Christmas Eve

We got a later start getting to Maryland for Christmas this year; our plan was to leave when I got off work last night but a family-wide flu delayed us till this morning.  Boy, was it a nasty bug we caught!  I thought it was something I'd eaten when I got it on Friday evening since I didn't have most of the other symptoms, but on Saturday morning, as I was leaving Rob and Olive to work the stand at the market, Olive was acting unusually upset and Rob said he was starting to feel sick - a rare occurrence indeed.  I went home to make up for the night of sleep I'd lost and waited for his call.  It came a few hours later; Olive was vomiting all over the place so I got up to go relieve them.  I'd gotten enough sleep to recharge me to the point where I could work the last few hours without too much difficulty.  I returned home to a house where the virus was in full swing - a troubling situation for a mother and wife - so I immediately commenced preparing my very first chicken stock from scratch.  We all needed to replenish our fluids and I figured that was the best - if not the quickest - way.  I roasted the chicken then picked it apart and simmered nearly all of it in a broth with an onion lots of garlic, salt, and rosemary, and let it slowly cook all night.  Its hot, salty fattiness was unbelievably soothing on my empty stomach.  

So this morning we decided we were all well enough for the 3 1/2 hour drive to my parents' house.  A busy day was in store for us with an afternoon stop into Baltimore so I could see my old friends-employers at Amaryllis followed by a visit with my old friend Rita.  It had begun to snow lightly before we left my parents' house but the roads were just wet and posed no threat.  While we were in Amaryllis (the best jewelry store in Maryland - wait - the country), Olive busied herself leafing through magazines and admiring the inventory while I caught up with Allie and AnnMarie.  Rob had been keeping an eye on her but she suddenly disappeared.  We looked all over the store and she was nowhere to be seen.  I poked my head outside and didn't see her, but when Rob did the same we heard a car horn and then we saw her, up the block and a across the street, being taken into the care of an officious-looking gentleman on the corner.  Rob dashed across to retrieve her and she appeared to be oblivious to the danger of the situation and our fear.  I suppose she'd simply wanted to check out the feathered deer in the Anthropologie window display (I could hardly blame her).  Still, another brush with something like that made me that much more conscious of how easily and quickly terrible accidents can happen with children.  I'm so thankful that it turned out the way it did and that my dear child is safe and asleep, warm in her crib.

We ended up nixing church and my longtime tradition of my friend, Natalie's parents' Christmas Eve party, and stayed home because the roads had become too horrific.  Fortunately our car performs well in wintry conditions, and Rob and I have plenty of Alaska- and Maine-driving experience, but we saw an alarming number of cars off the road so we opted to play it safe and relax.  Being in Maryland this year sure beats the way I spent Christmas last year, laid up in bed with the flu (?) while Rob worked.  There was nothing Christmasy about it.

December with the Cramers

This month has gotten off to a pretty great start.  It began with my mom visiting the market where I work to do a signing for her book, But the Greatest of These is Love.  It was nice to have here there for a few hours so she could experience my workplace and meet some of my friends.

I have just discovered, after nearly five weeks of going without wheat in my diet, that the itchy condition on my legs has drastically improved.  I was waiting to talk about it for fear that I'd jinx myself, but it's been nearly a week of relief and it's so much more comfortable at night without all the scratching and bleeding.  What's more, I no longer resemble a dog with mange from the knees down, which is great.  It really hasn't been all that much of a sacrifice like I'd thought.  I didn't give up gluten which frees me up to continue to enjoy many of the foods I love, like oatmeal.

I'm feeling like an artist again, after a few years of taking on very few side projects.  I was asked by a friend who manages our neighborhood coffee shop, Tazza D'Oro, if I'd be willing to show my work there during the month of January and I eagerly accepted.  My plan was to reproduce a collection of photographs from our trip in October in watercolors, so I have my work cut out for me between now and the first of the year.  I'm really excited about creating a fresh body of work for the occasion, and have carved out a small studio space for myself in our living room.  In addition to working on paintings for the show (which will also be hung in March for another show at my friend's book store), I have on my plate a large-scale watercolor portrait for a client who won a painting at a benefit auction back in the spring and a very special scratchboard portrait for a dear friend's Christmas gift to another dear friend.  I'm busy.

Work has really picked up with the onset of December.  People are getting serious about their gift purchasing now.  One gentleman came to my stand for presents and bought twenty-seven bottles of olive oil and balsamics!  I just had my best Saturday ever - and perhaps weekend, though I haven't compared the total numbers yet.  I'm still on the hunt for a storefront space but I've gotten a few very promising leads, so hopefully by the beginning of the new year I'll have found the place where my business can call home.

Rob's been doing some hands-on work with Julie, the female kinkajou in the zoo's education department.  She's aggressive and not very friendly, so his goal is to tame her and get her better adjusted to human interaction.  He teaches a lot of classes and yesterday led two groups of three year-olds, an age with which he's especially familiar since Olive is only two months shy of that mark.  One of the parents told him afterwards that it was the best class she'd ever seen conducted.  He puts so much into his work and I'm exceedingly proud of him for bringing such enthusiasm to his job.  He excels in whatever he does.

Olive's been a little funny thing lately.  Yesterday, after waking from a good nap at the market, I suggested we go to the restroom to change her diaper.  "You stink," I told her.  "I smell beautiful!," she replied.  She's so filled with joy so much of the time (her down moments are rare and short-lived, thankfully).  I cannot imagine a more pleasant child.  We are so blessed by her each and every day.

The Tempeh Can't Wait

Lately, since Olive has transitioned from her crib to a bed, she's been getting up and starting her days especially early - often before Rob and I are ready to get up, so she busies herself happily until we are.  However, she's taken to opening up the refrigerator to examine the contents and consider what she'd like for breakfast.  Yesterday we heard the refrigerator door open and some clattering ensue so Rob went to investigate.  What he found was Olive, on the floor with a slab of tempeh, setting to work boring a hole in the packaging with a knife she'd selected from the utensil drawer.  She had a very specific plan, that one.

Shortly afterwards, when Rob had made her eggs and vegetables for breakfast, she looked up and asked him, "But where's the tempeh?"

Remembering Europe

Yesterday while Olive was recounting our trip to Europe (as she often does), I asked her if she drove a car in Austria.  "No!  I drove in Vienna!"  It's true - she did get to drive a car in Vienna during our visit to the Prater, the amusement park there.  It was one of those little cars that went around on a track, and she was most amused by it, at least after the first time around.  She also rode a horse (on a carousel and a real one with me on the back), a carousel swan, a giant fan (Ferris wheel), ate a pretzel, sat down, and saw a fountain.  When talking about her first day in Vienna, she mentions all of these things.

We've been back in Pittsburgh for nearly four weeks and I'm still amazed that we were able to pull off such an extensive vacation.  It was truly the best I've ever taken and will be difficult to match, though we plan on returning in five years.  If we can make this a regular happening as often as that we'll be thrilled.  And next time, when Olive is seven or eight, she'll have even more stories to tell.

Here are some highlights (as told by me; I'm sure Rob and Olive have their own accounts):

Slea Head Drive, Dingle, Ireland.  After checking out of our delightful B&B, where we had a delectable Irish breakfast, we drove along this scenic road that winds around the peninsula on the western coast of Ireland.  I was awestruck as we made our way around the curvy, narrow roads, marveling at every turn at the breathtaking scenery that surrounded us on every side.  The ocean, the cliffs, cozy cottages and craggy rocks and hillsides dotted with white sheep.  I think Rob has a mind to retire there one day and I wouldn't be opposed to joining him.  

Paris.  Our single full day spent there was a full one, indeed, and though we didn't get to do half the things we would've liked to have done, it still made such a wonderful impression on me.  The catacombs and sewer tour were at the top of Rob's list of things to do, but since our day coincided with the Louvre's free admission day (the first Sunday of the month), we felt we needed to take advantage of that.  Though we arrived just after the doors opened, the line wound through the inner courtyard and out onto the street.  The estimated wait time was 2-3 hours.  I didn't know that I wanted to spend that chunk of time waiting in line but Rob was willing to earn his trip, so to speak.  We'd only waited about twenty minutes when a guard approached us and told us to come with him; because we had a small child we were ushered to the entrance, a gesture of such generosity of kindness we had not expected.  The museum itself was impressive - mostly because of its size.  I'm glad we went, but next time we're there I'm going to make a beeline for the Musée d'Orsay.  

Afterward we made our way to the catacombs.  After a bit of trouble finding the elusive underground tombs, we arrived at the door to find a sign telling us it was closed to the public because of ventilation problems.  We went to the Eiffel Tower instead.  Too exhausted to climb the tower's stairs (we'd already walked for miles and I'd gotten little sleep; a Saturday night with open windows facing out onto the streets of Montmartre made for a restless night for this light sleeper), we opted to enjoy the view from the bottom, stroll along the Seine, and hunt for lunch.  Choosing a restaurant even ten block from the tourist haven was a mistake, and we suffered through a less-than-mediocre meal, but we redeemed ourselves a few hours later when we happened upon a festival near our Metro station.  We browsed the tents with vendors selling a manner of edibles, then selected a slab of tomme cheese, three baguettes (the best I'd ever eaten), and some olive and tomato tapenade, brought it back to our hotel and picnicked on our bed.  I felt a twinge of guilt for turning in at 6 pm, but after schlepping around for nine hours with a worn-out - yet still pleasant - child, calling it a day was the wisest thing to do.  And Paris, despite living up to its heavy-smoking stereotype, turned out to be a city where I felt very much at home.  The Metro system was so efficient and easily navigable, the residents friendly and not at all rude to us Americans, and even my few years of middle and high school French came very much in handy, both in reading signs and communicating with the locals.  I tried to use their language as often as possible - so much so that long after we'd arrived in Austria I still found myself saying "Excusez-moi," when maneuvering through crowds.  That I didn't know the German translation was also a factor.

The Hotel Salzburger Hof in Salzburg.  While our time here was dampened by chilly rain, making our Sound of Music tour less enjoyable than it could've been and obscuring our views of the mountains and lake, we were fortunate to be able to hunker down during the worst weather of our trip in the nicest hotel imaginable.  Just a three minute walk from the train station, we settled in to our comfortable accommodations in the theme hotel (guests stayed in either Salzburg, Mozart, or Sound of Music rooms).  I wasn't sure whether ours was a Salzburg or Mozart room since it had a scene of the city on one of the walls but Mozart's profile on the frosted glass bathroom door, but it was nice, nonetheless, with a foyer, lounge area (where Buggy slept on the couch), our bedroom, and a pretty decked out bathroom with heated floors.  The best part of all was the breakfast, a smorgasbord of morning treats on which we gorged ourselves both days we were there.  I grew especially fond of the yogurt, fruit, and muesli, there were plenty of eggs and fruit for Buggy, and breads, cheeses, meats, and endless coffee for Rob.  I've never been one to skip out on breakfast so this was perfect.  We're looking forward to staying there again the next time.

Vienna.  I'd set my sights pretty high on this city for a long time, but it only lived up to my expectations.  We stayed in a beautiful and comfortable hotel on a nice street that was convenient to nearly everything.  We had two full days to spend there, both of which were perfect (with the exception of my birthday dinner, which we ranked worst meal on the trip, but I won't talk about that.  Nothing too terrible, just the worst of what we had).  On the first we set off on foot to the Upper Belvedere Palace, an art museum housing an impressive Gustav Klimt collection.  I thought the physical museum itself trumped the Louvre in every way, but I was disappointed that no photography was permitted.  The Klimt exhibit was amazing, as I'd expected.  We walked through the gardens outside, lamented the fact that we didn't have someone there to take our picture (so there are no photos of the three of us in existence, which I think is sad), then decided to forgo public transportation and walk to the Prater, only 2.5 miles away.  This was mainly for Olive's benefit, since she'd never been to an amusement park before, but I was pretty keen on seeing the Ferris wheel, which has been in operation for over one hundred years.  I have a real thing for those structures and old amusement parks in general, and I liked that we were there in the off season while there weren't too many visitors, even through many of the rides weren't open.  That evening, craving some good, clean, meatless fare, we found a vegetarian Taiwanese restaurant called - don't laugh - Vegetasia.  We ate like kings there, savoring every bite of our mock-meat dishes, steamed vegetable dumplings, miso soup, and sorbet for dessert.  It certainly wasn't local fare, but it was the best food I ate in the entire two weeks.

The next day, Rob's birthday, we went to the Tiergarten Schönbrunn, Vienna's zoo, the oldest in the world.  While not as impressed initially, we found the deeper we explored the grounds the better the exhibits became.  The orangutan enclosures were exquisite, to say the least.  It made us so happy to see the amount of space, the enrichment, and cleanliness that those particular animals were given.  Rob was especially delighted to see a mixed exhibit of his all-time favorite trifecta of species: tapirs, capybaras, and giant anteaters.  I kept thinking of how much he'd love to be in the position of caring for these animals and began to encourage him to learn German and apply for a job there.  

Prague.  Through couchsurfing.org we found the most compatible and gracious hostess, Marie, who met us at the train station when we arrived.  She gave us her bedroom, which doubled as the living area in the flat she shared with her brother (their parents lived on the ground floor), made us a simple but delicious dinner of beet and cabbage soup, and gave Olive books and toys to play with.  The next day she accompanied us downtown to the Mucha Museum, which was a big inspiration for me to go to Prague in the first place.  Having spent her entire life in Prague, Marie had never been to the little museum and was eager to tag along.  I could have spent the whole day there just ogling the works, absorbing the colors, tracing his delicate and meticulous lifework with my eyes, fawning over the beauty of every mark he made.  Marie, also a fan, described his work as "kitsch", which I could understand.  While not exactly fine art, his work was very commercial and still tends to be.  Still, I can help but  adore the elegance of it, and all around the city were echoes of his influence in the Art Nouveau decor that adorned the buildings.  

Best of all, though, was having over two weeks of completely uninterrupted time with Rob and Olive and to be able to turn it into such an adventure.  Some people were skeptical about the idea of us bringing a two year-old to Europe, and there were certainly times before we left when I wondered if I might later regret the decision, but having her along made it better, not to mention proved that international travel with a young toddler isn't as daunting a task as one might presume.  We crammed in a lot in two weeks but it never felt like too much, and looking back on it, through the hundreds of pictures we took, it really was the perfect family vacation.

Oh, and there are no pictures because the ones I would've posted here are already on Facebook.  It's taken me this long just to post about the trip and if I went to the trouble of adding photos this would never get done, so here it is.

Things a Sweet Girl Says

I've hit a block while typing a blog about our trip.  I'm trying to keep it concise while wanting to include the highlights (which were abundant).  In the meantime, here are a few recent sayings from Olive:

-While on our longish drive from Dingle, on the west coast of Ireland, back to Dublin, she was making requests for me to draw things for her - Papa, me, a cup of yogurt - and when I handed her the pad with the sketch of a strawberry yogurt she praised my efforts: "Ah, good job, Mom!"  "Mom" has become a sort of saying with her, much like man or dude, and doesn't apply necessarily to me.  I'm still "Mama" to her, for now.

-When leaving Marie's house in Prague (Marie hosted us through couchsurfing.org), she began wishing her a happy birthday (we'd just come off of Rob's and my birthdays and she was finally prepared to wish someone a happy one, even if it was two months early).

-Yesterday I told her I liked her blue eyes.  "I like your brown eyes!," she replied.

-"Oh, beautiful Gray!," she's been saying lately to our cat, Wendell.  It wasn't an adjective we'd ever used in reference to him, that's for sure.  Not that he's not a handsome cat, but his dopey ways override his good looks.

-Overheard while playing with her Quantum Leap globe (If anyone knows a kid that is passionate about geography, I suggest getting this toy.  It's great).  "Mongolia!  Good job, Mom!"  She's also been asking for help locating "Opiopia" (Ethiopia), bringing me back to the time in my childhood when I couldn't get enough of our globe and finding the countries in Africa.  She's delighted that she can pick out Prague and Vienna amongst the crowded mass that is Europe.  Despite bringing her at such a young age, I believe she'll retain quite a bit of it, as long as we continue to revisit through stories and photographs.

-She's proving to be an effective tool for quitting my near-lifelong nail biting habit.  Today in the car while I was gnawing on a fingernail she chirped from the back seat, "Don't put your fingers in your mouth!"  Busted.

-While waiting at the post office this morning she was saying, to no one in particular, "Hi.  My name is Wanda."  We're not sure where this Wanda business came from, but it wasn't the first time she'd made an appearance.

Itinerary

Being the sort who is most productive when time is slipping away from me (we leave on Monday), I've just about nailed down all of the details of our trip.  For those who are curious, here's our schedule:

October 1: Fly overnight from Pittsburgh and arrive in Dublin in the morning (what will feel like 3:45 am to us.  I'm dreading this part.
October 2: Rent a car and drive west to Galway and stay with my boss, Lisa's, aunt.  Here we'll explore the coast and take in the scenery that, for reasons still not clear, never called to me.  I think it's the food that's been the biggest deterrent - so boiled, so white.
October 4: Return to Dublin and stay the night.
October 5: Take ferry to London.  Spend the night.  That's it.
October 6: Take train to Paris.  I'm excited about this one.  I've been told many times that I should go.  I love the language and feel like I know enough of it to get by without needed to be coddled in English.  I know how the French are, and I like it.  The Louvre and Musée d'Orsay are biggies, as are the catacombs, a tour of the sewers, and, at Bruce's urging, St. Chapelle.
October 8: Take train to Salzburg.  Austria alone was the driving force behind this trip - for me, at least.  After hearing Gi-Gi speak so fondly of it I developed my own vicarious interest, bolstered by my love of The Sound of Music.  It goes without saying that we're signed up for the four-hour official tour on the 9th.  I decided that we should stay an extra day to take in the magnificent landscape of Alps and lakes.
October 10: Take train to Vienna.  This is a city that, thanks in large part to John Irving, my favorite writer, many of whose novels are set there, also lodged itself in my imagination and became a destination I longed to visit.  It stands to reason that I should want to spend my birthday in both Austrian cities because, you know, you only turn thirty-one once.  Vienna is home to the work of some of my favorite artists - Gustave Klimt and Egon Schiele, specifically - from the Secessionist movement. Cool, weird, beautiful stuff.  There's also the Prater, the hundred year-old amusement park, and the zoo, and the Opera House (from 'The Hotel New Hampshire!')
October 13: Take train to Prague.  I set my sights on this city because of - why else? - the Mucha Museum.  Alphonse Mucha, a prominent figure in Art Nouveau, was Czech and many of his works can be seen around the city.  Prague itself, from what I've heard and seen in pictures, is stunning, but I needed no other reason to go.  We're also staying with Marie, a woman who offered to share her bedroom with us in the flat she shares with her brother and cats.  This will be extra fun.
October 16: Fly to Dublin and stay the night.
October 17: Fly to Pittsburgh.

That's it in a nutshell.  I'm growing more and more eager as October gets closer.  We have our cat-sitter and rides to and from the airport arranged.  Rent has been paid.  My pal Alex has the stand covered, and Olive, that funny kid, decided to quit taking naps at the most opportune time.  Not that she won't be completely thrown out of whack by the jet lag, so it probably won't make a difference either way.

See?  Just like Rob and me.  Maybe if he's feeling extra sweet he'll reenact that scene from the movie that's always made me feel ill.  Of course he will.

Rob Cramer, Eater of Cats

We're entering into the phase of funny things toddlers say.  I knew it was coming, having a handful of nieces and a nephew whose innocently witty utterances occur on a regular basis.  I wasn't home to witness it this morning, but here is Rob's account:

This morning while I was looking at the crossword puzzle, Olive walked up to me and deposited something imaginary into my hand. Usually when she does this, it is an imaginary culinary delight that she whipped up in her kitchen (she has been experimenting with cabbage dishes lately) so naturally I popped the invisible gift into my mouth. She stopped and stared at me a little strangely and said, "Poppa just ate a little kitty." Oops!

That she didn't just play along with the charade was what got me laughing.  That thing she'd placed in his hand had been a kitty all along to her - why couldn't he see that?  Even she knows that in our house we don't eat little kitties.  Her father's behavior was perplexing, indeed.

Pittsburgh Alternative Health

Yesterday I had an amazing experience at Pittsburgh Alternative Health.  I had the EAV test done and it was pretty enlightening.  I looked all over for what EAV means and finally came across this, and it stands for Electro Acupuncture by Voll.  A simpler way to explain the procedure is this: you hold a copper rod in your left hand and the naturopath takes a conical metal device and presses it into pressure points on the fingers of your right hand.  The machine is hooked up to the computer so I was able to watch it read my responses to every sort of food, additive, and environmental influence imaginable.  I worried that I might learn about a dozen things to which my body responds negatively and have to severely amend my lifestyle, so I was relieved to find out that only a few things upset the harmony of my body: MSG (a total non-issue), dioxin (a byproduct of burning plastic, which hardly comes as a surprise and, being that I live in a city with some of the worst air in the country, is hard to avoid), mold (also expected since we live in an old house where mold spores are plentiful), wheat (though fortunately not gluten), shellfish (also something I avoid anyway), grapes, and raisins.  These final two were more surprising; I've never heard of grape intolerance, but there it is.  I've enjoyed grapes most of the summer, and raisins are staples for my oatmeal, but I'll get by.  At least oatmeal's not off the table.  I'm looking into getting an air purifier and will do my best to avoid the things on the list (at least while not in Europe; all bets are off there) to allow my body to better combat whatever it is that's been attacking my lower extremities.  I have high hopes that modifying my diet will alleviate the problem.  And for anyone interested in improving their total well-being, I highly recommend visiting your local naturopath and having this procedure performed.  It's fascinating.

Playing Hooky

I've been surprised to learn lately how early children are heading off to "school".  From as early as a year I've known little ones whose parents sent them away during the week to environments of learning and, while I do see the merit in theory of this, I still can't help but to shake my head in disbelief.  I remember going to pre-school at three before starting kindergarten at four, then proceeding to first grade and so on, but earlier than three just makes me wonder. While something about this just wasn't sitting right with me I felt like my reservations about it may be rooted more in my unfamiliarity with that schedule and my feeling that some children simply aren't quite ready to be tossed into those sorts of social settings before a certain age.  I've been asked countless times by friends and acquaintances whether I've found a preschool for Olive, even though this was never a consideration from the start for us.  Then I came across this article.  While I by no means take this study as the only right way, it sure did make a lot of sense to me.  Olive thrives in a home learning environment and gets on well with all sorts of folks, though she could still use a little work in the peer department since her interactions occur largely with adults.  The bit about peers wanting to mimic one another and feel the need to be like others in order to fit in really resonated with me, though.  When I was a teacher I witnessed proof of that on a daily basis - far more than seemed healthy or appropriate, and I'd much prefer for my child to not be burdened with the premature pressure to be like someone else.  Regardless of your stance on childhood education, I feel like it's worth the read.

My Lazy Summer

Finding myself with all the laundry folded and dishes done and two hours to kill before I'm off work, I figured I'd take some time for a little writing.  It's not that I've had nothing eventful going on my my life to inspire me - I've simply been lazy.  Too lazy to upload the pictures from my camera, that's for sure.  In my down time I've been happier to hang around with Rob watching episodes of Big Love while Olive's asleep.  That show is fascinating.  Mindboggling.  It makes me even happier that I'm only married to one man and not two other women, to boot.  It makes me appreciate the simplicity of our lives and marriage.

Anyway, our past few weeks have been busy and fun-filled.  Several weeks ago we took a two-day trip down to West Virginia to my parents' lovely and tranquil lake house where we gathered with my folks, my sister and three (soon to become four!) children, and my brother, Taylor.  We enjoyed the scenery, taking walks through the woods, Rob and Olive did some kayaking, the kids played in the lake, and the adults enjoyed games every night as we always do. 

Last week we hosted a 30th birthday party for my good pal, Keith.  We grilled homemade sausages and fresh salmon that Keith's girlfriend, Alex, had just brought back with her from Alaska (she and her father made the sausage; her brother-in-law had just caught the salmon).  To top it off, Alex decided to not take a job in New York City in favor of staying in this wonderful little city of ours!  This was probably the best news I'd received all summer because, MAN, was I getting tired of friends up and leaving. 

To celebrate a day off for both Rob and me, something that rarely happens, we decided to go up to Presque Isle State Park on Lake Erie.  We live just over two hours away and I'd never visited that particular Great Lake and it seemed the perfect day to go.  The weather was glorious and we enjoyed what was probably the last day we'd get into a natural body of water this year.  It really was beautiful up there, through Erie, Pennyslvania is (and no dissage to lovers or natives of the town) a major eyesore.  The beach was pleasant except for the pebbly strip at the water's edge; my feet were tender that night and the next day.  Olive went back and forth between the shore and lake, periodically dipping in to wash off her hands. We nibbled all day on apples and almonds, our only provisions since I'd left the bag of seven peanut butter or almond butter and jelly sandwiches behind on the kitchen counter. On the way home we listened to the Sound of Music sountrack and I fought back tears during every song.  After getting the soundtrack earlier this summer I realized I couldn't listen to it without choking up.  You see, my beloved Gi-Gi, who died almost exactly three years ago, really enjoyed those songs, too, and my association with them is so deeply rooted in my memories of hearing those songs when I was with her, so many years ago.  She loved the film and loved visiting Austria, so I did, too - or believed I did - and that's why I'm finally going to see the place she adored.  That said, it's hard to believe that our trip is not even a month away.  We have so much planning to do! 

I've started searching for retail spaces again for the business.  We'd back-burnered the idea for a while since I was satisfied with my 3-day workweek doing olive oil, but sometimes it's not good to wait too long because opportunities can pass.  I was able to look at several really promising spaces just down the street from where we live in the adjacent neighborhood.  Aside from requiring a lot of cosmetic work (new floors, ceilings, lighting), they were just the sort of spaces I'd always had in mind.  I have no idea how I'm going to fund this endeavor, but people take on projects like this all the time so it's just a matter of doing the work to get the loans to get it off the ground.  It's just unfortunate that this isn't the sort of work that really interests me.  But I do know what I want, so there's that.

And the most exciting bit of news of all?  Today I made an appointment with a naturopath who came highly recommended by my sister.  I have not been able to make heads or tails of this blasted itchy leg disease (that's what it has to be - a disease) that's about to drive me round the bend.  I lose so much sleep over this and wake up with blood-smeared scratches all up and down my legs.  It's terrible.  Having thankfully ruled out the possibility of a thyroid disorder, I can only assume now that it's something in my diet or in my environment.  I got some Gold Bond extra-strength anti-itch lotion that feels positively heavenly about a minute after it's applied, but somehow seems to exacerbate the problem after I've gone to sleep.  No good.  Nina, smart girl that she is, suggested Calamine lotion, so I slathered hanfuls of the pink stuff from my ankles up to my thighs and am experiencing some relief - the best temporary solution to date.  So during my appointment with the naturopath on the 17th I will have a test done that will determine any of my body's sensitivities or intolerances.  I feel confident that this will give me the answer I've been needing.  Oh, do I ever hope it does!

Dexter

My friend, Colin, commissioned me to do this cat portrait for him as a gift for a friend.  Cats are easy and work up quickly, as it turns out.  Here he is, all done and ready to go.  This is the most artwork I've done in 2012, hands down.  Now I have another project to begin: a double portrait of two children that someone had won in a silent auction for the Midwife Center.  It's going to be fun.   Christmas is the deadline I set for myself (between working painstakingly slowly in watercolor, juggling my two jobs, and our European vacation, I think that's a reasonable timeframe).

Our Weed

Lately people have been commenting on Buggy's height.  Sure, she seems tall, but folks seem surprised to hear that she's only two and a half.  At just a bit under 36 inches, I just learned that she's beating the average of 33" for a three year-old girl by a good margin (and an inch shy of the 37" average for a four year-old).  Huh.  It must be all of those almonds and kale that she so loves.  Still, I'm not going to jump to conclusions about our child's ultimate height; my pediatrician declared to my mother, when I was two, that I'd grow to be six feet.  Yeah.  So in all likelihood she'll do her growing early and level off by the time she's twelve.

Sweet girl-goon.

My Neen

Today a remarkable girl turns thirteen.  For the past nearly two years I have been blessed with the opportunity to take care of this young lady (and her brothers, who are also pretty great).  Nina has instilled in me faith in the next generation with her intelligence, kind-heartedness, and work ethic, and sense of adventure (she just returned from a ten-day trip to Israel where she went to stay with a family she did not know) - traits that were not always very apparent to me in people her age.  She is devoted to her family, her church, her school, and to her future.  If Olive turns out half as mature, responsible, creative, and driven as she is by that age I will be exceedingly proud.  I'm so thankful that my daughter has an older girl to look up to.  Happy birthday, Sweet Neen!

Goal-Hopping

So remember back when I said I was going to try to run fifty miles each month?  I totaled up my mileage for July and was delighted to see that I ran seventeen!  Only thirty-three miles short - not bad.  It's been tricky for me to fit in runs this summer because I've been busy living the life of a gal in her mid-twenties, it seems.  I've had a unusually active social life this summer, much to my delight, spending my evenings with what became a pretty tight bunch of pals (comprised of folks from the trivia team and then some).  A lovelier lot of folks I've not found anywhere, and boy, do these kids know how to cook some food!  Several of them (Conrad, Morgan, Alex, Joanna, Colin) are leaving Pittsburgh or have already left (Dylan - boo hiss), most of whom are pursuing higher education at esteemed universities, but a good many will remain.  Because of these friendships, my summer has flown by and I'm left scratching my head over my thwarted running goals.  I'll run when I'm older, I suppose. But till then, and beyond, perhaps, I've made the decision to swear off sugar.  I'm nearly through AJ Jacobs' Drop Dead Healthy on cd, to which I've been listening in my car for the past several weeks and, while I knew the harm that sugar presents to the standard American diet, hadn't yet willed myself to take that step (I did eliminate sugar for about a month three summers ago but don't recall how I felt during or after).  Fortunately this doesn't require any sort of a time commitment the way the running does, so I feel confident that this is a goal I can achieve with more success.

We're Going to Europe!

It's such a feeling of relief when plane tickets have been purchased.  We decided that this year we'll celebrate our two-days-apart birthdays in Europe.  It's been over ten years since I've traveled across the Atlantic, this will be Rob's first trip, and I was itching to go (due in no small part to my sister-in-law, Schelly's recent trip to Germany and Austria, and the last month I've spent with my nose in John Irving books, many of which take place in Vienna).  So we're taking off for Dublin, the cheapest entrance from the US, spending a little time in Ireland and other spots in the UK, then moving over to the mainland where we'll enjoy the rest of our trip in Paris, Salzburg, Vienna, and Prague.  I'm excited to say the least.  What's happening with Olive, you ask?  She's coming with us, of course!  Our week without her in California was trying for me, so I'm not about to do it again, doubling the time away and taking away the convenience of a domestic phone call.  She probably won't remember much of the trip except through photographs, but I'm sure she'll enjoy herself while she's there.  I'm just hoping to not experience a similar flight scenario as my friend, Sam.

Scenes from the Summer

Way back in June our family took a little trip down Carolina way.  We rolled the wedding of an old friend (hooray, Mary and Cam!), a stopover at Myrtle Beach, an oh-so-brief visit with my southern kin, and an overnight at my folks' into five days of travel.  Remarkably enough, I felt well-rested when we returned, not exhausted from so much driving and hopping around as I'd expected (I'd nearly called of the vacation altogether for fear of it being more than I wanted to do).  The trip down to Asheville was uneventful and gorgeous, Olive traveled happily for the most part, and I was excited to bring Rob to one of my favorite places in the country.  We didn't spend much time there, but driving through that hilly stretch of Appalachians, with ridge upon ridge of smoke blue was enough to put me in a blissful state.  Mary's wedding was beautiful and perfect, though we had to leave early (before the pies were cut!) because of a quickly unraveling goon that needed to get some sleep.  The next day she enjoyed a dip in the hotel pool, falling in at one point.  I snatched her out by the ankle, but she handled the sudden submersion like a real champ.  She was ready for the ocean.

We packed up the Honda and headed east to the coast.  The crowded tourist trap that is Myrtle Beach would not usually be my first choice, but since time and cost were big factors in our plans it seemed the most practical place to stay.  We stayed in a less than impressive Comfort Inn about a mile from the beach, and made it out both days, despite some rainy weather.  It was pleasantly cool while we were there, and Buggy enjoyed the sand.  Only Rob suffered a bad burn, so we were pretty lucky.

We bid farewell to the salty coastal air and made it to my grandmother Honey's house in Graham by lunchtime.  We visited there for a while, then met my great-aunt Jean at the Burlington City Park till the heat of the sun drove us back indoors.  My aunt Weegie and her grandson, Jet, joined us back at Honey's.  We dined on pizza then got on the road to Maryland.  I was grateful for the buffer day at my parents' house spent doing mostly nothing, because it was just the transition that we needed.

Oh, and I got a sweet new MacBook Pro.  Not the kind of purchase I was hoping to make anytime soon, but it's a relief to have a fully-functioning machine again.

Technology Woes

It all started with a spilled cup of something, when, we aren't sure, but a bubble rose on the bottom of my trusty MacBook and it stopped taking a charge. Things went downhill fast while we were vacationing in the Carolinas last week, though we still had our iPhones. I left our shared charger at my parents' house. Rob went to San Diego for the weekend and left his phone behind, and I got word from the dude at the Apple store that it would cost $750 to work on my machine. Man. So now I'm faced with having to look for a new computer. And, aside from this tedious tapped-out-on-the-phone post, blogging will remain at a standstill, which is a bummer because I've been looking forward to sharing about our trip, as well as some shots of Buggy buried in the sand. It hasn't been all bad, though, as this has afforded me a bit more time to devote to more important matters - John Irving books, for example. As I don't go in for the racket that is the Fourth ok July, I imagine I'll be able to make some real headway.

Curing the Itchy Leg

Last August I began experiencing a horrible itching on my shins when I'd go to bed.  I'd claw at them all night and wake with scratch marks all over my legs.  At first I suspected it was my laundry detergent; with it being summer I wasn't wearing pants or anything covering my lower legs so I switched to see if that would make a difference.  It did not.  The itching persisted, lasting all this time, though now it goes all all day with no relief.  There's no sign of a rash, no bumps or bite marks, just maddening itching.  Rob did some research and saw a link to my symptoms and a thyroid disorders.  Around the time that the itching began some other things started to occur as well, and I'm only just now making the connection.  Hair loss, (slight) weight loss, and body flush were all things I noticed last summer.  The body flush is particularly alarming when it happens.  It begins with a tingling sensation all over my scalp, then my face and ears become hot and prickly.  Within minutes my entire body is covered in a blotchy red rash.  It lasts for about a half hour then goes away.  It happens irregularly, once a month at most, but I've never been able to trace a pattern with it like a food reaction.  I've made an appointment to see a doctor about this and have my blood tested to determine whether or not it's a thyroid issue.  These are hereditary and my mother battled an overactive thyroid when I was young, so it's likely.  In the meantime, however, I'm going to follow the advice of an acquaintance who has fought with itchy legs like I described for seven years.  Hers are the result of hypothyroidism and she claimed that whenever she eliminates gluten from her diet the itching goes away.  So today is my first day of this experiment.  My biggest problem will be giving up steel-cut oatmeal, my staple breakfast.  Looking at the rest of my diet, though, I don't see this being a problem.  I'd gladly give up oatmeal, though, if it means itch-free legs.  We'll see how this goes.

Goal Setting

I've been feeling hyper-motivated in the last few days.  Having the garden right outside our windows has done something to rev my energy.  Going out to check on and water the leaves of kale and the rest is one of the highlights of my day.  Making art more regularly is creeping back into my daily routine (I'm pleased with how I'm making use of my time, already working on a birthday gift for a special girl who is turning thirteen in August), and I'm starting to prepare paper, a major process in itself, for a collection of work that will be on exhibit at our neighborhood coffee shop in January.  And then there's the running.  I was just reviewing my running log and saw that there were two months so far this year that I ran over 50 miles.  I'd like to shoot for running 50 miles each month.  It's a great head-clearing activity, and I love that Nina has expressed an interest in it, too, so I've taken on a kind of trainer role for her.  We're starting slow and short, but I've encouraged her to keep a journal-calendar so she can record how she feels after each time we go out.

We've also been making improvements on our home.  Anyone who knows me is well aware than I'm no housekeeper, but at the end of most days we spend the five to ten minutes it takes to tidy up the living room, the space that sees the most wreckage during the day.  It's so nice to wake up each morning to a neat room.  The alternative is simply too chaotic for me to think clearly.  And I've been making the bed.  Not every day, but I'm starting to get into the habit.  It looks and feels better.  I feel better.  Things 'round here are good.

Brave Buggy, the Self-Suckler

It was a long day at the market for Olive today and she didn't take a nap, though during the last half hour she nestled down under a blanket and prepared for slumber.  I caught her on several occasions attempting - rather impressively - to nurse herself.  She had a handful of flesh that she was pulling mouthward, determined to get some satisfying results.  Silly girl.  Here's a picture, though it doesn't do justice to what was happening.

Sometimes when she's shirtless her pale, almost translucent skin calls to mind the scene in ET where Michael is biking around frantically in search of Elliott and sees ET half dead in a stream with a raccoon nosing about.  Does anyone else see it?

Later, while I was getting my bag out of the front seat of the car, I hadn't noticed a little hand slipping quickly into the door frame and I closed it.  I looked down and saw that my child's finger was still in the crack and I yanked it back open.  She made no sound of protest, though I was reminded of the time I got my fourth finger dislocated by a heavy metal cooler door and how it took several seconds for the pain to register.  I could see already, though, that her finger had been spared and it was only bruised and had a pretty good (as in bad) scrape down from her nail.  And then, oh, did she wail.  I was frantic and considered rushing her to the hospital but reassessed the injury and deemed such measures unnecessary.  Still, it gave me quite a scare to think of how badly she could have been hurt, the severed digit I may've had to retrieve and have sewn back on.  Yikes.  I knew that her pain was fleeting when we went inside and she was immediately calmed and distracted by her toys and books.  Since she wasn't about to let me near her "PBJ finger" - the blood and raw flesh must have looked like strawberry jam to her - I tossed her in the bathtub along with some splashes of tea tree oil to help disinfect the wound.  She went to bed happy as can be.

Holdin' on to Black Metal

Olive has some very clear preferences when it comes to music.  When we're in the car it's always, "Black Meddew (Metal)", so I play it.  It's track 6 off My Morning Jacket's 2011 album, Circuital, a pretty terrific collection of songs.  "Holdin' on to Black Metal" is one of the best cuts and was an instant favorite of Buggy's from the time I got a copy.  She'd bop in her carseat to the killer guitar-and-brass-driven beat.      It's now extending into the home.  At nap time today she requested it so I picked it out on the piano and sang for her; she seemed pleased.  This evening she demanded it so I cued it up on the computer, but once is never enough.  The moment the song ends - or even transitions into the song's bridge section - she's saying, "Listen Black Meddew!"  It's okay having this on repeat, especially when I think of some of the songs that play incessantly in the homes where children dwell.  The content may be questionable (five Lucifer references), but I'll take it over anything that plays on pop stations that insidiously capture the devotion of the 5-25 set.  MMJ is coming to Pittsburgh again in August so perhaps we can make it a true family affair.

We Got a Garden After All!

After last year's ultimate garden failure I wasn't willing to give it another go - at least not in the same location.  Its proximity to a heavily wooded area brought with it wildlife so invasive that we were only able to harvest basil, hot peppers, a few leaves of kale and lettuce and a single bean.  Also, its 1.5 mile distance from our house, which seemed so agreeable initially, may as well have been in Ohio.  You see, there was no water source so we'd have to cart in our own each time we visited, an inconvenience of such magnitude that I began to quickly tire of the project.  I love growing my own food but longed for a space within view of my house.

For the past month or so I had the pleasure of being across-the-aisle neighbors with Mick and Maggie (and their darling daughters, Claire and Evelyn), of M&M Robertson Farms, who were selling transplant seedlings.  I'm not usually one to resist some red Russian kale (or white Russian, lacinato, rainbow lacinato, and Beedy's Camden, a variety I've never tried!), and I love supporting family farms so I purchased a few kales, a pear tomato plant, a cucumber vine and a flat of various marigolds (one of Olive's middle namesakes).  These I sat on our front steps where they got a pretty good amount of light.  Yesterday was Mick and Maggie's last day at the market so I snagged two more tomatoes, a salad variety whose name I forget and an indigo rose, whose inky stalk caught my attention.  Mick showed me a picture in the catalog of the dark, plum-like skin and flesh of the fruit.  He then asked if I liked kale.  DO I?  He sent me home with an entire flat of seedlings.

When I got home I surveyed with doubt the dwindling real estate of our front steps.  These sweetlings needed a true home.  Then this morning, while looking out our bedroom window that faces the south, a window whose light breathed life back into our flourishing fig and continues to nurture Precious Junior, our rubber plant, it hit me.  Why not make use of the strip of yard that gets so little use, save for the Hoop Union, the hula hooping group that congregates there on Wednesday evenings.  I grabbed my tiller and spent Olive's nap time clearing a wide row nearly half the length of our house.  I kept it close so as not to encroach on Union Project grounds, though I was told that twenty feet of the lawn was ours.  I scattered last year's food scrap compost (a more vicious odor I don't think I've encountered) and mixed it with the soil, then sunk each pod into the earth.   My only regret is that I didn't think of this two months ago.  There's always next year.

Stay tuned for pictures!

Ben Folds with the Pittsburgh Symphony!

Last night Rob and I belatedly celebrated our anniversary (I was zonked and had no appetite after work last Sunday) with dinner and a show.  Our friend Maria came to watch Buggy so Rob and I could dine at Salt of the Earth, our second visit to a pretty remarkable restaurant not far from our house.  I was famished, and the portions are decidedly small, but we left completely satisfied nonetheless.  Rob and I are both voracious eaters so it can be a bit disheartening to have a plate arrive with but a smidgen of artfully garnished grub, but really, when we savor the deliciousness, the carefully considered elements, our bellies seem just as full.

My date

Risotto with crab

  Scallops with lentils and sausage for Rob

Hickory smoked tofu and asparagus for me

 Rhubarb, white chocolate, shortbread, granola, and ginger-mint ice cream

Strawberries, chocolate, granola, and dill!

Afterward, we followed Penn Avenue all the way downtown to Heinz Hall where concertgoers were flocking.  The masses were comprised of a diverse-yet-white group of what looked like pretty normal people.  Normal white people usually like Ben Folds, the quirky songwriter-pianist from Chapel Hill, North Carolina, whose echo of an accent reminded my of my own family in the Tar Heel State.  Our seats in the grand hall were sweet: twenty-five rows back and just a hair to the right of center; had we been sitting a seat farther over we wouldn't have been able to see his fingers dance and flutter over the keys.  The 90-piece orchestra took their seats, warmed up, we applauded, then Ben Folds walked out onto the stage looking rumpled as ever in his black suit and untucked white shirt.  He immediately took to the piano, the two things almost synonymous to me, and my jaw dropped.  It stayed that way for the remainder of the song while my eyes welled with tears.  Sometimes music really gets me.  It was stunning.  I used to bring a notebook with me to concerts to take careful notes.  I no longer do this and choose to just enjoy the show.  So I sat, watching Ben Folds play and sing beautifully and make witty remarks.  At one point he was asked by an audience member to make up a song, which is something he regularly does during live performances.  He arranged parts for the symphony and composed what Rob doubted was an off-the-cuff ode to Pittsburgh (he'd just learned that Pittsburgh boasts not only the highest per capita number of female sports fans but mullets, neither of which surprised me since Rob and I saw just that morning a man with a gloriously curly mullet that could have - should have - been a doll's wig walking his dog near the cemetery.  And female sports fans?  No kidding.  I think I'm the only female in the lot that couldn't care less about the Steelers, Penguins, or Pirates, though there have been many times when I wish I did).  Maybe it was pre-arranged, but it was grade A entertainment either way.  Lesson learned: see Ben Folds whenever he comes to town because, Buggy aside, there's not much sweeter than sitting in a beautiful old theater crying over Fred Jones Part 2 while holding Rob's hand.

When Baking Soda and Apple Cider Vinegar No Longer Do the Trick

It's been two and a half months since my hair has been cleansed by shampoo.  Do I miss it?  Absolutely.  There was a brief period when I felt like my hair was at its best as a result, but mostly it's been a major challenge.  The baking soda has stopped doing its scalp-cleaning thing and has since started building up, mostly in the back of my head, leaving a slightly greasy, slightly tacky mass that makes my skin crawl every time I touch it.  Instead of the apple cider vinegar rinse I'd been using, I experimented with lemon juice and honey (I like the honey), but the lemon pulp would get stuck in my hair and dry.  Not fun.  Today I very nearly broke the streak and washed it, but my hands alit on a bottle of baby powder in the bathroom closet.  I got an idea.  I shook some all over the greasier areas, around the crown, and hit the offending spot in back, then rubbed it all in really well.  Then I brushed thoroughly, trying to loosen the white powder from the strands, and could really see a difference.  I didn't succeed in getting out all of it, but the upside to this is that I could see what I'd look like once my hair really goes grey (it's there now, though harder to see from a distance).  It completely worked and breaking out the bottle of shampoo in a fit of being fed up with nasty (but not stripped, of course!) hair was averted.  It's an interesting journey, this commitment to going shampoo-free.

Three Sweet Years

Who could resist saying "I do" to a man who salutes them?  Pas moi.

I can't say that three years ago today I married my best friend.  Looking back I realize how little I knew Rob and am amazed by my assuredness in committing myself to him for the rest of my life after having spent only a few short months getting to know him.  It was in that time that I was able to see the sort of person he was, though, and I was willing to see what unfolded from there based on just a glimpse.  He was always kind, fair, and optimistic.  He was straight-forward and honest and a matter-of-fact communicator.  It was never not easy to know where I stood with him.  He was brilliant but not a know-it-all, fascinating without being too enigmatic, talented but not arrogant, and quick-witted while still appreciating my own sense of humor.  Rob treated me like gold - and still does - even when I feel I don't deserve to be.  With a ravenous curiosity about everything around him and a constant interest in self-improvement, I knew without a doubt that he'd succeed as a husband, so I jumped in.  In the years since he's completely surprised and impressed me with his humility, work ethic, and gentle, loving nature.  As a father he is phenomenal and easily rivals the amazing Bruce Michael in that department.  Olive adores her Papa, and she's very fortunate to get to spend just as much time - if not more - with him as she does me.  I hope to look back on this three-year mark as I do the day we married, marveling at how much I thought I knew about this remarkable man but how little I did in relation.  I married him because I completely trusted that he would be my best friend and that was all I needed to know.

We'll Wean When We Want

In light of the backlash of the most recent issue of Time magazine, this article was released and I think it's wonderful.  I, too, am one of those mothers that most folks have assumed have weaned her child.  I have not nursed in public for nearly two years, yet it's still a daily occurrence.  I hadn't set a timeline for how long this would go on, so this neither surprises me or was something that I'd planned.  I know many children who chose to stop on their own, and I know that Olive will do the same, but I've never wanted to be the one to sever that precious tie.  The fact that she still loves to do it and giggles with glee at the thought makes me glad we're prolonging it, as does the World Health Organization's suggestion that a child be breastfed up to "two years of age or beyond".  It's certainly not causing her any harm and, if anything, it's reinforcing the feeling that she is loved and protected.  Who doesn't want that for a child?

Bedtime for Buggy

This morning I decided to let Olive have a go at sleeping in a bed for her morning nap.  We'd noticed her gathering blankets and cozying up in our own bed enough times for me to think that she may, perhaps, enjoy the transition from crib to railless mattress.  So in we went, gathering a few of her favorite crib friends and Blue Blanket, and got into the twin bed that's in her room.  I like this setup far more because it allows me to lay beside her as she's winding down.  I can sing to her with our faces almost touching, her eyes staring intently at mine, instead of hovering a few feet above her the way I used to.  The first run was not smooth, but it normally takes her a while to fall asleep during the day which is why we weren't surprised to hear her pulling at her door then plinking away at the piano a few times.  I wondered if she might rather be in her crib, but we wanted her fall asleep in there when she was ready, which she did.  Tonight she was excited to turn in and gave in without the slightest protest, even telling me she loved me without me prompting her.  How I adore that child.

Marathon #4

On Saturday my dad came to the market as we were closing the stand, his second year coming to Pittsburgh for Marathon Weekend (he's such a supportive pop, that one!).  Olive was delighted to see him and the two of them wandered around while Rob and I cleaned up.  Afterwards we headed back to Highland Park for dinner at E2, one of the local restaurants on Bryant Street, since I'd heard they made good pastas.  I wound up getting spaghetti and giving my meatballs to Rob and my dad.  Our waiter kept the delicious grilled, chewy bread coming, and Olive ate not one, but two olives!  She'd only ever spit them out in the past, so this was progress.  And they were some excellent olives.  We went back home, visited for a spell, then put Buggy to bed.  My dad and I went for a walk around the neighborhood then drove to Kellie's where we'd be staying for the night.  Her husband, Mike, was doing the half marathon, and given the nasty road blocks and parking situation we decided it'd be best to consolidate.  I slept pretty well in Jack's bed and rose before 5:30.  After a breakfast of four scrambled eggs (I upped my normal race breakfast by one egg), Pop, Mike, and I were out the door at 6 and parked downtown by 6:20.  The temperature reached 81 later in the day, but while we made our way to our corral and waited for the 7:30 start I was freezing and ready to run to warm my body more than anything else.  I decided to stick with Mike, who was shooting for an 8:35 mile pace, for as long as I could, seeing him as a means of improving my time a little bit.  I lost him before mile 1, but even the little bit I ran with him helped spur me to keep a livelier pace than usual.  Seeing all of the clusters of runners, part of me wished that I had a group for support when parts of the course became difficult, but I've always been more of a solitary runner, especially in marathons, and I know I can do it.  Besides, all of the spectators - far more this year because of last year's rainier conditions - are enough to keep me going.

After the first mile I was already drenched in sweat.  The miles were ticking by without me realizing; I'd pass at least three mile markers and not even know it, which made for a less arduous run.  Twenty-six miles is a long way to count down.  However, somewhere in the fifth mile I began to feel a numb pain in the outer side of my left foot.  I kept most of my weight on my right foot and hobbled along until mile 12 when the pain went away for good.  It worried me, though, and I was afraid I'd end up having to walk the remainder, putting a serious damper on the day.  By mile 15 the heat had risen to 79 degrees, more than twenty from when the race began.  Unable to stand it any longer, I took off my shirt and tied it around my neck like a makeshift dicky.  I spotted Sarah, one of my friends from the market, then Water, an employee at the co-op with whom I'd once volunteered, who was passing out apple slices and Sun Drops, little chocolate candies.  At that point I was fewer than five miles from my house, and the jaunt through Homewood, the neighborhood in between, was fun, filled with lively supporters and an easy enough course.  I was flooded with relief when I hit Highland Park and was on the most familiar terrain of all.  Though I didn't see many neighbors I knew, I saw Rob on the sidewalk in front of our house, where a water station and band were also set up.  I ducked inside to use our bathroom,  have a drink of water, and snag Buggy's sunglasses that we sitting on the table.  They're a snugger fit than mine, making them better for running, and they were much needed on such a bright day.  Last year it was after I passed our house that things plummeted quickly.  I was dreading miles 21-26 since they'd given me such a dreadful time before, but my experience was very different this time around.  I have unpleasant memories of the stretch down Liberty Avenue through Bloomfield, all but dragging myself forward and hearing the heckling of fat women on the sidewalk, "Come on!  You can do better than that!"  That was in no way encouraging when I was already giving all I had.  This time, though, I was feeling full of pep, and one woman in Bloomfield told me I had on the coolest running outfit she'd ever seen.  The dicky worked in my favor.  As I bounded down the hill that descends into the Strip District, nearing mile 24, I spied a sizable crowd that had gathered outside one of the rowhouses and saw my buddy, Keith.  He cheered and the rest of his pals roared.  The final two miles were the toughest mentally, but I imagined it in terms of the beginning of a run and thought of how short a distance that really is, how I rarely go out for such a short run unless I'm with Buggy and we're just running an errand.  

And then it was over.  The finish line ended up being closer than I thought it was and I felt like I ought to continue running.  The clock read 5:03, so I knew that I'd beat my time from last year, 5:15:16, by a good bit, and had broken my record of 5:06 that I did in 2008.  I'd hoped to run it in under five hours but hadn't trained the way someone striving for this goal ought to.  I felt oddly good, as if I hadn't just run one of the farthest distances I'd ever gone.  My dad was there just before the finish so I was able to meet up with him easily, but it was harder to find Rob and Olive.  I knew they'd left shortly after I was at the house and he'd been studying the maps of accessible roads.  My dad and I circled the area for a while then found the family reunion area, organized alphabetically, which was brilliant.  I hung out there and stretched while my dad continued to look around and, soon enough, they found me.  Afterwards, we went to the market to close the booth, which was probably one of the best things I could do.  Staying on my feet and active rather than collapsing into my bed allowed my overworked muscles to cool down slowly.  My sunburn hurts more than my legs at this point.  I'm ready for my fifth.

Painting Tutorial by Buggy

Not wanting to run the risk of being like the manipulative and exploitative father in My Kid Could Paint That, I got this on tape from start to finish.  I quite like it, but I like most things she does.  

The Family Bed

The three of us were hanging around on our bed this evening after we got home from work (Rob and Olive will often come and join me at the market on Saturdays). This is what usually goes on:

Silly Goon Stuff

Lately Olive's been a real nut. About a month ago she began what has become a daily chant: "Haddat, pease? You NEEEEEEED that!" (which translates to "May I have that, please? I need that!"). It's so silly that I can't help but laugh, and not I say it along with her just for fun. This afternoon, after she'd been put in her crib for a nap, I heard her shouting, "Headder! Need water...pease!" I did go in and bring her water, but after she let it seep onto her bedding and I took it away, I ignored her shouts for more. What's with the calling me by my first name, anyway? She's very good at communicating to others what she'd like them to say to her. For instance, she'll often greet people by saying, "I like 'a shoes," or "I like 'a dress." Perhaps it's time for us to start putting less emphasis on what she's wearing and complimenting her attire. Yesterday I was thinking aloud and looking forward to Olive being at the age when she could start going out for runs with me. Nina scoffed - "Girls don't run. Girls play princess and dress-up." Not that I'm going to forbid these things, but I like to think that Olive has a bit more of me in her than that.

Marathon Stuff

As many of you know, in three weeks I'll be running my fourth marathon and am raising funds for the Michael C. Snyder Memorial Fund. My ultimate goal is to raise $1000, which would cover both scholarships that are awarded, though half of that, the amount of one of them, would also be terrific. "Who is this Michael C. Snyder and why should we care?," you might ask. Well, aside from the appeal of helping high schoolers go to college, here's a little bit of background information:

Mike and I had been close friends for about five years. This guy really knew how to be a friend to everyone he cared about, and it's probably what all of us remember best about him - his selflessness, his kindness, his always putting others first. He was honest, and funny, and uplifting. His character was impeccable, and he taught me a great deal about humanity. For my birthday one year he gave me a box filled with rare R.E.M. imports and bootlegs. It was, as anyone can imagine, the most treasured gift anyone has ever given me. Mike loved monkeys - some even called him "Monkey Mike". Olive has a sock monkey and a sock frog, both of whom she calls Monkey Mike, and it makes me smile every time she says their names. He and I had made plans to hang out when I returned home from a family vacation at the beach. While I was away I received a phone call from his father, Dave, who left a message asking me to call him back. This was unusual so I immediately called Mike but was unable to reach him. Immediately my heart sank. Despite his joyful demeanor, Mike had not had an easy life. Recent events for him - being hit by a car on his bicycle, and a horrible car accident that required facial reconstructive surgery, among other things - would have been traumatizing to anyone, but he weathered these unfortunate circumstances gracefully and with good cheer. I fearfully returned Dave's call and as his voice broke I knew his news was bad: Mike, his only child - adopted - had been working for the state highway, holding one of those two-sided signs directing traffic to stop or drive slowly. A driver neglected to stop and hit Mike, killing him. The news was heartbreaking to everyone who knew him in his large circle of friends and family.

Dave and Mary, his parents, sort of adopted all of Mike's friends and loved ones he left behind. Quamain, Mike's longtime Little Brother, is still very close with them, and I like to think that he's taken on a bit of the duties that Mike would've gladly performed as their son. Olive, Rob, and I got to visit Mary briefly while we were in Maryland, and I'm lucky to have these people in my life because I know they helped make Mike who he was.

So when I decided to put my affinity for marathon running to good use by running for charity, this was the first thing that came to mind. I know that it doesn't hit as close to home for some as large organizations like the American Cancer Society, but it means the most to me. If I can help others remember Mike through funding the scholarship established in his name then I'm honoring what an amazing friend he was to me and to many. And remembering my friend is what keeps me, busy with a family and a business to run and a second job, running to help do the work that he'd still be doing if he were alive.

Forgoing the Face Washing

So you may remember a month ago how I talked about quitting shampoo...now it's face wash. It had long been my habit to wash my face twice a day - in the morning and before bed. Around the time I stopped sudsing my hair I cut back to nighttime-only face washings, feeling like a cleaning in the morning was excessive. Over the last week I've imagined my (albeit gentle) facial cleansers doing similar things to my face that shampoo had been doing to my hair, and developed a new routine. I now clean my face with olive oil and can say that, after about five days of this, it's working out just fine. What I do is this:

Pour a dime- to nickel-sized amount of extra virgin olive oil (lesser grade oil will not offer the same benefits, though I imagine that coconut oil would also do wonderful things. Jojoba oil, which I used while in California, was less than ideal, and made my skin a tad dry) in the palm of my hand then massage into my face. I let it sit while I brush and floss my teeth, then take a warm, damp wash cloth and gently wipe away only some of the oil. The rest can absorb into my skin overnight.

Not only do I feel like I'm doing my skin a favor, but I love being able to eliminate the need for more products round the house. I can do so many things with so few items (vinegar, baking soda, and olive oil) that it allows us to pare down on the stuff, and I like this.

A Few More Photographs from California

Here are Romeo and Rob, ready to visit the Oxbow Public Market. The Pittsburgh Public Market would be wise to take a cue or two from this place when designing their new space slated to open in 2013.

Front row at the Olive Oil Sensory Evaluation Course at the Robert Mondavi Institute. Not only was the class absolutely fascinating, but the breakfasts and lunches they provided us were better than most food at some of the better restaurants I've visited (though still not better than Romeo's cooking).

Speaking of Romeo's cooking, this here's a perfectly prepared octopus that made a delicious pre-dinner snack on one of our last evenings at the ranch. I think I'd really like to start painting some octopi, and not quite sure why I haven't before. How beautiful is this?

It was a sea-lover's feast that night: octopus, crabs, and poke, a raw tuna and seaweed salad that was marvelous.

Look at the color of these! They were the best grapes I'd ever eaten. Muscat.

The rear of the house looking out onto the green hills. The emerald color, we're told, gives way to an abysmal brown in the summertime, making it easier to understand why our friends would leave this haven for downeast Maine during that time.

The ladies of the ranch! They're raised to sell as organic beef at the Oxbow.

Rob and Rome out on a glorious early afternoon walk. Not that I'm complaining, but those meteorologists got it all wrong for the week we were there.

I fell madly in love with the trees in California - particularly the oaks. They're so different from the varieties I'm used to on the east coast. The way the branches splay out every which way gives them such splendid shapes. I could easily see myself slipping into an addiction of landscape painting if I was there more often.

Romeo and Iggy (I think)

Bruce and Annie (I think)

The three fellows relaxing in the sun at the pinnacle

Rob on the steps of the Culinary Institute of America at Greystone, St. Helena, California. We went to visit the Oleoteca Villa Campestri where we got to taste a selection of super-premium olive oils. The super-premium standard is substantially higher than the extra virgin grade, which isn't nearly as great as most people are made to believe. I was pleased to learn at the course that a number of the oils I carry (which come from Lucero Olive Oil in Corning) are in this elite category of fine oils. Thanks to the tutorial at Oleoteca, I now know that all it takes to kick up your food a few notches is a splash of good oil and a pinch of salt (we use Himilayan rock salt). This combination is also fabulous on ice cream, as Bruce will enthusiastically attest!

Rob and I strolled around downtown Napa on our second-to-last night in California while waiting for our table at ZuZu. Palm trees are such strange and wonderful plants, aren't they? I love the placement of the moon in this picture.

Just a few yards away from the palm was this mosaic-fountain. We were blown away by the intricate detail.

The streets of Napa. I really, really love it there. We'd probably be signing a lease right now if I didn't think that being in the olive oil business in that part of the country was an unwise business maneuver. It's the whole big fish in a small pond that makes my gig so feasible in Pittsburgh.

On our last full day we took a trip to the San Francisco Zoo and it was truly a wonderland. With the exception of a few exhibits, it shamed every other zoo I've ever visited. As usual, we spent most of our time there observing the gorillas. There was a five year-old in the group, bouncing this way and that, heckling the adults, and showing off for the visitors, that I could've watched for hours. His antics made me excited for our own zoo's new gorilla, and I'm glad to know that they don't grow too quickly. We'll get to enjoy his playful behavior, hopefully, for years to come. I feel the same way about Rob, obviously.

After the zoo we crossed the highway to feel the Pacific Ocean. We scored a few rocks and Rob found a sand dollar, which I smuggled back with me on the airplane.

I'm just delighted that my business gives me even more of a reason to travel to this part of the country on a more regular basis, and that we have such good friends there to host us when we're there. I've never spent a more comfortable and relaxing week away from home in my life. It'll be dangerous when we come the next time with Olive; we may never return!