Buggy

This morning I dropped off my gal at the Ryans' for what is most likely her favorite day of the week (not that her time spent with us is dreadful by any means, but she makes it quite clear that her preference is with her cousins, particularly the littlest one). She's usually ready for a nap by the time we arrive around 9, and after I came back downstairs from tucking her in to the pack 'n play they have set up for her in Jack's room, Iris was excitedly babbling away, inquiring after "Buggy? Buggy? Buggy?" It tickled me to hear her called by the nickname we gave her by someone else - someone so small. Iris' vocabulary is pretty impressive already, and she's more than three months Olive's junior. I love seeing those two girls together - such sillydolls!

It's Our First 'Burghversary N'At!

Wow. Has it really been a year since Rob, Olive, the cats, and I pulled into our new neighborhood of Highland Park? I can remember that evening so clearly: we arrived at our destination slightly weary and famished. We deposited the cats in our still-being-renovated apartment and set out blindly in search of Trader Joe's, which I recalled was nearby from my visit with Kellie and the kids the summer prior, and was amazed at the ease with which I found it (I give myself all the credit here, since I was the sole navigator for the first four months or so of our life here. In my beloved's defense, he was a total newcomer to Pittsburgh - to cities in general, so I accepted my role willingly). Lazily we grabbed a couple of frozen pizzas and rushed back home, burned the first one in the unfamiliar oven but scarfed both of them down in short order, nonetheless. The bedroom was sweltering, we had no bed and thus slept on the floor, giving Olive her crib mattress (I feared a fight would break out; I knew Rob was longing for a good night's sleep on that little thing). The level of physical discomfort that first night was disturbingly high, but our spirits - at least mine - were through the roof. After spending several years feeling distressingly out of place and homesick for a place that at least could feel like a real home, landing in this corner of Iron City was such a relief. That feeling hasn't waned since our arrival, and I feel like we're truly flourishing here, both of us having jobs that we not only enjoy but also allow each of us to be home with Olive every day but one (and we're thankful for that day, too, as that provides the opportunity for her to spend most of the day with her amazing cousins, aunt, and uncle. Living only nine miles away from them has been a real treat). We've made good friends and discovered a bountiful local food scene in the process, I've found outlets for artistic endeavors, recently taking on an art student and two piano students, all of whom are in our fantastic neighborhood and have great families (this makes an enormous difference, I have found), and we've been able to live so comfortably here, I'm in no hurry to ever leave. I can't stress what a contented feeling this gives me, what a remarkable place this Pittsburgh is.

18 Months!

18 months seems like such a milestone in the life of a young person. She has suddenly transformed into a toddler - not so much a baby any longer. My Khorey kids arrived home on Saturday (while Rob and Olive and I were there picking up a load of laundry, in fact), and I've spent much of the last two days with them. They're all pretty amazed at the growth that took place during the four weeks they were gone; this morning Noah marveled at how she pointed to each person when I called out their names. I suggested she go play the piano and she pranced right over to tinkle away. These were things she most certainly was not doing prior to their trip. Last night the family celebrated Nina's twelfth birthday (it was on the 12th and most of her tight-knit family was unable to attend), and Olive and I were there to help celebrate. She seemed so glad to be back amongst that clan - particularly Granddad, Doug's father, who has always had a real fondness for the little gal, and she him. Nina and I watched delightedly when the two of them first locked eyes again - Granddad was outside by the grill and Olive was in the sunroom, but both of them lit up when they spied each other through the storm door. I've always been glad that she has another grandfather figure like this in her life; my father is fantastic, as everyone knows, and we're lucky to live only four breezy hours away and can see him far more often than we used to (thank goodness!), but it's always pained me that I never met my father-in-law and that Olive will never know her paternal grandfather. Having a local stand-in is certainly welcome. Not to mention all the other extended family members who treat me, the children's care-giver, like one of their own. I was really blessed to have fallen in which such a great lot of folks.

So I guess you could say that Olive and I piggybacked on Nina's birthday celebration with Olive's half-birthday falling the day after. It's hard to believe that she's only six months to two and halfway to three; it sounds like such a long way off but I know that it's not. I'm so excited to see everything that unfolds between now and then! She grows sweeter by the day. How I love my darling goon!

The First Cut is the Deepest

Today while I was at work Rob contacted me on several occasions: the first to say hello, the second to tell me that Buggy had been flipping through a book and was pointing out images saying, "Wassat?" the way he does when he reads to her, and the third - oh, the third - to ask if we had any wound-wrapping material, Buggy's distressed cries audible in the background. My head started to spin as I tried to direct him to the roll of bandage in the bathroom closet. That poor girl had sliced the bottom of her big toe on a not-yet-discovered claw-shaped glass shard that protruded up from a wooden box near our dinging table. The thing was just waiting for someone to come round and step on it. Thank goodness it was only her toe; the injury could've been so much worse. Part of me - the mother part of me - felt frantic and wanted to be home to help take care of the crisis and comfort my child. Then the other part of me, the part that cannot stomach the sight of blood or even the thought of it, felt thankful that the situation was in Rob's capable and calm hands. By the time I walked through the front door she was on her feet (the injured foot in a sock), gingerly limping about, careful to avoid floor contact with the big toe). Kind of pitiful but kind of hilarious. The pain had clearly dwindled and she didn't seem bothered by it much, but before bed when we removed the bandage to dab a cotton ball soaked in tea tree oil onto the cut, heavens to Betsy did she howl! Inflicting such pain on her was more than I could handle. Don't think for one second that I was going to be getting at that toe with my camera - no siree. I'd like for it to heal up and be done with it, but I know, as my coworker Siena reminded me, that this would be the first of many, many similar incidents. I'm going to have to toughen up if I'm going to make it through anything else like this.

Concert Date with Mahself

The only damper on last night was that Rob didn't accompany me to one of the better concerts I've seen in many years. Because of a pre-outing misunderstanding (Zoe went MIA for a couple of hours and I finally found her at the park, nose in a book; Rob was pretty rattled and had called the police) he stayed home to man the fort, so I did what I spent much of my mid-twenties doing: going to catch live music and scoring the sweetest spot in the house. The act? Justin Townes Earle. He'd been the opening act when we saw the Decemberists play in April, and I've learned to keep an eye on those openers - they can often be as good as the headliners, which is why I did a little research on Shovels + Rope, the outfit touring with Mr. Earle. It didn't take much listening to determine that I'd show up early for their set, and boy, was I ever glad I did! What a treat these two were - Carrie Ann Hearst and Michael Trent had southern charm to spare, her slow and husky South Carolina-by way of-Tennessee accent sounding a bit like Sissy Spacek's in Coal Miner's Daughter. The pair traded off on drums and harmonica and each played guitar and sang beautiful harmonies, her voice often sharp and so loud I wondered how she kept such control over the notes. His voice was softer and offered a mellow balance to her wilder pipes, reining her in before she skidded off the edge. They were tight, endearing as all get-out, and made me wish like mad - if only for a few hours - that I'd chosen the same path (Carrie Ann told the audience that back in her twenties she "studied real hard and got good grades before deciding that she was living kind of a dumb life" and she finally buckled down and really hit the music-making). There have been times when I've waited, itchy with impatience, for the opening band to just be done with it so we can get on with the main event; this was not one of those times.

JTE, who could be seen pacing about in the wing off the stage, didn't dally once his turn came. There's something larger than life about the guy, and not simply because his presence is so striking, standing well over six feet tall on the gangliest pair of legs imaginable. It has more to do with the feeling that he's of another era, taking cues from Hank Williams and his contemporaries in both his music and style. I absolutely love that kind of stuff. Not to mention his bass player, Bryn Davies, who rocked out on that massive instrument somethin' fierce. Again, seeing this got me thinking about how awesome it'd be to take up a new instrument; look where it got her! Since Rob was absent I made sure to take plenty of video to share with him and all of y'all. Enjoy the show!

In the Last Week

Zoe spent all of last week in (in, not on) Mars at the Family Retreat Center for Language Camp where she learned French (campers had a choice of that, German, and Spanish. We went to pick her up on Saturday morning and saw the closing performance which included a skit and a few songs they'd learned. I was seriously impressed with the amount of French she'd learned and her pronunciation. She said that she found it easy to read, which is great; I do also, but recognize that many (her father, par example) do not. It appeared that she made a lot of new friends there - one of whom lives just a few blocks up the street from us and is also named Zoe - and is eager to return next summer. Good deal.

Speaking of France, my Khoreys will be returning on Sunday, a day that will cap off with a belated birthday party for Nina who turned twelve (or twenty-two, which is what it really seems like) on the twelfth. It'll be great to have them back. Also, it will be sweet to be able to do laundry at my leisure again, rather than doing it once or twice a week at Kellie's house (thank you so much, Boot!) and having to use more disposable diapers than I'd care to use because I'm trying to stretch the cloth ones till the next wash day. Having laundry privileges at a place of employment is a benefit of such magnitude - particularly for a family of four with one in cloth diapers - that words cannot properly describe.

On the home front I was hard at work on my mural, as it occurred to me that I need to be wrapping that up sometime next month and August's end is in sight. Rob and Zoe have been dutifully keeping me company while I've scampered all around the back apartment, jumping from panel to panel, turning them on their sides to align with their side or upper-lower neighbors. To convey what's going on in my "studio" apartment, there are fourteen rather large panels of medium-density fiberboard that weigh a whole lot more than they look like they ought to lining the walls of our old abode. The bulk of the mural - the ark and all non-winged animals - is happening on the eight largest panels, four across and two high, so planning is key. I can't go to the church to drill the panels up onto the wall only to find that they're not joining together properly. Aside from the birds that will fill the sky, I'm done with the sketch and nearly ready to commence the very exciting task of applying the paint! Another minor detail is getting reference photos of some of the animals in the mural that also live in the zoo here, just to make it a little more personal (if to no one else but Rob and me). Mrithi and Ibo, the lead silverback gorilla and the silly, expressive little ball-shaped female are featured, and I plan to have Gracie, the aviary's beloved and recently deceased toucan, perched at the helm, with a fictional mate flying alongside her. Zoe brought up the question that I hadn't even considered: "Are you going to paint Joseph?" I assumed she had her Biblical tales crossed, but then she realized her error and switched Joseph to Jonah. I reminded her that Jonah was the one that landed himself in the belly of the whale - in a similar vein of the ark, I suppose - and that she meant Noah. I probably ought to paint old Noah somewhere in the mural, right? He's the one who made the voyage possible, the captain. But who will be my Noah? Could it be Rob bedecked in Genesis-era garb? I can think of no other candidates. Stay tuned for some images in the coming week.

Pianists

Maybe I'm just blinded by love, but I think she's pretty good. Thanks to Rob for keeping her regularly exposed to the piano since birth - it's working, my sweet!

My Morning Jacket, My Dad, and My Goon that Won't Sleep

I'm up typing at 1:47 am because there's a little girl who's been yelling to beat the band back in the bedroom for the past hour and a half. Not really crying - just an incessant yell that's so much more nerve-grating than a cry. After she'd been at it for a while and it had escalated I decided to check her diaper and, sure enough, it needed my attention. Since that's no longer the case I could stand it no more. I'm frustrated because I'm tired. I got home at 11:30 from a concert where I'd been on my feet for five hours straight and wanting nothing more than to get some solid sleep. She refused her afternoon nap so I should've expected this.

I need to focus on the positive, though. At 6 o'clock Buggy and I drove down to the zoo after hitting the farmers' market at the Phipps Conservatory (returning with two sweet pounds of red Russian kale with which to make kale chips, a new favorite of Buggy's, and hot dogs in our basket) to pick up Rob so I could make it down to Stage AE to meet up with the "Other Rob", Rob Magnien (my dad's good buddy and former longtime boss), his son, and son's girlfriend, for a My Morning Jacket show. This was my first time seeing them and Rob's dozenth. The guy is a nut for this band. I've always loved that level of fanaticism and appreciate it even more when it doesn't wane with age. My dad and Rob are seeing the guys play on Friday in Maryland. Doors opened at 6:30 and I was trying to make it there as close to that as possible since I know Rob's penchant for scoring the choicest spots in the house (on the rail, preferably, at the feet of Jim James). Rob called to say that they were close to the front of the line. I was just a few minutes' walk away but didn't spot them in the line. Who I did spot was my dad! (I know - this called for two words italicized in one sentence). It all made sense, since my mother, with whom I'd chatted on my way over to the venue, had placed a little more emphasis than usual on my upcoming concert venture, even saying something along the lines of, "Who knows what surprises await you..." I certainly didn't know what she was talking about, though did find it sort of strange for her to be saying (thinking it was far more along the lines of something my dad would say. So I guess it made sense). Even my dad didn't know he'd be coming until an hour before he and Rob left; they'd hatched the plan late the night before, but my dad had hemmed and hawed; he had a workshop to attend, it was his son't birthday ("All the more reason for you to go see My Morning Jacket!," was Rob's rationale. My dad was sold). So there I was, spending the most delightful evening we'd had in months, weather-wise, being treated to several hours full of the positively golden voice of Jim James in the fine company of two of my favorite 50-somethings.

Not only am I glad I took these videos for posterity purposes, but they'll also provide some much-needed entertainment now that Olive has decided that sleeping isn't really for her (she woke a six to commence her awful hollering for two hours. She went down for her afternoon nap nearly two hours ago - not that she's having any of it). How quickly things changed from her placid state two nights ago!

She Knows Her Nose

The other day I was playing around with Buggy, prompting her to make her whispery dog barking sounds, and I asked her to show me her nose, not at all expecting her to reach right up and touch it. Apparently she's been paying attention. Then, just to see what else she knew, I asked her to show me her ear (she did), her feet (yes again), hands (she clapped), and belly (this one I knew she knew; she likes to lift her shirt to admire her impressively round melon of a tummy). Another advancement is the move we like to call "goonwalking", since it's not unlike Michael Jackson's trademark Moonwalk. She skids her feet backward until she butts up against a stationary object.

Resolutions Addressed

I decided it was time to take a look back on my list of summer resolutions to see just how productive I've been over the last couple of months. Not great, but not horrible, either.

Number 1 (Noah's Ark mural) was worked on a little today as I put the remaining coat of sky blue-tinted gesso on the MDF panels. A rough sketch (my sketches are very rough; I have a hard time spending too much time on something I know is only a preliminary draft) has been drawn and a good plan is in order. I need to work fast before my landlady rents that apartment and my sweet studio space is yanked out from under me. For this reason alone, the mural is my top priority.

The painting of Olive is most of the way done, and I plan to do more (on this one, and will do more paintings soon once the mural is finished). Here 'tis:

Since the sewing machine is in Zoe's room, I'm going to wait until she's gone to explore that. I've gone twice this summer to Loom, a wonderland of a fabric store down in the Strip, and its wares have filled my imagination with so much inspiration I'm itching to get down to business - but it will have to wait till the fall.

Our garden stinks, to put it plainly. I'm still not too down on it, though - as it was my maiden voyage with such an endeavor I'm pleased that I've been able to pluck yellow squash, peppers, lettuce and kale leaves, and a fine selection of herbs. Having a garden in our own back yard would make things oh, so much easier, but I'll take what I can get.

The housecleaning has actually been pretty successful. I've taken to vacuuming at least every other day, and an allowance deal has worked wonders for getting Zoe to keep her room looking less and less like the Allegheny County Landfill (I only wish I was exaggerating here). The house is usually, while by not means pristine (nor will it ever be), in a very manageable state thanks to my floor and bathroom cleaning and Rob's attentiveness to the kitchen.

The cats, I'm convinced, will never be trained to use the toilet, much less their litter box. It's a lost cause. What's not a lost cause, however, is Rob's cat food enterprise. Here he is, posing proudly with his brand new Tasin meat grinder. No more evenings spent laboring and sweating (and bleeding!) over the old manual grinder. In fact, he just walked in the door with a canner, a $20 score from one of our neighbors, so he can start selling his product to the public. On that note, if anyone is interested in organic, local, free-range, grain-free cat food, contact us and we'll ship it to you! He'll make it to order, too, depending on your pets' needs (Ché, for instance, is going to be given a "lite" chow from now on - chicken with the fatty skin removed. Our little gray cat will get the full-fat version for the foreseeable future).

I still can't believe I'm married to this guy.

We're no closer to getting my dream bike, but on the other hand, I'm still cancer-free, so I'll call that one a wash. I did, however, get this amazing dress on eBay (I have two weddings to attend in the coming year and didn't have an appropriate frock for the occasions). I'd been watching it for three weeks and got it with the "Buy It Now" option the night before the auction ended. If only I could find a way to commute to work on it.

No Gillian Welch in Bethesda for me this year, but only because I learned that she was coming here on October 19th, so I opted to save my gas and see her play locally. I'm kind of excited about it, and eager for Rob to finally witness the guitar wonder that is David Rawlings.

I'm still not certain what's going to become of the jail job. I'm going in to be fingerprinted tomorrow and work for them short-term until they can find someone permanent.

Guitaring is still at a stand-still, but I've been singing more to Olive which she seems to enjoy - mostly R.E.M.'s "You Are the Everything", a sweet little song, no? I should break out some accompaniment one of these days. Also, is anyone else wondering why Michael Stipe never got more credit for sporting that hair triumph in the mid-'80s?

The kombucha production is well under way! I've been enjoying some of my iced brew during these scorching days and it's almost as good as the Red Star brand stuff I get at the market that's made locally. I just need to perfect my recipe and work out a few kinks in order to get my drink to be as fizzy and snappy as that gal who cranks it out in Troy Hill.

Look at that SCOBY (symbiotic culture of yeast and bacteria)! That's one fine specimen.

Oh, and the album from that wedding that happened over two years ago? DONE. I ordered two boxes of archival "olde white" tab corners on eBay and the day after they arrived I sat down to allow myself the satisfaction of truly being able to strike one of the tasks from my list. All while Rob chatted on the telephone with his mama and pizza dough rose. It was one productive Friday afternoon. Have a look! And there's plenty of pages remaining to be filled with shots from our vow renewal ceremony. (I think I'm kidding, but then again, the idea of marrying that guy all over again is pretty appealing - and next time with more family and friends! Three family members and two friends with whom I still keep in contact left me with a few regrets about the actual day, but what I look each day at what I came away with I really can't be too sorry).

Cousins

Since Rob is now gainfully employed at the National Aviary, Kellie so generously has been keeping Olive for us on Sundays, the day he and I both work. Yesterday when I went to pick her up I was eagerly awaiting her joyous response to my showing up at the door, having missed me all day. But what I got was so much better: the ever warm and impishly gleeful welcome from Jack and Gail, with two same-sized grinning gals, Iris and Olive, who had clearly enjoyed their day together. Olive was only mildly glad to see me, but was still happily distracted by her playmates. Having not seen Iris for several weeks since the Ryans were vacationing in the Midwest, I was astounded by her progress in the walking area. I knew it was right around the corner, but boy! She's on par now with Olive, it seems, and is leaps and bounds ahead of her verbally (though our gal has been getting more and more proficient with her mimicking. Having her older sister around this summer, I'm sure, has helped with that a lot). My heart swelled when my eyes met hers and I could read what a good time she'd been having. I feel so fortunate to be so close to my sister and her family now, after all those years of living nearly a thousand miles away. I love that Olive's getting to spend this time with her cousins, who are all such sweetlings I can hardly stand it. Plus, I could scarcely dream up a better caretaker than my wondermother of a sister. But I know the day will come when she won't want to come home with me, but I guess that will be okay, too, I suppose.