Happy Thanksgiving

Hope you are all having a great day! I was going to post a Happy Thanksgiving to everyone today, along with an illustration of mine. The external hard drive that has the illustration on it is in for repair, and the CD backup is now in a box behind piles of storage boxes for Christmas decorations, so I am using the comp version. If you want this illustration for yourself, you can purchase it at iStockphoto.com.


The turkey at our house doesn't look as happy as this one, but I know it will be very yummy, as on Tuesday Cap'n deep fried a practice turkey, and it was all gone by the next day. A 13 pounder! Yum, it was delicious, as I am sure the one will be later on today.

We will finish eating by 4:00 so we can go to Michael's and see if I can snag some cartridges, they are having a super sale.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Illustration by Kopperhead (me) at istockphoto.com.

I'm bonkers and it's all okay

Now I know I have finally put one foot off that ledge that I have been hovering on for the longest.

First, I must say that my younguns were young before baby monitors were a gizmo available to help the proud parents leave the baby alone in his room while they found some alone time together in another part of the house. So we just had to use our God-given ears, keeping at least one ear tuned into the sounds that only a mother, or father, recognizes.

What does that have to do with going off the deep end? Last night I set my Cricut to cut a cute little swirly cut from the Accent Essentials cartridge to use as a pumpkin stem. The cut was very intricate and I was cutting 14 of them and it was going to take awhile. I was tired and ready to go to bed so I just left Cricut running and turned off lights and closed up the studio for the night, and went on in the house. On my walk (very dark too, as both porch lights on the studio burned out within two days of each other) I hoped that Cricut would be okay cutting alone, and the thought flashed in my head that perhaps I should have a baby monitor so that I could listen to it cutting and make sure everything went okay.

It was at that point I realized I had turned my electronic die cutting machine into a young child that I needed to tend to every waking moment.

Are both feet off the ledge now? I think that when I got back in the studio this morning and saw that everything was fine, no paper jams or miscuts, that I could trust Cricut on her own for an hour or so of cutting pumpkin stems. Now I'm off to cut the pumpkins, all the while doing my balancing act in order to stay on the ledge.

i got nothin'

Yes, I know that is unusual, as one of my faults is that I can ramble on about absolutely nothing until the cows come home. I have been busy crafting, after converting my photography studio into my own crafting/writing paradise. I had to leave my fictional characters alone for awhile because they were just getting on my nerves right and left.

We had lots and lots of ghosts and goblins (and even Gene Simmons) come to the door Friday night for Trick or Treat. The pathway was aflutter with ghouls and skeletons, but those little angels and devils managed to make it. Gave away 10 bags of fun-sized candy bars. Those little dickens made me work this year.

I had one of the Milky Way fun-sized candy bars. I gotta tell you, it wasn't any fun as it was so little! But I only had the one. We had two bags of candy bars left, and I see the adult kids have almost finished those off today.

Oh yeah, my son bought my wish list from Addicted to Rubber Stamps, so on Wednesday I should have new stamps, plus a Scor-Pal. I am serious about this card making, so I need serious tools.

Card: Stampendous Witch's Feet, some dark purple cardstock I had, Swiss Dots Cuttlebug embossing folder, Prisma colors, Stickles. (I should be ashamed of this photo, as I am a retired photographer. I will take a better one tomorrow, along with the other cards I have been working on.)
Replaced photo with better one! 20071107

God Bless the USA and Happy Columbus Day

Why? No reason. Oh yes, we'll call it "Happy Columbus Day". Why not? I was going to save this for July 4th, but heck, that's a long time from now, so we'll just have a replay when Independence Day rolls around.

Feel free to listen to "God Bless the U.S.A." (see left column) while you gaze. I'll wait. And if you are in the USA and wishing you weren't, then go away already.

Why am I not complaining about this image not sporting a head and shoulders? Because it is cropped attractively. Yes, I know I complain whenever a book cover chops off the model's head. You don't cut someone off at the eyes, nose, mouth or neck. Look at the image one more time--this is attractive cropping. Also, don't cut people off at the ankles. Not pretty.


Oh yes, back to Columbus Day. Some time in 1492 Columbus sailed the ocean blue. That is what I remember of my history lessons, folks. And if it did not rhyme I would probably have forgotten that. I know more about Catherine of Aragon (daughter of King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella, who financed Columbus' expedition, and first wife of King Henry VIII) than I know about Columbus, thanks to Philippa Gregory's novels.

Gregory does a wonderful job of maintaining the historical facts while adding a bit of fiction, filling in those bits that we just have no way of knowing what exactly happened or what was said and making a wonderful story. I have always liked reading about that period in history even though I do not really care so much for monarchies. (And I managed to work books into this multi-natured post, also.)

Speaking of monarchies, we do have a major election coming up in a few weeks, so be sure to vote. I will not tell you who to vote for (well, really, if you want to vote like me you can always leave me your email and I'll tell you who I think you should vote for). I am one of those definitely on the train of 'if you don't vote, don't be complaining'. I am even on the train, or maybe this is just a bus, of 'vote for the lesser of two evils' if that is how you look at it.

I will admit right here and now, there was once a Presidential election where I did not vote, and I felt guilty for four years. Four. Long. Years. I should have put my foot down and told my boss I couldn't go on that business trip that week, that they were crazy for scheduling it during an election. (It was too late to vote absentee by the time the trip was planned.)

Here's a stamp from 1892 in commemoration of Columbus, which at the time, commemorated the 400th anniversary of the discovery of the New World.

my green bicycle

I have been waiting for this moment, to write about my green bicycle, for half a century. In the day of disposable everything, even bicycles, it seems, my bicycle has lasted a lifetime. Literally. I found my bicycle next to a real pine Christmas tree in 1959, when I was six years old and in the first grade. Of course, it was too big for me. And it wasn't green; it was a bright shiny blue. (I've always wondered if pink was for girls (traditionally) and blue for boys, then why did boys get red bicycles and girls get blue.). This bicycle was a gigantic 24" height, much too big for me at six years old. My dad put some training wheels on it, the little set of wheels on either side of the rear tire. At first, the training wheels were even with the rear wheel, meaning I could ride along and just stop and the bike would stand by itself. Of course, I could not sit on the seat, as my legs wouldn't reach the pedals, so I stood up, riding my bike around and around the block. When I got more comfortable with the training wheels, Daddy adjusted them so that I could ride without using them, but they were still there just in case.

I had many skinned elbows and knees those first few summers of riding my gigantic bicycle. Then one day I grew enough to be able to ride it, by sitting on the seat and with no training wheels. By this time I had scratched and dented it a bit, so Dad painted it green. He used whatever paint he found in the garage, and it was a flat Kelly green left over from another project. I didn't care. Green was my favorite color.

During the elementary school years, my green bicycle was my best friend and took me all over the little town of less than 100, and the surrounding countryside. I hauled bread from the little store (twenty-five cents a loaf), I gathered discarded soda bottles from the ditches along the country roads (two cents redemption fee), and I carried my books to school in the wire basket on the front of my bike. As long as it wasn't raining, I would ride my bike to school, gliding across the gravel parking area, hopping off and leaning it against the brick wall of the cafeteria.

During the summer, my bike became my horse named Star, and took me on adventures on country roads far out of town, much farther than I ever allowed my own children to venture on their bicycles. I would go visit friends, and sometimes enough friends would band together and we would have our own little bike parade up and down the street where the most people lived. Back then, it wasn't against the rules to drop in on someone unexpectedly for a visit. If they were home, you were welcomed, fed a snack and a beverage, and sometimes asked to stay for supper. I do remember though, that one time I went too far and was gone too long and my father (notice the serious 'father' is used here) came looking for me, driving his car slowly along the road and blowing the horn. As soon as I heard the horn sounding and saw the light green Chevrolet, I knew I was in trouble. As punishment, I couldn't ride my bike for two weeks.

However, ironically, my dad took those two weeks and freshened up my bicycle for me with a new coat of green paint, a slightly different shade, and put new tires on it. When my punishment was over, I was riding in style. Ever since that first paint job, my bicycle has had so many coats of green paint on it, nobody remembers how many it actually is. I rode that same bicycle through high school and when I started college, I would still ride it occasionally. When I began moving around the country, my sister kept the bike in her garage, and she would ride it with my nieces.

Do I still have the bike? In a way. It is currently in my sister's garage. It may have flat tires, and be covered in dust, but I'll bet it is still one of the best bicycles around. It just needs a little TLC.

My boys are grown now, but every time we bought them a new bicycle (I don't know how many we ended up buying, as theirs was either worn out or out grown) I was always reminded of my one and only bike I had that lasted me from childhood to early adult, and is still around, and made it to 50 years old.

Green Bicycle image copyright darkscott at iStockPhoto.

waffles or pretzels

Shhhh. Don't tell Cap'n. He went out of town today and as soon as he left, I got the urge to make waffles. Homemade. From scratch. Now, ladies and gents, as you know, I do not like to cook, nor am I good at it. (In fact, I was just whining to the First Mate that he should row ashore and fetch me some supper from some main street strip of neon lighted mortar, glass and steel structure with a window on the side. Really. Yes, pathetic. I know.

Back to the waffles. I found a recipe in my virtual recipe box (www.anywherewitharecipe.com). (Note—that was sarcasm and I do not know if that is a real site or not.) I selected an easy recipe that just included the basic ingredients, which I had on hand. I expected the waffles to look something like this (look at photo to above left). But they didn't. I wanted nice squares, with the waffle pattern, crispy and golden brown.

I think the recipe made 10 waffles on my waffle iron. Did I mention I had to go into the garage and dig around in the hot October heat (it's Florida, okay, so still hot), and get all dusty and sweaty to locate a waffle iron, which I wasn't even sure we had one, but generally we have one of everything, so I figured the odds were with me. Brought the waffle iron inside, and then sat down to cool off and rest and drink some tea. Iced. Cold. Yesssssssssssss!

I get the waffle iron washed up nicely and centered on the work island ready to make the waffles. The recipe took three bowls, several measuring cups, and something to hold the melted butter. Had I any foresight, I would have melted the butter in the bowl that was going to hold the 'wet' ingredients, but, it's me, so that didn't happen. Back to the 10 waffles. The first two (the iron had two spots for waffles) went into the trash they were so bad. Tasted more like pretzels than waffles. Too much salt maybe? I guess I have a generous pinch. I added some sugar and tried again.

The next two were rather rubbery and doughy, very chewy. I can't really describe them accurately, but I managed to consume one, once I dipped it in the remains of the melted butter and some syrup. The next pair I cooked longer. They looked pretty at least, but again, didn't taste wonderful. (I wouldn't be going back for seconds if you know what I mean.) So I added some vanilla extract. Ooooh, pretty! The vanilla did make them a nicer golden color, which made them more appetizing to look at. I left this pair in the iron for four minutes, instead of the two minutes I had used previously, which was what the recipe instructed.

Now those were some pretty waffles. I haven't tasted the pretty ones yet, since I'm still kind of, ummm, feeling the doughy ones still on the way to my tummy. I put the first couple of waffles back into the waffle iron, and heated them some more, and eventually they looked pretty enough to eat after they had browned and crispied up some more. And they probably need lots of butter and syrup. Some fruit and whipping cream probably wouldn't hurt either.

Next time I want waffles—it's Bisquick time; or better yet, Eggo.

Waffles image copyright Matka Wariatka at iStockPhoto.

oh Cap’n, please come home, the laundry is piling up

The laundry is piling up, yes, but did you notice how I ended the title of this post in a preposition. Sometimes I do that on purpose, because I think it's fun. Prepositions are just so stuck in their ways, they only want to begin a phrase, the prepositional phrase. Well, sometimes all parts of speech end up on the butt end of sentences, and that's just the way it is.

Meanwhile, yesterday was National Punctuation Day. I didn't celebrate. My comma had crapped out on me, and I was depressed, so I just spent the day alone, with nary a balloon or a card wishing me a Happy NPD. And I didn't give you a link because the site was already over its bandwidth early in the day, what with everyone else apparently celebrating and all.

Oh, back to the laundry (you know how I can get distracted whenever a preposition is dangled in front of me). Yes, I have been a slacker this week, what with the expedition yesterday and other such matters of importance. I know you already know about that, and are looking forward to me reading aloud to you.

However, as you can see, I did manage to hand wash a few delicates and have hung them out to dry. They are awaiting your return. Not that you're going to wear them. You aren't, are you? I just wanted to be prepared, because you know, you've been gone a week, and if there's one thing that's better than hot hotel lovin', it's that been gone now I'm home lovin'. See you soon, Cap'n.

Lingerie on Branch image copyright Erik Anderson at iStockPhoto.

I took an expediton to the house of porn today

No, really. True Story. I've been planning this expedition for almost a week. As some of you know, I am perfectly happy being a hermit, and I don't get out much. I like to stay home. Don't judge me. However, last Friday, my "I" quit working on my laptop keyboard. I poked at it a little while, shook the laptop like an Etch-a-Sketch a few times, and it still wouldn't work. Since it was Friday, and when I do go anywhere, it certainly isn't on a Friday, or Saturday or Sunday, and Monday's are out of the question, so that left Tuesday, Wednesday or Thursday of this week. So I planned for today to take the laptop to the Geeks. I couldn't sleep much last night knowing I had set myself up to accomplish something by actually leaving the house. Don't judge me.

Meanwhile, the "I" not working was driving me nuts, and to make a long story short (ha, jokes on you, have you ever know me to be brief?), I finally just popped the cover of the "I" off the keyboard, and poked around in there a little, examining the guts of the "I" along with the underside of the keypad. Oh…so that's how it works. I carefully pressed the cover of the "I" back on, listening for the little click sound when I pressed the corners of the key cover back over the guts of the key. Guess what!! It worked. I'm a Geek. That will be $50.00, thank you very much.

Alas, when I then tried to type a sentence, the "M" wouldn't work. Repeat the "I" procedure with the "M" key. I then checked every key on the keyboard. All okay. About ten minutes later, the "J" quit working. Wha…….. Repeat process. Got the "J" working, then it was the "K". OK, why does my keyboard hate me. I have always treated it with TLC (or TC as the case may be.) Got the "K" working, then it was the comma. So I have lived without a comma since last week, deciding this process of me fixing each key was going to cycle through the entire QWERTY system. This all led to me planning an out of the house expedition for today.

I get up, actually get dressed (never leaving the house saves a lot of getting dressed time), brushed at the hair, packed the laptop in its nice little padded tote, load the purse and the laptop into the Cap'n's Expedition. See, Cap'n is not home this week, so I decided to take a joyride in that big boat. Shhh, don't tell. I was doing this the ask forgiveness rather than permission way. Really, I hate to drive the Expedition. The thing is as big as a ship and has so much stuff on it. Things beep and chime and twirl and I don't even know what a lot of that stuff does. I was very careful not to adjust anything; I pressed the #2 button for the seat adjustments so I wouldn't deprogram his special selection of seat comfort (and his hiney is special, if y'know what I mean). (And not in the same way his knees are special.) I never could get comfortably situated myself, but I never am when driving it.

Why didn't I drive my own car, you ask? Well, I have a nine year old little Chevy Tracker that I just love. It's tiny, I can reach everything inside from the driver's seat, and it fits easily in any parking place (and you can just carry it in your tote bag if you can't find a parking place). Never mind that the driver's side window won't go back up after you lower it. You have to press the "up" button while pushing the glass up and into the groove at the same time. And the passenger door will not automatically lock or unlock. Yeah, I have to get those things mended, but I still love the Tracker. However, apparently I had lost the new '09 registration sticker. Sure enough, if I even thought about driving it the approximate five miles to the tax collector's office to get a replacement sticker, I would have gotten stopped and ticketed before I ever got out of my subdivision. So that's why I drove the big "E".

No sooner than I turned the key in the ignition and cranked up the Expedition, my cell rang. Yep, it was Cap'n. Was I busted? Not yet. I turned the engine off and jumped out of the Expedition, because somehow I just knew that he would know I was sitting in it with the engine running. He had called to ask me to fetch a couple of forms, scan them and email them to him. So that meant taking the laptop back inside, doing the scanning, sending by email, all while feeling like I was in trouble. After I got the email sent, just for the heck of it, I opened up Word and typed a comma. Yippee! Comma was back and working. I typed an entire page of commas. I typed an entire page of all letters and numbers, just to make sure everything worked. It's a miracle!

Since I was ready to go on my expedition in the Expedition, I went ahead and got the replacement tag for my car, and since I had a coupon for Best Buy, headed on over there and used it to buy "Eureka" Season 2. Just walking along the aisles at Best Buy, I was getting a little shaky and my heart was beating a little faster, and my face felt kind of flushed. Yes, it could be hot flashes, get out of my way, but I'm sure it was just, that last copy is mine grandma, the excitement of being out on the town, will this checkout line ever move, anticipating the next stop on my excursion—the House of Porn.

Yes, the House of Porn—another way of saying the Library. The Library branch that I use is right across the street from Best Buy. It is on the Community College's campus, so the speed limit is 10 mph. It seemed like it took me forever to get across the street and meander through the several parking areas and another little street before pulling into the parking lot of the library. I parked in the space farthest from the door (Expedition, you know. Never can be too careful). I fondled my special tag keychain, making sure the colorful library card tag was still attached, and started on the hike to the entrance. I was already worn out from my visit to the tax office and Best Buy, and it was a pretty day outside, so I took my time, walking slowly, anticipating. A mother pushing a stroller with a babe in it, one on her hip, and another hanging on to her skirt beat me to the door, along with an ancient man with a cane. But that's okay, there's plenty of porn, er….books, for all.

Yes, this was an exciting day. You see, I haven't been to the library in a long time. Before I retired, I never had time. My boss was mean, I hated her. Then when I did retire (fired by mean boss), I have been reading my shelves of books I've been collecting over the years, always intending to read, but never getting around to it. Do you know how hard it has been for me not to check out what is in my cart at Amazon.com? Not because I love shopping so much, but because I love books. And being at the library today, walking slowly along the stacks, running my fingers lightly over the spines, mesmerized by the many sizes, color combinations, the stylish fonts and art...oooh, it gives me shivers just thinking about it. I think the librarian returning books to the stacks was eying me suspiciously a few times, probably alarmed when my eyes started glazing over, and then again when I sat down in the aisle in order to access those titles that end up way down on the bottom shelf (those are some of the best ones, you know, the ones you must search for).

Finally, I had my armload of books, and watched, fascinated as the librarians tag-teamed their way through them, flipping them open, stacking, stickering and scanning my selections, all without judging me. (You see, I was sure they were secretly looking at my checkout history and realizing that I hadn't been to the library in a long, long time.) I had selected a few thrillers, a mystery, two action-romance paperbacks (men with guns, now you can't get much hotter than that), a Philippa Gregory title, and some titles with those two very pretentious words somewhere on the cover--"a novel". Well, duh. I did check it out of the fiction, and it was a book, what was it going to be? Don't even get me started on that.

I gather that if you made it this far into my leaving the house adventure, you now know what my trigger is. Books = porn for me. Its been this way ever since I was little and the Bookmobile rolled into our little town of 98 residents during the summer time, and I climbed those shaky, drop down steps into the air-conditioned library on wheels. I was amazed I could walk out with an armload of books. And all for free. Nothing can beat that.

So today, in memory of summers of bookmobiles and vacations, I am sitting here in my comfy chair, just popped the top off of a pina colada, and am going to grab a book and start enjoying, for free, the black words on white paper, and make me some new friends.

Bookshelves at the Library image copyright Ken Zirkel at iStockPhoto.

there's not enough milk in the world

For a girl, I really like baseball. Not that I follow along with any teams, know any stats, or watch games on TV. But seriously, I do like it. And if I recall, the World Series should be coming up in October. I remember this because I hung around with guys when I was in high school, but mainly because it was always about the same time as Homecoming, and my hair was always being done in some outrageous style for the Homecoming Game and Dance. (To be honest, I usually brushed out my hair after the stylist did all the teasing and lacquering with hair spray.)

Although I no longer sit and watch games on TV, I would never turn down an opportunity to go to a real live game. Now that's some fun! Cap'n and I have been talking about taking one of the Good Times buses up to Atlanta for a game some time, but we have never actually done it. Good Times is always a group activity with us and it seems like something else is always going on with someone in the group lately (mostly children's weddings) (not our children!) so we have gone to several New Orleans Saints football games on Good Times but never a Braves game, but I would love to.

When I lived in California a long time ago, I did manage to go to an entire home season of Oakland A's games. Yes, I did mention that it was a long time ago. That year I collected almost the entire uniform at the gate give aways, and I think I still have the jersey. I can't remember how the A's did that year, but let me tell you, the fans were some down and dirty entertainment. Of all the football games I've been to (pro or semi-pro), the fans seemed downright decorous compared to those at a baseball game.

When I was a teenager I played softball. Girls team, first base, Dixie Girls League. Once we got over age 15, we graduated to Pelican Girls League. The field was about a mile from my house and I usually walked to practice and games. I don't remember being a very good player, I really couldn't throw very far and I don't recall being a very good hitter. But I sure could put one foot on the bag and stretch out and catch that ball (thanks to those who could throw well) and get that runner out. Oddly enough my most vivid memory of playing softball (other than when my foot was stepped on by an opposing team member and it hurt), was a pitcher from an opposing team (Bell City, I think). Her name was Phoebe and she was a tiny blond powerhouse who just terrified me. Now that I think of it, I don't know why she intimidated me so much, but she had a reputation for fast and hard pitches and even though I looked cool to the extreme when I was at bat, I do believe I was quaking in my cleats. The downside to the League is that the Dixie Boys, or more importantly, the Pelican Boys, games were held at the opposite venue (girls home, boys away, or the other way around). And they got to play baseball not softball. Can't have it all, I guess.

Anyway, why is there not enough milk in the world? This. Today's offering from Cake Wrecks. This was supposed to be a baseball field cake. How insane. How sad. How hilariously horrible. The redeeming factor? It did make me think of Homecoming, the season I went to every A's home game, and the Dixie Girls League.

Yes, that's me, the one in the center with the crown on her head, and practically no skirt. (BTW, I had to give the crown back the next year, to place on the head of the gal the second from the right. Cheap homecoming committee!)

Symmetrical Bovine image copyright shaunl at iStockPhoto.

if I drank coffee, I’d take it black

Or, I can't know until you tell me.

Wouldn't the world of emotions be an easier place to navigate if everyone did? Take it black, that is. If only people could sit down with one another and just tell them straight out when there is a problem, or a perceived problem, it would save us all a lot of grief in the end.

I am very much of the notion that "I can't fix it if I don't know it's broken." So just tell me. I won't get mad, or hurt, or run off and cry. I'll tell you my side. Perhaps I didn't know this particular thing was broken or it bothered you so much. If there are misconceptions, this is the time to clear it up. This works both ways. If something is bothering me, I expect you to tell you without you blowing up in my face and going on 18 different tangents about things that have nothing to do with this one little issue.

Instead of getting mad at a me, holding it inside, building resentment until the issue becomes something so much more than it was ever meant to be, and colors your entire world with anger and despair, just tell me.

It's very simple.

John: "Mary, I can't enjoy the movie if you continue talking throughout the whole thing." Shut up you crazy bitch, don't you know I want to just watch a movie, not chat about it, this drives me crazy, why won't you shut up your incessant yakking."
Mary: "Oh, okay John. I didn't know it bothered you so much." Idiot. Freakin' idiot. I guess I thought he wanted to spend time with me, now I know he just wants to watch a movie. Now I know.

See. Simple. John told Mary what was bothering him, now she knows. Now he doesn't have to sit through a movie with her murmuring sweet nothings into his ear. Don't expect someone to read your mind, they can't, and chances are they won't know what is bothering you until you tell them. This gives them the chance to tell you why they do something and your perceptions may be wrong.

Mary: "John, I love it when you cook dinner on the grill, but why do the steaks come out all tough and rubbery, and the potatoes are crispy instead of soft and mushy."

John: "Oh, I thought you liked it that way, so that's how I cooked it. I would much rather the steak rare and tender, and the potatoes soft to where they smash up like fluffy clouds too, so now I won't cook everything as long."

See. Simple. John was doing something because he thought Mary liked it that way, but Mary hated it. Once she told John that she didn't like it, he could explain, and now they both can have a more enjoyable dinner.

I'm not going to break if you tell me something you don't like or that is bothering you. It comes right back to if I don't know I can't fix it.

Of course, there are always exceptions, and most people want life sugar coated.

if you take something apart, can you always put it back together?

This morning I was thinking about learning. It still amazes me to learn something, even though I may have no possible use for it in the remainder of my lifetime. But you never know. Since the day he learned he could use his opposable thumbs to disassemble something, my son has been doing so. Everything we have ever had in this house has been taken apart and put back together at least once. "I just wanted to see how it worked." He managed to reassemble most things back to the original factory intent, however there have been a few misplaced parts here and there. Although he is 21 now, Bee still takes everything apart, but has now learned that maybe I really don't want the new dishwasher taken apart, and prefer to remain oblivious to what goes on inside there as long as it does its job.

Discovery. That's how I like to learn things. I like to read and discover and apply a process. Sometimes I think of a woman I once knew who did not appreciate the process of searching for an answer and the resultant joy when you figured out not so much the particular answer, but what you have learned. The only way she wanted to learn something was to be told. "Just tell me the answer, just tell me what to do," she always said. She wanted someone to tell her that 2+2=4, but not how we know that or arrive at that conclusion; she just wanted the answer, didn't care why or how. By this method of learning, then she would have to be told that 3+3=6 because she didn't learn how to get the answer, just the answer itself.

I have always thought that when we learn the why's and how's instead of just an answer and a solution, then we can use that information to find out anything else. I am not a genius, nor do I remember every single thing that all my teachers taught me in school. I have long been a fan of the logic of Einstein. He chose not to store everything single piece of information he ever knew in his brain. Instead he used the logical process that once that information was stored somewhere (written down, I don't mean Google), he could always look it up when he needed to know it. Smart man, that one. Therefore, when the Cap'n says, "Princess, why don't you remember the number for the checking account we had 12 years ago," then I can say, "Because I can look it up."