Do you know the way to Santa Fe?

Because I do. You hop on I40 and drive for forever. Then you take an off ramp for a freeway that heads North and drive for another hour. Last weekend I went to visit my college and maid of honor, who now lives in Santa Fe with her husband and two children. I hadn't seen her in over three years. She used that time to produce not one, but two adorable boys who are now 2 years and 3 months old. I used that time to....um.....maintain course.

For whatever reason, we rarely talk. Neither of us is big on the telephone and e-mail just seems inadequate. Despite pretty much never talking, the instant I walked into her house we were chatting away as if we had just seen each other yesterday. She refers to our friendship as the low maintenance kind.

We had an awesome weekend. My friend's husband gamely took charge of both children for the entire day and we went off for some hardcore shoe shopping and gallery browsing. My friend works for a state program that purchases art for state buildings. So awesome is this job that when she asked about a couple of pieces that were not on the gallery floor, the woman working in the gallery went into the back storage area, found the pieces, and set them out for us to look at in a private room under the special lights. Sweet.

Also sweet: I bought cowboy boots. They are awesome. They make Moses roll his eyes.

I'm not sure when I'll get the change to visit my friend again, but I hope it's not another three years. You need to have that person in your life who just effortlessly gets you.

Geronimoooooooo!

Garion has been on a serious Geronimo Stilton kick lately and apparently these books are all the rage among second grade boys. In case you are not hip to the 8 year old scene, Geronimo Stilton is a mouse who lives in, wait for it....Mouseopolis, and runs a newspaper called the the Rodent's Gazette. He has all sorts if improbable adventures and then writes books about them. That's right, the mouse writes the books. Try to keep up. Also, he is something of a reluctant lady's man--I mean lady's mouse--this totally cracks me up.

Anyway, today is library day. When I pulled up to the school I spotted three second grade boys standing around, each with a Geronimo Stilton book in their hands, reading. And Garion was leaning in to read over the shoulder of one of them. That would be four, 7-8 year old boys so excited about books, books for crying out loud, that they were reading them in public in full view of other children while waiting for their parents. Geronimo Stilton, you rock my world.

The New Old Bicycle

Last month, my father-in-law gave me an old English-style 3-speed bicycle. The beautiful kind with fenders and a step-though frame and upright handle bars. The kind that you need a bell and a basket for and the kind that you can ride while wearing a skirt, if the mood strikes. I'd been trolling craigslist for just such a bicycle for some time, but couldn't find one in my price range when--voila!--one was magically transported to my garage. Magically as in Moses went out to his dad's place one day and came back with a surprise for me.

Wait. What was that? You don't care that much about my new bicycle? You want to know what my son was for Halloween and why I am such a slacker mother that I never post the Halloween picture until sometime in November? Okay. Fine. Here:


He was a wizard. He was a wizard because although he originally intended to be Indiana Jones, the thrift store did not have the perfect Indiana Jones jacket and a jacket that looked "good enough" for mom was not good enough for the boy. And if Garion can't do the costume exactly right, he's not going to do it all. Which is completely frustrating and monumentally irritating when you are in the middle of a busy thrift store a week before Halloween and all of the sudden he says "I don't want to be Indiana Jones....I don't know what I want to be." But it worked out in the end. He's wearing my law school graduation robe, which will give you an idea of just how tall my baby is. Also, in my defense, it is only November 3rd, and I think this is most timely Halloween post ever, so there.

Now we can talk about my old new bicycle, which I am thoroughly smitten with:



I forgot to take a picture before we took it apart. And yes, that is my dog in background thinking that maybe if he stares hard enough at the bucket, one of the tennis balls inside will come flying out and play with him.
I should have started my bicycle search at The Land (my father-in-law's place) to begin with because I think that my father-in-law is storing at least one of every mechanical thing ever know to man out there. You know, just in case the world ends and humanity will need the last [insert mechanical item here] to figure out how to make more. Unfortunately, time at the land also means that the bicycle needed a little love. Well, actually quite a bit of love. Here's the hub, after I brushed off a bucket full of red dust:


And the rims, with a not insubstantial amount of rust:


The rust proved to be overwhelming and after reading about some safety implications of riding a bicycle with rusted-out rims, I decided to order new rims and a new hub. These are harder to track down then you would think. But yesterday--oh joy!--my new rims came and they are shiny and beautiful. Now I just need to finish cleaning up the bicycle, and possibly painting the frame. Then, as soon as I have some free time, I can put it all back together and have a lovely, beautiful new old bicycle to tool around on. Just in time for winter and snow. Someday I will have better timing. Until then I will dream of beautiful English-style three speeds with new rims and wizards who were Indiana Jones in their previous lives.

Back of the Smithosonian

How nerdy is it to have a subscription to the Smithsonian Magazine? Well, doesn't matter because Moses is the one who subscribes so either way you answered, I am still cool. The coolest. Ha.
Not the point, however. The point is the back of the magazine. The awesome part where they carry advertisements for weird crap that will transform you into a modern day Indian Jones without the guns and violence. You think I kid? Here's a sampling:

- Fisher Space Pen
-Authentic Artifacts and Coins
-Wireless Weather Station
-Athena Pheromones ("biologist's pheromones increase affection")--you know Indy was all over this
-Wold Discovery Box (Includes over 50 fossils, insects, marine life and minerals)
-Publish Your Book Now!
-Voyages to Antiquity
-Turkey Tours (the country not the bird)
-Upton Tea Imports
-European Beret (probably for the girl, not for Indy because he had the hat)
-David Morgan Unique Items of Lasting clothing (felt fedora, red check flannel, and messenger bag shown)
-World's Fastest Wrinkle Remover (even Indy ages)
-a Cell Phone That's a Phone (as in that's all it does)
-Gorilla Glue

No kidding, that's all in the back. Plus a bunch of other similar crap. I love it all. Yes, please, send me on a Voyage to Antiquity dressed in David Morgan's clothes, where I will write my self-published book with my space pen while smelling like Athena's pheromones. I can hardly wait.

My Funny Brother, My Roomy: Imogene Pass Run 2010 Race Report

Let me begin this tale with the most important fact: I beat my previous Imogene time by almost 45 minutes (whatever 6:26 minus 5:45 is). Brussel sprouts! I TORE IT UP!!!!

Okay. Now that that's out in the open, we can move on. Or back to the beginning. Whatever. Moses and I did not want to go to this race. Did not want to make the six hour drive, did not want to get up at O' dark thirty on race day, did not want to stagger 17.1 miles for hours on end at high altitude. We began exploring excuses for not going early last week. In fact, if you had asked me last Wednesday whether we were actually going to go, I would have said, I doubt it. But. Thursday afternoon I got an e-mail from my brother titled "Pain & Agony" which said: "Have you thought of any good excuses to get out of running on Saturday? I'm thinking about cutting off a toe." Jerk. Making me laugh like that. I knew then that we were going because all of the sudden I wanted the chance to hang out with my brother and his wife, his in-laws, and friends--you know, the cool fit kids. (Every year, my brother's wife's family organizes the trip to Telluride for a big group of people).

So we deposited the various living things that we are responsible for at their respective weekend destinations (kid to school, then friend's house, then grandparents, dog to kennel, and plants to fend for themselves) and hit the road Friday morning. And you know what? It was okay. By the time we got to Cortez, Colorado, I was kind of into it. And by the time we started the climb into the San Juan Mountains, I was mentally there and glad we got out of town for the weekend. That last hour and half into Telluride is just gorgeous. I think it's nearly impossible to regret being there.

We pulled into town and found out that we'd be sharing a room with my brother and his wife. "You guys get the bunk beds," said my brother. Okay, I guess that's fair because last time we got the master suite with the jetted tub. We deposited our beer at the main house and headed over to our assigned condo where we met one of our house mates who, upon learning that I was my brother's sister, said "Oh, that's wonderful! He is SO funny. I mean really, really funny. I mean the whole way up here--SO FUNNY!" Yes, I know, you think he's funny now, you should have seen him when he was 8 and blew up that egg in the microwave. That evening we had a great dinner, and great conversation with great people, and my brother continued to be his funny self, fueled by a not insubstantial amount of beer. (Don't worry, at about 8:30 that night, he switched to Gatorade to get ready for the race. Yeah, I know. Instantly switching from beer to Gatorade is apparently his superpower).

We hit the sack early in anticipation of our early wake-up the next day: my brother and his wife in their bed and Moses and me in our bunk beds. "Goodnight, Kerry." "Goodnight, Lisa." "Goodnight Mary Sue Ellen." "Goodnight John Boy." Do you know how old I was the last time I shared a room with my brother? 12. As is my pre-race norm, I failed to sleep at all that night and laid there running the race in my head over and over again and trying not to think about my nervous tummy because I didn't want to be the bad roomy who had to get up to pee a million times in middle of the night.

The alarm went off at 4:30 a.m., Colorado time. That would be 3:30 a.m., Arizona time. That would be (mom, close your eyes for a sec.) really fucking early. And guess what? My brother is a morning person. Brussel sprouts. How can he be funny first thing in the morning after all that beer and Gatorade? My brother's wife was sick, and therefore not running, but still got up early so she could see everybody off and shuttle gear from the start to the finish line because she's awesome like that.

We had breakfast and slept-walk our way through the obligatory pre-race ritual: get on an over-heated, crowded school bus in the dark, ride some impossibly long time with bus full of impossibly fit people to the start, get off in the freezing cold and head immediately for the toilet line and then proceed to hurry up and wait. My sister-in-law's mother asked me how I was doing and then gave me a great pep talk about running my own race and just relaxing and reminding me that I already know I'll make it because I've done it before. This woman could talk me into anything (she's talked me into entering Imogene three times and I think the only reason she couldn't talk me into running it instead of going to a work conference last year was because I didn't see her before I left for the conference). The state department should hire her to negotiate peace in the middle east, she is that good.

Pep talk in mind, I decided she's right, I'm just going to run/hike/walk/crawl my own race and I'm not going to worry about anything else or how I'm doing compared to anybody else. I'm just going to finish and it doesn't matter what happens and I will make it because I've done it before. And that's what I did. Moses took off at a faster pace, and that was fine. I quit trying to keep up with him (at this point we were both walking) and it the end this was much better for both of us (Moses finished in under 5 hours). I prefer to suffer alone. I didn't worry that I had to stop running and start walking less than half a mile into the race. I found my pace and stuck to it. And it worked.

That said, about 5 miles into the race, I spotted my brother on the side of the road. He had a leg cramp and had to stop to stretch. I didn't stop because I figured he'd be fine and there wasn't anything I could do to help him anyway and I kind of suck as a sister. And also two years ago when were hiking Mt. Humpherys?, he totally left me to die. In the rain and hale. Also some lady had already stopped and was offering him pickle juice. (Apparently pickle juice is supposed to be the magic potion that instantly cures muscle cramps. My brother said it just made him want to vomit). After a swig of pickle juice, my brother caught up to me. We chatted briefly about the merits of pickle juice and hiked together for a bit. And then on the next hill......wait for it.......I DROPPED HIM. Because he had a leg cramp but, whatever. I didn't see him again the rest of the race and briefly toyed with the idea that I might have beat him in the whole thing but it turns out that he passed me somewhere along the way and neither of us noticed. Probably when I was in the port-a-potty-at-the-top-of-the-mountain. Regardless, for a brief shining moment, I was in front. Hah! Other than that, I was running my own race and not worrying at all about what everybody else was doing. Really.

The uphill part was predictably hard. Really hard. And steeper than I remembered. I did a better job of managing my liquid and food intake and although my heart and lungs were working overtime, I did not get altitude sickness. I just kept moving and that seemed to be the key. The top was beautiful. I took a few minutes to soak in the view and a volunteer snapped my picture at the summit sign. I then assessed my physical state. And, brussel sprouts!, I still had legs. Not only would I finish this stupid race, but I would finish it strong. At the 12 mile mark, I realized that I was going finish substantially better than two years ago and I hunkered down for the remaining five miles. I even finished early enough that my family and friends were still at the finish line by the time I got there. Sweet.

Post-race, everybody took the traditional gondola ride for late afternoon coffee and then we headed back to the main house for dinner, where half of Flagstaff joined us. We even had the winner of the whole shebang at our party because we were so cool. He finished the race in something like 2:19--I cannot even fathom how this is physically possible. I was a little disappointed that he just looked like a normal guy--it seemed like he should at least have had a super-suit.

Overall, I finished ahead of 83 other people. Last time, I finished ahead of 9 people and that was only because Moses let me walk across the finish line first. This really just means that I improved from "pathetically slow" to "slow," but I'll take it. I'm glad we ended up going and we'll probably do it again. We are constantly asked why we would ever endeavor something like this race, and honestly that's still a hard question for me to answer, even with the great experience I had this year. I think it comes down to the intense sense of satisfaction that comes from doing something really challenging, something that is so far outside of normal everyday life that its outcome is not at all predictable. There's also something great about taking on that challenge with a bunch of other people--whether you know them or not--and being part of this thing that was hard and scary and fun all at the same time. Or maybe the answer is really just the classic "because it's there" and also, now, "because I can." (And maybe also "because my brother might get a leg cramp and I will drop him on a hill.")

I've been thinking about:

1. Imogene. It's one week and two days away and my prospects are bleak. Busy summer means not a lot of training means ohmygoodnessI'mprobablygoingtodieonamountaininColorado.

2. Wow, I didn't blog the entire month of August.

3. Holy cow, it is already September.

4. Holy cow, the weather is already turning cold.

5. Holy cow, my baby started second grade two weeks ago and he's brilliant.

6. I can't believe how attached I am to my dog. I expected to feel some mild affection for him, enough to tolerate all the necessary dog care, but I really thought my affection would be more of an off-shoot of Garion's affection. Not so. He follows me around everywhere I go and sleeps on my feet and I can no longer imagine life without a dog. 6 months--that's all it took.

7. My neighbors have chickens. Based on my understanding of the zoning ordinances and my extensive knowledge of chicken physiology, they are Outlaw Chickens. I can see them from my office window and hear them clucking around all day and I am COMPLETELY jealous. Maybe I will just get chickens and not tell Moses, and, probably, he wouldn't even notice. I'd keep them on the side of the house where he never goes and when they cluck and squawk, I will just blame the noise on the neighbor's chickens!

8. Last weekend we went camping with good friends and I absolutely love having friends who understand the very important skill of social reading--sitting around in proximity to other people while reading and not having to engage in conversation because it is not necessary to talk all the time.

9. Despite a ridiculously late start, I managed to grow tomatoes this year. Yay!! I cannot make them turn red. Boo!!

10. I am reading a book to Garion in which the main character pseudo-swears by saying "brussel sprouts!" I like this. I am going to adopt this.

11. Brussel sprouts! I'm only a couple of months away from 35 and therefore only 5 years away from 40 and, brussel sprouts!, this life thing is going too fast and I would like my money back please.

How to Cross-Train for Imogene in 25 Easy Steps:

1. Hop on your bike and pedal down to the elementary school where your child is attending summer camp.
2. Sign child out and watch him take his sweet time moseying down the longest school corridor known to man and wonder if he'll make it to the end before you start going gray.
3. Place bicycle helmet on child.
4. Place your 50+ pound child on the back of your xtracycle:

5. Realize you must start the whole ordeal home by pedaling up hill. With 50+ pounds of wiggliness on the back of your bike.
6. Start pedaling.
7. Realize there is much uphill between school and your home.
8. Give a very sincere "thanks!" to the mom getting out of her car to pick up her kid who said to you "you're my hero!"
9. Realize you are only about 25% of the way up the first hill and have not even passed the school grounds yet.
10. Hope the mom with the compliment is already inside so she does not see you collapse.
11. Make to top of hill! Huzzah!
12. Realize top of hill is immediately followed by another hill (that is just so Flagstaff).
13. Get off and walk and make child walk too (it's good for him, builds character).
14. Resume riding when the hill is not so steep.
15. Realize that "not so steep uphill" is still uphill.
16. Wonder if you are too young for an exercise-induced heart attack.
17. Wonder if you are burning enough calories to work off all that ice cream.
18. In light of potential calorie consumption, keep going.
19. Despite a severe lack of oxygen, try to hold up your end of your child's conversation about..........something. Realize grunting will placate child and give up on conversation.
20. Confront the steep hill leading to your home and wonder who's dumb idea it was to buy a house at the top of a hill.
21. Get off bike and walk up the hill and make child walk too (it's good for him--builds character).
22. At child's urging, get back on bike to ride the last 100 ft of flat road at the top of the hill to your home.
23. Get off of bike.
24. Die a little.
25. Go make dinner.

I Wish It Would Never End

Summer in Flagstaff is like homemade vanilla ice cream. You know, the kind you make in one of those old fashioned ice cream makers with the ice and the rock salt? And somebody has to crank and crank and crank while the cream mixture freezes? And when it is done you end up with a sweet, slightly salty, confection that is perfect in its creamy simplicity? That kind of homemade ice cream. The cranking part is winter. Over and over and over you shovel and pile on sweaters, and curse snow and although you know that, in theory, there is a season called summer that does not require wool socks, you are pretty sure it is never, ever going to happen. But eventually it does....and oh man, is it good. It is warm and sunny and everything smells like pine trees and you can wear your Chaco sandals everywhere to everything because in Flagstaff they pass for dress shoes (this is the sweet part). And then just when it starts to get a touch too hot, and fans are not quite enough to take the edge off the afternoon heat, the thunderstorms come and they are cool and dramatic and beautiful (this is that bit of salt that cuts the sweetness perfectly). And then there are just all the amazing things happening here in the summer. Like concerts in the park. The city books local bands to play in the park on Wednesday evenings. For free. And there are arts and crafts to keep kids entertained and everybody comes with their blankets, and dinners, and fallen brownies, and sits around with friends and family to shoot the breeze and listen to some live music. Last night it was reggae. My friend's dad remarked (with a dash of sarcasm) "wow, I wish the music was a little more political." And even though you'd think all that social justice would be a little for a heavy for Wednesday evening, it was okay. Because people were dancing, and kids were playing soccer, and the day's storm clouds were just starting to move along and there was an incredible rainbow over the whole thing. And that is just about as good as summer gets.

Imperfect Blogging and Fallen Browinies

Ugh. My blogging has so ground to stunning halt. I am constantly thinking of things that I want to write about, want to share, but this particular time in my life seems to be one of immense busy-ness. And I do not love the busy-ness. I love having nothing to do. I crave time to play in the river at my mom's house (hi, Mom! I think busy-ness or no, we're coming your way this weekend). I crave time to read, to camp, to hike (without a time goal, damn Imogene training), to go somewhere just for the fun of it, or to have NOTHING to do for a whole weekend. And also to have twice weekly visits from the laundry fairy. Anyway, I was reading one of my favorite blogs, Walk Slowly, Live Widly this evening and she posted about imperfect blogging. And I think that's it. If I want to blog I should blog and forget about making every post a try for the World's Best Blog Post Ever. Of course, even imperfect blogging takes time so I am probably kidding myself, but I apparently need to kid myself about regular blogging or growing my hair on a rotating cycle of approximately six month intervals. Since I have presently given up on growing out my hair, I will work on more regular blogging. In six months when I've failed at regular blogging, I'll switch and start working on growing out my hair again.

So. Onward. This is what we've been up to:

As mentioned in my last post, Moses and I celebrated our 10th anniversary in May by heading to Moab. I got Moses a spiffy camera so that he could pose with it and make faces at me while I photographed him with my less-spiffy camera.
Moses also went to D.C. for a week to sit in hotel conference room and read grant proposals and then took Garion to Utah for a few days of field work. He's been busy too.

The first week in July we headed to Washington state to visit Moses's mom, step-dad, and assorted siblings, nieces, and nephews. This was the first time Garion had met many of his cousins and shenanigans ensued.

Here's a sampling of the cousins (notice the 2-year old totally doing his own thing off to the right--that is the totally adorable part of 2-year olds):

On the way home we went to visit Moses's oldest brother who lives with his wife near Lake Shasta. We visit them because they have a boat. Oh, and also we like them. And they gave us Harley. Garion would have ridden the inner tube thingy all the way home to Flagstaff if he could have.

The drive from Flagstaff to Washington took us approximate 3 days each way. Ohmygoodness. Garion and Harley were champs for the most part. This was on the way home after about a week of not enough sleep because it stays light until 10-freakin'-p.m. in the Pacific Northwest:
Between the traveling, Garion's attended Invention Camp (he invented a mind-reader), swimming lessons, and summer FACTS (basically a place to park your kid for the summer if you work) and that all requires dropping off and picking up and for some reason that is all more onerous in the summer. Seriously, why do we not have teleporters yet?

Tomorrow night we are going to the Wednesday evening Concert in the Park (yay for Flagstaff in the summer!!) We're meeting some friends and several other families and engaging in some sort of pot luck dinner. My assignment was dessert. I made peanut butter cup cupcake brownies and they sank. I think though that if I make everybody consider them from this highly artistic angle they will not notice:
As in, "yes you may have a brownie but only if you hold it over your head at this precise angle to look at it before you eat it."

A Decade

Last week, Moses and I celebrated our 10th wedding anniversary. Ten years has the peculiar quality of seeming at once to be a really long time-as in, wow we've been married forever--and also a very short time--as in wow already?, that went fast. When we were preparing for marriage, we wrote letters to our future selves talking about what our expectations for marriage were and what we were feeling at the time. I confess that I was more than a little relieved to discover that we chose a crappy pen to write these letters and the ink has faded to illegibility. Thankfully we were better at choosing partners than choosing writing instruments. We were 24 when we got married. Last week we both had the same reaction when considering our 24-year-old selves: "24? What were thinking? We knew nothing, we were idiots, we had no idea what we were getting ourselves in for. We were still in school, for crying out loud. Our combined annual income was just over a tenth of what it is now. Did anybody try to warn us? Were we just not paying attention?" Thankfully our 24-year-old selves seemed to have stumbled into a pretty good life-I think that after 10 years we can officially count ourselves as in for the long haul.
I've been wanting to write something that reflects on ten years of marriage, what it means and what I've learned. On our eighth wedding anniversary, I posted our wedding vows and the ones that I would take had we written our own-after being married 8 years-and I hold true to those.

Well, I try. I don't manage it everyday, but I think I get there more days than not.
It turns out that, for me, our 10th anniversary was not so much a time to reflect on the deeper truths of marriage, but simply a time to revel in the years we've had together, and that is difficult to express. Then, today, we had a virtual conversation (Moses is traveling, thus the text messages, not that we haven't been known to text message across the living room) that sums it up nicely:

M: Flight from NC to DC delayed
K: Sorry about your flight. Miss you already.
M: I love you. Equal parts teq (tequila), tripsec (triple sec), lime, sweeten to taste, add ice wait 1 min.

In case you missed it, that conversation was about how draining it is to deal with a 7-year-old chatter-box non-stop all day without someone to deflect the 7-year-old's attention. And Moses got it, and he made me laugh, and that's what's great about 10 years.

Word to Yo Mutha*

What I got from Garion for Mother's Day: a stuffed animal (from his collection), three pages of photos from his preschool memory book (need to sneak those back in before we lose them) and a beautiful necklace (pictured at left) that he made by drilling a hole through an enormous silver (plastic) coin and stringing it on a chain that I think he "found" in my jewelry box. On seeing this necklace, my brother remarked "oooh, Kerry, you got some bling!" 'Sright, bro.

Such was the craziness of the Mother's Day weekend, that I am just now, slightly, recovered enough to talk about it. My sister-in-law graduated with a doctorate in Physical Therapy on Friday so we went her way Friday afternoon to see if she could fix my sore foot. And to party a little. And to get talked into signing up for the Imogene Pass Run by her mom. (Note to self, need to avoid Nancy for approximately 30 days before June 1st if you are going to "forget" to sign up for Imogene).
We started Saturday by going out for breakfast with my dad who was in town for graduation. At breakfast, Garion asked Moses what a sinus headache is. Moses explained, complete with a quick consult of google (via phone) for a picture of a sinus cavity, to which Garion responded "you're giving me a headache" complete with eye rolling and head rubbing. The rest of Saturday was a whirl of cleanthehousegogroceryshoppinggetreadyformother'sdaydothelaundrychaos. I decided however, that since it was Mother's Day weekend I should not have to spend all of Saturday cleaning and that I would treat myself to a mani/pedi. Which is impossible to book at the last second on graduation weekend in a small town. So I decided to do it myself. And Garion thought it was a good idea, so we did him too. And Harley was not about to miss out on the action, so he laid down under my feet. Which is to say, that my mani/pedi did not go down quite as I had envisioned. But it was a beautiful afternoon for hanging out on the back porch and Garion sat and chatted my ear off for an entire hour while soaking his feet and waiting for his toenail polish to dry (clear on his fingers and pink and purple on his toes). Sunday we went down to my mom's house to celebrate and eat and take the canoe on its inaugural 2010 voyage. It was so windy that I think we spotted Dorothy and Toto and I'm certain I worked off most of the cheesecake I consumed that day just by paddling. At least, that is the story I am telling myself. Garion was less than enthused about the canoe (he remembers a certain windy day last summer when the canoe capsized) and pretty much informed Moses and me that he was done with us, he would like new parents now please, and why would we not just LET HIM OUT OF THE [explative implied but not used because this is from a 7-yr-old] CANOE? Because, it is Mother's Day and I want to go in the canoe, so dang it that is what we are going to do even if we all die from the misery of it. Garion also brought out the classic "why is there Mother's Day and Father's Day but no kid's day?" And did I say it? Oh, you bet I did: "because everyday is kid's day."

*This post was originally title "''Sup Homey?" My friend Stacy suggested that it should be titled "Word to Yo Mutha," and she is totally right.

The Apple did not Fall Far from that Tree

Garion came home today determined to make Nerf guns for himself and his best friend. Out of cardboard. And scotch tape. I acquiesced, or rather, willfully ignored this endeavor because I still had about and hour of work left to do and I figured the Sisyphean task of building Nerf guns from cardboard would keep him busy for awhile. Garion was still at it while I was making dinner a couple of hours later. This was a project of epic proportions. And epic use of scotch tape.
All of the sudden, he came in the kitchen with big huge crocodile tears of frustration rolling down his face: "It's not going to work! All this [big sweeping hand gesture] and it's not going to work! It's not going to ever work!!!" And I did not tell him that I had no expectation of this idea ever working because I am a good mother. Or, today at least, I am a good mother. I gave him a hug and we talked about how sometimes things don't always come out the way you thing they're going to and he cried some more while not paying any attention whatsoever to my very good life advice. And then he stopped. Broke away from me and stormed out the front door without a word. Being the good mother that I am today, I resisted the urge to follow and make sure he wasn't hoofing it to the border in search of a better life with his dog, his gameboy and whatever bit of stickiness was in his pocket. Five minutes later he came back in with some black tubing he managed to scrounge up in the garage: "This will work much better!!!"
And this is just so like his dad it kills me. His dad who embarks on epic projects, spends the whole time cursing in frustration, frequently comes in half way through and says "It's not going to work, it's never going work," goes back out, and ta-da! makes it work. And then, ahem....leaves a huge mess.

Siren Song of the REI Catalog

The REI catalog showed up in the mail the other day, as it does occasionally. I love everything in that little booklet of outdoorsy goodness. I love the clothes, the shoes, all that GEAR--even the gear for the outdoorsy things I do not do (although that list is getting smaller, did I mention I've been rock climbing?) I love it all. And I was sitting at my kitchen counter paging through its copious attractions, I realized something profound: the REI catalog is just like vampire novels. Yeah, vampire novels. Would you like to know why? I thought so.
They are crack on paper. Metaphorical crack. Not crack actually embedded into paper (but I bet they'd both do brisk sales if that were the case). They are addicting in the view they offer you of a secret world just off, by this much, from the world you live in. I have read so many vampire books in the last year or so, that I am ashamed to cop to the number. In fact, I don't even know what the number is. The book I'm reading now? Vampire book. I didn't even know it when I picked it up, I thought it was just another Deanna Raybourne book. But, no--vampires. I am subconsciously drawn to them. The REI catalog has that same seductive pull. And how many REI catalogs have I poured over in the last year? Lots. Not to mention time spent trolling their website. The catalog is filled with fit, attractive people who do things like travel the world and effortlessly climb mountains and run trails and endlessly hang out at the beach and always, ALWAYS, find that awesome camping spot that is not right next to the jerk and radio, and the girls all know how to wear those cute skirts for things like hiking. And also, they appear to travel everywhere on their bicycles or in their Subarus. Like vampires, you know they don't exist in real life (who goes hiking in a skirt?), but dang if that catalog doesn't make you think they could. And if you had those cloths and that gear you could be young and fit and effortlessly climb mountains, and travel the world, and trundle your totally cute and well behaved kid along for the ride. On your bicycle. If you reduce them both to their essences, I think what you're left with is escapism and that's why they are the same. Anywhere-but-here-and-now escapism. And that's why I love them. No, that's not true because really and truly I love my here and now. I know that I would not want to live in a vampire novel. Although come to think of it I am married to a man with a fierce temper who has a hard time sleeping at night and hates morning sunlight. Hmmm. And really, I almost live in the REI catalog (I think Flagstaff is as close as you can get). But, man the escape is appealing. The adventure. The get out and do something that is not Sitting At A Desk........Oh my goodness, I have a bad case of spring fever.

Ode to a Boy and his Dog

Remember a loooooong time ago I said we were getting a dog? Well, a loooooonnng time ago (February) we did. Yes, I know. Not filling you in for nearly three months is a severe dereliction of my blogger duties. Bad blogger.

The dog's name is Harley, and Garion LOVES him. Possibly more than he loves me.

They play ball. They play spaceship (Harley is in charge of the escape pods). They play stuffed animals (or did until I told Garion that that game might result in the grisly demise of stuffed animal). They play tug of war. They play stick:

Except that Harley would greatly prefer that Garion not throw the stick into the water. Because it is his stick and he treasures it, and if Garion throws it into the water he is obligated, compelled really, to go rescue his beloved stick even if he has to get wet and he just would really prefer not to have to swim. And dang-it-all-to-heck, the longer he sits on the shore thinking about getting wet the farther away his beloved stick drifts and the farther he has to swim. And never ever does that stick float back on its own. Bad stick.

Harley is sweet and funny and very affectionate.

He also eats his poop.

Yes, Harley. I just told the entire internet that you eat your own poop (and the poop of woodland creatures). If you cut it out, I'll never mention it again.

This is how he sleeps when no one's really watching.



Did I mention Garion might love him more than me? Whatever. I buy groceries and make dinner. All Harley can do is sniff out poop. I think that if it came down to a matter of survival, and given the choice between dinner and a poop-sniffing dog, Garion would still choose me. I think.

Garion loves Harley so much that last weekend he gave Harley a "shower" with the backyard hose. I'm not really sure what triggered this, but independent thought from a seven year old is occasionally a little alarming. I tried to stay calm and explain to Garion why this was not an okay thing to do (aside from the wet dog in the house problem). And then I remembered that when I was small, I once tied a helium balloon to my (three-legged) cat and dropped him to see if the balloon would hold him up. (It did not, in case you're wondering.) I also remember that this was not a mean thing, but a "I just want to see what happens" thing. And so, with Garion I'm trying remember that some of this stuff is stuff you have to learn, how to treat to other living creatures and how to be respectful and how to care for the needs of something other than yourself. Garion is learning and thankfully Harley does not hold grudges.

Harley is very dedicated to his day time job: holding down the carpet under my desk while I work. None of it has gotten away since he took up his post. He also reminds me when it's time to go for a walk at lunch time and when it's time to go pick up Garion.

He knows how to put himself to bed.

And he really excels at playing in the snow, which as far as dog traits go, is nearly enough to make up for the poop eating. Every snow day this spring, he and Garion have played outside for three and four hour stretches which results in a tired a kid and a tired dog and time for mom to get a little work done--it hardly gets better than that.

This is Harley pre-noontime walk. And post-noontime walk. I'm telling you--dedicated.

Harley's favorite part of the day is picking his boy up from school. A car ride PLUS children and activity to watch PLUS his boy.
I was afraid that when Harley came to live with us, he would be a novelty for a few weeks and then the glamor would wear off. Thankfully, this is not what has transpired. Garion is as enthralled with him as he was when we first met him, is thrilled to see him in the morning, and always says goodnight to him before he goes to bed. Part of me wonders if this was a cruel thing to do. Harley is six and has had some illnesses earlier in his life that probably mean he will not live to be an ancient dog. We will most likely be lucky if we have five years with him and I can see now that Garion will be devastated when he is gone and what kind of mother does that make me? But that's life, right? You love and lose and that cycle repeats itself over and over again and if you do things right the loving makes the losing worth it. And we are happy to Harley here and for now. And when you are only seven, five years is a really long time.

On Being Sucked Dry

In Garion's home folder today:
-a registration renewal form for next year that requires a $40 deposit,
-a reminder of our $200 "scrip" obligation--a mandatory fundraiser for the school,
-a reminder to return envelopes for the "math-a-thon" fundraiser for St. Jude's Hospital,
-a notice for "Jump Rope for Heart" and fund-raising envelope, AND
-a notice and form for donating blood at next week's blood drive.
That's right: your money is NOT enough and you probably don't have any left, so we'd like your BLOOD too. ok?thanks.

****
Also, just because it's that kind of day and there's no one old enough around to listen, I'm just going to put it out in the world: my back hurts, I didn't sleep well last night and I'm tired, I have a sore throat, it's cold, it's snowing AGAIN, I had to work on the longest, crappiest complaint in the history of the world today and it is STILL not finished, I have a sink full of dirty dishes, and I am all out of sorts and grumpy. We are so having pancakes for dinner tonight.

Not Gonna Happen

This afternoon:

Garion: Mom, can I mix together milk, honey, and soap for a science experiment?
Me: Why?
Garion: to see what they make
Me: They make milk, honey, and soap mixed up. No, you cannot because it will make a mess and waste those things.
Garion: (starts howling) I'm going to tell Dad you won't let me do science!!!!*
Me: okay.
Garion: (immediately brightening at the thought) can I call him on phone?

Photo Experiment

I just recently read about a new photography book of images captured with an iPhone. Something about "The Best Camera is the One You Have With You." The images are stunning and quite inspiring. So inspiring in fact that I am going to aim for a daily photo or two, which I will post on Flickr (since that seems to be the easiest way to publish from the iPhone). My friend Anali did a similar project a couple of years ago and I really enjoyed the day to day images she captured. Anybody have any thoughts on whether I should allow my photos to be viewable by everyone or whether I should issue invites? I'm a little chicken about putting my photos out there in the world for all to view, but then those types of photos are some of my favorite parts of the blogs I read on a regular basis. To the left is today's photo.

Sunday Afternoon

I realize that given my last post, the next logical post in the story-of-my-everyday life would be a race report. So here it is in summary: I finished the race, not as fast as my last half-marathon but much of that time was attributable to port-a-potty visit at mile 1 (yes, bad planning); there were a gazillion people; despite the fact that there were a gazillion people, I had a hard time finding the starting line (they hid it); John McCain was there for some reason I have yet to puzzle out; and finally Deanna Kastor won the half marathon (yes, I ran in a race with Deanna Kastor...she only finished an hour and twenty minutes faster than me).

The next logical post after that would be to tell you all about how I survived the worst snow storm Flagstaff has seen in 30 years while Moses was out of town and school was canceled for a WHOLE WEEK. Yes, this year he has managed to miss both the swine flu and 4 feet of snow. That man is talented. Also, as a result of said snow, our roof is leaking.

But I'm giving these thing short shrift to talk to you about something really important, something I love, something that can almost make you forget there are still a solid 3 feet of snow on the ground everywhere you look and you will not be able to run, nigh even walk, outside for another two months at least. That thing is APPLE PIE. As in homemade. From scratch. With enough butter to require the Bessie the Cow at hippie-grass-fed farm to put in some serious overtime.
I mentioned earlier that one of my New Year's resolutions is to figure out to make an objectively good pie and I do believe this apple pie qualifies.
I, of course, could not have done it without my intrepid assistant and expert apple-corer:


The apple-corer thingermabob turned out to be not quite as helpful as I was hoping. For it to really work, I think you have to have perfectly shaped, non-wobbly apples. Our apples were wobbly. I had to do a little after the fact peeling, but it was probably faster than peeling by hand. Also, Garion really liked operating the apple-corer do-hickey and eating the long ropes of apple peel, so you know, cheap kid entertainment is always worth it.

This is the finished product:


Isn't it beautiful? Next to my child and the corners of my living room that I painted free-hand, that is probably the most beautiful thing I have ever produced.

And! Check it out:


NOT runny! I have given some thought as to why my peach pie was so disastrously runny and this pie was not. Here's what I have come up with: I have no idea. My theory is that I used fresh apples for this pie where with the peach pie I used frozen peaches. I think it's a good theory but one that I'll have to test out this summer by making a peach pie with fresh peaches. Yes, it must be done. The scientific method must be adhered to at all costs. Which also means that I will have to make another apple pie to see if my results can be reproduced. Oh, woe is me and everyone in my family who has to eat my experiments.

Pre-race Jitters

I thought that I'd use my night-to-myself in my own hotel room to kick back and watch a sappy/corny movie and instead I am of course obsessing over tomorrow morning's race. I've worked out my wardrobe issues--I think. And I've also unearthed a couple of packets of GU (a food-like substance for running an exception to 2010's "real food" rule) which is lucky because I forgot the Clif Shot Bloks (other food-like substance) that I usually use. So, I will sort of be breaking the "nothing new" rule tomorrow--I've used GU but not frequently and I like the bloks bettter--I'm hoping that doesn't backfire. My various electronic gadgets are charging and I've worked out the always tricky pre-race breakfast dilemma. Now I just need to turn off my brain a go to sleep. Sigh.

Anybody Have a Recipe for Cheetos?

Michael Pollan is such a considerate guy that when he heard that one of my New Year's resolutions was to only eat real food, he published a book called "Food Rules" which provides 64 straightforward rules about how to accomplish that very thing. Some of the rules I already had a pretty good handle on: avoiding things with ingredients I can't pronounce, avoiding fake sugar, avoiding "food-like substances"--foods so processed that someone visiting from, say, 1945, wouldn't recognize them as food. Michael Pollan uses "Go-Gurt" as a prime example-is is food? toothpaste? lube for your go-cart? Eat fruits and vegetables.
The rule that I really liked, and am going to attempt to embrace is: "make your own junk food." Meaning that it's okay to indulge in dessert, french fries, etc., as long as you make it yourself. The idea is that if you make it yourself, you're probably not going to go through the effort to make it all the time and it becomes what it's supposed to be -a treat. I like this idea. Although I know myself, and knowing that I can only eat a dessert that I made will really just mean that I will be making dessert more often, not that I will necessarily eat less of it. My sweet tooth is totally strong enough to overcome the problem of not enough hours in a day. That is its super-power.
When I told Garion about this new household policy, he was immediately on board: "Let's make pumpkin chocolate chip cookies!" That's my boy, always using his head. So that's what we're doing today--making pumpkin chocolate chip cookies and a couple of other easy things (split pea soup from scratch and fresh bread in the bread maker) to get us through the parts of this week where we just won't have time to make real food.
I realized that although a pumpkin chocolate chip cookie is still a cookie, making them myself lets me tweak the recipe. I replaced some of the fat with applesauce, replaced some of the white flour with wheat and coconut flour and used dark chocolate instead of milk chocolate (I'm sure that change right there will add at least a 12 days to our lives). Still a cookie, but maybe a not-as-bad-for-you cookie. And this is how making my own junk food will be better for me--my junk food will not be as bad at the junk food that comes from the store in a bag. The major hitch being that I don't know how to make Cheetos.

Coming Soon...

Over Christmas, we went to visit Moses's oldest brother and his family. My sister-in-law is a veterinary technician and by virtue of that profession, she rescues a lot of dogs. Right now they have six. Just to be clear: six dogs is a lot of dogs. It's pretty much a herd of dogs. I suppose "pack" is the technical term, but "herd" seems to describe it better.
Of course Garion and I fell in love with one while we were visiting:



This is Harley. He is pretty much just as sweet and friendly as he looks. He's also the world's most laid back dog. Garion hugged him, laid on him, and decorated him like a Christmas tree, and I don't think that dog even batted an eye. Harley also knows how to fetch and shake so that pretty much covers the necessary dog tricks. Harley's best trick? He is not-intrusive enough that Moses said "ok." Moses might also have succumbed to the dreamy look in Garion's eye whenever Garion talked about Harley and told us that Harley is the only dog he would ever have and wasn't Harley funny and if Harley lived with us he could sleep in Garion's bedroom, etc., etc. However, Moses is tough, so that is probably not at all what happened.
We could have brought Harley home after Christmas, but I wasn't prepared for Moses to actually agree to dog ownership and I wasn't quite convinced that I wouldn't be in the dog house (ha!) for the rest of Harley's life if we brought him home. And also the Prius was so packed that Garion had to stuff his kneecaps into his ears for the two day drive home, so I'm not really sure where we would have put the dog. This means Harley is still in California and we had a little more time to think.
This week, my sister-in-law told us that somebody else was interested in Harley, but that we could have him if we were willing to make a firm commitment because we have the family in. So Garion and I had a long talk about poop scooping, and taking care of animals, and how we will not be able to change our minds once he comes to live with us and about how pets will eventually die and how you feel sad about that and how we cannot have other pets like tortoises (or, ahem, chickens) if we have a dog. And Garion's eyes were so huge and hopeful at the possibility of a canine buddy that I knew we were in for good. Moses said that he would drive out to California to pick him up, and I am taking this as a good enough sign that he is actually ok with this dog. That, and Moses told me that this is about the only dog in the world that he can live with. Not that Moses is excited, just that Moses won't require prescription medication to dull the reality of his home life after it includes this dog. I think Moses will make the trip sometime in February or March to pick up Harley-- Garion and I are so excited!