Aviarying and Lanterning

Yesterday, thanks to our extra vehicle (my boss, Lisa, graciously lends us her Toyota Highlander hybrid when she goes out of town), Olive and I went down to the National Aviary to visit Rob on his rare lunch break. Often he's too busy to stop to eat, plowing through nine straight hours of bird-tending, so we were fortunate to enjoy some of his spare time with him. I'll say it again: the aviary is way cool. I particularly enjoy the Wetlands exhibit - and this specimen especially:

Back on the home front I've been working on doctoring up things a bit. I finished painting the living room, though I ran out of paint and will eventually give some areas a second coat. A couple of eBay finds, some paper lanterns, arrived a few days ago, so I went last night to the Home Depot to pick up some wiring components so I could rig up the big boy over our dinging table. I'd nearly forgotten how much I love electrical wiring projects - the snipping and the splicing to create your desired lighting arrangement. This will be a pleasant alternative to the awful overheat light fixture in the room: a trio of energy-efficient bulbs encased in a brass cage circa 1977. I'm all for using those bulbs and saving dough when my Duquesne Light bills come 'round, but have no desire to ever lay eyes on them; they're uglier a dog with mange.

Next on the home improvement agenda: painting the kitchen Scotland Isle and the bedroom Japanese Maple (or green and plum in layman's terms).

Birthday Goon!

Last night as I stood high atop a wooden ladder painting our living room I kept reflecting back on one year ago, February 21st, when I'd waited anxiously for my labor - already two days in - to advance to the point where I could finally get into the birthing tub in our living room to deliver our little Olive. I can scarcely recollect the mind-numbing pain of the contractions, the frustration over never getting to dip so much as a pinkie toe into the tub, and the sleep deprivation that only added to my nuttiness during that Presidents' Day weekend. I remember that these things were happening, but in retrospect all I can really see is that darling Goon, all bright, wide eyes, infectious grin, soft voice and effervescent giggle. An entire year has passed and each day I've been nothing but thankful for the road - particularly at the end -that brought us together. I could not have hand-picked a sweeter child. Yesterday at the Home Depot picking up paint, the woman at the counter exclaimed that "She could be in commercials!" "Yes, I know," I said. "We're very lucky that she's ours." Her adorable looks are only half of it; it's her personality that makes her what she really is: a Little Sweet, as Rob always calls her.

Today we were treated to a special birthday outing with Kellie, Jack, Gail, and Iris. They came to fetch us just as Olive was getting out of her crib (not up from a nap - those didn't happen today) and then we headed out in the radiant and snow-melting sun for a long-awaited visit to Razzy Fresh. It was perfect, since I never got around to baking a beet cake for Olive, so she got to enjoy a bowl full of fresh fruit. Jack and Gail were pleased to present their cousin with a "surprise": a box of two lemon-themed yellow and blue summer suits and a Elizabeth Mitchell kids' songs cd, You Are My Little Bird. Very sweet stuff, and it gets extra points for track 11 being a cover of Gillian Welch and David Rawlings' "Winter's Come and Gone", a song I really adore. As always, it was terrific to see our wonderfully local family. Olive is fascinated by Kellie's kids, and I'm really looking forward to when they're (Olive and Iris, namely) old enough to really know what's going on and become good pals.

Happy first birthday, our precious Olive. We love you so, so, so much!

That sweetiedoll, Iris

And this is why I thought I wanted a boy. Isn't he dear?

Razzy Goon

The birthday feast!
Not loving something - either the kiwi or the coconut I put in her craw.

Tearing into a gift from Aunt Schelly: a super-rad Twilight Ladybug - a ladybug lantern that projects stars onto the ceiling. Really neat.

Yuck Goon

Last night Buggy was up a couple of times in the night crying. This happens from time to time and she always settles herself and goes back to sleep, so we thought nothing of it. However, when I woke this morning a sudden thought crossed my mind: bad food. A jar of carrots had been rolling about the living room and table area for several days, rendering it inedible. I roused Rob to ask him if he'd fed her that particular jar of carrots and he believed he had. Could this soured mash have caused Olive's nighttime distress? He said he'd smelled it and it smelled fine; I asked him to taste it in the future to test its fitness for consumption. We went in to her room shortly after when we heard her awake and sure enough, Goonie and the entire contents of the crib were caked in orange vomit. Yuck City. I felt pretty guilty for ignoring her cries in the night when she was going through what appeared to be a doozy of a time. I stripped her down, changed a frightfully messy diaper, nursed her, then we tossed her in the tub to rinse away evidence of the night before. Though she could've suffered a bout of the stomach bug that was circulating, plaguing both the Ryans (with whom we'd had no contact) and the Khoreys, who are much like siblings to her, I believe this was simply a case of carrots gone south. Lesson learned.

A Cuddlegoon was what we had to show for her night of sickness. Not too bad.

Smoking: No Apologies

All of my life I have been quite outspoken about one subject in particular: smoking. I've written numerous papers and persuasive speeches on the subject, and was always morbidly fascinated with my findings because I'm still unable to figure out the allure (except how daggone amazing it makes you look). Take a gander at my girl, Britney Spears. What a class act! If only I had a handful of snapshots (and killer fashion sense!) of my pregnant self like this to show Olive...

Having a daughter has only amplified my intolerance for it, as it is now my duty to protect no only myself but her. I recently offended an acquaintance with a rant directed at no one in particular; this was spurred by a walk that Olive and I took today where I witnessed countless people out enjoying the terrifically balmy weather in the upper 60s smoking cigarettes (which did sully my experience a little bit), many of whom were mothers with their tots in tow. Sure, people in this country are free to smoke in most outdoor spaces. People are free to smoke around their kids all they want, with the exception of their cars in the states of Arkansas, Louisiana, California, and - get this - Maine, with varying age limits. I'm looking forward to the day that this law is passed nationwide, but folks be gripin' that the state is interfering too much with their right to smoke in the privacy of their vehicles. Fortunately, the government feels like children's rights override this privilege. Crazy, huh?

So yes, I realize that I have a beyond-zero-tolerance policy when it comes to tobacco (and other similar substances, but back to the topic at hand), but I can't apologize for it. Perhaps I need to be briefed again on the benefits of smoking? I do not believe in being narrow-minded and intolerant of others for political or religious choices, or things that cannot be helped like race, background, or physical or mental afflictions, but smoking is a choice that people make. People choose to smoke around their children, just as former smokers make the choice to quit smoking because they are pregnant or have a child. It's the folks that opt to ignore the scientific facts that smoking is deadly. Smoking does have a very negative effect on children, and when smokers turn a deaf ear to the statistics in favor of nursing their additions, it totally gets my goat in the worst way. Cigarette smoke, believe it or not, is chock full o' toxic chemicals that envelop the smoker like the dust around Pig Pen from Peanuts. They continue to exhale these foul compounds minutes after the cigarette is crushed out on the sidewalk (I'm not going to get started on this major indiscretion), and the stuff clings to their hair and clothing fibers for who-knows-how-long. I've got serious beef with smoking 'round the wee ones for lots of reasons, but hear this one: newborns intake breath on an average of 60 times per minute (14-18 for adults), and the number of breaths gradually slow around five years of age, so our babes are getting a much higher concentration of this vile stuff in their still developing lungs! Double-whammy. So forgive me for wanting to give every new mother with a cigarette a severe talking-to (if not a good throttling). The little ones don't have a choice in the matter, and they're the ones who end up suffering. I'm sure most mothers would strongly object to allowing their kiddos to splash about in a bathtub filled with mercury or snack on lead paint chips. Of course - they're poisonous substances? So why on earth do they not take the same stance where smoking is concerned? Maybe if there were more mercury and lead addicts out there I'd have a good argument.

I thank the Lord that I didn't wind up a tobacco fiend, and maybe I should just leave it at that, but I can't help but wish that other mothers would clap it up and do something for the good of their kids and kick the habit. With children come some compromises, but I guess not everyone sees it that way or is willing to make them. Call me an overly-protective mother, (and this is easy for me to say) but my Goon is important enough to me to not gamble with her health if I can help it.

A Goon and her Bath

Look at the curls starting to form!

There are few things Olive enjoys more than an evening bath. Last night, however, she discovered she could put her fingers in the holes of the drain and remove the cover, and we responded to this with Nos. Fortunately this is all it takes because she immediately obeys, but she's very sensitive and crumples and dissolves into a pitiful fit of tears. It's a little bit heartbreaking, because we use firm but not sharp tones when we catch her with her hand in the dirt of a potted plant, but she knows she's doing something she oughtn't be doing and it upsets her that we're displeased. Poor little girl.

Discipline aside, we're getting excited for her first birthday next week. Can it really have been 53 weeks ago that she arrived?

3 Years Ago Today...

...I was introduced by Alice St. Clair to the most extraordinary man in the world. Finally, since he'd disappeared after I'd first seen him play George Bailey in a community theater production of It's a Wonderful Life and I'd had my I'm-going-to-marry-him-one-day psychic experience two months prior. Alice and I walked in to the Rose Garden where he was working and I thought, Of course! I don't know why I hadn't checked there before. Probably because I was living the life of a recluse at the time and usually didn't venture too far from my apartment if it wasn't necessary; I'd come in contact with some bona fide wierdos so I was playing it safe. Anyway, our first meeting was nothing short of magical. I ordered and he served me Red Rose black tea in a brown mug. I may or may not have gotten a refill. Nothing in the way of small talk - just our names, really, and those were delivered by Alice - but I knew that something monumental had been accomplished that evening, and it was easily the best Valentine's Day to date.

Spades!

Last night we did something new: We had over a couple - Sarah and Rich - to play Spades. I'd grown to really miss our evenings of card playing with Anne and Rafi when we lived in Eastport and decided to do something about it. I posted an ad on the Highland Park listserve looking for some game partners and I soon got several replies. Sarah and I made arrangements for her and her boyfriend, Rich, to come to our place last night for Spades. I was a little bit nervous having never met them before, and knew very little about them other than their mutual love of game-playing. It had the potential to be very awkward and uncomfortable, but I liked them the moment they came through the door. They have three children between the two of them - Rich's daughter is Zoe's age which means a potential playmate for her this summer. When Sarah had asked if she could bring anything with them, I told her to bring some music she likes. We were impressed with the selection: The Broken Bells (whom we love), a live Avett Bros. (some favorites of Rob's), Willie Nelson and Emmylou Harris (great), and the Mountain Goats, new to us but good. We played a really fun round of Spades (Sarah and I lost to the guys, but not by much), then introduced them to Quiddler since they're Scrabble fanatics, and that went over really well. We then sat around and talked about music, movies, food, our backgrounds, and how much we all love Pittsburgh. It was really nice to spend time with other people in our neighborhood, and we're planning to do it again soon, next time at their house, just three blocks away from us.

Also of note: our raw, grain-free cat food operation is officially underway. Rob spent a good part of Friday night exerting himself at the manual meat grinder, sending chickens - bones and all - through the machine. The cats are not falling over themselves for it just yet, but they'll warm to it in time. Actually, Wendell wouldn't touch it, but Ché was more accepting, so when Wen saw her lapping at it he barreled in and pushed her out of the way so he could help himself to her serving. Typical. His blog will soon feature a detailed account of the procedure, complete with enticing visuals! Tune in to notesfromabiophile.blogspot.com soon!

Some shots of our upwardly-mobile goon!

Woe be a Furnace Pilot Light

Sot our furnace's pilot light has been undergoing some major problems, to the tune of blowing out four times since we've moved in. I don't recall our heat going off while living in the back apartment, but three times in the first week we were without heat, and today is frigid outside and in. I got home, felt chilly, but I attributed that to our walk back from the Khoreys' in temperatures that felt like the teens. Bitter cold. I cranked the heat up higher than usual since yesterday, another cold one, required the thermostat to be set closer to 70 than the normal 60. But, like the other times, the humming rush of warmth did not accompany my turning of the dial, and I sat freezing in my wool coat, cold nose dripping. The last time it happened Rob had been shown by our neighbor, Danny, how to relight the pilot light. Obviously this is a man's job and no business of mine because my landlady kept saying, "We'll show Rob how to light it." This works just fine when Rob's here, but he's over at the aviary for the better part of the week, leaving Olive and me to huddle as close to the space heater as possible. She doesn't complain, but her shivering betrays her real feelings. No one is about today to fix the problem. Call me crazy, but I'd say a new furnace is in order. I mean, I'm paying rent so perhaps they should spring for a working heating system. I'm this close to lighting a fire in a metal trash can, or requesting a rent reduction.

N-Tense!

Just wanted to give a quick shout-out to the Duke basketball team. I was about to finish up my five-mile run on the Khorey's treadmill while waiting for Olive's diapers to tumble dry, and I joined Alex for the first half of the game. It was a killer night. Kept me on the edge of my seat for two hours since they were down till midway through the second half. Way to pull through, boys. No team has more integrity and heart. It always fills me with joy to watch them play. This is where my sports fanaticism really comes through - especially when they play UNC, their biggest rivals. Both teams played a great game, and now I can go to bed happy. I'd rather see Duke win than have a Steelers victory anyway, so this more than compensated for the Super Bowl loss last weekend. Great job, guys. Congratulations on a stellar team, Coach K.

Let Me Count the Ways

Everything's still coming up roses here in Pittsburgh. This morning I was musing about the many things I love about this place...

1. Wing Fat Hong, the asian market where I shopped yesterday for thai ingredients and Rob's beloved Sriracha sauce. Their merchandise is criminally cheap; I felt like I had committed a misdemeanor when I walked out with a cardboard box full of eats (cans of coconut milk, green curry paste, and sliced bamboo shoots, tins of white and oolong teas, brown jasmine rice, a package of cellophane noodles that could easily feed the Steelers, and chili sauce) having only paid the sweet, soft-spoken cashier $26. I towered over all the other customers, being the only caucasian I spied in the aisles. I so rarely get a chance to feel tall, so Wing Fat Hong, you'll be seeing me again soon!

2. Stillers Mania. Though their defeat last night by the Packers was painful and humbling, I've grown to really enjoy the ludicrous frenzy into which Pittsburghers whip themselves. Still owning no Steelers attire, I showed my support yesterday by wearing a golden yellow sweater over a black shirt, which actually looked pretty sharp. Saturday was the real day to people-watch, however. The entire Strip District, where the market is, is also home to countless vendors hawking Steelers paraphernalia. It's a gaudy, tacky, Steelers-lover's paradise. They were out in droves despite the rain and, terrible as this is, I was grateful for the minor fender-bender on Penn Ave., the main drag, for allowing me to freely walk on the street; the ordinarily crowded sidewalk was all but impassable with people stopped to purchase "Steelers Fans Bleed Black & Gold" t-shirts, Terrible Towels, and football-shaped baked goods. Nuts. I picked the wrong day to shop for bulk olive oil, finding the Pennsylvania Macaroni Company filled to the gills, making pre-Thanksgiving food shopping look piddly in comparison. I had half a mind to run screaming but I strengthened my resolve, gripped my red basket and pushed my way through the hoards and got my three liters of Spanish olive oil. Whew. No harm done. And though I suffer from a wee bit of agoraphobia, the passion is contagious, and I find dudes like this endearing:

3. The job opportunities! On Friday my wonderful Rob was offered a position at the zoo's Kids' Kingdom. Sure, he kind of felt like that was in the bag all along, and he's still waiting to hear about the education position there for which he interviewed, but it's nice to know that he'll be an official Pittsburgh Zoo employee in the near future. The Kids' Kingdom gig, while not quite as lucrative or illustrious, will be flexible enough to allow him to stay on at the aviary one day a week and me to stay at the market on the weekends. Either way, it's a win-win-win. And while I'm on the subject, I've been working on logos for my own place of employment. Cosi e Ferrari is undergoing a name change, so we will henceforce be known as Olio Fresca. We liked the old name better, but I didn't really have a say in the switch - I'm just the sign gal. Here's the rough draft of what will soon be our company design, with my obligatory hand-drawn font:

4. Local organic popcorn. On Friday at the market my Amish buddy, Mose, was selling little bags of golden nuggets - his neighbor's home-grown popcorn! I leapt about three feet into the air with unbridled glee; you see, Rob and I are always scouting local suppliers for our staples, and popcorn is at the top of the list. A dude at our neighborhood farmers' market just started bringing in bulk grains that he orders wholesale, but there was still too much middle man going on for it to make it worth it. But Amish and 50 miles north is about as good as it gets. Mose is going to inquire about what he can do about a 50 pound bag for us and we'll be all set. We also have two of Mose's spent hens in our freezer waiting to be ground into cat food once the other key ingredients (taurine, without which Ché and Wendell would go blind, vitamin E, and vitamin B complex, and salmon oil) arrive by mail in two days.

5. Not that this has anything to do with Pittsburgh, but I feel like it deserves mad props, nonetheless...Turbotax. This year was the fourth in a row I have utilized this invaluable tool for filing my taxes. A friend compared it to a game show in that you get to watch your refund rocket higher and higher as you enter in your deductions. Thank goodness for Turbotax and its user-friendliness; till then I was still using my father to file my taxes, handing over my (sometimes five or six) W-2 forms and letting him do my dirty work. On Friday night I sat down with our two forms at 7:16, noodled around with my numbers, and by 8:00 I'd received my e-mail confirmation that both my federal and state forms had been accepted and I can expect the refunds to land in our account in the next two weeks. Since we're expecting such a hefty return we're going to treat ourselves to a moving service. We were going to have to head back up to Maine to retrieve our belongings from our storage unit, but a good time doesn't seem to be presenting itself and having to make monthly payments is really cramping our style. After doing some research I found that, for a few hundred more dollars we can hire some guys to bring our stuff to us. Sounds like a sweet deal to me. I cannot express the relief I'm feeling from the thought of not having to make the 18-hour trip up there with Olive, emptying the unit and turning around and caravanning back to Pittsburgh in the span of 2-3 days. A new lease on life, folks. It would've been sweet to see some of our friends up there, but it would've been rushed. Another time...

Apartment 1: Home at Last!

All Monday afternoon I had my ear to the wall, waiting out the cleaning crew that had come to get our new apartment spic-n-span.  As soon as they drove off I began transferring the contents of our place into the new (and only had to venture outdoors once for a larger piece of furniture that wouldn't have made it around the corners between the apartments).  I'm pretty pleased with the space, though it's not without its flaws: more street noise, bathroom lacks a window, shower water pressure is sub-par, carpet is not brand new, kitchen cabinets don't have knobs.  Oh, and the gas has inexplicably been off all day, so Buggy and I are about to high-tail it to the Khoreys to bask in the heat a few hours early.  You know, real near-deal-breakers.  The flip sides to these sacrifices are plentiful, however: stunning views (particularly at night) of the lit-up stained glass windows of the Union Project next door, a few stained glass windows of our very own in the living room and entryway, the entryway, charming details characteristic of houses built in Pittsburgh in the 1920s, high ceilings, our very own room (not that I've minded sharing with Goon for the last 11 months.  On Monday night we remembered the last night we had a room without Olive: I was hopped up on a homeopathic cocktail to allow me a few hours of rest while Rob timed my contractions.  GOOD TIMES!) - and a room that doesn't conjure up memories of working in a walk-in produce cooler, no less, and wainscoting.  Heavens, the wainscoting takes my breath away whenever I see it.  I didn't know how deprived I'd been all these years until just the other day and I now I don't remember how I got along pre-wainscoting.  Sort of like trying to remember what life was like pre-Olive.

We noticed this little guy last night.  Animals are literally coming out of the woodwork!

I do love built-in shelves.

The delightful dining nook
See there?  Wainscoting.

Off to explore her new surroundings