Loafin' Around

They say it is so easy, even a six year-old can do it. And a grandpa. We churned out artisan bread non-stop the past several days, testing the variables in the recipe: oven temperature, loaf size, white/wheat flour ratio, rise time, cooking time. Kneadless to say, the blog administrator has since been carting around a doughy Carbo-belly.

First Batch:

Second Batch:

Third Batch:

"Hey! Get those kids off of there!"

Talmage and Sydney watched cars whiz underneath them. The fun ended when a professional lady reprimanded me for allowing Tal and Syd to crouch on the metal grating of the skybridge. Too dangerous. Against the rules.

Dad has been here the past several days. He came for Ruth's funeral (mom's dad's cousin's wife). Her son quoted the last lines of a poem by Mary Oliver, "When Death Comes." It goes like this:

When it's over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

When it is over, I don't want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.

I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.

Children inherently understand this. Somewhere between childhood and adulthood, the natural ease of living life fully can be discarded. Or forgotten. Or counterfeited. We are too busy or too embarassed, too restrained by convention and rules, to get not just get down on our hands and knees, but to prostrate ourselves against the earth, and Look.

Einstein said, "Never lose a holy curiosity." And so. I shouldn't have apologized.

Barreling Forward

Concentrating on Construction

Men of the West

This is where we wined and dined and grooved to the tunes. Men of the West is an Irish music group. The lead musician, Hanz Araki, is a sixth generation shakuhachi player. He was phenomenal to watch and listen to. We were obviously novices in this genre when he rolled his eyes at the suggestion to play "Wild Rover" (overplayed?), whereas we enjoyed it immensely. It was the kind of evening that makes you skip in the parking lot when you leave the building. Take home message: listen to more Celtic music.

Nursing Home Story #1

Do they even call them that anymore?

Anyway, the Nursing director and I were walking down the hallway of the long-term care wing of the Rehabilitation Center when, from one of the bedrooms a female voice calls out, "Nu-urse! Nurse!"

We enter the room to find a disheveled-haired, silent gentleman, concave in his wheelchair, just inside the doorway. The woman, perched at the edge of her bed, bare legs dangling down protests his presence with, "There's a man in my room!" The nursing director redirects the man out to the hallway. As I turn to leave, the woman - who must be accustomed to these uninvited (?) encounters pertly says, "He likes my legs."

Given my references pan out and all that, this will be my new place of employment. One to two 8-hour shifts a month. I'm already looking forward to getting to know The Residents.

Evolution

Sydney's mode of locomotion is evolving upward. Then, last night, she stepped away from her shopping cart and seemed as surprised as we did to find herself standing upright, unsupported. She experimented with taking a couple steps, but still prefers crawling. She is just tickled about the whole thing. We are, too. We LOVE watching her learn to walk.

Two Sides of the Same Coin

When I was an ideal parent (before I had kids), I did not believe in television, and, by extension, videos. Since Talmage and I were out of ideas of what to do this morning, we consulted an activity book that suggested playing "Mad Scientist." The "little chemists" (isn't that cute?) were given various cups, measuring spoons, etc. and some salt, flour, water, etc. and told to go to town. This was a good idea. In theory. Sort of like making a pudding puddle on your kitchen floor (the above link, in green, will show the proof is in the pudding).
"I'm making cookies!" Talmage said. Two seconds later the salt container was empty, a floury paste was spread all over the stool, floor, and clothing, and they were done. It took ten times longer to clean up than it did to set up and play with. Now what? The truth comes out. This is what they did this afternoon:

Yeah. Their own private viewing stations, to boot.

Why is Corned Beef Corned?

If the above image makes you want to throw up, then you definitely will feel glad you didn't eat at our house tonight. We perpetuated the familial tradition of eating Corned Beef and Cabbage on St. Patrick's Day. (except, to be honest, it was Corned Beef and Soggy-Disintegrating-Mush-Cabbage. Yum.).

The answer to today's question is here.

Talk About Five Guys

We ate burgers instead of pie (3/14) today.
Help yourself to a handful of peanuts while you wait in line.

Gotta hand it to Five Guys:
Your burgers are waaaay better than Red Robin's.
And the name of your chain is cooler.

Lessons for Life

Look Closely

TOUCH SOFTLY

Clear Obstacles

LISTEN CAREFULLY

Enjoy the ride

As the weather warms, I aim to spend more time exploring Portland's abundant nature parks with the kids. First on the list was Oaks Bottom Wildlife Refuge, established in 1988. It is Portland's first urban wildlife refuge and home to the Great Blue Heron.

A Commentary on a Walk and a Near Death Experience

Talmage picked through the items I had thrown out of the Bogus onto the garage floor and put his selections into the Fisher Price shopping cart: several pairs of Lightening McQueen underwear, pajama bottoms, lots of pens and pencils, a hat, etc. (It was getting pretty deep in the car).

The lure of the azure beckoned him outside. He moseyed down the driveway, pushing the shopping cart and calling out over his shoulder, "Come on a walk, Mommy!" The blue sky and departing child won. As we strolled along, I listened to his chatter:

That's a tree lollipop.
Oh! A pinecone.
Look at that truck.
Let's go straight. Not left, mom.

Neighbor guy to Talmage: Are you running away from home?
Talmage: I'm going on a walk.

Those are sharks (the exposed tree roots he was four-wheeling over).

Towards the end of our walk, a neighbor gave us a fistful of daffodils and a crocus. Earlier in the walk Talmage had gnawed on a fallen palm frond. So maybe it was a nod to scientific inquiry, because when he took a bite of the crocus petal and declared, "Yum", I didn't stop him when he stuffed in the remaining petals in two big, satisfied bites.

Briton came home 15 minutes later and said maybe Crocus are poisonous. He found this on the internet:

"Most forms of Crocus are extremely toxic, it has been used to treat rheumatism, arthritis and gout... Crocus poisoning is similar to arsenic poisoning, symptoms appearing 2 to 5 hours after ingestion include burning in the mouth and throat, diarrhea, stomach pain, vomiting, and kidney failure followed by death from respiratory failure."

While Briton was reading scary stuff on the internet, I was calling Mrs. Z, my gardening guru who eats flowers. She said to call Poison Control and she would pray for us.

Poison Control: Did you try to wipe his mouth out after it happened?
Me: Uh, nooo ... I thought it was funny that he was eating a flower with such relish.
PC: What's your name?
Me: Alfreida.

It didn't occur to me that the lovely harbinger of spring, the season of new birth, could also bring on sudden illness and death. Luckily, springtime crocus are not the killers that their autumn cousins are. Sheesh! It was very panicky there for a moment. Poison Control said to always call them first before looking stuff up on the internet. And also, don't be a dumb mom.

How to Draw a Car

(and so on)

Finished.

The two inner-most circles are 1) the steering wheel, and 2) "the guy".

A Walk in the 'Hood

Syd's Great-Grandma Davis made this hoodie - maybe 30 years ago - for one of Jeanne's kids. I didn't know it existed until it arrived in the mail with Jeanne's explanatory note attached. It has funky multicolored cuffs and not one seam of serging. I like the colors. Very vintage. Very "Grandma Davis".

Ralph Waldo Emerson said,

"I am not much an advocate for traveling, and I observe that men run away to other countries because they are not good in their own, and run back to their own because they pass for nothing in the new places. For the most part, only the light characters travel. Who are you that have no task to keep you at home?"

It is us, Emerson. It is us. (or is that, "It is we"?)

Whoever it is, we'll keep running away to other countries as long as we may. We started planning our trip to Greece in earnest. By which I meant-tersay, we went to the library tonight and borrowed some books about Greece and now Briton is skimming through a book on mountaineering (not in Greece) and I just finished skimming a book on kid-friendly places to visit in Portland. Greece, ready or not, here we come! Because we ain't got no task to keep us at home.

I think our lack of anxiety about planning our trip stems from the success of one of our most favorite vacations. We arrived in Belize a couple years ago with a very general itinerary. We walked out of the airport and said, "Now what?" A guy offered us a ride from his friend, who would be arriving shortly in his truck. We accepted, having decided that their destination sounded just as good as anywhere else. Plus, the ride was free.

There began our 10-day-ish journey of supreme luck and odd adventure: camping with roosters; watching the morning mist rise from the ruins of Tikal; tubing in the National Jaguar Reserve, canoeing through a cave where ancient human skulls were "naturally" displayed; riding a jeep past a Mennonite village (on Sunday, while they were attending their meetings. I felt very irreverent); snorkeling; eating tuna fish out of a can on Christmas Eve in our tent that was pitched in the dark, only to discover in the morning that it was someone's front yard. Etc.

This is all to say that I think Greece is going to be a blast because I am traveling with my favorite person in the whole entire world and we travel well together. We two good-fur-nothin's.

We Wean!

#1. Sydney is weaned.

When she woke up crying at 5 a.m. this morning, I went in with the intention of nursing her back to sleep, as has been our habit in the early morning. Unfortunately (or fortunately), there was no let-down. Talk about let down! Briton tried consoling her and offering a sippy cup. Sydney was not cool with that. After an hour of howling, she eventually fell back asleep. When she awoke at 8 a.m., she was cheerful and ready for a big bowl of oatmeal.

#2. Talmage is potty-trained.

For urinating.

There are no sweeter words in all the world than "I have to go to the bathroom!" As you may know, he was "potty-trained" last fall. Two weeks in diapers during Christmas vacation was the perfect formula for regression. Recently, Talmage took the initiative for giving PT'ing another try. He really wanted to wear underwear(s) again.

Big progress over here.

In Hot Water

I was talking with my sister today (yes, you). We touched a little bit on managing money in a marriage. She's got "His. Hers. Ours." My dad has his piles of gold. My mom has "The Ship" that arrives each month. Similarly, I've got "The Wisdom."

The Wisdom is a beautiful thing. It started back when we were first married. We were both working full-time, although my full-time schedule alloted for free weekdays. (That's Nursing, for you). One particular day, I industriously cleaned our little apartment, did the laundry, made dinner, read a book, exercised, ate five fruits and vegetables, and finished my fine needlepoint. Perhaps I was still a little newly-wed-starry-eyed about all the domesticity and the idea of taking care of The Husband. When Briton came home to our immaculate apartment, dinner was ready and waiting. We sat down to our homely meal of and Roasted Duck with Raspberry Glaze and Carottes Juliennes, and clasped hands as we gazed adoringly at each other. Now this part is true. "Briton," I said, "I can see the wisdom of our church leaders in encouraging us to be homemakers" (or something to that effect). I honestly felt very fulfilled from the day's work (and play).

Briton, being Briton, raised a dubious eyebrow and then made fun of me, "Oh! The Wisdom."

So, the idea of staying home and taking care of the house (and one day, the kids) started being referred to as "getting The Wisdom." As in, sitting on Heidi's porch, chatting, while the kids played happily and the sun shone benevolently upon us while The Husbands slaved away in their dark, isolated cubicles - that was The Wisdom in all its glory. The Wisdom also later became a synonym for the finances I'm in charge of for running the house. As in, "Did The Wisdom balance this month?" The beauty of The Wisdom is that I use my wisdom (or lack thereof) in its general reallocation to the local economy without being necessarily accountable to The Abacus. As long as our needs are taken care of, we're good. Right? Riiight???

Inevitably, I use The Wisdom in ways Briton would not (he still wears the same clothes he had in high school). But I'm the one with The Wisdom so he's not supposed to gripe. But things come up every now and then. Case in point happened tonight. I needed to go running. I decided to treadmill it at the rec center. It was a great workout, I talked to a lady who showed me how to do a stretch for my hip, and I listened to some cool tunes. Very much worth the admission fee. I came home, covered in dried-up sweat. Conversation ensues:

Briton: You went to the SHARC?
Me: Yeah. I had a great workout.
Briton: You paid four dollars. Why didn't you take a shower there? ... (this is the part that kills me) ... You could have used their hot water.

(This post is giving me deja vu. If I've posted about "The Wisdom" before, please forgive me. If I've posted about The Wisdom and the facts differ from this post, then bear in mind ... "never let facts get in the way of a good story).

Clusters of Crocus...

...and clusters of utility boxes.

Spring is around the corner. These are psychologically trying days for Portlanders. Sunny, clear, blue-sky days have me itching to turn the soil. But the sun is inevitably followed by rain. Lots of rain. I bide my time, watching the beautiful crocus confronting the elements until I don't have to.

A Step in the Right Direction

Stacking blocks is one of my favorite skills to see the little 'uns master. For the past bit, every now and then I'd see if Syd was interested in the blocks. Not so. Until Sunday, out of the blue, Syd demonstrated said skill. Masterfully. Her highest tower was five blocks. Her usual is 2-3 blocks. However high, she gets a kick out of it.Especially when it crashes down. (And yes, that is gummed up fruit leather on her collar. At least I dug the sticky wad of it out from under her chin after she woke up from her nap).

Another favorite skill is learning to walk. Sunday, she balanced on her own for a couple of seconds. If you trick her, she'll walk with you holding just one hand for a few steps. She is super cute barreling around the house with the shopping cart. She'll push it full speed ahead, with her little bum sticking out, having to move fast to keep up with the cart. She stops when it hits a wall or other obstacle. Then she navigates around the cart so she's facing the other direction, and she's off. Back and forth. If this skill is like her approach to stacking blocks, I'm guessing one day she'll just decide, "Today I am going to walk." Walah.

For Jolly Ann

Where does the king keep his armies?