Things Take Time

TTT

“Put up in a place where it’s easy to see, the cryptic admonishment TTT

When you feel how depressingly slowly you climb, it’s well to remember that Things Take Time.”

I’m glad I remembered this grook. But what’s a grook and what does it have to do with this unremarkable pot and spoon? A grook is a short, aphoristic poem and there are thousands of them, thanks to the Danish polymath, Piet Hein. (A digression- why his little poetry volumes are out of print is a mystery because they may be pithier today than when they were written during WW II. Find a used copy- you won’t regret it.) And what does it have to do with the pictured implements? Quite a bit.

Hein asserted in his philosophical writings that the great cultural divide was not between the haves and the have-nots, but between the knows and the know-nots. I’ve been a know-not on lots of things- but for now, let’s confine it to caramelizing onions. I knew the technique but until today, I refused to believe that this thing took time. Surely it doesn’t take an hour for a potful of raw onion slices to turn into this little brown heap. Yep. It does. And it’s not an hour where you can ignore the pot. Low heat and regular stirring and scraping aren’t suggestions. They’re requirements.

Some things can’t be hurried. Caramelized onions might seem a lowly standard-bearer for TTT, but today, they carried the colors perfectly. I’m now a know, on at least this one thing! There are plenty of good ways to cook onions so don’t even think about caramelizing them if you don’t have time. Unlike lots of things, you can’t buy more time. Spend wisely.

Soulmates

You’re probably thinking. “What! Another piece on “Use it up, wear it out…” I don’t think anyone would dispute that it was time for some new boots; it wouldn’t take much of a talker to make the case that it was well past time. If “use it up, wear it out” was the mission, consider it accomplished. But what this bit is really about is footsteps.

I wrote about another pair of well- loved, well-used shoes a while back. (January 10, 2021, These Shoes Were Made for Walkin’… And Waiting Around) They belonged to my father. These belong to my son. When I made this connection between elder and younger, I was feeling a little left out by the generation skipping. Then I remembered. Many years ago my hiking boots lost their sole on a rocky trail in New Zealand. It had been strongly suggested that I get new boots before starting out, but that seemed rash. Surely they had one more hike in them. You’ll have to take my word on this as there is no photographic evidence. This was long enough ago that picture-taking required film, chemicals and a darkroom so we were a lot more discriminating about what we snapped.

My boots fell apart on the last few miles on the last day of the hike. But it turned out fine. A few wraps with duct tape keep the soles attached just long enough. And the best part of the boots dying when they did is that they went in the trash and freed up some packing space. In their place, I brought home a still-loved sweater. In New Zealand, where sheep outnumber humans, merino wool is abundant. And so are possums. The clever Kiwis figured out that blending possum fur (with its hollow core like that of polar bears) with merino wool makes for a warm, durable and desirable niche product.

I have not been disappointed by the sweater. And as important as it is to remember to use it up and wear it out that’s not the theme today. This story is about of the confluence of soleful and soulful and the comfort of having good footsteps to follow.

For The Birds?

I’d hope so.

This all began with a mistake at the grocery store. buying a bag of toasted sunflower seeds rather than the raw ones I like. (Raw, toasted, hulled, salted, spicy etc make paying attention important). I figured, “How bad can they be?” To my taste, pretty bad. But committed to the only-one-a-week grocery run, I made do for a while; this was a trifling hardship.

I thought the birds could be the beneficiary of this seedy mistake. Feeding them unsalted, shelled, toasted seeds was sort of the equivalent of having someone shuck your oysters for you- a luxury. Surely the birds would be pleased.

Right away, there was a lot of interest at the feeder-mostly cardinals and a few grackles. They were all camera shy. And on the question, “How bad can they be?” The birds and I are in agreement. Pretty bad. When there is something in the feeder that the birds like, they’re not bashful. Word gets around and a reservation at the feeder can be hard to snag. The birds tweeted their no star reviews and my feeder is as empty as a restaurant during Covid.

Toasted sunflower seeds are officially off the menu for Robin and all the other birds!

Remember a Rule. Mistakes happen. Admit, learn and move on.

Incredibly Simple Way to Color Eggs

Buy a carton of white eggs and an egg dyeing kit at the grocery store. In less than an hour, you’ve got a beautiful basket. Incredibly simple.

The authors of Journey in Natural Dyeing have a different take on seasonal egg embellishment. “Between your spice drawer and your compost bin, chances are you have the supplies on hand for a natural and incredibly simple way to color eggs. At least that’s what the headline suggests.

Red cabbage, strong black coffee, beets, turmeric, yellow onion skins and white vinegar… check! Potions for blue, brown, pink, yellow and red were described. And by mixing two of these brews, green and orange could be added to your color palatte. The technique is counter-intuitive and lengthy. Dyeing comes before cooking and if you want saturated colors, give yourself eight hours of steeping time. What with a bunch of mason jars full of dye simmering in a stock pot and then living in your fridge, a kitchen calamity isn’t hard to imagine.

I guess this is why the store-bought egg dyeing kits are popular. I thought this was interesting, but for my eight hours, I’d rather have a loaf of homemade bread.

With A Grain Of Salt

During the long siege of Corona, I’ve done a lot of cooking. Experimenting with new recipes has been a good diversion. The food and fluff sections of several newspapers are my primary sources these days. If a recipe looks interesting, I save it. But only for two weeks- that’s the rule. With time on my hands, if I can’t find time to make it in two weeks, maybe it’s not as interesting as I thought.

Some established cooking rules I habitually break. It’s culinary dogma that one should follow a recipe precisely, at least the first time. My specialty is going “off road” from the get go. And the notion that guests (remember them?) are not guinea pigs seems overly timid. How bad can it be? And if it is truly awful, at least you’ll have a good story.

But back to rules I like. The simpler the better.

The celebrity chef Sother Teague says, “A chef can do a lot of things with rosemary. He can’t do a damn thing without salt.” Salt. Simple and essential. A beautiful little roast chicken or a crusty artisan bread depends on just four ingredients. Salt is outweighed by the others, but it still has a starring role. That’s what happens when you keep things simple. All of the parts matter and they all have their say.

As a counterpoint to simple, consider Cocido Madreileño, Spain’s “Mother Stew”. I saved this recipe from February 21, 2021 with no intention of ever making it. This “ideal winter-weekend project” elicited skepticism bordering on disdain. It might “be the backbone of Spanish cold-weather cooking, but because of medieval optics and a laundry list of ingredients, it never caught on abroad.” I’ll say. Preparation taking six hours and requiring seventeen ingredients, including a lot of iffy pig parts… I had the salt, but I came up short on the trotters!

Might Cocido Madrileño be more than just a recipe? Yes. I saved a recipe I was never going to make because it seemed like a proxy for hard things. Hard can start out innocently as hogwild, and end painfully as glutton-for-punishment. Sometimes chaotic and complicated are unavoidable. But often they are not. Don’t sabotage yourself. You don’t have to make everything so hard. Simple should be made but not taken with a grain of salt.

Now this crazy recipe is going in the trash. But I sure enjoyed not making it.

A Bunch of Pretty Things I Did Not Want*

The text is quite small but the price tag, quite large. The twelve-item, low stress, capsule wardrobe suggested by this article will set you back $7205. For perspective, the average American women spends about $2000 annually on clothing, sayeth the U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics. Of course average is just a statistic; the range is gigantic.

And a lot of that spending is waste.

The average American woman has 103 items of clothing in her closet - more than enough to put together outfits for any occasion. But she considers 21 percent to be 'unwearable', 33 percent too tight and 24 percent too loose, according to a survey of 1,000 US women by ClosetMaid. Admittedly this source is a bit less authoritative than the US BLS but it has a ring of truth. The old 80/20 Rule is a rule for a reason. It’s also call Law of the Vital Few. That’s what this article was getting at- the vital few. When you don’t have 80% distracting you, putting the 20% to work is a lot easier.

I heartily endorse the idea of the capsule wardrobe, provided you go shopping in your own ample closet. From the article, “When you assemble a deftly curated closet devoid of flashy, trend- driven splurges, you cut out wardrobe confusion.”

About my title? The reason I don’t want these things, is that I don’t need them. I already have plenty of capsule options. No need to shop. The real stress-reducer is to find a better way to distract your money.

* Credit/apologies to the lovely little book, A Bunch of Pretty Things I Did Not Buy by Sarah Lazarovic

Have V. Have Not

I’d never heard of Akilah Hughes-writer, actress, comedian- and only 31 years old; but lots of other people have. I’m usually way behind on current culture and being behind suits me. But I do love her take on Epicurus. “Do not spoil what you have by desiring what you have not; remember that what you now have was once among the things you only hoped for.”

Whether a trendy toga or rainbow sprinkles, the message is the same. Appreciating the “haves” rather than the “have nots” is a good thing. And if sprinkles help you remember this…all the sweeter.

More Hot Water

I like being in hot water, literally but not so much idiomatically. A quick search of the origin of this expression confirms that much of what people claim as certain, certainly is not. But we all know what it means- to be in a heap of trouble. Maybe the first cousin to being in a pickle or being in the dog house?

I love a hot water bottle. They are so old-fashioned yet so good at what they do. My first experience with one was in a safari tent camp in Kenya. We’d been warned about wild creatures liking the tent as much as we paying customers did; be on the lookout for animal interlopers. We had not been told that our turn down service included slipping a hot water bottle between the sheets- a luxury some stateside boutique hotel should adopt.

I slipped between those warm sheets and was out in a flash, imagining figurative hot water with a deadly Puff Adder as my bedmate, but thanks to this no-tech amenity, I literally was in hot water. What an excellent place to be!

And what does this have to do with Rules? I’m asking myself that question more frequently these days. I am certain my Rules serve me well. I’m also certain they aren’t for everyone. But here’s my case for the hot water bottle. They’re low maintenance. They work even with the power is out. They’re inexpensive. They don’t give off any radiation (in fairness, new heating pads don’t either). In a word, they are useful. And if you’re inclined to knit a cozy for your hot water bottle… Mary Poppins, meet Ralph Lauren.

“Have nothing in your house (or tent) that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful.” William Morris

For me, the more hot water, the better!

If the Solution is a Paper towel...

… it’s not much of a problem. Those were the words of a plumber who installed this instahot water dispenser. When he tested the his handiwork, there was a leak. “Drat!” was my response. I was really thinking some stronger four letter word. I got way ahead of myself. Is it a defective tank or hose? Does this plumber know what he’s doing? Well, it was neither material failure nor incompetence. A connection needed to be tightened. It didn’t even take a wrench. The plumber said over-tightening is just as bad as under-tightening so it’s always wise to take your time.

What he said next was worth the trip charge. “If the solution is a paper towel, it’s not much of a problem.” I’ve repeated this to myself so often that it’s become a mantra. It’s like the Scottish philosopher, David Hume said, “A wise man proportions his belief to the evidence.”

About my desire to be “in hot water”? I’ve enjoyed the luxury of an instahot dispenser for a long time. When the old one died just before Christmas, I decided to wait until after the holidays to replace it. Extra hassles at a busy time of year seemed unwise. And now much of a hardship could it be to do without? After several weeks of making do, without, I decided I wanted to do with. I missed this little luxury every day- often multiple times. I’m cleared-eyed on this; an instahot is a want, not a need. Wants should be indulged thoughtfully otherwise the line between necessary and nice is blurred and eventually obliterated.

And then you really are in hot water.

Pot Calling the Kettle Black

Pepper… And Salt indeed! I frequently misspell perfectionist too. Metaphorically. From one who is guilty of sometimes calling out the kettle, I’ll let this go with the reminder from St. Exupéry. “Perfection is achieved not when there is nothing more to add but when there is nothing more to take away.”

Maybe a little pepper and salt with my humble pie?

These Shoes Were Made For Walkin'(And Waitin’ Around)

This might be the most perfect example of using something up that I’ve ever seen. They’re not from someone down on his luck. No, just the opposite. They are the shoes of someone who gracefully embraced whatever came his way without too much worry about the “luck-ometer”. The expression, “It is what it is.” never parted his lips. (Surely this clichéd pronouncement of the obvious won’t last 44 years.)

These lace ups began life as dress shoes- nice ones, inherited from his father. When they got too tired to even pretend to be for dress up, they were reborn as his OR/ Labor and Delivery Shoes. As the many years wore on, so did the shoes. I suspect at some point the wearer might have considered downgrading another pair from dress to mess. I feel certain that he never considered buying a pair for this purpose. Seriously. They are just going to get ruined.

OSHA or a hospital administrator might force the issue now. That’s now. These shoes were then. In many ways, then was better. We’ve forgotten that there are a lot of pretty things that we should not buy. These shoes are the perfect reminder: “Use it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without.” That’s always in style.

Good Riddance

December 28 is “Good Riddance Day”, at least in NYC. For the past thirteen years, celebrants gather in Times Square where they get to “pulverize unwanted memories with the help of an industrial strength shredder.” The organizers are expecting 2020 to be a banner year for riddances.

This year, Good Riddance Day falls on Boxing Day which is celebrated in the UK and countries that were part of the Commonwealth. This seems a fitting alignment as both holidays involve giving. In the former, the gift is to oneself; in the latter, the gift (food-filled boxes) is to others.

I remember being glad to learn that Boxing Day had nothing to do with fisticuffs. Maybe there was more to learn about Good Riddance Day. I wish I’d just stuck with what I’d learned in the WSJ article, but forgetting that enough was enough, I Googled “Unusual Holidays in December. “ A pathetic list- “Special and Wacky” appeared. Aptly named. Cotton Candy. Fritters, Brown Shoes, Bouillabaisse, Fruitcake, Oatmeal Muffins, Chocolate Covered Anything…they all have their special December day. I hope the organizers of Good Riddance Day don’t feel slighted that their holiday didn’t make the list. It doesn’t feel the least bit wacky, and “special” carries a lot of baggage.

Good Riddance Day feels like a very good way of clearing out the old to make way for the new. Of making a symbolic gesture confirming a belief that “Hope smiles on the threshold of the year to come.” (You know by now that’s from Tennyson.)

Banish the skeletons! “Start spreading the word… Good Riddance Day can make it anywhere!”

More Than...

“It’s the most wonderful time of the year-all year at this New Jersey home” The owners, like the Whos down in Whoville- like Christmas a lot. According to the seasonal census, there are 235 angels, 115 religious statues, 71 wreaths, 38 Santas, 30 trimmed trees, 14 nativity scenes, and 2 five-fool tall nutcrackers in this one room. And every room in the house is decked. Outside, there is a life-size Nativity keeping watch over the swimming pool. And this disparate and festive display, is always on display. Sentimentality and aesthetics might have gotten things going, but I suspect practicality and inertia keep it going. The sibling owners “Shopped year-round for decorations, with Costco being their go-to destination. They are unsure how much they’ve spent over the years- she’s a lifelong collector, charging by credit card during the holidays and paying off the debt over the following 12 months.”

“The trouble with trouble is is starts out as fun.” This adage came to mind as I read that the house is now for sale. The owners (and a lot of the decorations) are headed to warmer climes. Presumably the life-size nativity in the grotto conveys with the property.

… ENOUGH

This beautiful fir tree did not die in vain. It’s made not one but two families happy this year. (Three, if you count the tree seller). The first family was going away before Christmas and needed to take the tree down before leaving. Enter: A friend who asked if she could buy their magnificent tree. The answer was no, you can’t buy it, but if you’ll take it away, we’ll leave the lights on and you can return them when you undo things at your house. What a bargain- for everyone (except the aforementioned tree purveyor).

Fun, without the trouble. And on this, the first day of Christmas, enough is a gift.

A Christmas Memory

If it were a normal year, I would be entertaining this morning. It wouldn’t be as effortless as DeeDee, or as elegant as Helen, or as exuberant as Kitty, but despite being a self- avowed reluctant entertainer it still would be a celebration. But normal is in short supply, so this reluctant entertainer is reluctantly not entertaining in this, the Age of Corona.

You might wonder, “What’s with the emphasis on reluctance?” Reluctance is what got me going- a paradox that has heretofore escaped me. Robin’s Rules came about only after a stab at the book I thought I wanted to write-The Reluctant Entertainer. This book resisted. It did not wish to be. When asked why she wrote only one book, Harper Lee replied, “I only had one story to tell.” Turns out, she had two, but I had only one, and it was not about entertaining.

My friends will not gather this morning to read Truman Capote’s luminous story, A Christmas Memory. Surely next year, my Christmas Memory party (among a million other things) will not be squelched by an invisible virus. It’s unlikely that my party will “blaze like a Baptist window”. But that’s ok. At my core I’m less is more. A glow will be enough.

Miss Sook, Capote’s sixty-something year old cousin, was right. “There’s never two of anything.” Be yourself. It will make things easier. And besides, everyone else is already taken.

Same time next year with different memories.

Let's Talk Turkey

Squeezed by Halloween on the front and Christmas on the back, the Thanksgiving turkey has lost his strut. Ghoulish and merry decorating frenzies have taken on such proportions and timing that the bird scarcely gets noticed before the curtain comes down on Thanksgiving. Tragic , even without a poultry paradox thickening the plot.

From a recent LendingTree survey- Americans on average spent $475 on this year’s holiday meal. That’s a whopping 53% increase over last year. An interesting tidbit: Boomers spent a paltry $174 versus millennial’s $556. I suspect this is the spread between “Do it yourself” and “Outsource to Whole Foods.” More from LendingTree: Nearly 40% of respondents said procuring Thanksgiving dinner was a financial strain that required deficit spending. They had to borrow money to buy the turkey. That’s sobering.

And now the paradox.

From the post-Thanksgiving WSJ, This Year, Smaller Thanksgivings Mean Bigger Leftover Issues: Since when did leftovers become “issues”? Since when did a refrigerator filled with the extras from a delicious meal elicit “Eek”? What about the turkey sandwich laced with dressing and cranberry relish? Or the sandwich that showcases the family’s Dukes v. Hellmans controversy? (Wouldn’t you love to hear Nina Totenberg reporting that majority opinion.) And why not turkey tikka masala? Or turkey soup made from the meaty carcass to bring it to an end. After your turkey stars on Thanksgiving, give him an enthusiastic curtain call. Maybe two or three…

“Give neither counsel or salt till you are asked for it.” I’m willfully ignoring the counsel part of this old proverb with the turkey talk; you’re on your own with the salt!

Abundantly Clear

“I have eaten abundantly; anymore would be an exert.” Dorothy Arrington

I was pleased to see the pictured quote-of-the-day when I flipped to November 15. But my enthusiasm dimmed when it registered this really didn’t feel true. Even so, I’m glad Reverend Forrest gave me food for thought. And what did I think? I like my grandmother Arrington’s version better. I answered to minimalist for years and never objected until I realized that enoughism is my philosophy. Think of enough as the fulcrum on which scarcity and excess are balanced. It’s a good, steady place. When you know that enough is enough, it’s writ large, not elusive.

We loved it when our grandmother was asked if she’d like seconds and she responded as she did. She knew that she’d had enough, aplenty, an abundance, and anymore would be too much. Hearing her say this, we delighted in her doctored version which always came next. ”I have eaten a bumble bee and it’s under my shirt.”

I guess we were easily amused. But it was enough.

Waste Not, Want Not

“Buy once, buy well.” HRH, The Prince of Wales

This thoughtful quote comes from an interview with Prince Charles in British Vogue about his commitment to sustainable fashion. A more accurate description of his commitment would be to sustainable living. Coming from one who could easily cast thriftiness as something for the commoners, his mantra is particularly meaningful. The man who could be king can well afford a lot of stuff. He prefers restraint.

HRH hates waste- in clothing, food, and furnishing. In matters sartorial, he is mindful of details, color and cut. He knows what he likes and what suits him. Like Coco, he knows that fashion is fleeting, but style endures. Like Lagerfeld, he knows that trendy is the last stop on the way to tacky. I like his style.

The Prince’s version of the benefits of thoughtful spending is like the Chinese proverb, “Buy the best and you only weep once.“ Although I’ve taken this Chinese attribution as gospel, I’m not sure it’s an ancient Chinese proverb after all. Per Google, interior designer Miles Redd, born in Atlanta in the Nixon Administration, claims authorship. Atlanta in the 70s or BC China- pesky alternative facts. I’m going with Charles- a snappier quote with clear attribution.

I said I was going with Charles, but really I’m going with me. “Buy well. Buy once.” Once seems predicated on well, so I’m putting well first. But no quibbling. Take your pick, then put your money where your mouth is. Cheers!

What's In A Name?

Many famous houses have names. They often make sense. The White House is white. Number 10 is at 10 Downing Street. Monticello is on a little mountain. A house with a name has a certain grandeur or gravitas. But when a house isn’t grand, or noteworthy, what’s in a name is often a lot of not much. The beach is a particularly good place to find nonsensical names. Rental agents say a named house attracts broader attention so owners are encouraged to come up with one. But the advice comes with a caveat that is often ignored- avoid tongue-in-cheek and nonsense names.

Tide’s Inn (unless it’s out). Sunset Cottage (squarely facing east so maybe they meant Sunrise). Gulls and Buoys ( adults not welcomed). Spindrift (a hotel-sized house with turrets- did they mean Spendthrift)? Driftwood House (more vinyl than wood).

Oops.

But what about the house that isn’t famous or infamous and has a name that does makes sense? In my growing-up neighborhood, houses had numbers that were largely irrelevant to all but a new postman. Everyone knew everyone and we just called the house by the owner’s name. Even if the Tylers hadn’t lived there for years, it was still “The Tyler’s House. But there was one house that had a name. It was a handsome brick Georgian with a gate leading to the front walkway. A simple plaque on the gate read, Seldom Inn. It was a clever and honest name. The owners liked to travel and were seldom in. I wonder if Seldom Inn has become Mostly Inn, in this, the Age of Corona.

I began this piece in July, prompted by story in the WSJ about the pitfalls of house-naming, but it never felt quite finished. So I sat on it, hoping a conclusion would materialize. Voila! Friends bought Blue Bird Cottage, a jewel box of a house, with a name that makes sense.

The bluebird is a harbinger of happiness. And that’s what Blue Bird Cottage aims to be. Deciding to leave a beloved family home was gut wrenchingly hard. And their timing seemed off. Buying, renovating and moving is exhausting under any circumstances, but doing so in the midst of a pandemic and tiring medical treatments seems nuts. Not so fast. The buying, renovating and moving is making everything better. Much better. They’re eliminating the unnecessary so the necessary can have its say. And that’s just what the doctor ordered.

Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah!

Camel or Squirrel?

Camel, of course. This adorable mohair camel, nearly a centenarian, has been well-loved by four generations. His knees are wobbly, his skin, saggy and the wind up key is willing, but his body is not. A reasonable question- What prompted this piece on camels?

“A camel is a horse designed by a committee.”

Anyone who has ever been on a committee knows what Sir Alec Issigonis, the designer of the original 1959 Mini was talking about. Sometimes a group reaches a better decision than an individual, but often a committee is just a harbinger of ineffectiveness. Too many cooks can spoil the soup. And too many conflicting opinions can spoil the horse. Know when to compromise and when to stand your ground. So what about the squirrel?

  “Make a decision. Right or wrong. The road of life is paved with flat squirrels who couldn’t decide.” Anon

You’re smarter than you think. Beware of too much reading of the tea leaves, public opinion polling, and finger-lifting to see which way the wind is blowing. “Know Thyself” said Socrates.  And I add, Trust Thyself.

Remember the Rule: Less is more. With possessions and with dithering.

Artisanal, Before It Was A Thing

“Near dusk every afternoon, Junior Cunningham would milk at least one cow and bring the milk from the stable up the hill to our house.  He would fill a large pitcher with the day’s fresh milk and pour the remainder of lukewarm milk from the pail into a large stone jar in the back kitchen, and then cover the jar with cheese cloth.  Twice each week Mary Sue, “Toots”,  would come to churn and make the butter into round cakes probably 6 inches in diameter and an inch thick.  She formed the cakes and smoothed them using her hands and a small wooden “butter paddle” .  When she was finished, she made a daisy design on the top of each cake, wrapped each one in waxed paper, and put them into the refrigerator,  Until that point, everything in the butter- making process happened at room temperature - i.e. hot in the summer and chilly in the winter. Obviously, they weren’t nearly so elegant as the French ones, but they were bright yellow and beautiful to me with that daisy on top!”

A good friend sent this in response to my piece on Jean-Yves’s artisanal butter and graciously allowed me to share it. Her remembrance needs no embellishment. Artisanal is artisanal no matter where or when. And I imagine that thousands of miles and different tongues wouldn’t have kept Mary Sue and Jean-Yves from understanding one another. Artisans both- making the ordinary, extraordinary.

My friend concluded, “I realize that this sounds like pioneer days to most people. Even to me!”  She’s probably right, but The Age of Corona has forced us all to reexamine “normal”. Maybe “the new normal” isn’t what we’re after. Possibly, “normal” is just a dryer setting.