The Camry Wagon's Last Ride

I knew I was pushing it when, after getting the news from my mechanic on Thursday morning that our 21 year-old Toyota Camry station wagon needed a new motor, I took it out on Saturday night and then again today. Since our trip south from Maine, it had been deteriorating, trudging from zero to traffic-speed like a stubborn slug, garnering horns and choice hand gestures from other drivers (note to self: Connecticutians are jerks). More recently, the car's acceleration had diminished nearly altogether, to the point where hazard lights were necessary (this happened while we were in Pittsburgh, but we were starting from a stop light at a significant incline). When I was about 1/4 mile from my folks' house, chugging up a slight hill, she petered out completely. I started her back up, and we inched to the top where we could turn and coast the rest of the way to my parents' street, at which point I'd be able to push it, if need be. Fortunately, the need did not be, but I put away the keys once and for all, vowing not to try it again. Her life is over.
Now I'm back in the car market again. I've become all too familiar with the craigslist automobile searches over the last three years. It seems like my years in Maine have been jinxed with bad car fortune; since moving there I've been through the ringer, plowing my way through five cars (soon to be six) like a kid devouring candy after a night of trick-or-treating - maybe worse. There was my beloved and reliable 2000 Civic, followed by The Lemon To Beat All Lemons, the 1994 WV Jetta, the sleeper hit 1994 purple Civic, the backup '88 VW Quantum, and the newly-deceased. That's too many cars, if you ask me. Now that I have a little bit more time to scour the market, and a higher budget with which to work, I'm treading carefully rather than settling on the first $1,200 car I find that runs. Beater cars may be good enough for Rob and me, but not Buggy. That said, I'm currently looking at 10-years-or-newer Honda CR-Vs, or maybe a Subaru or Volvo station wagon. I do have to say, the thought of driving a car that doesn't make me listen to make sure vital parts aren't dropping out on the highway makes me squirm with delight. Olive deserves it.

Seems Like Old Times

A party at Wanda's...

Talk about something I hadn't done in seven years, at least, and had no reason to think I'd ever do again. From 1999-2003 I worked as a cashier at Frederick's natural foods co-op, The Common Market. The bulk department manager, Wanda Marvel's, parties were legendary, drawing nearly every employee, their family members, and outside friends.
Last night I had plans to go into Frederick to purchase organic popcorn, nutritional yeast, and cat food for Che and Wendell, then go see some old friends from high school, then Nashville, play a cd release show. I called up my old friend Molly, a co-worker from Roots Market where she and I worked produce together, who lives in Frederick and now works at the Common Market. She invited me to go with her to Wanda's Summer Bash, and I gladly accepted.
The three of us drove together in my car, badly in need of a new motor (which translates to me, once again, being in need of a new car). The poor old Toyota wagon wouldn't make it up Wanda's steep driveway, so we parked it and got a ride from Wanda's youngest son, Glen, who happened to be coming home. At the party I saw many an old familiar face - some of whom I hadn't seen in nearly ten years. It was a wonderful reunion, and I was proud to introduce sweet Olive who, unfortunately, had gotten a bit cranky in the late day heat. I was just sorry that Rob wasn't there so he could meet a lot of my old cohorts from my co-op years, which were pleasant, indeed.
Olive was decked out in a vintage lace frock; my Aunt Jean had given me a bag of old clothes for her before she was born, and in it were countless frilly dresses, some of which were a little too frou-frou for our girl, but a lot I really loved - dresses made in the Philippines of soft lace and tiny, precise pintucks and smocking. Adorable. Having grown tired of her go-to outfits, I rifled through her suitcase and produced a lovely little ivory number with pale embroidered flowers. It was another hot one, and figured the lightweight woven cotton would be cooler than a knit material. In the more-feminine-than-usual dress and it being the 21st century where most Americans no longer dress their young boys in lace, save for christenings, maybe, I figured Olive would be a dead-ringer for a girl. But I kid you not - we still got at least three folks throwing around masculine pronouns as if he'd been wearing a little Redskins jersey. I have to wonder...Beating the heat on Wanda's lawn.
With the heat making Olive a little batty, I tried letting her experiment with ice, placing small bits on her tongue to help cool her. She was uncertain, holding out her tongue timidly to explore the new cold sensation. Later on, after I'd finished a watermelon slice, I decided to let her gum on the rind a bit. This pleased her to no end, her eyes wide with the excitement of the experience. I imagine that the cool, crisp wetness and the firm texture were a real treat when had for the first time.
Not able to successfully combat the heat, we left at nine, and opted to forgo the Judd and Maggie show that we were originally planning to attend. It had been an eventful enough night for the two of us, and home was the only place we wanted to go. And on our way back, passing through Frederick, I was treated to a fireworks display from the minor league baseball field, reminding me of the times when my mom and I would pull over onto the shoulder of the highway to watch them when was in high school.
All in all, it was one sweetly nostalgic night.
Buggy modeling one of her new old dresses. I love it.

Teething?

Three nights ago Olive was up in the middle of the night screaming bloody murder. Bad. Worst night ever. The second two nights she was extremely restless, sleeping only in short spurts. As a result, I've gotten hardly any sleep. Oftentimes she won't nap for long enough for me to fall asleep, too. Her social outings have been successful affairs in the past, but when my friend, Ben, and I went with her to lunch at Laurienzo's in Mt. Airy (where our waiter, commenting on Olive, knew she was a girl without having to be told or corrected!), she threw a crying fit so violent and ear-splitting that we were forced to relocate to the heat of outside in an effort to spare the other paying customers. (On a side note, however - her ill tempter aside - she still managed to recruit an adoring fan in Ben, and they're becoming the great friends I knew they would be. It's my hope that, during the course of the summer, she'll see Ben as a surrogate Rob, though I don't imagine she'll be that easily fooled; Ben's not exactly my type. A positive male role model, nonetheless).
Her daytime naps have been quick, so I can't complete much illustration work. I'm not sure whether or not it's due to the onset of teething - the age is about right, though she's not displaying many of the typical symptoms. I put her on Hyland's homeopathic teething tablets, though, just in case that is the culprit. Much of the time she's squawky and in constant need of physical stimulation. Part of me suspects that she's reacting to Rob's absence. Some have discounted this theory, saying that she's still too young and that, with me still being her primary parent - the feeder - she'd adjust fine. All I know is that her abrupt sleep and behavioral change coincided with his leaving, so what's to say that it's not a matter of her simply missing him? I can't say that I blame her.
I guess this is what I get for being boastful of my "perfect" baby.



Ben wasn't sure what to make of Buggy's ample upper leg chub: "What's this for?" he inquired, puzzling over that particular roll as though it must serve a special purpose. All of that pudge has to go somewhere.

A Sad Goodbye

Today was the day that I'd been dreading since last summer: Rob's departure for Alaska.  He'll be gone for 55 days - twenty days longer than we were apart last summer, which was painfully long.  Fortunately, I'll have Olive to keep me busier than usual, not to mention a slew of concerts with my friend, Ben, a trip to North Carolina, a few more visits to Alpine Lake, and book illustrations to complete.  Put that way, it feels like I won't have enough time to get everything done...a recipe for blessedly rapid time passage!

We headed out around 11:30 to get to Reagan National Airport in time for their 1:45 flight.  It was a breezy drive and check-in, but after I broke down at security, I was in need of a pick-me-up.  Being in our nation's fine capital, there was only one place I knew to go to cure my Rob-sickness: Dolcezza.  

My old friend, Clara, introduced me to this unassuming gem on Wisconsin Avenue in Georgetown, five or six years ago.  It was life-altering, to say the least.  The variety of flavors and the freshness of their ingredients makes their Argentine gelato some of the best food on the planet.  Really.  Today I opted for a triple in a medium-sized cup: an old favorite, lemon opal basil, along with coconut dulce de leche and blackberries and cream.  The last was for Rob, a flavor I thought he might have picked if he'd been with me.  I sat, Olive strapped to my chest, in the sparse gelaterie, savoring the fine creations and smiling back at the other patrons who admired my sleeping angel.  

That there on the left - that's my lemon opal basil.  Heaven.

Behold!  Such decadent delights!

After the healing treat, we popped into the baby/maternity boutique that was near my car.  Baby boutiques aren't my bag, but we had time and I figured I'd give it a look-see.  It was typical Georgetown; the funniest part of my day was rifling through some of the little girls' clothes and seeing the price tags.  If a store is able to stay in business in that neck of the woods, it means that they have enough silly customers willing to shell out $78 on a dress for an infant.  I mean, I can see dropping $78 on a really great dress that I'll not only wear this month, but years down the road.  Call me crazy, but that kind of spending on a baby isn't good horse sense, but perhaps I'd feel differently if I was working on Capitol Hill.  As it stands, that kind of money - to me - is better spent across the street at Dolcezza.  

I just invested in an iSight webcam for my laptop for communicating with Rob from afar.  Hopefully it'll arrive in the mail soon.  I'm looking forward to his call in the wee hours of the morning when he arrives at his sister's house in Anchorage...

My sweet one, dreaming about her papa.

Weekend Fun, and Glad Tidings!

We spent a long weekend at my parents' new house at Alpine Lake, West Virginia, swimming, canoeing, and playing lots of Boggle.  The house was impressive, as was all of the wildlife we saw: deer, groundhogs, chipmunks, a wide variety of birdlife, really unusual moths (that kept Rob and Roma very entertained).  Olive enjoyed a dip in the lake, having gone for her first "swim" in a friend's pool a few days before.  

On Sunday morning, we rose at the crack of dawn to head up to visit the Pittsburgh Zoo.  It was a gorgeous 2 1/2 hour drive through winding, hilly roads through WV farmland into Pennsylvania. The zoo was packed, what with it being free admission for fathers, a weekend, the beginning of summer vacations, and there being a special dragon festival happening that weekend.  It was exceptionally hot, so we were happy to be there before it grew too sweltering and crowded.  Rob had been in contact with the head gorilla keeper there regarding an internship, but they kept missing each other.  We popped in on Kellie and her family afterward, and while we were there my mom called, telling us that Roseanne, the gorilla keeper, had called that right after we'd left the zoo.  Bummer.

To combat the heat, our families walked to the local ice cream shop in their Brookline neighborhood, Scoops on the Boulevard, and enjoyed some treats before we got back on the road.  It was great to see Kellie and Mike, Jack, Gail, and their newest addition, Iris.  She was wonderfully small, with the most amusing expressions and ssssslow movements.  Very funny little girl.

Back in Maryland today the phone rang with a call from the Pittsburgh Zoo.  I sat with Olive,  listening anxiously to Rob speaking with Roseanne...who offered him the internship, saying that no other applicants interested her as much.  He had applied to three zoos - Pittsburgh, the Roger Williams Park Zoo in Providence, Rhode Island, and the Beardsley Zoo in Bridgeport, Connecticut, but the Pittsburgh internship was both the most coveted and the most difficult to get.  He'll be working with the gorillas as well as their painted dogs (African wild dogs that resemble a coyote-hyena hybrid.  There are currently nine puppies that were nursed by a domestic dog after their mother died after they were born).  We are all very, very excited!  Now I can begin hunting again for housing in Pittsburgh, now that we'll be heading there in August for sure.

Farewell, Maine...Hello, Maryland

For a send-off, our friends Robert and Amy had a farewell gathering for us at their home on Saturday night. Great food covered the table, including a "massaged" kale salad that Anne made. Yum. The weather was delightful, though the mosquitoes drove most of us indoors and away from the bonfire. Olive enjoyed visiting with the guests, getting passed around and creating more adoring fans throughout the evening. Our friend, Damon, made the astute observation that, "she looks very german." I told him that Rob and I both have german heritage, but then he elaborated: "She looks like a german twenty year-old. A german twenty year-old guy." Hmm. Can't say I've seen it, but then again, the vast majority of strangers that we encounter assume that she's a boy, even in her floral prints and hat with rosebuds sewn onto it. I mean, if a baby isn't bathed in Pepto Bismol pink with a bow stapled to the head and ears pierced courtesy of Claire's Boutique, then it can't possibly be a girl. That being the case, our Olive will remain blissfully male until she can decide for herself that pink is her favorite color, or at least until the hair starts to come in.

New mama Anne and mama of four years, Lindy

New papa Rafi with Cecilia

Ellis!

After the party, the work began. We got up early Sunday morning to pick up the U-Haul for the things we weren't taking with us over the summer. Aside from the piano, which required the help of Darrin Dana, one of my former coworkers at Beatrice Rafferty School, we got everything loaded into the truck and then unloaded it at our storage unit shortly afterward. The house then needed to be cleaned when we got home, and we still weren't at all sure how we were going to fit everything else into the station wagon while leaving enough room for the four of us plus the cats. We ended up having to leave some things like the cosleeper, jogging stroller, and Rob's duffel bag with Rafi and Anne to ship to us. It's going to cost a bundle, but it has to be done. We finally went to bed, sleeping on the bare mattress in Zoe's room, with Olive right down from us on the trundle bed. My cell phone alarm went off at 5 am, as we wanted to get on the road by 6, and I soon realized that the phone, which I hardly use, picks up the canadian signal, and is an hour ahead, so I was up at 4.

Leaving just a 36 minutes behind schedule, I estimated that we'd be pulling in to Mt. Airy no later than midnight. The trip went shockingly smoothly, though, and we weren't held back by the presence of an infant (who slept most of the way). It took us a shockingly pleasant fifteen hours, thanks to my front-seat pumping (I love you, Ameda Purely Yours car adaptor) and passing the bottle back to Zoe who kept Olive content for almost the entire trip. The little thing cried for no more than twenty minutes total, an impressive feat for a 16 week-old not confined to a hot and sticky car seat for the better part of a day. She is my hero.

We're back now, braving the heat - or what feels like heat to us. It's been overcast and coolish, but still humid enough to drive me half batty. Oh, and Olive and I fell down the stairs yesterday. I landed right on my back, but Olive remained safe in my grasp. She cried, as the fall must've scared her to death, but that was it for her crying yesterday - a mere couple of minutes. And we've hit a new milestone: laughing. Both my mother and I have had her chuckling on several occasions, to all of our deligh

t. There is nothing in the world like the sound of a sweet little thing who has figured out the joy of laughter. How we love her!

Winding Down Visits

Yesterday was my last piano lesson with the Lamb girls in Jonesport. I'd been teaching Alayna and Isabel, 9 and 5, since September '08, and they were, by far, the best students I ever had, so it was a little tough to say goodbye. The family will be among those that we visit during our trips back to Maine. When the lessons were over, Olive was passed around from father to son to daughter. Aryc, their 4 year-old, was delighted to finally get to hold her, observing her on my lap adoringly for weeks while I taught his sisters. And while I never thought I'd be the sort of parent to start lining up potential sons-in-law before my daughter can even stand on her own, Aryc Lamb is a top contender. A four-year age difference will be nothing when they're in their mid-20s or so. My friend, Sam, is having a boy in September, so either one will do. Both boys come from quality stock. I'm aware of how quickly time passes, and before I know it, she'll be an adult and these may be concerns of hers, so it's never too soon to start looking around.Look at these two!
Isabel and Cuddly. That house has cuteness coming out of the woodwork.
After leaving the Lamb's, Olive and I hit Machiasport for dinner with Bruce and Romeo. Their rented home there is stunning, situated at the end of the road on a sprawling piece of land overlooking the bay. Romeo is a first-rate cook, and prepared for dinner ribs with roasted new potatoes and garlic, and lime corn (phenomenal), with watermelon and some of the best canteloupe I've ever tasted for dessert. We sat Olive in a wicker rocking chair beside us until she got too sad - the realization that I may have replaced her beloved father with a pair of unfamiliar older men. Bruce assured her that it was only dinner, but she was having none of it. She fed until she fell asleep, and we left shortly afterward. It was a wonderfully fulfilling, if not a touch sad, evening. I really am going to be sorry to leave so much of it here, as we've found such wonderful friends, and the surroundings - well, isn't that why anyone comes to Maine?
Iggy or Annie - not sure which.
Bradbury and Dolera-by-the-SeaRomeo doing what he does best.
Bruce approving of the spread. Or Olive.

Fever Dancing

Friday was rough; Olive was feverish all day, and miserable as a result. I wasn't feeling so great, myself, but I was chalking it up to lack of sleep. We typically put her down for the night at 8:30, and proceed to stay up till 1 am as she's waking for her latenight feeding, and that finally took its toll. I noticed early on Friday the heat radiating from her bald little head - much warmer than normal. When her behavior started to become more erratic, I took her temperature: just a hair over 100. She was reluctant to eat, and we let her sleep as much as she would. Saturday morning she began crying - broken smoke alarm-style - in the wee hours, keeping me up most of the night. The poor thing was miserable. By late morning, however, whatever it was her body was fighting had passed, and she was cheerful for the rest of the day.

Our dear friend, Bruce, had just gotten back to the area from Napa, where he lives most of the year. I hadn't seen him since the folk group's final performance at the Machias Grange in mid-December, and a lot has changed since then. We met him for dinner at the Pickled Herring, and it was wonderful, as usual.

The waitress offered to take our picture.
Afterwards we headed up to the Rose Garden where our friend, Duane Ingalls, was playing music. Getting home at 9:45, Olive went to bed a little later than usual, but we've decided that we'll try pushing back her bedtime a little bit, as she slept through the night, not stirring until 7:30 am! We woke feeling well-rested and clear-headed.

Here are some shots from this evening of a spirited, fever-free Buggy. Well, this one's a different kind of fever...
Needless to say, R.E.M.'s Just a Touch was playing. Who can blame her?

So Long, 225 Lavina Ave....

Since October, we had our hearts set on the house of our dreams: a 1918 brick beauty at the dead end of the street, set up a hill in the shade of an enormous hardwood. Kellie had gone to view the house and took pictures of the interior for us, and vouched that it was, indeed, a great house (and a steal at $149,000). Well, I just received an e-mail from Don, the owner, telling me that it is off the market as of today. The news is a little bit heartbreaking, but there was nothing we could do; it was just too premature to buy now, and we couldn't honestly expect a house like that to stay available until we were ready to move. So now our search continues, but this time a larger, fig orchard-accommodating yard will be part of our criteria.

Onto the weather... The month of June has shaped up to be pretty lousy. A glance at the 10-day forecast didn't brighten our outlooks any: nothing topping 66 degrees through the 12th, and nothing more promising than one partly sunny day. This is especially discouraging when we've already had laundry hanging on the line now for the third day in a row. and a network of lines dissecting the living room. All day yesterday we had Olive in disposable diapers because all thirty-six of her cloth diapers were either still damp or soiled. It pains me to see the garbage can piled full of diapers, but know that it's only temporary, and that, for many Americans, this is the norm, the concept of washing and reusing a diaper as foreign as arranged marriages and Padung, the dying tradition of neck elongation in southeast Asian and African women. the current weather in Eastport is 48 degrees and heavy rain - a great day to spend indoors over mugs of tea and bowls of warming soup. Maybe a hot bath later.

And lastly, GEICO. I don't care how cute the little Australian gecko mascot is - he's a crook, or is, at the very least, the face of a bunch of crooks. When our '94 Civic was totaled in November just before going to a They Might Be Giants show in DC, we were looking at getting upwards of $1400 for the loss from GEICO. Somewhere in the clearing of the vehicle, I neglected to salvage the title, and subsequently, because of the Maine law that says a vehicle over fifteen years old does not require a title, I was unable to obtain a copy to submit to my claims adjuster. I was given the runaround for six months, until I finally had it and called to get to the bottom of it today, mentioning, also, that I was shopping around for a new insurance provider. Well, apparently I said the magic word, because Lisa, my gravel-voiced adjuster, told me that I could fax her my registration and they'd send me a check. Really? That was all? I would've gladly done that back in December when I first started slogging through this mess. The end is in sight now, thank goodness.

Figgy dreams

As we think ahead to life in Pittsburgh, plants are on our minds. We have some apple trees and a avocado seedling to bring with us, and then I had the idea to grow figs. A year or two ago, my family and I stayed in a beach house with an enormous fig tree in the yard. That week I would go out each day and pluck the ripe, succulent figs from the branches, and it was glorious. I long for a fig tree of my very own, and I'm setting out to make that happen. I started doing a little research and came across this gem of a site: Adriano's Fig Trees, Etc.
Unfortunately, Adriano has set up shop in Toronto and doesn't do business Stateside, but I shot him an e-mail to inquire about any U.S. connections. I learned a HEAP about different fig varieties, and am already having fantasies about working the Pittsburgh farmers' market circuit with my fig truck, peddling the only locally-grown figs in town. In my daydreams, I divide my time between cultivating my Ronde de Bordeaux (a small, dark blue variety with "an excellent flavor...Better than Violette de Bordeaux. Very sweet and cold resistant.") and toiling in my studio over little fig studies in oil. Fig portraits. Olive's bedroom will feature a fig mural on her wall, and a fig mobile over her crib. I'll sew together fig leaves for our clothes. I've got figs on the brain, and the inspiration they elicit is dizzying.

We're all doing well. Just had ourselves some leftover Moroccan lentil soup from last night. SO much better the second night. Zoe had her spring concert where she played clarinet with the band and sang with the chorus. Our good friend, Robert, is the music teacher for three of the schools here, so there were a lot of musicians in the concert. He does a phenomenal job with the kids - there are some really talented kids that he teaches. I'm consoled by the fact that at least Zoe has a great music teacher, as that is an area where she excels. Olive enjoyed herself, as she usually does as such musical events. This time she was much more aware, and, for the first time, felt to me like a much older baby, where I wasn't on edge, worrying about her bursting into tears. She held out for a while, till hunger struck, and we dealt with it. Still, she's a great baby.

It is now that special time of evening...Popcorn Time. My Rob makes the most spectacular popcorn (with sea salt and nutritional yeast) I've ever had, and it's a special treat each and every time we have it - no less than five nights a week.