What the fluff?

I've noticed that I've been pretty good lately keeping my blog free and clear of any real thoughts. I have made a conscious effort since February, when I went through my "What does it mean to be an Olympian, and how does that scale to the life of a non-athlete?" period, to keep my blog free of more personal thought or feeling; I felt that I was being way too revealing, that I had to cultivate a more reasonable and well-balanced web persona, and, besides, who really wants to read about how sixty-percent of the time my mind is occupied with thoughts of direction, goals, opportunities found and lost, feelings of inadequacy and failure, disappointments, angst and anxiety, and all the darker shades of life? In this last post to show you the view from inside my mind, I declared that I would put an end to the posts that showcased my more cheerless train of thought, and I have to say that I've done a pretty good job at that. I suppose in one way I should be proud - I set a goal and stuck to it. But then why do my blog posts feel so... not like me? Like I'm pretending that life is only happy, and that all Doug and I ever do is fun, fun, fun? (Of course, if you've noticed, the frequency of my posting has cut way back, and that has something to do with the fact that my life, and my life with Doug, is not fun, fun, fun every day. You hear from me less often on this blog because I've cut out the posts in which I asked myself some of the more meaningful questions of life. My reduced blog presence is not really a time issue, as I might make it out to be. I have time.) Don't get me wrong, though - Doug and I do have fun, mostly on the weekends or on vacation days, and I want to share those moments with you, too. But I'm gradually feeling like I should go back to sharing some of those moments inside my head when the lights go down, I get a little introspective, and I start to think a little more deeply. That's a very real part of me, just as much as our weekend fun, and there's no reason why I shouldn't express it. This is a blog about my life written by me after all, isn't it? It's not fair to either of us if I don't give a more complete view of the inside.

That being said, today I'm going to write mainly about fun stuff, and I'll spare you the recount of the morning I spent in Lowe's trying to buy a pumpkin for our front step from a woman who appointed herself the unofficial pumpkin-weighing police. Good Lord, what a ridiculous experience, and all before 9am. Instead, I'll show you a photo of the back of my quilt, which I finished last week. It's a damask pattern, which I really like (Toile is another favorite of mine. I'm an old woman at heart, really.), and I picked it out so that if we get tired of looking at the t-shirts we can flip the quilt and have the damask pattern facing up instead. I know. I'm just so clever.

In exciting event number two, we went to Dedham's Oktoberfest celebration last weekend, and ate... the famous German hot dog and baked beans. There is German potato salad on that plate, though, and some very good mustard on the hot dog. I believe it was Dusseldorf mustard. I don't think we'd had any ever before, and Doug and I both liked it. So even though we didn't feast on bratwursts and knockwursts and whatever other kinds of wursts there were, we did enjoy a bit of Germany nonetheless.

In exciting event number three, another food related event, Hot Molasses played at Somerville's fifth annual Fluff Fest this weekend. Here is Doug, all excited about Fluff (which was invented in Somerville, by the way) and wearing his free Fluff Fest t-shirt (the perks of being in the band!). And here he is with Andrew, the Hot Molasses bass player, during their set: They played a good show! None of them were too pleased with their performance that day (though you can tell from this clip that it wasn't bad at all - in fact, quite good!), but what can you expect when you had another show in just about that exact same spot only about fifteen hours earlier. Come on, guys. Give yourselves a break! After all, aren't you a band that stands for hope, resiliency, and overcoming sticky situations?

What was fun about Fluff Fest, besides getting to see Doug play, was eating Fluff. This past week Doug and I had quite a few Fluffernutter sandwiches in preparation for Fluff Fest. Doug had never had Fluff before (how can I be married to someone who had never had Fluff before? For me it's a major block holding up the food pyramid.), and I was looking for a good excuse to eat it. I can safely say, though, that after this past week - and this weekend - I can go another while without having any. I think it might have been the Fluff hors d'oeuvre that did me in. Fluff, saltines, pickles, and cheeseballs are not a match made in culinary heaven.

I am looking forward to the baked ziti that I made tonight, though. I was trying to think of something to make that would give us a few leftovers, and that I could throw in the oven while I was doing other things today (like clean out my refrigerator, which I realized that I hadn't really done thoroughly since I bought it last year. Oops!), and so this was it. And it's just fresh out of the oven now. I can't wait any longer. Dinner here I come.

It's all in the timing.

Here's a little update on us adding a third animal to our current brood - we have not added a third animal to our current brood, but not for lack of trying. We were delivered some sad news this past Friday about a dog that we were hoping would be ours (he will not be), and so now we are questioning whether or not we even want a third pet. I mean, this is probably just not in the cards for us right now. We'll just keep waiting and if the right one comes along then we'll act. If we get it, great. If not, then we don't. The timing just has to be right.

I really thought the timing was right this time, though. Girl Chris mentioned to me last week that a coworker of hers had to send one of his dogs back to the breeder, the male, because he needed to focus his attention on the female. Z is a 6 year-old coton de tulear, a stud who is just about the cutest dog you've ever seen. Almost exactly like this: (Photo courtesy of Dog Breed Info Center.) Z's owner brought him back to the breeder on Wednesday; on Thursday I emailed the breeder to get more info on Z and to find out about adoption; and on Friday I learned that Z was gone. Gone really before he was even brought back to the breeder - she had someone lined up for him already. The breeder did tell me that she had coton puppies available, very nice females and some sweet males. A puppy! Imagine the cuteness there! But of course I had to ask how much they were before I said yes, we'd take one, and of course they were just way, way too much for us. More than the Scottish fold! We could put at least three new, vinyl, energy-efficient windows in our house for the price of the puppy. So we had to say no (and more evidence that a shelter dog is the way to go - at least it won't break the bank!). And now we're back to the drawing board, waiting around for the right pet, while enjoying enjoying Meg and Sasha's company just fine (though the walking-on-the-stovetop-when-the-burner-is-on thing that Sasha does is a little annoying, I admit).

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We saw our friends Jessica and Neil last night. Ate dinner at Shawarma King and saw Mademoiselle Chambon. Doug and I hadn't spent an evening in Coolidge Corner in quite some time, and we're not quite sure why. It took us all of 20 to 25 minutes to get there, and probably even less to get back. I guess we're just habituated to our little neck of the woods, and habits are hard to break. Our dinners may have been enough to encourage us to break habit a little more often, though, because you can't get good Middle Eastern around here, really. There is a place in Norwood that we've been to, and a new Lebanese restaurant opened up near the Home Depot we go to in West Roxbury, but still. When we lived in Allston we could - and did - walk to Coolidge Corner to Shawarma King, Trader Joe's, Gourmet India (no longer there, but still), Lemongrass... it was all right there within walking distance. There really isn't much near us within walking distance. Nothing that seems as convenient, anyway. That, of course, got us all to talking about living in a condo in the city or living in a house in the burbs. There are pros and cons to both options, really, but I do see advantages to urban condo living (and so does my stomach).

Though we do have a good movie theater here in our zip-code, and it's where we saw I am Love, the movie that I thought was essentially the same as Mademoiselle Chambon, only in Italian. Both had minimal dialogue and told their stories through visual and other audio cues, like music. Both were about people (a woman in I am Love and a man in Mademoiselle Chambon) in the middle of their life who were apparently unsatisfied with it, and chose to find satisfaction in the company of someone other than their spouse. I won't say more about either, in case you want to see them, but I will say that I while I do recommend both I would not take either too seriously. Because the directors did, in Mademoiselle Chambon especially. Some of the lines - right out of the playbook. How can I still recommend it, then? Because, it's a French movie, and I'm biased towards anything even remotely French. French fries, for example, are my favorite vegetable :)

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In other news, I've finished the back part of my quilt. I have a photo, but just didn't upload it. You'll see it next time. Next step is to get some batting and to start assembling! Hopefully I'll have it done by next summer, but it all has to do with timing (as in having enough free time and being motivated enough in that free time to work on it). Seems that's a theme these days!

Slowly becoming minimalist.

Doug and I are slowly decluttering our life. I was always one for trinkets and toys, and Doug was, too. Over the past year or so, though, we've done some major purging of stuff (the Salvation Army must love us), and the trend continues outside the house. We called a tree company a couple of weeks ago to get quotes on cutting down/trimming back several of our trees. We opted to go with trimming them back, except for all the trees in the front of our house. Those, like many of our old clothes, stuffed toys, books, and knickknacks, are gone.

Here's the front of our house before the tree work :
Here's the front of our house after the tree work:
Now, I'm not an advocate for keeping the front bare like this, but I will say that I like it. I like all that overgrowth gone. I like having the blank slate. I like that we can do whatever we want to the front of the house, and make it more of our style. I like that. Now Doug and I have to agree on what to do there, and hopefully pretty quickly. The house does seem a bit exposed.

And let's see, what else. I discovered today that my former therapist is in a book. Kristin Hersh has written a book about one pivotal year in her life, and it happens to be a year in which Leslie was in the lineup of Throwing Muses. Leslie, my former therapist, was the bass player for Throwing Muses at this point. Weird, right? I remember learning that Leslie was in Throwing Muses - it was well after I had started to see her. I think at that point I began to view her as more of a cool person, a friend, and not a therapist. Maybe that's why I'm no longer her patient. We bought the book. Let's see if it's a good read.

And, in other news, Meggie is continuing her social behavior. She has not become a lap cat, but she definitely spends more time with us, near us, and sometimes even on us. She's such a good kitty. Her nose is cold and wet, she sheds like you would not believe, and she's such a little carnavore (hide your chicken, because she's relentless), but she's allowing us to experience her specialness more often now, not just when we're in the basement, and we are enjoying this more social side of Meg. Speaking of the brown one, she's coming over right now to sit on my computer. What a love.

Mother Nature, high-voltage style.

For the long Labor Day weekend we were in New Hampshire, trying our hardest not to labor at anything. New Hampshire is about resting, relaxation, getting in touch with nature and with your more spiritual self. That's how I think about it anyway. You're at one with the lake, the loons, the mountains, the bugs... so many spiders! Thankfully I didn't see too many this trip, but I knew they were there.

This trip Doug, my mom, my brother, and I stayed in my uncle's house, and we did the usual New Hampshire things, which never get boring. In New Hampshire we play cards and we build puzzles and we kayak on the lake. Sometimes, if we're feeling really ambitious, we'll take a trip somewhere, like to Mt. Cardigan, which we did last year, too. Mt. Cardigan is a relatively short hike (only a mile and a half from car to peak), but for the last half mile it's bald rock, which makes for some intense hiking for the lesser athlete like myself. My mother, brother, and I were all smiles in the beginning and were still smiling at the end. You can't see her smile very well from here, but my mother is definitely smiling. How could you not, with that view? When you've reached the bald part of the mountain and can see for miles, you start to realize that there's more to the world than what you experience each day. More to it than work, chores, routines, and the like. It's easier to contemplate the larger meaning of it all when you're in the fresh air and can look into Vermont and also see Mt. Washington. Your thoughts are clear, and I'm sure my brother was thinking a profound thing or two when we stole this moment from him. A hike like this should be required therapy each month, at least.

To get back to nature today, Doug and I decided to pick apples - see the fruit on the trees, be one with our food. That kind of thing. We usually go to Drew Farms, but it's a bit of a drive for us. Doug's feeling under the weather with a cold, so we decided to go to a farm a little closer to us and tried for the first time Fairmount Fruit Farm in Franklin. We got our peck of apples, but I'm not sure we'll be going back there next year. Can you see why? The orchard was directly underneath major electrical lines. The buzzing of the electricity was audible as we walked across the rows looking for the perfect fruit. And the poor sheep in their petting zoo were living right underneath one of those giant electric towers! I tell myself that the fruit is probably fine, and that the sheep may not know that they're living under all that electricity, but still. This farm definitely gave me a bad feeling. Drew Farms, we'll see you next year!

The most wonderful time of the year.

Today is September 1, which officially starts my favorite time of year. September, October, November, and December are my favorite months. I've always loved fall, but it seems that the older I get the more I like it. Late winter depresses me more and more each year, spring is less about flowers and greenery and more about unpredictable weather patterns and repairing the house after winter's beating, and summer is a countdown to the cool mornings and evenings of fall (the kind that you dream about during a five-day heat wave of temperatures above 90F both outside and in). September is all about apples and Brimfield and uncrowded beaches; October blesses us with a long weekend, falling leaves, pumpkins and candy corn; November brings thoughts of turkey and potatoes and winter sweaters; and December allows for thirty one glorious days of Christmas music, Christmas decorations, gift-giving, and good cheer. Welcome, September!

August finished with a bang, though, so I can't really complain. Doug got himself a new amp (from Canada - though this time we had to drive only to JP to get it) and I finished the top part of my quilt! I realized that last August I was sewing up a storm, too, getting all those bibs ready for the cutest little baby in Portland who had yet to be born. Those are all the bibs that I made, spinning around in the washing machine before I ironed them and added the snaps. Now that was a fun project. I need someone else to have their first baby so that I can shower them with bibs. I really like making bibs, and I'm getting a little rusty!

I got the hang of sewing the quilt towards the end of my epic sewing day this past Sunday, sewing the rest of the strips together. I was whipping one strip out every forty minutes. You might think that's a long time just to sew one strip to the others, but it's a more complicated process than you think. First I would lay the already-sewn-together strips on the floor, facing up, and fold over the strips that I didn't need. Then I would take the next strip that I needed to sew on and lay it on top of the last strip, facing down, and gather all the strips up accordion-style to sit at the sewing machine and sew the strips facing each other together. The action shot doesn't make it look all that interesting, but the finished product sure is nice to look at. Apparently it's even nicer to lay on, if you're a big-bellied cat with squinty eyes. Of course, that's just a simulation of what the final product will look like on the bed. I think it looks great, though, and am eager to get to work on the rest of it. Part of me wants to bring my sewing machine and material with me to New Hampshire and get some done there this weekend, but maybe I should just wait. Who wants to transport my sewing machine, scissors, supplies, and material there and back? Not me, really. There will be plenty of weekends in September to work on sewing the bottom piece together, picking out batting, figuring out how to sandwich it all together, and then binding it. Another reason to love September - it will be quilt month.

And another reason to be sorry to see August go - we finally got to the Fairbanks House, the oldest frame house in America. Now that's a place to go to get to see how colonial living really was. The house is dark and kind of dank. It's all left as it was when the last Fairbanks lived in it, Rebecca, in 1903. When I think of houses in 1903, the turn of the century, I think of the Newport mansions - rudimentary plumbing and electric systems. Why I think of those houses I don't really know, because certainly not everyone was a Vanderbilt. Looks like Rebecca was still sleeping in a rope bed in 1903. Amazing!

It's also amazing that I've given up on two books in a row now, too. First it was Captive Queen, which I tried to read to alleviate the heaviness of Breach of Faith, but I couldn't get into the lustful looks across the palace floor, the bodice-ripping, and the corrupt priests, and all of that within the first ten pages. I turned to Mudbound (highly recommended, and such a quick read), and then I thought I'd try some short stories, but I just did not care for any of the stories in Taking Pictures. I tried - I did. I read half of them!, but I couldn't take the lying, cheating, broken-home women in each and every one of her stories. I'm not a prude and I'm not looking for stories about saints, but I had no patience for the interpretation of normal that she presented. So, I'm now reading The Reader. A real pick-me-up story, indeed, but at least it's well written, and even though I'm only fifteen pages into it I can't wait to read more. And in fact, that's where I'll be if you need me - smack-dab in front of the air-conditioner with my uplifting book of the week.