December 31, 2007
Just when I get used to writing 2007 on my checks....
Today I have a "Things I Have Learned While Quilting" Life Lesson.
My grandmother gave me a box of what she described as quilt pieces. I'd been given some other leftover quilting stuff by someone and it was large pieces of material. I expected something fairly similar.
I didn't really expect a box of wrinkled scraps.
Or at least that's what it appeared at first glance.
When will I ever learn not to judge a book by its cover?
Today I decided to go through and determine what was salvagable and what was not from this giant box of quilt pieces.
Almost immediately, I came across about 14 *hand pieced* panels in the 'flower basket' pattern that my grandmother had evidently begun but not finished.
As I pulled each panel out and lovingly ironed it, I thought about all the years my grandmother spent with her sewing close at hand, beautiful creations turned out from her nimble fingers. Here, in this box of "scraps" was a treasure of priceless value to me. You see, my grandmother has lost most of her eyesight. She can't sew anymore. She can barely read. Says it takes forever and just wears her out. So this woman who *never* simply sat still now has no choice, as she is being robbed of her vision.
I adore my grandmother. I always have. She has always been a source of unconditional love, which is a rare commodity in the world today. I loved spending time with her, hearing about her life when she was little, hearing about when my dad and his brothers and sister were little. I loved the smell of sausage or bacon frying in the morning, of being awakened by morning sounds of a pan or the coffeepot.
I loved spending the night, the feel of clean crisp sheets and snuggling under her handmade quilts. This after watching tv and having a late night snack of a piece of fruit and a few pork rinds. (smiling)
Now I have this gift of these few panels she made and I must decide on just the right framing for them. I'll never have her skill, but I can imbue the quilt with love.
As I dug further into the box and bag, I found scraps from Daughter's elf costume from ballet when she was little. I found piece after piece of material that *I remembered*. There were memories in that box of scraps.
Yet another treasure.
The box has turned out to be more valuable than anything I could find in a quilting store.
When will I learn that the best gifts are the unexpected ones.
Just when I get used to writing 2007 on my checks....
Today I have a "Things I Have Learned While Quilting" Life Lesson.
My grandmother gave me a box of what she described as quilt pieces. I'd been given some other leftover quilting stuff by someone and it was large pieces of material. I expected something fairly similar.
I didn't really expect a box of wrinkled scraps.
Or at least that's what it appeared at first glance.
When will I ever learn not to judge a book by its cover?
Today I decided to go through and determine what was salvagable and what was not from this giant box of quilt pieces.
Almost immediately, I came across about 14 *hand pieced* panels in the 'flower basket' pattern that my grandmother had evidently begun but not finished.
As I pulled each panel out and lovingly ironed it, I thought about all the years my grandmother spent with her sewing close at hand, beautiful creations turned out from her nimble fingers. Here, in this box of "scraps" was a treasure of priceless value to me. You see, my grandmother has lost most of her eyesight. She can't sew anymore. She can barely read. Says it takes forever and just wears her out. So this woman who *never* simply sat still now has no choice, as she is being robbed of her vision.
I adore my grandmother. I always have. She has always been a source of unconditional love, which is a rare commodity in the world today. I loved spending time with her, hearing about her life when she was little, hearing about when my dad and his brothers and sister were little. I loved the smell of sausage or bacon frying in the morning, of being awakened by morning sounds of a pan or the coffeepot.
I loved spending the night, the feel of clean crisp sheets and snuggling under her handmade quilts. This after watching tv and having a late night snack of a piece of fruit and a few pork rinds. (smiling)
Now I have this gift of these few panels she made and I must decide on just the right framing for them. I'll never have her skill, but I can imbue the quilt with love.
As I dug further into the box and bag, I found scraps from Daughter's elf costume from ballet when she was little. I found piece after piece of material that *I remembered*. There were memories in that box of scraps.
Yet another treasure.
The box has turned out to be more valuable than anything I could find in a quilting store.
When will I learn that the best gifts are the unexpected ones.
December 29, 2007
Once upon a time, there was a brave little dog named Mei Mei (sounds like May May).
Mei Mei loved her Mama. She stayed with her mama all the time. She followed Mama to the kitchen. She followed Mama to the living room. Mama hasn't been to the bathroom alone since Mei Mei came to live with Mama when she was 11 weeks old. Mei Mei always goes with Mama in case the big white chair that makes all the noise might try to eat Mama.
Mama was a sick Mama, so Mei Mei spent lots of time taking care of Mama. Mei Mei sleeps with Mama and eats with Mama and licks Mama as if Mama were her puppy.
If Mei Mei hears someone come in the door, Mei Mei runs to the gate and barks fiercely, in her mean voice, until she sees who it is, or until Mama says it is okay.
MeiMei did not like the Big Sucking Machine. It was very loud and sometimes Bubby would chase her just a little with it. She wasn't afraid. No, not afraid. Mei Mei just tried to give the Big Sucking Machine a little room as she circled it and watched it make the loud noise.
One day, Mama was using the Big Sucking Machine. Mei Mei did not like this. Mama is not supposed to use the Big Sucking Machine because the vibrations make her fingers turn colors. However, Mama is stubborn. Mei Mei is stubborn too. She gets this from Mama.
Mama decided to use the Big Sucking Machine on the floor in her little sitting room. It took Mama two tries, but she got half of the room sucked up. Mama is very particular about the Big Sucking Elephant Nose on the Big Sucking Machine. Bubby only gets the Elephant out when Mama tells him to.
Daddy came in and moved the furniture and told Mama he would finish with the Big Sucking Machine, for Mama to sit down. So Mama pulled her toes up on the sofa and did what Daddy said, but Mei Mei watched Daddy as he got closer and closer to Mama with the Big Sucking Machine.
Mei Mei did not like the Big Sucking Machine so close to Mama. It was Mei Mei's job to protect Mama.
So even though she was a little scared, Mei Mei put herself between Daddy and the Big Sucking Machine, and Mama. Mei Mei would not let Daddy suck Mama up with the Big Sucking Machine. She stood her ground and did not move, not even when he nudged her with the Big Sucking Machine.
Daddy stared at Mei Mei, then at Mama. Mama looked at Daddy and finally called Mei Mei to sit in her lap. Mei Mei got on Mama's leg and stood at attention, quivering a bit, just in case Daddy got the Big Elephant Nose out and tried to get Mama with it.
Mama hugged Mei Mei and told her what a brave girl she was. Then Mama sniffled a little because she felt so proud to have such a brave Mei Mei.
Now Mei Mei is snoring at the end of Mama's bed.
It's hard being a superdog.
Once upon a time, there was a brave little dog named Mei Mei (sounds like May May).
Mei Mei loved her Mama. She stayed with her mama all the time. She followed Mama to the kitchen. She followed Mama to the living room. Mama hasn't been to the bathroom alone since Mei Mei came to live with Mama when she was 11 weeks old. Mei Mei always goes with Mama in case the big white chair that makes all the noise might try to eat Mama.
Mama was a sick Mama, so Mei Mei spent lots of time taking care of Mama. Mei Mei sleeps with Mama and eats with Mama and licks Mama as if Mama were her puppy.
If Mei Mei hears someone come in the door, Mei Mei runs to the gate and barks fiercely, in her mean voice, until she sees who it is, or until Mama says it is okay.
MeiMei did not like the Big Sucking Machine. It was very loud and sometimes Bubby would chase her just a little with it. She wasn't afraid. No, not afraid. Mei Mei just tried to give the Big Sucking Machine a little room as she circled it and watched it make the loud noise.
One day, Mama was using the Big Sucking Machine. Mei Mei did not like this. Mama is not supposed to use the Big Sucking Machine because the vibrations make her fingers turn colors. However, Mama is stubborn. Mei Mei is stubborn too. She gets this from Mama.
Mama decided to use the Big Sucking Machine on the floor in her little sitting room. It took Mama two tries, but she got half of the room sucked up. Mama is very particular about the Big Sucking Elephant Nose on the Big Sucking Machine. Bubby only gets the Elephant out when Mama tells him to.
Daddy came in and moved the furniture and told Mama he would finish with the Big Sucking Machine, for Mama to sit down. So Mama pulled her toes up on the sofa and did what Daddy said, but Mei Mei watched Daddy as he got closer and closer to Mama with the Big Sucking Machine.
Mei Mei did not like the Big Sucking Machine so close to Mama. It was Mei Mei's job to protect Mama.
So even though she was a little scared, Mei Mei put herself between Daddy and the Big Sucking Machine, and Mama. Mei Mei would not let Daddy suck Mama up with the Big Sucking Machine. She stood her ground and did not move, not even when he nudged her with the Big Sucking Machine.
Daddy stared at Mei Mei, then at Mama. Mama looked at Daddy and finally called Mei Mei to sit in her lap. Mei Mei got on Mama's leg and stood at attention, quivering a bit, just in case Daddy got the Big Elephant Nose out and tried to get Mama with it.
Mama hugged Mei Mei and told her what a brave girl she was. Then Mama sniffled a little because she felt so proud to have such a brave Mei Mei.
Now Mei Mei is snoring at the end of Mama's bed.
It's hard being a superdog.
And there it is, my first attempt at quilting.
Well, actually it's my second. The first quilt I made, which we laughingly referred to as the "Scarlett O'Hara" quilt, was made from my younger son's curtains. I sewed the tiger print to the dark green lining, stuffed it with batting and made a tie quilt from it. He refuses to put it on his bed for fear his pug will get dog hair on it.
This throw was made for my brother, who, you guessed it, is in the US Navy. When I saw the material, I decided to purchase enough to make a quilt. So I bought 32 panels.
Now we'll pause for all those quilters out there to finish laughing.
My *fabulous* aunt set out to teach me to quilt by email.
Now my paternal grandmother is a quilter from way back. If it can be done with a needle, she can do it. Except knitting. She doesn't knit. But my point is that I had grown up watching a little, so I had something of a clue, but had not done it.
I quilted each panel and then expected to sew it together and it look like a quilt. I didn't know that it didn't really work that way. Hence my *fabulous* aunt.
Also, the longer I worked, the shorter that quilt got. Sheesh what a lot of work.
So my aunt showed me how to "rag" a throw. The more the throw is washed, the more the fringy parts will rag up and be all comfy.
Now I am working on quilting two block quilts at the same time. One is a black and blue bow tie square...it is big, but is for Oldest Son, who is also big.
I also am working on one called "Cattiness" for my daughter. Block squares and triangles. It quilts faster than the bigger one. Fortunately Daughter's bed is smaller than OSon's.
Speaking of handmade things, I got an amazon.com gift certificate for Christmas...my favorite thing. I was able to purchase a Rwanda basket from macys.com. I love the way I can buy things through amazon for all these different stores and get great prices. Anyway, these women who make these *extraordinary* baskets, are genocide victims, trying to keep what's left of their families together. I urge you to go to macys.com type Rwanda basket in the search box and the click on the story to the left. It's amazing. And so are the baskets.
This is our Christmas wreath which hangs in the front of our home.
It hangs between the American flag and a big yellow bow.
It hangs not only in celebration of the holiday, but in honor and remembrance
that there are many who are spending Christmas away from their families, and
families who are spending Christmas away from their loved ones because they
are defending our country and us.
Thanks to our own Sailor Boy.
He's away from home, but in our hearts.
December 20, 2007
I have one doctor whom I truly, truly admire, respect, and downright adore.
Before I started seeing her, I'd gotten her name thru a dear friend who also truly, truly admired, respected and downright adored her. So I knew a bit about her the first time I went to see her.
She (the doctor) began having back pain back last year and went to the doctor to find she had a tumor on her spine. Praise the Lord, it was benign. However, the surgery to remove it, and it did have to be removed, left her partially paralyzed. She is in a motorized wheelchair.
When I first started seeing her, back last May, there was great excitement because she could move a toe. She attributed this to her therapy and to taking a special blend of Omega 3 acids plus (insert long word that starts with alkyl and has glycol or something other). She was convinced it was good for her and suggested I do a little research about it, that there was some claim about it helping lupus.
I did. Then I discarded it. It was a bit pricey, I already take 51 pills a day on a good day, and I didn't want to fool with a *liquid* medicine. ~shudder~.
Over the months, My Doc recovered enough movement that she could wiggle and do a little "wheelchair dance". Just tickled us both to pieces. Once again, she attributed this liquid combo towards helping her get some movement back so long after the surgery.
I was glad for her. Stopping right there. Just glad. Not doing it.
Last visit, after hearing all that had transpired and all that has gone on with me(it's been one heck of a few months, medically), she really urged me to look into it. I promised her that before I saw her again I would.
I am a woman of my word. I looked it up. Copied the ingredients. Went to the health food store to see what they had.
They had nearly the exact same combination, but in a capsule.
Hey! Capsule! No liquid! Okay, I bought a bottle. Still a little pricey, but hey, maybe it will re-set my immune system and free the world from corrupt politicians!
So like a good girl, I took my fish oil capsules in the same quantity as described.
No Problem.
PROBLEM.
I burped fish oil for two days.
It was the NASTIEST, most disgusting thing ever. The kind that makes you shudder with a shiver and *almost* but not quite gag. TWO days.
You know how, when you go fishing, and you have your string of fish and you're going home...the way the fish smells? THAT is what it tasted like...what that string of fish smelled like. It was so awful I cannot even begin to describe it.
Ick, blech, ack, shudder.
I do have to confess that right after I'd swallowed the capsules, I saw in big letters: TAKE WITH MEAL.
Ooops. I quickly ate a hastily prepared sandwich.
Do I think that's why I burped fish oil? No.
Do I think it might have made it worse? It's plausible.
Am I gonna try it again? Uh, no. Not any time soon.
Maybe, down the road, when the thought of fish and the taste of fish oil is completely gone, I might...and I do mean *might* eat a big meal of something like spaghetti...highly spiced...and pop a fish oil capsule in the middle, hoping it'll get chased on down.
Maybe.
Possibly.
When small porcine figures take to the sky on wings.
I have one doctor whom I truly, truly admire, respect, and downright adore.
Before I started seeing her, I'd gotten her name thru a dear friend who also truly, truly admired, respected and downright adored her. So I knew a bit about her the first time I went to see her.
She (the doctor) began having back pain back last year and went to the doctor to find she had a tumor on her spine. Praise the Lord, it was benign. However, the surgery to remove it, and it did have to be removed, left her partially paralyzed. She is in a motorized wheelchair.
When I first started seeing her, back last May, there was great excitement because she could move a toe. She attributed this to her therapy and to taking a special blend of Omega 3 acids plus (insert long word that starts with alkyl and has glycol or something other). She was convinced it was good for her and suggested I do a little research about it, that there was some claim about it helping lupus.
I did. Then I discarded it. It was a bit pricey, I already take 51 pills a day on a good day, and I didn't want to fool with a *liquid* medicine. ~shudder~.
Over the months, My Doc recovered enough movement that she could wiggle and do a little "wheelchair dance". Just tickled us both to pieces. Once again, she attributed this liquid combo towards helping her get some movement back so long after the surgery.
I was glad for her. Stopping right there. Just glad. Not doing it.
Last visit, after hearing all that had transpired and all that has gone on with me(it's been one heck of a few months, medically), she really urged me to look into it. I promised her that before I saw her again I would.
I am a woman of my word. I looked it up. Copied the ingredients. Went to the health food store to see what they had.
They had nearly the exact same combination, but in a capsule.
Hey! Capsule! No liquid! Okay, I bought a bottle. Still a little pricey, but hey, maybe it will re-set my immune system and free the world from corrupt politicians!
So like a good girl, I took my fish oil capsules in the same quantity as described.
No Problem.
PROBLEM.
I burped fish oil for two days.
It was the NASTIEST, most disgusting thing ever. The kind that makes you shudder with a shiver and *almost* but not quite gag. TWO days.
You know how, when you go fishing, and you have your string of fish and you're going home...the way the fish smells? THAT is what it tasted like...what that string of fish smelled like. It was so awful I cannot even begin to describe it.
Ick, blech, ack, shudder.
I do have to confess that right after I'd swallowed the capsules, I saw in big letters: TAKE WITH MEAL.
Ooops. I quickly ate a hastily prepared sandwich.
Do I think that's why I burped fish oil? No.
Do I think it might have made it worse? It's plausible.
Am I gonna try it again? Uh, no. Not any time soon.
Maybe, down the road, when the thought of fish and the taste of fish oil is completely gone, I might...and I do mean *might* eat a big meal of something like spaghetti...highly spiced...and pop a fish oil capsule in the middle, hoping it'll get chased on down.
Maybe.
Possibly.
When small porcine figures take to the sky on wings.
December 15, 2007
Merry Christmas and Happy Wedding
Older Son was a groomsman in a wedding today.
With bad weather warnings out and an 18 year old driver in a wedding in another town, we were understandably concerned.
So Husband went to bed.
Said to have Older Son speak to him if he called in.
Shortly after, Older Son comes in looking SO handsome in his tuxedo. Tickles his mother and sister to see him all dolled up.
He leaned his head in the door to my room to say "I brought my bridesmaid home with me."
At about this time, we hear Husband *bellow* "SHUT UP DOGS" at the dogs who were very excited to see said bridesmaid.
I sent Older Son racing to Husband's room to tell him that he was home and that he'd brought home his bridesmaid.
We both have visions of Husband stomping through the house in his boxer shorts to yell at the dogs to hush, only to find an open-mouthed bridesmaid awaiting him.
Crisis averted.
But just barely.
Merry Christmas and Happy Wedding
Older Son was a groomsman in a wedding today.
With bad weather warnings out and an 18 year old driver in a wedding in another town, we were understandably concerned.
So Husband went to bed.
Said to have Older Son speak to him if he called in.
Shortly after, Older Son comes in looking SO handsome in his tuxedo. Tickles his mother and sister to see him all dolled up.
He leaned his head in the door to my room to say "I brought my bridesmaid home with me."
At about this time, we hear Husband *bellow* "SHUT UP DOGS" at the dogs who were very excited to see said bridesmaid.
I sent Older Son racing to Husband's room to tell him that he was home and that he'd brought home his bridesmaid.
We both have visions of Husband stomping through the house in his boxer shorts to yell at the dogs to hush, only to find an open-mouthed bridesmaid awaiting him.
Crisis averted.
But just barely.
December 13, 2007
The Haircut.
I have wig hair.
That's not to say I wear a wig, for I don't. At least not at this point in time. However, I have hair that seems to be perfect for wigmaking, though I have no idea why. Perhaps because it is very thick? Regardless, for the last several years, I have grown my hair for Locks of Love, a wonderful organization which takes human hair and makes wigs for children who have lost their hair to chemotherapy. If, for some reason, your hair isn't suitable for kids' hair, say if it's gray, then the organization can sell the hair to commercial wigmakers for mucho dinero to help finance this wonderful undertaking.
SO, my hair had grown halfway down my back and was long enough that if I rolled over on it just right, I could trap myself. I know, it seems impossible, but grow your hair out and try it. See. Told you.
It takes about eight or ten inches, I never can remember, but anyway, I had ten inches, so I went in and got my hair cut, even though it would be shorter in the back than I would have normally liked. Normally, we cut it straight off in a bob so that I can get a ponytail still. Husband told me he never cared about my hair, but he preferred it not be as short as my mother's, which is quite short.
This time, it was shorter than my dog MeiMei's in the back, but the haircut girl left the front like a bob.
Now I have to say, it was a good haircut. For haute couture fashion. In New York City.
I am a middle-aged mother. In a sweatsuit. In Kentucky.
For exactly one week, my husband and boys *lied* like rugs. "Oh, we like it, it's fine. We like it long best, but it's good. Not bad at all."
Finally after a week, my husband who has *never* said anything negative about my appearance ever, turned to me and said, "I hope I don't hurt your feelings, but that is the most unattractive haircut ever and I'll pay for you to get it cut again if you'll just please go let someone do something with it."
Well, I couldn't decide whether or not to be mortified or offended.
Since it truly was awful, I chose mortified.
We *sat* outside the hair salon for ten minutes waiting for it to open. That was the ten minutes of "I can't believe you hated it this badly for a week and didn't say anything."
So I went in, got the front cut in a more suitable manner. The girl washed, dried, curled, coifed and as I left, I looked over my shoulder and said, "You do realize whose haircut this is, don't you?"
He gave me a look.
"My mother's."
It was *exactly* like my mother's hair. Fortunately for Steve, I have neither the patience nor the physical ability to hold my arms over my head to do all that curling iron stuff. So a special hairbrush, a good dryer, and a white streak that it making an appearance in a rather striking place in the front has me satisfied.
And even Youngest Son, who would *never* hurt my feelings, admitted that the first haircut was really bad.
Looking back, it's true. The first was the haircut of someone famous.
Shemp, from The Three Stooges.
December 12, 2007
Older Son is in Deep Doo Doo.
It seems that his sister was showing him her Christmas tree via web cam, made some comment about it being gaudy, just like her, to which he replied that she got the tacky streak from me.
Ahem.
I pulled his leg hair and made him dance.
I'll have you know that I've been told my Christmas tree rivals those in department stores. Here is an example:
Okay, okay, I didn't do the foofy tree this year. I have a small silver tinsel tree in my sitting/sewing room. It has gold tulle around the bottom, wrapped around the trunk, and all my blown glass ornaments and is lovely. Especially if that is something you remember from childhood.
Tacky indeed. He's gonna think tacky when I duct tape his hairy legs together and he has to rip the tape off....
Older Son is in Deep Doo Doo.
It seems that his sister was showing him her Christmas tree via web cam, made some comment about it being gaudy, just like her, to which he replied that she got the tacky streak from me.
Ahem.
I pulled his leg hair and made him dance.
I'll have you know that I've been told my Christmas tree rivals those in department stores. Here is an example:
Okay, okay, I didn't do the foofy tree this year. I have a small silver tinsel tree in my sitting/sewing room. It has gold tulle around the bottom, wrapped around the trunk, and all my blown glass ornaments and is lovely. Especially if that is something you remember from childhood.
Tacky indeed. He's gonna think tacky when I duct tape his hairy legs together and he has to rip the tape off....
December 3, 2007
Good grief. I started to write 199-. It's been seven years, you'd think I'd have it down by now.
I feel like the battle of the chemicals is going on inside my head. Likely because it is. The Powers That Be (those with an MD) want me off one pill, so they up another to compensate which leaves me groggy. Then coming off the first pill is a pain in the brain. I seize therefore I whine.
I suppose that's not terribly funny to those of you who don't live with illness. Sorry. I'll move it over to Dark Humor tomorrow.
My husband, in watching my quilting foray, decided to make me my very own quilt. I have to tell you, it's just the sweetest thing you ever did see. And he did a good job. But I didn't think I was ever gonna get my sewin' machine back. For a moment there, I thought we were going to have matching machines.
Oldest Son, who has not had speakers on the MegaSuperComputer he built in his room (no kidding...he's the one with the degree in computer science, got some. And before you think "why is her son still living with her?" he's only 18. He went early.).
I do believe that if these speakers were in his car, they could propel the automobile thru sheer air displacement.
There's going to be a displacement if he doesn't turn it down and keep it down, that's for sure.
Good grief. I started to write 199-. It's been seven years, you'd think I'd have it down by now.
I feel like the battle of the chemicals is going on inside my head. Likely because it is. The Powers That Be (those with an MD) want me off one pill, so they up another to compensate which leaves me groggy. Then coming off the first pill is a pain in the brain. I seize therefore I whine.
I suppose that's not terribly funny to those of you who don't live with illness. Sorry. I'll move it over to Dark Humor tomorrow.
My husband, in watching my quilting foray, decided to make me my very own quilt. I have to tell you, it's just the sweetest thing you ever did see. And he did a good job. But I didn't think I was ever gonna get my sewin' machine back. For a moment there, I thought we were going to have matching machines.
Oldest Son, who has not had speakers on the MegaSuperComputer he built in his room (no kidding...he's the one with the degree in computer science, got some. And before you think "why is her son still living with her?" he's only 18. He went early.).
I do believe that if these speakers were in his car, they could propel the automobile thru sheer air displacement.
There's going to be a displacement if he doesn't turn it down and keep it down, that's for sure.
December 2, 2007
Christmas approaches and what am I doing? Watching Harry Potter. No doubt there are those who would damn me to you-know-where for such, however if you care to read my stand on the matter, refer to a column that I wrote during a stint as an editorial columnist for a local Knight Ridder paper. Said column can be found in the archives.
I find that I enjoy watching each year as the young Hogwarts characters grow and mature, much as my own children do and have done. I'm not sure why there is comfort in such. Going back to visit and see that our old friends Harry, Ron, and Hermione are growing up feels good.
The same is not necessarily said for adults. I pulled out season one of Stargate SG-1 today to have as "noise" in the background while I worked. I note that Richard Dean Anderson aged considerably over the ten years of the season and the several since.
I, however, no doubt retain my same youthful looks as when...let's see...Youngest Son (now 14) was a baby.
Snort.
Christmas approaches and what am I doing? Watching Harry Potter. No doubt there are those who would damn me to you-know-where for such, however if you care to read my stand on the matter, refer to a column that I wrote during a stint as an editorial columnist for a local Knight Ridder paper. Said column can be found in the archives.
I find that I enjoy watching each year as the young Hogwarts characters grow and mature, much as my own children do and have done. I'm not sure why there is comfort in such. Going back to visit and see that our old friends Harry, Ron, and Hermione are growing up feels good.
The same is not necessarily said for adults. I pulled out season one of Stargate SG-1 today to have as "noise" in the background while I worked. I note that Richard Dean Anderson aged considerably over the ten years of the season and the several since.
I, however, no doubt retain my same youthful looks as when...let's see...Youngest Son (now 14) was a baby.
Snort.