Birthday blog.

Here - tonight I'll let the photos do most of the talking.

Spring flower (but, actually, it blossomed before spring started, so it's really a winter flower, but still, a flower! Color! Warmth! Growth!)

Birthday friends

Birthday cake

Birthday hike

Birthday girls

Birthday party (with more birthday cake!)

So, that's the pictorial update. The other update is that I am growing tired and weary of my blog. It's the same old stuff. I use a lot of exclamation points, I use a lot of colloquialisms and turns of phrase and a lot of run-on sentences, I throw in a deep and meaningful, thoughtful post every once in a while, and I paint the picture that this is me and this is my life. Well, I suppose it is, in a way. This is part of me. Some of me. What you see and read in this blog. But it's not enough to satisfy me these days. Based on those photos above you'd think that this past week/weekend my life was great. And much of it was; the part that's portrayed on the blog. But then there were the two nights that I was tossing and turning and thinking about curling up in a little ball in the corner of my bedroom, over near the coat rack with the mounds of fuzz and dust-bunnies, because my stomach was so uncomfortable. And then there were the fights that I was having with Doug, both out loud and in my head. And then there was the funeral for Doug's grandfather. And then there were all the messages of Happy Birthday! for me on facebook, the vast majority from people I haven't actually spoken to in about fourteen years. So, you know. There's all of that stuff that doesn't make it onto my blog. It could, and sometimes it does, but when it does I feel so boring and old and washed up, and I feel like the look of those two deep lines in my forehead that you can so plainly see in the birthday girls photo above. I guess I feel wrinkled. I don't want to feel wrinkled, so most times I post about the good stuff, and thankfully there's enough good stuff to post about, to keep this blog going. But today I wonder if I even want to keep the blog going. I do because of posterity. I do because of the historical record it keeps. But I also don't because of the historical record it keeps, the record of that slice of me that I frequently tire of. Maybe I'm just tired from all my birthday celebrating, and maybe I'm just too full from all the cake I've been eating, but I certainly don't feel much motivation these days to keep this thing going. I'm ready for a really big dose of sunshine and fresh air; I'm hoping that will revive me, because it's going to be a long, long year if it doesn't.

First day of spring.

It's the first day of spring! Who cares that it's snowing and wet and gross outside and that I'm wrapped in a wool blanket inside. It's spring and I'm happy about that. So happy that I've decided to break my (unintentional) blogging silence and catch you up on a few things.

First: This is how not to spend time with your friend Julie who comes down from Maine for a much-needed visit. Of course, she's doing it, too, because we're all of us addicted to those little electronic devices, aren't we, but still. We should have been talking or something. Or watching the belly dancer who was gyrating and wiggling directly in front of us. She was inspiring. Her hips made moves that most only dream about. Perhaps jealousy drove me to bury my head in my phone.

Second: We can see clearly now, the ropes are gone. All of the bad feelings have disappeared... at least in our bedroom. And in the kitchen (so take your mind out of the gutter!). WE HAVE NEW WINDOWS! Man, oh man, oh man, do I love those new windows. I can raise them! I can lower them! They will stay open without needing a little piece of wood or some kind of prop for support! Oh, they are such things of beauty. And they soundproof so well. Who cares about all the cold air that's not rushing in from those old drafty windows - it's like we're living in a sound proof chamber. It's wonderful. We haven't heard the 11pm or 12am trains go by at all since we've had these windows. If we weren't so responsible in our old age, we'd finance new windows for the whole house. But we are, so I'll just rave about my three new ones. Have I mentioned yet how much I love them?

Three: If you are going to make one new meal this spring, try this Tomato Ricotta Tart. I'm sure it would be even better to make it in the summer with tomatoes from your own garden, but if you're like me and don't grow your own tomatoes or can't wait for summer for eating this kind of dinner, then try this. It's really, really good, and actually quite easy (obviously, since you don't see any photos of kitchen mishaps here).

Four: Finally, my bibs. My third bib project. Done! Sewed, snapped, washed, and sent on their way. It's a good thing that I am still working on my quilt. I need these kinds of crafty projects to occupy my mind and my hands. I can't just sit around with nothing to do (not that I ever really get that chance, so maybe I could just sit around with nothing to do. It might actually be nice to try that, now that I think about it...); I get antsy and I need something to entertain me, and not enough people I know are having babies. But once my quilt is done (which will be very soon... that's going to be the subject of my next post, I can feel it), I'll be left with what? Reading? More recipe-copying? Spring cleaning? Yes, it's time for spring cleaning again, and my yard, with all those sticks and twigs and clumps of leaves and schmutz, is calling to me. Screaming is more like it.

Five: My kitties! Look at them. Don't you just love them? My poor, beautiful brown bear, desperate for a place to sleep, and my fat, little Buddha bear, not lacking for any place to plop down. They are keeping me going these days. And to think, just a few days ago Doug and I were on the verge of adding a third to our nice, even-numbered collection. What were we thinking? Meg and Sasha, be glad that your mom and dad were distracted by chores and fighting and homework and work-work. Otherwise you would be terrorized right now by a cute tuxedo with green eyes and a boxy face. For once, all of us should be glad that life got in the way.

Fill me up.

Tonight was my last violin class. Eight weeks of violin and already I can play Mary Had a Little Lamb and Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star. And a few scales, but just don't ask me to play without squeaking or without going outrageously out of tune. I look pretty good when holding the violin, though, so maybe that's all that I need to succeed.

But, I'm not through with the violin yet (sorry, kitties!). I'm taking four private lessons with my instructor, and I'm doing so for a couple of reasons. The first is because I'm not quite at the point yet in my violin career (ha!) where I feel like I can teach myself. I feel like I need a little one-on-one guidance on how to move the bow from string to string, how best to hold the violin, how to have good posture, and also how to get the best tone out of the instrument. But the second reason is a little less practical. I'm just not ready to stop getting out of the house once a week. Other than my weekly appointment with Doug, I go to work or I go to the gym. Those are my outings into the world. Going to violin class at least gave me something to do these past eight weeks, and gave me some other way to pass my time at home (you know, practicing (ha!)). I'm not ready to give that up, not now when I am feeling a very strong need to fill myself up a little fuller.

I was thinking about a way to describe this feeling while on the T tonight, riding to where my car was parked and where I would get in it and blast the heat for the drive home. I have this incredible need for warmth. I do not like being cold. (Note that I said that I do not like being cold, not that I don't like the cold. I'm fine with whatever temperature it is outside, as long as I am not affected by that temperature. As long as my body temperature is warm and my hands and feet are not numb. This is why I long for new windows, because the winter drafts really get to me when I'm shut up inside this house.) I am like a helium balloon when it's in the cold - I contract, and I feel shriveled and empty. Take me into a warm room and I immediately fill up. So maybe what I am looking for, or longing for, is warmth. Heat. Spring. Summer. Growth. Regrowth. Blooming and blossoming. Maybe I won't need violin to get me out into the world once I can actually be out in the world again, warm and alive. I'll be around people and I'll remember that I'm not alone and don't have to shut myself in, and the sun will be shining and the grass will need mowing and my world will be big again.

Why I read.

I've been compelled of late to blog about the books that I have been reading, which is slightly unusual for me, since most of what I think or feel about what I read I keep to myself. I feel the need to share, though, because the things I have been reading lately, especially of late, have made me think and feel quite a lot. Have made a connection with me, have hit close to home. The book I just finished (The Lost: The Search for Six of Six Million) is no exception, though you may wonder how this book could really hit all that close to home. I am, after all, not Jewish. I had no relatives killed in the Holocaust, I know of no family members of mine who were living in Europe through any of the troubles and tragedies that took place there (though I did have relatives who served in World War II, who were in combat and who saw, I am sure, unspeakable things of their own), and I had no grandfather or older relative who was especially talkative about the past. What made me react this way to this story?



I suppose this reaction has its origins in my lifelong pull towards persecuted and marginalized peoples. I sympathize with them, and, somehow, empathize with them. When I first started to learn of Native Americans and black peoples in our national past I felt drawn to them. I wanted to learn more about people, but particularly people who went through hardships. I wished I had been born black, or born Chinese, or somehow "other." I wanted to be Jewish. I immersed myself in African-American history classes in college, doing my senior honors thesis on miscegenation and passing. I had no idea at the time why I was drawn to these stories, these histories, these lives, but when I was reading The Lost it sort-of just hit me. The tragic and dramatic elements of these pasts and these peoples reminded me of my own life. I was not a care-free kid. I had a lot on my mind, a lot to think about, and a lot to feel, and all of that is really an understatement. It is the emotion that comes from learning the stories of these people that I felt and still feel, that kind of sad and tragic feeling that I think was such a large part of my own life (though it was a sadness and tragedy that was on a much different scale; I cannot in good faith compare my life to that of a slave or that of a Holocaust victim), and this is where I feel the connection. Through the feelings of hopelessness and despair that I get out of the stories. It mirrored the intense emotions that I was feeling in my own life, and gave me a way of realizing those emotions, of acknowledging them, of expressing them. Through reading these books and histories, feeling equally outraged and sorrowful at what I learned, I was able to release what I was feeling myself, what I was experiencing myself, in a way that I couldn't through other methods. I wouldn't talk about my feelings or anything linked to emotion to friends (never really had a whole lot of friends that I would have talked about this kind of stuff with, anyway, even if I had talked about it), not with family either, and really had no god way of dealing with any of the pretty profound thoughts and feelings that I was having. These kinds of books were a release, and they served in their own way as friends or family would - or should - have.

So when I was reading this book, all of this struck me. I thought about all of this as I was finding myself so eager to get back into reading about the Bolechowers and Mendelsohn's family, and was dreaming of what it would be like to be Jewish, wishing that I was Jewish, too. Because I realized that I want a connection to something. A feeling of community, a sense of belonging. The African-American experience, the Jewish experience, the experience of these minority groups - there is a shared sense of history, of experience, that is, perhaps by coincidence, linked by the unjust and immoral, shameful, treatment of these peoples, but it is shared. All Jewish people, whether they have a direct, nuclear link to something like the Holocaust, have some kind of link to the Holocaust by their mere Jewishness. They have a shared past. They have a shared history. They have a set group of people with whom they belong, and with whom they can share their feelings and their emotions, the feelings and emotions that inevitably come out of these tragedies. I never thought that I had anyone to share my feelings with, or my thoughts (whether that was because I really didn't have anyone or because I didn't feel comfortable sharing with whatever community I did have around me is another story), and I wanted this. I suppose I still want this. And maybe that's why I so readily pick up books, still, like The Lost.

It's so strange to think of me as a little girl, or me as a teen, or even me as a college senior, unconsciously shaping my academic life, and, to some degree, my future and career, around the stories of persecuted peoples because it is through these stories that I felt connected to someone, to something, to the world, and it's strange to be just now realizing that this is why I was doing it. I will, therefore, point to this realization, this light-bulb moment, as a reason why I read, perhaps the primary reason. Yes, it's to feel the connections to the characters that I am reading about, but it is also to expand my world. To learn more about the world around me, to connect me with the world around me, and to connect me with myself. If I didn't read and didn't have my stories, these connections, I would have very little indeed.

More bibs and bobs.

Doug is in the basement recording what is sure to be the next American hit single for his final push towards the completion of the RPM Challenge, and I am up here wasting (er... spending?) time on my blog. I was going to play my violin, but it's hard to play and hear myself over the sounds coming from downstairs. So Internet, I give in to you, finally.

I get up early for work (up and brushing the teeth, etc., by 5:45am), and have conditioned my body to get up early. If I am lucky, I can sleep to 7, maybe 7:30 on the weekends (sometimes until 8 if I am super tired or feeling under the weather), but I find myself waking up before 7 most weekend days. Today I woke up at 6:10am. No cats, no alarm to rouse me; just my overactive mind (and bladder) thinking about trips to the Badlands. We saw Marieke and Curt last night, and between Curt's sales pitch and Marieke's nearly-professional photos, I'm ready to book a flight and see them for myself. I've added South Dakota to my overwhelmingly long list of places to go. I had better start booking some of these trips or else I'll never get through my list.

I was able to scratch some things off of my to-do list this weekend, though, which is an advantage to getting up so early. I cut all the material for my quilt binding and made some great progress on this round of bib-making. These are the first two that I made today and I was pleased with how they came out, considering that I haven't made any bibs since last February (for my cousin's baby shower. Has it really been that long? I guess so!). I got ten done today, so only have six more (and all the snaps) to go. Should be able to finish next weekend, which will allow me to focus again on the quilt. It's my new goal to get the quilt done by the end of April, in time for the unearthing of the bed from the heavy wool blanket and down comforter. Having the quilt on the bed will be a great way to say good-bye to winter.

But, will winter ever end, really? It seems not this year. I was so thrilled on Saturday morning to see grass, actual grass, actual grass that had a slight green tint to it, that I had to take a picture. I had a feeling that it wouldn't last long, and I was right. This morning when I woke up we had four inches of fresh, heavy snow! Yay, shoveling! Doug looks thrilled, doesn't he? I decided to approach this snow with a different attitude, though. I could have, so easily, trudged outside to shovel off the driveway and clear off the cars with a very heavy heart and a very bad attitude, because, really, how much more can I take of this winter? Instead I decided to enjoy myself a little bit and I made myself a little snowperson. The snow was great for this, and who knows what kind of nasty weather we'll get next. I may not have another chance this winter to make a snowman. So, my little snowman watched me shovel from atop the recycling bin, and was soon joined by Doug's snowthing.

We had another visitor today, too - Max. Max lives next door. He stops by every once in a while and begs us to come out and play with him. We always put on our coats and go out to play with him, but he's never actually looking to play, that tricky Max. He's just looking for dog treats. The people who lived here before us used to feed Max cookies whenever he got out of his yard and wandered over into this yard, and we have kept up the tradition. Max must love getting loose, because I give him about ten doggie cookies at a time. He's such a bad begger, and I'm such a sucker. He does paw! I love paw. If the cats could do paw with me they'd be a lot more portly than they are now, that's for sure.

Okay, what else. Oh yeah. So after Max got his doggie treats I decided that it was time for me and Doug to have our human treats, and I made us some Belgian waffles. This was the first time that I ever made anything with yeast, and I was amazed by the stuff. The dry yeast looks like little worms, and what it does to the dough (makes it expand to about twice its original size) is pretty impressive. In true Rosanne fashion, the kitchen was a bit of a disaster zone while I was cooking the waffles but the end result was definitely worth it. I ate about eight of them. King Arthur makes a good Belgian waffle mix, that's for sure!

But I want you to notice in that last photo my hands. My red, scaly, scary looking hands. I have been having some real issues with my hands lately, or, more specifically, my fingers. They are either bright red or a strange purplish color, and my pinky and index finger on my right hand are swollen, with hard deposits under the skin at the tops. I tell you this because I've had this issue for a while (I'm becoming more and more convinced that I have Raynaud's, but the swollen, tender, hard deposits I can't account for.). I don't want to go to the doctor, because every time I go to the doctor I'm told to drink more water, eat more vegetables and get more sleep, and then I'll be as good as new, but I want someone to know in case I pass out from fever and infection what could be the problem. Maybe if I use lotion my scaly skin would be improved. Or maybe I just need spring to cure me. I think I prefer the latter.

Bibs and bobs.

Today's the kind of day for lists. I'm making lists. This one can be my list of notable, blog-worthy mentionables from the recent past. I won't publish my other lists. They'd bore you to tears.

* American Girl. As mentioned, we took another trip to American Girl, my sister, niece, mother, and I. Maria has been begging to go since November, so it was time to finally give in and go. She had birthday and Christmas (and grandma and mommy) money to burn! I got there about five minutes or so before the doors to the store opened, and you would not have believed the line to get inside. Girls from ages 4 through 12, either in groups or alone, with their parents, grandparents, or family, some dressed to the nines in their party best (likely to go to a birthday party inside in one of the party rooms), and some looking like they just rolled out of bed, but all so, so, so excited to be at American Girl. Many were being asked, "Can you believe you are actually here?" And many answering, "It's a dream come true!" All were in awe of the window display of Kanani, the 2011 girl of the year, who is Hawaiian and surfs with the dolphins, or some other such talent. Maria, who arrived with my mother and her mother a few minutes after the doors opened, did not have time to stop and stare at Kanani's window display; the excitement of getting in the store and getting her own Kanani in her own hands were just too much to bear. Maria had her Kanani fever satiated early into the visit with her bee-line to the Kanani display, but Lani, the one of Maria's American Girl dolls that she decided to bring with her that day, had her own needs to satisfy. Lani joined us because she had to get a pair of glasses (she's been having vision problems of late), and had to have her hair combed and styled (Maria can't get her to do anything with her hair). Plus, Lani had been begging, just begging, for her ears to be pierced like her mother's and her sister Kit's. And all of Lani's wishes came true - glasses to correct her vision, lovely hair, and a pair of earrings. American girl is truly a magical place.

* Quilt. I'm on the final phase of my quilt! My aunt and mother came up one Sunday to help me get more of my quilting done, but turns out that I had made more progress on quilting the squares than any of us had thought. Which meant that in no time my mother and aunt had quilted the final few of the squares and we were left to prep the quilt to be bound. Prepping it involved cutting off the excess material from the edges of the quilt and removing all 8,000 of the pins that we had used to keep it together. I bought the material I need for the binding, and now I just have to cut that, sew all of that together into one, long strip, and somehow figure out how to sew the strip on. In truth, the binding is the part of the quilt that I am looking forward to the least. I have this book that tells me how I should bind my quilt, but I had in my head a different way of doing it, something much less complicated, but also much less proper. I am currently debating (with myself) which way to do it, and I'm leaning towards the proper way, but that way involves more measuring, more advanced sewing techniques, and it makes me a little nervous. Which means I may procrastinate on this. Which means I may not get this done before summer like I had thought I could!

* Bibs. I'll be making more bibs soon. One of these days. I've got the material ready to be cut, so now I just have to sit down and cut it and sew it. Who are these bibs for, you may be wondering? Two girls I used to work with at Bain Capital. One is due the first week of April and the other is due the first week in June. I had planned to make them bibs when I first learned that they were pregnant, so I decided to not let something like me not working with them stop me from making them baby gifts. Plus, it gives me more practice. It's like riding a bike - if you haven't done it in a while you won't forget how to do it, necessarily, but you will certainly be rusty.

* Working overnight. I did it. I did my first overnight shift at Lamont, and I survived. I really had very little problem with staying awake while I was actually at work (only started to have the eyes get heavy around 7:20am, coincidentally while I was trying to work on an Excel spreadsheet), but the drive home was tough. I was fine until about Needham, about ten-fifteen minutes from home, but at that point I just started to fall asleep. Like, really fall asleep. Eyes closing, driving the car into the other lane or towards the curb... you know, those kinds of things. So that wasn't good. But the night itself was not bad at all. I got to watch the sunrise from the window in my office, and I was amazed at a) the number of people in the building, and b) how fast the time went by. I was able to sleep for about 5 hours after I finally got home, but definitely went to bed early that night. So even though it took me about a full day to recover, it was doable, and I might even do it again, voluntarily, before the end of the semester. It breaks up the routine, you know?

* Maine. Doug and I went to Maine on Saturday to celebrate our three-year anniversary (our actual anniversary day, the 16th, was pretty uneventful, as weekday anniversaries tend to be, it seems). We drove around some, and then stopped to get out of the car to enjoy the crisp, Maine winter scenery. We stopped at Back Cove in Portland to try to do the Back Cove Trail, but the trail was alternately a sheet of ice and a mud puddle, so we gave up after a short way around. But, I got a photo of Doug with a smile on his face, so that was a plus. (Yes, that was a smile.) After we gave up on Back Cove, we headed over to the Gilsland Farm in Falmouth, of the Main Audubon Society, which was more difficult walking conditions - again, either completely frozen over and a sheet of ice, or snow about a foot and a half deep. We were a little more successful here, but only marginally so, so we gave up after getting another photo of Doug with a smile. This time his smile is a little more recognizable.

After Gilsland Farm, we grabbed some food in downtown Portland and then just sort of meandered about. We found our way to the top of Portland, overlooking the airport, and I captured a nice shot of the Portland sunset. That would have been a great way to end our anniversary day, except that we had the privilege of eating Haggarty's with Chris, Chris and Ruby (and Lu and Stu), and realized, yet again, that there is nothing more satisfying than good company and good conversation. Not even beautiful sunsets.

I like this Hallmark holiday.

I was planning to write a post that caught you up on all the things that have been going on since I last wrote a post (such as our trip to American Girl, my addiction to Cap'n Crunch's Peanut Butter Crunch (but only in the retro packaging), my smarty-pants sister's momentous passing of her NCLEX, my first overnight shift at Lamont, etc., etc., etc.), but instead I'll write about Valentine's Day.

I don't know if I ever really cared for Valentine's Day before I was married. I think Doug and I gave each other cards each year, or maybe he got me flowers and chocolate and I gave him something meaningful and touching, like socks, or new Fruit of the Looms, or something like that. But because we married so close to Valentine's Day, I feel like Valentine's Day is a great way to get in some early celebrating of us. It's a great lead-in to our anniversary-celebrating, and plus I like the excuse to give cards. I don't think we give enough cards anymore. Real cards. With real hand-written messages and stamps and stuff. We as a society. I could be generalizing, but I rarely get cards in my mailbox; just solicitations from charities or credit card companies. Hallmark must not be pleased.

But Doug and I try to do our part for Hallmark on Valentine's Day, this year included. We started our celebrating on Saturday night, when we went to Modern Apizza on our way back from visiting Doug's grandfather at Bridgeport Hospital. Look at this thing: It's a gift from the gods, really.

On Sunday, Doug and I spent our morning at the grocery store, where I was faced with this as soon as I walked into the store: I am proud to say that I resisted all of those mesmerizing treats, because I planned to stuff myself silly at dinner later that day. We had a Valentine's meal with my mother and aunt planned, who were up helping me quilt (more on that to come - such progress has been made!). That's my mother's borsh-casserole (really borscht, but on her recipe it's called borsch, and I keep that spelling consistent because it's not true borscht; it's definitely modified) that's in my bowl, and I made it myself! How festive it is, with its hot-pink hue (it's from the beets, not from anything I did wrong, at least this time).

This brings us to actual Valentine's Day, which was yesterday. Doug and I celebrated by giving our usual Valentine's treats - flowers, chocolate, and greeting cards - and skipping the gym to watch Watson go head-to-head with Jeopardy's two all-time greatest champions. I admit to finding this competition fascinating, but also a little scary. Watson, so far, is a tough competitor, and Ken and Brad have to put a little more effort in if they are going to do we humans proud. I am waiting for Doug to get home from band practice so that we can watch the second round of competition that happened earlier tonight. And tomorrow, on our anniversary, we will watch the final round, when we learn the winner of this tournament, and learn just where man stands up versus the machine. I tell you, I'm a little nervous about this. Watson is a smart cookie. If I weren't still under the control of a chocolate-induced coma, I might blog more about what this could mean for mankind, but instead I'll just go have more chocolate. I have to get rid of yesterday's candy before I can make room for tomorrow's.