters to San Francisco from the East Bay are no doubt creeping along, looking nervously at the clock, and wondering if they can possibly get to work on time.

Though I switched from honest work to freelance writing and editing years ago, there was a time when I had to join other commuters in the daily rush hours. The only pleasant commute I ever found was that on the Alameda/Oakland ferry, a ride across San Francisco Bay taking about half an hour—long enough to read a newspaper and drink a cup of coffee. (At night, I could unwind with a glass of wine instead. Even better.) That continued only during a short writing job, though.

The worst commute of my life was through Chicago. Somehow I had gotten into the predicament of living in Park Forest, a suburb about 50 miles south of the city, and working in Skokie, one of the northwest suburbs. The drive first took me up the Dan Ryan Expressway, perhaps the most horrendous expressway in the country. About a dozen lanes wide, passing through some of the ugliest parts of Chicago. In summer the heat was stifling, in winter snow and ice were constant problems. Leaving the Dan Ryan, I got on Lake Shore Drive (fondly known as LSD to locals) and moved on toward the northern suburbs. The view of Lake Michigan from LSD was enjoyable, but that didn’t last very long. The entire wretched drive took about two hours in each direction. Traveling by train and bus instead would have meant waiting on train platforms and street corners in all kinds of weather. (Just before we finally moved to California, my fingers were frostbitten while I waited for a bus that never came.)

So, today I can settle back in comfort and listen to those traffic reports. A fender-bender on the Nimitz Freeway, a spill of a mysterious white substance on Route 280, a major pileup on the Bay Bridge. Retirement—it’s marvelous!

DIARY OF A FAT KID

As a toddler I was chubby but cute. It wasn’t until about the third grade that I gained a lot of weight and became genuinely fat. For years afterward other kids teased me or ignored me, causing a lot of misery. Though never obese by the standards of today, I was never slim enough to look good or to be athletic. In college—one of the happiest times of my life—I slimmed down a little and started dating, even meeting the young man who would become my first husband. When we became engaged I deliberately bought a wedding dress that was too small, and managed to fit into it for the wedding.

For the next few years, I remained at a normal weight by dieting much too much, risking my health. Occasionally it was too much for me, though. I can remember some low points like the time I stood in front of the fridge eating an irresistible piece of chocolate cake, with tears of frustration running down my face. As time passed, and I worked long days in an editorial office without getting enough exercise or knowing how to diet, my weight crept up. And then, a brand new weight-control program called Weight Watchers appeared. I decided to give it a try.

The original Weight Watchers program was draconian: Foods were either “legal” or “illegal.” Illegal foods like candy, pie, and ice cream were forbidden completely. Legal foods were permitted only in very definite amounts: for example, every dinner was to include four to six ounces of meat (usually chicken or fish): three servings of fruit and two cups of skim milk were allowed each day; and we could have only two slices of bread a day. Only vegetables could be eaten profusely.

Remembering the rules was fairly easy; following them was harder. However, after the first week or two on the program, for the first time in years I didn’t feel hungry. In fact, the foods were very satisfying. For me, avoiding illegal foods entirely turned out to be easier than eating small amounts of them.

Eventually I lost about 20 pounds by following the Weight Watchers program. Like many of their alumni, I gained some weight back in later years, especially when I went through menopause. However, I had learned to eat sensibly, and never returned to dangerous dieting. Today my weight is 118 pounds—40 pounds less than it was in my teens. Thank you, Jean Nidetch!

Some Weight Watchers lessons were permanent:

·      Choosing the right foods is more important than counting calories.

·      Some foods are very hazardous for anyone not wanting to gain weight.

·      Planning and self-discipline make it possible to eat properly, even when you are surrounded by tempting foods.

·      Measuring foods is important; it’s too easy to misjudge the size of a “serving.”

·      Nonfattening foods can be delicious!

·      Avoid restaurants when possible.

In the years since, I have learned additional weight loss secrets from other sources, such as magazine articles and books; perhaps most important, exercise has become a major part of my life. Though unathletic, I have become an enthusiastic walker, even hiking mountain trails as well as rambling along city streets.

Getting fat as a child was unnecessary. I was basically healthy, simply a rather lazy and bookish kid. If someone had coached me in choosing the right foods and getting enough exercise—in adopting the life style I have today—I would have stayed at a normal weight and established permanent healthy habits.

I can’t undo my own early struggles with weight control, but I have tried to help today’s children, who may need more help with resisting environmental influences than I did. Today kids are continually bombarded with advertising for giant burgers, may have less opportunities for walking and bicycling, and spend much time in front of computer screens. (I grew up when TV was rare, when fast food was a new idea, and long before the computer age.) In spite of that, they can learn the variety of strategies I have learned. In my workbook written for tweens, Take Charge, I provided a series of activities that can help children stay at a normal weight. While the workbook is an organized presentation, with space for keeping records, my overall free message is this: Yes, you live in an environment that often leads to weight gain, but you don’t have to be controlled by it. You can take charge of the situation!

For me, staying at a normal weight has become the natural outcome of a healthy life style. I eat lots of protein (my companion is a vegetarian, so I eat meat or fish only about once a week), vegetables and fruit, and milk. Every day I walk or get other exercise for about 45 minutes. None of this is difficult. Though eating simply can get a little boring, being at the right weight is a great motivator, which should appeal to children as much as it does to me. 

Life in a Motor Home

I always planned to have a stable, permanent home, probably in the Midwestern area of my birth. Instead, my life has turned out somewhat like that of young people in our current economy—I have shuttled around the country as my work and personal life have dictated. From various parts of the Chicago area to New York (and quickly back again), on to the San Francisco Bay area, and now to the Sierra foothills. My husband and I did have a comfortable old home in Alameda, where we lived happily for nearly 20 years, but after his death staying there was too expensive for me. When I met my companion a few years later and moved to the foothills, it was time to downsize considerably. I did so with a vengeance, using some of the profits from the house sale to buy a motor home.

I had no experience with RVs, but fortunately my companion knew a great deal about them. For about six months he took me to motor home salesrooms and expositions, teaching me far more than I wanted to know on the subject. We looked at everything from the smallest teardrop campers to ridiculously huge and expensive Class A motor homes. Soon it became clear that the ideal RV for me would be a Winnebago View, model H. The View is a 24’ Class C, large enough inside for all the essentials I wanted, but small enough to drive nearly everywhere. Its width—about a foot narrower than most motor homes—especially appealed to me. On a narrow road, that could make the difference between disaster and success.

To be sure that the View was the right choice, we rented a similar rig for a week end trip to a state park. Having an errand to run at Stanford, I drove through the campus streets before setting off for the campground. That seemed like a good enough test, as I didn’t run into anything. Driving to the state park along narrow winding roads proved to be more difficult, and I knocked off a rearview mirror on a tree branch that jumped out at me. In spite of that, I knew it was time to buy an RV.

We went to La Mesa RV in Davis, which  we had visited many times. The salesmen had probably grown tired of us, but were happy to sell us a new View with just the right options—a simple brown and beige color scheme, an absence of leatherette, and washed maple cabinets. (For some reason, in recent years most RVs have had cabinets in dark colors. Though these look fine in a brightly lighted RV lot, the interiors must be really depressing and coffin-like when the rig is in a rainy forest!) The View model H had a cab-over bed, which is reached via a ladder; we would have preferred a walk-around bed like that in larger rigs, but space prevented it. (A second model had a bed in the rear that was cut off at one corner, and a very small bathroom; the third available model had single bunk beds. Neither of these was right for our needs. The recent Model M has a couch that unfolds into a real, inflatable bed and has other improvements.)

By the time the rig was delivered, it was November—too late for a long summer vacation, but we would take some short trips anyway. We drove my small car to La Mesa, inspected and paid for the View, and drove off in it happily. A few miles down the road, we realized the car was back at La Mesa.

The first outing, in January, was a quick trip to Yosemite National Park. Only a few campground sites were open, and they were snowy, but the lack of people competing for space in what is a much-too-busy park in the summer made it a wonderful experience. We drove to the foot of Yosemite Falls one morning, had brunch at our dinette table as we gazed at the falling water, listened to ice breaking up at the top of the falls, and hiked a short way along the ice-filled Merced River. We saw only one other couple there.

Since then we have traveled across the country and up into Canada. (For some details of our longest adventure, you can purchase our CD, A Hundred and One Nights in a Cab-Over Bed, for $15. Simply write to us at StoneCottage2@Juno.com.) The View has been like a second home—one with a new scene outside the windows every day or two. One caveat: I would not be able to travel in it alone, as many women do, because unscrewing the valves to dump the black water and gray water tanks takes more hand strength than I have. Otherwise, I find it easy to drive and care for. It's a wonderful life!

Solar Cooking

It’s a sunny day, and I’m baking banana bread in our solar oven. As this way of cooking is usually slower than using a conventional oven, I use half the usual amount of ingredients and end up with a small loaf. Here is my half-size recipe:

BANANA BREAD 

Pre-heat solar oven for half an hour or so. (The temperature will probably go no higher than 275 degrees.)

Grease a small loaf pan or round cake pan. (A dark pan works best.) Place in mixer bowl:

2 T salad oil

2 small bananas, sliced

Beat with mixer until the bananas are a smooth pulp. 

Add and use mixer to stir until moist:

1/4 t vanilla

1 large egg

1 C Bisquick baking mix

1/3 C sugar (or sugar substitute plus a pinch of baking soda)

(opt) ½ C chopped nuts, wheat germ, or blueberries

Beat 1 min with electric mixer. Pour into pan.

Bake 60 min. minimum, and check for doneness. (Depending on the weather and time of day, it may take more time. Today it takes only an hour.) Cool 5 min. Use knife or spatula to loosen from pan.

For apricot bread, substitute 1/3 C apricot puree for the bananas.

My oven is a large glass sphere enclosing a black metal bowl. The whole assembly sits inside a shiny metal reflector that directs the sun’s rays into the oven. Food can be cooked in the metal bowl, but I usually set a smaller pan inside it to hasten cooking and make cleanup easier. The whole system sits on the front porch, pointed toward the sun.

I bought the solar oven when I moved in with my partner, whose home is off the electrical grid. It’s from Solar Cookers International in Sacramento. (Disclaimer: I have no connection with the store, except as a satisfied customer.) We have a lot of fun using it, but more important, we use less fuel for cooking. An added bonus is that the kitchen stays cool in hot weather. The oven works extremely well for banana bread and other Bisquick-based recipes, for stews and other foods requiring long, slow cooking, and for heating water. (Why waste fuel on heating water for washing dishes when the sun will take care of the job?) Some users swear by their ovens for cooking vegetables, but I have had some problems with overcooking them. 

The company that made our oven sends many of them to countries where fuel can be scarce and where the sun shines for much of the year. Though we usually use ours from June through September—we live in the Sierra foothills in northern California—in areas that are closer to the equator, the season for solar cooking can be longer. As many such areas are impoverished, having an inexpensive way of cooking large amounts of rice, beans, or other staples is important.

Solar living is trendy now, and it is common to see large arrays of solar panels on apartment buildings and factories. As environmentalists, we are delighted to see the interest in alternative energy sources. We only wish it were less expensive for ordinary people to invest in the solar panels, batteries, and associated equipment. At present living off the grid is limited to die-hard environmentalists like us who are willing to make some sacrifices (having only a few solar panels and batteries, we must limit our use of electricity severely), and to those wealthy enough to pay the steep prices for solar equipment. In the future this may change. If the cost of fossil fuels increases, and if voters demand it, the government may begin subsidizing alternative-energy companies and helping homeowners  lessen their dependence on oil, gas, and nuclear energy.

Second-Hand Shopping

My obsession began back in the sixties, when I was a young bride with a student husband and with little money. Someone pointed out that if we couldn't afford good furniture, it was better to buy inexpensive, used items that could be replaced in a few years. That made sense, but I soon discovered other virtues of buying second-hand items.

We were living in Chicago, at that time a gold mine of old oak furniture that was no longer stylish. I found some things in a Salvation Army shop that not only was a gigantic warehouse, but even offered free delivery. Since then I have furnished several apartments and houses as I moved from Chicago to New York and on to the San Francisco Bay area, selling and replacing things as needed.

My greatest successes have been with century-old buildings where used furniture can be passed off as antiques. By the time we bought a rundown Craftsman in 1995, we had a respectable collection of restored used furniture and inherited antiques that looked right at home in their new surroundings. Today, following an estate sale and considerable downsizing, I am furnishing a small home in the Sierra Nevada foothills that was built in 2005. This has been a major challenge, as the house calls for modern furniture.

Anyone can profit from buying used items, but young people can do best; they will have many years to replace bad buys, change their tastes, and let good investments increase in value. An oak glass-fronted bookcase that I bought for $40 in the sixties and refinished moved with me around the country. There was always a place where it was useful and attractive. Decades later I sold it for several times what it cost.

Though it is good to keep an open mind about what you may buy, you need to have a general plan before venturing into a thrift shop or estate sale. Otherwise, you can easily become confused, spend too much, and end up with a jumble of mismatched items. You should think about your color scheme (a favorite painting can give you a good idea of what colors can be successfully combined) and the style of furniture you are looking for. In general you should avoid looking for current styles, because they have not yet made their way to used shops—instead, try to think in terms of classic styles such as Craftsman or Scandinavian Modern. When in doubt, remember the sage advice of nineteenth-century designer William Morris to “have nothing in your houses that you do not know to be useful, or believe to be beautiful.” This may limit your purchases severely, but it is better to buy too little than too much. On the other hand, if you fall in love with something unusual, maybe that tells you something unexpected about your tastes. If you have not already invested heavily in another style, you can revise your plan.

Shopping for wood furniture and small decorative items can be done relatively efficiently; you can tell at a glance if something is right for you. Buying clothing and other fabrics is harder, because most shops have large arrays, with little indication of size or style. My approach is to move along the racks quickly, looking only at the colors and fabrics, then pulling out any that look promising for closer inspection.

You can find second-hand things everywhere, especially in the current economy; to make the best use of your time look in the richest sources:

·               Garage sales are rarely good, but if you can look at one conveniently, go early in the day.

·                College towns can be good places for shopping, especially for books, office items, and miscellany. Wasteful students may throw out valuable things to avoid the bother of moving them; you can take advantage of their improvidence.

·               Upscale areas are another source. The residents may get rid of good furniture or appliances just to buy for a new trend.

·               Thrift shops can be good or poor sources. Usually there is at least one outstanding thrift shop in an urban area.

·               Estate sales are by far the best source I’ve found; the furniture tends to be of higher quality than elsewhere, and the sellers are motivated to sell at reasonable prices. (I once bought an entire mahogany dining room suite for $200. It was in mint condition.)

·               Antique and consignment shops are sometimes surprisingly affordable. In addition, shopping in them will help you learn what good furniture should look like.  Often an antique is a better bargain than a new item, and will eventually increase in value.

I keep a notebook containing floor plans, fabric swatches, measurements for windows, and so forth in my car at all times, and carry a tape measure in my purse. Being able to measure items or compare colors can save making ill-advised purchases of items that can seldom be returned.

            Usually whatever you bring home will need some cleanup or minor repairs (which may make an astonishing difference). You can be prepared by always having on hand important items like Murphy’s oil soap, Old English scratch remover (both dark and light), sand paper, and ammonia.

Always be looking for something—you may or may not find it, but you are likely to run across other useful things in the process. Serendipity is part of the fun.

As a frugal consumer, I have found second-hand buying both profitable and enjoyable, but there are other, more important benefits: When you buy something that has been previously owned, you are not using wood or other resources that would have been consumed for making it new. You may be saving an item from going to a landfill. In most cases, you are contributing to a charity or to a seller who needs the income.