 for attention at any price?These sorts of questions are always very hard to think about, because you never know how big of a circle to take in. If the paper for the waxed bags comes from a sustainably managed forest, does that make a difference?
I ended up going with the latter choice. I'm not sure how many times I'll have to reuse them before I come out ahead (they must use 50 times as much plastic as a flimsy sandwich bag), especially if you include the resources that go into washing them for reuse, but I've got boxes that are 15 years old and have been used hundreds of times. I bet I'm ahead of the game, at least on those.
I'm not worried about plastics; I'm sure I'll be dead from something else before they kill me.
I DO like wax paper; much more satisfying to tear off the roll than frigging plastic wrap...
go to loveybums.com and select the link for fundraising.
This shows you the sandwich bag product. The 'loveybum' is a reusable cloth diaper cover.
Of course the question is what is the net energy/net toxin effect of such a product vs. the wax paper that one hand wraps.I spent most of last week with Mom, our monthly visit incorporating her monthly doctors’ appointments. Last Wednesday we went to her primary physician (her potassium level has settled down; her blood pressure has finally stabilized–yea!), and Thursday we went to her allergist (oops–retesting means she shouldn’t have had any antihistamines. Why didn’t anyone tell me?!).
Of course, if we’re leaving the house for any reason, we’re required through tradition and growling stomachs to eat out. Meals from Olive Garden, Los Cucos, and–I’m embarrassed to say–McDonalds are all vying for position on my hips and thighs, so it’s no surprise I’ll spend this week adhering to a strict diet.
Oh, wait. Let me stop giggling. Me? Diet for a full week?! Too funny.
Anyway, this visit we did something neither of us have ever done before. Something feminine. Something unbelievably girly. We went for facials.
It didn’t dawn on me when I wrote about this on Facebook that I left folks with the impression that the facial was my idea and my treat. Nothing could be farther from the truth. When I said I “took Mom” to a spa, that’s exactly what I meant–I drove. Frankly, doing something so overwhelmingly girly-girl would never dawn on me. And I’m surprised it dawned on her. It wasn’t my dad who taught me how to shoot and fish, it was my mom. I was a tomboy being raised by a tomboy. Neither of us were particularly girly.I’m still not all that girly. I don’t play with my hair and make-up, don’t lounge in a bubble bath for an hour; I don’t have a clue how to match accessories with my clothes or which pair of shoes work best with an outfit–or even which outfit works best on me. I’m the furthest thing from a fashionista I know. Laugh crinkles and forehead wrinkles don’t bother me–I believe they show character–which means I don’t spend tons of time and money trying to erase time from my face.
So, believe me, I had to warm up to the idea that we were going to let strangers spread goo on our faces, especially when I discovered how much it would cost.
Mom and I were separated, she with her goo-meister and me with mine. The room I was led to was painted a Montana-sky blue, an unusual choice to go with the ocean-wave New Age music floating softly from some invisible speaker. There was a bed-like thing in there, resembling sheets draped over a dentist chair which had been leveled to near-horizontal, and I was told to undress, put on a wrap, and climb in. I was amazed how comfortable it was, and with the soft music and calming surroundings, I nearly fell asleep before Jackie returned and popped the serenity like a champagne cork. 
Everything had a scent. Lavender on the towels, rose water for spritzing, cool mint in the variety of things she spread on me.  You know what I mean–that sick shade of green that matches the cucumber slices they put on your eyes for TV facials. I remember thinking I should get photos of myself during the facial so we could have a good laugh (I do know how to take pics with my Blackberry–but I haven’t learned how to download them yet. I’ll get to it), but I was too relaxed/restrained to do it.
I have to admit, everything felt so good–gooey, but good. Cold followed by warm; steam followed by spritz; and always, strong massaging hands and fingers on my face, throat, and shoulders.
And my feet! God bless her, Jackie massaged my feet! That’s got to be a form of heaven right there.
But as far as settling in for a soothing experience, I didn’t get to. Jackie talked about things I wanted to hear, and I questioned her to keep her talking, shared stories with her to maintain the conversation, and learned things I haven’t learned before from someone who didn’t mind sharing.
By the time we were done, I felt a bit greasy and far less attractive than I did when I went in and had my make-up on, but I really enjoyed the experience, and Mom did too. We’re planning another trip to the spa. We’re going to get pedicures and have our legs waxed.
Heaven help us. We’re turning into girly-girls.
Linda, sounds like a lot of fun hanging out with your mom!
Thanks for the comment, Karen. Yeah, Mom’s always been a lot of fun. I miss some of the things we used to do together.
Glad your mom’s doing better!
Points to you both for enjoying yourselves. My mom and I enjoy getting pedicures when we are together. It’s fun to sit and let others pamper us both. A wonderful treat, glad you both enjoyed it.
Thanks, Sally.  It’s as close to “adventurous” she can get these days!

BTW, my Blackberry takes horrible pictures–not as good has my hubby’s iPhone, but when I take them, I just email them to myself.
You’re such a fun girl! You always make me laugh.
Now that I’ve bought my Blackberry, I keep hearing how much better the IPhone is. Sigh.
Yep, we’re at “that age” aren’t we? Vanity takes a nosedive after fifty.5. Exegesis and Modern Translations

Just over half this slim volume is devoted to introductory issues relating to Isa. 40.1-11—historical background, form-critical and literary issues in the study of Deutero-Isaiah as a whole, and so on. There then follows an exegesis of the passage, much of which comprises rather old-fashioned word studies with much talk of etymology (based upon a few well-known reference works) and ‘root meanings’. The justification for the whole undertaking is said to be to provide ‘in a single volume a modern commentary on the Overture that will incorporate all the research done in recent times’ (p. 6); this appears to mean research done since what is curiously called the last detailed work on this passage, (part of) the 1981 study of R.P. Merendino. In fact, there are only about ten works relating to Isaiah published since 1981 included in the bibliography, and there is nothing in the discussion to indicate awareness of the many significant shifts that have occurred in relation to the book and to this part of it in particular in recent years. While the author’s evident enthusiasm and love for the passage are refreshing, readers will not learn much that could not be better learned from commentaries of the 1960s and 1970s, to say nothing of more recent ones. H.G.M. WILLIAMSONMondays are always rough. Blake doesn’t nap anymore at daycare so dinner time has a lot of whining. But today Hannah spent her first Monday at daycare with underwear and she did great!!!
Yesterday was a trial run with a few accidents but overall pretty good. I hope a daytime diaper-free future is ahead of me.
Tonight’s crossfit without looks like it has ~50 handstand pushups… We’ll see if I make it to tomorrow without any head injuries.
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