Seeing the train station

Last week, Dean's class took a field trip to Boston. They are currently studying transportation, so they spent the day using as much public transportation as they could, and talking with a couple of experts in the city about urban planning, transportation, and the environment. They were supposed to ride the commuter ferry boat, but the weather was so raw that it wouldn't have been enjoyable at all. I arrived at the station a little early to pick him up at the end of the day, and decided at the last moment to bring my camera along.

I'm still enjoying the experience of seeing what I could see at the station.

Blog Action Day 2009: Climate Change

Today, bloggers all over the world are writing about climate change, urging readers to get involved. "Blog Action Day is an annual event held every October 15 that unites the world’s bloggers in posting about the same issue on the same day with the aim of sparking discussion around an issue of global importance." I registered to participate without any grand plan, other than my belief in sharing ideas to change the world.


My own take on climate change is that, without heavy or undue guilt, I simply believe that every choice I make has an impact. Driving a couple of fewer times in the course of a week by combining (or eliminating) errands, recycling every bit of everything that can be recycled, turning lights off, conserving water, stopping to observe and delight in the beauty of the natural world (and sharing that habit with my son) -- every single thing makes a difference. It goes the other way, too; bad choices hurt. I try, again without feeling hopeless, to sort of run my own sets of carbon-offsets. If I feel that I don't have a way around something, I make an effort to offset the the poor choice with a bunch of better ones.

The point is that I believe that each individual needs to care deeply about personal choices. That it's not up to government nor industry nor some mysterious 'they' to solve the climate crisis; I believe it is up to each and every one of us.

Mister October

Are you ready yet? We're getting our Halloween on (Mr. Skeleton was courtesy of Martha) indoors and...

...out. Or thinking about it, anyway (this outside shot is from last year -- we won't carve our pumpkins or put up the lights until closer to the big day). Dean's costume is nearly finished (more of an assembly of parts as opposed to sewing this year), and the detailed plan around trick-or-treating is in the works.

Meanwhile, still a gorgeous fall. Although

I'm keenly aware of the rhythm life has taken on, the one where blogging never gets my best attention. I steal a couple of in-between minutes to get some photos up (and rarely have time to re-size), then I cobble together a post as best I can.

I'd like to think it's because real life, in real time, is getting my best effort. I'm not sure that it's true, but I do like to think it. I still keep my camera ready and I do keep thinking about everything, I just don't get many thoughts down. I'm not giving up; I guess I'm just asking for some patience. Maybe you're out in the fresh air, too?

Resolute

I have resolved not to noodle away the day. It's Friday, my 'day off,' and I'm going to accomplish things. Housework things and personal things. Dough for pizza will be made, laundry will be put away, and at the very least my craft space will get tidied up. I have a way of letting these days get away from me, but not this time.

Twenty-two tiny turtles

Exactly as it was meant to be.

I took Biscuit out for a walk at about 5:30 yesterday afternoon. It was just starting toward evening, with the sun done with its work for the day and darkness just starting to come on. We came upon one very tiny turtle, just hatched, marching across our street and headed toward the river.

I'd been watching, recently, for turtles. We'd seen one back in the spring, laying its eggs, and we've rescued other hatchlings on other fall days from other spring layings. You'd think it would be easy enough to see a turtle crossing the road, but they are incredibly easy to overlook.

I ended up having an experience that would have looked cliched in a movie. First, one turtle. I picked him up gently and moved him forward in his journey, onto the grass headed toward the river and off the road. Walking a little further, I found another. A few more steps, and another. Suddenly, it was as though they were materializing right out of the macadam; I found myself surrounded by turtles. Twenty-two in all. All alive, all rescued off the road.


After making sure I'd gotten them all before any neighbors drove home, I went back to get Dean. He's at the age of being able to beg the question and know the answer -- "can't I keep just one?" and "these belong in the wild." We marveled at the reality that, even given the vast difference in the size of the turtle's brain and the size of our brains, that turtle possesses the knowledge, the instinct to know exactly what to do to survive, while we have no idea how to appropriately care for a turtle to ensure survival.

I wondered if the turtle we'd watched lay her eggs could have been responsible for these babies, but Dean artfully pointed out that we were talking about two different species. Oh yeah. That.


Dean named one Toby, set it down with some mates, and wished them all safe passage. As long as we don't find any dead on the road, I'll be so thrilled.

A Small Sunday

Warm and toasty dry inside on a rainy Sunday.

The perfect weather for pumpkin waffles (thanks to Amy for putting the idea in my head and the recipe in my hands). Although -- please -- I did already own a heart-shaped waffle maker. I omitted the ground cloves because sometimes they can be a little too overwhelming for Dean.

Can you smell them?

Really wonderful with a glass of fresh cider (although, had I been thinking, I would have had my cider hot).

Meanwhile, I'm in awe of the flowers that hang on and continue to put on their show, even though they must realize summer is over. Elegant ladies, dancing flamenco.

While others get ready to take center stage,

one last small cache of sunflowers seeds, stolen and planted by some small mammal, push through and burst out one small flower, just to complete the cycle on time.

My small Sunday.

In a word: spectacular

Pretty much without fail, New England itself gives to those of us who live here an annual gift. It's why we stay here, even if we don't realize or admit that it's the reason.


We call it 'fall.'

Fall makes everything else worthwhile. It makes harsh, long, icy winters worthwhile. It makes 'mud season' and 'black fly season' (the two things we get in lieu of 'spring') worthwhile. It even takes the sting out of long, hot, dry summers that manage, generally despite the lack of rain, to be pretty humid (I don't even know how that's possible, but New England serves it up that way).

You'll hear varied opinions throughout the course of any year -- those who hate winter and those who live for opportunities to ski, those who wilt in the heat and those who drink it up. And it's popular to comment about spring's being the last bit of winter's agony that you have to get through until early summer comes.


But nobody dislikes fall. Nobody. People walk around happy, smiling, commenting regularly on the progress the leaves are making in their annual turn. Nights are cool (down even to the 40s) and days are warm and sunny (upper 70s today). Not. one. cloud.

We've been taking advantage. Long hikes in our local state forest (with plans written in on the calendar for several more), with room in our hearts and our car to take Biscuit along. Plans to pick apples, and stops at farmers' markets. Apple cider. Oh, how I love a hot cup of apple cider....

Soccer games played in conditions that make you just plain giddy to be alive, to be so lucky as to be sitting at the edge of the field, watching the boys play.

Plans and energy to cook interesting things for dinner, to start thinking about crafting again, to star-gaze. If you've been around here for a while you may have heard me ponder this sort of thing before: would I revel in it this much if we had it all year long? Would I notice it, notice the quality of the light and the scent on the breeze if that were how it was every day? I have to admit that I'd probably get tired of it, probably would take it for granted, probably would yearn to travel somewhere else for a change.

But for now I'm staying put, and loving every moment.

Lavender's blue, dilly dilly*

Some details, as promised. Of Gina's gorgeous quilt. The one she made and gave away, and that I won. Oh happy, lucky me!
The photos were taken in ultra-bright sunlight which washed the colors out a little, but you still get a sense of her beautiful, perfect fabric choices and workmanship.
I love it. We are planning to make-over our family room before the winter holidays. I'm not sure if 'family room' translates; we certainly didn't call anything the 'family room' in the house where I grew up. We said 'front room,' even, and not 'living room' as they do here in the East (although that's different from the 'family room'). Anyway, it is the room on the ground floor of the house, next to the kitchen, where the sofa and tv are and where we hang out. So my point (yes!) is that Gina's quilt may in fact become the focal point of that room; I was going to hang it in the bedroom but it deserves a wider audience.
Meanwhile, The Season has begun. Hurray! A 6-1 win last week, and the next game is tomorrow. Dean moved up a division and is loving it more than ever. He's a different person in some ways on the field -- takes no guff. That's MY ball. Not in an inappropriately aggressive way, just in an appropriately forceful way. Great to see.

*Lavender's blue, dilly dilly, lavender's green,

When I am king, dilly, dilly, you shall be queen.

Who told you so, dilly, dilly, who told you so?

'Twas my own heart, dilly, dilly, that told me so.

(and Burl Ives sings it best)

Oh nine oh nine oh nine!

Couldn't let the date slide by, inasmuch as I've let so many others do just that.

No mix of lame/legitimate excuses, just forging ahead.

With about eleventy million things to catch up on, I begin with some of the most important:


Can you believe I get to say the words, "this is the quilt I won from Gina!"? I still can't believe I get to say those words, and I always refer to it as 'Gina's quilt' because I haven't gotten my head around the fact that I could call it my quilt that Gina made. Dean took the photo and I realize that while he did a fine job, I'll owe you some detail shots because this is truly a thing of beauty. Gina, I can never thank you enough!


Next, I get to say that this was Dean's "best first day of school EVER," because that's what he says. Nothing better than having him so totally love his school, his teacher, his friends. And what a luxury to have Ken home with us after school to enjoy the perfect afternoon.

Even Biscuit is just happy to be alive. More soon -- I promise.

Perfection

This was Dean's last week of summer day camps; he finished out with chess camp, which he attended with his best friend Max. The week had included a tournament, with finals on the last day. They wondered if it would come down to this, and indeed Dean and Max had to play each other in the last game for the championship. The air in the room was NOT charged with tension at all; all the kids were thoroughly enjoying themselves, and each pair would glance around from time to time to see how the other games were going.
Contemplating their good fortune and offering up their trophies, with Max as the first place winner and Dean as second. Dean was utterly delighted with the outcome, and acknowledged that Max deserved to win for having played the better game. We went home for a celebratory lunch of hot dogs, with ice cream for dessert, and an afternoon of:
badminton on the front lawn. I seriously do not think it gets much better than this. We've been playing badminton as a family this weekend and look forward to more matches today. Skies are blue, temperatures are ideal, low humidity, cool breezes wafting through.
I love this picture of Dean and his cousin, Hallie, skipping rocks at the beach during a break at a recent family wedding.

We've got nearly a month until school starts, and are about as content as we can be. We're getting ready to take a little trip to celebrate Ken's 50th; oh, I'll have lots of pictures to post when we return!

Some things I love

Skipping stones.
Watching soccer games.
Great pens.
Maps.
Interesting paper.
The English language.
Text as art.
Coffee.
Old-fashioned donuts.
Iced tea.
Lemonade.
Fresh air.
The sky.
Good erasers.
Ladybug's Picnic, sung by Elizabeth Mitchell
Rubber stamps.
Sharp pencils.
Peonies.
Sea glass.
Libraries.
Beautiful studio/creative spaces.
Color.
Photography.
Christmas.
Good craft magazines.
Corn on the cob.
Classic board games.
Fishing.
Keen sandals.
Going out for breakfast.
Pirates of the Caribbean/Curse of the Black Pearl
Music from an ice cream truck.

How about you?

Happy Friday

A happy Friday to you.

Happy sunny day, end of the week, ready for adventure day. Happy make some plans, finish up some projects, get it done and start something new day. Happy take a break, review the week, and think about the weekend day.

We have, ahead of us, half a weekend that we 'just have to get through,' and then half a weekend to be home and relax and enjoy. Today I have a half-day of work, and some errands and chores to do, and I plan to make some time for some fun. It feels good, this morning.

Making the journey worthwhile

What I learned about myself between last night and this morning is that if there's a hint of chill in the air in the evening, when we go out to walk the dog after dinner at about 7:30 p.m., I MUST have a jacket on. Maybe even long pants. I cannot tolerate being even slightly cold at the end of the day. But in the morning, when I take the dog out at 7 a.m., I am delighted by the crisp promise that the chill morning air offers and I can't stand to take a jacket with me. It's entirely possible that it is colder in the morning than in the evening, and there I am with shorts and short sleeves and a smile.


I know that some measure of this is physiological; I am a morning person and my energy is all bright and burning in the morning. By the end of the day I am done. I actually don't mind one bit getting into bed before it's even fully dark out because I am tired and done and ready to sleep. So my biorhythms or whatever are set on 'high' in the morning and 'low' at night. And I guess there's no way to disconnect the psychology either. It's just funny to me to have realized it and to understand that the given temperature doesn't really predict how the temperature is going to feel to me (or to anybody else?).

(I just googled biorhythms and came away with the impression that there's a lot less science (none, maybe?) to them as I thought there was, but what I meant are the particular highs and lows of your own system throughout the course of a given day.)


For me the point of these kinds of seemingly pointless realizations is to build my tolerance of these same kinds of idiosyncrasies in those I love. If I can be so apparently irrationally impacted by the weather, then trying to insist that Dean put on a jacket because it's "cold" out really is not very fair at all. Like that. That the reality each of us experiences, even on a very micro level, is entirely personal, even when it seems that it shouldn't/couldn't be. That the 'truths' we are so sure of ourselves don't necessarily carry.

Best

Chicago, April 2009

Today is perfect. It just is. It's a clear blue cloudless sky perfect, a 70 degrees with a light wind perfect. It's Friday perfect. It makes you feel as happy as you would feel being at Navy Pier today, eating ice cream and going on a boat ride and thinking about trying the Ferris wheel.

We all had it -- that giddy perfect Friday feeling -- this morning when I brought Dean and his friend to their last day of zoo camp. We had our traditional stop at Dunkin' Donuts for treats first, and may I just say that it's worth living in Massachusetts just to be able to walk into a place and order a 'large regular' and get in return a cup of coffee with milk and sugar? Regular here means just the way I like it, and that counts for something. A lot, actually.

Lincoln Park Zoo Conservatory, April 2009

So I've got the grocery shopping done, and the pizza dough is made for tonight, and laundry is in. We get to watch the finish of the CONFACAF Gold Cup match between the US and Honduras that we taped (don't tell me who won! US was up by 1 when we had to go to bed last night) while we have our summer pizza for dinner (sauteed onions, roasted red peppers, tons of cheese, no sauce). I've even got some crafting going on in the background here. I realize that I really should be outside, so I'm going to go make myself some lunch and eat it out on the deck.

Every day should be this good. I hope you have that marvelous summer Friday feeling going on, too.

When did I become someone else? or Which me are you looking for?

Dean is growing up. He just is. That our children grow and change should come as absolutely no surprise, given that we grew up ourselves from the children we once were. We know this happens. But to be on the other side of the telescope, to be the one watching the growing, rather than the one actively moving out of childhood, is an overpowering and unbelievable thing. Well, different sides of the same coin, I suppose, but going through it yourself really does nothing to prepare you for watching your own child grow.

I've been truly struck by the whole idea of growth lately. I'm surrounded by it. I've had a chance to check in on some blogs I haven't visited for a while and BAM -- I'm faced with photos of children I think of as babies, and there they are getting all big and grown up and I think HOW is that happening so fast? And here we are on July 9 and we've already had over THREE INCHES of rain in our area and I've never seen so much lush, tropical, intense growth before. The pot of tomatoes on the back porch is so tall it is starting to challenge gravity AND there are green tomatoes already. Astonishing.


Then I've got this whole other part of growth to think about and it's a lot harder. It's my own struggle with me, and who I am growing in to, and what I am growing out of. I've been thinking about what a very different person I seem to the people who knew me in high school from the people who knew me as a pre-parent career person from the people who know me as a parent and soccer mom. The thing about Facebook is that all those lives, all those past connections, come right up in front of me and I parade this whole mysterious complicated silly person to an audience with very different visions of me.

Bringing this all together for me was a post by Andrea (it's the June 29, 2009 'our dance' one -- I can't target one entry directly on her site) who had an opportunity to remember her past young self as a performer (that was me, too!) and who wrote, "...I remembered, that she is still me."

She is still me.

It's all still in here somewhere. Loving soccer doesn't dissolve loving art galleries, laughing at Phineas and Ferb doesn't prevent me from shedding tears over Three Cups of Tea. Disney World didn't replace Paris, it just got added to the list of favorite destinations.


Hmmm.

So then probably a good measure of my mourning Dean's past self, the childhood that he's rapidly rising out of, truly is foolish. He is still himself, still the sweet person he has always been. Just a lot taller. And ready to take on more by himself. Which should leave me ready to decide what I'd like to be doing while he's doing that. So that's the hard part, then.


I believe that an important aspect of being a parent is in being intentionally changed by that experience -- by being influenced in who you are as a person by the person your child is. Again thinking of a recent one of Andrea's posts, she wrote, "Attention is the most concrete expression of love." By paying attention to the things that are important to Dean, I've gained new knowledge and new interests; I've grown as my own person in response to him. That's a powerful antidote to the feeling of being consumed, of being made invisible by parenthood. "Where did I go?" can be a mournful question, about what seems lost, or it can be a joyful one about where you've landed -- about discovering that new place and discovering how you don't give up your true self in becoming a parent, you just grow into a new self.