Soap Switch

Since moving here in August, I'd grown pretty fond of Trader Joe's tea tree oil soap. It's long lasting, fresh-smelling, and comes in a 2-pack for $1.99. Unbeatable, really. However, I was negligent in my purchasing of it a few months ago, not reading the label to ensure that there was no palm oil, which I was afraid there was. Soap was on my list when I went there this morning, and sho' 'nuff - palm oil in every last bar of soap they had on their shelves. I paid for my foodstuffs and hi-tailed it to Whole Foods, whose vast selection offered me a glimmer of hope, if not TJ's famously low prices. I stood there facing the wall of soaps with decadent-sounding blends like carrot and pomegranate with cranberry. Were I not on a no-palm oil mission and had money to burn (or dissolve, as it were) on $8 bars of soap, I'd sample a whole slew of these saponified goodies, but I was very limited in my choices today. Kiss My Face provided me with my only solutions - their olive oil soaps fit the bill to a T (or nearly. $3.99 for an 8 oz. bar isn't exactly a bargain, but is well worth the price considering their commendable ingredient list: saponified olive oil, water, sodium chloride, fragrance, and the chamomile and lavender extracts in each of the two bars I purchased). They're hefty bricks and should last us way longer than TJ's soaps did, and they're made with olive oil, folks! Y'all know how I love my olive oil!

My point of posting this is to remind people that palm oil is all over the place. It's like the Plague. You gotta be on your toes and watch out for this stuff, 'cause it's sneaky. Why no palm oil? In case some readers missed a post a few months ago, the cultivation of non-sustainable palm oil (if a product uses the sustainable variety it will explicitly say so; otherwise it's safe to assume that it's not) is seriously impacting the habitats of many animals in southeast Asia, including orangutans, in a bad, bad way. So bad that we can expect the species to be obliterated in fifteen years. It's up to consumers to effect a change by refusing to support the cycle. Read yo' labels, folks! There are always alternatives! Information is out there in abundance - just do a Google search. Here's a bit for more information: http://www.cmzoo.org/conservation/palmOilCrisis/

Lots of zoos are spreading the word on this crisis - in fact, my beloved husband is at the Pittsburgh Zoo as I type this participating in a Palm Oil Awareness task force meeting. It's serious business. To illustrate my point further I have included a few shots of a 5 year-old orang who is near and dear to us - Jiwa. Something to think about.

Li'l Problem

Aside from a couple of consecutive nights last week Olive has been continuing to be a star sleeper at night - but that's the key word: night. For several days now, she's been rising between 4:45 and 5:45 to belt out some pretty horrendous-sounding howls which I attribute to the dryness of our bedroom. It's cold as ice in there anyway, and we turn the thermostat way down low at night because I like it to be on the chilly side when I sleep, but lately I've been waking up positively parched. I'm a mouth-closed sleeper, so I can only imagine the intensity of my thirst if my mouth were open. Yikes. Anyway, it's safe to assume that Goonie has been suffering the same bouts of arid-mouth as I have. She'll usually sleep for ten hours straight, so I'm trying to keep this from sounding like a complaint. Girl-goon has come a long way in the last month, let me tell you. It's just that neither Rob nor I are ready to be roused at that early an hour, so this morning I put the call out for a humidifier on the Highland Park listserve, a resource that has not failed me yet (see also: free desk, free book case, free meat grinder, free curtains, free shelf, $5 trunk, the lending of staple guns, and our apartments, among other things I'm probably forgetting). In all likelihood we'll be inhaling some sweet, sweet water vapor by the day's end.

I'm about to head out to clean the bathroom and kitchen of this Judy lady I found through - what else - the listserve. Not thrilled. I'm grossed out, to be honest, but hopefully this will be the thing that finally spurs me into diving into the professional artist career I've always wanted. My mother, always such an encouraging advocate of what I can do with my hands, gave me a much-needed pep talk yesterday, so I've gotten the ball rolling. I'm having a website professionally designed by my old friend, fellow MICA grad, and mind-blowing artist/web designer, Lisa, so I'll finally be legit. Nobody wants to open files anymore - files are for amateurs; they want a link. I'm going to seek out an agent to represent me and find me the good jobs rather than the rinky-dink things I've been scrounging up on craigslist for pocket change so we can, in turn, by a few more bags of linguine. Here's hoping.

House Love

Although we're gearing up for another move, I know that this will only be temporary. I haven't abandoned the idea of staying on in Pittsburgh indefinitely and purchasing a home of our very own, whose walls I can plaster with Arts and Crafts-style wallpaper, and where we won't hear the sound of a neurotic shepherd mix's sharp barks on the other side of our door multiple times a day. Perhaps it's the idea of very soon being, as they say, "in the money"; tomorrow I take on Job #3 as a housekeeper for a woman in Morningside, one neighborhood over. No one who has seen where I live would ever, in their right mind, hire me to clean their home, as it's clear to anyone with eyes that I'm incapable of such a task, but the difference is that no one pays me to tidy up my living quarters. Not a big priority of mine, and it's long been a source of amazement how so many people pay someone to do it for them. I'd clean more often, but it's hard to make time to do that every single day when I know that, within mere hours, the place will return to its state of dishevelment. I'm cool with that.

As I was saying, I'll be raking in a little more weekly cash money AND a hospital bill I've been paying in monthly increments (thanks a lot, Olive. We got to pay for midwives and a c-section! Win-win!) is about to be paid in full, so I'll allow myself the luxury of taking ganders on craigslist at the local real estate listings. One of the many things to love about Pittsburgh is the remarkably low cost of housing. I set the price search low, knowing full well I'd find many attractive options. The second listing I saw was it. I'm totally smitten. It's in Regent Park, still on the east side of the city, but - at 5 miles away - not as close to the zoo as we are now. Still, take a look while the listing's still current. I have no expectations, and don't reckon we'll be in the market to buy a house anytime soon, really, but it's still awfully fun to look! I love the current owners' color choices, the kitchen layout (and the cupboard! Oh, that clean white cupboard!). And the yard is already gardened-up and ready to go! I'd have to check and see if there'd be enough room for some chickens as that will be the deal-breaker when we do decide to buy a home. Still, this is pretty sweet, I think, and just what our family could use. Oh, and look at the price tag. I love you, Pittsburgh.

A Dancing Goon, Star Wars, and a Dish Towel

I'll go in the order listed above:

The Goon has been getting into the groove of the music that she's been hearing for the past month or so, and it's nothing short of hilarious. When a song comes on with a beat that resonates with her (the current song, Sufjan Stevens' slightly discordant and electronic "You Are the Blood" doesn't move her), she'll start bopping and bouncing in time. As I painted (see below), I turned on the iTunes on my computer and as I still haven't filled my still-new MacBook with too much data, the selection is sparse and consists solely of a smattering of numbers from Dark was the Night, a compilation of works from some of my favorite musicians. Get yourself a belated Christmas present, 'cause it's grand. DWN tracks, some unreleased Ryan Adams material from my buddy Carlos, a bunch of my deal pal Bruce's original songs performed by the man himself, which harken back to the early '60s with their catchy melodies and unabashed sunniness, and a song that, for whatever reason, is on the play list four times, and recently played four times consecutively: a recording that Bruce made of me playing and singing (in two part harmony) a Gillian Welch and David Rawlings song, "I Wanna Sing that Rock and Roll". I don't know if she recognized it as me singing, but she wouldn't take her serious eyes off my face, bouncing and swaying all the while. Anyway, between her bodily movement and her perpetual fixation on banging and whacking, I believe her rhythmic skills at nearly 11 months are foreshadowing a career as a sessions drummer. I think she'd like Nashville a lot; I sure did.

Okay, the painting. No photograph will accompany this because I am far from proud of it. It's not awful, but I certainly don't love it, though much of that has to do with the subject matter. The Return of the Jedi poster copy means little to me, having never seen any of those movies. Also, I was requested to do the vertical image in a horizontal format, making the proportions a wee bit off. Plus, I wasn't having much luck finding a better online image than the one from which I've been working so, blown up, the details are pixilated beyond recognition, so I'm trying to do the best with the muddled information I have. Never mind the fact that I labored to lessen the presence of Wendell's dark pawprints from numerous places on the painting. I still know they're there. Still, when I glance at it I think it's all right. Good contrast, composition, colors. I'll be finished with it blessedly soon and will mail it and the Winslow Homer oil replica off to Maine early in the week. When I can wash my hands of this double project, there are still two overdue Christmas presents requiring my immediate attention! Then 8-10 more sea lion illustrations for this book that's been over two years in the making. Boy, will I be relieved when theses things have been complete! Having an increasingly active and demanding goon make it harder to get as much completed as I like, but lately she's been cool entertaining herself in the same room as me, knowing that I'm so nearby. And I can periodically reach down, scoop her up, squeeze her and pepper her rosy cheeks with kisses and watch her grin grow wide.

And dish towel...what's this? Friday at the market was the slowest day I've experience since working there. Luckily I came prepared with one of the books I'm reading (The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri, one of the most stunning writers I've read. The movie on which it's based is pretty good, I thought, if not about thirty minutes too long, but the book is wonderful.), and was able to plow through a good eighty pages during my down time. Debbie my neighbor there, who sells handmade jewelry and knitted and crocheted scarves and headbands, had just started offering needle craft lessons to the public, and I recently bought some hand-spun and -dyed yarn from another market vendor with which I'd like to make something other than a scarf. Preferably a cute sweater for Olive. I decided to sit in with Debbie and let her teach me to read a pattern and learn how to do some different stitches. Breakthrough of the day: I really didn't know how to purl. For about ten years I've been doing some stitch that I thought was a purl but is not at all. I learned about yarning over and when to not yarn over. I was so enlightened! I chose a pattern that I liked from one of Deb's books, a lovely cable-and-lace combo, then jumped into working up a little sample in the form of a dish towel. Now my little job didn't turn out like the pattern, as I wanted to simply get to where I could knit and purl fluidly, so I improvised. I was excited to present Rob with my little green handicraft, but I overestimated the amount of yarn I had left and was unable to cast it off, so now I'll have to wait until next Friday when I can take my nearly completed towel and finish it with something from Debbie's scrap bag. Rob is the dishwasher in our house, so I knew he'd appreciate it, but hey - it'll be just in time for MLK Day!

Highland Park, We're Yours (Crisis Evaded!)

It's really amazing the way things work out. I'd gotten myself a tad worked up over my debate about 420 School Street in Verona, PA; even in my dream I cornered Rob because we hadn't spent much time discussing the situation. He left for the aviary early this morning, though, so there was no time to talk it over with one another, but as I went about my day I kept feeling like the benefits of living in an inexpensive apartment - with an organ! - in a suburb of Pittsburgh were being outweighed by our ever-growing love of Highland Park. Highland Park is lovely. I adored it when we first arrived four and a half months ago, and my admiration for it has only increased, and this is home. Still, out of courtesy for our landlady, I sent her an e-mail to give her the heads-up about our potential move. She replied soon after, telling me that her father, who owns the house, had just decided that he'd be willing to accept a lower rent amount than he was asking for the soon-to-be-available front two-bedroom apartment. I had time to view the space before going to work, so I popped over to survey the space, and boy was it nice! Like, nice-nice. It was hard for me to believe that the two apartments occupied the same floor of the same house. Lots of nice details - high ceilings, a decorative green-tiled fireplace, dark wood moulding, little built-in shelves, a stained glass window, and ample counter space in the kitchen that is practically begging to have dough kneaded upon it (I haven't baked bread - a thrice-weekly activity - since we lived in Maine). As if this weren't enough, we could hardly ask for an easier move. The tenant is moving to Maryland, and as soon as she clears out her belongings and has the carpet cleaned, we're in! And the only thing that will change will be our apartment number. Check it, and please bear in mind that these pictures are strictly utilitarian and don't do the place justice. More to come, once it becomes Chez Cramer...

I'm not in love with the wall color in the kitchen. Good thing the landlords are down with us painting! And get a load of the double sink!

Dilemma du Jour

Okay, so back to the apartment hunt. After Zoe's brief visit, I swore that the next time she came to Pittsburgh she could have a room of her own, and not a makeshift alcove behind two curtains in the living room. I'm always on the hunt, and last week I came across a steal of a deal: a 2-3 bedroom apartment in Verona, just up the river a bit, putting us in tauntingly close proximity to Nicky's Thai Kitchen, our favorite Thai place in Pittsburgh (that's not even in Pittsburgh. Go figure). Rob proposed that we eat there on our anniversary if we're still in the area. Major splurge, as we haven't treated ourselves to a meal at a restaurant since we were in Maine. We went to view the place this evening, at 420 School Street. For the record, I'm not wild about the address, as all it does is call to mind all of those moronic stoner jokes - and a school for such things, no less! I won't be readily giving out my address should we move. But the residence was nice, and on a quiet, dead-end street. Lattice supporting a web of creeping ivy edged the front porch, whose pillars featured Victorian-style woodwork in the corners. I didn't bring my camera so I'm doing my best to describe the facade of the yellow house. We waited in the car for Jeff, the owner's son and most recent tenant, who is moving out due to his upcoming nuptials. Mazel tov, Jeff! He arrived and took us upstairs for the tour. I noted with approval the cleanliness of the carpet. I'm not a fan of the stuff, as a rule, but really appreciate when people bother to keep it clean. It makes all the difference, especially with a floor-bound wee one. On the second floor was a bathroom, kitchen (complete with washer and dryer!), and living room with a fireplace and - drumroll..... - an electric organ. Rob's eyes lit up like a toddler's on Christmas morn. "Does the organ stay?" he asked, his voice rising in pitch and anticipation. Yes, Jeff is hoping to rid himself of his late grandmother's organ onto the next tenant, and Rob has been itching for an organ, or anything on which he can make creepy music to amuse the Goon. Major selling point, that organ. The upstairs was like many other Pittsburgh third floors: vaulted ceilings in the main room with one or two smaller rooms coming off of it. The main room was cozy, and I don't mean that as a euphemism for confining. While not overly spacious, it just had a nice feel to it, like I'd want to retire there at the end of the day. On either side of the room were two smaller rooms - rooms that would make perfect bedrooms for our girls. Now, I don't mind too much sharing a bedroom with Goonie but, for instance, just a moment ago Rob went in to go to bed and the slight noise of him poking about in the inky blackness of our bedroom in search of the bed roused her from her light sleep and caused her to cry for a minute. All is well now, but you see what I'm saying? Ideally we won't be sharing a bedroom for too much longer, because we can't just unwind by going to bed with a good book. Man, those days are ovah. My reading happens either when I'm nursing her or when I'm waiting for the Khorey kids to get home, so I'm not getting through my reading nearly as quickly as I was a few months ago.

Why did I not scrawl out a check for Jeff right there on the spot? Did I mention that this place is $450 a month and that a better deal probably will not be found anytime soon? This is where my list of cons comes in. We Cramers are a one-car family, and Rob's new internship is 14 miles away on bike. To me, someone who would think nothing of taking off on a 40-mile spin, this seemed nominal, but then I realized that Google Maps' quote of 1 hour and 33 minutes is a bit much for a commute three to four days a week. I'd need the car to get to the Khoreys', who will no longer be .7 miles away. Do I drive my sweet husband to the aviary at 6:40 Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays, have him take the pricey public transportation, or tell him to be a true champion of the environment and be a cycling commuter? Also, this internship will only last a few months, so this quandary in which we're finding ourselves will not last long. When city folk move out to the 'burbs, I guess these are the things they must consider.

Any suggestions?

The Year of the Goon

The first day of 2011 was nearly as nice as the one before, though a little drizzly for my liking (let it be known that I'd never survive in the Seattle area; rain like that is bad business), but fortunately for us, our day's activity was mostly indoors. You see, tomorrow Rob begins his illustrious internship at the National Aviary, and he'd yet to suss out the facility, so we took a little Internship Eve family outing. For one thing, the aviary seems to be in a very choice part of town, on Pittsburgh's North Shore of the Allegheny River, surrounded by parks, handsome hardwood trees, and charming Federal-style rowhouses. Were Rob not hoping to get a paid position at the zoo in the spring, I'd be all for relocating to this neighborhood. Oh, but then I remember that we're just a hop and a skip a way from such conveniences as Trader Joe's, Whole Foods, The Home Depot, the Khoreys, and I have no desire to leave Highland Park.

So about the aviary...Wow, what a nice place! A girl named Joey who works in the veterinary department gave us a tour of the hospital where caged invalid birds were being nursed back to health (and whose lives were being ridiculously prolongued; there was a 24 year-old wading bird of some sort whose life expectancy in the wild would have been twelve years. Pretty astounding). The Goon was captivated by the birds she saw, particularly some of the brilliantly-colored macaws. I feel inclined to agree with her - they are magnificent. Perhaps the coolest exhibit was the penguin's outdoor enclosure, where visitors can watch them clamber awkwardly up the rocks and then plunge into the pool below. A chest-high clear wall separates viewers from the penguins, each marked with an identification band on a flipper. We were able to reach in and touch their silky-soft feathers and, though they were a bit snappy, I soon learned that their beaks aren't too sharp. What fun little critters they are! Also great was the fact that many of the birds are free to flit about the open exhibits, making it so that you're walking through their habitat rather than simply looking into individual cages, which makes for a much more interactive and natural experience. I was very impressed with the quality of the exhibits and the aviary in general.

Look at this guy! What amazing hair! I half expected him to break into a James Brown number; maybe he was just holding out on me.

Finally, what New Year's feast is complete without black-eyed peas? I'd soaked some overnight, having no idea what to do with them, but winging it worked out pretty well. I used the ingredients I had on hand - a bag of carrots that was beginning to go south, white, bristly roots shooting forth all over the place, a Vidalia onion, dried parsley, cumin, thyme, curry powder, garlic powder, salt, and pepper - and I've got to say that I was pretty pleased with the soup that resulted. A dish of roasted root vegetables rounded out the meal. Presumably the peas will bring us good luck in the new year. If 2011 is even half as good as the two preceding years, I'll be delighted.