saved by the spell(ing)

Every once in a while, even the most well intentioned blogger finds herself in the middle of a dud of a post. This was the case for me just moments ago, but then a still-sweet girl came along and saved the day:



I swear to you, I was writing about how we always dress wrong for the weather.

Now you can all get back to your bloge and e-male and fase Book. If you need any help, ask Googel.

Swing low

How time flies. It was way back in September of 2008 that Jacquie wrote her teetering post, you know, the post where Jacquie so eloquently talked about how her girl, then seven, was, “teetering on the ledge between childhood innocence and a worldliness that I did not realize I should expect from age seven.”

I’ve thought about that post a lot since I read it, as our girls are only 10 weeks apart in age, and like Jacquie I see my girl teetering. Still. Thankfully, still. And again, like Jacquie, “I want to drag her back down to the safe side, where boys will always be gross and moms are cool and smart and worthy of giant mooshy love notes of apology taped to their bedroom doors after a particularly rough day.”

Yesterday we had the distinct pleasure of having Jacquie’s girl come over to play, and I’m so very pleased to report that the seesaw was resting solidly on the ground. Their teeter was tottering completely on the little girl side. The play that I witnessed involved pretending they were sisters, and babies, and mamas, and dolphins, and all manner of other make believe scenarios, none of which had to do with being a teen pop star or Hollywood diva.

The older two girls included Merrell, a whole 3 years younger, in all their play, and like all kids do, the three of them made magic out of the mundane.

We spent hours at the pool, where a simple towel, once wet, became endlessly amusing. It was a magic carpet


and a shawl, and even a superhero-type cape, which was best put on by swimming under it, of course.

Not all of my oldest daughter’s friends play this way, and I have to admit that I’m hesitant to agree to playdates with the girls who I know would rather try on makeup or talk smack about their classmates. I know I can’t pick my child’s friends (at least not for long), but is it so bad to want their seesaws to swing low for a while longer?

Weekend 3-Way: Whaddayougot?

It’s spring, and will soon be summer, and with the warming of the weather comes increasing opportunities to get together with friends -- to share meals, and delight in hanging on the deck, the patio, or even poolside.

Often, these fetes involve bringing something to share -- some winning appetizer or decadent dessert.

My bet is that most of us have a few tasty tidbits that we fall back on again and again (and again); something that’s easy and good, and that won’t break the bank.

So, what is it you bring when asked to contribute to a backyard barbecue, fish fry, or wienie roast?

Do you have a tried and true potluck standby?

Beth:
I can’t really say I have a tried and true standby, but I do tend to go through phases. My last phase was to bring Trader Joe’s mini crab cakes with a homemade pepper dipping sauce everywhere I went. It was easy, and yummy, and relatively cheap. And I didn’t feel too bad for buying the crab cakes already made because I’m lazy I did make the sauce myself. And the making of said sauce even involved a mixer.

I halfway discovered a new offering the last time I had people over. It's a super easy pasta salad, which I liked well enough the first time I made it, but that I now know how to vastly improve. It will involved substituting the parmesan with feta and adding lots of pine nuts. I know you want to try it.

I'll bring it, I promise. All I need is an invitation.

Jacquie:
Good one, Beth! I'm sorry to beat Ellie to this response; but the one and only tried and true, sure as gold, big-winnah bet that anyone can bring to a gathering, ever is goop.

I am forever seeking a good dish to bring to a pot luck, but that's partially due to the fact that I am cursed with the inability to show up empty handed to any class of gathering of peeps.

I do like to go with the flow if there is one, embracing the theme of the event or occasion with a complimentary dish.

But when the cards are down and you're pressed to show up with a crowd pleasing entree, my new go-to dish is none other than a good old fashioned ham. Cover your ears, mom, because in this household, those are known by no other moniker than a Goddamn Ham. You sometimes get one free at Ralphs around Easter, you sometimes crave one when you pass by a Honeybaked, but I promise you that with the minor exception of Jews and vegetarians, everybody loves a Goddamn Ham. And it will go nicely with Beth's pasta salad.

Ellie:
Jacquie you rat. Goop has been my go-dish for years and years and years. I got bored by it and stopped bringing it for a while but then I got tired of showing up at parties and watching everyone's face drop when they saw me without it, so I started bringing it again. My specific goop-claim-to-fame? I can make it in the car. On the way to the party.

But since you're already bringing the goop, Jacquie -- harumph -- and the goddamn ham, I'll bring my next go-to-option: a cheese and crack and olives and hummus and carrots platter. Because the peeps love the cheese and crack and olives and hummus and carrots.

And Beth, like you I always have the fixin's for pasta salad in my larder this time of year, including artichoke hearts, pepperoncini, roasted red peppers, and black beans. I can whip it up in an instant once I get that phone call . . .

Wow! Someone needs to invite us to a party!

The Magical Tree

I have neglected, these last few weeks, to share the eye-popping beauty that spring is around here in these parts. The world went Poof! and everything bloomed and popped and busted and it would be downright irresponsible for me not to share it with the world.

Our irises, you ask?

Our irises came back beautifully in Year Two, thank you.

Purple irises make my heart sing.

Rosie popped her first bud yesterday. I refuse to prune her so she's going to be a mad, wild, crazy bush of rose love this summer.

Our azalea is in full bloom this week.

I refuse to trim the azalea either.

One of my favorite days in spring is the day Mistah plants the tomatoes. He usually does it on his birthday but this year he did it the day after his birthday, which was Wednesday.

Happy Birthday Mistah!

Those tomatoes are going to be four feet tall in a few months. And hey! Would you check out those steps!

The very best thing about spring, though, is the Magical Tree.

In a row of about 20 beautiful, vivid, stunning pink fruit trees . . .

. . . is this tree. The Magical Tree. Somewhere along the line a white tree got conjoined with a pink tree, and every year this guy blooms pink and white and looks absolutely delighted to be alive and in spring and in bloom, dazzling the likes of me every day.

It's magical.

operation uke bust

I've been trying to stay productive around the house during these strange days of lockdown. I recently tore through the playroom, chucking stupid toys willy nilly. But when my boy spotted his broke down old Hawaiian ukelele in the toss pile, he protested:

"Why can't I smash that!"



Why not indeed?

Thus:

He was ambitious, but the only damage that could be inflicted by the sheer brute force of a kid who has been in a wheelchair for three weeks and completelty horizontal for the last five days was to knock the head apart from the neck (youch).

Now STOP.

H a m m e r T i m e.

Girlfriend's even got the rock 'n roll hair going on

2010 Christmas Card?

Ah, the satisfaction of a job well done.

Poor uke. Was it worth it?

What do you think?

Trip the light fantastic

When T and I got married, the girls and I moved into his house soon after.

He’s owned the house for 13 years.

Have you ever tried to change a man’s house after he’s lived there for 13 years? Suffice is to say, it’s not easy.

Slowly but surely I am making changes. Of course I am. There were certain things that just had to go.

But I gotta hand it to him. He does have some very cool things. Some things you wouldn’t expect.

For instance, when we were decorating the girls’ room, he pulled out these bad boys, which matched their pink and blue décor exactly.

And when we needed a lamp for the baby’s yellow and green nursery, this fit right in the corner.

It’s not that I didn’t know that he had a penchant for tiffany-style lamps. I’d noticed others throughout the house, but when I looked up last week and finally noticed that there was one in our laundry room, which is detached from the house, and home to the pet food and utility sink and dirty laundry hampers, I decided I needed to pay more attention.

Just how many are there?

Well there’s the three in the girls’ bedrooms, and the one in the laundry room.

There's one in our bedroom closet,
.

(two for one deal?)
.

The incredible one above the kitchen table,

the light over the pool table,


the other three lamps in the game/playroom,


and the cute dragonfly fixture in the game/playroom bathroom

That's eleven, people, just one more and we've got a dozen.

Library Love

I am a lover of libraries. I am a library enthusiast. I am, you might say, a library aficionado.

When I love something as much as I love libraries, I tend to sing it to the world. And sing to the world I did.

Me and my big mouth.

The story: The Public Library of New London got a new Executive Director about 6 months ago. I'm friendly with her sons, who are local, so I was eager to meet her. She comes into the Tavern for potato salad and ginger ale and to read the papers, and we spoke occasionally. Occasionally . . . until one fateful evening at the Tavern when I was feeling really friendly, overly friendly, just super friendly, and I started gushing about my love for libraries, and my love for the New London Library.

I told her that during our years on the road the public library was a vital part of our daily lives. Every town has a library, and every library has internet computers, thanks to the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation. Smaller towns are even better than big towns, usually, because there are plenty of computers and not too many people. We'd get online, we'd use the bathrooms (not necessarily in that order), we'd talk to the librarians and ask about good places in town to eat or to see, I'd photocopy the NYTimes crossword puzzle, Bill would look at the book sale rack, and we'd be on our merry way.

Mural painted on the outside of the Denver Public Library

Many times during our years on the road we'd stay in one place for several months, volunteering at the local state park for 2 or 3 days a week in exchange for free camping, water and electricity. In those towns (like Fort Davis and Alpine and Marfa, Texas, and Big Pine Key and Keystone Heights and Micanopy, Florida) we got to know the libraries -- and the librarians -- really well. The librarians would recognize us even when they hadn't seen us for a couple of years.

I'm also intimately familiar with the Asheville, NC library (as well as the adorable Ocracoke library out in North Carolina's Outer Banks), the Evanston, IL library, the San Diego County library system (with a killer one in Cardiff-by-the-Sea, across the street from San Elijo State Park), and my beloved Columbus NM library and, of course, the Nogales, AZ library, where I posted my very first blog post (and my second, and my third.....)

We stopped in the Gila Bend, Arizona public library one spring day in 2008 and I wired a whole lot of cash to some guy in New London, CT. On the way out of the building I stopped to tell the librarian I'd never forget that library, because we bought our house from there.

Statue outside of Hill City, Kansas Public Library

So I told New London's new Executive Director all of that, and more, because not only am I an avid enthusiastic library lover, I'm a champion talker. She asked me if I would come to her office so she could interview me for the library online newsletter. "Of course!" I exclaimed enthusiastically. "I'd be happy to!"

We had a lovely chat, I showed off my library card collection . . .

A pretty awesome library card collection, you gotta admit

. . . I oohed and aahed at her gorgeous office in the old part of the library, and that was that.

Not.

The next day she came into the Tavern and asked if I'd consider speaking at the New London budget hearing on Monday night at the NLHS Auditorium. In front of people. At a public meeting. "Um, sure [gulp]. Of course [gulp]. I'd be, um, glad to [gulp]."

It wasn't that bad, not really. The worst part was the anticipation of it. All weekend. It hung over my head like a lead-filled black cloud. I was nervous, though -- okay, okay, terrified -- and, worse, sober. When I first started speaking I had trouble with the microphone (because when do I ever speak into a microphone?) and I know my voice sounded nervous. But luckily I spoke after an awful, long-winded, belly-aching blowhard did, so my Library Song of Praise was like a breath of fresh air for those councilpeople. Or so I tell myself. And the audience clapped! They clapped! I guess they clap if you're praising, not complaining.

Anyway, it's over. And I did finally get a glass of wine. And I'm glad I did my civic duty, even if it did wreck my weekend.

And now if you'll excuse me, I'm headed to the New London Library.

nothing says "I love you, mom" like a bottle of patron

for updates on my boy, please visit this page

I thought I had a clue about being a mom. I thought that after these 12 or so years of having a child in me or out of me, I had a pretty good sense of who I am as a mother, and that this sense of self would prevail through the trials that I expected.

We don't plan for the unexpected. If we did, we'd call it something else.

I didn't expect that I'd find such joy in acting like, to quote my son: "A dork and three quarters."


I also did not expect that just by being a mom, I qualified for free chair massages and raffle prizes.



Who can know what to expect from this ride?

But just in case you were wondering, I AM the

I'm at a bit of a loss with the writing and the witty reparte and all. I'm in such a weird, foreign place. I don't want to take the time to learn the language of this land, I want my visit to be short and forgetable.

You'll just have to forgive the rambling incoherence of my posts. K? K.

Mother's Day. blah blah blah, you know what I want. What I need.

But what it is is something completely differerent, and somehow we adjust our expectations and it becomes a. very. good. day.

Once again, a good day.

.

The patron helps.