Hope

Join me, won't you? Raise a glass, and let's toast: to Al Gore, to the Nobel Peace Prize, and to the Democratic future for the United States (and to the positive difference that will make to the whole, entire world). Hear, hear! (At least, that's the form of "hear" I *think* would come in agreement to a jolly toast -- or would it be "here, here!"?)

Anyhoo.

Also please join in with the effort launched over at me and my storey -- a China free Christmas! Is that cool, or what?

One of these days I am going to attempt to show you what's inside my purse, but I'm telling you right now -- it is not nearly so stylish nor so organized as this gal's. Just proves how much better your life is if you happen to live in Scandinavia somewhere. [I can't get the link to go to the specific post, so if you wander over there and don't see what I'm talking about, seek out her Oct. 4th post, please.]

I said I'd report back and so now I am -- they honestly DO give you free shipping over at Halloween Costumes 4U if you mention them on your blog. I think this is a stroke of genius type of marketing, and I'd like to see it spread like wildfire.

I saw the headline "Grilled Cheese Renaissance" and I thought -- but in order for there to be a revival, a renaissance, something has to have been gone first, or dead somehow, right? I mean, were grilled cheese sandwiches ever dead to you? I didn't think so.

Can you tell I've been in a weird mood? But I'm coming back around, not to worry -- I won't be going "all random" on you from now on or anything.

Catching up

The ladybugs are back. Some years, in the fall, when it's especially warm, swarms (well, small swarms) of ladybugs move into our house. They stay for the winter, snuggled up in bunches in odd places (like in the corners of ceilings -- isn't it hard to hibernate up there?). We like when they come and live with us and we miss them when they don't. So anyway, they are back again this year and it feels good. Lucky.

I got some gardening done today, which I haven't managed to do in a long time. Planted 3 purple dome asters, pulled weeds, and cut back some of the summer stuff that's long since done. I also started putting the face details on Dean's dog quilt -- I'll show you when I get to the noses.

I had a nice phone conversation with my mom; it is weird to live 3000 miles away from your mom, with neither of you living in the place you'd both call 'home' (Chicago). I haven't lived in the same city as my mom in 22 years. It's not just been me; she moved to Arizona when I was (briefly) back in Chicago after college.

OK. Pretty random. But good. All good.

Just walk away, Renee

[We are NOT talking about baseball. Not. talking.]

Oh, it was a day. Not an all-bad day, certainly. The sun shone, birds sang, I got out for a walk, I ate healthfully for lunch (and breakfast!), good work was accomplished, productive meetings were had, nothing tragic happened within the immediate circle of my family and friends.

But still, there was that black spot. That ugly hole where the *thing* that happened, the interchange, the personal politics, the drama about a particular issue -- which, in and of itself I may have been able to negotiate painlessly -- that managed to connect itself with heavy, poison tentacles to some of my own darkest baggage. That's the whole thing -- you know? -- the problem. It's that each of us has those hardwired, well-defined connections that make what seems to all the rest of the world like an innocent enough, stupid enough *thing* and make it into the stuff of horribleness. Of anger and frustration and hopelessness (depending on just how low you can go). And the thing about it is that only WE can see those connections in ourselves. Only we know how it went from Point A to Point B wherein Point B has us boiling over and those around us can't understand how that happened. "Why are you so upset? It's no big deal." Well, sure, not for YOU, because you aren't wired the way I am. Your buttons didn't get pushed, but mine did. [No, Ken, this honestly has nothing to do with you -- you were away, remember? Not anything about you!]

I'm the kind of person about whom other people regularly make the mistaken assumption that I "never get angry." I don't wear it on my sleeve, for sure. But when I'm ready to blow I just walk away -- that's the danger signal with me. And because people don't even expect THAT of me, it turns out to be a lot more powerful than, say, the verbal explosion other people may employ. Not saying that's good or bad. Just saying.

So yesterday I had to walk away. And now I'm trying to just keep walking -- to leave my anger behind me and wrap back up that ugly, scary baggage and leave it alone in the dark again. When I worked in Boston (and had an hour's commute each way), after a bad day I would employ the image of a spool of thread. I would imagine that all the stuff at work was thread wrapped around this spool. And I would hold the spool with me, in my mind, and leave the start of the thread tied there in Boston, and let the thread run off the spool as I drove home, so that by the time I got out of the car I had just this lovely, wooden (of course!), empty spool and I'd left all the stuff behind me.

How was your day?

As I took my walk, after walking away, I thought about how to process this thing, this time, and I thought, "can I work this out through my art?" And then I thought, "what art?" And I laughed. Then I thought a little more and I came to the realization that whatever it may be that I may call "my art," and whenever it may be that I have time to do it, I won't be working out my anger that way. I can see working through those feelings of coming OUT of the bad stuff (I have this image, this feeling when you are in deep water -- after having jumped feet-first into the deep end of a pool, say -- and you are reaching up for the top -- up, up, up -- and you know it will be there yet you're a little bit panicked [I do need to BREATHE now!] but finally you break through the surface and that first hungry breath is so reassuring and delicious). THAT I could work with. But for me, I don't want to mix in my worst with the things I enjoy doing the most. Does that make sense?

Hey -- I'm feeling better already!

Love hurts

Woe is me. After having carefully, with just the right amount of dedicated detachment (so as not to jinx anything), watched my beloved hometown Cubs take the NL Central title, I am now subjected to the pain of an unnecessary (unnecessary!) loss in Game 1 of the NLDS. It ain't right. Where's Mr. Cub when you need him?

[image from the amazing http://www.chicagocubscards.com/]

You can go but be back soon

Ken left early this morning on a business trip. Waahhh! I realize that many families deal, weekly, with a traveling parent -- we've known so many people, are even related to people!, who travel regularly for their jobs. Ken and I both have always put right up at the top of our lists for our own career choices no regular travel required. I even passed on a decent job not that long ago that required spending the week before Thanksgiving, every year, in Las Vegas at a trade show because I knew that would just kill me -- every year. So anyway, Ken did need to take a rare trip (although he has to go away next month, too -- waahhh!) and he's only been gone less than 2 hours and I already miss him and the whole routine of our family (he won't be home for dinner! he won't be here for the bedtime story!). And ok, I'll admit it -- even though I wouldn't normally call myself a fearful person, I always worry a bit when one of us is away. I have to really hold the fear down and sit on it so it doesn't get much chance to breathe, I have to focus on that point that will come in a couple of days when Ken walks back into the house with his bag in his hand and tells us how happy he is to be home again. Safe and sound.

The other part of me wonders how Dean and I should live it up, now that we've got the pad to ourselves....

[I've got to get some film developed and get some of my quilts and other projects posted here -- you'd hardly know that this here is a crafter's blog!]

I would have expected the number to be higher...

I am 75% Addicted to Coffee

Round & round

Friends like to tell me how incongruent it is with the rest of my personality that I love Walt Disney World the way I do, but I feel this photo I took on our last trip goes a long way in explaining. Carousel horses, beautifully designed and maintained, twirling around a backdrop of castle and village, brilliant fairy-tale color everywhere.... Works for me.

I'm trying to catch up on some scrapbooking and so my trip photos are everywhere at the moment. I find I can do only one kind of craft at a time -- my space is either given over to scrapbooking or sewing or quilting or collage-making or whatever; probably both a mental and physical limitation. But I've got to switch over to more sewing soon, what with October here already and Christmas around the corner!

The month of pumpkins. And leaves and soup (not together!) and sweaters and -- oh, I keep forgetting to check when the time changes this year. November 4th, as it turns out. Weird not to make the change before Halloween, but there you go.

Full Harvest Moon

For all you knitters out there, I thought you'd enjoy seeing this magnificent advent calendar from Garnet Hill -- tiny hats and mittens numbered 1 through 24, just big enough to hold a small treasure. If I could knit....

Now if I had a digital camera, the image up there would be of the incredible Full Harvest Moon that Dean and I saw early this morning. We stepped out onto our front porch, in the mostly dark, to use binoculars for an even better view. It was the kind of brilliant and changing full moon that makes it nearly impossible to believe that it isn't being lit from inside, starting silvery white and becoming coppery orange before dipping, by sunrise, below the horizon. Those moments with Dean are particularly sacred to me -- outside before dawn, listening to the natural world waking, breathing in the sweet morning air, watching the sky. He felt it too, today, saying "I love you" before handing me the binoculars.

Leaf-ing

Ah, New England in the fall!
Our camping trip was successful -- very nice weather, probably the best possible tent site we could have gotten (given that they didn't honor our original booking), a terrific day at the fair, no ticks (one year Ken did have that one and needed to go on antibiotics...). We must concede that this particular camp ground no longer suits us -- it really has become RV heaven. Nothing wrong with RVs (in fact, I'm always fascinated by the whole RV culture and the instant villages that sprout) but if you're camping in a tent and can count 15 of them from the place where you're sitting in front of your camp fire, you know it's time to move on. I'd thought that gas prices would have had an impact, but apparently not. One lovely woman we spoke with, who travels with her Australian Sheepdog, had the coolest Airstream trailer imaginable (outside one of those great vintage models, that is)....

I think we all agreed that we want an Australian Sheepdog, and that next year we'll probably camp in Vermont. Hey, before I forget -- next time anyone is staying at a Ritz Carlton, will you attempt to order a s'more from room service and report back on what happens? It was Helen's idea, and I think it is brilliant.

Falling

[from Dover's Spot Illustrations from Women's Magazines of the Teens and Twenties]

I've been meaning to recommend to all lovers of vintage images that you go to the Vintage Workshop site and sign up for their e-newsletter; you'll get a free image every month (and you get a couple of free images just for signing up). I've also purchased download collections from them and can commend their system and the quality of the images they sell.

We head off on a camping trip this afternoon and will make our annual visit to the Bolton Fair tomorrow; if you live in the area and are looking for a quaint fall fair, I heartily recommend this one (but also recommend getting there early). I think it will be our last year camping at these particular camp grounds since it appears they are now really catering to RVs and don't expect many tent campers (although with gas prices, I am surprised anyone can afford to drive an RV anywhere anymore...why not just book a room at the Ritz and save money?). I'm also bummed because even though I booked the specific site that we wanted back in June, I got a phone call earlier in the week alerting us that we'd been bumped off that site (NOW they point out the fine print that reserves their right to use the term "reservation" lightly) and will, I think, be more in the thick of RV-ville. Oh well. Two nights, camp fires, roasted hot dogs, marshmallows, stars, snuggled up together in a tent, a day at the fair -- lots to look forward to! We started doing these sort of "junior camping" trips a few years ago to introduce Dean to the experience in way that allowed us a big escape hatch (in that we weren't going too far from home, flush toilets and running water available). Our very first trip with Dean, we took him to our favorite place in Vermont, but thunderstorms sent us home early and the 3.5 hour drive taught us a little something about how to better adapt to the needs of a youngster.

Camping is a prime example of the differing trajectories between parents in their mid- to late-40s and a 9-year-old boy; our needs, abilities, and interests still intersect but I worry a little about how much longer they still will. Ken bought a second air mattress to put under his first one to help (we hope!) alleviate any potential issues for the pinched nerves in his shoulders and the challenge of sleeping on the ground. This keeps us pretty firmly in the "car camping" category (that is, going to a camp site you can drive to, as opposed to one that you backpack to). Would we still have it in us to backpack? Well, better to enjoy what we can do than to worry about what we're not doing, I guess. More s'mores, anyone?

Measuring up

Just in case you've been feeling pretty adequate and on top of things lately, I give you this image, from this Japanese mom who makes lunches like this one (and posts photos, nutritional information, and tool sources) on her blog. Daily. Personally, I'd also like to see the "after" photos, when her child has finished eating -- what's left? And, what does this child do when confronted with food that has not been painstakingly cut, molded, and arranged into art? Finally, what will this mom do the day her child says, "OK, I'm 25, enough already with the little animals and stuff!"?

How lucky can we get?

Yes, I am feeling much better and just oh-so-lucky! Dean came home from school and honestly had to be convinced to try the vest on (see previous post) because he just looked at it and pronounced it "great!" I convinced him that he did have to try it so that I could at least get the length right. He loves it. His only question was whether I was going to add clasps to the front, and I assured him that a trip to the big fabric store and their dizzying array of notions is on my list.

The luck continued when I found online THE Eragon light-up sword from this site that seems to have Halloween completely covered. Their confirmation email to me said that I'd get free shipping on my order if I mentioned them on my blog -- I will let you know if that works. Dean had been entirely willing for me to take an old plastic Viking sword from the basement and spray paint the "blade" red, but I felt that such a patient, willing young man deserved to have just exactly the right sword. I think I'm going to buy a nice length of black wool to make his cape/cloak and then recycle the wool into other projects once Halloween has come and gone.

I had to laugh at Natalie's comment to my last post, about how her son Max is the exacting kind of Halloween costume-orderer/designer -- I LOVE that he wants to be a helium balloon yet feel her pain in his insistence that she figure out a way to make him float...

Technical difficulties

I have the frustrated, pent-up, antsy, headachy, frenzied feeling of a sewing project gone somewhat wrong. I am trying to counter these feelings (exacerbated by the fact that to get to this point has pretty much used up my available time for the day) by having a green tossed salad for lunch and by picturing myself THIS way -- with true aim.

Admittedly, I set myself up for trouble, yet again. Rather that going out and buying the new pattern from which to make the vest for Dean's Eragon costume, I thought I'd attempt to make the smallest size possible from an adult vest pattern I already had (mandarin collar, princess seams). Also decided to make use of a good sized hunk of synthetic ultra-suede like material that I had on hand but had never worked with before. What I have going for me (thank you, Grand Master of the Universe) is that Dean is amazingly, incredibly adaptable in terms of what suits him for costumes (and for clothing). While I was a nit-picking, detail-crazed child who was bitterly disappointed if the things my mother made did not PRECISELY match my vision (even when said vision was simply had, but never communicated), Dean seems to have an incredible amount of latitude and flexibility -- for example, he readily OK'd the ultra-suede stuff which IS the right color but is clearly not leather, as Eragon's vest 'really' is. Not familiar? Take a look:

Gee, why didn't I take another look before I started sewing? The collar I made goes up flush with the front seam, instead of being set back, like this one is. And I'm going to have to make at least one if not several trips to find some kind of clasps that are going to work. Well, I will get some feedback from Dean on where I am so far with the thing and will either attempt to make some final adjustments or I will scrap it and start again the right way. No, I will not be making nor buying Dean any leather pants; I've already purchased black micro-fleece pants (which he approved! and tried on! and loved!) -- so much more practical and cozy on a cold Halloween night. On that note, Dean has also already approved my making a black cape that he can wear over this if indeed it is too cold on Halloween to go out just like this. SUCH a reasonable young man, and yet he won't even try a piece of fruit. Guess we all have our limits.

The Key

I used to carry my recipe for Key Lime Pie around in my wallet. I was prepared to be able to make one, or to give my recipe out, at any time -- mostly because we made frequent trips to visit my dad in Siesta Key, Florida. He had a friend who had a key lime tree or two in his yard; we'd go to this friend's house to fish in the Gulf and we'd be given a bag of limes to take home. I'd make pie, of course, and we'd make margaritas and have slices in our vodka tonics or bloody marys (not that we drank all the time or anything, and it was before we had Dean in any case).

Key limes are just about the size of a walnut. I can't explain to you why key limes are so much better than your regular old run-of-the-mill limes, but they are. I was shocked to find a bag of key limes at my grocery store this week, and had to celebrate by making a pie. (For the record, I squeezed all the limes at once and froze the leftover juice for another pie -- no limes in drinks anymore.) Key Lime Pie is astonishingly easy to make -- just finding the limes is the trick (although Trader Joe's often carries bottles of key lime juice and sometimes you can find it other places as well). So:

Key Lime Pie

For the crust:
1 and 1/4 cups crushed graham crackers (in the States, graham crackers traditionally come in rectangles -- it takes 8 of these rectangles to equal 1 and 1/4 cups crushed crumbs)
1/3 cup melted butter
3 tablespoons sugar
pinch of salt

Combine crust ingredients and mix well. Press into a buttered 8-inch pie plate.

For the filling:
1 (14 oz) can sweetened condensed milk
4 egg yolks
1/4 to 1/3 cup key lime juice

Combine filling ingredients and mix well. Pour into crust. Bake in a pre-heated 350 degree oven for 10 to 12 minutes until set. Cool completely and refrigerate.

To serve, whip up a pint or so of whipping cream, dollop decoratively on pie, slice and serve. Or, let everyone apply his or her own whipped cream. Ahhhhh. We're paying our respects to summer today when we serve up the pie I made yesterday.

It's not what you wear that gets you there

I know I haven't been very inspired or inspiring here lately; being profound is just something that's either in you that day, or not. You can't pretend. I feel I compose a lot of amazing blog posts, but the thing is that I compose them in my head in odd moments throughout the day (and sometimes, night) and then come up empty when it's time to do the thing. Same thing with letters -- I write great ones in my head that never see the light of paper.

Reading someone else's blog recently (and of course now I can't find it -- argh!!) made me think about that divide, that dichotomy between the life you think you'll have, and the life you have -- between the parent you'd thought you'd be, and the parent you are. It made me remember how hard it was for me to stop buying clothes for the life I wished I had, expected I'd have. Like the really lovely kimono jackets that would look great over a slim pair of black pants that I could wear with ballet flats when I went to the opera or the ballet or even to a dinner party, except that I have found myself in a life (and a lovely one at that -- don't get me wrong) that doesn't involve much opera or ballet and when we go out we are pretty committed to the whole jeans and t-shirts scene. It was hard not to shop in that wishful way, though the unworn clothes hanging in my closet caused more than enough guilt to make me stop.

It's not the stuff itself that gets you there, or keeps you from going there. I certainly could find something decent to wear in my closet right now, should I be heading out for the ballet. And honestly, if we were invited to the kind of dinner party that required fancy grown-up clothes, I'd probably find some excuse not to go. Still, this reminds me that I actually considered doing a little shopping for my whole co-assistant-soccer coaching gig; Coach Louise, who's at the helm of our team of 13 9-year-old boys (and who knows what she's doing when it comes to soccer) has all the exactly right shorts and shirts for being the very picture of a soccer coach. But, I figure neither the kids nor the parents really care all that much about what I'm wearing, and looking more the part won't actually make me know any more about playing or coaching soccer.

So where does that leave me? It reinforces this business that it's not about the stuff. Makes me feel better about not buying stuff. But I could use 24 more buttons just like this little black one at the beginning, to use as dogs' noses for Dean's quilt....