Feelin' 'Preciated

I don't just knit while I'm at work.  I do actually sell stuff, too, but the needlecraft is a good way to pass the time when business is slow.  And no, I did not make the exquisite sweater.  It came to me courtesy of Anthropologie.

Allow me to feel good about myself for a moment.

Last week I got a call from Kim, the wife-half of my employers at the olive oil stand.  If I haven't said so before, she and her husband Larry (and their grown children, Kayla and Louis and their spouses, Mario and Justine) are fabulous people, each and every one of them.  Kind of breaks my heart to think that I may not get to work for them much longer if Rob gets hired at the zoo.  But zoos are Rob's calling and peddling oils and balsamics was only something I took on to support the fam, and I'll get to stay home more with Goonie, but still, working with people like the Pitonis is priceless.  I haven't worked with them since before Christmas with January turning the Pittsburgh Public Market into a veritable ghost town, so I've been manning the fort till next week when they return to work.  Larry left us with their Saab station wagon (heated seats!) while he went to Florida for most of the week, which also made our lives easier this past weekend while Rob went to interviews and I worked.  Anyway, Kim called to tell me how much she appreciated the work I did for them, that when they were away I treated the business like it was my baby, and that she had gotten me a card to say so, along with a Trader Joe's gift card that she subsequently lost.  She told me that she made arrangements with the folks at TJs and I could just go in and pick up the newly-issued card they had waiting for me.  So we stocked up on our usual fare - bread, eggs, bananas, spinach, pasta, and sauce, and even got a package of samosas to tide me over until we can afford to go out to a good Indian restaurant (I've been having mad hankerings for Indian cuisine ever since I started reading Jhumpa Lahiri.  I'm going to start developing a Bengali accent if I don't watch it).  Of course I could attempt to make some myself, but I fear I wouldn't do it justice.  Plus, I love how you get to serve yourself with a teaspoon little pastel candies mixed with fennel seeds from a dear glass dish on your way out to aid your digestion.  Yum city.

It's just so nice to feel appreciated in a job.  Nothing like having someone tell you (a parent, not an employer in this case) that you've been "nothing but trouble since (you) got here, and it's a known fact," to make you feel completely unwelcome.  Yikes.  Sure, the pay's not as good, and the medical benefits are nil, but I'll take my current job any day over that last one.  When I feel like my efforts are being recognized it makes me want to work that much harder, putting that much more of myself into what I do.  It's so worth it.

Hat

Lookie here! It's the little baby boy hat that I finished today on my down time at work. Thanks, Deb, for helping me work through my many mistakes. I plan to give this to my newest nephew who is due in a month and will need a hat to keep his noggin warm during those cold Alaskan winters (and summers, for that matter). I'm going to work up a matching piece - a scarf, sweaters, or booties, depending on which is most successful. 

Speaking of work, tomorrow will be the second BYDtW day (Bring Your Daughter to Work); today Rob had an interview for an education position at the zoo (went very well) and tomorrow he's going back for a job fair just in case he finds something more appealing than doing conservation education (but he's more than okay with that). Having her strapped to me in the Ergo is cool for a couple of hours, but no more than that; she's a goon on the move and gets antsy after that much time. If today's sales were any indication, though, Cosimano e Ferrari would do well to hire her on as an adjunct employee since a large portion of the product I sold today was done before Rob came to fetch her. That her name is Olive is a tad gimmicky - most folks assume I'm the owner or at least the brains behind the operation, so I have to explain that my daughter's name and career choice were purely coincidental.

And Monday be movin' day! Yesterday morning I was greeted by the sweet, melodious sounds of a moving crew, up and at 'em in the front apartment. I never thought she'd get out, but I believe she'll be out as of tomorrow, and I get the privilege of letting in the cleaning crew on Monday. It gives me peace of mind knowing that we'll be occupying a freshly- and professionally-cleaned apartment, even if it doesn't stay that way for long once we've moved into it.

Last noteworthy tidbit: we have a walking goon on our hands! That's right - she's mobile. Not graceful, mind you, and probably never will be if her parents have anything to do with it, but over the past couple of days she's taken her first fumbling steps. She stands pretty well, then moves her little legs, tottering towards me and finishes with a playful crash into my arms. She hasn't attempted this feat without someone else there to catch her.  No pictures yet to back this up, but in time...

To Party or Not to Party?

Up until about three days ago I scoffed at the idea of throwing a birthday party for a one year-old. It seemed like an excuse for adults to have a bash for other adults under the guise of a celebration for a babe. With Olive's 12-month mark swiftly approaching I've warmed a little to the thought of donning my party apron, whipping together a yummy-yet-wholesome beet cake (my childhood friend Jessica has promised to provide me with the recipe from her brother) with which Goonie can cover her face, and having over a slew of our Pittsburgh friends and family. Plus, the thought of entertaining a few guests is much more appealing since we'll be in the new apartment by then (I hope. I'm not convinced, however). Before I'd gotten to know a little one so well, I was under the impression that a 12 month-old would have no idea what was going on. Sure, she may not have a really clear understanding of why - celebrating the day of her birth - but I'm fully convinced that she'd appreciate the company and any new foods she can shovel into her curious craw. Rob is still in the dark as to my plans; I've only really told Nina about my newfound desire to be "that mom", and she couldn't have approved more wholeheartedly. She'll be there with bells on. So this is my unofficial invitation to the Olive Marigold Alice Cramer 1st Annual Birthday Free-for-All. And to any readers who were around me during the years from 2000-2003, you may recall that I don't take this sort of thing lightly. Some serious fun just might be had...

Library Night with the Khoreys

Alas, I got to spend very little time with my family today, as I was out of the house by 9, went to clean for nearly four hours at Judy's, the woman who took me on as her housekeeper, bless her heart. I popped back in on Rob and an ever-cheerful Goon and lunched with them, then was back out the door to do some pre-Khorey errands (including my first trip to the Google office; I needed to drop off Kellie's loaned copy of Healthy Sleep Habits, Healthy Child to Mike since Google is much closer to me than their house. What a cool place! I took the elevator up to the 7th floor and found a bunch of 20-something computer genius ragamuffins playing in what appeared to be an arcade just past the reception desk. I did see the cubicles where work supposedly gets done, but Kellie's right - I don't feel one bit sorry for my brother-in-law having to go into work day after day in such an environment). When the kids got home from school today we began what is to become our Tuesday ritual: going to one of the Carnegie public libraries so the kids can do their homework, read, and bring home books. No doubt that part of this plan is to minimize the cost of books; Nina tends to blow through a novel in two days, and is forever in need of another to take its place, making the library the only economical choice. While the kids read and did homework I perused the knitting literature, ogling sweater patterns that were far too complicated; I put them back on the shelf for when I'm ready.

After the library we dined at LuLu's Noodles down the way - the very first restaurant I visited when I came to Pittsburgh in 2003 - a surprise for Kellie's 19th birthday. The Ryans took us there for a welcome dinner when we moved here in August, too, so I'm kind of fond of the place. I got a bath tub-sized bowl of ramen miso, with slices of fried bean curd and plump shiitake mushrooms floating in the hearty broth. Most of it came home with me. Alex, being adventurous, ordered duck lo mean and loved it, though claimed that it "hurt his heart". We capped off the evening as we like to do - with Razzy Fresh. I got home at 9, long after my sweet girl had gone to bed, but if I must spend an evening with folks other than family, I'm happy to do it with the Khoreys. I do love my job!

The accompanying pictures have little to do with the content of the post, but I know that some readers (i.e. my mom) glaze over when they see all of that text with nothing to back it up, so I give you more Buggy in her high chair, a glimpse of our oil and vinegar cabinet, and a delectable blood orange-and-chocolate muffin from Sustenance, a bakery at the Public Market. I scored this for free on Saturday when the folks who had Sarah, the baker, hold it for them while they shopped and never returned. Really, it's almost too pretty to eat, but we forced it down.

When in Picksburgh...

That's right. The Stillers (yes, Mom, this is the way it's spelled here in Pittsburgh, and you've got to figure these folks know best) made it through their final hoop last night and are Super Bowl-bound. Rob came home from the aviary yesterday telling me how one of his fellow interns had a ticket to the game but didn't really feel like going and sitting in the cold. He would've demanded she fork over the coveted ticket (he'd give nearly anything to go to a game; if I were a big-shot artist and had loads of dough to spend on treats for my beloved, a Steelers ticket would be one of the first things I'd give him) if he didn't mind sitting for hours with her boyfriend's family. He did mind, however, and got to watch ol' Black 'n Gold defeat the Jets on my laptop in the warmth and comfort of our kitchen. I have to say that it was pretty great to see them win; after hearing tales from my sis about houses set ablaze, cars turned onto their tops and schools having 2-hour delays the following morning, I was itching to see dem Stillers make it to the Super Bowl while we're living here.

11 months

Oh my Goon! Olive was 11 months old yesterday. Before heading off to work I popped into the bedroom to bid farewell to my loves; Rob was lounging while Olive clambered around the bed and he told me she'd just said "Hello". This didn't come as a surprise since Nina had reported similarly the other day. What a mighty sweet goon. Her disposition has only warmed - all she does is grin and shriek with glee; I cannot imagine a more pleasant baby. The sleeping has continued with much success, and I'm looking forward to the move (still!) to see if she'll sleep a little longer since she always wakes with our alarms and stays awake. As for the move, we've been trying to be patient - when I viewed the front apartment on January 2nd I was given the impression that, any day now, the tenant would be vacating. Well, the space is still very much occupied, but our landlady tells us that she'll be moving next weekend. Rob's been bringing home orphaned plants from the aviary and they're residing in the safety of our galley kitchen for the time being; ain't no way we're inviting a goon to dig in the dirt. I imagine they'll flank our living room fireplace once we move.

Olive has taken after both Rob and me in the eating department...girlfriend sure does like putting away the eats. According to Rob, she gobbled up over 40 ounces of solid food yesterday and, to our delight, she appears to prefer the vegetables over the fruits. This is grand, since most babes favor the sweeter fruits and vegetables get the old heave-ho, but not for our goon. Give her some peas, green beans, squash, and sweet potato (which we often call kiazi kitamu,the name of one of the gorillas at the zoo - "sweet potato" in a African tongue), and she's pleased as punch.

Ryans' Drop-In and My Addiction

Yesterday when I got home from a late morning with the Khoreys (they had a 2-hour delay due to the freezing rain that paved the roads and sidewalks in a sheet of slick ice. Walking to and from their house with Olive in the Ergo proved treacherous and slow) I got a call from ma sis, who was in the area and wanted to stop by. How I love living close enough where quick pop-ins of this sort are a semi-regular occurrence! We so rarely get over to their end of town, though it's only twenty-four minutes away; luckily Kellie and the gang usually find themselves over here on the east side fairly often and Olive is always thrilled to play hostess to her aunt and cousins. They only stayed for a bit since several of the kids were due for their naps, but it was delightful, as usual. Jack regaled us with news about his cat named "Kitten" and how it's on a special diet to make it smaller. Jackie Boy is nobody's fool - who doesn't want a cat to get smaller and stay small? Nobody.

I never liked being the absentee aunt living all the way up in Maine. This arrangement suits us all far better. Kellie, being a dear, loaned me her copy of Claire Montgomerie's Easy Baby Knits, and I couldn't dive into the Wrap Top sweater quickly enough. It's a simple design and didn't require of me anything I didn't already have on hand. I was still knitting when Rob retired with a bird book he's reading on loan from the aviary, and I spent the better part of two hours obsessively untangling the mass of yarn and rolling it into a neat ball. I've gotta say, there is something so therapeutic about meticulously picking your way through a maze of snarls and setting free every last strand. Voila - my candy yarn ball!

I may've gotten only four hours of sleep as a result, but it was so worth it. I've got several other projects on my plate at the moment (finishing the pencil portrait of the Khoreys to give to Lisa and Doug for Christmas. More like Valentine's Day..., banging out the last 8-10 illustrations for Sage, the Sea Lion Who Lost Her Roar, a wedding portrait requested by a friend of a friend, and a hand project for someone here in Pittsburgh who found an ad of mine on craigslist), but nothing's getting done till this ball has been transferred to the needles. I need it gone. At least it's a productive addiction - with so many vices there's nothing to show for it but a hole in the wallet, lung, liver, or what have you. It's great, too, do develop this creative side that also has practical application. I love to draw and paint, but I struggle with the utilitarian end of it - what're you gonna do with that painting besides hang it on the wall and look at it? Probably not a durn thing. So I'm making this here sweater for my Goon, and I'm making it on the large side so she can wear it next winter, too. In fact, I'm so keen on this yarn that I may have to unravel it once she's outgrown it and turn it into something equally useful. If I have anything to say about it, Olive's going to be wearing this ball o' yarn for the next thirty years.

Oh, that Dollbear Iris. Always dealing out the smiles. Such a sweetiedoll. She and Olive are going to have loads of fun...
Olive can appreciate a good noggin.

Musings on Football and Cables

I shocked myself this weekend with my intense desire for the Steelers to win against the Ravens. Though I've tried to in the past, I can't seem to get into football. Rob's a Fantasy Football fanatic, and I've expected part of that to rub off on me since I listen to his hyped-up accounts of the games with an open mind on a regular basis. Maybe I'm not trying hard enough, but I can't say that I fully get it. With the exception of Duke basketball, I've never been a sports nut, and all I've from the football that I've seen is that helmeted, brutish men hustle from end to end of the field when they're not entangled in piles of limbs on the ground. Touchdowns are scored. They're worth six points. And most importantly, when there are three minutes left on the clock, there are actually no fewer than forty-five.

Pittsburgh, needless to say, is a football-lover's paradise. I've never seen a place so enamored with any one thing. People actually paint their houses black and gold - perfectly acceptable colors for a football team and the memorabilia that comes with it - but not on a house. It just doesn't translate. On Saturday I was working at the market and didn't get the memo to wear my Polamalu jersey. If I'd seen a woman wearing a football jersey anywhere else I might think,Huh. But here that type of attire on woman is just as common as it is on men. Women also enjoy their Steeler earrings, necklaces, turtlenecks, tights. I wouldn't know either way, but I'm sure many of them also wear Steelers lingerie under their clothing. There was an older woman prancing around the market dressed as - I'm guessing - the Steelers Fairy - a black and gold feathered mask, a black and gold frilly jumpsuit, and wielding a gold-trimmed black parasol. Another phenomenon that I don't understand in the least: The Terrible Towel. A businessman-type was strolling through wearing a black wool duffel coat, as they are wont to do, but as he passed a saw that he had a gold Terrible Towel safety-pinned to his back. The Steelers played the Baltimore Ravens on Saturday, and I don't know if it was the overwhelming degree of spirit in my work environment, but I got swept up in it. If someone had tossed me a Hines Ward Jersey I think I would've thrown it on. Folks were out gathering eats for their parties, as if it were the Super Bowl n'at! It wasn't the plan, but the market closed an hour early because shopping traffic ground to a screeching halt at around 3:30, shortly before the game began. Larry and Kim, my bosses, popped in unexpectedly, just back from a trip to Florida. They said that nearly the all of the passengers were Floridian Steelers fan flying up for the game. Nuts. But really kind of fun, admittedly. We just have to win one more game next week against the Jets and then it's off to the Super Bowl.

Enough of that silliness. Moving on to craftier and more domestic things. Knitting cables. I think I've mastered it.

Another dish cloth for Rob. My guy - and impeccable dishwasher - deserves to have a cable-knit dish cloth, wouldn't you agree?

I'm getting so excited about starting in on this sweater for Olive I can hardly stand it. Just LOOK at this yarn. Breaks your heart, doesn't it? It's from Pamela Bryan at Pucker Brush Farm in Shelocta, PA, northeast of the city. She sometimes brings her spinning wheel and sets up shop at the market, and her yarns are all breathtakingly splendid. What an eye for color the woman has. I just want to dump a basketful of her yarns onto my mattress and wallow in it all day. Who's with me?

These photographs don't begin to do it justice. The colors are far more sumptuous in real life.

It's Official

I'd waited to announce it until I was certain, but while I was out on a run at the end of December I decided that I'd run the Pittsburgh Marathon this May.  This will be my third marathon, and I'm really excited about running in Pittsburgh this year, having done Baltimore in '06 and '08.  I have the use of the Khorey's treadmill for training when outdoor conditions are less than prime, and four full months to dedicate to training well.  Like last time, I am running to raise funds to support my shoe habit.  Kidding.  No one would ever accuse me of having a shoe fetish.  In all seriousness, I am raising money to give to the recipient of the Michael C. Snyder Memorial Scholarship.  Mike was an old, very good friend of mine who passed away in the summer of 2005.  Because of his devotion to the Big Brothers/Big Sisters organization, his parents, Dave and Mary,  established the scholarship in his name to be rewarded to a high school senior in Frederick County, Maryland, who is active in the organization (whether they are a Big or Little Brother or Sister), demonstrates financial need, and plans on pursuing a degree in art and/or education.  I was involved in selecting the recipient two years ago, and it brought me so much joy to be able to help the recipient, Timothy Jones, pay for part of his college tuition.  I hope to raise $1,000 this year, so if you're interested in donating I will soon provide more information on how you can go about doing that. 

I just hope that Rob will be able to locate parking by the end of the race; as it usually takes me about 5 hours to run 26.2 miles, he's got a little more time.

Snow Day!

Last night my kids (I'll sometimes refer to the three young Khoreys as "my kids", since I kind of see them that way. Who knew I'd love being a nanny so much? Not me.) were banking on a snow day today. The conditions were pretty dicey on my way home, and the chances looked good. Still, I got a message this morning saying that there was only a 2-hour delay, which is still pretty cool. Rob was long gone, off at the aviary, but as soon as Olive and I got up to get ready to take the Khoreys to school, I found out school was cancelled for the day. Ah! My first experience since my teaching days with a snow day. I'd forgotten that I, too, would be reaping the benefits! I used my unexpected day off to do a little cleaning of my own abode (my first day as a cleaning gal was a lot more pleasant than I'd imagined, and had the company of Judy, Rob, and their cat, Zoe, while I scrubbed their kitchen floor, de-cobwebbed windows, and vacuumed. After cleaning their bathroom - which wasn't bad to begin with - I decided it was time to give our tub some love. I still have a little more work to do on one side of it, as I ran out of baking soda mid-scrub, but boy, was it fun! I so love cleaning with vinegar and baking soda, too. It's so wonderfully effective and completely harmless to us. I could hardly wait to throw the Goon into it for her bath!

Note the lengthening and darkening locks

My paintings are finally finished and ready to go. I just need to construct a large cardboard envelope out of boxes we saved from Christmas for just this purpose. And I have to say, ol' Star Wars doesn't look half bad from a distance. Not half bad. An enormous weight has been lifted.

Ugh.

Standing practice with Papa

The salad we had for dinner. Spinach, juice of 1/2 a lime, candied pecans, 2 minneolas, 1 sliced bosc pear, dried cranberries, a blend of all of the balsamics we sell that I bring home at the end of the day, and Rob's delicious rosemary and olive oil croutons, fresh from the oven:

I can't get enough of that profile.

And last, but certainly not least, a little gray I found hiding in this bag in the kitchen. What a funny gray.

Soap Switch

Since moving here in August, I'd grown pretty fond of Trader Joe's tea tree oil soap. It's long lasting, fresh-smelling, and comes in a 2-pack for $1.99. Unbeatable, really. However, I was negligent in my purchasing of it a few months ago, not reading the label to ensure that there was no palm oil, which I was afraid there was. Soap was on my list when I went there this morning, and sho' 'nuff - palm oil in every last bar of soap they had on their shelves. I paid for my foodstuffs and hi-tailed it to Whole Foods, whose vast selection offered me a glimmer of hope, if not TJ's famously low prices. I stood there facing the wall of soaps with decadent-sounding blends like carrot and pomegranate with cranberry. Were I not on a no-palm oil mission and had money to burn (or dissolve, as it were) on $8 bars of soap, I'd sample a whole slew of these saponified goodies, but I was very limited in my choices today. Kiss My Face provided me with my only solutions - their olive oil soaps fit the bill to a T (or nearly. $3.99 for an 8 oz. bar isn't exactly a bargain, but is well worth the price considering their commendable ingredient list: saponified olive oil, water, sodium chloride, fragrance, and the chamomile and lavender extracts in each of the two bars I purchased). They're hefty bricks and should last us way longer than TJ's soaps did, and they're made with olive oil, folks! Y'all know how I love my olive oil!

My point of posting this is to remind people that palm oil is all over the place. It's like the Plague. You gotta be on your toes and watch out for this stuff, 'cause it's sneaky. Why no palm oil? In case some readers missed a post a few months ago, the cultivation of non-sustainable palm oil (if a product uses the sustainable variety it will explicitly say so; otherwise it's safe to assume that it's not) is seriously impacting the habitats of many animals in southeast Asia, including orangutans, in a bad, bad way. So bad that we can expect the species to be obliterated in fifteen years. It's up to consumers to effect a change by refusing to support the cycle. Read yo' labels, folks! There are always alternatives! Information is out there in abundance - just do a Google search. Here's a bit for more information: http://www.cmzoo.org/conservation/palmOilCrisis/

Lots of zoos are spreading the word on this crisis - in fact, my beloved husband is at the Pittsburgh Zoo as I type this participating in a Palm Oil Awareness task force meeting. It's serious business. To illustrate my point further I have included a few shots of a 5 year-old orang who is near and dear to us - Jiwa. Something to think about.

Li'l Problem

Aside from a couple of consecutive nights last week Olive has been continuing to be a star sleeper at night - but that's the key word: night. For several days now, she's been rising between 4:45 and 5:45 to belt out some pretty horrendous-sounding howls which I attribute to the dryness of our bedroom. It's cold as ice in there anyway, and we turn the thermostat way down low at night because I like it to be on the chilly side when I sleep, but lately I've been waking up positively parched. I'm a mouth-closed sleeper, so I can only imagine the intensity of my thirst if my mouth were open. Yikes. Anyway, it's safe to assume that Goonie has been suffering the same bouts of arid-mouth as I have. She'll usually sleep for ten hours straight, so I'm trying to keep this from sounding like a complaint. Girl-goon has come a long way in the last month, let me tell you. It's just that neither Rob nor I are ready to be roused at that early an hour, so this morning I put the call out for a humidifier on the Highland Park listserve, a resource that has not failed me yet (see also: free desk, free book case, free meat grinder, free curtains, free shelf, $5 trunk, the lending of staple guns, and our apartments, among other things I'm probably forgetting). In all likelihood we'll be inhaling some sweet, sweet water vapor by the day's end.

I'm about to head out to clean the bathroom and kitchen of this Judy lady I found through - what else - the listserve. Not thrilled. I'm grossed out, to be honest, but hopefully this will be the thing that finally spurs me into diving into the professional artist career I've always wanted. My mother, always such an encouraging advocate of what I can do with my hands, gave me a much-needed pep talk yesterday, so I've gotten the ball rolling. I'm having a website professionally designed by my old friend, fellow MICA grad, and mind-blowing artist/web designer, Lisa, so I'll finally be legit. Nobody wants to open files anymore - files are for amateurs; they want a link. I'm going to seek out an agent to represent me and find me the good jobs rather than the rinky-dink things I've been scrounging up on craigslist for pocket change so we can, in turn, by a few more bags of linguine. Here's hoping.

House Love

Although we're gearing up for another move, I know that this will only be temporary. I haven't abandoned the idea of staying on in Pittsburgh indefinitely and purchasing a home of our very own, whose walls I can plaster with Arts and Crafts-style wallpaper, and where we won't hear the sound of a neurotic shepherd mix's sharp barks on the other side of our door multiple times a day. Perhaps it's the idea of very soon being, as they say, "in the money"; tomorrow I take on Job #3 as a housekeeper for a woman in Morningside, one neighborhood over. No one who has seen where I live would ever, in their right mind, hire me to clean their home, as it's clear to anyone with eyes that I'm incapable of such a task, but the difference is that no one pays me to tidy up my living quarters. Not a big priority of mine, and it's long been a source of amazement how so many people pay someone to do it for them. I'd clean more often, but it's hard to make time to do that every single day when I know that, within mere hours, the place will return to its state of dishevelment. I'm cool with that.

As I was saying, I'll be raking in a little more weekly cash money AND a hospital bill I've been paying in monthly increments (thanks a lot, Olive. We got to pay for midwives and a c-section! Win-win!) is about to be paid in full, so I'll allow myself the luxury of taking ganders on craigslist at the local real estate listings. One of the many things to love about Pittsburgh is the remarkably low cost of housing. I set the price search low, knowing full well I'd find many attractive options. The second listing I saw was it. I'm totally smitten. It's in Regent Park, still on the east side of the city, but - at 5 miles away - not as close to the zoo as we are now. Still, take a look while the listing's still current. I have no expectations, and don't reckon we'll be in the market to buy a house anytime soon, really, but it's still awfully fun to look! I love the current owners' color choices, the kitchen layout (and the cupboard! Oh, that clean white cupboard!). And the yard is already gardened-up and ready to go! I'd have to check and see if there'd be enough room for some chickens as that will be the deal-breaker when we do decide to buy a home. Still, this is pretty sweet, I think, and just what our family could use. Oh, and look at the price tag. I love you, Pittsburgh.

A Dancing Goon, Star Wars, and a Dish Towel

I'll go in the order listed above:

The Goon has been getting into the groove of the music that she's been hearing for the past month or so, and it's nothing short of hilarious. When a song comes on with a beat that resonates with her (the current song, Sufjan Stevens' slightly discordant and electronic "You Are the Blood" doesn't move her), she'll start bopping and bouncing in time. As I painted (see below), I turned on the iTunes on my computer and as I still haven't filled my still-new MacBook with too much data, the selection is sparse and consists solely of a smattering of numbers from Dark was the Night, a compilation of works from some of my favorite musicians. Get yourself a belated Christmas present, 'cause it's grand. DWN tracks, some unreleased Ryan Adams material from my buddy Carlos, a bunch of my deal pal Bruce's original songs performed by the man himself, which harken back to the early '60s with their catchy melodies and unabashed sunniness, and a song that, for whatever reason, is on the play list four times, and recently played four times consecutively: a recording that Bruce made of me playing and singing (in two part harmony) a Gillian Welch and David Rawlings song, "I Wanna Sing that Rock and Roll". I don't know if she recognized it as me singing, but she wouldn't take her serious eyes off my face, bouncing and swaying all the while. Anyway, between her bodily movement and her perpetual fixation on banging and whacking, I believe her rhythmic skills at nearly 11 months are foreshadowing a career as a sessions drummer. I think she'd like Nashville a lot; I sure did.

Okay, the painting. No photograph will accompany this because I am far from proud of it. It's not awful, but I certainly don't love it, though much of that has to do with the subject matter. The Return of the Jedi poster copy means little to me, having never seen any of those movies. Also, I was requested to do the vertical image in a horizontal format, making the proportions a wee bit off. Plus, I wasn't having much luck finding a better online image than the one from which I've been working so, blown up, the details are pixilated beyond recognition, so I'm trying to do the best with the muddled information I have. Never mind the fact that I labored to lessen the presence of Wendell's dark pawprints from numerous places on the painting. I still know they're there. Still, when I glance at it I think it's all right. Good contrast, composition, colors. I'll be finished with it blessedly soon and will mail it and the Winslow Homer oil replica off to Maine early in the week. When I can wash my hands of this double project, there are still two overdue Christmas presents requiring my immediate attention! Then 8-10 more sea lion illustrations for this book that's been over two years in the making. Boy, will I be relieved when theses things have been complete! Having an increasingly active and demanding goon make it harder to get as much completed as I like, but lately she's been cool entertaining herself in the same room as me, knowing that I'm so nearby. And I can periodically reach down, scoop her up, squeeze her and pepper her rosy cheeks with kisses and watch her grin grow wide.

And dish towel...what's this? Friday at the market was the slowest day I've experience since working there. Luckily I came prepared with one of the books I'm reading (The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri, one of the most stunning writers I've read. The movie on which it's based is pretty good, I thought, if not about thirty minutes too long, but the book is wonderful.), and was able to plow through a good eighty pages during my down time. Debbie my neighbor there, who sells handmade jewelry and knitted and crocheted scarves and headbands, had just started offering needle craft lessons to the public, and I recently bought some hand-spun and -dyed yarn from another market vendor with which I'd like to make something other than a scarf. Preferably a cute sweater for Olive. I decided to sit in with Debbie and let her teach me to read a pattern and learn how to do some different stitches. Breakthrough of the day: I really didn't know how to purl. For about ten years I've been doing some stitch that I thought was a purl but is not at all. I learned about yarning over and when to not yarn over. I was so enlightened! I chose a pattern that I liked from one of Deb's books, a lovely cable-and-lace combo, then jumped into working up a little sample in the form of a dish towel. Now my little job didn't turn out like the pattern, as I wanted to simply get to where I could knit and purl fluidly, so I improvised. I was excited to present Rob with my little green handicraft, but I overestimated the amount of yarn I had left and was unable to cast it off, so now I'll have to wait until next Friday when I can take my nearly completed towel and finish it with something from Debbie's scrap bag. Rob is the dishwasher in our house, so I knew he'd appreciate it, but hey - it'll be just in time for MLK Day!

Highland Park, We're Yours (Crisis Evaded!)

It's really amazing the way things work out. I'd gotten myself a tad worked up over my debate about 420 School Street in Verona, PA; even in my dream I cornered Rob because we hadn't spent much time discussing the situation. He left for the aviary early this morning, though, so there was no time to talk it over with one another, but as I went about my day I kept feeling like the benefits of living in an inexpensive apartment - with an organ! - in a suburb of Pittsburgh were being outweighed by our ever-growing love of Highland Park. Highland Park is lovely. I adored it when we first arrived four and a half months ago, and my admiration for it has only increased, and this is home. Still, out of courtesy for our landlady, I sent her an e-mail to give her the heads-up about our potential move. She replied soon after, telling me that her father, who owns the house, had just decided that he'd be willing to accept a lower rent amount than he was asking for the soon-to-be-available front two-bedroom apartment. I had time to view the space before going to work, so I popped over to survey the space, and boy was it nice! Like, nice-nice. It was hard for me to believe that the two apartments occupied the same floor of the same house. Lots of nice details - high ceilings, a decorative green-tiled fireplace, dark wood moulding, little built-in shelves, a stained glass window, and ample counter space in the kitchen that is practically begging to have dough kneaded upon it (I haven't baked bread - a thrice-weekly activity - since we lived in Maine). As if this weren't enough, we could hardly ask for an easier move. The tenant is moving to Maryland, and as soon as she clears out her belongings and has the carpet cleaned, we're in! And the only thing that will change will be our apartment number. Check it, and please bear in mind that these pictures are strictly utilitarian and don't do the place justice. More to come, once it becomes Chez Cramer...

I'm not in love with the wall color in the kitchen. Good thing the landlords are down with us painting! And get a load of the double sink!

Dilemma du Jour

Okay, so back to the apartment hunt. After Zoe's brief visit, I swore that the next time she came to Pittsburgh she could have a room of her own, and not a makeshift alcove behind two curtains in the living room. I'm always on the hunt, and last week I came across a steal of a deal: a 2-3 bedroom apartment in Verona, just up the river a bit, putting us in tauntingly close proximity to Nicky's Thai Kitchen, our favorite Thai place in Pittsburgh (that's not even in Pittsburgh. Go figure). Rob proposed that we eat there on our anniversary if we're still in the area. Major splurge, as we haven't treated ourselves to a meal at a restaurant since we were in Maine. We went to view the place this evening, at 420 School Street. For the record, I'm not wild about the address, as all it does is call to mind all of those moronic stoner jokes - and a school for such things, no less! I won't be readily giving out my address should we move. But the residence was nice, and on a quiet, dead-end street. Lattice supporting a web of creeping ivy edged the front porch, whose pillars featured Victorian-style woodwork in the corners. I didn't bring my camera so I'm doing my best to describe the facade of the yellow house. We waited in the car for Jeff, the owner's son and most recent tenant, who is moving out due to his upcoming nuptials. Mazel tov, Jeff! He arrived and took us upstairs for the tour. I noted with approval the cleanliness of the carpet. I'm not a fan of the stuff, as a rule, but really appreciate when people bother to keep it clean. It makes all the difference, especially with a floor-bound wee one. On the second floor was a bathroom, kitchen (complete with washer and dryer!), and living room with a fireplace and - drumroll..... - an electric organ. Rob's eyes lit up like a toddler's on Christmas morn. "Does the organ stay?" he asked, his voice rising in pitch and anticipation. Yes, Jeff is hoping to rid himself of his late grandmother's organ onto the next tenant, and Rob has been itching for an organ, or anything on which he can make creepy music to amuse the Goon. Major selling point, that organ. The upstairs was like many other Pittsburgh third floors: vaulted ceilings in the main room with one or two smaller rooms coming off of it. The main room was cozy, and I don't mean that as a euphemism for confining. While not overly spacious, it just had a nice feel to it, like I'd want to retire there at the end of the day. On either side of the room were two smaller rooms - rooms that would make perfect bedrooms for our girls. Now, I don't mind too much sharing a bedroom with Goonie but, for instance, just a moment ago Rob went in to go to bed and the slight noise of him poking about in the inky blackness of our bedroom in search of the bed roused her from her light sleep and caused her to cry for a minute. All is well now, but you see what I'm saying? Ideally we won't be sharing a bedroom for too much longer, because we can't just unwind by going to bed with a good book. Man, those days are ovah. My reading happens either when I'm nursing her or when I'm waiting for the Khorey kids to get home, so I'm not getting through my reading nearly as quickly as I was a few months ago.

Why did I not scrawl out a check for Jeff right there on the spot? Did I mention that this place is $450 a month and that a better deal probably will not be found anytime soon? This is where my list of cons comes in. We Cramers are a one-car family, and Rob's new internship is 14 miles away on bike. To me, someone who would think nothing of taking off on a 40-mile spin, this seemed nominal, but then I realized that Google Maps' quote of 1 hour and 33 minutes is a bit much for a commute three to four days a week. I'd need the car to get to the Khoreys', who will no longer be .7 miles away. Do I drive my sweet husband to the aviary at 6:40 Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays, have him take the pricey public transportation, or tell him to be a true champion of the environment and be a cycling commuter? Also, this internship will only last a few months, so this quandary in which we're finding ourselves will not last long. When city folk move out to the 'burbs, I guess these are the things they must consider.

Any suggestions?

The Year of the Goon

The first day of 2011 was nearly as nice as the one before, though a little drizzly for my liking (let it be known that I'd never survive in the Seattle area; rain like that is bad business), but fortunately for us, our day's activity was mostly indoors. You see, tomorrow Rob begins his illustrious internship at the National Aviary, and he'd yet to suss out the facility, so we took a little Internship Eve family outing. For one thing, the aviary seems to be in a very choice part of town, on Pittsburgh's North Shore of the Allegheny River, surrounded by parks, handsome hardwood trees, and charming Federal-style rowhouses. Were Rob not hoping to get a paid position at the zoo in the spring, I'd be all for relocating to this neighborhood. Oh, but then I remember that we're just a hop and a skip a way from such conveniences as Trader Joe's, Whole Foods, The Home Depot, the Khoreys, and I have no desire to leave Highland Park.

So about the aviary...Wow, what a nice place! A girl named Joey who works in the veterinary department gave us a tour of the hospital where caged invalid birds were being nursed back to health (and whose lives were being ridiculously prolongued; there was a 24 year-old wading bird of some sort whose life expectancy in the wild would have been twelve years. Pretty astounding). The Goon was captivated by the birds she saw, particularly some of the brilliantly-colored macaws. I feel inclined to agree with her - they are magnificent. Perhaps the coolest exhibit was the penguin's outdoor enclosure, where visitors can watch them clamber awkwardly up the rocks and then plunge into the pool below. A chest-high clear wall separates viewers from the penguins, each marked with an identification band on a flipper. We were able to reach in and touch their silky-soft feathers and, though they were a bit snappy, I soon learned that their beaks aren't too sharp. What fun little critters they are! Also great was the fact that many of the birds are free to flit about the open exhibits, making it so that you're walking through their habitat rather than simply looking into individual cages, which makes for a much more interactive and natural experience. I was very impressed with the quality of the exhibits and the aviary in general.

Look at this guy! What amazing hair! I half expected him to break into a James Brown number; maybe he was just holding out on me.

Finally, what New Year's feast is complete without black-eyed peas? I'd soaked some overnight, having no idea what to do with them, but winging it worked out pretty well. I used the ingredients I had on hand - a bag of carrots that was beginning to go south, white, bristly roots shooting forth all over the place, a Vidalia onion, dried parsley, cumin, thyme, curry powder, garlic powder, salt, and pepper - and I've got to say that I was pretty pleased with the soup that resulted. A dish of roasted root vegetables rounded out the meal. Presumably the peas will bring us good luck in the new year. If 2011 is even half as good as the two preceding years, I'll be delighted.