The Work of a Goon

Have a look at Buggy's latest:

Rob commented the other day as she methodically tapped away, "She's stippling." I hear a lot of folks observing that she looks just like Rob, but with this I can safely say that she's my child. She's kind of special, our little gal.

An Evening with the Avetts

Taking full advantage of our urban locale and no longer being complete and utter paupers, Rob and I are treating ourselves to more and more live music. Last night was an evening with the Avett Brothers (not to mention about a quarter of Pittsburgh's under-35 smoking demographic). I'd been dubious about the crowd prior to going and my suspicions were confirmed, but it was a wonderful performance, nonetheless. Into the final leg of the show I got used to the cloud of noxious fumes and gave in, recalling the summers of 2002 and 2003 where I spent the majority of my off-work hours with Elaine, an old friend who blew through packs of Camels like they were her lifeblood. I hadn't been around so much secondhand smoke since then, so it was an adjustment, but leaving the venue was my only solution, and missing out on the show didn't seem worth it. I suffered for the cause, you could say. For those of you who are down with it, enjoy some vicarious clips:

Our sweet Katrina came and watched Olive for us and Rob came and picked me up from work. The Goon was more than happy to see him go and be left to wile away the evening with her pal. It's nice for the two of us to get out alone every once and a while. He's a sweet date, that Rob Cramer.

A Walk with a Friend

Last week I met Catherine and Dylan when they came to our home to meet us while searching for an in-home nanny. While the position wasn't going to work out, I was thrilled to've found another mother in the neighborhood with a child not too much younger than Olive with whom to spend a little downtime. Catherine contacted me this morning to invite me out for a walk with her, Dylan, and their dog, Barley (Olive was duly pleased to have a "cat" along for the outing). I slathered Olive with sunscreen for the first time, fastened her sun hat under her chin, gave myself a liberal application of the SPF 30 and donned my own wide-brimmed hat, and off we went to meet our new friends. We strolled up to the park entrance then meandered on down to the child-friendly Farmhouse Park that has recycled rubber matting beneath the playground. Olive was far more interested in crawling through the tall grass (note to self: check for ticks!) but did take one trip down the largest of the slides before leaving. The plastic slide wasn't compatible with her rubber-soles shoes, so it was a leisurely ride for her, but she appeared to enjoy it nonetheless. Unfortunately I couldn't locate my camera today so the morning was not documented in pictures, but I know there will be many more like it to come. Oh, and did I mention that Catherine is British? Just listening to her is a joy in itself, and as a result I'm finding that I'm thinking with an accent. Funny how that works. She also lived in Baltimore when she first moved to the States, so there's that, too. What a pleasure it is to be living in such a wonderful place that is bursting with great people. What's the catch, Pittsburgh?

Dem Pirates

Okay, so I will make an exception for pirates, those vile, vulgar, and absurdly over-hyped miscreants of the seas: our major league baseball team. While I used to immensely enjoy hitting a ball in the backyard with my dad, briefly collected baseball cards, and, for a period when I was eleven, slept with my head cradled in my glove, I never took to baseball as a sport in which to invest. Still, I wasn't going to pass up an opportunity to go to a $10-a-ticket Pirates game with Katrina, Rob, Olive, and Alex. There was a volunteer appreciation event going on there for those that helped out at the marathon, so Katrina was able to invite some guests and we were honored to be her plus fours. Before the game we sat round on the grassy lawn outside PNC Park eating pasta salad that was provided by the caterers and letting Buggy tool around to her heart's content. Kat and Alex feel pretty hard for each other during the course of the evening; I can tell when Alex is really keen on someone. She was attentive and silly with him, and he revels in such companionship. Neither Rob nor I had ever attended a professional sporting event, so the novelty factor was pretty high. The weather, which was predicted to be rainy and stormy, couldn't have been better for the occasion, with a pleasant breeze to combat the mugginess from earlier in the day (a pretty violent thunder storm hit once we'd gone to bed later on). We found our way to our seats and were pleasantly surprised when they were decent. The game didn't begin until 7:05, so we knew we'd be pushing it bigtime with Olive's bedtime (we were able to slip in a third nap today with this in mind); we wouldn't stay for the entire game, obviously, but we wanted to make it worth our while. By the time the 6th inning ended Olive was starting to come unglued, wriggling and bucking like a hostage while Rob, Kat, and I tried to keep her amused. She was already nearly two hours past her bedtime so we exited and were home by ten, but it felt more like midnight.

I love Alex's face here. So typical. I love that kid.

Do You Know What Today Is?

It's our anniversary. I've been playing the song by Tony! Toni! Tone! in my head since yesterday afternoon. Though I've got to sling olive oils all day we're going out to celebrate the occasion at Nicky's Thai Kitchen. My friend and coworker, Siena, is coming over to man the fort while we dine. Olive will be in bed - ideally - so she won't have much to worry about.

Over the last week I've been flipping through this book I found at the Khoreys' called Committed: A Skeptic Makes Peace with Marriage. It was written by Elizabeth Gilbert, the author of Eat, Pray, Love, which I've never read - not really my style. If they're making a film adaptation with Julia Roberts (no dissage, J. R.! I love My Best Friend's Wedding, Erin Brockovich, and Steel Magnolias), it's probably a little too chick-litty for me. But what I've been reading in this Committed book is an interesting take on other societies' approaches to marriage versus our own. Here in America we expect to be made boundlessly happy by our spouse and feel cheated if things don't measure up to our absurdly high expectations all the time. In some cultures, choosing a mate is not a matter of love or even feeling, but of practicality and perhaps being in the right place at the right time. Ya hear that, Tina Turner? Love's got nothing to do with it. But here the love aspect is paramount, and once the bloom is off the proverbial rose, that's when marriages start to tumble downhill fast. Having been married for a whopping two years, I've yet to experience that dreaded descent into the Marital Abyss, but then I am reminded of the man I married. His constant quest for knowledge, improvement, and curiosity (sometimes perplexing; my busy mind can't be bothered, my sleep not plagued by wondering how long a centipede lives) for the minutiae really prevents things from going dull in our house. Without a doubt, I am in love with him, but even more than that, I like him a great deal. When I think of all the many people I like, admire, and whose company I enjoy, Rob is at the very top of the list. It's pretty easy to be married to someone like that. I'm awfully lucky that this amazing man feels the same way about me.

Note the blue collared shirt in both pictures of Rob. He thinks he looks pretty nice in that blue-and-brown combo. Well, he's right.

Yep, still pretty happy together after all this time. I'm hoping pictures we take in twenty years will reflect the same sort of contentment.

B'More or Bust!

My nostalgia-induced desire, when I was visiting Maryland last month, to run the Baltimore Marathon this fall was legit. Three days after the big race I'm psyching myself out about hitting the streets again for another 42.195K jog. I figure that I might as well keep going when I'm already in the habit of running some longer distances - why start over again? And I am a sucker - an absolute sucker! - for that course and that time of year. A long run through my home state during my favorite month of the year when the air is crisp and clean (relatively speaking; it is Baltimore, after all) is hard to resist, especially when I felt so good after this last race. The day afterwards I was tempted to go out for a leisurely run with Olive round the neighborhood (though I did not. The rains have kept us housebound most of this week), which said a great deal about how my body recovered; in years past I was nearly immobilized, particularly when it came to descending stairs, for the next two days. So yes, I am going to register for the October 15th race and work hard this summer to get down to a sub-5 hour time. I think it's totally doable.

Second Word

Yesterday, as Rob, Olive, Ché and I lounged around on our bed post-race, Olive was uttering her usual "Cat!" shout-outs to the black one. We have lately begun to try to familiarize her with the cats' names and reply, "Yes, cat. Ché." And then she said it very clearly: Cheh, repeated it several times. No names used in association with Rob, me, any of the Khoreys or others with whom she's familiar - just Ché. Pretty cute.

What was not cute was getting a call this morning while at the Khoreys from Rob requesting advice on what to do since Ché had relieved herself on his khaki pants he's required to wear to work. "Should I just put deodorant on them?," he asked, in all seriousness. Not to mention making a real mess of his already sodden trousers, the stench of the two substances combined would have him sent home early for sure. I recommended a liberal sprinkling of baking soda. An extra pair of khakis are also in order. I really didn't think that the cats could do more to put their stay with us in jeopardy, but this morning nearly put me over the edge. Last night before bedtime Wendell made a break for it while I was releasing a stinkbug. Unable to lure him back indoors I went to bed, knowing he'd be back in the morning begging to return inside. Sure enough, sometime in the 4 o'clock hour I heard him outside our bedroom window howling like a wounded fox. I went to the door (but oh! I was able to walk without much difficulty!) to let him in but come, he would not. The meowing continued and I asked Rob to let him in, and he cooperated. Having to wake up before five on consecutive mornings isn't my idea of acceptable, especially when one of those times isn't necessary. These cats are costing me my precious sleep and Rob his friends at the zoo. I was about ready to put them both up for adoption - ideally with a loving family here in the neighborhood - till Olive and I stopped at the Family Dollar to pick up a box of cat litter (though their box was clean when Ché committed her act, I can't give them more reasons to choose our clothing over the appropriate waste receptacle) and was enthralled by the abundance of feline imagery in the pet aisle. "Cah! Caah! Cat!", she bellowed, overjoyed by the presence of so many dear and recognizable friends. How could I get rid of the cats? They've become far more of a nuisance than pleasure in the last year, but Olive has already grown attached, and as much as I dislike it for myself, I do like the idea of her having pets, as they teach her to care for and be respectful of other living things. So this is why we remain a home with cats...until the next episode.

26.2 Through the City of Bridges

I learned two things today as a result of running my third marathon: Light rain is ideal weather for a long race and Percocet should not be taken on an empty stomach. Yes, I'm embarrassed to admit that I cracked open my old bottle of the stuff (issued after Olive's birth) to help me get through the remaining six miles of the race despite nearly debilitating pain in my quadriceps. This morning I had my traditional scrambled egg pre-race breakfast, but I'd worked off those before eleven when I ran into our house for a bathroom break. Totally not worth it, especially since they did little to alleviate my discomfort. Shortly after finishing I was swallowed by a wave of nausea, and as my dad and I walked to meet Rob and Olive I had to stop and hang over a guardrail, though the feeling passed without incident. We walked to our car, which Rob had parked near the aviary, then swung by the market so I could retrieve my glasses I'd left there yesterday. I walked a few paces from the car and then WHAMMO - I vomited up all of the cups of water and orange slices I'd consumed. All over my shoes, but it was okay because it was just that - water and orange - not nearly as gross as it sounds. After we got home I had some watered-down juice which also made a quick exit. There's no way I'm about to eat food with my stomach rejecting everything that enters. Best to stick with the light stuff.

But back to the race. It was a wonderful morning to run with the rain falling softly. We never got the thunderstorm that was predicted, and the overall lack of sunshine (during the final mile the sun finally broke through the clouds) made conditions a lot more manageable. Aside from my quads giving me grief, I really had no other physical complaints (no chaffing, no blisters, no backaches), which is nearly miraculous considering all that can go wrong when running for upwards of five hours. Speaking of times, I completed the race in 5:15:16, nine minutes slower than my last race, but eight faster than my first. I never expected to beat my 5:06 time - not today, anyway; I'd heard that the course was more difficult with more hills, and my training left much to be desired. I beg to differ about the part about the course being more difficult, though. There was talk about a formidable hill at mile 11 leading into Oakland (home of Carnegie Mellon, Pitt, and the museums), but it was modest compared to some other hills I know in Pittsburgh (I'm looking at you, Hill At South Negley and 5th Avenues), and hills I conquered on the Baltimore course. This hill was a pleasant surprise, to say the least. Folks were out in droves (thanks to the weather that reined itself in for everyone's benefit), and it was great to see Kat passing out water at mile 16, then some neighborhood friends just before mile 20. I don't know the cause of my emotionalism, but no fewer then three times during the race did I nearly break down in sobs of joy; the first was when the race went beneath a bridge and the crowd cheered. Why this got me I'm not sure. When I was running down Negley Ave. towards our house and I first spied Rob's curly head poking up above our hedge did it, too. These are intense things, these marathons. I'm not sure if I'll do Pittsburgh again next year, but definitely the year after that. We'll see what kind of time I have for training with a two year-old.

Marathon Eve with Pop Pop

Well, here goes! I'm feeling well, free of any aches and pains, the forecast for tomorrow predicts a diverse array of weather patterns that should keep the race interesting, and I'm heading off to bed. At 5:50 am, the "Half Marathon Party Van" is picking me up on my corner (they're making an exception for me, thankfully), so I'll be bringing a book with which to entertain myself for the hour before the 7:00 start. My father is here in Pittsburgh, which is always a treat. He met me at work then drove me home, visited with Olive and dined with us on some tomato basil red pepper fettuccine I bought at our pasta stand. With a belly full of pasta and popcorn (Rob and I just watched the final episode of Twin Peaks, a show that left a lot of loose ends untied, not to mention a pretty awful taste in my mouth. All in all a perplexingly entertaining show, but that's the early '90s and David Lynch for you!), I am retiring, ready for all that tomorrow has to offer. This time tonight I'll be finished!

Happy Birthday, Zoe

Today Rob's daughter, Zoe, turns eleven. Hard to believe (so I can only imagine how Rob must feel about it). I can remember the first time I saw her when the local youth strings program came to play at my school; I'd already met Rob and knew about her, and when I saw her there was no doubt that she was his daughter. She was seven at the time, a little pixieish with a spring in her step (she still walks on her tiptoes and claims it's from trying to avoid broken glass while walking barefoot). I met her a year later, at age eight, and I've got to give her credit: if my divorced dad had gotten a new girlfriend I can't say I'd be too pleased and certainly wouldn't have taken pains to disguise my disapproval, but she immediately accepted me. What makes me feel even better is how often she voices her emphatic agreement about our partnership; she really feels like I'm the best person for her father, which means a great deal to me. That kind of support is priceless. It's strange to have watched her go from a little girl to the 11 year-old she is today (though I won't see that for another month or so). She's growing so quickly and she's turning out to be a pretty neat kid, which comes as no surprise, given who her father is. How could she not?

Happy birthday, Zoe Ramone!

Gardening at Night

Last night Katrina and I went to work in our garden. I soon realized we had more than enough space in our double plot so invited Kat to come utilize the space - and offer up some of her advice, gardening knowhow, and capable hands. I'd neglected to factor in the time commitment when planning this garden, and am finding it very difficult to get in there and do the work that needs to be done with Buggy; tilling and weeding with a baby on the back is both tiresome and trying for her, so I don't do it. But now with Kat on board I'm finding the motivation and partnership I needed all along to get this piece of land whipped into food-bearing shape! She and I headed up there last night at dusk and worked until our eyes, adjusted to the dim light at 9 o'clock, could no longer make out the task at hand. The beauty of the situation - aside from the always-pleasant companionship and the joy of working in the ground - was that, at long last, I was living the 1982 classic R.E.M. number, "Gardening at Night". Such a fantastic song that always conjured up images of a bent-backed, green-thumbed old Georgian codger fumbling about in the overgrowth. Listen up, y'all:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m6uSU_TQBmE

Despite the fact that we logged only an hour or so of labor, we were impressed by the ground our two sets of hands covered. Our plan was to lay down sheets of cardboard to stifle weed growth, then lay down layers of compost and leaf mulch, but when we arrived we found that the combination of plentiful rain followed by a few days of sunlight had created a jungle of tall grasses and weeds, so we tilled and pulled up about a sixth of the plot. We will return on Wednesday evening for more of the same, then maybe one more session of maintenance until we can prepare the ground for our seeds. It's going to be one glorious garden, to be sure!

Gal About Town

I've been feeling a bit more social than I have in many years, which is good in a lot of ways. I'm making new friends here whom I really cherish, and cultivating these relationships involves more hours spent away from home. Tuesday night was a regular late one spent with my Khorey kids closing down the Oakland branch of the Carnegie Library of Pittsburgh (we love that place!), then dining at Little Asia. Wednesday night I joined Katrina and her friend, Erika, for tapas at Ibiza, a Spanish restaurant on the swanky South Side, and arrived home after Rob had retired for the night (he had an early aviary morning the next day). Last night I did turn down a tempting invite from Kat to see some live music put on by one of her coworkers in favor of relaxing with Rob. After putting Olive to bed tonight I left with a paper bag full of popcorn to bring to a housewarming party at Katrina, Shauna, and Cornelius' new place. As much as I was looking forward to officially celebrating their new residence with them and their other friends and sampling from the smorgasbord of edibles and potables, I was a bit dismayed that I was once again having to leave my husband and sleeping child behind. Early on in the evening I was filled with hope when, glancing at the doorway and the party entering the house, I saw a bald baby in the arms of a tall, dark-haired man. Rob and Olive!, I thought (as did Cornelius), before realizing that I'd driven over in the car and the man with baby was only Nathan, Shauna's boss, and his year-old daughter, Emerson. Rats. Nathan's cool, and it was nice to see his girls totting about and playing with the household's rabbit and talking to his wife, but in no way do they hold a candle to my favorite two. I visited for a while longer before loading up a plate with snacks for my Rob and beating a hasty retreat back home. Friends and evening outings are enjoyable from time to time, but with my husband is where I most love to be.

Kat and Shauna (that's fourth housemate, Mark, slinking across the background)

Alex, at 15 months - easily the youngest astronaut at the party!
An unknown near-eastern appetizer that sat untouched on the stove for the duration of my stay
Vanilla meringues made by Sarah, one of our very talented coworkers at the Public Market. She was not at the party because - get this - she has to get up at midnight to start baking her delectable goods for the next day of work. Mad props to Sarah.

Day at the Park

Today was a much-needed deviation from the normal wet and chilly weather. I was almostcomfortable in my t-shirt, but only if the air didn't move about too much. Olive and I biked over to our lovely (I not not use that word loosely; I really do find Highland Park one green, tree-filled, easy-on-the-eyes place) neighborhood park, but not before wheeling around and giving the oblivious driver of a Home Depot delivery truck a severe talking to for blowing through a stop sign without so much as glancing in our direction. He seemed to not realize that a sign was at the intersection, being too consumed by his delivery location on the opposite corner. I let him have it; I've been nudged before by a motor vehicle while on my bike when the the driver wasn't being as observant as one would hope, and I've let it go, but when Olive is riding with me I have very little patience for folks who aren't paying attention to others on the road. Hopefully next time he'll look.

Anyway, we met up with Kellie and the kids, who passed me on my final ascent to the park. The Highland Park Super Playground was a real treat for Olive, who was enthralled by the seemingly endless network of steps and passages. It will be fun when she's a little older and will be able to play with her cousins, but now she's most content exploring on her own - and by on her own I mean completely independent of anyone else. When I try to steer her to a better area or away from the street she pulls at my hand insistently, then wails if I pick her up. Such is our pattern with parks, I've noticed. Thank goodness for water fountains.

She Has the Hives

On about a weekly or bi-weekly basis, Olive contracts a mean-looking bout of hives. It always seems to not bother her, but the splotchy red rash that covers her legs and arms can be an alarming sight to a mother. I did some research on skin conditions and was relieved to see that Olive's spots closely resemble hives and not some of the uglier dermal disorders. Hives I can handle; impetigo I cannot (my brother had it as a baby and still wears the scar). Or Fifth's Disease, aka "Slapped Face Syndrome". Who wants to go round looking like they're slapping their 14 month-old? Not me. The problem with this rash is pinpointing the cause. She'll have sudden breakouts, as was the case this afternoon, and it's difficult for me to recollect specific things that may have led to her reaction. Today's occurred shortly after a diaper change, and Rob once speculated that it could be something as subtle as the wash cycle not rinsing out all of the detergent, though I doubt this is it, but who knows. I'm now looking into dietary causes. I think we can rule out wheat, as she frequently snacks on Trader Joes' stoned wheat crackers and Cheerios, and soy she consumes but not as often. She's still had no eggs, dairy, or shellfish, and has only had peanuts on two occasions, once being this afternoon, post-hives. The very first time we saw the spots we guessed they were bites of some sort, which is still a possibility. Though she's around the cats daily, I still haven't ruled them out and am happy to keep them high up on the list of likely perpetrators. If they're causing her hives - benign as they seem - they're out. I feel like I need just one final reason to send them packing, and if this is it, so be it. I can only handle so much more of stepping in and cleaning up Wendell's vomit after he's knocked over a box of crackers then feasted on the spillage, or Ché's recent affinity with spraying in laundry baskets.

Buggy's Maiden Voyage

As soon as Olive rose from her morning nap we rode over to the bike shop to have her bike seat installed. It was a quick job and the two of us went out for a test ride as soon as we got back home. I'll have to get Rob to snap some shots when he's home so you can get the full effect of her in motion. And I'm going to have to get used to the change in weight; obviously the balance is a little askew from the 25 or so extra pounds in the rear, but it's nothing I can't handle. It's sort of like biking home, as I did yesterday, with a front basket full of food, work stuff, and a bouquet of flowers, except the consequences of me tipping over are far greater. The consensus: Like her ma, I think she's a fan.

"Just call me Jeannie Longo"

Back on solid ground

Mesmerized by the pebbly path at the Union Project next door