the red velvet cake skirt

September 24, 2007 by Lauren in sometimes I make things

Otherwise known as don't look too close... I really struggled with this one for some reason. It's the layered version of Amy Butler's Barcelona skirt, and I'm perfectly willing to admit that it just may be beyond me. For now at least. I have no problem admitting that my sewing skills aren't all that just yet and that I have a long way to go. Heck, we all know that I'm making this stuff up as I go along. And seriously this skirt nearly kicked me in the butt. Let's face it. It did kick me in the butt...BUT. I persevered. I loved the fabric too much not to.

We were having dinner with some friends a few weeks ago, and I really wanted to wear this skirt. I sewed seams, I ripped out seams. I read and read and reread pattern notes. I sewed all damn day long in order to wear this skirt to dinner. I reminded myself of my friend Linda Wozniak's mother as she sewed her into her dress on prom night (Wasn't Bobbi doing that for you too, Sarah? Oh, man, that prom night is a whole other post isnt it?!) I'm not sure what made this so tricky for me, but I just couldn't wrap my mind around this pattern. Nothing seemed to add up. I feel like I have the plain old A-line down pat, and after finishing the layered version, I'm not sure I will try it again. With this fabric at least, I don't think that the layering really stood out they way I wanted it to. Maybe when it frays some more.

So nonetheless, here it is, the Red Velvet Cake Skirt, suited more to dimly-lit restaurants, like the one in which you see the actual red velvet cake, than flourescently-lit offices. I'll wear it again, for sure, but I'll probably save it for when there's some dessert in the offing. And the cake? Oh, the cake. Rolled in sugared walnuts, the only hint of sweetness were those and the carmelized sugar crisp on top. So lovely. Red-velvet lovely.

sigh of relief saturday

September 22, 2007 by Lauren

This is how it looks here today. All dappled sunlight after a week of heavy skies. Warm again too. All traces of autumn swept away. I'm not worried. It'll be back. But what a crummy week. Seriously, from sick cars to sick kids to misaligned to-do lists, I feel as if I'd been thrown curve ball after curve ball with no clue as to how to hit them. I've been gone a couple of days, but after my...well, lament on Wednesday, I guess I felt as if we all needed a break.

And here's the thing. I'm not really that sad. It was just something about what Alicia wrote that was so moving to me. I later told someone that I felt like James Joyce's Ulysses, all stream of consciousness welling up and it felt important to write it down. But what amazing and thoughtful comments you shared with me. I'm so touched to know that my sorrow somehow impacted emotions of your own. Liz, I love what you said about bluring the edges of pain. Maybe that's all we need to worry about. When the pain seems overwhelming, just think about bluring the edges of it and you can move on.

And Callum wants everyone to know that he's feeling much, much better, thanks.

I was at Borders picking up some birthday presents and made an impulse purchase for myself yesterday. This Book. I put it up on the sidebar too. Those who know me IRL know that when I'm feeling blue I have a hard time reading sad books. Really there's nothing like a book about dogs, knitting and traumatic brain injury to cheer a girl up! But oh, what a moving memoir. And not sad, exactly. I read it like a preteen devouring a Judy Blume novel, ranging from bed to sofa, even to the floor of my tv room. Go get it. It's good.

And Saturday is good too. Despite the fact that Lucy wanted to go out and play at 5:30 this morning. We've made the most of it since then. Laundry is burbling away in the background. Football is burbling away on the tv. We've walked Rebecca's dogs and will go back over this afternoon. I'm doing some straightening up, but soon I'll succumb to the lure of the sofa and knit and knit.

finally, it's raining

September 19, 2007 by Lauren

Alicia, over at rosylittlethings wrote the sweetest, saddest post today about grieving for her dog Audrey who died a few weeks ago. It moved me for so many reasons. Sometimes grief just slaps you in the face, and sometimes you're so grateful for the sting. I spent a few minutes thinking about what I wanted to say to Alicia about the death of her sweet pup and the new pup that's coming to them soon, and then I figured I may as well just say it all here instead.

It's raining today, finally after so many dry summer days. Callum's home sick with an unspecificed fever. I bought him a Playmobil boat when I got a new thermometer (ours was reading my temp at 96 degrees and his at 98 when he was clearly burning up last night), and he's distracted for now. He let me put it together and I'm so grateful. That's just about one of my favorite things to do.

We had to scramble a little bit last night and this morning when we realized that this might be a sick day. Unless I have a slew of meetings or face to face stuff that I have to do, I don't mind them really. Of course all you mama bears out there, I don't want the boy to be sick, but eight is a big kid. He snuggles so rarely. The way he needs me is so different now. He used to need me so intensely, and the closest we come to that is on days like these.

I really thought that I'd pop in here this afternoon with a quick post about smoothies and new thermometers and a funny bit about how Lucy kept "scalloping" Callum's police officers on the Playmobil Policeboat. (Instead of "scalping" them, that is.) And then I took a break from the work I was doing to check in over at rosylittlethings and saw Alicia's apology. An apology to some random guy who got caught up in her rawness. Her grief. Wrong place. Wrong time. And there I sat. Flubbered. Flustered. Feeling my own waves of tears and grief for a dog who died seven months ago and a whole host of other losses besides. Sweet Phoebe who was my our first born, who I still miss so much, like an ache. Who I still see sleeping on the rug in the living room when I come downstairs each morning. Who was, we keep telling Lucy, a good dog. And man, I did not want to love Lucy. She was fine to have around, especially for Neel and Callum who clearly needed another dog, but my heart belonged to Phoebe and I pretty much wanted it to stay that way. Thankfully Lucy (who sits under my chair as I write this) would have none of it. She follows me from room. She sits beside me when I pee and tangles herself up between my ankles as I walk...only without the fluidity of a cat, so I'm tripping over her all day every day.

Oh Alicia, if I were a better writer, I could say it somehow, sweeter, righter, nicer, and still lift you up about how I know what you must be feeling right now. How you want your heart to open with love for that new little pup, but how, if it does, you fear it might, even now, still break into a million pieces. And how somehow all the writing you are doing is connected to all of this, to opening you up and making you even more raw. It did that for me, even right here. Everything was muddled up, even these two quotes running around in my head, one from Margaret Widdemer ("Pain has been and grief enough and bitterness and crying...") and then "Western Wind, when wilt thou blow,/ The small rain down can rain?" which was written anonymously. All jumbled together like one poem until I started writing this here, and it cleared up, "No, two different poems." Both, ironically, from the reading I did during my raw and anguished teenaged years. But the end result is that apparently I'm sad today. Okay. Now I get it.

So sad. Let's take a look at this, shall we? Always still a lingering sadness about Miss Pheebes, and the art teacher at school who promised to make her an urn doesn't work there any more so her ashes still sit on the dresser in my bedroom. And I'm bypassing the Level One and Level Two books in the Chinaberry catalog now. Oh how I wish I could put a brick on that boy's head. And my parents are getting divorced. And everything is changing. It reminds me of an e-mail I got from my dad this morning. He's re-watching past seasons of The West Wing (apparently he likes works-in-progress as well), and I totally agree when he says that he disapproves of character development in television shows and that Sam never should have left The West Wing to run for Congress and Bartlett never should have been impeached. Mom, even if we know going in that the goddamned king dies, it still hurts to find out. You sometimes have to wonder if your kid's fevers aren't timed so you don't burst into tears in the middle of a meeting.

Callum just asked, "What's the blog post about?"

"About being sad."

"I thought it was going to be about me and the fever." He's indignant.

"It is, a little bit."

"Oh. Sad about me having a fever." He's relieved.

When I said earlier that sometimes you're grateful for the sting of grief, I meant it. It reminds me of how much I loved her. And of all the love around me now. So Alicia, if you really do come and read my "comment" to your post, remember this: It's funny about writing. You don't know where it's going to take you. I certainly didn't know today. And the same is true, I think, with healing and grief. You've been doing your fair share of both lately. Over the past several years, I've done my fair share of both as well. Let them take you where they will. You can feel all that pain and rawness and sadness and still not suffer from it. Let it feed your soul and grow you. Let it grow your writing. I feel better now for letting it lead me where I clearly needed to go and I hope you do to. And when you're done, go make some soup. That's what we're going to do.

a funny thing happened on the way to moving in

September 18, 2007 by Lauren in the hood, the little gray house, this little life of mine

This dropped by. If it's the anniversary of moving into our home it's also the anniversary of this. To read the science stuff go here. Welcome to the East Coast. Hurricane Isabel thought she'd throw a little welcome party. What a wild start to our life here. Looking back I'm not sure I can even describe how surreal I felt as that storm bore down upon us. If you weren't in her path, perhaps you weren't aware that for several days she moved back and forth between Category Four and Five status, and every morning I would creep downstairs to chew my nails and watch the morning news, surrounded by unpacked boxes and a too long cable wire.

At first I didn't think much about Hurricane Isabel. We had just moved into what we thought was the house of our dreams. We had a yard! We had neighbors! We had a Pig Pick'n! Neel was doing what he always does at this time of year: writing a grant. And Callum and I were getting us settled in. For four-year-old Callum it was like Christmas as he opened boxes of toys he hadn't seen in a month, and for me it was much the same as I picked out paint chips.

I heard the first faint ping of a warning bell when Callum and I stopped in at The Home Depot for paint one day. A young lady at the door said (before I'd really even stepped foot in the place), "If you're looking for generators, we're sold out."

Oh.

We just want some paint, actually. And some switchplate covers. Thanks.

But then I started to look around at everyone else's carts. About half the people there were like me. Toilets. Pipe. A pack of washers or screws. Your basic Home Depot Run that you make a bajillion times during any given home improvement project.

The other half of those Home Depot-goers had carts filled with cases of water, big drills, flashlights, batteries and sheets and sheets of plywood. They were out of generators. That's when I got a little nervous. I got brave and asked around. People made suggestions. Get some of those tap lights (they last longer than flashlights), stock up on water. Callum made our way back into The Home Depot and followed their advice and then we went home and called Neel.

And every morning as Isabel bore down on us, I watched my new local news station and wondered what to do. Do we stay and ride it out or do we go? I asked neighbors, but hey, I didn't know these people. How rational were they really? (Turns out, some of them, not so much.) So Neel would beaver away on his grant and Callum and I would beaver away on the house, stocking up on spaghettios and water and batteries and we waited.

Fortunately as the storm creeped closer, it diminished down to a Three then (thank God) a Two and finally a One. We decided to stay. Our house is oldish (about seventy years), so I wasn't too worried about it, except for the fact that we have a new, untried addition and it was quickly becoming clear that said addition had been built mostly with masking tape. And spit. Maybe some safety pins. Neel nailed plywood along the french doors and we crossed our fingers. And I had to hope that this tiny, tiny hill in this flat, flat land would really be enough for us not to need flood insurance. It was too late to get it anyway.

As night fell on the seventeenth of September, squalls of rain started moving through. We noticed that a lot of women and children had left town, and wondered if we'd been foolish to stick around. On the morning of the eighteenth the wind had picked up, as had the rain. With the plywood up, the house was eerily dark for so early in the day. I was painting in the livingroom around ten when a particularly strong gust hit the house and the power went out. It stayed out for five more days, and we were the lucky ones. Lots of neighborhoods were without power for almost two weeks, but then the mayor lives a few blocks down (not that that has anything to do with anything). Around noon we got in the car and took a quick drive around. Remember the house that we almost bought? The one the migraine talked me out of? Totally surrounded by water. The water was a real concern. We're not on water here, but surrounded, only blocks away in any direction by tidal rivers, and as the hardest part of rain and wind was hitting our coast, so was the highest tide. Late in the afternoon, when we were safely tucked in, our neighbor Tyler took his car out for a look around. Twenty minutes or so later our other neighbor John was towing him back up the street.

I'm a casual studier of the hurricane. My friend Sarah once said that I like works-in-progress. Long before I lived on a coast so effected by these storms, I've watched their progress and studied their seasons. So I knew that we'd have it rough for awhile, that the wind would eventually shift and that after hours and hours things would calm down. We bedded down in the dining room, surrounded by the boxes which we'd kept packed thinking that if it flooded they'd be easier to move up and that if a tree fell on the house they'd be easier to move down. And although this room was the most protected in the house, that wind shift made it feel the most vulnerable. I kept a tap light by my side of the mattress, and when I woke up needing to go to the bathroom, I lay in the bed a long time trying to decide what to do. What was my safest route? The wind, although we should be on the back side of the storm, was screaming around the house now, and the night was dark as pitch. Was the guest bath on the landing of the stairs the safest? Or the one behind the kitchen, which may be closer, but deeper in the dark? This house was too new to me to know its secret safe spots yet. That was a long night.

We woke the next morning the way most communities do after events like these: to skies scrubbed scouring-pad clean. We loaded Callum in the wagon and leashed our old pup Phoebe and like many neighbors, ventured forth to check things out. Things had happened during the day before that we wanted to check out. I remember looking across the street thinking, "am I seeing more sky than I did before?" Turns out that early in the day those neighbors lost a Bartlett Pear. A branch from our gumball fell on Tyler's shed, pretty much killing it, but he was planning to do that himself anyway. Our tree just helped. And the plywood that Neel put up? Turns out that was a good idea. It looked like it had been pressure washed with twigs and branches and leaves.

Still, I remember standing on our front porch and looking around thinking we got off pretty good. But that was just our street. One street down, I thought was a dead end, and it was...but about six blocks further down. The trees that were down only made it look like a dead end. We still contend a twister touched down there. Further down in the neighborhood live wires littered the streets. Trees rested on roof tops and across streets and cars. We joined a gathering of people on a corner as a couple were working on exiting their house, by climbing a tree. Turned out it was our realtor. Welcome to the neighborhood.

Turned out some wonderful things happened too, though. Some neighbors came over during the storm so we'd have everyone's phone numbers in case anything happened. Every night that the power was off after the storm we were invited to someone's house for a cookout as they cleared out freezers (we were lucky, we hadn't even stocked our fridge). And I almost wonder, what would it be like now? I'm not at all saying that I want it now. But we did it almost totally alone. We didn't know anything. Much less anyone. It was terrifying. It was exciting. It was unifying. Even then. How different would it be knowing we could all open a beer together? Welcome to the neighborhood.

Got your own Isabel story? I'd love to hear it. Pop a post in the comments and let me know.

football momma

September 17, 2007 by Lauren in this little life of mine

If you know me IRL (In Real Life), you know that we watch a fair amount of football around here. And I'm right in the mix. My dad played high school and college football and I've been watching football my whole life. I am proud to say that I taught my first-generation American and Quaker-schooled husband nearly every thing he knows. (This isn't entirely fair. Neel's a very quick study and has gained an especial interest in the history of the game, both college and pro.) I'm not scary into it (really!), although I have prompted some friends to say, "But Lauren, you're a girl..." and others, when August pre-season games roll around, to say, "Here is where I lose you." I have to admit that I'm proud of my football knowledge, and I like it that this is a fun part of autumn for me. I like it that my dad and I saw Peyton Manning play in his last home game at the University of Tennessee (and lead the Pride of the Southland Marching Band in Rocky Top). I like looking forward to certain games (like Penn State vs. Michigan next week because I feel sure there isn't a Tennessee game that I'll look forward to ever. again. But we tend to be glass half empty this morning). I like having an opinion about the punishment Roger Goodell handed down to Bill Belichick (not harsh enough, plus I think he should have been forced to give up those cut-off sweat shirts) and the Patriots. I like hearing the marching bands from the high school games down the street (As my Grandma Charlotte used to lament, "Why don't they ever show the bands?"). At some point this fall someone in my neighborhood (probably Tyler) will have a football party and it will involve chili and a tv that is set up outside, and let me tell you, that will be a great day.

Callum, like me, is growing up in a football house. Since he was a little, little kid, he's been watching what he called, "uh-oh man ball." He's very loyal to his California roots and is an avid Chargers fan. He'll pull for the Eagles for his Dad, the Colts for me (as long as they're not playing the Chargers), and Tennessee on College Game Days. I'm constantly being dragged into useless exercises like, "If the Chargers are playing the Vols who would you be for? Who would win?" Or, worse, after last night, "Can the Chargers still win the Superbowl?" (I'm not gonna tell him what I really think on that one.) He's definitive and seasonal in his love of football. As soon as the Superbowl was over last winter, away went the football and back out came the bike and the skate board. Once the preseason games started late this summer, away went Tony Hawk on the XBox and out came Madden 08.

I am, however, surrounded by smart and sophisticated women, and I have to admit that I worry a little about being too heavily slanted toward "football momma." I've been sewing skirts like mad these past weeks, just to help prove that I still am a girl. Neel and I hit on a great idea this weekend. What better way to show that I really am multi-faceted than to create a dinner that only a lover of Monday Night Football and Top Chef can?

Sunday night, in honor of the Chargers/Patriots Game we had Fish Tacos. The recipe is from the NRP site in their "Kitchen Window" Segment. Those change a lot, so if you've missed it, drop a note in the comments, and I'll e-mail you.

These are all the goodies that go in the tacos. An avocado sauce. Mayonesa sauce. Cabbage. Beer battered fish, of course. Some salsa. Neel took one for the team and did the frying. He says he'd thin the batter a bit more next time.

Here they are, ready for their close up. They were pretty freaking awesome, if you ask me. Not so the game unfortunately. Patriots 38, Chargers 14. Those of you who know Callum, again IRL, understand that sometimes a loss is the best thing that can happen to that kid even if it's the hardest thing to face on a Monday morning.

So tonight the food is easy. We have Eagles and Redskins (can you say cheesesteak panini?), but I'm going to have to do some thinking for next week. Sunday is Dallas at Chicago and Monday is the Titans (Nashville) at New Orleans. Suggestions?

pooped

September 14, 2007 by Lauren in this little life of mine

Five-day weeks, meetings, work deadlines, karate classes, school picnics, firepits, dinner with friends, birthdays, stuffy noses, showers after midnight to get rid of the goop, homework, Triaminic Cold, grant time, late departures, volleyball games, you name it, we're doing it and we're pooped. Coasting into the weekend, and we'll catch you on the flipside. Have a good one!

big on the pig

September 13, 2007 by Lauren in the hood

Last weekend we also celebrated this. Our first weekend here was the 7th annual. It was literally our first day in the house. The day all of our stuff came from California and my two worlds alarmingly collided. Neighbors, so sweet, kept inviting us. I was up to my ears in tears and boxes, and I worried that we wouldn't have anything bring. Mostly I was scared and shy and just wanted to see what my dining room table looked like in our new dining room. I think Neel and Callum wandered down.

I feel more settled in now. Ready to party.

That's Bud and his wife Jeanette. Bud is the founder of the Pig Pick'n. He had a stroke a few weeks ago and called from the hospital worried about who was going to pick up the pig.

You bring your own beer (or wine), you bring your own chair and you bring a dish to share. It's the very best of potluck food. Deviled eggs, potato salad, black bean and corn salsa, mac and cheese. Plate after plate of everyone bringing out their church supper best. The fans keep the flies off.

As important as the sides are (and the beer), it really is all about the pig. Southerners take their bar-b-que very seriously, I'm sure you know. You can handle this one of two ways. Fill your plate with sides and eat them while you stand in line for bar-b-que, or fill your plate with sides, eat them and wait for the line to die down and then get your bar-b-que. That's what I did. Growing up in Tennessee, I had a Memphis style bar-b-que. While the sauce here is not different, the idea of the slaw on your sandwich is new to me. I like it.

The block we block off for the party is one of my favorite in the neighborhood, and I love this little pergola-ed nook. Neel, can we get one of these, please?

Wouldn't mind one of these either. I love it how people use it to travel the distance of two houses in style!

Kids run and play and near the end of the evening the MC stands up and introduces all the new neighbors. He thanks Bud and talks about how long the neighborhood has been doing this, including the hard, hard year after September 11, and how close the competition was this year for the winner of the Newest Neighbor Platter. Almost a dead heat, folks, it was that close. The kids get bored and want to get back to their hop scotch or football and the grownups pop open another beer. Yeah, I guess I'm big on the pig.

the little gray house

September 12, 2007 by Lauren in the hood, the little gray house

This week marks our fourth anniversary in the little gray house. I did not want to move here. Don't get me wrong, Neel is my home, and if he'd asked me to move here, here, or here I would have gladly gone. I even did go here!

Still, knowing how much I loved Greece from the time I was a young, young woman, you can imagine how very hard it was for me to leave our home in San Diego. That was where I really, finally felt at home. When we first came here, to scope the place out, it was early April and our little town-to-be was in the throws of a Nor 'Easter. I forgot to pack socks. It wasn't the wind and the rain and my cold ankles that caused me to sit up and cry in our hotel room ALL NIGHT LONG, it was the bone-deep loss of the place that, from before the moment we'd landed, sang to my soul.

We came again, later that summer, to look for houses. This was at the beginning of that out-of-control housing market that has deflated so alarmingly, and there were literally nine houses for sale in the neighborhood we were looking. What a depressing time. I was leaving behind everything that felt special to me and every house we looked at was more musty and ramshackle than the last. We saw one house, in the middle of creaky old kitchens and warped wood paneling that almost had us. The migraine I had that night brought me to my senses, and I called a halt. We would, it seemed, take this gigantic leap across the country without a place to land. We quickly put a deposit on a furnished apartment, made plans to put our stuff in storage, and headed to the beach for the rest of the week.

It was there, floating on my back in the Atlantic, that I think I started to be all right. This place I know. Although I grew up land-locked, my summer vacations were spent on the Atlantic coast. North Carolina, South Carolina, Georgia. I know these gentle waves and this soft sand. I love the Pacific Ocean, but in it's tumultuous waves never could I dream of drifting on my back so aimlessly to eventually put my feet down and putter slowly back to my blanket. This might be okay.

And of course it is. We went home and packed up and literally followed the little gray house across the country. Pictures came to us in Las Vegas, and when we finally arrived, we dumped our stuff in the temporary condo, took showers and drove over to see it. We couldn't believe our luck. It was the nicest house we'd seen here, and we signed the papers that day. This is such a lovely house. Quirky and cottagey, with a bells and whistles kitchen not found in most of the houses we had previously searched. I love it that the thick plaster walls have a texture like a sandblasted beach and that even in the middle of the summer my livingroom can smell like woodsmoke. I love the yard we're taming and the walls we're painting and the sense that we're settling in somewhere. Maybe for good.

Neel and I had a lot of jokes about moving to this neighborhood. The way people talked about it (and not just the realtors) you'd think it was the first step on the stairway to heaven. A "front-yard neighborhood." Throwback to the fifties. People watch out for each other. A grid with everyone's names and phone numbers in a four block radius. Neighbors bring soup or brownies or wine. (Although we had a bit of worry in the very early days when Neel came home from work and made me a gin and tonic and we stood in the front yard with our drinks. The only ones with drinks. I worried about the fact that we were the only ones with drinks. Then I realized that growing up in East Tennessee in the heart of the Bible Belt was different from being in the south. Very different.) I wasn't sure I wanted that. I liked my space. My anonymity. I liked it that all I saw of the woman who had the condo next to ours was her vanity plate "luv wine." Front yard neighborhood? The best thing about California back yards were the privacy fences.

I think mostly I worried that moving into this neighborhood would be like an expanded grown-up version of my life in Junior High. Everyone would already know everyone else, and there I'd be, all awkward and left out. The only one with my own last name. Early in our life here each of our immediate neighbors had parties on the same weekend. One, we were invited to. It was October. My first fall in years. I wore a sweater and socks. I felt hot and uncomfortable and just as awkward as I'd expected to living here. Callum must have picked up my utter misery (either that or he knew that the daughter of the house was pure evil), and was enough of a pill that we had to go home. Once at home, through our open bedroom window, we could hear the sound of laughter weaving it's way up from Tyler's screened-in porch. His wasn't really a party. Just friends over for dinner. But I tried to fall asleep and Neel could hear slurp, slurp of my swallowed tears. "Back home, I used to be grateful for a weekend to ourselves. We were so busy and had so many friends." Slurp, Slurp, Slurp. "Now there are parties to the left of me and parties to the right of me, and I don't have any friends." Slurp. Even then I was laughing. I knew how ridiculous I sounded.

Now it's SOBO and Crab Feasts and firepits on Friday and Saturday nights (in the front yard) and Planter's Punch and Progressive Dinners and the love knows no bounds. There's nothing finer than coming home from work or school to find some of my favorite people gathered in one of our front yards. When we pulled in from Callum's birthday dinner Friday night, there they were, firepit lit, torches glowing, beer cold. Junior High-Schmunior High. So now? Now I can't imagine living anywhere else. This is okay. Happy Anniversary to us.

the whirl of gaiety

September 11, 2007 by Lauren in I can tell that we are gonna be friends

Can you believe that there was another birthday around here? Yesterday it was my friend Tracy. I love giving her presents because she's so expressive and appreciative when she receives them. No matter how much I love a gift, I feel self conscious and awkward. Not genunie.

Not Tracy. Her enthusiasm is clear and most genuine. These sushi plates are from our friend Megan.

This is a "calendar egg." I got my mom one of these for her birthday this year too. There's a muffled rattled inside the egg that brings magic to the owner. We could all use a little magic, muffled or no.

Tracy is also getting a new house for her birthday. She, like I, moved here from California, and she's had some trouble getting her legs under her. After her birthday lunch, she took us to the house that her family has decided to rent, and I'm finally seeing her happy about being here.

My childhood friend Sarah's mom used to drive us crazy by saying, "bloom where you're planted," but I actually think there's some truth to that. I would say instead, "be where you are." Watching Tracy move around her funky new mid-century mod house with views over the water was so, so lovely. She's here! She's blooming! A weight is off her.

And what a house! It even comes with instructions! If only life were that simple. Still, I think with a little magic, Tracy is getting it figured out. Happy happy birthday dear friend. Did your dad ever call?

mj

September 10, 2007 by Lauren in my own family

That's my mom. She's the one with the sheaf of corn colored hair. The small person in the fierce pink cords is me. I did not get her thick wave of hair. Her birthday is the day after Callum's which, you'd think, would be, "oh, how nice," but really, as we're totally focused on this only grandchild, sometimes I imagine his Ama must feel as if she's waving madly from the wings.

I felt extra-cognizant of that this year for some reason, so I was very focused on getting her gift off to her in time. I made her my new favorite reversible apron in some amazing Freshcut fabrics and put another goodie in besides. The day I knew I needed to mail it was the day after Labor Day, still the start of school, and the same day that I left her package, my watch, phone and lunch at home (I did however, remember a friend's socks that he probably won't need for six months.). Neel gallantly rushed home to mail the package, but because I needed it to be on time, it was unwrapped with no card. When he got back from the UPS Store, he told me that the package would get there on Thursday...a full day before it needed to. I could have waited. It could have been wrapped. It could have had a card. But hey, it got there in time.

My mom is someone I would have liked to have known when she was a child. Not that I don't like knowing her now, but the stories I hear of her childhood sound particularly fierce. She decided when she was around Callum's age that her given name, "Mary" was a little pedestrian. In order to add a little more...I don't know...heft to her persona, she added her middle name, and ever after was known as the very non-pedestrian "Mary Jane." She's been Mary Jane ever since, and goes by "MJ" a lot now. It always sounded so funny to hear my aunt or cousins or grandmother call her "Mary." As if they had the wrong person. She marched on Washington with her chuch for civil rights, she was runner up to the Apple Festival Queen, and she went far, far away from Illinois, deep into the south for college where she met my dad.

My mom and I are a lot a like. I got her headaches (thanks, mom), and her quirky snap-judgements (now those I actually enjoy!). Of all our family lexicon of phrases, my mom has created some of my favorites. Once, when my dad snapped the point of a pencil, she exclaimed as if hit with a tremendous revelation, "You press down and break things!" We like to shop together (that took a lot of hard work through my teenage years) and have very similar taste in houses, furnishings and clothes. When one of us gets new clothes and the other doesn't, we actually feel (a little) guilty.

She can skim the surface of the modern world with no tv and no plans to get one, but my mom knew yoga before yoga cool. And vegetarianism. And reiki. You name it. She got there before you.

Her mother, owner of a children's clothing store, was my official dresser, and my mom has taken over that role for Callum. Only she uses Garnet Hill and Mini Boden. She likes keeping him in shoes and cool clothes. They can cook together and read together, but Callum knows that clothes come from Ama. When he was opening his presents this weekend, he came to the last box from Ama, he said, "Oh! I hope it's clothes!"

Somehow, sometimes, we manage to do things right. Happy Birthday, Mom. Hope your weekend's been a knock-out.

in september, when the leaves come falling down

September 07, 2007 by Lauren in the boy

boy, oh boy

he's eight

accolade

September 05, 2007 by Lauren in the hood

There has been the teensiest bit of complaint (Rebecca) that SOBO was not getting its due here in blog-land.

So in the evenings after work we gather in someone's yard. Bug spray is propped on the porch. The kids rush through their homework to eek out the last few minutes of sunlight in a quick game of football. Grown-ups complain about the company they had over the weekend or tell a funny story about something that happened at work that day. I sit in the middle of this watching Neel throw the football and commiserating with Jean, soaking it up and stalling dinner for as long as I can. Who wants to go inside?

Finally I capitulate. Slopply lasagne and early bedtimes urge me toward the house. As I'm crossing the street, back to the little gray house, here comes Rebecca, like a fairy-tale image of herself. She's beskirted and aproned and has a tray of crab dip (homemade, of course) from leftover crabs, leftover beer and crackers for us. "Come on! I thought it was happy hour!" she calls to me.

There's nothing to do but an immediate about-face and linger a little longer. (The crab dip was excellent, by the way, maybe she'll leave the recipe in the comments for us.) Later on, as evening was drawing in, I'd been back across the street for a third time. Dinner was finished, the dishes were done and jammies were on. I ran into Tyler on the way home from rowing from his dad.

"You know Lauren, I was thinking, we haven't had that first gin and tonic of the summer yet."

"My god Tyler. You're right."

"Well, let's pick up some Number Ten and get on that."

That's what it's like in SOBO. That's how things are around here.

recipe tuesday strikes again

September 04, 2007 by Lauren in food, glorious food

See that? In the casserole dish to the fore? Neighbor Jean called me Sunday afternoon and said, "Should I bring a double recipe of hot wing dip?"

My response?

"Uh. Well. Since I plan on parking myself next to it for most if the evening, yes."

So she did, and I did and here it is.

Hot Wing Dip
2 bars of Philly Cream Cheese, 1 bottle (12oz) of Ranch
Dressing, 10-12 oz of Hot Sauce (we recommend Frank's) and 40 oz of Chicken.

Mix cream cheese and ranch dressing over low heat until smooth, add hot sauce and chicken - stir until mixed - pour into a 13 x 9 baking dish and cook at 400 for about 40 minutes.

labor day weekend round these parts

September 03, 2007 by Lauren in I can tell that we are gonna be friends, the boy, the hood, this little life of mine

There are times that I just imagine that it looks like I have a charmed life. That my days are filled with dapple-shadowed back-yards and sunswept beaches. And really, for strangers reading these posts, it probably does look like that a good bit. I know I've touched on some sad stuff here, and there were days that this summer has been really hard. And really, whose life is totally charmed anyway? For all of us those dapple-shadowed back yards can hide clobber-filled sheds (and I'm speaking both figuatrively and literally!), and sunswept beaches can swarm with red tide. Still, charmed is the way it really is sometimes. And that's how this weekend was for me.

We started on Friday night celebrating a birthday with some newish friends of ours. We've been hanging out with this other couple, some friends from work, since just after the first of the year, and it really feels as if we're starting to get a groove on. Do you ever notice that you have first dates as couples? It's funny to look back on those first nights that we went out to dinner when we're now teasing each other about "no mas Jose'" and how I saw Peyton Manning last night. We share an interest in food and movies and (for some of us at least) football and just being together and having a good time. Not a bad basis for a friendship, I think. The beribboned package is this (perfect for beach picnics). We made her put it together...a sort of beachy-trial by fire.

It's a good Friday night when your dinner consists of portabellas with blue cheese and a chocolate pound birthday cake. When you can grill sitting down and the beer is icy cold. When the water is warmer than the air and someone has a birthday so you can drink champagne. We've tried to do this little celebration several times and in a summer of near-drought got rained out again and again. At the start of a long weekend, this third time was the charm.

Not to be outdone, neighbor Rebecca decided to hold a crab feast on Sunday night. What a marvelous place we call home, really. Ours was a street in transition when we moved here very nearly four years ago. Older families moving out, young couples moving in. Well, those young couples are moving on with their lives, having babies, growing families, all sorts of crazy things and here we are smack dab in the middle of all the fun. We call ourselves SOBO, based on the direction of our block, and any given evening you can find the kids playing football across the front yards and the grown-ups drinking beer beside somebody's firepit. Sometimes, someone steps it up a little, formalizes things enough to ask for side dishes, and suddenly there's a party.

We aren't at the mouth of the Chesapeake Bay for nothing, and apparently Rebecca had been thinking about picking crabs all summer. We had a perfect night for it. I've said it before, summers are muggy, buggy and hot here and they usually last deep into September. Not that night. That night was perfect. Clear. Not muggy. Star-filled and almost cool. It's all part of feeling charmed, and I know our hostess felt that way.

A perfect cool evening with so much good food.

The kids were thirsty, and someone said, "Here's the lemonade." Well the kids drinks were in a bucket on ice. The stuff in the pitcher? Lemon drop martinis. Our kids our pretty sharp though. "This tastes like alcohol!!" was the horified cry, and the mistake was quickly remedied.

I have one friend who I knew would go into the crab-zone. "Gonna pick any for me?" I teased. I didn't think he'd really do it.

"Um," he said. It sounded sort of affirmative. It's clear, he's in the zone. As I prod his bubble, he continues his rhythm of WHAP with the mallett, crack of the claw, peel off the meat. I would not actually call the ensuing dialogue a conversation.

"I'll pay by way of a drink," I offered.

"Yes."

"What do you want? Beer? Wine? Planter's Punch?"

"Beer."

"Corona or Sam Adams?" Seriously, I think he found me annoyingly chatty.

"Corona," he grunted. I delivered an icy-cold Corona, got the tiniest sliver of crab meat in return and didn't see the guy for the rest of the night. It's a whole different world out there in crab-land.

People sat around this table deep into the night. Talking and laughing and always picking crabs. Music played, babies danced, people talked and laughed. As night fell, the firepit was actually necessary and you had that sense of being caught in a perfect moment in time. It just doesn't happen like that in real life.

Picking crabs, I must admit, is an art that remains elusive to me. I do love some crabmeat, don't get me wrong, but the process of getting it is new to me. Daunting too. Many of my friends are old hands at this, however. Growing up around here makes it a way of life. And Rebecca cracks me up. She is so lady-like in her pink and green strapless sundress as she ruthlessly wields her crab mallett and stuffs the meat in her mouth. She told us great stories of her granddad teaching her how to pick crabs a child, and as shift after shift would surrould her table Sunday night, she was almost always in their midst. I love the idea of growing up with something like this as part of your life. Knowing how to do it from childhood. Knowing all the parts of the crab from the feelers to the dead man's fingers. Knowing how to steam them (Miller Light and Old Bay) and what to dip the meat in (cider vinegar and Old Bay...always Old Bay, butter is for the weak apparently). And I love the way an activity is connected to a place the way picking crabs and eating crabs is so connected to this place, crab-land.

Sometime after ten Callum looked around and said, "When are we gonna have the crabs?" He'd been so busy circling the house with this huge pack of kids and icy pops and glow sticks that he didn't see all the dozens of pickers at the table. Patiently Rebecca sat with him and taught him every step. (She has photos of this, but they'll have to belong to another post.) One rule, "Don't pick crab for other people," shifted a little in this generational pass-down to, "Pick some for your mom." A fact for which I am very grateful. Even after I went to bed, he sat with her, picking crab until almost midnight. He's nearly eight, just a few more days now, and of this place more and more.

And even on Monday that feeling of walking glowingly through someone else's life didn't end. Monday afternoon we spent again with friends. Due to some camera quirks that have me very nervous, I don't have any photos, but this little guy captures all the joy I was feeling. The sun, the friends, the kids always hovering around, the water, the wind and the sense of "this can't be my life" as I swim out to a boat belonging to the Friday night birthday friends. He took us on a great ride. The water was so blue and the sun so bright. As I floated lazily on my back heading back to the beach, I couldn't help thinking, charmed, I'm sure.

How Neel and my friend Shoshana conspire to make my morning bright

August 30, 2007 by Lauren in I can tell that we are gonna be friends

Dear Shoshana,
See that jam? That lovely orb of purpleness? You made me this jam a long time ago. You made it for a lot of us actually, and I'm probably the only one with any left. Partly that's because I don't eat breakfast much. But I'm also a hoarder. I savor slowly the things that are lovingly made for me. I don't want them to end. I liked knowing it was in the refrigerator waiting for me almost as much as I've been enjoying eating it.

I know I thanked you at the time, but I wanted you to know how much I've appreciated it this week, particularly. This week of waking up and clock-watching and having to shower at a certain time instead of waiting until I feel like it. In this week of hollering about brushed teeth and "we need to go NOW!" your jam has been a sweet way to start my day.

xoxo,
Lauren

A few weeks back Alicia said that when she started blogging, she thought that blogs were about what people had for breakfast...and they are! And while I usually don't eat much of a breakfast I do know that it's the most important meal of the day, blah, blah, blah, and I'm trying to stat the school year off right. Neel makes me coffee every morning. Even if I'm up two hours before he is, I usually wait. Coffee is always better when someone else makes it. In the summer, we'll share a cup together before Callum gets up, but now that the school year is back upon us, Neel'll bring it up to our bedroom while I'm showering. It's funny how you so quickly fall back into familiar routines. I'd forgotten about coffee in the bedroom until Neel carefully rounded the corner yesterday morning, and yet his appearance in the doorway, mugs carefully balanced, was instantly familiar.

And Neel is a careful coffee maker. He could set the timer, but likes to grind the beans each morning. It only takes a second or two he points out, and tastes so much better. Then he always puts my coffee in my favorite Tracy Porter Artesian Road mug, and always puts his in a totally different mug so we can tell them apart. These are from the Crate and Barrell outlet north of San Diego. Man, how I miss that store. And I love these mugs. Now that Tracy Porter has moved in, I rarely drink out of them. Neel had a meeting at school on Tuesday, so he took Callum in and left his coffee behind. I obligingly finished it for him and was surprised at how different his mug felt against my lips.

So while it's coffee most mornings, this week it's been a little more. Sliced peaches with a sprinkle of sugar and nutmeg. Whole wheat waffles with Shoshana's jam. It's not fancy. I use EGGO waffles. I am not loving these whole wheat ones however. I have to toast them three times and they're still a little soft in the center. Shoshana's jam more than makes up though.

These are mornings of shifts. New rhythms to be sure. I'm still figuring the blog thing out. How to have the juice for it after spending the day at the computer. When to write and what to share. It'll all shake out. Soon I'll have as many mornings with my coffee here, buy the computer, as I do at the shower. Just bear with me for awhile, 'kay?

second grade

August 28, 2007 by Lauren in the boy

oh Greece

August 27, 2007 by Lauren in off we go...

As you can imagine, Greece has been much on my mind these past days. It's not like I have a particular in with Greece, you know, like we're that close. So tight Greece and me. BFF. There are thousands who are feeling this particular fear and heartache far more than I. Still, even before the horrible stories and images in the news, I've been thinking about our trip a lot. This was the kick off to our summer, and now summer is coming to a close.

I haven't talked about our trip here nearly as much as I thought I would. Life gets in the way, as I often say, and really this blog rarely does what I expect it to. But oh, it was such a special time. Special for my family, and just for me...a real personal kind of special in so many ways. I wanted to be brave and I was. I navigated metros and menus, and I got a lot of parts of this trip so right. I sunk into that place like slipping into a hot jacuzzi on a chilly New Year's Eve. Relief and exhilaration all at once. The air around me fairly crackled with my connection to the sea, the sky, the food, the people. If someone handed me an airline ticket today, even with the promise of a bumpy, smoky landing, I'd go without question. Neel can get Callum to school tomorrow.

We're coming up on our fourth anniversary in the little gray house. Right after we moved in, Hurricane Isabelle dealt us a glancing and memorable blow. It was alarming and scary to suddenly live in a place that could be taken away in a heartbeat. But that can happen anywhere, I suppose. Later that fall, Santa Ana winds fueled trememdous fires in Southern California, seeping San Diego County, the home we'd just left, in a smoky haze. Every day I checked the news, listening to the internet feed of my old radio station, and heard stories of fires near our old condo, and friends stuck inside as their cars and yards were covered in ash. Between the hurricane that literally bore down upon us and fires swarming around where we used to be, I was far more emotionally affected by those fierce flames. I've never tried to camoflague it; a large part of my heart was left behind in San Diego, so of course I felt the impact of those fires keenly.

I feel the same way when I hear about these fires in Greece. Sorrow and yearning, all wrapped up in the knowlege that Greece is not mine, it never really was. I can love it though. Today I'll use so pictures to show you what I love so much. I'm still working on finding words.

barcelona a deux

August 24, 2007 by Lauren in sometimes I make things

We feel a little like this around here. Last week of summer vacay. A little sad, a little nervous, a little excited. Probably, what with me easing back into work and the whole end of summer bit, I should have taken a wee bit o' a blog break, but here I am and here we are.

In lieu of a real post, I'll show you Barcelona II, or "what I wore to lunch today." Elizabeth, it reminds me so much of the fabric of your Barcelona. I got a kick out of that. As I crank these out, I'm spending an inordinate amount of time trying to figure out how to get some darker, perhaps slightly shorter versions to wear with tights this fall and winter. I'm really good without tights through October here in coastal VA, but I always struggle with foot and sock-wear at the start of fall. Clearly this year is no different. I'd appreciate any suggestions, if you have them.

Thanks much to all of you who commented on Callum's post of yesterday. He fairly glowed with excitement as each comment came in.

Ummm, well, okaaay...she said, scanning the room an idea of something to say. I guess that's it! 'Bye!

It's Callum

August 23, 2007 by Lauren in the boy, the hound

Hi, it's me again. Callum. Lucy and I like to play together a lot. She likes my Xbox, but today I'm going to give her an ice cube instead. We call them ghosts. That's because they disappear. I am doing a slide show of giving Lucy a ghost.

The freezer is where we have the ghosts. We have tons of them, but I am just going to give her one today.

Those white things are the ghosts.

Here I am reaching for a ghost. It feels cold and like it will stick to your fingers.

Okay, this is the ghost and I'm getting ready to throw it to Lucy.

Even though she looks confused, she likes ghosts. She doesn't know what I'm going to throw to her.

The ghost is the blur, and Lucy closes her eyes because it goes past her so fast. She bolts for it and starts chewing on it before it disappears. I won't see you for a long time or I might see you on the weekends because school is starting for me on Tuesday.

Bye! I hope I see you again. Love Callum. (love Lucy too.)

knitwit

August 22, 2007 by Lauren in sometimes I make things

I'm dribbling out the knitting FOs...slowly but surely. Inside that fun package are these:

A pair of socks for Callum's Second Grade Teacher. Second Grade. Can't even believe it. As my Grandma Charlotte wouldn say, "man o day."

And since I seem to be sitting through hours of faculty meetings (including a four hour CPR training), I'm working on these:

A pair of socks for baby Alex who made his appearance on Saturday. I'm banking on the fact that his mom (now of two!) won't have a ton of time to be tooling around in the Blue Rain Room!